Loki's POV

The sudden coldness in the air surrounded the mischievous Prince, as he teleported himself out of the grandeur of the Throne Room, no longer disguised as his father. He arrived in his chambers, Odin's sceptre still in his hand.

Loki glanced at it, and his sense of accomplishment left him as quickly as it had come. It was finally in his possession, and yet it felt all too foreign for him, irregardless of how often he had seen his father holding it, how the Prince imagined having it himself. He was never destined for equal consideration, for anything worth remembering. Who really cared if he was still alive, other than his adoptive brother and oh-so-loving father, he asked himself.

He thought about Frigga, how distraught she would have been in her grieving, crying herself to sleep, never leaving her chambers, barely eating… He tried to push away the horrible memory of the last words he said to her, the thought of her last breath, but they wouldn't let go of his mind.

The doors were enchanted, the curtains shut. He was alone, and he didn't need to hide his pain behind a mask of composure, he had worn it out for too long now. The Prince set down the sceptre on the chair closest to him, before he sat down at the edge of his bed. The urge to tear his chambers apart was almost overwhelming, as his fingernails dug into the emerald green sheets underneath him.

Seconds before he could consider setting something ablaze, a thought came to him. Loki rose up to grab a thick, blue book on a shelf across the room. It was rough to the touch under the dust he rubbed off, and nostalgia washed over him like tidal waves over a stony shore.

The spell book belonged to the Queen, and was made his when she gave it to him as a birthday present centuries ago. Loki skimmed through it, stopping every now and then as he became wrapped in his memories.

He could still remember when Frigga taught him specific spells as a child, how to move objects with his mind, make things disappear and reappear. If only he could make her reappear, he thought. Before he had last spoken to Thor, Loki was posing as Odin and claimed he did not want to be disturbed in his grieving. Thor was not King, but he would be carrying the responsibility of peacekeeping for now, along with Fandral, Sif, Volstagg and the others.

In reality, Odin was so grief-stricken that he had been in Odinsleep for some time now, and was bound to wake up soon. At least, it was a possibility until Loki had hidden his father away and enchanted his incubator so he wouldn't awaken unless the Prince lifted the enchantment himself. He'd have to keep up this charade for some time, he knew, but that wasn't going to interfere with his mourning, at least not yet.

Days passed, and Loki hardly did much different, as he flicked through more spell books to pass the time, or laid on his back staring at the ceiling, thinking about nothing and everything. It was some nights later, when he couldn't stand being inside the palace any longer, without the comfort of his mother. He decided he would down his sorrows somewhere away from his home, free from the shadow of his supposed martyrdom.

Peeling himself from his silken sheets, he strode to the nearest mirror he could find, and looked into his red-eyed reflection. He hardly ever saw himself so distraught and vulnerable, at least not in the last few decades. But moments later, he couldn't see the crimson lines in the white of his clear eyes, even though the blue irises remained in his Guard disguise. It shouldn't be this easy, Loki thought to himself, how can it be so easy?

After he had made his way to one of the taverns closest to the outskirts of the city, he finally settled at a table alone, drinking the first of many intoxicating beverages as he intended. The wine felt like air to starved lungs as it moved past the dryness of his mouth.

He was on his third glass when out of the corner of his sight, he noticed a figure circled by larger and tougher brutes. "This should be entertaining," Loki muttered under his breath. He turned his guise's blonde head towards the brawl that was to ensue, before he realised that the hooded figure was not shrinking away from those attempting to intimidate.

One of the men, a bearded, dumb-looking lout, placed his thick hand on the person's shoulder. Without meaning to, Loki felt a sense of genuine understanding, he knew what is was like to be surrounded by people who belittled him.

But he was not expecting the shriek that escape the same man's mouth, staring in disbelief at his gushing hand, a small blade buried in his palm. In an attempt to escape, the hooded figure sprinted out of the tavern before the men noticed, as they were clearly too busy with their wounded companion. However, one of them ran after the stabber, and to avoid rousing suspicion, Loki followed in suit, as he was still disguised as a peace-keeping guard.

Outside the little tavern, the night was pitch black and the stars were hardly visible in the sky. The yells and growls of the large oaf were audible enough for Loki to find him, along with the stabber. He walked casually in the narrow street till he was in their proximity, terribly tempted to turn either one of them into toads or rats, or whatever he was in the mood for.

Yet he couldn't do so without sabotaging his pretence, and so he watched the figures duel in the dark, his presence barely noticeable to the preoccupied persons. No one was around, he could have walked away easily, slipping back into his true face in the comforting void of his chambers. But then his attention was caught when he heard a loud thud, followed by the hurried footsteps of the other.

The hood triumphed, so it seemed to Loki, as he peeped from the corner of the gloom, and was aware that the figure was nearing him. The prince often felt like a good scare, but he didn't plan on what was to follow.

Vera's POV

Well, he's out of the way. Now, where to go… Vera asked herself, before she decided to go back the way she came and slip into the night. She turned to the left as she reached the end of the street, and she stumbled backwards till she hit the stony ground, her hands protecting her from hitting her head.

As she processed that there was a guard standing in front of her, she tried to hide her already-evident surprise. "I don't suppose I can get away with this now, can I?" the woman inquired, hardly bothering to look up at the man.

"You're-" Loki began, but he was cut off by Vera, who finally met his gaze. She sounded like she dealt with more than her fair share of surprised, condescending men. "A woman, yes. "How improper, how shameful". With all due respect, I've been on the same end of this exchange for decades, so if you could be so kind to spare me your-"

"As amusing as this bravado of yours is, you will gladly find that I was merely pointing out the cut on your hand," he interrupted. He wasn't going to lie, he was admittedly amazed at this woman, though not in the ways she had predicted. There was a fire within her, and it was fierce even in the face of capture. He liked that sort of defiance in people.

"Oh," she murmured, looking back at the crimson-stained hand under her black cloak. Before she could even blink, the red cut was covered by a green glow, shimmering in the darkness for a moment before it dissipated into the light breeze of the summer night. She tried to process the act, bewildered by his illusion. Loki didn't mind, however.

"How can you be a wielder of magic? The last Asgard had seen of them were Queen Frigga and…" Realisation donned itself onto her face, it was the astonishment in her eyes and her mouth which was open in disbelief.

"How… Everyone thought you were dead." Vera admitted, almost inaudibly. It was evident to the Prince that she was in disbelief, despite her calm reaction.

"Well, they don't call me the trickster for nothing, now do they?" he replied, extending a hand to pull her up. "And what of your large friend here?" Loki asked, his other hand gesturing towards the mess of a man that lay against the wall. Vera met his steely gaze once again, yet she tilted her head away as she spoke, "What of him?" her voice more controlled, as if he'd just probed her enough to infuriate her.

"I suspect he'll awaken soon, maybe he should do so in a less familiar form…" a slight grin spread across his taut lips, his eyes unmoving from the still figure at the side of the road. His intentions seemed clear to Vera soon enough,

"So am I right in assuming you're going to turn me into a rodent as well?" this time her gaze appeared defeated, but her voice failed to give that away.

His blue eyes were piercing into her hazel ones, and it felt like there was a shared sense of anticipation. "No, you're not. But if you do decide to contradict popular belief and inform anyone of my… return, then my face will be the last you'll ever see." And with that, he vanished himself into his chambers, leaving Vera to absorb the evening's turn of events. When she was alone, the idea of Loki coming after her made her hairs stand on end, and strangely, she was too intrigued to determine if she wanted him to or not.