XXI. Just Breathe

Thor was true to his word: he spoke to Frigga that very morning. Loki lingered in her sitting room while they talked, still dazed, his gut twisting. He felt exhausted in a way he never had before—but then, this was all a very new experience. Something in his mind had reverted, righted itself, for the first time in what felt like an eternity. It wasn't healing, not exactly, but it was something.

And it had taken Thor to do it. Loki was not unaware of that little fact. Normally, he would have resented it, but a grudge somehow did not seem the proper course of action this time. How long would it have taken him to realise what had happened—what had been done to him?

Of course, it wasn't as simple as that. Loki would have gladly shifted all the blame away from himself, but he suspected, from what he was now beginning to piece together, that he had been far from unwilling. Why acknowledge the past if you could rewrite it? Demonising Thor would have been easy enough, and he was perfectly capable of that; and all it would have taken then was a voice to convince him that he was right, that his worst fears were all true, that the only way to come back stronger was to first be unmade…

"Loki."

Frigga's voice. Loki tensed, curled his fingers against his palms, and turned around.

She was standing there at the door to her study, Thor by her side. They both had the same look—wary, worried, watching him as though they feared he might have broken in their absence. Too tired to feign offence, Loki raised his chin.

"Well?" he asked softly.

Frigga slowly held up her hand, and Loki could see the silver bracelet glinting between her fingers. Then, quite deliberately, she vanished the band into nothing.

"I will not place it upon you again. Not unless you give me no other choice."

Loki's eyes flickered. She was still giving herself the option, but this was better than nothing. "Do I have your word?"

She nodded. "I promise," she said quietly. "I will not apologise for its use, but I think we both understand each other better now." Her glance was soft, but a faint tightness remained around her lips. "I ask only that you give me no cause to regret this. Show me that I can trust you, Loki. Please."

Loki exhaled and shook his head tiredly. "I'm not going to do anything stupid, Mother." I just want to breathe again.

And, for now, it seemed that he could. Over the next few days, Thor appeared to be going out of his way to make a show of good faith; he did not press with any more questions, though he surely must have them, and the guards that often lingered outside Loki's chambers disappeared one evening. The change was sudden enough that Loki began to feel uneasy about it. Surely it was not that simple. At any rate, Thor must have been very shaken by recent events. Loki was not complaining.

Loki, for his part, was beginning to feel something about him soften, or dull, like a well-worn blade that had finally lost its edge after much overuse. The malice he had found so easy to conjure just wasn't there anymore, and its absence felt hollow, even wrong. With Odin gone, Loki's one solid, remaining hatred had been Thor—and now he did not have even that; for nearly everything he had been sure he hated had, in fact, been a lie. He was... still coming to terms with that. It had been so easy to despise the man who had denied him his birthright and thrown him from the Bifrost's broken edge. It was much harder to loathe someone who had, in fact, tried to save him—and whom he still found himself naming brother.

It did not make everything right, of course. There was too much history between them still—too much bitterness on Loki's part, and Thor had been burned several times too many by his brother's deceptions to let his guard down completely. They were feigning trust, Loki thought, because buried somewhere they both desperately wanted it—but they both knew it was not going to be that easy. Trust was earned—and it was going to take a lot more than a quiet conversation in the aftermath of a terrible night to build a return between them.

And, in truth, Loki was not at all sure that a return was what he wanted. He had been honest with his brother back in the library: there was no path that could bring him back to what should have been. He may have rid himself of the worst of Midgard Loki, but no one could bring back Loki, Prince of Asgard. Frigga, he suspected, understood that. He did not think Thor did yet.

Thor's turnaround was rather astounding, actually. He even came to check on Loki that first night he was alone in his chambers again—not, as Loki instantly assumed, because he thought he might have disappeared—but because he still wasn't sure that Loki's ghosts might not prove too strong for him again. It was touching, in its own way, but far from necessary, and Loki was not exactly tactful in his response.

"Stop treating me like glass, Thor," he snapped irritably, having been nearly asleep when he was startled awake again by his sense of the door edging open. "I know moderation is not your strong suit, but you must find some manner towards me that is not either strangling me or trying to fluff my pillows." He sank back between the sheets. "Go away."

Thor did not seem ready to move. "I just want to be sure—"

"I know." Loki sat upright again, working his jaw. "So do I—but I can't be, and neither can you, so you might as well let me alone and see what damn well happens."

A heavy breath came from the doorway. "If you are certain, brother."

"Funnily enough, I am," Loki said acidly. He pressed his lips together, then forced his voice to quiet somewhat. "Thor, you will know if I need—"

You. He couldn't quite say it.

"—anything."

Close enough.

To his surprise, even to his suspicion, Loki was left almost entirely to his own devices now. His powers were released (he made sure of that, the first chance he got) and the sudden freedom he faced was both intoxicating and strangely overwhelming. He didn't know what to do, what to feel. He had spent so long now with purpose placed upon him by others—was he now supposed to give that to himself? How could anyone expect him to just—go back?

There was an old trick: you moved every object in a room, every piece of furniture, two inches to the left, and it was just enough to confuse a familiar occupant. The prank would surely make them stumble and miss things, and yet they would be hard-pressed to determine why a perfectly normal room was causing them such trouble.

So it felt to Loki—that everything in his life had been changed, but only to the point where the sense of dissonance in the back of his head refused to right itself. It was maddening. The halls of Asgard were as he remembered them—the terraces and gardens, the old hidden doors that only he could open—and now he was the stranger, the piece that would not quite fit.

Loki—this Loki—did not belong here.

And yet, somehow, his life had quieted, and the truth was, he was glad of it. The tension in the back of his head had eased, and he bristled less each time Thor or Frigga ventured to speak with him. They had seen his demons—not all of them, but enough—and they had neither condemned him nor shunted him back at a distance again. It was… not what Loki had expected, especially after he had gone out of his way so many times now to convince them that he was a soul beyond their saving.

Frigga had arranged things well, and was seeing in her own way that Loki was looked after. The attendants who brought his meals and removed what was left were rarely there when he was, but there was always something waiting, whether he actually wanted it or not. He had the feeling it worked out for everyone; the servants were no more keen to encounter him than he was to deal with them. (There was one unfortunate evening when the attendant came earlier than usual, and Loki, still sleeping at odd hours, had conjured a knife into his hand and thrown it before he realised who was in the outer chamber. In a way, it was lucky he had been startled from sleep, or the knife might have hit its mark.)

At least it did not seem that word had reached Thor about that. Loki could more or less go where he liked, when he liked—the only places firmly off-limits were the dungeons (Loki had almost laughed at the irony), and the weapons vault deep below the citadel.

He was sitting—well, lounging, truth be told—on the throne one afternoon, merely because no one was there, and because he could. His head was propped up against one arm of the throne, his legs swung lazily over the other, when Thor walked in. Loki glanced over once, feigned utter disinterest, and waited for the inevitable reprimand.

"Loki—" Thor started, and then seemed to register where his brother was. He scowled. "Get off there."

Loki cocked his head, grinning suddenly. "Make me."

"Norns, I am too tired for this today." Thor set Gungnir down on the lowest step of the dias and gestured resignedly in Loki's direction. "Fine, brother. Stay there. You want it?"

Though he knew better than to take the question at face value, Loki was intrigued by his brother's sudden lack of protest. Eyes bright, he swung his legs down and leaned forward on the throne. "What is this curious change of heart?" he asked, a mocking smile on his lips. "Is kinging a bit much for you?"

Thor gave him a dark, warning look. "Do not test me, Loki, not today."

"You would deny me a lifelong pleasure?" Loki was thoroughly enjoying himself now; it had been a long time since he had dared rankle Thor without fearing for his own safety. "Come now, brother—indulge me. It's been such a long week."

There was a long sigh, heavy even for Thor. Loki waited, and was rewarded after a moment by the resigned drop of his brother's shoulders.

"Father—left a lot of enemies." Thor pushed a hand over his eyes. "A lot of problems."

Loki made a derisive sound in his throat. As if anyone could really be surprised. "I could have told you that," he said in an unimpressed voice. "I might even go so far as to say that I am one of them."

"Is that a complaint, Loki, or a boast?"

"You pick." Loki smirked faintly, waved a hand, and resettled himself on the throne. "Go on."

Thor shot him a long, level look, as if trying to decide whether this was a conversation worth continuing. Loki quickly tried to rearrange his face into as mild an expression as possible. Right now, Thor was his main source of information from outside Asgard—and he couldn't afford to be careless even living deep within its protections. Odin had many enemies, to be sure—but so did Loki, and he was willing to bet that his were a lot more dangerous.

Slowly, Thor took the steps up the dias. He nudged Loki's boots pointedly off the arm of the throne—and for a moment, Loki felt a peculiar flash of memory, like something from a childhood long-buried. But he blinked, and it was gone: another feeling he could never quite keep hold of. He clasped his hands around one knee as Thor leaned back against the throne.

"The Realms are—fragmented," Thor admitted quietly after a while. "There is unrest everywhere, outright fighting, even, and we could not reach anyone until recently."

"I would remind you who actually broke the Bifrost, Thor," Loki cut in, his voice sharper and unsympathetic—but as he said it, he frowned again. "That part—wasn't in my head, was it?"

Norns, but he hated not being sure anymore.

Thor shook his head. "No, but it was you who forced my hand, Loki. You gave me no other choice."

"Mm." That Loki did remember, though it seemed a very long time ago now. He leaned back, playing one hand in an idle pattern over the gilded scrollwork of the throne. He considered carefully before he chose his next words. "I think you really surprised me for the first time in our lives."

Thor frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you were so predictable back then, brother." Loki smiled thinly. "But I wasn't expecting that. And you did make more work for yourself in the long run, but it was terribly heroic at the time." For a second, the twist of his lips took a more bitter turn. "I'm sure Odin was proud."

"I wasn't."

Thor's voice was low again, almost aching. He was starting to let his guard down again, Loki had noticed—the ice in his voice was less than it had been lately. He wasn't keeping Loki at arm's length anymore. It was encouraging, though rather disconcerting after the battles between them the past few weeks.

"I stood at the edge of the bridge almost every day, for a long time," Thor went on softly. "I would ask Heimdall what he could see. Father thought I was looking at Jane. Sometimes I was, but mostly…" He shrugged and turned his head, fixing Loki with an uncomfortably grieved expression. "I was looking for you."

Loki's jaw tightened, as did his hand over the edge of the throne. He averted his eyes slightly. "You were wasting your time," he bit out softly. "Heimdall can only see so far—and there are other veils in this universe besides distance."

"I wanted to look for you, brother." Thor didn't seem to want to let this go. "I would have, if there had been anything to show me where to start…"

"And here I am, all the same," Loki broke in pointedly, determined to nudge this conversation back on track. Thor had somehow derailed it very nicely, and while Loki appreciated and even enjoyed his brother's guilt, they had covered this topic quite thoroughly for the time being. "Don't you have all of Yggdrasil to worry about now?"

"Yes, Loki, I do." Thor shut his eyes briefly. "And now I am trying to reach all the realms at once, putting out fires—Vanaheim is nigh overrun, and Karnilla is doing Norns-know-what whilst everyone else is occupied—"

"And you're asking my help?"

Loki realised even as he said it that he might have sounded a little too eager, but it was too late to take it back. He was itching to breathe air again that wasn't the citadel—and having his brother as a pseudo-guardian wasn't actually a bad thing if he decided to venture to the other realms. Thor might not trust him, might be more inclined to hit him than anything, but he wouldn't let anyone else get a blow in, either.

It didn't matter, though. Thor snorted, his voice heavy with scepticism. "No," he said firmly. "I am not yet that desperate—nor do I trust you quite enough to leave Asgard alone in your company."

Loki leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "So take me with you."

Thor blinked as though sure he couldn't have heard properly. "What? Where?"

"Anywhere." Loki gestured impatiently with one thin hand. "Nornheim. Vanaheim. Wherever." He shrugged. "I could use a change of scenery."

Thor actually laughed this time, low and disbelieving as he shook his head. "So you can bring your chaos to other realms? That is just what I need. I don't think so, Loki."

"Oh, really." Loki gave him a look. "What else am I supposed to do around here, hm? We're meant to be—" He had to chew the words for just a moment. "—working on trusting each other. Mother expects it, remember?"

"Mother expects a great deal more than either of us do," Thor pointed out quietly, giving him a sidelong glance.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Well, yes," he conceded irritably, "but we might at least give her a respite. I—owe her that much."

Maybe it was the honesty in his voice, so rare these days, but he actually got his brother to look over with that one. Thor was quiet again, his glance clouded with consideration, and Loki hardly dared breathe for fear of ruining his chances.

"Alright." Thor's voice was straining between terse and tired. "Alright, in a few days, I may go to Vanaheim myself—and I may allow you also if you give me no reason between now and then to reconsider."

"Fair enough." Loki inclined his head. There was a bare hint of a smile on his lips. "I accept."

He returned to his chambers that evening more satisfied than he had felt in a long time. For once, there was no deception, no plot to sneak around behind anyone's back. Just a chance to breathe. That was all he wanted. He had not forgotten the questionable Einherjar captain, nor the whispers he himself had planted, but all in good time. There would be opportunities to check on his other interests later.

Unfortunately, it seemed that his interest was not the only one at play.

He expected to find the usual dinner tray waiting for him when he got back—and there it was, except that the bread and cheese and half a roasted bird lay scattered on the stone tiles, and the wine decanter had shattered, spilling its contents in a dark pool. And on the floor directly in front of Loki, unmoving, lay a body, the wine creeping towards its outstretched hand.

It was the boy attendant. Loki stood there for several seconds, stunned and bewildered, his lips parted in disbelief.

It was Eirik—and embedded in his back was one of Loki's knives.