Loki can hear the echoing footsteps long before he spots the soft glow of Frigga's magelight which guides the two shadowy figures through the cavernous darkness of the empty throne room towards Hliðskjálf. He awaits them on the throne with Gungnir in his hand, a single torch lit behind him; once they get started, none of them will be able to afford wasting any seiðr on illumination.
He acknowledges Gullveig's bow with a nod, although his eyes are on Frigga, whose pallor isn't just a result of the dim lighting. "Allmother –"
"My king," Frigga cuts him off before he can continue, "I'm begging you not to go through with this plan. The risk you're taking –"
"I know, Mother." Loki keeps his tone gentle and hopes it takes the sting out of the interruption. "Believe me, I wouldn't do this if it weren't necessary. I'm aware of the risk, but there is no other way."
It's obvious that Frigga didn't expect a different answer, but she still looks defeated in a way Loki never wanted to see on her. Then the mask of royal composure returns; she straightens her shoulders and steps up to the throne with Gullveig on her heels. "Then know that will do anything in my power to make sure you return safely. I lost you once, my son, I will not allow it to happen again."
It takes all of Loki's willpower to keep himself from flinching. He's had enough of reassuring lies to last him a lifetime, and he'd rather walk into danger with his eyes wide open than with a veil spun out of false hope obscuring his vision.
Don't make any more promises you might not be able to keep, Mother. He isn't cruel enough to tell her that, though.
Instead, he gestures for the two women to stand beside him, Frigga to his left and Gullveig to his right. "Are you both ready?"
"As ready as we'll ever be, my king." There's an edge to Gullveig's dry tone that speaks of her own misgivings, but Loki has no more time to waste on explanations since he has no intention to let them guess at the real scope – and therefore danger – of his plan. He takes Gungnir into both hands and lowers his head to lean his forehead against the spear; then, closing his eyes, he simply says, "Then let us begin."
Frigga's right hand is a warm, gentle presence on the back of his neck, and for a split second, Loki finds himself recalling the days of his childhood when her touch was enough to banish all his fears, ease any kind of pain and make him feel safe and cherished. Then her left hand closes around his left wrist; she has to push back his sleeve a little to touch his bare skin, and the brief flash of familiar comfort is snuffed out by the memory of the hidden blue lines there, of the markings inherited from a different mother that she's unknowingly touching. She shouldn't have to dirty her hands with the shameful reminders of his tainted bloodline, and for a moment, the temptation to pull away becomes almost overwhelming.
Then Gullveig's left hand joins Frigga's right, their fingers interlacing on the back of Loki's neck. With her other hand, the old volva takes his right wrist, thus closing the circle that is meant to anchor his seiðr and guide him back to his body once his task is completed. Gullveig's wrinkled skin feels cool and paper-thin against his, but the thrumming of her magic inside the frail shell is far closer to the surface than Frigga's, her power bolder and fiercer than the softer, calmer touch of the Allmother's seiðr.
The answering pulse of Asgard's magic vibrates through the spear in Loki's hands and helps him clear his mind of all distractions. He doesn't need to reach for the Tesseract's power; the low, eager hum fills his consciousness the moment he calls on Hliðskjálf's Sight to show him – them – the destination of their perilous journey.
Then his own magic latches on to the Space Stone's pull. Asgard falls away, the shine of the Golden Realm fading into the vastness of the universe like a raindrop in the ocean. Loki no longer feels the hands on his skin, the cold metal of the spear against his forehead; there's no sense of time or distance as he slips through the darkness between worlds without ever feeling the Void's beckoning, terrifying touch.
The darkness splits apart in a familiar flash of blue, but there's no ground to land on, no sudden return of weight and air and warmth – and yet he is aware of his surroundings, can see and hear as through the eyes and ears of one of his magical doubles while remaining entirely unnoticeable himself since his body is literally worlds away.
Loki suppresses the impulse to draw a deep, steadying breath that might make it hard to ignore the fact that he can neither smell his current environment nor feel the movement of the air in the small, circular room he's standing in. He knows where he is, has explored every corner of the place through Hliðskjálf's Sight during those long, sleepless nights he spent preparing for this journey – but he wouldn't need prior knowledge of Xandar's most carefully guarded treasure to feel the overwhelming presence of the Power Stone.
It presses against Loki's seiðr in a way that is both alluring and deeply disconcerting, although he has trouble focusing on the sensation over the eager pull of the Tesseract and the Aether towards their sibling. The steel column in the center of the room that encases the Power Stone might just as well be made of gossamer, since even the best smiths of Nidavellir would not know of a metal able to contain the pounding of its power against the senses of anyone with even a shred of magical awareness. Loki knows only too well how many of Thanos' lackeys possess far more than just that; the Xandarians may fool themselves into trusting the fortifications around their treasure chamber, their guards and electronic surveillance, but they don't even understand the forces they're dealing with. The Titan is already aware of the general area in which the Gem disappeared; if it remains as dangerously exposed as it is at the moment, it's just a matter of time until it falls into his hands.
Loki still doesn't know whether his plan has any chance of working, but he's more convinced than ever that he has to try. His seiðr responds willingly enough when he casts a scrying spell to show him the inside of the Power Stone's container; it is hidden within a metal orb that is small and deceptively plain, but he can barely bring his senses to focus on it before he has to flinch as if he'd tried to stare into the light of a star.
He can only hope that back in Asgard, his body's reaction won't be too obvious to his two guardians, because he is extremely nervous of what he must attempt to do next. He is familiar enough with the Tesseract by now to use its power without too much trouble, but even though the Aether always went along so far when Loki needed both of them, he has never before tried to wield it on its own, let alone in the vicinity of the most powerful among the Infinity Stones.
It is as he told Frigga just a little while earlier, though – there's no other way he can think of, so Loki braces himself and cautiously reaches out towards the Reality Gem.
It obeys his call with little resistance, which is probably due to its eagerness to get closer to its sibling. Loki tries to project as much of his conviction that the Power Stone must be kept safe towards the Aether; the Infinity Stones are not truly sentient, but appear to respond with surprising awareness to their wielder's intentions, although it is impossible to predict whether their response will be benevolent or not. The Gems cannot affect each other, but given their reaction to each other's proximity, Loki assumes – hopes, really – that it will be possible to convince the Aether to follow his guidance.
He has known from the start that he can't remove the Power Stone from Xandar. Any such attempt would most likely be detected and might trigger an intergalactic incident that could end Asgard's ages-old truce with the Nova Empire. Even if Loki were desperate enough to risk that, however, there would just be no point because he can no more keep the Gem safe from Thanos than the Xandarians can. If he wants to prevent the Titan from getting his hands on the Power Stone, the only way he can see is to make sure Thanos won't be able to find it.
Slowly and ever so carefully, as if he were approaching a spooked horse that might bolt any second, Loki directs the Aether towards the Power Gem's container. One cannot use an Infinity Stone against another, but that's not what he has in mind – rather, his objective is the empty space around the Power Stone inside its metal casing, which the Gem's power signature must traverse first in order to be perceived on the outside of the orb. The Aether seems reluctant at first, but after another, slightly more emphatic push (powered by a sense of urgency Loki doesn't need to feign), it acquiesces.
Loki finds himself grateful that he has lost all awareness of his physical body; he can't afford to get distracted by things like a racing pulse or trembling hands at this most crucial juncture. He needs to work with greater precision than a healer cutting out a barbed arrowhead lodged near the patient's heart, needs to keep the Aether's power focused and razor-sharp as he meticulously carves out the thin layer of reality surrounding the Power Gem. It's a tedious and exhausting endeavor, and he feels the strain on his seiðr increase as he struggles to keep his own consciousness in place while guiding the Aether towards his goal.
At long last, he is finished. The Aether hesitates as if it weren't sure Loki really means what he's trying to tell it, but at his insistence, it complies happily enough and pulls the loosened sliver of reality away from the Power Gem and into itself.
Loki is so drained by now that his vision is starting to go grey at the edges, and he finds he doesn't have the energy to feel triumph or even relief that his plan appears to have worked so far. He has no way to test his hypothesis, but in theory, anyone opening the orb now should no longer be able to see the Gem inside because the reality surrounding it has been moved – and likewise, its power signature should no longer point towards the Power Stone itself, but should now appear to be coming from the Aether which currently contains the removed slice of reality. That, of course, is a problem in itself – one that Loki will have to resolve as soon as possible since he can't be certain that the pocket dimension in which he keeps the Aether will be able to mask the Power Stone's signature completely, but for now, it will have to do.
It's not a perfect solution, but it's the best Loki was able to come up with. The Nova Corps shouldn't notice a thing, since the orb containing the Stone is still where it was before. If Thanos does overrun Xandar's defenses and takes the orb from the leaders of the Nova Empire, it should seem to him as if the Power Stone had disappeared from its container. Even if the worst were to happen and the Titan figured out what Loki did, he would still not be able to wield the Power Stone since he would need the Aether to replace the reality around it first.
Under different circumstances, Loki would probably take quite a bit of pride in pulling off such an elegant scheme, but right now the only thing he feels is weariness. He isn't done yet, though; he still needs to make his way back to his body with the Aether's dangerous cargo, and the way his magic is starting to flicker like a candle flame about to go out tells him that he doesn't have much time left.
The Tesseract responds to his call as if it had only been waiting for it, and to Loki's immense relief, neither the Space nor the Reality Stones seem in any way reluctant to leave their long-lost sibling behind again. Do the Gems actually believe that they're taking the Power Stone with them, now that its energy is radiating from the stolen piece of reality stored inside the Aether?
Even if he had leisure to ponder the question further, the Tesseract doesn't give him the chance – it all but yanks his consciousness away from Xandar, and once Loki finds himself back in the darkness between worlds, he becomes aware of the low, but ever-steady pulse of Asgard's magic pulling him back towards the Nine.
This time, though, he can hear the song of the Void filling his mind, can feel it tugging at him as if it wanted to draw him back into the cold, silent abyss to finish what it started and devour the pieces of him it still left for Thanos to find after his first fall. For a moment, Loki feels almost tempted to give in – he's so tired, and the idea of just letting himself float away and hope that the all-encompassing nothingness will swallow him for good this time doesn't seem frightening any more.
Yet the magic pulsing through him gets stronger, its energy filled with a frenzied kind of determination. He no longer has the strength to follow it on his own; all he can do is try to keep his mind, his seiðr, and his hold on the two Gems together and let himself be drawn towards the source of the energy that has wrapped itself around him like a cloak.
There's a flash of blue light that cuts through he blackness between worlds, and where he was floating before, Loki is suddenly falling. He's familiar enough with the sensation which is a regular feature in his nightmares, but the terror that usually accompanies it never comes. Then the blue turns golden, and Loki finds himself back in Asgard's throne room.
It doesn't seem like he has managed to return to his body, though. He can see the huddled outlines of Frigga and Gullveig, their magic pulled taut like a mooring rope during a storm, their arms around the hunched figure on the throne who is clutching the spear in his hands so hard that his knuckles are bone-white.
There's no sound, not even a displacement of air as Loki moves closer. It should probably disturb him to watch himself like that, but all he feels is a detached kind of curiosity, as if the body before him were of little concern to him. The black-haired head is bent too low to see his features clearly, but Loki still notices the sweat dripping down his chin and the blood flowing freely from his nose. Even with the spear to hold on to, his hands and shoulders are shaking, and Loki feels like he can almost hear the frantic flutter of his own heartbeat.
It takes him a moment to notice that the two women are whispering to each other, their voices low and apprehensive for all they both appear outwardly calm. He only catches snippets of their conversation (can't go on much longer… need to trust he knows… I've never seen anything like…) until Gullveig says, loud and clear as if she were speaking directly to him, "The greatest battles are always the unsung ones," and Frigga turns her head as if she were aware of Loki's presence even though she's looking right through him.
Pain flares up behind Loki's eyes like a white-hot nail driven into his skull. With a sickening lurch, the room tilts sharply sideways, and suddenly he feels again – the weight of his own body, the tightness in his lungs that forces him to gasp for breath like a fish on land, the tension in his arms and shoulders that makes his muscles scream… and the hands on his wrists, on his neck, holding him fast against the rush of sensation that is as welcome as it is unpleasant.
He opens his eyes, but all he can see are dark spots dancing in his vision. However, there is no mistaking Frigga's voice when she whispers his name and clutches at him as if he were about to be torn from her arms.
Loki gives up the struggle to focus properly; he knew beforehand that he would have to push himself to his absolute limits, and now that the ordeal is behind him, there's no point in keeping up pretenses any more.
It takes him a while until his voice obeys him, and when it finally does, it's hoarse and raspy as if he had been screaming for hours. "You can let go of me now, Mother, it appears that I'm back."
"I'm not letting go of you for a good long while, my son." Frigga's eyes are dry, but her voice is trembling with unshed tears even though she's smiling at him as she gently wipes blood and sweat off his face with her handkerchief. "Certainly not until I have safely seen you to your bed, and don't even think of trying to skywalk to your quarters. Can you stand?"
"I can try," Loki mumbles, although it quickly turns out he can only stay on his feet by leaning on Gungnir because his head is starting to spin. His free arm ends up around Frigga's shoulders and her arm around his waist as she guides him down the steps and out of the throne room, the small golden orb of her magelight floating ahead as if to lead the way.
Loki is only dimly aware of his surroundings while he mechanically sets one foot in front of the other and tries not to stumble; Gullveig must have left at some point, since he eventually finds himself alone with Frigga outside his quarters. "For once I am glad that you keep refusing to post guards here," she murmurs as she takes his hand and presses it against the door. "Can you unlock it? You seem to have tightened your wards recently, they no longer let me through."
Summoning the small burst of seiðr feels like an attempt to move a mountain, but at long last, the door clicks open under Loki's palm. He almost feels like he's floating again, the aches throughout his body dulled by the leaden weight of the exhaustion that's pulling him under. The last thing he notices is the softness of the mattress against his back before he finally allows himself to give in to the pull and sink into the beckoning darkness.