They came to a grand set of doors draped in velvet frames held back by golden ropes. She pushed the door open, her gleaming bedroom stretching out before him. He was the son of Odin, at least by parentage, but even the All-Father did not have quarters this grandiose. Her bed was high up a set of steps, the rest of the room adorned with a few vanities and dressers where various gowns and armors hung with varying degrees of ornate design, type of metal, and fabric. Along the far corner inlaid in the golden brick was a large tub of water, gently steaming and filling the entirety of the room with the smell of lavender and vanilla. She led him to a white painted vanity, the words 'Here and Now' painted on the trim of it, and tapped it with her free hand, letting him take seat on the bench in front of it. A long blue velvet runner stretched along the table before him, where he uncertainly settled his arms as he stared awkwardly into his own reflection. He'd never much cared for looking at himself, he was nowhere near as vain as his brother.
"Asgard," she whispered, and the reflection of the both of them began to swirl away, replaced quickly with his home, Odin's castle.
His father stood, draped in dark clothing, his face solemn. Beside him was Thor, and further beside him the Warriors three and the Avengers, all dressed in dark clothing. The Iron Man, Tony Stark, work a dark suit and maintained his sunglasses; Dr. Banner, his tiny anxious self, wore similar attire and stared down fixedly at his loafers; Hawkeye, always dressed for a funeral, stood beside the Black Widow speaking quietly to her, she did not return a word but nodded; and, Captain Steve Rogers was for once not smiling, in military dress uniform with his shield strapped to his back staring out ahead at the crowd of Asgardian people in mourning. Loki had not expected to see any of them, and it was odd to think they weren't celebrating his death but mourning it alongside Thor.
Odin raised his arms, commanding silence.
"Asgard has lost a prince, greater yet, I have lost a son. Loki, you may have lost your way but I never doubted you were capable of as much good as you were destruction. You died a true and honorable Asgardian warrior's death. May your soul rest alongside your mother in Valhalla and may you await us all with open arms!"
Loki nearly choked. So he was telling them that he was in Valhalla? When he had not long ago begged with tears in his eyes for Loki to forgive him for trading his soul to Freya. The familiar, easy rage filled him quickly; he wished he could pass through this visage, come back home and exact his revenge.
Thor looked on as people clapped, the crowd fixed on the large casket at Odin's side. Thor took Odin's place, clearing his throat to speak.
"There is not a person in this hall that knew my brother as I did," he began, looking out to the hall as though anyone would contest him. He was met with silence.
"There is not a man in Asgard who could fight like him, so fierce in his beliefs, though we never seemed aligned in those beliefs. I know there are a great many of you I call friend who are glad he is dead."
Loki took a deep breath. Those words were all too true, and as Thor stared out at the mass of people again, he turned and looked to the Avengers as well. Some of them did not meet his eye.
"Just as there is not a man here in this realm or any other, who could fight like him, there is not a person here who could love like Loki either. His love for our mother was unmatched, his love for Asgard even after he knew of his true heritage, his love for me though I never could seem to find the time to return it."
Despite himself, his eyes welled up at Thor's words. Thor let proudly his tears fall as he continued, though Loki tried to choke his back.
"In truth, I never imagined doing any of this without you, no matter what side you fell upon. But I will do it now, for you. I know you will watch over me, remind me to be a better warrior, a stronger and wiser man. 'til Valhalla, I love you, brother."
"And I you, brother," Loki whispered back, one single tear making a daring escape down his face. Freya took seat next to him, her body sidled up to his radiating her gentle calm. She gently swiped the tear from his twitching jaw as he continued to watch, his sorrow for his brother and rage for his father mixing like an angry storm inside him.
Thor stepped down to take hold of the casket, flanked by the Avengers on either side. They lifted the casket, cloaked in dark silks and flowers, leading it to the river where he would be ceremoniously cremated.
Loki looked away, unable to look upon himself in the casket, his body in the same armor he wore now, his face pale and tinged blue, his arms crossed over his chest clutched with flowers. He closed his eyes, leaning his head onto Freya's shoulder, letting the tears fall freely now though he hated himself for being weak before this woman. She put her arms around him.
"Let go, Loki. Let go," she whispered, a hand running through his hair as he cried against her.
"He's lied to my brother. Told him I'd be awaiting him in Valhalla, when he pawned me off. It was always his plan from the moment he stole me from my home!"
She pulled away from him a bit, so her forehead pressed to his, her piercing eyes staring straight through him.
"Odin took you from my shrine, where you were left to die. Odin took you not because you were Laufeyson, that was an afterthought. He took you because you were a baby, left alone in the cold of a war he had won by shedding the blood of your people. He had nothing to gain by taking you, except a son," she told him softly. His tears fell more quickly, years and years worth of them all at once.
"Thor, do you see that?" the timid voice of Dr. Banner brought them both back to Asgard. He pointed up into the sky above the burning casket floating gently down the river. Circling overhead was a large bird, a falcon, catching wind gusts and travelling in wide, lazy circles around the smoke. The small, shining blue light that came up from the flames of his burning body, his being, floated up toward the falcon, who swept down in a large arc and caught it, soaring up alongside the blue light until they had pierced the clouds.
"That's quite beautiful," Widow commented, looking over at Thor "I take it the falcon leads his soul to Valhalla?"
Thor did not answer but looked to his father, standing a ways away from him separated by the crowd. Odin looked away, out at the river instead.
"Something wrong?" Captain Rogers asked him. Thor looked to his friends.
"When you are escorted to Valhalla, it is by the spirit of your warriors. We are escorted by Valkyrie, not a falcon. Loki did not ascend to Valhalla," he surmised, looking over to where his father had been standing. He was moving quickly through the crowd toward the bridge to the other realms.
"So, what does that mean? Did he go to… well, the other place?" Stark asked, pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and pointing subtly downward. Thor shook his head.
"He died a warrior's death. Regardless of all he's done, he sacrificed his life to save me, it should have been enough to have him sent to Valhalla, unless…" he looked out to the bridge, his father hurrying along it. He gripped Mjolnir tightly, a thousand decisions running through him.
Loki felt Freya grasping his hand, and he turned toward her.
"He is smart, for as Asgardian," she said, making him smirk a bit despite the torrid amount of emotion running through him. Her hand was warm, but that warmth stayed centered in his hands. She was holding back, letting him feel everything because he needed to. This was exactly what she had intended for him. The real healing of his soul. He was beginning to understand why she had told Odin he belonged here, why this was home. Why living under Odin's thumb and in Thor's shadow had caused him to, as his father had so eloquently put it, lose his way. How he very badly needed to be away from them both, lest he continue to suffer from the affliction of them.
She tapped the glass with her free hand, separating herself from him and standing. The cold, hurt feeling began to pervade the spaces her warmth had filled him with. He straightened himself up, swiped his face quickly of whatever emotion was left on it, feeling a sudden embarrassment at her gaze for the second time today.
"If you would like to rest, you are welcome to stay. I have business to tend to, and I must go," she said, looking past him out to the hallway. He could feel his head pounding, all the things he was feeling converging there and aching miserably. She reached out to him, touched his face once more, the kind smile of hers becoming so familiar so quickly. And in the same instant she was gone.
He looked around the expanse of her chambers. There were two more vanities within it, both of the same design but painted differently. The next nearest one was black, draped with a red velvet runner along the table. As he approached, he could read the words 'to dwell is to drink the poison meant for your blade'. The mirror did not reflect his image as he stepped into it, but was more like a dark sea that his presence created a ripple in. Whatever magic this vanity was, it was dark and alluring, a magnet drawing his hand up to touch the surface of the settling sea before he could think better of it. The surface lurched at his touch in the same way a dropping anchor would, black droplets spilling out onto the velvet runner and across the table before him.
"Shit, that is definitely going to stain," he muttered, attempting to wipe the ink-colored stains away. The sea was beginning to part in the vanity and he could hear a familiar voice, one he never expected to hear again.
