Twenty-Seven – Smoke Signals
The throne felt familiar, cold, empty. Despite the guards in the room, Loki felt very alone. He had a defense council meeting in a few minutes and had to pretend that he'd been in Asgard the last few days and not on Midgard with Kyra. The emptiness of the room gave him time to think, and thinking was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Now that he was back in Asgard, he was thinking clearer. It had felt like a game before, but on Midgard something had changed. Whatever had been between him and Kyra had become real in a way that caught him completely off guard. He blamed it on Midgard. That place unbalanced him, a constant reminder of his failures. And Kyra… She was a distraction. She was a fragile, breakable distraction. Strong in many ways but ultimately mortal, destined to have her life snuffed out in what would feel like mere moments to him.
She'd given him an out. And he'd taken it. There was something bitter left over in his mouth, something like disgust with himself. Disappointment. His mother had taught him compassion. But his father had taught him ambition, and the two collided. Ambition always won, and he had a throne to prove it.
"My king?" one of the guards approached. "The council awaits."
Loki wanted to snap that they could wait a little longer, but he schooled his face, copying the same placid look his father would have had. "Very good," he said, Odin's voice coming out. He found he missed the sound of his own voice.
The council met once a month to discuss matters at hand such as the state of the nine realms—all blissfully peaceful thanks to Thor—and, more recently, the Enchantress. They needed to decide what to do with her, and Loki found he wasn't quite ready to think about that. Over the centuries, he'd had other love interests besides Amora. Not recently, but when he was younger. Somehow she was the only one that still left a bitter taste in his mouth. She'd gotten to him, and he still resented her for it.
As he entered the council chamber, the men and women around him stood at attention until he sat at the head of the table. Only then did they sit with the scraping of chairs and rustling of papers.
"My king," one of the advisors spoke up. Garth Loki thought his name was. He was a portly man with greying hair and watery blue eyes. Loki motioned for him to continue. "We were hoping to discuss the matter of the Enchantress today."
"What about her?" The dungeons had kept him contained. He wasn't too worried about Amora escaping.
"Well," Garth hesitated. "During the Dark Elf attack, quite a few prisoners escaped including your adopted son, Loki."
"I remember." His words were sharp enough to make Garth wince.
"Forgive me, your majesty. I just wonder if we need to take a closer look at security. Increase the guards, perhaps."
"If it would ease your mind, add three more guards to the dungeons and have them report in regularly. We will not let the Enchantress cast her illusions in Asgard again."
"Very good, my king."
"Any other matters to discuss?" He was actually hoping to escape early. The palace had felt too close, too tight since he'd returned yesterday. He wanted to take Asta out. Shed his guise where no one could see him. He'd had much less time for riding since he'd taken over the throne.
"There have been reports of smoke sighted up in the valley," said one of the women. Sigrid. She pushed one of her long red braids over her shoulder, armor glinting. Ever since Sif had become a warrior, others had followed her example. It was a welcome change, reminiscent of the Valkyrie, the elite women warriors that had once fought for Odin. He had quite enjoyed the stir it had caused among some of the men who weren't so open to change. Loki had even shape-shifted into a woman once to enlist in the guard. The shade of purple the captain's face had turned had been well worth the prank. "It could be bandits or refugees. We should send a patrol to check on it."
"I'll ride out," Loki volunteered at once. Sigrid looked at him in surprise. "I may be an old man, but I am still in charge of Asgard's safety." He wanted to roll his eyes, but no one pressed the matter.
"Very good, my king."
Loki never got tired of hearing that title even if they meant it for Odin. "If that's all, I will call this meeting to a close," Loki said.
"That's all," Garth said. "Thanks to Thor, the nine realms are at peace for the first time in a long time."
"Yes, Thor deserves our gratitude," Loki grated out the words as pleasantly as he could. Always Thor. Maybe it was time to change that. "Send the playwright to my office," he told one of the guards as he left the room.
Forgotten. Loki was all but forgotten. Never mind his bravery against the Dark Elves. Never mind the fact that he'd saved Thor's life. As usual, Loki was a shadow. Well, no more.
He paced his office until there was a timid knock on the door. "Come in," he called out, ceasing his pacing. The playwright entered the room, a timid little man with mousy brown hair and eyes. He was carrying an armload of blank parchment, quills and ink bottles clasped in one hand. With surprising grace, he placed them on the desk.
"You came prepared," Loki said, lifting an eyebrow.
"Always, my lord. What do you wish for today? Tragedy? Romance? War? What inspires you?"
Loki scowled. Certainly not romance. "Tragedy," he said, straightening his face in an effort to remain in character. "The tragedy of my late son."
"It was very disappointing to all when Thor chose to return to Midgard," the playwright said, nodding his head emphatically.
"Not Thor," Loki hissed. "My other son."
The playwright was silent.
"Loki." Loki eyed the window, wondering if anyone would notice him tossing the playwright out.
"OH. Of course, of course," the playwright amended. "The dark horse."
"Thor wouldn't be alive if not for Loki," Loki snapped. "This will be a play to commemorate his bravery and his sacrifice."
"Yes, yes, yes. A very good idea, indeed."
"Maybe I had better draft it," Loki said. "I want to make sure all the details are correct."
"Of course. Whatever his highness desires. Perhaps I can take notes while you tell me the details," he suggested. "May I?" He nodded to the chair at the desk, and Loki motioned for him to sit. "How does this tragedy begin?" the playwright asked. Loki realized he had no idea what his name was. No matter.
"This play takes place during the Dark Elf attack," Loki said, starting up his pacing again. "Loki will be the hero of course. And…and Thor." Too bad he couldn't write out Thor altogether. "It begins when Thor pleads for Loki's help and his forgiveness…"
He spent the afternoon drafting the play while the playwright scribbled hasty notes. "This will be a play to remember!" he said excitedly as he packed up his parchments. "I'll start at once."
He bowed, somehow keeping a hold on his parchments and quills, before scuttling from the room. Would a play be enough though? It was temporary, something people would watch and then forget. But a statue… Now a statue was hard to ignore, hard to forget. He'd look into having one built. He was king after all, and kings must have statues built in their honor.
He could see Kyra's disapproving expression, a raised eyebrow and the silent judgment. She had made it very clear she wasn't interested in spending time with him anymore. He knew he was being bitter. He shouldn't let her have this much power over him. Midgard felt like years ago though it had only been two days. Already he felt himself fall back into his old patterns. He realized he missed his arguments with Kyra, her witty responses and biting remarks. It was easier not to get attached. She was mortal. He would die one day—for all his talk of immortality, he wouldn't live forever—but he would live on centuries longer than any human. Let Thor be weak with his feelings for the mortal girl, Jane. Loki refused to fall into the same trap. His need for acceptance was his weakness. All she had to do was sympathize with him and bat her lashes, and he was wrapped around her finger. He could find acceptance elsewhere. He knew it wasn't that easy. Nothing about Kyra was simple. He couldn't just ignore her, and he couldn't ignore the fact that she might be dying. He'd been called heartless before, cruel, evil. He'd never wanted that to be his legacy.
He felt a sudden desperation to clear his head. The palace walls felt too close, too tight. He left the office and headed down to the stables. He wanted to shed his guise altogether, but he didn't dare until he was out where no one would see him. He stroked Asta's nose when he arrived in the stables, glad for her safe return from Alfheim. Now here was an uncomplicated relationship. Nothing but equal trust and respect. He saddled her quickly, pulling himself onto her back and riding through the city toward the forest beyond. Sigrid had said smoke had been seen in the upper valley, so Loki headed Asta that way. There were winding pathways that led through the valleys and forests, through the hills and up to the mountains. There were hidden lakes and rivers everywhere, a veritable haven for exploring. He and Thor had spent countless hours doing so when they were younger.
Asta seemed glad for the exercise, her steps lively, her head held high and nostrils flared. Loki waited until they were hidden by the trees, a safe twenty minutes from the city, before shedding the Odin guise. He relaxed, enjoying the caress of wind on his own skin. Even though he couldn't really feel his Odin guise, it still weighed on him. The expectations, the exhaustion of constantly playing the part of his father. Odin's patience stretched further than his own.
They came to a fork in the path, one way leading downward into the deeper forest, dark with the thick, bristling pines and evergreens. The other pathway led upward toward his destination. The trees thinned out here, the sun growing hot on the back of his head. Asta flicked her tail against the bugs that drifted through the air. Loki nudged her upward, running a hand over her smooth neck. Her coat gleamed in the sunlight, so black that it held no hint of other color. Her eyes matched, but there was always a glimmer of curiosity in them. Asta loved to explore, and they'd spent many hours escaping to the far reaches of Asgard. It had never been enough. Sometimes, when he'd had a particularly unfair fight with his father or been left out yet again by Thor and his friends, Loki would ride to the very edges of Asgard, gazing out into the sea of constellations and wondering if he'd ever get to explore further. He sometimes wished he had Heimdall's gift for seeing all. Sometimes his own shortsightedness was his downfall.
Asta snorted, startling Loki from his thoughts. He looked up and saw they were nearing the valley. He summoned an invisibility illusion, silencing their approach as well. The path was well worn, but that didn't mean anything. Lots of people rode out this far for a picnic on the lake or a camp-out under the stars. It was silent and still ahead as they approached the lake, the trees thinning out. Sunlight glinted on the surface of the water, blinding. Loki narrowed his eyes against it. He pulled Asta to a stop, sliding lithely from the saddle and setting her loose to drink from the lake.
His boots made no noise under his spell, and he walked the edge of the lake, looking for footprints in the damp soil. He saw at least one set, no, two. Men by the size of the prints, the boots prints deep. Further down the bank he saw signs of a campsite at the edge of the trees. A fire pit, ashes scattered within a ring of stones. They weren't exactly hiding whoever these people were. Two tents had been erected beneath the shade of the trees. His eyes scoured the small campsite for any clues as to who these people were. Something caught his eye, strewn carelessly in the entrance to one of the tents. He knelt and picked it up. It was a jacket. Torn, bloody, and unmistakably Midgardian.
Loki tensed. Had another Midgardian come to Asgard during the Dark Elf attack? Perhaps they'd been living out here all this time, but why not seek help? He rummaged through the pockets, looking for anything useful. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, unfolding its creases until he could see the image on the other side. He dropped the jacket to the ground where it lay in a crumpled heap.
The photograph he'd pulled out was one of a girl with dark hair. She was turned partially away, unaware that someone was watching her. Despite the blurry quality, Loki recognized the girl immediately. Kyra. Someone had been watching her on Earth. That someone was now, somehow, on Asgard.
