Disclaimer: This story is based on characters of The Marvel Universe and all characters thereof belong to them. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made.

AN: It was supposed to be oneshot, but I wondered what the All-Father's reaction would be. Not sure how it will read, as I wanted to stay in third-person narrative. All of those pronouns might be confusing, so I capitalized the ones of the All-Father.


The voice sends Him to His knees, shaken at His core. All are hushed. His kingdom stares. He ignores them. He knows this voice well, no matter the lengthy silence. The usually cultured, yet biting tone now colored with desolation. His son. His. From the moment He saved him, cradled him, Loki was His. Nothing, no one else mattered. And now he was calling to Him.

'My independent soul, My son.'

This intense, self-reliant, private soul pleads to Him, after all this time. It brings them both low.

He is the Father. He is the King. His kingdom must come first, always. Hidden, their words slashed at Him as much as they did Loki. He refused to silence them. He would not bow down to them, nor would He allow Loki. Tugging his hair, their heads kept high. His sons must be strong and over time He is proud. They stand tall, backs straight, eyes hard, weapons mighty. His sons. He wasn't blind to their faults more so He believes they are strong enough to overcome them.

First Thor, His choice; cast down, he has a lot to learn. His wings form within the help and at the expense of his brother. The flight, breathtaking, awe-inspiring, creates an opportunity for chaos.

Then Loki. Caught up in the resulting down surge, unseen wounds burst from a deluge of deceit. Blinded by misconception, he makes his choice. The myriad of hues that explode in the descent singe His sight before their connection goes black. Loki's very being is masked by his desperate plunge.

Through others He watches the self-inflicted plummet rip through all that is decent, staining the fabric of humanity with blood and hope. They both break, the fissure between them profound. Their shared pain burns deep in His son. Forgotten wings shrivel in the blaze. There is no flight.

He stares out, past the cosmos. He sees nothing, but He hears all. The hushed murmurs of His kingdom rush past, their self-concern palpable. Loki's voice entreats Him still, not for himself, but for her.

He listens. Her heart beats for him, heals him; His son.

It is decided.

"Both My sons will rise. My choice; My sons."

The power and possession of it sweeps from His body into existence, exhausting in its intensity. His son will fly this time, it is the least he can do. Thor had Loki; Loki will have Him.

'Soar My Loki,' is His last conscious thought. It is picked up on the wind; carried to all realms.

He falls into Odinsleep.

A sudden breeze sweeps in. It twists through his hair, then whispers to his ear. Loki closes his eyes, flexes his shoulder-blades, and smiles.