Despite all odds – all the court chatter, all the ominous lamentations of the Æsir nobles and all the warnings the Elders whispered in the confines of their secret meetings – Asgard didn't immediately go up in flames under Loki's rule.
In fact, the things continued pretty much undisturbed. The sunrises and sunsets happened on schedule, the water in the bay didn't turn to tar and the sky remained blue and clear.
Loki filled the emptiness left by the departure of his friends with work and meeting and talks and planning and there were moments when he could even forget what he had lost to be in the position he was in.
It's not a goodbye, Natasha had said and Loki held onto that notion. He could still make it work. They could make it work, together. But there were things that needed to be done first, as much as Loki yearned to just leave it all behind and slip down the hidden path and back to Earth. If he played it right, there would be days before the Æsir noticed his disappearance and months before they dared to do anything about it. They could be long gone by then…
It was all idle divagations though. Again, despite what the court might be claiming, Loki was never one to stray from responsibilities. He had a duty to Asgard now and he was going to fulfill it, no matter how much he hated it.
Thor stayed behind after the humans left and it was – a small, but still – a consolation, at least until he grew anxious and easy to anger and started spending most of his days hanging around the Observatory, bugging Heimdall about Jane Foster and what she was doing at any given time. He didn't say anything to Loki, of course, he considered him frail and too weak to be able to face Asgard alone and was trying to spare him the harsh truth that his thoughts were with Foster, first and foremost.
Loki could sympathize, so after a few miserable days of pretending, he assigned his brother a mission that would take him exactly where he wanted to go, with a detour to Nidavellir to pick up some resources Tony would find useful in his bridge project.
There were some… proceedings that sadly needed to occur first as Thor was still officially banished.
The show they had arranged around Loki casting him out was quite believable, even though Thor was grinning like a fool through the whole vapid speech about laws and upholding traditions Loki had prepared, drawing inspiration from Odin's edicts of old. Even Njal kept his mouth shut for the most of it, although Loki could see it came at a great effort. Loki had never been fond of the man and was now quickly growing to absolutely despise him. He was certain the feeling was mutual.
"If you need me, Heimdall will know where to find me," Thor said, as Loki was accompanying him to the Observatory for his last – at least in theory – journey out of Asgard.
Thor could not be granted a horse ride, as he was technically being ousted – which didn't seem to bother the people who gathered on the streets to say their farewells – so they walked. Loki didn't mind. Sleipnir despised him just as much as its previous owner did, snapping its impressive teeth at Loki's hand the moment he tried to come close, to the point that Loki began to think it might indeed be his offspring in some convoluted, metaphorical way.
"If I need you, I'm fully capable of finding you myself," Loki said matter-of-factly. "I have found a few loopholes we could use if you wanted to stay, too, but I presume that's not the case."
"You're as sharp as always, brother," Thor said with a grin and a bow of his head.
Loki narrowly avoided rolling his eyes at Thor and only smiled back.
Thor's heartfelt embrace that followed was about as embarrassing and just as detrimental to the state of his ribs – which he'd had to rebreak the other night to finally get them to heal into proper shape – as he remembered from his childhood and the clap on the back was strong enough to rattle Loki's bones.
Then Thor turned on his heel and walked into the Observatory. He was positively beaming.
Loki remained on the bridge, staring into the void, long after the Bifrost swept Thor away and the dome ceased movement and ground to a halt in the default position again.
"My king?" Heimdall said, stepping out of the Observatory. "Is anything amiss?"
Loki shook his head.
For the most part, he'd gotten rid of the instinct to brace for pain in his throat each time he moved his head, but it was back the moment his attention slipped, like now.
"Why would you think so, my dear Heimdall?" Loki asked with a flash of teeth that might've looked more like a snarl than a smile, not entirely unwittingly. "Should something be?"
Heimdall's brow furrowed. He could always see past Loki's illusions and this time seemed to be no different. While the spell he'd found did a relatively fine job at fixing the state of his teeth, the missing canine was a lost cause and he resorted to using illusions to cover it up, at least until he found a way to alter it with shapeshifting. Loki wondered if Heimdall knew about that too. He hadn't been particularly careful hiding his tracks at first.
The Watcher smiled one of those all-knowing smirks of his that could mean absolutely anything and that – once upon a time – would have driven Loki to red-eyed fury in a heartbeat. "No, your majesty."
The title still sounded like a joke.
Loki took a stroll through the city on his way back.
With Thor gone, he expected at least some shift in the general attitude, but the Asgardians he met on his way regarded him with the same watchful optimism as before. Things must've gotten really abysmal here in the last two years if Loki was seen as the lesser evil now.
For the longest time, Loki had not been able to figure out what exactly had brought forth his ill reputation amongst the Æsir and only now was he realizing it hadn't been any particular event at all. Just Odin's resentment radiating to everyone around. Loki's peers quickly learned to follow the All-Father's lead and approach Loki with the same judgmental reluctance, no matter what Loki did to stop it. It wasn't limited to his companions either – his tutors, his training partners, even the palace staff and servants swiftly grew wary of him. And, by the time he noticed the pattern, it had been already too late. His reputation was sealed – the disobedient, wild child who asked too many questions. A brat in need of correction.
And correcting they did.
There had been only one thing left for Loki to do – live up to that reputation.
It'd started innocently. Some small, benign pranks as payback – creating an illusion of a snake to attack Thor for the mockery of Loki's affinity to animals, replacing his fencing tutor's wine with spoiled milk for his comment that knife-throwing skills were not worthy of a prince, turning Sif's golden locks dark when she laughed at his own hair color one too many times, saying he couldn't be a true Æsir because of that.
It turned out she was right after all.
She'd never forgiven him for that but neither had she gotten it restored, even though the charm he'd used was laughably easy to reverse. Perhaps, unlike Loki, she liked how it made her stand out.
He ran his fingers through his hair, wondering if he could change the color with shapeshifting. Not really because it bothered him, it hadn't for ages – and even when it did, it never occurred to him to use magic to alter it – but because he was curious how far this new, uncharted ability could go. He could feel he was just scratching the surface for now and it was equal parts troubling and exciting. Such explorations always took time and toying with magic this potent rashly might have – literally – irreversible consequences, but that felt like something within his current comprehension of the ability to handle.
He would try later, when he was back in his rooms, he decided.
After that incident with Sif, the more heinous crimes had come. Like that time when the blacksmith Grir messed up one of Loki's stallion horseshoes – the shoe had come off during a hunt and the mount had bolted, throwing Loki off, and breaking his leg – and Loki talked Thor and Fandral into sneaking into the smithery to enchant the kiln to appear as a dragon, giving the man a scare in the morning, only for the spell to backfire and set the building ablaze.
The same crime that would land him in the dungeon for that first, disastrous time.
Even those three months – thirty-nine days according to the Asgardian calendar – were enough to bring him close to complete mental ruin.
Odin had visited him sometime halfway through his sentence – the first and only visit that hadn't been the guards bringing the infrequent fare he'd received when imprisoned in the old cell. Loki had begged – on his knees, crying and tugging at the All-Father's robes – vowing loyalty and obedience, gripped with a delusion that his words might change something. Odin had just looked down on him, shaken his head and left without saying a word.
He remembered promising himself to never step out of line after that. A promise he'd never been able to keep.
I was just a kid, Odin. All I wanted was for you to notice me.
Loki sighed. The sunny streets of the city lost all their luster. He slunk into the shadows, wrapped himself in an illusion and returned to the palace.
Instead of going straight back to his rooms, he wandered down to the lower levels of the castle, not exactly sure what for, and it wasn't before he was standing at the entrance to the caverns that the decision was formally made inside his brain.
Knut was one of the guards posted at the gate, indubitably by his own volition – there was hardly a place less likely to draw Loki's attention, the man must've reasoned – and he paled under his helmet when he noticed Loki's approach, then bowed so deeply the wings almost scratched the floor.
Loki held back a laugh, keeping his face stern but neutral. As tantalizing as the idea of punishing the man under some flimsy pretense for his actions against Loki was, Loki was rather certain it wouldn't bring any benefit, neither to his own sanity nor to his position as king. The man had been, after all, still following his orders, even if a sliver too enthusiastically. Seeing him squirm under Loki's dissatisfied gaze was gratifying enough.
Or perhaps Loki was still too tired for vengeance and the real anger and resentment would come, in time.
"Step aside," he ordered and the guards obeyed without a hint of protest.
The door was protected with a charm, but it submitted to the power of the Æsir king – is it the Loki-force now? – and opened when he pushed it.
The corridor was dark. There were no torches or lamps, there never had been any except for the ones the guards would have been carrying. He brought forth his core and a light burst to life on his palm. He made it float up, until it hovered above his head, almost touching the low ceiling of the tunnel.
The door closed behind him, either at the hands of the guards or by the invisible touch of the spell and Loki had to bodily fight himself to stay where he was and not to bolt and run out until he found himself under the open sky again.
You got this far, you can manage a few more steps.
It was more than a few. Four hundred thirty-seven, to be exact. Loki had counted, once.
The corridor ended and Loki stood, for minutes, staring at the door, at the ironwood – weathered by moisture and time – and the rust that gnawed away at the fittings. He could almost feel the rough metal and the small gap between the stone and the frame of the door under his fingertips. He'd spent countless hours on exploring it with his touch, looking for the tiniest opening, a scrap of hope, a single ray of light.
He pushed it open and his heart lurched in his chest, conditioned to associate the whine of the hinges with reprieve. It meant someone coming to his cell, to bring light, or food, or at least a voice other than his own, or even – on those rare, joyous days – the announcement of the end of his sentence. Pain too, on occasion, but Loki had always considered that a small price to pay for those gifts.
His light shimmered with the rhythm of his heart as he bowed his head under the lintel and entered the cell. The enchantment pushed on him, oppressive and suffocating, but it was no match to the power of the All-Father and it did not extinguish the light, not like it would have done before.
The cell had been his whole universe, all those years. The tenth realm, the realm of Loki, dark and barren and so very lonely. Even in the times when he hadn't been locked in here, it had never been far away. Always lurking at the edges of his mind, threatening to drag him in, either in real life or in his nightmares.
It seemed so small now.
Barely more than a hole in the ground.
There was still a length of chain hanging from the lug on the wall, and the few links Tony had cut through were left scattered on the floor.
The light flickered again and he redoubled his efforts to keep it alive. It was the only thing standing between him and the crushing darkness.
He ran his fingers along the wall, revisiting the familiar textures and shapes one last time, then turned on his heel and left.
He left the door open.
The rock whined, holding on as if in sheer stubbornness for a few heartbeats before giving way to the magic that was piercing it and tearing it apart. There was a loud crack and debris started falling.
Loki did not look back when the roof of the cell collapsed, did not look at the pile of rubble that now stood where the door used to be.
He didn't look back at all as he walked out.
There would be no more prisoners in the old cell, ever again.
It turned out he could change not only his hair color, but its length and properties as well. He stared at his face in the mirror for a while, now framed with fiery red waves. It was an unusual sight, to be sure, but in some way, it worked better with his skin tone. Perhaps this was how it was supposed to look like in the first place? How do shapeshifters even know what their original shape is? Was it coded somewhere in his brain and he just needed to find it or was it gone forever?
He pulled on a strand of magic and the Jötnar blue bled into his skin, starting at his chest and radiating outwards, overtaking his face and hands and chasing the green away from his eyes.
Natasha was right. He did look like himself. Once he was able to look past the skin color, the burning eyes, and the raised lines – that only yesterday an old book informed him were heritage marks and that every Jötunn who'd see him in this form would be able to tell his lineage just from that, which was a fascinating and an utterly scary concept both – the face that stared back at him was his own. It didn't bear the same deep-set eyes or had the sharp ridges of the eyebrows and cheekbones he had come to associate with the Jötnar.
The red hair went even better with blue skin.
He opened his mouth and ran his tongue – more of a faded gray than actual blue, like the palms of his hands – over his teeth. Those too remained as they were – a bit crooked and uneven, but still the flat teeth of an Æsir and not the pointy fangs of the Jötnar.
He undid the sash and let his robe slip off his shoulders. More heritage marks ran from his collarbones, down across his chest and stomach and wrapped around his arms, but the body underneath was still the same – gaunt and scrawny, with prominent lines of his sternum and hipbones sticking out through his skin. A form that never had much in common with the towering masses of muscle the Jötnar presented so openly, and even less so now.
A bout of laughter overtook him. Not only he wasn't a true Æsir, but he was also a complete failure as a Jötunn.
What did that make him?
It makes you you. Nothing more, nothing less, a voice said at the back of his mind. It sounded a lot like Natasha's.
He smiled at his reflection, trying out how it would look, then changed back. It was too hot in his chambers to keep the form on.
Just three days after Thor left, the news arrived from Vanaheimr. There was an uprising underway. Loki was only surprised it took that long.
A Council meeting was called without delay. Loki dismissed the abashed messenger, dragged himself out of bed and shuffled his way to the hall. The hour was unforgivably early and – after spending so much time on Earth – he was still not entirely used to Asgard's long day and night cycles. He had also stayed up well into the night to look at the state of the crown's spending. Just a little light reading before bed that had turned out to be too engrossing to put down, for a multitude of reasons.
He listened as the Elders discussed what sort of action Asgard should undertake, trying to not fall back asleep where he sat, his hand under his chin. The meeting was adjourned with Njal's fifteen-minute-long tirade, presenting him with the outcome of the deliberations, the very same words Loki had been listening to since he had arrived: recall Thor from his banishment temporarily, gather a garrison of the best trained Einherjar and send them to Vanaheimr to squash the insurgence with an iron fist.
Loki heard him out, nodded courteously and completely disregarded the advice. Then he went back to his room – he was still residing in the guest quarters as he was in no rush to move into what was still Odin's bedchamber in his mind – and crashed on his bed.
He slept till midday, undisturbed.
As per usual, he didn't call for the servants when he woke. He was still very well capable of tending to his own needs and the idle talks that reached his ears insinuating he was doing so because he was hiding something didn't bother him at all.
Of course he was hiding something. He was Loki. There was always something for him to hide.
He put on his new armor for the first time. He hadn't bothered with it earlier. As finely as it was crafted, it was still heavy and cumbersome, even with the enchantments, and he was now used to the more casual, unrestrictive everyday wear the humans preferred. Plus, appearing as unthreatening as possible had its own set of merits, so he'd stuck to loose-fitting robes and tunics until now.
This occasion required him to dress for the part though.
He put on his new cape too, as much as he hated it. The head seamstress had almost suffered an aneurysm when he'd told her to make it green and not red. The fur trim around the collar must've been her way for getting back at him – the fluff was constantly tickling his neck and made the garment way too warm for Asgard's weather. But he wouldn't grant the overbearing woman the victory by complaining and, since he needed to make an impression, he kept it on.
Sleipnir tried to bite him again, so Loki quickly gave up and requested another mount. The stable boys rushed to saddle an impressive mare, her silky fur as white as milk. A worthy replacement, and a lot better behaved, too. Why had he even bothered before? The stubborn beast could stay in its kennel for all he cared.
It caused quite a commotion when he passed through Asgard, the mount, the armor, the cape, and all. Somewhere halfway through, he conjured the helmet too.
Tony would die laughing at this one, Loki was sure. Natasha would try to keep her face straight, at least for a while, biting down some cutting comment. Humans didn't put nearly as much meaning into presentation and ceremonies as the Æsir did and Loki didn't expect his friends to understand why he absolutely needed to look like he did right now.
Heimdall welcomed him at the gate of the Observatory.
"It's still but break of a dawn in Fólkvangr, my king," he said.
Loki sighed. Was Heimdall planning out his little remarks beforehand or was he coming up with them on the spot? "I'm aware. But slamming the Bifröst in the middle of the sacred field would be inappropriate. I intend to land in the Gefn Forest."
That way he would arrive at the halls of Sessrúmnir just in time. Early enough to not disturb the daily proceedings, but late enough to not serve the court a rude awakening. It was a peace mission after all and he ought to keep all the courtesies he could.
"As you wish, your majesty," Heimdall said with a small bow.
"Stop that."
Heimdall raised an eyebrow, but it was a performance. A decent one, but a performance, nonetheless.
"The whole title act. I know you don't respect me. And you know that I know that I have very little real power over you. Have at least some decency to say that to my face."
"I do respect you, Loki," Heimdall said.
"Here you go," Loki laughed and it sounded bitter. "I was starting to suspect you forgot what my name was. The rest of the joke is somewhat less amusing though."
"I do not jest."
"That's a relief," Loki said, dismounting. One only makes the mistake of traveling via the Bifröst while saddled once.
Heimdall's hand on his arm stopped him. He glowered, but the Watcher did not remove his fingers. "What is this about?"
"I do not jest," Heimdall repeated. "You're my king and I'm your subject. I'm bound to follow your command."
Loki huffed out a humorless laugh. "Until I do something that's not to your liking, I presume? What would it be? Would I need to go mad from despair and try to annihilate another realm again? Or would something less… splashy do it this time?"
Heimdall's fingers unfurled from around his arm and he took a step back. "I grieve the injustices that have been done to you."
Loki rolled his eyes. That was some way to avoid the subject. "That makes it a whole lot better then."
"Odin and I quarreled about his treatment of you more than once," Heimdall said, and there was some note in his tone Loki usually wouldn't associate with the man. Regret, perhaps? "He was in the wrong by keeping the truth from you."
Oh, of course. Heimdall would've known about his heritage for ages. There was no hiding anything from his sight. Even if Odin had concealed him properly when he had first brought Loki to Asgard, there ought to have been talks and happenings the Watcher would have overheard later.
Loki smiled, dropping the illusion altogether this time. "I see. Should I be consoled by that in any way? Do you expect me to thank you? Oh, in such case, I'm forever grateful you dared to speak favorably of me to the man who took me from my home and made me his prisoner for my entire life. It truly changes everything!" He punctuated the rant with a mocking bow of his head.
And sure, it was pointless to argue with the Watcher, but Loki was so beyond tired of excuses.
"Asgard is your home."
That called for a derisive laugh, but he was too angry for that. "No. It's not. It was always just my prison and now I'm just stuck here, forced to clean up the mess I didn't cause."
There was a beat of silence before the Watcher spoke again. "You miss your mortal companion."
Loki leaped before Heimdall could even finish the sentence and only his fingers and not a dagger were aimed at Heimdall's throat because of the last thread of self-control he still held onto. "Do not dare speak of her," he snarled, his teeth bared.
Heimdall took a step back. "It was not my intent to pry, my king."
Loki took in a long breath and forced his hand down. "I know what my responsibilities are and I'm going to fulfill them. If this is what you worry about, don't. The rest should be of no concern to you. I'm no longer Odin's leashed beast and I do not answer to you. If you think you can bring me to your heel with one call, think again."
Heimdall hesitated, then nodded and gestured Loki forward. Loki grabbed the mare's lead and guided her inside. The Bifröst activated and carried him away without the Watcher uttering another word, which was probably for the best.