Loki's hand tightened on Gungnir, leaning on it, wanting to at least conjure a bit of light at the tip, but that seemed an extravagance right now when he was trying to hoard what energy he had left.
Sif was still breathing down his neck and he contemplated doing what she feared and leaving her down here. He could keep up the masquerade, and be king, and ... and...
His thoughts always petered out there. Being king was better than imprisonment or death, but it had turned out to be a literal pain. And what was it worth anyway, if Odin would get all the accolades for any good he'd do and he'd get only the scorn and the cries of traitor and hate?
And Thor was missing - not dead, couldn't be dead- and Odin was asleep, and what was the point of it all?
Maybe Sif was contemplating letting him go. But no, she would do her duty, for the good of the Realm, and try to chain him up again. He already knew how the confrontation was going to go. They would fight because she would try to stop him, and he would escape and they would chase him, and it would all start over.
Ordinarily that might sound exciting, but right now it sounded only fatiguing. He sighed aloud.
"These are really boring stairs," she agreed. "Why the hells did you bring him here?"
"Someone might have tripped on him if I left him on the floor," he answered drily. He should have expected her to react to that, but the feel of her hand on his shoulder was his only warning as she shoved him. His feet slipped right off the step, and it was a short fall downward, hard. Gungnir rang loudly on the stone as he wedged it against the central pillar, halting his fall, and he ended in an awkward sprawl on the steps.
"Must you?" he demanded in annoyance as he straightened, and let go of the spear long enough to test his fingers and wrist.
"You're not hurt, don't be a baby." She came closer with the lantern, looking down at him with a smile. "You can dish it out, but not take it, ever notice that?"
"If I break my neck it'll be a lot less fun for everybody," he muttered, pushing himself back to his feet. "Now, if you're quite finished pretending we're children again, can we continue?"
"I think you dropped your sense of humor," she teased. "You should pick it up first."
"Everyone's always telling me to stop making jests, until I do, and then I'm supposed to be funny," he muttered as he started to pick his way down the steps again.
Whether it was the fall or the multitude of steps making him lose concentration, he missed another step and had to put his other hand against the wall to find his balance again. One hundred five more, he told himself, wearily amused. All this for you and Thor, old man, and you won't appreciate it at all.
He wrenched his wandering attention back to the steps before he fell again. Finally he made it to the bottom where the steps ended into a wide stone archway.
Deep benath the city, where the roots of Asgard bound themselves to Yggdrasil, there were gaps in the stone of the Realm, where the water flowed before falling off the edge into the nothing. This was one of those gaps, a large hollow cave, cool and damp from a river that ran through the center of it. Loki walked to the edge, the water barely contained in its rush to oblivion.
Sif followed him, her eyes captured by the single stone that broke the flow of the water. Above the water's reach, there was a body lying on that narrow isle. Loki found it disturbing to see his own face look that way, especially when the illusion was wearing his usual leathers, so it looked more like him than he did himself.
She glanced at him, looking alarmed. "It's you."
He raised Gungnir and channeled it to peel back the illusion, relieved to show her Odin, instead. Loki had laid him there properly, hands folded on his chest, with a little pillow under his head.
"Is he alive?" she asked softly. "He looks… dead."
He pointed with Gungnir to set the bridge aglow, so she could see the narrow, transparent span that arched delicately over the water to the small island. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Check for yourself."
She took two steps toward it and then stopped, going back and putting a hand on the knife at her waist. She glared into his eyes. "Don't go anywhere or I will hunt you down and kill you."
He couldn't help a chuckle and grin at her threat. It was hard not to be amused, when everyone was so insistent on threatening him with something he had stopped fearing. "Ah, Sif, always so charming."
"I mean it," she promised.
"So do I. But I will stay. If you fall into the water, you'll need someone to fish you out."
First she stiffened with the implication that she would be that clumsy or need help, but then she narrowed her eyes at him, realizing it could be a threat, as well. He returned her look, letting a smile play at his lips, as she decided what to do. Straightening her shoulders, she marched straight to the delicate structure.
"Do tread lightly," he called. "The bridge is at least as old as the fossil you go to see, and I don't use it myself."
She hesitated and looked back over her shoulder. "Show some respect."
He was done with respect for Odin, but he pretended not to take her meaning. "Fine. Next time I won't warn you, then."
With an irritated breath, she stepped up on the bridge and probably strained her neck from refusing to watch him and see if he was going to do something to the bridge. As much as it would solve the problem of her finding out his masquerade, and she knew it, she didn't back down from making it a test for him as much as it was a risk for her.
He called the energy in his palm, into a sphere he could throw at the bridge and bring it down either with her on it or to trap her on the island. It crackled against his palm, vaguely soothing even though the ache in his head and down his spine warned him that he really shouldn't be playing with it without expecting the consequences.
She stepped onto the island and glanced at him, surprised that she had made it without interference. He had his fingers turned away so she couldn't see the soft glow, and he smiled at her, lifting his brows as if her suspicions had been unwarranted.
She knelt at the king's side and touched his cheek, which Loki knew from experience was still warm. He was sleeping, not dead.
The energy rolled in his grip, as he felt the opportunity come to a head. He had to choose. Once she returned across the bridge, it would be more in her hands. He had his plans and doors, but there was no guarantee he would be able to use them. This was his last chance to take care of the problem she presented.
And then what? He asked himself. Leave her here to slowly starve? Or else he would have to bring her food. Could he assume she couldn't get across? The river was deep and very fast here, but there might be a way. She would certainly risk a lot to escape.
And if she died, if he killed her, if he added another name to his list, and he became more empty than he was before? For what, to keep the throne? If that was what he wanted, he should've killed Odin first. Odin was the one he hated, and Odin was the one who would eventually rouse and take it all back.
When she stood up to return, he clenched his hand, dispersing the energy again. Whatever happened next, he wouldn't do that. He inhaled a deep breath, feeling a bit freer and stronger for making the decision.
Watching her cross back across the bridge, he felt a little dizzy. He had no idea what she was going to do now. Usually he could predict people, but right now he was in freefall. It was exhilarating.
He called to her, "So you've seen that he's still alive. He might even wake up to tell you all about our thrilling discussion on the finer points of hypocrisy."
"And I see you didn't murder me after all," she answered lightly, but the amusement fell away as she approached. "I'm glad to see you're still you, Loki," she said, voice softening as she looked up at him. "Used to be I would never dream you would think of such a thing."
His lips tried to shape words that he couldn't find a voice for, feeling her words like sudden blows, especially when he had thought of it. He hadn't done it, but he'd thought about it.
When did I become this monster? When did death start becoming a reasonable solution to anything? When did I let the jests become real? When did the darkness grab such a hold on me?
His eyes held hers for a moment and he knew she was reading all those thoughts, all that secret weakness, all that dark and evil and shame that sat in his heart. He thought she would turn away, or look appalled, or maybe take out her knife and end this threat forever.
But instead she looked sad. "Loki…"
Her pity threatened to crack what few defenses he had left, and he turned sharply from her. "You have the next move, I believe. Make it amusing so I won't feel I've completely wasted my time."
"No, stop," she said, catching his wrist and tugging on it to turn him back. "Don't retreat, don't give in. It's easier to push everyone away - I know that because I did it, too. Rather than admit to weakness, you don't care and you're cruel. But that's not who you are, not the Loki I remember when we were young. That boy cared about everything."
He shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the island where Odin lay. "That's where you're wrong," he murmured. "That boy was lost a long time ago, and what remained of him died in the abyss."
She made a distressed sound. "No, he didn't," she insisted, and laid a hand on his cheek to force him to look at her. "You're right here. Right here, Loki."
He wanted to believe that, the same way he had wanted to believe Frigga when she had said much the same, but he couldn't. "You see a shadow," he murmured. "A memory. But you don't know…"
"Know what?" she prompted.
He wanted to tell her. The truth sat on his tongue, the taste foul, and he almost spat it out so finally someone would know, but in the end, he swallowed it back down. Instead he gave her a bitter smile and a different truth. "He turned into the enemy."
He set Gungnir down and turned toward the island, holding out his hand. It was so easy - the power flowed for this, despite his exhaustion - body and mind and spirit so tragically perfectly aligned for ice. From the moisture in the room, a lattice of ice formed like a huge snowflake had fallen above the king to make a perfect geodesic dome above his body, fragile and gleaming as if with a pale light of its own.
Then, knowing the final illusion had fallen away from his appearance, he faced Sif again, steeling himself for the revulsion and hatred.
She was surprised, but she returned his look calmly. "The queen told me. After you fell. She wanted me to understand why that sudden madness seized you." Her gaze was steady and he could see not a hint of disgust, though he knew she had to be covering it. "It's not as different as I imagined it to be."
"Different enough." With a thought, he restored his normal appearance, including leather tunic and boots and the shorter fighting coat - though the effort cost him. "So you know."
She nodded once. "I know."
"And you will never allow a Frost Giant to continue to sit on the throne of Asgard. So, tell me, what happens next, Sif?" He didn't wait for the answer to cast for a pair of doubles to distract her when this fell into the inevitable conflict, but he had to let one go when the piercing pain in his head made him breathless and the strain was too much. He had burned his reserves to stave off sleep since Midgard, and it was all catching up to him at the worst possible time.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I know the Allfather would want you returned to the cell. But I also know Thor promised you your freedom if you helped him save Jane Foster, which you did, so I should let you go. The queen would want me to hold out hope for you, because she never lost her belief you would come home."
That cut him, and he had to shut his eyes. He remembered that final look in Frigga's eyes, sorrow and pity and love, too, in spite of everything. She'd understood him all too well, when he'd understood so little.
"Yet none of them are here," Sif murmured. "And so," she inhaled a deep strengthening breath, and asked, "I will ask the king of Asgard what to do. Tell me, my liege, what do I do with Loki?"
The words caught him by surprise, and he opened his eyes to stare at her, to see if she were mocking him, but her expression seemed too earnest for that.
He blinked and finally forced out a question. "Are you mad?"
She laughed softly. "Perhaps, but who else am I to ask, Loki?"
"You know my answer." He folded his arms, not sure what she thought she was doing with this.
"Do I?" she challenged and it made him hesitate. "What does Loki the King say?"
Frustrated, still unsure what her intention was, he said, "That you're a fool to even ask the question. I will not go back in a cell, that I swear. You'll have to kill me."
"That's not an answer. Think it through, give me reasons, be the king," she urged, "Don't be him," she gestured to Odin, "not what he would want, but what you, as the king, think is the right thing to do."
He stalked away from her, laughing in disbelief that she would even ask the question. "And you think I have the least idea of the right thing to do? Me?"
"Yet you wanted so badly to be king. Was that merely for the title of it?" she retorted. "To have more servants than you did as prince? To possess empty riches and a big chair? There's more to it than that, and you have always known it. You said you'd be a better king than Thor; prove it."
He scrubbed both hands back through his hair. His heart seemed to be too large in his chest, catching his breath, and he held his head for a moment as the pain pulsed between his temples.
"You've been the king, Loki. You've been making decisions that affect all of Asgard. Make this one," she insisted.
He felt cornered by her words. The urge to yell at her or rip this all to shreds rose up within, that self-destructive impulse that wanted to ruin things for himself before others let him down. "What do you want from me?" he demanded furiously. "I show you what makes it impossible and still you want to play this game?"
She was uncowed by his flash of temper and repeated, "Be the king."
"Fine." He stopped pacing and stared at Odin's body beneath the ice pavilion for a long time. They all thought he didn't know what the truth was, that he lied to himself most of all, but he knew. If the truth was what she wanted, then that was what she would get.
His voice emerged in an impersonal, flat tone of condemnation. "Loki did terrible things, without remorse, without hope of redemption. He will likely do them again, because he's weak and broken, and the only ones who ever had any faith in him are dead. No one remains to pull him back when he falls again." His breath was ragged as he inhaled, and his lips were dry and cold as he continued, more softly, "But… there is no one else to be king. If I'm not Odin, there is no clear line of succession. Asgard will be rent in confusion at best, civil war at worst, and the other Realms will seek their chance and pull away. We cannot afford that when we're already weakened and enemies are on the horizon. It is self-serving but also true, that I should continue my role. Because there's no one else."
He heard himself, and the smile was bitter. He wished he was saying it to toy with her, but he meant it. All his deceptions had trapped him in this box where the truth was the last weapon he had.
A heavy silence fell, smothering him with the weight of it, as he waited to hear what she would say. Finally he got impatient and turned his head to see her face. She caught his glance and smiled. "Was that so difficult?" she asked, quietly. "I knew as much upstairs. I only had to know you could do it."
He pressed his lips together, dismayed that she agreed. He thought she'd be outraged at his claim that the throne ought to stay with him. "It's a fool's choice."
"Only if you fail."
He glanced at Gungnir where it still lay on the floor. He hadn't expected to pick it up again and here she was handing it to him, even knowing what he was. "A slender reed to place the weight of so much," he murmured.
"Slender, perhaps, but strong." She paced closer to him. "So clear about what the Realm needs, and yet so muddled about yourself. You're wrong there's no left. There's me. I lost my faith for a little while, but I found it again. I believe you can be king. That you are king. You've turned away from the dark path you were on, and you can be a good regent and take care of the Realm." Her smile widened, turned warmer with understanding as she told him, "I can help, now I know it's you. Someday everyone else will, too. Hold fast, and they'll see who you can be, Loki. Be patient with them and yourself." Her hand returned to his face. It felt strange, this gentle touch of her warm fingers on his chill skin. "I hope you'll come to understand that you're wrong about the rest, too. Not weak, reforged. And never without hope."
All his words failed him, as he looked into her eyes. His fingers found a lock of her hair, loose in front of her shoulder, the touch of it soft and a reminder of that boy he'd been when a clumsy spell had gone wrong. Back when the days had been long and bright, in the springtime of youth. Before life settled into the troubled heat of summer, the gathering chill of autumn, and the final long fall into the winter, bitter and unforgiving.
Yet here, perhaps, could there be hope of spring to come again?
He never knew if he asked the question aloud, or she saw it on his face, but she whispered, "Yes." Her hand angled him down and his lips found hers. It had been so long, yet the years washed away as if none had passed at all, and their mouths joined, quick and certain. He seized her around the waist, as her hands held his face and her fingers pushed into his hair.
Her lithe strength fit against him as if made for it, as his hands searched out her skin, while he kissed her, deep and needful for her mouth. She tasted of spring, of light and heat, warming the cold that had settled inside.
She mumbled his name against his lips, her fingers tangled in his hair. He would have kissed her forever, if not for the sharp pain in his temples and sudden burning down his spine that made him gasp.
He stumbled back from her. "Loki?" she asked in alarm, her hands seizing his shoulders as he swayed.
Her image blurred, and he blinked, trying to bring her back in focus. "Sorry," he said. "I … seem to be … unwell."
The floor tilted as his knees gave way. "Loki!" Her arms went around him, and she eased him to the ground, holding him back against her chest. "What's wrong?" she demanded. "Do you need a healer?"
Her face blurred again above him. "No, no healer. I told you I spent it all. Turning every stone and breaking wards all across the Nine…" His voice grew thready and it was hard to remember what he was saying. "He can't be dead." First he had to rest. His body was shutting down in desperate need to recover. But the thought of sleep was a bolt of pure terror right in his chest and he tried to sit up, struggling against her arm. "No … not sleep. Stay awake…"
"It's all right," she smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "You need rest."
"No dreams," he told her urgently. "I can't - I don't want - "
"Shush. They're just dreams. Not real."
"They are," he insisted. They were real, all of it was real. The last time he'd slept, on Midgard, he had nearly crashed the airplane in reaction to the nightmare. He hadn't wanted to feel that, not ever again.
"I'm here," she reminded him. "It's safe to sleep, Loki. I promise. Just let go."
It was true, Sif was here. If there was anyplace safer, he didn't know it. He closed his eyes, and she murmured, "That's right. Let it go. We're stronger than the mortals, Loki, but we need rest, too."
Lured by the calm peacefulness of her voice, he inhaled the scent of her and let out the breath slowly, as the darkness closed in.
tbc