A/N: Here's the next chapter for you guys. I hope you're liking the story so far, but if you have any questions, complaints, suggestions, or just plain comments, be sure to leave them in a review, and I can address them in the next chapter or via PM. Thank you and enjoy!
I awoke in a cold sweat, my chest wound burning, as if a hot iron was being shoved under my skin. I scrambled up into a sitting position, biting back a scream at the violent burning sensation ripping through my chest. I tore my bandages, revealing the dark, reddish-purple wound that made a perfect line down the center of my torso. Agony knotted up in the area, and I bit my tongue to keep from screaming my torment to the entire palace. I could taste hot, metallic blood well up in my mouth. I raised a shaking hand and laid the palm flat on the injury. "Forsjá." I managed to choke out the word for aid, but the word of power only made my chest itch more viciously.
I threw back my head and took a ragged breath, spitting out a mixture of blood and saliva. I thought quickly, and struggled to my bedstand, where one of my daggers was lying. I tore the silver knife out of its decorated sheath and tried to hold my quivering hand steady. Slowly, carefully, I dug the tip of the blade into my chest so that it left a thin red line across the surface of my skin. The small sting of the knife helped to distract me from the pain of my wound. I drew a healing rune into my chest – the Berkana, and spat out the word once more, "Forsjá!"
This time, relief flooded into my chest, cooling the agony and turning some of my flesh back from dark violet to pale pink. I let the knife slip from my grasp as my head fell back down onto the soft mattress. I gulped down air in a panic. What had just happened? Ingrid's healing should have made my wound more manageable, but the pain I had just experienced…it was like nothing I'd ever been through before.
Could she have poisoned me? Had she tampered with my injury, so that I might die locked in my bedroom in the palace, my body never to be found? No. Some part of me knew that Ingrid would not do that. Her sense of honor was too firm, and she didn't even know that nobody could enter my room.
But how, then? Why did my wound burn the way it did? It was then that I remembered how I got it in the first place. The Dark Elves forged their steel with deadly spells. Poisonous energy ran through their blades. It was that energy that made them so dangerous. If one was stabbed with Elven steel, death was almost guaranteed.
In fact, I had never heard of someone sustaining an injury from an Elven blade and living to tell the tale. The magic in their weapons was quick and effective. Frigga had died almost instantly. So how had I survived?
I looked down at my wound and gingerly touched the long, swollen mark that ran down the middle of my chest. I closed my eyes and concentrated, slowing my breath and expanding my senses. Magic was nothing more than the manipulation of energy. It was living, and it could be detected by a mage with the right amount of training.
And I definitely had enough training.
At first, I felt nothing, just the faint itch of my wound, but eventually, I could hear a small pulse of energy radiating from the swollen flesh. It was like a little heartbeat, constant and steady, but barely audible. My breath hitched. So some of the Dark-Elven magic was inside of me, hiding away in my chest. It must have rubbed off when I was stabbed. That still didn't explain why I was alive.
I made an exasperated noise. I was tempted to try a revealing spell, but I knew it would be futile. Even if I did have enough strength for it, the poison inside of me was strong and resilient. There was a very small chance that I would learn anything from self-enchantments.
Instead, I sat up on my bed, wincing when my injury throbbed. I shoved the pain back, pushed myself off of the mattress, and walked over to my desk, where I started rummaging through the drawers. Finally, I came across a roll of bandages. I gingerly swathed it around my torso until my wound was completely covered. The compression helped to keep some of the pain down. I tucked the end of the soft cloth into the rap and dressed myself afterwards. It felt nice to wear my own clothes again. I wore a black leather shirt, crossed with patterns of green, with a dark overcoat that was studded with gold, green, and bronze. I pulled on a pair of black boots over a fresh pair of trousers. I washed my face a bit in the basin on the far side of my room and combed my jet-black hair away from my face. I did not know why I spent this much effort on making myself look normal. I would be wearing an illusion all day, but for some reason I just wanted to pretend for a moment.
I had prepared my room so that I could hide there if it ever came to that point. Before, I had wondered if it was necessary, but now I was glad that I did. I had kept a small supply of food hidden in the bedroom, and when I found it again, I inhaled it all faster than Volstagg at his birthday feast.
It did not even begin to calm the aching in my stomach, but it was better than nothing. Once I was finished with the hard crackers and dried fruit, I had already decided what I could do with my day.
Yesterday I was weak, barely able to stay on my feet, but now I had regained some of my strength. I could maintain the image of an Asgardian soldier without putting on the heavy armor. Perhaps I could roam the palace, gathering news of the battle with the Dark Elves and my brother.
The conjured the same form that I wore yesterday, and my hand barely touched the door handle when I heard voices from outside the room.
"…What I don't understand is why he would be so upset about it," said one voice. "He was a traitor, a scoundrel, and a frost giant. The world is a better place without him around." I didn't need to guess who they were talking about. I started to understand at the word traitor, but frost giant definitely gave it away.
"Don't let the Allfather hear you say that," warned a second voice. "Or Thor, for that matter."
At this, the first voice snorted. "I wouldn't…" The rest of the sentence was lost as the guards walked further away from the room.
I was too interested to miss the conversation. I let my form evaporate, instead making myself invisible, and exited the room quietly. I caught up to the guards quickly and followed them down the hall. The first guard was still talking.
"The Allfather has not left his chambers since receiving the news of Loki's death. There is some talk that he has fallen into another Odinsleep," he said.
"Well, what else can you expect? The king lost his wife only days ago. And just yesterday, received news that his traitor son is dead? Especially if it was a good death… Honestly, a man can only take so much," argued the second guard.
"There was nothing good about Loki, not even his death," said the first guard. "Besides, he is still king of Asgard. It is his duty to remain strong for the sake of his people. There is also talk that he may not be present to welcome Thor home."
The second guard scowled at this. "You should stop listening to all of this 'talk.' It might interfere with your ability to do your job."
I did not hear them finish the conversation. I had paused in my tracks when I heard that Thor was coming back. So, my brother had survived the battle after all. That could only mean that he had been successful and that Malekith was defeated. It was a small comfort that my apparent death had not been in vain.
I grinned to myself. If Odin would not see Thor, then there was a small chance that I could. It would be risky, but some part of me felt that I could not possibly miss the opportunity. Perhaps it was because Odin's reaction to my death had been so unfulfilling. In truth, I did not know why I had the need to see Thor again, but I knew that I did not have a choice in the matter.
Staying concealed beneath my invisibility charm, I snuck through the winding corridors of the palace until I found the Allfather's chambers. I tried to open the doors. As I expected, they were locked, but a quick spell allowed me access to the room.
It was grand and golden, at least twice the size of either Thor's or my rooms. It was like a small house inside the chambers. I entered through the bedroom, where a long, golden cot was stationed at the far side of the room. I walked through it curiously. I had been inside Odin's chambers before as a child, but the grandeur of just the Allfather's sleeping quarters never ceased to amaze me.
The sound of talk interrupted my thoughts. I turned to the doorway of a separate room. It was smaller than the first, and it was completely lit by candles, as the drapes to the enormous windows were drawn. Odin knelt before a marble statue of Frigga. His eye patch was gone from his face, revealing the ugly empty socket where his left eye once was. His right eye was closed, and his head was bowed.
I was careful to keep my footsteps light and silent as I neared the Allfather, straining my ears to hear his words. I was only a few meters behind him when I was able to hear.
"For the first time in a long time, I do not know what to do," I could hear him mutter. "Loki was our son. He was smart and cunning. He would have made the best advisor. Things could have been so much simpler. Why can't things be simpler?" His voice quivered. A lump began to form in my throat, though I tried to swallow it down. Never before had I seen Odin so bare, so vulnerable. I shook my head and listened intently as he continued.
"I had been torn since his betrayal. I did not know if he was my son, or just another criminal to be locked away. Now that I know how good he could have been, how honorable… Frigga, it just makes his passing more painful." He cleared his throat and looked up at the statue's face. Frigga's motherly smile beamed back at him with no more life and feeling in it than a corpse.
Odin sighed. "Thor is returning today, I suspect to claim the throne. I know that I should be there, Frigga, but…" He sighed again. "I am so lost without you, my love. So lost," he admitted.
It was too much for me. I inhaled sharply.
Immediately, the Allfather's back straightened at the noise, and he looked around. "Is anyone there?" he demanded, his voice like an iron fist.
I stood absolutely still, not even daring to breathe. He could not hear me, he could not see me…
The Allfather slowly reached out a hand and brushed the air behind him, but I was too far away for him to feel me. "Loki? Frigga?" he breathed. I kept silent. After a moment, Odin slumped back down, his eyes downcast.
I could no longer watch him like this. I quietly exited the room and closed the door behind me, leaving my foster father to his ghosts.
