Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay in this chapter! Life, you know. :)

After the past couple of chapters, I feel it perhaps necessary to add that I do write these characters - all of them - as flawed ones. All of them have their weaknesses, their shortcomings, and I like to keep them that way. For me, it makes them real. So, yes, they're all going to make mistake and errors in judgement at some point, or many. I find it makes the story all the more interesting, however. Hope you guys find the same.

VII. Deception

Asgard's main forges lay some ways beyond the palace, closer to the mountains whose feet stretched at some points almost into the city itself. They were easily accessible to one who had spent more than his fair share of nights exploring back alleys—if he didn't get caught. Loki had no desire to find himself explaining to Thor why he had been sneaking about the city in the early hours of the morning. Not that Thor would be surprised, really.

He drew a dark hood over his head as soon as he reached the ground level outside the citadel, and after a quick glance at his surroundings, set out into the streets. They seemed unusually lively for this time of night; he kept hearing snatches of singing, and laughter, and the flare of lights was brighter than he remembered. At first he thought it might just be the adjustment from his long isolation, but everywhere he went it was the same—children skipping and tugging at the hands of their parents, knots of comrades lingering outside of taverns with cups of mead in their hands. Loki sidestepped a pair of swaying patrons and tugged his hood a little lower over his face.

It was when he reached the corner of a market square, where a crowd had gathered and where music filled the night air, that he began to have some idea of what was going on. There were couples dancing in several rings in the middle of the open area, surrounded by more cheering and clapping, and at the far side of the square a group of cloaked musicians had taken up a lively tune. Loki skirted around the edge of it all, and only when he had made it to the opposite side did he cast about for someone to speak to. His eyes found a short but well-dressed man whose ruddy complexion already betrayed a few bygone drinks. Excellent—he would not be remembered. He went and tapped the fellow on the shoulder.

"Pardon me," he said lightly, for a moment surprised at how easily the small words came to him, the act, "but I was wondering what the, ah, occasion was." He nodded in the direction of the dancing.

The man squinted at him, likely trying to see past the shadow of Loki's hood. "What? Where have you been, eh?"

Loki gave a thin smile. "Here and there. I was just… curious."

"You and the rest of Asgard, friend!" the man returned, with an unsteady chuckle. He raised his hand, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there was no glass or tankard contained within it. "To the Veurr!"

The Veurr. Of course. Loki let out a soft breath of realisation, turned, and ducked away without another word.

He had not bothered to keep track of time since his release, but he knew now that it must be ten days following the funeral. Ten days of mourning, and then the feast of the Veurr, the Protector—a chance for the people to celebrate the life of the King that was past, and to welcome in the one that was to come. He had read of it, but of course there had never been one in his lifetime; Odin had been only asleep in the brief time that he had taken the throne.

At any rate, it would certainly make moving about the city much easier tonight. He would be merely one more face among the crowds, and the guards would be looking for troublemakers, not shadows. Luck was with him—for now.

The festivities began to dim the further away from the citadel he walked. The open courtyard by the forges was deserted when he came to it; even the guards who should have been posted there seemed to have abandoned their thankless task for one that promised more merriment. Loki scanned the darkness for any sign of movement before hurrying across the open space and slipping between the arches of the compound.

He found a lamp just inside, and with a practised twist of his hand thrust it upward above his head, where it spun for a moment and then flared brightly, illuminating the workspace that the smiths had left. A smile flickered over his lips; this would serve well indeed.

Loki worked long that night, heating and cooling, shaping and hammering, and slowly the first dagger that he had taken from the armoury began to change. Thanks to the band around his wrist, he could not make use of his own magic here, but he didn't have to; there were other forms of power, built already into the tools and flames of the smiths, and these were just as potent for what he needed. As the air around him shimmered, he set runes of cunning and illusion into the dagger's hilt, reinforcing them with a low, continuous stream of words. Then he took the second weapon, and with a low breath ran its edge very deliberately across the flat of his palm before setting it aside. He watched in quiet satisfaction as the blood dripped down to land with a hiss onto the new, glowing blade, where for the space of a heartbeat it burned white and cold, like ice.

So it did work.

Holding his breath and reaching back within himself, Loki slowly raised his hand in front of his face—and as he concentrated, supressing a feeling of revulsion, he watched his skin cool and darken down to his wrist. Something within him twisted.

The barriers had been broken. He had suspected as much, though in the midst of fear and fire and light he had lacked the courage—and later, the will—necessary to ascertain it for himself. Even now, the memories were far too fresh for him to do more than this, but at least he knew. And now, as much as he despised it, now he controlled a magic that was too ancient, too innate, even for Thor Odinson to contain—and with this new weapon, restricted or not, he would not be defenceless.

It was nearly dawn by the time he finished, and though he was glad to leave the stifling air of the forges, he did not regret the time spent. The weapon that he held now before his eyes was still fairly plain, its hilt wrapped in strips of dark leather, but there would be few blades that could mark it, and it would make its own powers known when the time was right. Loki twisted his hand, watching as the dagger vanished from between his fingers, and with a satisfied breath, he tucked the unchanged one back beneath his tunic.

He made certain to leave everything exactly as it had been found, and simply had to hope that the festivities would keep the smiths abed much later than usual, giving the forge time to cool again. And if not… well, there was no reason for the disturbance to be traced back to him.

Loki could see the skyline beginning to lighten as he stepped out into the courtyard again, though the city itself remained dim. It was quieter now as he made his way through the streets; the celebrations had at long last given way to a hushed, pre-dawn murmur. All the same, he kept to the shadows as much as possible, wary of becoming careless now that his night's goal had been achieved. Besides, there were still some few people about—early risers or late revellers—and now there was no crowd for him to blend into.

It two such figures that caught his attention perhaps ten minutes later—figures that he would have paid no mind, but for the fact that they were moving almost as furtively as he was, and they, too, had deep cowls drawn over their heads. Loki watched them cautiously from the shadow of a nearby building as he weighed his options. He was cutting his excursion quite close as it was, but already he could feel curiosity beginning its insistent tug at his mind, and he was not surprised, really, when he found himself changing course to follow the dark-cloaked pair. He was quieter than they, his steps careful and silent. When they paused in a narrow alley, he quickly ducked into the shadow of the nearest archway to listen.

"What have you heard?"

The words were low and rasping, as though trying too hard not to be overheard. Loki felt his eyes widen of their own accord, and he strained his hearing more intently. He knew that accent, and it should not have been within the city walls.

"Their forces are divided—they are spreading thinner all the time." The answering voice was so quiet that Loki dared to take a step forward in the shadows in order to make out the words. "Parties from the garrison depart off-world almost every day, and not all return before nightfall."

"What of the city guard?"

"Minimal—the necessities only."

"And the mountain outposts?"

Loki thought he detected a smile in the second voice's reply. "They maintain a presence there, of course, but it is no more than half the usual size. More will be summoned off-world before the month is out."

The first let out a low, intent hiss. "You're certain of this?"

"Quite certain," was the soft, confident answer. "Hreidarr has no reason to deceive us."

"Only to save his own neck, if he has been found out."

"He has not."

There was a pause. "We're not ready yet," the first muttered, with a hint of irritation now. "Nor will we be for some time." There was a rustle of movement, though what it denoted, Loki could not tell. "As always, you have done well."

The other gave a low laugh. "Of course. And I shall continue to do so."

"Be sure that you do—but don't return here. We'll send word when you are to give your next report."

A whisper followed, so quiet that Loki could not hear, and he was not quick enough to move closer before he sensed one of the figures departing. He flattened himself again in the shadows. Not until he knew both speakers had gone did he move again and turn his steps quickly in the direction of the citadel. His thoughts as he walked, however, were not on his path.

A traitor amongst the Asgardian forces was not unlikely, at least not to Loki's cynical mind. There would always be one or two looking for something extra with which to line their pockets, and the guards were in the advantageous position of knowing many of the kingdom's movements. With battles raging throughout the Nine, and a new king only recently ascended to the throne, it was the perfect time to sow a bit of instability off-world. Loki might have been tempted to it himself, if he didn't already have high stakes in this game.

But no, what disquieted him most now were the voices themselves. One, the second, had been Asgardian, surely Einherjar, but the other… It had been many years since he'd heard that accent, but he knew it all the same. It was the voice of a man whose people had left the city long ago—the voice of one of the Drey.

Loki tasted the word soundlessly on his tongue. Dreyrugar. It bore with it the suggestion of many things—treachery, deceit, little more than myth—but for all that, it was only too real. Loki did not think there were many who knew that, though.

He quickened his pace, still thinking. They must have taken advantage of the night's merriment to sneak into the city—and that meant that this plot, whatever it was, was not aimed off-world. The strike would come against Asgard itself.

Getting back into the palace was not nearly as easy as getting out. Dawn had broken by the time Loki found himself within the citadel's shadow, and he was forced to travel a long circuit around the outer terraces before he found a point where he could slip past the Einherjar. Even then, his mind was not entirely focussed, and twice he ducked into the shadows just seconds before the guards passed him by.

Thor was waiting for him just outside his chambers.

"Ah." Loki formed a mild, let-me-explain sort of expression on his face, more because it would annoy his brother than because he expected it to do any actual good. Subtly, he closed his hand over the shallow cut on his palm so that Thor would not see it.

"Where have you been?" Thor asked flatly.

Loki eyed him for a moment. For a man who had been the reason for a whole night's revelry city-wide, Thor looked remarkably composed. Loki gave a light, incredulous frown and asked curiously, "Shouldn't you be draped over a bench by now?"

"I've no reason to be," Thor returned stonily. "Where—"

"The entire Realm has been feasting in your honour," Loki interrupted him, rather amused now, "and you're trying to tell me you haven't had even one drink?"

Thor took a step closer. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there."

"And did you think me jesting, when I said you were to stay within the palace?"

"No," Loki answered calmly, "but you may as well have been—you didn't actually expect me to listen, did you?" He gave a thin laugh and a shrug. "You can play king all you like, brother, but it doesn't mean a thing to me."

Thor's face was stony. "You deceive only yourself, Loki," he said, going on more ominously, "And if you ever hope to have your powers restored to you, you will learn not to try my patience."

Loki felt his eyes go a bit flat. "You think yourself so powerful, don't you?" he breathed, stepping forward. One hand had gone automatically to the cuff set around the other. "Thor Odinson, King of Asgard, with the betrayer tight under his thumb. You must be so pleased with yourself."

His brother stiffened, and in the moment that followed Loki braced himself for a blow—but it didn't come. Thor abruptly turned on his heel and strode away, his voice echoing grimly back down the hallway—"Tread with care, Loki."

Loki stood there for some time, scowling at his brother's back until it was out of sight, and he was still tracing his fingers absently over the silver band as he slipped into his chambers and shut the door. Whether Thor had seen him leave the citadel, or had just made a shrewd guess, he wasn't certain—but either way, he would have to be more careful next time. Restrained as he was, what little freedom he did have was more precious than ever.