Author's Note: I can't believe how many favorites and follows this story has gotten after just two chapters! Thank you so much! So fair warning, this chapter contains a minor spoiler for Thor: Ragnarok if you haven't seen it. It won't ruin the movie for you or anything. It just gives away the whereabouts of Odin which is explained pretty early on in the movie. (Loki, Loki, Loki...) I have some really long work days ahead of me, so if I don't post the next chapter right away, that is why! Also I've been neglecting my other story that I'm almost done with... Thank you for reading!

Two – Audience With the King

It was all he'd ever wanted and yet the empty hall before him felt a touch lonely. What was the point of being king if no one even knew you were there? Well, no one but that irritatingly perceptive mortal locked in his old cell in the dungeons. He had often imagined a coronation with fanfare and cheering, king's scepter in hand. He'd been made king once when his father had fallen into the Odin sleep and his brother had been banished to Midgard. The line of succession had fallen to him, and his mother had looked upon him with proud eyes as he took the golden scepter, accepting the role until his father woke. But now his mother was dead and there was no one left to remember that. His rule had been short. The people had hardly known what was happening before Thor made his untimely return back to Asgard, single-handedly destroying the carefully laid plan Loki had nearly completed. All he'd wanted to do was prove to his father that he was just as great a son. He might not have the brute strength and warrior's heart like Thor, but he had intelligence and strategy. He used his mind where Thor used his hammer. But all Thor and Odin had seen was betrayal. Nothing his mother could have said would have swayed them. He was the lesser son, and he would always be.

Now he found that he had no one to prove anything to. Everyone thought he was Odin, and he knew he needed to retain the guise if they would ever accept him as king. It wasn't exactly what he'd wanted. He had the throne, true, but he hadn't proved that he could be just as good a king as Thor. It took the joy out of having the throne at all.

Loki drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne which was much less comfortable than he remembered. He'd felt more triumphant even before when it was a temporary position. Then it had rightfully been his. Now…well, his father was unfit to rule but if Loki were being entirely honest, that was his own doing. It wasn't like he'd harmed his father, just scrambled his mind a little and left him in an old folks home for mortals back on Midgard. Odin had had his time as king after all. Now it was Loki's turn. He'd been waiting for the role for over a thousand years now after all. Ironic that in the end Thor had never actually had the throne for himself. His coronation had been ruined thanks to Loki's little stunt with the Frost Giants, and Thor's subsequent backlash had resulted in his exile.

Now Loki wondered what would happen when Thor returned from Midgard. He'd spent much time there of late with his new friends that Loki had come to despise during his time in the city they called New York. The mortals all thought Thor to be a hero, but they'd refused to bow to Loki. Pitiful. Mortals always had been weak like that, he thought. So quick to idolize someone powerful like Thor. They didn't appreciate true power.

"My king." Loki started as Lady Sif approached. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't even seen her. How strange it was looking down at her when all she could see was his father. Last time she'd spoken to Loki as himself she'd threatened his life. He held back a smirk as Sif knelt before him in respect.

"You accepted an audience with the mortal girl," she reminded him as if he'd forgotten. He forced himself to be patient. "Might I bring her up now?"

"Very well."

Sif bowed and headed in the direction of the dungeons. Loki had given her the task of speaking with the girl in order to keep the warrior distracted. Sif was too shrewd, and he knew he had to tread carefully. He might have looked and spoken like Odin, but his words were his own though carefully crafted to fit his father. He had to stay in character or the people would grow suspicious. Fortunately he'd been left alone for the most part. After Frigga's death, Odin was still mourning. That, at least, he did not have to act out.

He hadn't been able to protect her. Hadn't been able to save her. Her death resonated with him and though the pain felt like weakness, he held tight to it; it was all he had left of her now. After all the abandonment he'd felt from his father and his brother, Loki had never felt abandoned by his mother. She'd taught him everything he knew about sorcery, helped him hone his skills until he had mastered the art of magic. He felt her loss like a hole in his heart though he sometimes wondered lately if he had a heart. It was so much easier to shut people out, but some of them kept finding a way back in.

And now there was this mortal girl who had seen through his illusion the day before. She intrigued him in a way no mortal ever had. Most were dull and predictable, but not her. She'd even found a way to disarm him the night before when he'd spoken to her in her cell. Of course that had just been an illusion, but the knife was real enough. He'd left it with her just to see what she would do. She was nearly as easy to manipulate as others like her, but her uncanny ability was still unsettling. Today he would see if she remembered anything from the night before. If she believed it. She'd all but admitted that people thought she was mad the night before. How close-minded mortals could be. They thought anyone who was different needed to be changed, conformed to fit within the confines of a society that refused to see past the tips of their own noses. If something was too difficult for them to understand, they tucked it away refusing to admit it existed.

He heard footsteps and carefully arranged his face into the wise but stern expression he'd often seen on his father's face. Lady Sif walked beside the girl, and Loki watched the mortal carefully. She was attractive by mortal standards, he supposed, with dark hair that verged between deep brown and black and chocolate eyes to match. Her skin was a shade of olive, and her red lips seemed to be pressed in a permanent frown. She wasn't very old. Not by mortal standards and certainly not by Asgardian standards. As he studied her, he saw her mind whirling behind those dark eyes. He couldn't tell if she saw him or the king Lady Sif saw. She wore typical Midgardian garb. Denim pants streaked with grass stains and a sweater that was baggy enough to hide her figure. Her sneakers were so worn that he could see bits of her neon pink socks through several holes. There was no dignity in the way mortals dressed.

"I would speak to the mortal alone," he told Lady Sif who stiffened as if wanting to refuse the request.

"I'll be right outside," she said instead, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. It seemed as if they'd bonded in the short time the mortal had been there, and Loki wondered at the easy way Sif had with others. He'd never found it that easy to get along with other people even before they'd all marked him as a traitor.

He waited until Sif had left the room before returning his attention to the girl. She was not kneeling, but he didn't bother with formalities. "You requested an audience with me," he said to her, gauging her response.

"Yes, your Majesty," she said. It came out sounding more like a question.

"Tell me, child. What do you see?" he asked her, waiting to see if she would divulge the truth or sum it up to her own craziness. He felt like a cat playing with its prey, but he needed to indulge himself every once in awhile.

"I…I'm not sure what you're referring to," she said. "If you mean this hall, then I see a place filled with history and glory and everything I would never have thought could be real." She looked up at the murals overhead that painted Odin and Thor's glory. Loki didn't like to look up at them. They were just another reminder of growing up in Thor's shadow.

"And?" he prompted.

"And I see a king who has sat in these halls for probably longer than I've been alive." She wouldn't quite meet his eyes unlike the night before when she'd been seeking him out in the dark. "Your image is in the murals," she added. "And I suppose that's Thor." She nodded to the paintings overhead.

"Yes. That is my firstborn."

"But you had another son." She looked up at him then, frowning. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Loki cocked his head, studying her. She met his gaze, not defiantly but respectfully. Whatever had allowed her to see through his illusions the day before was gone, and he found himself grateful for it. He would not allow one mortal to destroy his reign on Asgard by simply being able to see through his illusion.

"I was told he died a hero," he said. "I am proud of both my sons."

He found himself wishing it were Odin really saying those words though he'd cast his father out without a second thought. He'd craved his father's acceptance for so long that it startled him to realize a part of him still wanted it. It angered him too, but he forced himself to keep the anger from showing on his face.

"You wish to go home." The sooner she was gone, the better. Whatever fluke had let her see past his illusions was better in an entirely different realm, far away from him.

"Yes," she said, sounding relieved at the change in subject. This was what she had wanted to ask, but she'd curved her tongue in an attempt to show respect to the king.

"Your family will be worried."

She blanched but recovered quickly. "Yeah." She gave him a small smile as if to cover up her reaction to the mention of family. He found himself intrigued despite himself, but whether or not she had a family waiting for her back in her own realm had no bearing on his day.

"I will allow you to return to your home on one condition." He watched her throat as she swallowed. She was nervous, but her dark eyes didn't leave his. "If our keeper of the Bifrost declares it to be safe, he will return you to your home in Midgard. We cannot risk opening a portal if the battle still rages."

"Thank you." She hesitated as if she wanted to say more but then seemed to think better of it.

"The Lady Sif will take you there once you retrieve your possessions. I hope your stay wasn't too uncomfortable. In these dark times, we must take precautions."

"I understand." The fight had gone out of her since the last time he'd seen her. He wondered if she'd muddled her mind again with the pills mortals thought would cure them. If only she knew she didn't need curing. Still, it was better off this way. His illusions stood up to her, and she would be gone within the hour. His next order of business was his brother. Loki expected he would be back any day, sauntering in like he owned the place. Only – Thor had changed. Loki was pretty sure it had started with his banishment, and it pained him to think that his brother had actually grown, actually learned something.

"Thank you," the girl said again. Loki had almost forgotten her presence, his thoughts so far ahead of the moment. She bowed awkwardly before leaving him. Alone again. Her drabble had almost been more interesting than the silence. She looked back once as she left, eyes penetrating as if she could once again see through his illusion. Then she was gone, and he realized he was more than a little bothered by the fact that he didn't know whether or not she could really see him.

…

As Kyra retrieved her things from the cell, her fingers brushed the knife under her pillow. Without thinking she stashed it in her bag. She turned to her pile of books and frowned. Twelfth Night was missing, but she'd read it enough that she supposed it wasn't that big of a deal. It bothered her to think someone had been going through her stuff, but she wasn't about to demand its return. All she wanted was off this realm and back into her own.

"What is the Bifrost, and should I be worried?" she asked Sif as they made their way out of the dungeons and through the halls of the palace. She tried not to gawk at the murals and statues and every person they passed. She received a few odd looks, and she supposed she looked very out of place. She pulled the bag up on her shoulder and fiddled self-consciously with the sleeves of her sweater.

Lady Sif gave her an amused smile. "Not unless you are prone to motion sickness."

"Depends…"

"The Bifrost is how we travel between dimensions," Sif went on to explain. "Heimdall is its keeper."

"I'm having trouble picturing this," Kyra admitted. She'd never been particularly gifted in the sciences, but what Sif was explaining sounded like magic. Of course, everything that had happened to her recently felt equally inexplicable. Maybe a lifetime of being told to keep her imagination in check had made her close-minded. When she was in middle school and all the kids had been reading Harry Potter, her foster parents had strictly forbidden her from reading them or mentioning anything to do with magic. Devil's work, they would have called it. Looking around her now, she didn't think they could have been further from the truth. What she saw here was incredible. As they breached the outdoors, Kyra took a moment to simply stare around her. She'd been too frightened the day before to notice much of anything. Now she saw how vast and incredibly beautiful the city was. The architecture looked both incredibly modern and old. She jumped as a spacecraft flew overhead, turning to look at Sif with what must have been an amusing expression.

"You don't have those on Earth?" the warrior asked.

"Not like that," Kyra told her. "Nothing like that." She found herself wishing she could explore deeper into the city, smell the flowers that overflowed from the gardens, listen to the water that ran through canals and under bridges. This wasn't where she belonged though. Everything about it told of gods and warriors. She didn't fit in here any more than one of the Asgardians would fit in on Earth.

"How long does the Bifrost take?" she asked as Sif led her to a set of buildings to the side of the palace.

"Not long. Travel between dimensions is quick, much faster than mortal methods of travelling." She paused, and Kyra saw that they had reached a stable. Elegant horses craned their necks over the golden gates to their stalls. At Kyra's questioning look, Sif explained, "We'll ride horses to the Bifrost. The Bifrost Bridge is quite long."

Kyra froze as Sif led an impossibly tall black stallion out of one of the stalls. "Do you ride?" she asked.

"I rode a pony once at the fair," Kyra said weakly. In all honesty, she'd always been terrified of the animals. Those hooves were sharp and heavy, and she didn't like the way the horse was looking at her. Its back was nearly as tall as her head, and she imagined a fall from it might hurt a lot.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," Sif reassured her.

"I'm not afraid," Kyra lied. "I'd just rather walk."

Sif pulled herself onto the horse's bare back with ease, reaching down a hand for Kyra to take. "We'll ride together. Or perhaps you'd rather stay here…"

Kyra took her hand, and Sif helped swing her into the saddle with a strength that caught Kyra off guard. "You're very strong," she said with a startled yelp. "Are all Asgardians that strong?"

"We're built stronger than mortals," Sif told her. "Not all train as warriors, but those who do must be ready for anything." She urged the horse forward, and Kyra put her arms around Sif's waist, trying not to cling on too tightly as the ground moved beneath her.

"When did you become a warrior?" she asked, trying to distract herself as the horse carried them forward.

"Long before you were born," Sif told her.

"How old are you exactly?" Kyra asked. Sif looked like she might be in her mid-twenties by mortal standards, but she was getting the idea that Asgardians lived longer lives.

"A little over a thousand years old," Sif told her.

"A thousand?" Kyra would be turning twenty in December. She couldn't imagine living for a thousand years. "You look so young. How long do Asgardians live?"

Sif laughed. "A long time," she told Kyra. "A breath for us is the span of a mortal life."

"I suppose so. No wonder people on Earth are always scrambling to fit everything into their lives, to see everything. We have so little time." Kyra hadn't given much thought to the idea of mortality, but she supposed she'd already wasted a good portion of her life in the system drifting from one foster home to the next when they'd finally had enough of her.

"We've reached the bridge," Sif told Kyra. She urged the horse faster, but Kyra was too distracted by the bridge to be alarmed. The bridge was made of some sort of iridescent material that shone in every color as the light hit it. It spanned out over dark waters, and she could see a circular, golden building on the far end. There was a pointed extension of the building that reached upward.

She tried not to think of how narrow the bridge was as the horse ran onward. She knew there was no risk of her falling off, but she couldn't help picturing herself plunging into the water headfirst. Sif slowed the horse as they reached the building, and Kyra slid off, hitting the ground hard enough to make her knees buckle. Sif slid off more gracefully and motioned for Kyra to follow her into the building. The circular walls inside were laced with golden wheels that looked somewhat like giant gears. A giant of a man greeted them with a golden helmet upon his head. His eyes, too, were gold like those of a lion. She assumed this must be Heimdall, gatekeeper of the realm.

"Whom do we have here?" he asked, his voice rich and resounding. He held a giant sword in his dark hands. It was nearly taller than Kyra, and she couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship.

"This is Kyra Winters. She is of Midgard and is seeking passage back. Has the battle been won?" Kyra could hear the tension in Sif's voice, worry that she'd kept veiled until now.

"It is. The prince has triumphed over the Dark Elf Malekith. He will return shortly with the dark matter." Kyra had no idea what they were talking about but found it irrelevant as long as it didn't hinder her from going home. Heimdall walked over to a circular metal device at the center of the room and slid the sword down into it. He turned it with both hands, and the other end of the room began to spin and glow with the bright rainbow colors of the bridge.

"All you must do is step through," Sif told her. "You will be returned to Midgard where you belong."

"What does it feel like," Kyra asked, "going through a portal? I mean…this one." Before it had felt like stepping through air. Her ears had popped, and she'd been disoriented, but it hadn't hurt.

"It will just tug a little and feel like you're falling, but you're safe." Sif held out a hand, and Kyra took it. "It was an honor to meet you, Kyra Winters," the warrior told her. "I wish you luck back in your realm."

"Thank you." Kyra hadn't expected to find a friend when she'd first dropped into this realm, but somehow she had. It was more than she could say for her own realm. "Your kindness means a lot to me. I hope that our paths cross again some day. Maybe…"

"The Convergence is over, so you don't have to worry about falling through any more portals," Sif told her.

"That's a relief." She still had no idea what the Convergence was, but she found the pull of home stronger than her curiosity. She let go of Sif's hand and moved toward the portal. Then she stepped through. It was like falling, but more like falling through a rainbow slide. Nothing hurt and though her stomach dropped a little, she didn't feel ill. Then her feet were on solid ground, and she found herself standing amid the ruins of her university.