Hi everyone! I don't know why I'm posting so quickly. These chapters are just coming to me quicker. That and I think my subconscious wants to stop skipping around the pleasantries and get to the real action (i.e. the last book), so I'm writing a lot faster. So, this is the second to last chapter of HeartTorn (although I will include a small excerpt to keep you going). Another angst-riddled chapter but I promise the next chapter will have a little action in it. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Song of the Chapter: My Immortal (Band Version) ~ Evanescence

"If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours forever. If it doesn't, then it was never meant to be."

-Anonymous

Agony.

It ripped through him like a child would rip the petals off a flower. Every word, whisper, sigh and thought burned Loki as if he had thrown himself into a fire. There were no words to describe it, no way to comprehend the sensation that was beyond pain. If someone had torn his heart from his chest, he imagined the pain would be paled in comparison to what he felt as he watched Freyja's ship disappear.

He had felt something similar when Angrboda had died, but this was different. It was a different kind of pain. It was different as Angrboda had not meant to die, Freyja was willingly doing so. What doubled the torture was the fact that he understood. He had refused to force her to choose between her family and him, as it would have been cruel. So he had allowed her to leave, knowing it would bring her less pain if he stayed silent.

Her emotions had done nothing to soothe him, either. He had felt how conflicted she was on the topic, having to choose between Asgard and Vanaheim. It was why he allowed her to believe there was no choice. Her choice to die in Vanaheim meant nothing in reference to him, as he knew she would have gladly died for him had the situation been reversed. But he wondered, idly as the idea seemed to numb the pain a fraction, what it was like to have your heart torn between two things you treasure dearly.

Loki wasn't sure how long he stood in the launch bay, staring out into the stars that had seemingly swallowed Freyja whole. He simply stood, still as a statue, and allowed the waves of grief to wash over him as water would on the shore. What was he to do without her?

It was then that Loki's ever calculating mind kicked into gear, sending him rushing out of the launch bay with a slightly crazed look in his eyes as he summoned his armor through magic. He ran the short distance to the palace, choosing to go through the training field instead of the courtyard. As he raced by the walls of weapons, he grabbed a golden double-headed bardiche that was almost as long as he was tall. The others had always been found of hammers, maces, axes, and swords, but Loki found more appeal in brandistocks, pole-arms and throwing knives.

Past the training field lay the stables, the home of every steed used by the royal family and more. Krellir, Freyja's steed from Vanaheim, whinnied as he spotted Loki. He remembered the day he raced Freyja on horseback, the day had ended with him being surprised when Krellir shot through the woods as if running from an army. Shaking the memory from his mind, he brought our Stórmerk, his personal stallion with an unpredictable attitude, and saddled him. Mounting the horse, he urged it to run out of the stables and towards the Bifrost.

People in the streets leapt out of the way as their armor-clad prince rode across the cobblestones with a look of fiery determination in his eyes. When the god of mischief was racing through the city as if to travel to the gates of Hel, they knew something was very wrong. Loki supposed they already knew something was amiss when the Vanir left the realm, but his actions were doing nothing but frightening them more. It was a warning to the Realms when the Vanir, possibly the most adept race, were afraid. And all seemed to be heeding it.

As Stórmerk practically flew down the crystalline surface of the Bifrost, Loki wondered how he would persuade Heimdall to open the Bifrost to Vanaheim. He supposed, as prince, the gatekeeper would be forced to follow his orders. Although Freyja had warned him not follow her, he would not leave her to fight on her own. If he died in Vanaheim, so be it.

When he reached the center of the bridge, he urged Stórmerk to go faster. Then came the explosion.

It was a roar-like tumult which echoed through the skies. Loki instinctively shielded his face with his arms, surprised by the ferocity of the noise. As he looked up, he saw the explosion of color and light engulfing the stars around it. The paroxysm of light rushed towards Asgard with frightening speed. Stórmerk reared in fright, throwing Loki off his back, and ran back to the city. His golden armor hit the rainbow bridge with an ear-splitting screech, causing him to wince at the impact.

As he sat up, he recognized the strong tell-tale crackle of magic in the air and the faint scent of different auric signatures. There was still a cloud of multi-colored smoke in the distance, but it began to disperse as he stared at it in shock. Loki knew exactly what he had witnessed. The explosion had been the product of several conflicting spells cast at once. The levels of energy in the air had been too much to remain stable. It had been a phenomenon experienced occasionally during Freyja's classes, though never on such a scale.

The thought of Freyja caused his blood to run cold, as he knew she would have either already arrived in Vanaheim or was about to when the explosion occurred. He went to stand, but his legs could not support him at the time and he fell to his knees. There was no pain, unlike when he had watched Freyja leave, only a numb sensation as if he had been hollowed out and left empty. He hung his head in defeat, knowing she was lost to him.

"Brother!"

Loki didn't look up when Thor's voice echoed across the bridge. His brother's voice seemed muffled, as if there was a wall between them. He heard the sound of Thor's feet hitting the crystal as he dismounted.

"Loki, what was that? What is going on?" he demanded. "Father's in a mood for some reason he will not tell me and all of Asgard is in a state of panic due to the explosion. There are rumors going about that the majority of the Vanir left, frightened by some enemy attacking their home. I searched for Freyja to ask her about this mess, yet she is nowhere to be found!"

"Vanaheim was under attack," he answered, voice empty.

"No one knows the whereabouts of Vanaheim. Besides, Vanaheim poses no threat. Who in their right mind would launch an attack on the Vanir?"

Loki didn't answer, for he didn't know what it was. He simply stared at the Bifrost, one of the few things that remained of a once great race.

"Brother," Thor put his hand on Loki's shoulder. "Why are you not with Freyja? Surely she is grieving…"

He trailed off as Loki looked up at him, a shattered look in his green eyes. Thor swallowed nervously, not used to seeing his usually composed younger brother so broken.

"She left for Vanaheim," it wasn't a question.

"She left to die for her family."

Thor glanced at the dissipating light in the distance, "The rumors are true, then. The Vanir have fallen?"

He nodded stiffly, "Vanaheim is no more."

"What could possess the strength to destroy our greatest allies?"

"Freyja knew of this."

Thor's head snapped towards Loki, "What do you mean?"

"Whoever attacked Vanaheim was working with Merek. He happened to let it slip to Freyja that Vanaheim was in danger. She was with the Norns this morning to find out why."

"She knew of what would happen and yet she left anyway?"

Loki nodded once more, "She preferred to die for her family than to live knowing she had done nothing."

"Let us return. There is no use in standing here."

Loki allowed Thor to drag him back to the palace, still feeling oddly numb. It was as if the whole situation was a dream, a nightmare he would wake up from to find Freyja lying beside him. He didn't realize when they passed through the streets, nor when they entered the palace. It was only when he stood alone in the corridor that led to both his and Freyja's rooms that he realized he was no longer on the Bifrost.

Closing his door behind him, Loki suddenly felt the gravity of the situation fall over him. She was gone. Freyja, the one person who had ever understood him completely, who shared a mental bond with him since the day she gave him the ability to wield magic, who treated both him and his children as if they were the most valuable treasures in the Realms, was gone. As if the very thought of his children had reached them, Jormungand glanced inside the room.

"Father, may I come in?"

Loki nodded and the boy walked in.

"Have you seen Freyja?"

Loki felt a wave of sorrow at her name, but said nothing.

"I need her for proof. You see, I stole Fandral's hand mirror this morning as a joke, but he believes Fenrir stole it. He won't believe me when I tell him it was I, and Freyja was the only person to see me. Fandral will believe her if she tells him."

"Jormungand, there's something I need to tell you…"

He cocked his head to the side in confusion, "You look ill, Father. Are you alright?"

"It is about Freyja."

"Is she ill? Is that why you look unwell?"

"Freyja left," he answered quietly.

The boy stared back at him in disbelief before smiling, "Well, all's well, then. When will she return?"

"She's not coming back, Jormungand."

"What do you mean? She would not just leave us. Did you say something offensive? Perhaps you should apologize. Then you could ask for her hand and we can be a real family."

"There is nothing I can say, she is dead!" he yelled, the idea of marrying her causing him to snap.

He looked at his son's face and immediately felt guilt for his loss of control.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "I did not intend to shout."

He reached out for his son, but Jormungand backed away.

"What do you mean she's dead?"

"She, along with most of the Vanir, has died."

The boy shook his head desperately, eyes gleaming with tears, "No. She wouldn't leave us. She promised me she wouldn't leave us."

"Jormungand…"

"No. She promised. She said she'd be here for our birthday. And for when we must pick out or royal colors. And when we gain our titles. She said she'd be there."

"Jorm," he said softly, using his old nickname.

He shook his head, "She promised."

With that, he ran out the door, most probably to his brother. Loki, left alone once more, collapsed into one of the black velvet chairs next to the bookshelves. Closing his eyes, he attempted to find some solace in Freyja's absence.

Loki lay awake in the still of the night, unable to close his eyes without seeing Freyja's face. It had been two weeks since the destruction of Vanaheim…or had it been three? He had lost track of all time since the fall. He had been unwell, also. What little food he could eat would only cause him to be sick later. Sleep seemed to be impossible for him. He could tell his family was worried for him, but he could not force himself to care.

Despite the frenzy Asgard was driven into the first couple days after the loss of Vanaheim, things began to calm down when it seemed nothing would attack Asgard. The only people who seemed to be truly affected were himself and the few Vanir who remained. Children without fathers, mothers or both, wives without husbands, they were the people who were left to mourn the death of their race. Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, Thor, and Frigga all mourned the loss, of course, but it did not affect them as much.

Everywhere he looked, Loki was reminded of her. Every room, every corridor, held some reminder of their actions. He could hear her laughter within the palace walls, her encouragement in the teaching halls she had once run, her whispered affections at night. It was torturous, so he had locked himself into his room where there were few reminders of her. But it wasn't enough.

A sharp thud caused Loki to jump up from his bed in surprise. Listening for a few minutes, he deemed it a figment of his imagination and laid back down.

Crash!

He fell out of the bed at the sound, startled into moving but his sleep-fogged mind could not decide whether to stand or sit up. So it had attempted to do both. Grumbling to himself at the lack of respect for people's rest, Loki exited his chambers to locate the source of the noise and reprimand them for disturbing his rest. If he was willing to be fully honest with himself, he wasn't actually getting any sleep to begin with. But he wouldn't say that to the person responsible.

Much to his surprise, the noise originated from within Freyja's chambers. Until now, he had avoided her rooms as if they carried the plague. With a huff of resignation, he threw open the door and strode in.

"Who dares disturb my slumber with such ungodly noise?"

He stopped short as he looked at the five guards in Freyja's rooms. A few of the shelves were bare, her desk was empty of papers and quills, and windows had been stripped of curtains.

"Forgive us, Prince Loki," one of them said quickly. "We simply intended to-"

"What in Asgard's name are you doing in here?" he snapped.

"The All-Father ordered us to empty this room as it is no longer of use to Princess Freyja," the guard said hesitantly, spotting the anger in Loki's face.

Before he could reply, another guard came out of Freyja's bedchamber. His arms were full of dresses, odd baubles from Vanaheim and, much to Loki's distress, Freyja's favorite bow.

"I'm unsure what we shall do with the Vanaheim trinkets," said the guard. "But the dresses will sell for high prices and this bow…It must have been forged especially for the Princess! Imagine the price it will sell at!"

Loki's jaw clenched in anger at the words of the guard, rage bowling just below his relatively irate demeanor. The bow he held was Freyja's favorite. She had forged the silver herself when she was ten, working tirelessly to fashion a bow which would be both efficient and pleasing to the eye. Loki had aided her, taking over when she was forced to heal her burned fingers or rest for a short while. It was the bow with which she taught Loki archery, the same bow that caused his interest in precision-based weaponry. It was her bow, and they were planning to sell it.

Loki marched straight up to the guard, plucked the bow from his hands, and tossed the dresses onto the empty desk.

"What in the name of the Yggdrasil gives you the right to vandalize Freyja's room in such a manner?" he yelled, glaring at the one guard who, in his opinion, was doing the most harm.

"I – All-Father – orders – empty," he stammered, shrinking away from Loki who, even in his silk pajamas, was suddenly becoming increasingly frightening.

"These are not the All-Father's chambers! And I will not tolerate such disrespect to the fallen! If one of your comrades was slain in battle, would you ransack his house as well?"

"We meant no disrespect, my Prince," one of the others said softly.

"SILENCE!" he yelled, causing the guard to leap back. "You will return everything to its proper place and then you will leave. If I find so much as a tunic wrinkled, I will have your hides for wall decorations. Is that understood?"

The guards nodded, choosing to remain silent after his outburst. They then rushed out of the room, no doubt to find the items they had already disposed of. Noticing a hint of crimson on the floor, Loki kneeled by the desk to find an Eclipse Lily next to the desk. It was a flower native to Vanaheim with scarlet petals and a bright blue stamen. The lilies could last for months after being cut without wilting.

Picking it up, he walked back to his chambers. As he closed the door behind him, he couldn't help but take a closer look at the flower. Inhaling the scent, he remembered Freyja's words on them a couple days after he had given her the garden.

"I have not seen these in a long time," she had said, picking one up to examine it. "They are very rare, only growing near the summits of our tallest mountains. What I love about Eclipse Lilies is that each one is different."

She had held it up for him to look, tracing one long finger across the golden pattern on the petals, "These markings are unique to each one. They are like snowflakes, no two are alike."

"It has been a long time since I have seen snowflakes," he pointed out. "And even during my time in Jotunheim with Thor and the Three, I honestly did not pay much attention to the snow."

"Perhaps, one day, I will manage to take you to Vanaheim without anyone's notice. We experience all four seasons there."

He smiled as he remembered the plans they had jokingly made, plans of sneaking him into Vanaheim. They had only been friends at the time, but it was a fond memory. Amidst his thoughts, Loki walked out onto the balcony connected to his chambers. The crisp night air rushed past him as he opened the doors, but the cold didn't bother him.

He sat down on the stone banister, legs dangling off the edge. It had become a habit since he did the same with Freyja before Animi's funeral. Looking down on the sleeping city below, he decided he could no longer continue in such a way. He had reprimanded the guards for disrespecting Freyja's memory, yet what was he doing? She would have never wanted him to drown in his grief.

Life would go on without her, and she would want him to do the same. Looking up at the stars, he remembered the Vanir's belief on death. When a Vanir died, it was said that their soul transformed into a star, as that was what they were said to be created from. 'From fire we came and to fire, we shall depart'. It was the reason they burned their dead. He was never sure if he believed it or not, but it was a comforting idea.

He smiled at the thought of Freyja watching him from above, dancing freely through the heavens in whatever way she pleased. He could almost feel her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her head leaning softly against his. Closing his hand around the flower, he uttered a small incantation. Green tendrils of his aura drifted from his palm when he reopened his hand. The flower had bent itself into the shape of a ship, its hull red and gold while its mast was brilliant blue.

Allowing a generous amount of energy to pour into the boat, he allowed it to float off into the skies.

"Farewell, love," he whispered. "I will rejoin you in time. Until then, enjoy your freedom."

When he retired for the night, he fell into an easy sleep filled with flaming curls, bright blue eyes, and soft laughter. He awoke feeling more peaceful than he had since her departure.

As the centuries passed, Loki obeyed Freyja's last wishes. He watched out for Thor and Asgard when needed and became the greatest sorcerer of Asgard. His children, though saddened by Freyja's death, grew into bright, brave adults who became his greatest pride. When Hel was sent to become Queen of the dead, Loki had protested greatly but ceased his resistance when she accepted it gladly.

When it came time for Thor's coronation, Loki knew he was not ready. He made his mistake, unknowingly falling prey to Odin's curse which Freyja had thoughtlessly created. He learned why Njord did not approve of him and wondered why Freyja had never told him. Desperate to destroy the reasons of his unhappiness, he set the strength of the Bifrost on Jotunheim. And as he let go of Gungnir after his defeat, it was Freyja's face he saw as he closed his eyes.

A year and a half later, he sat in Asgard's only prison. A year and a half of torture, betrayal, death and defeat was what he endured. Then she came to him, changed and yet still the same. The worlds had seen them both to darkness, and together in the darkness, it seemed, they would stay. And so when their tormentor was destroyed at her hands, he awaited the hour she would return to him. He had waited a millennia and a century, and he would wait the remaining hours out until he could hold her in his arms once more.

For the remainder of eternity, until Ragnarok itself tore them apart.