"He fashions evil for himself who does evil to another, and an evil plan does mischief to the planner." - Hesiod


Chapter Two


In the dying light of dusk, Loki found himself wandering the halls of the palace aimlessly. Truly, the stone and marble glinted becomingly in the light; he allowed himself to look upon it with a detached eye as he walked and, as always when he was alone, he let his thoughts fall to more bitter depths. Court that day was tedious, in its own way. Loki knew subjectively that court was not always tedious - that usually it was full of entertainment in much the same way a warrior finds in swinging his sword. But even this day when Loki awoke again to dreams weaving themselves between his conscious and the stark reality of his bed, he found himself idly restless. He thought of the way his subjects, some from Asgard and most from elsewhere, had gathered before him and fell to their knees before pleading their case.

Most things they asked were simple, in truth. Most things were simply land disputes, or requests for opinions on how to tend to their disobedient or mischievous sons or daughters. But when one man stepped forward and knelt at Loki's place on the throne, he came forward with a different request: A group of bandits had begun wrecking havoc on his village on Niflheim, and requested strength to cast them away.

As always with such things, Loki called forward to Lady Sif and the Warriors Three to travel to Niflheim and capture the bandits for punishment. They often sat at court for such an occasion - and as they rose, Loki felt rather suddenly that he wished that he could go with them.

Perhaps it was the ghosts of his past rising up to haunt him, but Loki did so terribly miss the fun. While it was true that most would not recall him going with them on many of their battles, but that was simply because he did not flock with them as Thor did. Quite typically he would show up last minute on the deck of the Bifrost, truly startling them at his sudden appearance, and simply say that he would travel with them. He so loved using his blade, from time to time.

"We would be most honored to assist Niflheim, Allfather," Fandral had said.

The fame of the Warriors Three was a constant throughout the realms, Loki knew. A man somewhere near the back shouted, "Hear, hear!" and the crowd began to twitter. Loki let himself a short smile before turning to the persons in question.

"Use whatever force necessary; bring them back to the dungeons when you have tire of the game."

Fandral, such to his personality, gave a dramatic bow to the people behind him.

"We will not be gone long," he said, and they departed.

And Fandral did not lie. They returned only four hours later, with sixteen rogues in tow. And then they drank and ate and sang and danced in celebration.

Loki did not partake in their joy. It was below his stature, now. He took his dinner in peace and grew quite restless; and that was what met him here, in his promenade through the palace.

In truth, Loki supposed, he was dancing such a very thin line. He had gotten everything he wanted - Well, not quite everything, he thought, finding himself down a hall not much frequented. The guest ward where no guests had stayed in years. As a child he remembered the palace being so full. Odin so loved company, he loved the sounds of laugher and joy and he never wasted opportunity to display his hospitality.

Why was it such a surprise that he had taken Loki in, then? It was nothing more than an elaborate means to display such hospitality. Taking Loki in was simply in Odin's nature. Loki wondered what Odin thought when he found him in the temple - hidden away, possibly crying out of loneliness and fear. It angered him to think of it.

It was there that Loki found Sif, sitting on a bench and reading a book. He found himself startled at the sight - he believed her to be partaking in the festivities of her triumph with the Warriors Three. As he drew closer, she looked up, her black hair shining in the light. Her eyes held a certain kind of sadness he had only seen a handful of times firsthand. He remembered one of those instances - when she had woken one morning some six hundred years ago to find that her hair had been hacked off by Loki's own hand. He let himself remember it fully, then: Thor had loved her so, once. He had often spoke of her golden hair with such passion that Loki had grown tired of listening to it. This was shortly after the two of them had visited Midgard, and had somehow stumbled into a sort of hall where people gathered to watch others dress in costume and put on a performance of drama. Truly it was interesting; Asgard had its own means of dramatics but the stark humanity of this one had moved Thor in such ways not even Loki thought possible.

When they had returned to Asgard, Thor took to praising Sif's hair in the style of the Shakespearian play that they had witnessed. Very tiring indeed.

And so Loki cut it while she slept. It was not something that could easily be forgotten. Thor flew into such a rage that Loki had actually feared he may kill him, and it was only Odin who cut in and reminded Thor that to kill an Asir would invoke death upon himself. And then he turned to Loki and demanded he return to Sif her hair.

He did not say golden hair, though. Loki remembered fondly of that fact. He had stolen away in the night to consult with some Dwarfs; he had always praised their craftsmanship. They possessed such magic not even he could master. And so they crafted strands of hair from the black of night itself and when Loki presented it to her, she cried.

"You are full of such mischief, Loki," she had said. "You tear me to pieces with your cunning and games."

But she took it, in the end. To Loki's surprise, in her humility, she transcended from a golden-haired beauty to a raven-haired one; yet Thor loved her no more. Such was the heart of the superficial.

"Lady Sif," Loki said, snapping out of his memory. "I would have thought you would be celebrating with your comrades. What brings you here?"

"I grew tired of their jubilee," Sif answered simply. She stood and knelt quickly.

Loki let himself feel proud, momentarily, regardless of whom she thought she was kneeling to. But it was fleeting, for the thought came in his mind, She would not kneel if she knew it was me.

"They seem to have an unending supply of it," Loki replied, and cast his gaze around the empty hall. "Why do you sit here, and not in your chambers?"

"I come here in remembrance," she said, "Of a time when the palace was not so empty."

So Loki was not the only one starkly aware of the absence of friends. He watched her closely, she seemed completely at ease speaking to him, and wondered just how often Sif and Odin spoke. Certainly, since he had locked Odin away, the two of them had not spoken much. He wondered how Sif could be so easily honest to a man such as Odin.

"It does not seem right to fill it when Asgard still mourns."

Her eyes flashed momentarily. There was a beat of silence, and then she replied.

"Truly the loss of both your sons and your wife has not been easy."

"What say you of this loss?" Loki said slowly.

"It is terrible."

She looked truly sad, then, although he could not help but think that she mourned Frigga and Thor, with Loki being an afterthought.

"I have faith that Thor will return in time," Loki said.

"Pardon my boldness, Allfather, but I must disagree."

"Oh?"

"Thor is no longer as young as he once was - it is true that he once thought of love as one looks forward to a feast; wonderful, but once full, done. I have seen the way in which he looks at his Jane Foster. For as long she lives, I do not believe that he would step foot in this place."

Loki considered her words. She was always the most eloquent out of all of Thor's companions, save himself. He marveled at her humility, then. She spoke of his love of Jane as if she were somehow detached from it, when he knew how badly it must sting.

"Sometimes…" Sif started, but then hesitated.

"What, my child? Speak."

"Sometimes I wish Loki were here," she said quietly, barely above a whisper. It was startling, her statement. He did not answer; he found himself for once at a loss of anything to say.

"I know you must wonder why I say such a thing," she said quickly, louder. "But only Loki could convince Thor of the danger of his love with a mortal. For certain, she will die. Their lifespan is but a blink to us. I know Thor did not choose such a love, but even still…"

Her words brought forth a thought, somewhere in the depths of his mind. Yes, Loki could have possibly convinced Thor out of this, at one time, before Loki's mischief took such a disastrous turn. Centuries ago, when their relationship teetered between companionship and rivalry, only sometimes tainted by Loki's jealousy and cunning. When Thor took to Loki to ask advice; when Thor would go hardly anywhere without him by his side. Thor may have been impossible most of the time, but he still took Loki's words to heart.

Loki thought then of the Golden Apples: the magical fruit that bore immortality to those who consumed them. But they did not come to those without a test. He thought of Jane then, her mortal heart and courage that kept her by Thor's side. Perhaps he was feeling gracious, but he thought it may be possible, even an obvious thing to do, to trial her. It was clear that their lifespan was so very short. That after her death Thor would return, disturbing Loki's rule and it would be so very tiresome. To save himself of the inconvenience, immortality was an easy answer.

"I've had a thought. What say you to this," he said to Sif. "We could save Thor of despair by giving his Jane Foster the test. If she should pass, the Golden Apples would be hers to enjoy."

Sif was silent for a moment, and all that could be heard was the wind.

"That would indeed save him of the inevitable grief," she answered. "But Allfather, if she does not pass the test…" She gave him an inquiring look.

"The rules have never changed," Loki said. "I would be forced to cast her from Asgard and erase her memory of Thor."

"Do you think she would succeed?" Sif asked tentatively. "The test is not for the weak of heart."

He considered her question. He knew not much of Jane's temperament, save the short period he spent with her, when she had been consumed by the Aether. She had displayed a strength he knew not possible from a Midgardian. And yet, this test was different. It required much more than physical strength.

"I have faith that she would," he finally replied. However, his words did not feel quite right on his tongue. Such was always with the art of lies.

()()()

Perhaps Loki was feeling particularly mischievous, and that was what brought him before Odin.

The air was cold and stale; it smelled of dust and age and stone. As he swept down the dank and dark corridor, only the sounds of his steps were to be heard.

It was indeed very far below anything else. Nobody came here, and in truth, this was the first time he had brought himself down here since the night he had taken Odin captive. It wasn't that he had forgotten him, no - Loki had purposefully given Odin the two months of solitude simply out of curiosity. Isolation, cold, and darkness can do extraordinary things to one's person.

As Loki drew nearer to the cell, he hesitated. Ever aware as he was of his projection of Odin's form, he knew that he did not want to come to the real one in it. Yes, it would be Loki's true face that would face Odin this day. He thought of Heimdall, of his ever-seeing eyes, and decided to trust his own magic in the fact that it would not be noticed.

The magical barrier that separated Loki from Odin was the only thing that let off any light - and Loki studied the forcefield's design for a moment before focusing on the man beyond it. The glow was faint and dim, and he could only just make out Odin in the corner of the cell. Odin was sitting against the wall, legs before him and he appeared to be very stiff. Loki wondered if he was asleep, but he saw him move his head and look straight at him.

Loki chose this moment to reveal his true self. He watched closely for a reaction from Odin, but there was none.

After such an extended period of time without his own body, Loki was hyper-aware of his own form. His limbs felt lighter; younger, he supposed. He corrected his posture and lazily rolled his neck, feeling his hair falling about his ears. He flexed his fingers around Gungnir, watching the movement closely; it was his own hand, starkly pale against the golden hue of the metal.

Loki turned his gaze once more to Odin, who simply sat there, staring at him. His face was gaunt and his hair was hanging in strings. Loki's eyes fell to his mouth, sewn shut with his own thread. Odin didn't move nor blink, and Loki began to feel a flagrant irritation at the sight.

"For once the Allfather has no words?" Loki said, softly. He lifted his free hand - tilt outside, thumb stiff, first two separated from second two; it was nothing one could easily forget - and behind him, the empty torch came to life. Odin's eyes flicked to it, and Loki let out a small chuckle.

"Of course you have no words," he said, louder and with more purpose. "For what could come from one with so little to say?"

Loki was merely goading him; he felt no real vindication in his words. Odin looked to him again, but still, did not move, nor did he change his expression. Loki smiled, yet his irritation was steadily coming close to anger. He found it amazing that even when Odin did nothing at all he still managed to infuriate him beyond the line of sanity.

"To think I once called you as my father," Loki said quietly. He raised his hand again, and Odin's Thread was gone.

The only thing to be heard was the crackling of the flames, and Odin's quick intake of breath. It was quiet, surely, but Loki heard it as loudly as if Odin had screamed.

"I have graciously given you the freedom of voice. I would that you used it, before I grow tired and leave you here to rot."

Loki did not know what made him do it. Perhaps he grew tired of listening to his own echoes. Perhaps he sought an apology, or even better, an attempt from Odin to scold him. Loki so loved the reprimands - so misguided, so entertaining.

But Odin did neither. He brought a hand to his lips, wincing at the tenderness. It was quite gruesome, if Loki were to be honest. He did not heal the wounds there, simply banished the Thread; he would of course summon them again, in time. He watched with fascination as Odin realized that Loki did not heal him, and for a quick second, Odin's face crippled and Loki knew that this imprisonment had indeed affected him more than he was letting on.

"You…" Odin began, his voice as harsh as ash. Loki quirked his head and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm listening."

"Why…have you done this?" Odin finally asked.

Loki smiled again. This was really very entertaining.

"I would answer your question with a question: How could I resist?"

Odin stared at Loki as if he had suddenly seen the truth of the universe written on his face. His expression was slightly unnerving, and Loki shifted on his feet, but only slightly.

"I would have expected no less in response," Odin said, and he stood. He moved surprisingly quick considering the lack of food and drink, and Loki raised an eyebrow at him as he moved closer to the forcefield separating the two of them.

They were less than six feet apart, now. Loki misliked the closeness, but did not back up. To retreat was a sign of fear, and he was not afraid.

"To think I once thought that you still had the possibility of redemption," Odin said softly.

Loki refused to fall to the bait - Odin was only twisting Loki's words to fit his own agenda. He was used to these tactics - he did not get his manipulation from nobody, he mused.

"Save your breath, old man," Loki said harshly. "The only one who should be pleading redemption is you."

"Why this time?" Odin replied heavily. "What transgression have I committed to merit this?"

"You're a fool," Loki said, and let out a laugh. It was dry and bitter; more like a bark than a sound of joy. He tried to control the rage that was bubbling out, but it was impossible now that it had come. It was the beauty of such things, he supposed.

"You ask what transgressions you have committed to merit your imprisonment. Perhaps you should close the eye you still have and remember a time when you did not feel guilt for anything."

Odin did not move, and Loki smashed his fist in to the forcefield, letting out a growl.

"Do it!"

Odin let out a soft sound, but finally obliged. A wave of satisfaction washed over Loki and he lowered his fist and stood up straight again. He gave Odin about five seconds of silence before he spoke again.

"I would imagine at this point you are having trouble finding this time that I speak of."

Silence, but Loki found he didn't mind it. Odin opened his eye and Loki saw sadness there. He knit his brow momentarily, distracted by the sight. The last time he had seen Odin make such a face, he had just banished Thor to Midgard.

"You are the fool, Loki," he said. "I have lived far too long to remember easily my time of innocence. And what of you? You speak of my guilt; what of yours?"

"I have no guilt," Loki spat. "I rule Asgard as if I had been for thousands of years. I hold peace in the Nine Realms; I am a kind and just king."

"Of course."

He narrowed his eyes at Odin's response. It was quiet; said simply, as a parent would to an insistent child. Loki gripped Gungnir tightly.

"I would have you know that I have plans to bring Thor and Jane Foster to Asgard to administer the test, with the Golden Apples being the prize."

Odin made no response, but Loki did not care. He continued on, fervently.

"It was your beloved Sif that gave me the notion. She pointed out so wisely that Thor's time with Jane is ever so limited. That Jane would die, eventually - or in our standards, quite soon. And what better way to keep Thor from the throne than eternal bliss with his lover?"

"Your plan is very elaborate. But what if she fails?"

"Do you think she would?"

"I have no way of knowing."

Loki started at his statement. It was the nature of the test, he presumed, that for each individual it crafted itself into uniqueness. Not even he knew of what she would face, when the time came. The Room of the Unknown was just that: unknown. He had seen in his lifetime many who emerged from it, unable to speak and filled with such fear that even he had felt a shiver at the sight.

"How poetic," Loki said then, smirking in the dim light and stepping back. "That even Odin himself has things that which he does not know."

"There is not anyone capable of unending knowledge," Odin replied, gravely and with weariness. "Not even I can know each nook and cranny of the universe."

"Oh, but you've tried, I presume," Loki snapped, goading him. He grew weary of this dance of speech with Odin. He lifted his hand again to extinguish the flames behind him, and waited for Odin's response.

"Of course I have tried. It is in our nature to crave understanding of what we do not know."

That was the last thing Loki let Odin say, before bringing the thread back. Odin winced; in their short time the wounds had surely began to minutely close, and Loki felt a wave of nothing more than pure satisfaction at the sight.

Not even Odin can know everything, Loki thought as he walked away, shifting himself as Odin, letting out a sigh at losing his own form. He vowed that he would not visit Odin again anytime soon; the conversation had taxed him in ways he thought not possible. He left Odin there in his solitude, and thought of him no more.


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