Carpe et Capere Loki has epilepsy story

by chloestanbridge70

Loki has epilepsy but odin and the gaurds dont belive him thor and Amoril do belive him and try to get him to midgard where they belive he will be safe where he can get help

1. Chapter 1-5

Carpe et Capere

UnmaskedPotential

Chapters 1 to 4 were made by the person above that never finish the story so I decide to make my own version that carried on their story because a lot of people enjoyed the story and wanted to read more but the person never finished it so I thought that I would make my own chapters to add on from the story The name is the one above on ao3 if anyone to look at the original poster of chapters 1 to 4

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It began almost inconspicuously: a mild jerk of his leg, a twitch on his face, a blank stare at his holding cell's walls—Loki didn't think much of it. It was harmless. It was needles to mention to anyone and certainly didn't warrant getting help from the healers. It would dissipate, Loki reasoned. Maybe it was just his nerves as he awaited his punishment from the Allfather after trying unsuccessfully to rule Midgard. Maybe it was just his lack of sleep—still, quiet and dark sleep without any dreams—something Loki just wasn't getting anymore. It could have been a number of things with a number of explanations.

What Loki didn't know, though, was that it was going to turn into something and a very large something at that. What Loki was never expecting happened right at the moment he was chained in front of the Allfather and the shackles around his neck and wrists clanked together as Loki went from standing to collapsing on the ground.

Loki never anticipated seeing that look of worry and concern flicker in Thor's and Frigga's faces.

It was all he could imagine before he was certain that the lights went out.

{*}

"Stress is a likely cause."

Loki heard the voice almost as a ringing in his ears.

He didn't appreciate it.

"But—but the jerking?" Thor stammered nervously.

If Loki had control over his vocal chords he would have laughed harshly.

As if you actually care, Thor, Loki thought. No one ever cared for Loki and when they did they were snatched away coldly and deliberately. Loki knew this for certain, now.

Your birthright was to die. The harsh words reverberated in his aching skull. He didn't bother opening his eyes because he had already decided in the last second that he didn't want to be here.

Did you mourn? The memory left a bad taste in his mouth.

Thor's surprise of all things was childlike and inconsistent, sentimental and foolish.

Why would they? No one cared about Loki. They never would.

Loki could have sworn he heard a whispered "Monster" in the darkness.

He mentally shook himself, ears tuning back into the slightly wavering remark.

"L-likely not related." A novice healer, then. No master healer would stammer like that about a royal family member.

Loki huffed internally—not family member was more like it.

"Your course of action?" Odin asked with the pompous air of authority. For the shit he just pulled, Loki was resentfully amazed he had bothered to show up.

"Bedrest."

"Then his cell in the dungeons will do."

"But, father—" Thor began and was cut off at once.

"Thor, you would do best to mind your tongue. Loki is a war criminal in both parts Asgard and Midgard. He has played a hand in many an atrocity and must be treated as such." Loki heard someone's feet shuffle nervously—probably the healer. "It would be foolish to trust in him so soon after these opened wounds have yet to bleed. Your brother has always been mischievous, do not forget that. It is merely another trick to get us to waver with our doubts. Do not feed into them. He has a bed in the dungeons, he can rest there. That is all."

Loki heard the swish of Odin's robes as he made, Loki was sure of it, a grand exit from the healing rooms.

"He will be all right, my son," Frigga whispered to her eldest.

Thor seemed unconvinced.

"This doesn't feel right, mother." Loki imagined those blue eyes looking up at mother pleadingly.

"I know."

"…Will it ever?"

"No, Thor."

Another flashback rattled in Loki's skull as his chest ached at the past trauma.

He couldn't help but wish to open his eyes, to gaze upon Frigga one last time but he remained stubbornly stoic. He would not give up his façade so quickly. Tricks and lies were second nature to Loki, they were his safety net and he would not give them up for the satisfaction of his not-family's grace.

Let them think what they want.

Loki didn't care.

And with that lie settling deeply onto his shoulders, he waited for slumber to overtake him and, when it did, he couldn't help but smile.

{*}

There was a swift, hard knock on the side of Loki's bed that met with a grumbled and irritable, "Get up."

Loki thrust his arms over his face in defiance.

"No."

The chains still around his wrists clanked together, halting his hands from reaching their intended target of which Loki then growled lowly to himself.

"It wasn't a question." The gruff voice deadpanned.

There was a pause in the conversation where Loki thought maybe he'd have the upper hand, before another guard came over to his bedside and grabbed forcefully at a clump of his long raven locks.

"Now, heathen!"

Loki couldn't stop a yelp from escaping his lips before his eyes thrust open and caught the guard in question's blue eyes reflecting glee at his dismay. Loki was risen a few inches off the bed from where their hand was capturing his hair.

The guard smiled, "Not so tough now, eh?"

"Make no mistake, guard, for I am still above you." Loki snarled back in contempt.

The guard laughed, releasing Loki's hair quickly before laughing again.

"And who do you think yourself to be?"

Loki opened his mouth to answer in haste, but found that he couldn't think of a witty reply.

Who was he, now? After all was said and done, what was he other than a monster?

The guard's lips quirked into a pleased smile. "You are nothing, trickster."

The taunt danced in the air to Loki, almost sparkling in white and blue as the reality of his situation finally began to sink in.

He huffed and shook his head, trying to pretend that he didn't care, but a hint of hurt mirrored in his green eyes.

The guard, for what it was worth, unfortunately picked up on this.

"Oh? You think you're still a prince of these realms? Well, you aren't, trickster. You are nothing to this realm and you are better off without it. You're lucky the Allfather still has a soft spot for you in his heart to not abide by executing your pathetic, pale ass. Instead he's keeping you imprisoned in the dungeons. Make no mistake now, trickster, for there is no asylum for you here. We will fuck with you, as we so please, and there is not anything you can do about it. You are our bitch, now. And I very, very much look forward to taking advantage of that fact." The guard clicked his tongue between his lips and shoved Loki forwards so that he stumbled and landed roughly on his knees.

"I like to play with my food before I eat it." The guard mentioned with a sparkle in his eyes. He picked up the back of Loki's shirt easily and shoved him forwards again.

This time, Loki caught himself and began the task of walking his way towards the dungeons, a settled resignation in his steps and a worry in his shoulders that his time spent in exile with Thanos and the Other might have been a lighter sentence than his time captured now in Asgard's dungeons.

{*}

The guard with a personal vendetta against Loki turned out to be Alastor. Alastor the Bastard, as Loki liked to think of him. They had had an altercation over a thousand years ago and Alastor had not appreciated a prank that Loki had pulled on him—even though it was hilarious and clearly showed Alastor's lack of humor in any given situation.

But now, Alastor was making his revenge on Loki's treatment within the dungeons as spiteful and turbulent as possible. Most of it was harmless and Loki likened Alastor's attempts at thwarting Loki's time there as equivalent in attempts to swat and kill a fly successfully. Alastor lacked cruelty in his physical attributes but the malice in his words were what cut through Loki like a swordfish.

And, Loki for what it was worth, did not appreciate this.

One evening, Alastor had brought a plate from dinner to Loki's cell.

Loki had stared at the empty plate with a few chicken bones still on it and gazed up slowly at Alastor licking his fingers and plopping a third bone onto the plate.

"Oh, I apologize, trickster. Were you hungry?" He laughed in that loud, boisterous sound that grated Loki's nerves.

"I must have forgotten you were my charge. I'd make it up to you, but, I just don't care. You're not worth that time, trickster." He leveled Loki with a practiced glare and dropped the plate to the stone floor so loudly that it made a few other prisoners in nearby cells jump.

Loki's jaw muscles tightened in an effort to not fuel the fire. He wisely bit back his remarks, even though they threatened to explode from his cheeks. He made it as far as Alastor reaching the farthest corner of his cell before he shouted back at him:

"I must say, Alastor, pink just wasn't your color."

Alastor's back tightened and he swiveled his face to the side over his shoulder, his muscles taunt.

"For that comment, you don't eat for the next two weeks."

"Oh, what a pleasure it's been doing service with you, Alastor." Loki muttered, rolling his eyes and turning back to his book.

Before he realized it, in what could only have been a millisecond, his book crashed to the floor of his cell when Alastor roared in hate and slammed his fists onto the golden impenetrable wall. Disoriented, Loki sat up from his spot no longer on his bed but the white marble, uncertain as to how he had gotten there.

Instead of hatred in Alastor's face there was a surprised pleasure.

"Looks like the trickster's no longer in good health. I wonder how the Allfather will repent his sins?"

Loki blinked, a silence following him as he tried to think of what just happened. His mind carrying a blank, he stared back at Alastor with shock on his features.

"I-I'm fine." He lied, almost easily.

"Don't worry, Loki, your secret is safe with me." Alastor smiled before trotting away and Loki had a feeling in his chest that that meant no guard would be on his side for alerting anyone, if he even did, about his health.

This eternity was looking a hell of a lot longer than Loki once assumed.

Chapter 2

The sheer capacity of boredom began to set in for the trickster by the second week in the dungeons. Not only had Loki read his books through once but eight times. And it wasn't like he had many people to talk to. Other prisoners were laughably beneath him and too far away to hear his whispered plights.

Alastor made sure of that.

Alastor had begrudgingly isolated Loki into a corner of nothingness and Loki despised him for it. By day two Loki began to talk to the microscopic organisms around him as he wiped dust from the floor onto his fingertips.

"It is ungodly dirty in here," Loki mused to himself, wishing internally that someone or something would agree with him so that it didn't feel like his skull was splitting in two.

"You're right," Loki murmured in a deeper voice, pretending to be an accompanying entity. "You should really clean this place up."

"Why thank you for that observation," Loki bowed to his imaginary companion, setting aside his book and beginning to tidy up. Because he was O for zero for cleaning supplies, he largely took the dust scraped against his hands and used, sadly, his sleeves to reposition the gray fuzziness.

Satisfied to the best of his ability, Loki sighed and looked to the hall for a glimpse of what might have been the time although he had a sneaking suspicion that it had only been ten minutes, if that. He couldn't tell if it was fortunate or unfortunate for him that the Asgardians didn't keep track of time in the dungeons. Maybe it was a way of cracking down on prisoners--forcing them to think of their crimes and repent.

Loki chuckled at the prospect.

"What now?" Loki asked to the open air.

The silence that followed was deafening.

The unwelcome gurgle from his stomach rattled his frame. Alastor had stuck to his word and Loki had barely eaten in the last few weeks. What little he was fed from other guards who took pity on him he was saving and rationing out to himself very carefully.

Oh, how he longed for someone to talk to him.

As if on cue, he heard the sweetest voice from behind him.

"My dearest Loki," her voice brought calmness over the trickster's soul.

"M-Frigga," Loki replied, tears almost filling his eyes.

"You look so pale," her voice moaned with concern. Her head tilted to the side as she looked upon him with sadness muddled in her eyes and a distinct forgiveness within them too. "I have done everything in my power to make you comfortable."

Moving across the cell Loki said, "Have you? Does Odin share your concern? Does Thor? It must be so inconvenient them asking after me day and night." Loki's voice took on a tone of cruel sarcasm.

Frigga barely bristled at his words, instead calmly pointing out that: "You know full well it was your actions that brought you here."

Loki raised a hand dismissively. "My actions? I was merely giving truth to the lie I had been fed my entire life…that I was born to be a king."

Frigga continued without a beat, "A king? A true king admits his faults. What of the lives you took on Earth?"

Loki huffed, "A mere handful compared to the number that Odin has taken himself." Loki's back faced Frigga as he took up a wooden cup in his hand.

Frigga shook her head in dismay. "They were lives no different than yours."

Loki barked a laugh. "Please, do spare me the woes of a mortal's lifespan. They are beneath me. I am not them."

"You may be a god but your plights are no more significant than theirs. They were innocent lives you took, Loki, and a punishment is only fitting for the havoc you so needlessly brought onto them."

"Needless," Loki groaned in exasperation. "As needless as this conversation were to me." He shook his head, wishing for the doubts crawling in his mind to disappear.

"Although your father took--" Frigga began but Loki immediately turned around in a fury, slamming his hand onto the nearby table and shouting, "He's not my father!"

They stared at each other for a moment as Frigga pursed her lips, her golden hair shining in the light.

"Then am I not your mother?" she whispered.

Loki paled, taking a small step back. "You're not," he affirmed.

Frigga shook her head, a deeper sadness than before entering her eyes.

"You're always so perceptive about everyone but yourself."

Tears emerged in Loki's green eyes as he made to comfort Frigga and an apology formed on his tongue for everything that had happened, everything that would come and for all that he was but when he reached for her hand it passed through her illusion and the sting of hurt and betrayal laced through his veins for days.

{*}

It was another week later when the nightmares got worse. Often Loki found himself shouting to no one and thrashing in his thin sheets. He would awaken with his heart racing, sweat dripping into his garments and breathing heavily. He'd lie awake with only the gold sheen from the wall lighting up his space as the memories lingered at the edges of his vision until Alastor came by presumably hours later with the sludge for porridge.

Loki never mentioned them to anyone but it wasn't like he had anyone to tell either. He was just another prisoner of Asgard's realm, an outsider and a misfit. There wasn't anyone to talk to, anyone to manipulate or anyone to lie to. He almost wished there was. It would certainly make his imprisonment that much more bearable.

Instead he had shades of darkness, old memories locked away in his brain and the loneliness that threatened to overtake him.

It also meant he had a lot of time to ruminate over his life, his mistakes, his faults and his betrayals--both the ones inflicted upon him and those that he had created. He would spend hours rethinking old conversations and playing out all the variables regarding new ones. He found himself praying for mother--not-mother--to return but she never did.

He didn't know it then but it would be the last encounter he had had with her and the regret he had of this pooled in his veins for years to come.

{*}

The day it happened began as uneventful as the forty-two before it; Loki awoke from another hellish nightmare in which he ran, futilely, away from the six-fingered hands of the Other and their torture only to be re-captured and tortured worse than before. It was a memory, in some respects. There were small details like the way the Other's fingers slid like gloss over Loki's skin before they broke his arms and harshly hissed whispers that collided into Loki's eardrums were replaced with dream nonsense such as bouquets of roses being inserted into Loki's rectum and delightful smiles from the galaxy around them sprinkling into his vision like a kaleidoscope.

Regardless, it was absurd and left him distraught and shaking all the same. He had spent the last few hours before dawn broke staring up at the dark ceiling wishing that something would force its way into the castle so that the stones above would just end his misery for him.

It beat having to stare at ceilings with his vision blurring as he wept to himself softly enough that no one would suspect a thing.

Breakfast came then disappeared.

Alastor was still a bastard, some other prisoner whined about not getting enough porridge and things went on as they will in life.

It was only near lunchtime that the ruckus began.

At this time, Loki was tossing a cup into the air while catching it with ease as he lay on his blankets in the bed within his cell. It started with this indescribable noise, a series of grunts and groans and an… explosion of sorts. Upon hearing this, Loki sat up from his bed and approached one of the walls of his room, curiosity mixing with apprehension.

Within his line of vision, he saw the breakout of multiple prisoners, their footsteps clambering one after the other as they took off with noise down the hall. Loki couldn't help but roll his eyes at how amateur they were in their high spirits with their newfound freedoms.

Loki's gaze narrowed considerably when the creature who appeared to be the one breaking out the other prisoners slowly walked by his cell.

The creature gazed with mistrust upon the trickster, stepping up close to the golden shield with Loki glowering a smirk right back in their direction. The creature, large and dark like a silhouette with spiky horns upon its face and armor, approached cautiously, gazing over Loki's more lavish cell and taking in his position.

Its blue eyes locked with Loki's green as it raised a swollen hand as if to break the iridescent shield, only to growl lowly and turn away at the last second.

Loki's brow quirked as he raised his chin at the retreating figure's back, offering sage advice, "You might want to take the stairs to the left."

With a final look back at the trickster, the creature retreated from the dungeons into the grand halls of Asgard beyond.

Loki hoped the chaos ensuing behind this creature and within the dungeons would cause a furrowed brow and the lines on Odin's forehead to wrinkle as he rung his hands with what to do next.

Mischief managed, Loki returned to a book that he flipped through mindfully. Not mere moments later, Loki could faintly hear Thor's friends and Thor himself speaking to the low-life's and fighting with them. Loki tried not to convey his anxieties, but even if he had, there wouldn't have been a free soul around to see them.

Instead, he bitterly basked in the foolish nature of some creatures and read on, page after page, even if he'd already read this book days before, it kept his mind at bay and the memories hidden behind his eye sockets. With reading, he could escape even temporarily, whereas with alertness he could not maneuver an exit from these ever enclosing four walls.

{*}

It was hours later, Loki hastened a guess at about six, when a helmetless guard approached his cell. Previous guards in the hours before had managed to gather some prisoners back inside their cells--the ones who hadn't perished in the fights that had broken out earlier at least (Loki figured this might have been more cost-effective for Odin after all).

When the guard, nameless and practically faceless, told Loki the news that his mother--not-mother?--was dead, he felt the world drop out from under him.

Because even if she wasn't his true mother, she was the closest thing he ever had to that. She was his hope; she was his world, even though he only realized it when she was gone. When she was gone and the world was lesser without her in it and Loki would never have the chance to right his wrongs with her, he would never have the chance to be held by her one last time, he would never get to tell her how much he did love her even if he wanted nothing to do with her love because he felt he didn't deserve it.

None of this would matter in the end because she was gone and Loki was left with the pieces he didn't realize were already barely holding him together. None of this would have caused such pain and grief to settle into his bone marrow if it weren't for his realization with quick ease that the creature he had advised to produce pain to Odin had brought his mother instead to her death. The regret and remorse that pooled within his soul coated him to the bottoms of his feet.

How could this have happened? Who was he, really? Because he was certain that only a monster would cause his own mother to perish unfairly.

So, when after Loki's rage self-destructed his cell and the lights went out, he barely thought anything of it. It felt only fitting for the rest of his world to be physically pulled out from under him. That's how it felt: like someone had just thrown a blanket over his head and wrapped him up in warmth he didn't deserve and a pain aching in his chest that he couldn't do a thing to get rid of.

If this wasn't the end for him, it sure felt like it was. And with his newly acquired grief, Loki wasn't surprised to find himself hoping it was so he could right the wrong that had been done to his mother, if only in his sub-conscious.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

*Trigger Warning: Threats of beating and death

Hours after the Queen of Asgard perished from their world and the community of gods had watched the embers of her spirit alight into glittery spheres that escaped from their grasp like sand out of an open bottle did any of the guards return to their roles in the dungeons.

All of them had gone to the funeral out of respect and poise. There were no more assailants coming to their home planet and they knew now--or at least they believed--that it was safe to leave the remaining prisoners in their cells without being closely observed.

Many of the thieves and murderers had either escaped or been killed so there didn't warrant much use for guard surveillance down there.

It was with a despondent face washed aglow from her Queen's ashes and the well-lit torches surrounding each of the Asgardians that Amoril had a sinking feeling wash over her gut.

She couldn't place what it was exactly but her gut was screaming at her to attend to the dungeons.

Someone down there needed help.

Amoril was one of the few empathetic guards presiding over the Asgardian dungeons. She took her job seriously and was nowhere near as jaded as Alastor was to his charges. Amoril believed in hope and forgiveness; in second chances and empowerment.

She was one in very few numbers.

Most all other guards took pity on her, claiming she was inexperienced and naïve, but they didn't know her history.

Her father, Zaid, had spent centuries in the Asgardian dungeons, for a crime he had never even committed--as was found out by her family many years later. Zaid had been a dutiful and considerate citizen of the realm but when he was sentenced, Amoril's spirit blinked on and off as her father's optimism and wonder for their home planet was dampened into anger and disgust--a misanthropy running so deep in his veins that his entire outlook on life had shifted, much to Amoril's disappointment.

She didn't necessarily fault him for it given the circumstances and his stay was surely nothing less than unpleasant.

She heard later how harmful it was--how his guards would starve him from the food that otherwise would have replenished his body. How they hit, kicked and punched him when he refused to admit his traitorous crimes--crimes he had genuinely never even committed.

The thought made Amoril's heart ache with a pang of grief and overwhelming sadness.

Her father was by himself when one too many kicks to his ribs had caused a rib to break and penetrate his lung, resulting in her father bleeding internally and dying from his injuries.

He had been all alone.

No one to hear his pleas. No one to hold his hand.

It made Amoril sick.

It was only when the true criminal came forward years later and the guards at fault for not checking in reasonably with her father admitted to their own inadequacies did the sense of some justice, some understanding, some finality occur for Amoril and her mother.

When Amoril voiced her concerns and frustrations with her mother, who had managed to sustain her own wonder and love for the world they lived in, how she was managing it, her mother had said:

"Amoril, your father lost his way more than once in his life. Only once did he lose his faith in our realm and having such a substantial loss in his life when he needed more than anything a sense of belonging and understanding is what dug his grave before he even landed in it. We all need something to belong to. Learn from his mistakes to not repeat them in your own life. Your father loved you more than anything. He would want you to see the good in life, not focus on the bad. When he lost his hope he lost his reason for believing. That reason would be you.

"Your father wanted you to be your own person, a person with hopes and dreams and light within the darkness. Sometimes our greatest failures erode in us the will to be better than all those behaving in the wrong. Yes, it is easier to behave poorly but we must ask ourselves: at what cost?

"Be brave for your father, Amoril. And learn how to forgive; every man, woman and child needs forgiveness more than they need air. With forgiveness, redemption can be found and no one is so far gone to not need it within their lives." Her mother cradled her fingers on Amoril's cheek lovingly.

"Be brave, my daughter. Be the light in someone else's night sky."

Amoril never forgot these words as she chose to work as a guard in the dungeons. She only ever wished to impart these lessons on others in her life, which she considered now as she shifted into the shadows to follow her gut to the dungeons before all the others would return.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong. And she would not let another death fall upon the kingdom even if it were the last thing she did.

{*}

The grime and grim nature of the dungeons caused Amoril's soul to shiver inside her frame. Chills rolled down her insides as she turned a final corner and stepped into the dark hallway.

She cast her gaze over the nearest cells--finding a mixture of them empty with some souls laughing harshly as they immediately began to taunt her.

"What's the pretty, pretty lady doing down in the dungeons?" One rasped, pink tongue licking his lips as he slammed fists onto the golden shield of a wall.

Amoril ignored him, knowing his jabs came from a place of envy and projection. She had also heard worse.

Her eyes continued to scan the room until she felt it in her gut again--a painful grimace that beckoned her further along.

She eased her way with trepidation down the eerie steps until she saw it.

Saw him.

The Queen's youngest was not lying upon his bed attempting to sleep (Amoril knew too well that the young prince could not escape his nightmares in reality just as much as he couldn't in his dreams) but rather writhing on the floor as though his body was possessed by tremors.

Amoril rushed to his cell, her hazel eyes wide with worry until she stopped less than a foot away.

She didn't have the typical guard response: she didn't think it was merely a trick, didn't smile in sadistic pleasure, didn't worry about what the other citizens would think as her next actions relinquished themselves from the crux of her shoulders.

She banged on the golden wall until her fists ached and it loosened its hold.

She knelt by her prince's side, hands hovering over him in hesitation.

She knew not what to do.

All the lectures she had had to attend before becoming a guard had never depicted what she would have to do in the face of a medical emergency. She cursed to Valhalla not to take her prince--not before he had found his own tale of redemption and strength, a freedom so sweet that she truly believed he deserved to see--and with a fast exhale, she cupped her arms under his too pale, too thin (a flash of her father's corpse flicked through her mind) body, lifting him from the floor to her chest.

She knew not what Hel would await her for these actions but she knew her prince needed her and her Queen would not wish to see her second born so soon as she, herself, had gone into the night sky.

So Amoril did what she thought was best and brought the young god--whom she had always looked up to and hoped deep in her heart he would overcome his faults--to the only place she deemed safe in all of Asgard: the healing rooms.

She knew not what ailed him but she believed the healers would be the next best place.

Eir, head healer, was caught between surprise and worry upon seeing the still shaking prince.

She pointed wordlessly to an open bed and Amoril set down the young god carefully.

Amoril watched curiously as Eir dug around a nearby satchel and deposited a pink powder upon Loki's form.

Their prince didn't respond right away but his body shook a little less, then a little more, before stilling altogether.

Amoril raised a brow in question but Eir only told her quietly and with urgency: "Bring Thor and the Allfather here at once." Eir's eyes never left Loki's body. "And quickly." She raised them then to Amoril and the guard saw her fear--which only sparked hers even more.

Amoril nodded once before hurrying off.

She tried to swallow past the terror caught in her throat but she was certain she didn't do a very good job of it.

{*}

Amoril's knuckles rapped on the closed door of the elder prince's bedroom with such a hollow tone that she couldn't stop her form from shaking.

Maybe it was the adrenaline or the fear hidden beneath her epidermis but she was soaked in uncertainty.

What was happening to the young prince and could there be anything in their healer's powers to stop it?

Because Amoril was starting to become breathless, fearing there was actually very little they could do.

It was something in the fear and shock of their head healer's eyes that led Amoril to these conclusions.

Her gut had been right: something was very, very wrong and if this realm of Asgard couldn't help the prince--where, if anywhere, could he turn to for aid?

Her soul's worries must have been showing on her face as she gasped for breath with her features curled back in panic.

Of course, it was then--her knocks had become more frenzied and rampant to her ears--that the elder demigod opened his door.

His blonde head of hair was disheveled, locks of it tossed awkwardly across his scalp and his blue eyes appearing dazed and lost.

He took in Amoril's strange expression and with tiredness he felt too deeply in his bones, asked, "Yes?"

Amoril's mouth opened and closed like a fish as her helplessness increased threefold.

Thor stared back at her, almost bored, before shrivels of recognition took place.

"You're one of the guards in the dungeons?" He narrowed his eyes in thought before he realized why this detail was of particular importance.

"Is my brother all right?"

Ferocity ignited his blue orbs as he suddenly but warmly clutched his hands upon Amoril's armored shoulders.

"Where is Loki?" He demanded gruffly and only then did Amoril feel her jaw unhinge from its chattering of her teeth as she stammered, "H-healing rooms."

Thor's eyes widened in surprise, moving from his room passed the female guard.

"Was he injured amongst the skirmish?" he asked, looking to her for confirmation, heart thundering inside his chest.

Amoril shook her head slowly.

"I-I don't know. He-he was just lying upon the floor of his cell, sh-shivering. He was like that when I got there. I don't know how long he was down." She kept pace with the thunder god, much to her own surprise (she wasn't a fast walker, usually).

"Do the others know when it started?" Thor tossed a glance at Amoril whose brows furrowed in confusion. "The other guards." He clarified.

Amoril shook her head again. "There hasn't been anyone down there since Frigga's ceremony began."

Thor cursed softly.

Was this the same ailment his family--a family tearing apart by the seams--had witnessed at Loki's sentencing?

Guilt washed over the elder god as he felt he should have been doing more for his forgotten brother.

He shook the cobwebs of doubt from his mind; he couldn't do anything about the past. He could only do right by Loki now.

He resolved to himself he would.

They were about to pass by the throne room when Thor barked back at Amoril, "Does father know?"

Amoril's face darkened with a red blush as she commented she hadn't asked for him yet.

Thor, swiftly and immediately, poked his head into the room, spotted his father and said quickly, "Father! Loki needs us in the healing rooms."

Without waiting for a reply, Thor and Amoril jogged the rest of the way there.

{*}

They both arrived five long, arduous minutes before the Allfather.

Odin, Allfather, for what it was worth had brought an otherwise nameless guard and Alastor with him as witnesses to eradicate the notion that Loki was in any way truly sick.

It seemed to the Allfather like a ploy to play at his heartstrings to reduce his adopted son's punishment.

But Odin knew better than to trust his second son's tricks.

He was walking into the healing rooms with the anticipation to soon dissipate any of the doubts that this wasn't fact when his one eye landed upon his son, lying still on the thick mattress.

"What is the meaning of this?" He soon asked with his distaste evident upon the sneer of his downturned lips.

"Father," Thor began, pleadingly, blue eyes searching his father's for some amount of patience.

Thor felt his heart stutter when only a cold thicker than Jotunheim's air lurked in his father's eye.

Thor frowned and set his worried eyes back to his brother and Eir.

"I know not what afflicts him," Eir said cautiously.

"It is merely a trick," Odin huffed, his body language echoing a chill in his spirit as he was still just beginning to grieve.

"The Frost Giants are known for them," Alastor mused, eyes dancing in glee.

Thor snapped his head to him, already about to call out the guard on his choice of words but found father nodding mutely.

Thor swallowed his retorts as Amoril eyed Alastor with suspicion.

He wasn't a truth teller. He was one of the bad eggs of guards in the dungeons.

He…was one who never came forward for being involved in Zaid's death but Amoril knew he had had his participation--if the idea wasn't his to start with.

She decided then to keep a close eye on him, as her attention shifted back to Loki and the royal family.

"I fear it is not," Eir whispered, eyes anxious. "My magic can heal him for now but I worry it will not be enough."

"Then for the time being he is cured," Odin murmured, having gotten bored.

Eir made to protest, "Allfather, I have seen with my own eyes--"

"And I, with mine." Odin deadpanned and Thor exhaled in exasperation.

"Father, we've seen how this is a problem ourselves back in the throne room."

"All mighty Allfather, I, too, have seen this frightful experience myself. I sincerely doubt he is faking it. He was unresponsive to any noise or touch when I brought him here," Amoril insisted in haste.

Odin eyed her questioningly.

"And why did you, Amoril? Why did you take him here?"

Before she could respond, he continued with wrath, "To help? To heal? Loki is a war criminal. Not the boy you think you once knew. He does not deserve our trust and he would not even take it if we offered. He is to remain in the dungeons before I see fit for any other treatment."

Thor made to say something but father was on a roll.

"Alastor the Great: you've spent the most time with the trickster, have you seen any of his plights?" Odin looked to the buff guard who smiled a knowing smirk that rubbed Amoril and Thor the wrong way--and Eir, too.

"None at all, Allfather."

Amoril's chest ignited in anger. He was lying, she was certain of it.

"Allfather, I hardly believe--" she boldly began but Odin held up a hand.

"Alastor is a well-liked citizen of this realm. To question him is to question myself and at a time where Asgard needs no more enemies I would think you'd realize now is not the time."

Amoril bit her lip in rage as Alastor gave her a scornful smile and a wink.

"Allfather, you cannot mean to deny that Loki is thinner than the other prisoners. Is this not a trouble for you to consider?"

Odin raised his chin and blinked to Alastor.

Alastor raised his hands, muttering, "I am not the prisoner's keeper. I've offered him food many a time but he's refused to take it. Is there anything more I can do?" He asked this with such earnest that Amoril practically gagged with contempt.

Alastor the Bastard was more fitting of a name for him.

With her rage barely held back, the closest thing to a true family for Loki felt powerless and impenetrably stagnant.

How could they help the demigod when nearly all their efforts were being dismantled before their very eyes?

Amoril felt a wave of sadness not unlike grief wash over her.

"Bring him back to the dungeons," was all she heard Odin Allfather speak before he was shifting back into the hallway.

Alastor walked after him until he stopped just outside the door to wait for Amoril as she was just beginning to take Loki back into her arms.

Thor's hand trailed down her armor as he stared at his brother with tears in his cerulean eyes.

"We will figure this out," Amoril spoke compassionately to the prince, faith in her warm eyes.

"Before or after we lost him?" Thor gasped, tears sliding down his cheeks.

Amoril sniffled. "Before, Thor, of course before."

She sent him prayers of light and love until Alastor was shushing in her ears, "Better luck next time, wench. This Frost Giant will be just as weak as your father was. And I will take just as much pleasure in breaking him apart as I did to Zaid. Aren't you glad you work for me?"

A plethora of colorful language erupted as viable choices in Amoril's mind but she knew she had to act tough. She couldn't give Alastor the satisfaction that he had gotten inside her head.

So with every breath she took she passed another look of ease and indifference upon her features even when frustration and hurt wanted nothing more than to appear.

This was going to be another long, long night.

But even with her hopelessness she had hope. She had a plan already forming in her mind and she knew more now that her kindness would be especially needed in getting Loki the help he so desperately required.

Because while she wasn't sure yet how much Asgard could save him, if Eir's fears and hesitance was anything to go by, she was willing to believe that another realm with a different set of eyes could.

She had to hold onto hope for that.

It was all and everything she had left.

And she had to hold onto it for Loki because he'd need her to. And she resolved then that she needed herself to, as well.

{*}

It felt like it took centuries before Loki returned to consciousness.

He groggily blinked and took in a large inhale through his stuffy nose, somewhat surprised to see the familiar old ceiling of his room in the dungeons.

He wasn't certain as to why he felt he'd see anything different.

A hmmph met his ears as he rolled his heavy head to the side.

None other than the Bastard himself was sitting upon a stool outside of the trickster's walls.

"And so the runt has awakened." Alastor opened his palms wide, holding a vial of pink powder as he let the contents swivel from one corner to the next.

"I have a name," Loki asserted in a croak.

Alastor smiled. "No, no you don't."

"…Besides, we wouldn't want the others to see our relationship and think differently of us would we?"

Alastor grinned, a malice Loki hadn't seen before glinting in his dark brown eyes.

Loki couldn't help but shift uncomfortably, suddenly feeling threatened.

"What is that?" he asked quietly, pointing to the vial.

"Oh, this? Your medicine."

Loki frowned, obviously missing something from this conversation.

"You had another fit." Alastor's grin grew. "Not to worry, your brother and your father were there with Eir when she gave us this on the off chance that your fits aren't faked." He laughed. "But we all know that that's not the case."

He held the vial away from himself, tips of his fingers cradling the very top.

"So, really, you won't be needing this."

Alastor enjoyed his power as he dropped the vial and it crashed to the cold stone, breaking into pieces and depositing its powder all over a select portion of the flooring.

"Good thing they're not real, otherwise you'd be in quite a predicament."

Alastor stood up from his stool, colliding the piece of furniture into the golden shield with so much force that it buckled and fell away.

Alastor was stampeding into Loki's cell--lifting him again by the strands of his hair before Loki could stop the yelp from escaping his lips and he could recognize the danger he was in.

"If you dare to speak one iota about us to anyone, your blue blood will be on my hands as I take your life from you slowly and purposefully. I will harbor no regrets in this practice and if you so much as think of double crossing me you will get my penis so far up your rectum that it will tear apart and the filth of your cell will serve as a final testament to your state of disrepair.

"Do try me, trickster. Because at the stroke of midnight I'll be reporting back here to find out what punishments I'll be taking out upon you. I will await such a deadline with barely held breath. Beating , certain death or no action: the choice is yours."

With that, Alastor released Loki's hair as the demigod stumbled back into his bed.

He breathed shallowly until Alastor's form faded into the darkness and he wondered to himself what exactly it was that made him deserving of such treatment--especially with the revelation that he had had another medical scare.

What was wrong with him and would he ever reasonably find out?

Because Alastor was making his hopes of rescue and salvation disappear from the corners of his mind. How was Loki made to feel better if no one was on his side?

He stilled in his twitches, thinking back to what Alastor had just revealed.

If he had been given a vial it had to have come from Eir.

If she knew, maybe she had had some involvement in his care. And if he had been brought to her, then he must have someone else on his side, too.

Anxiety and calm fought for dominance in his spirit. If Loki could escape the dungeons before Alastor had the chance to follow through on his dark intentions, then maybe, just maybe, Loki could escape an otherwise certain doom he'd rather not relive again.

He retired himself to sleep, thinking through the possibilities and the avenues of change he was willing to embark on to get himself help.

If Eir had some magic to help, maybe that would be enough.

However, the sinking feeling in his gut told him he shouldn't rely on this wavering variable.

He sighed; this was going to be yet another long, sleepless night.

Carpe et Capere

UnmaskedPotential

Chapter 4

Chapter earring swearing

The light of dawn broke out against the cloudy sky as Amoril launched apart her eyelids and sat up quickly in her bed. The next morning had come and she was in for the long haul of it. She sprang up and put upon her armor so quickly that she barely even registered the transition from velvety soft cloth to hard, heavy leather and metal.

She set a firm, grim smile on her plump lips as she blinked at her reflection in the mirror, quickly brushing her teeth, hair and hurrying off to the dungeons where her charge--know it or not--was waiting for her. She had a skip in her step as she rushed the halls that were gradually filling with golden, white hot light.

She made it to the cool, dark dungeons within minutes of her awakening. Luckily, at this time of day, the other guards were still crumpled in their metal chairs, snoozing on top of one another, feet twitching slightly here and there.

Amoril eased her footfalls into softer wisps of sound, tiptoeing past the guards who barely moved past the grumbles of their sleepy worlds.

She raced as quietly as she could towards the prince's cell, tapping briefly on the golden shield as she surveyed Loki's room.

"Loki," she hissed beneath her breath, practically waiting to see her exhalations cloud before her hazel eyes as it was that cold in the area.

A pair of bored yet distraught green eyes swiveled to Amoril's presence.

He hadn't slept an ounce.

She could tell by the way the wrinkles crowded the edge of his eyes, his lids heavy as the sluggish balls rolled around uselessly. He was trying to stay awake but the horror befallen him had sent panic rolling through his system that competed easily with his yearning to depart from his consciousness. He was more asleep than awake but his mind had refused to shut down--Amoril knew the feeling.

"Loki?" She asked this time, hoping to see a spark of recognition flash inside those green orbs.

Instead they remained dim and quite dead.

Amoril took a step forward, adrenaline now pumping through her frame. She raised a cool hand just as her boots crunched upon some foreign sound.

She glanced down, more curious than anything, and when she realized the pink powder and shards of glass were the same as the medicine Eir had begrudgingly gave to Alastor--her blood boiled in rage.

"The Bastard," Amoril sighed heavily, her eyes narrowing into slits.

"The one and only," Loki barked back as a laugh rattled through his ribcage.

Hazel eyes flew back up to meet his as she imperceptibly tilted her head, realizing she needed to gain his favor and one unlucky bastard was as good a way as any.

"Alastor oversees your care," she pronounced slowly, as though she were caught in a web bordering between inquisition and musings.

"If you can call it that," Loki muttered as though bored. Hell, maybe he was--but curiosity was starting to splash into his line of vision.

"He broke your vial," Amoril echoed in thought.

Loki merely nodded with a shaking of his head as though his body were frozen in time.

"Have you come to aid his threats?" Loki implored in a tight, collapsing croak.

Amoril's brows rose automatically--but not so much in shock at the information but surprise that Loki was letting her in so quickly.

Meanwhile, Loki on the other side was kicking himself for the reveal he hadn't meant to speak aloud.

"He's threatened you?" Amoril asks instead, wondering in what way but catching herself when she went to ask in a specific manner.

Let him talk to you. Let him use and own his words, she thought to herself as Loki pursed thin lips, his jawline more apparent than Amoril felt it had been even a night ago.

"Only once or twice," Loki mentioned with a drawl that left Amoril second guessing. Maybe he wasn't ready--.

"I can't stand Alastor, to be honest. He's already proven to be a careless and dangerous guard. He's let one too many prisoners drop through his bloody fingers in the past--who is to say he won't again? If he's harmed you, Loki, I need to know so I can get you help." She pleaded softly, noticing when her voice rose in panic and trying to get back ahold of herself as she stared with such deep compassion at the forgotten demigod.

"No one wants to help me." Loki grumbled, eyes leaving Amoril's as other words caught in his throat.

"I do. I care. I came in when you were convulsing on the floor of your room--and it was I who took you to Eir." Amoril's eyes searched Loki's face and hope sparked anew when his surprised eyes stared back at her, his mouth parted open. "She gave you medicine but she fears what this ailment is and thinks she doesn't have the resources available on Asgard to help you." Amoril set an open palm to the echoing, low hum of the shield separating them from one another. "I have an idea, however, but I need your help. I need your co-operation. And if Alastor is already trying to sabotage your well-being, then I need to know that, too." Amoril bit her lip, hesitantly. "Can you trust me, Loki?"

By this point, the younger prince was sitting up in his bed, leaving behind the warm imprint of his body from the sheets. He looked impassively over to Amoril and just as her heart skipped a beat in preparation of snarls and hisses he said:

"Why did you bring me there?"

She blinked and let out an airy chuckle.

"Because you deserve every bit of love, healing and compassion as any other being." She looked upon him with care so deep in her veins that her eyes watered.

"You don't know what I've done," Loki replied gravely.

"I know that you deserve a second chance. I know that you deserve it more than any other captive. You have had an unforgiving upbringing but you are not what happened to you. You don't deserve to be treated any lesser than than you have already. I know your soul is broken into shards like this glass. I may not understand the depths of your pain, yet I know how it impacts you. I know you have committed acts that have not been forgotten by my mind and I know that as a guard of these dungeons that it is not my job to make your sentencing, your life, any more difficult. You are paying the price of your crimes by being trapped here--guards like Alastor want to see you crumble.

"I don't. I want to see you rise. I want to see you finding forgiveness not only from those you love but from yourself as well. You have been through such immense trauma, and with your health suddenly failing you, you are in no condition to be played with before death falls upon you."

Amoril licked her lips, her mouth feeling suddenly dry. "I know you do not know me but I feel as though I've known you for centuries. I have been by your side before, and I will be by it again, too. I know your trust is hard to earn, and I know I am asking a lot out of you; however I need you to be by the side of life and resiliency. I need you to fight for your life if not for yourself than for now, for me, as someone who believes in you." Amoril gazed intently back at the demigod who was taking in her words gradually and with bated breath.

He nodded over her words, thinking to himself--of what she had no idea. She flicked her gaze quickly over her shoulder, fearing the sleeping occupants would be waking soon.

"Thor and I are working on ways to help you," Amoril informed the prince and Loki shifted uncomfortably at the mention of his brother before Amoril's attention was sent to him again.

"Can you trust me?" she asked and waited for his response.

Loki's lips formed a frown as he considered his options.

If this was truly an interaction occurring in reality and not just one he had hallucinated completely, than surely this guard was different than the rest. The fact that she was a woman in this profession was striking in and of itself but the added notion that she believed in forgiveness and the humanity within even the lowest of the low was vastly impressive. Besides, she had already helped him once before and she appeared to Loki as genuine.

He looked to her again: attempting to memorize the details of her features. Her hazel eyes oozed warmth and kindness he hadn't seen since Frigga last visited. She had cream colored skin that blended around the brown of her hair, a few dangling strands falling around her ears. Her lips were bare of gloss, appearing as though she had ricocheted out of bed to come be by his side rather than care for the details of her appearance, which he appreciated more than he thought he would. Her brows were a soft brown, her long brown hair tied in a messy ponytail away from the roundness of her lightly blushing cheeks. Her teeth were white and shiny but there was a hint of apprehension and what the demigod assumed was sleep deprivation also hidden within her look.

Her armor spoke of a warrior and a guard--pure professionalism. Her spirit spoke of light, caring love, love almost blinding yet not necessarily without caution and common sense.

Loki raised his chin a little higher then, feeling more empowered than at any other point of his punishing.

If she could believe in him more than even Frigga could, well, it was worth a shot, wasn't it?

Green eyes dancing with light, he asked, "What do you want to know?"

{*}

Amoril's heavy boots resounded in the empty, slightly filling hallway, as she marched from the dungeons to the elder prince's bedroom. Her body crumpled at the burden of Loki's tales of Alastor the Bastard. How he'd been more than starved, verbally and emotionally abused, kicked, not sent help for his health scares and now being threatened with rape, death or both by the stroke of midnight if Alastor is to deem Loki worthy of such heinous crimes.

The news made Amoril's spirit inflame with anger--wondering to herself if Alastor had planned his actions to Zaid back in the day, rather than acting impulsively. It made her stomach sick.

What was worse: knowing trauma was coming to you and being powerless to escape it or having trauma unexpectedly occur with seemingly no "good reason"? Not that there deemed an approvable reason to cause harm onto another, at least in Amoril's mind.

She didn't have an answer either way--and maybe the ramifications of experienced trauma meant more than the comparisons of pain that were so very subjective--and that made her breathless as she knocked on the door of Thor's quarters, almost reliving the panic that had found its home in her chest the day prior.

Thor quickly opened his arms and his door as he scurried Amoril inside.

"What did you find?" was Thor's main question, not bothering to pause which she admired because her heart was racing and time was against them.

"Alastor is planning to harm Loki by midnight tonight unless we get him out of there." Amoril replied, eyes downcast, hoping Thor would pick up on her hesitations subconsciously but not so much as to question her outright. She felt, at the time, that not revealing the details of his threat to Loki would mean Thor could focus on the bigger picture which was rescuing his brother.

She wondered absently why he hadn't been visiting as he spoke next, "And you think Midgard is the right place?" He sounded reluctant. She could hasten a guess as to why.

"Do you know of any other realms that would welcome Loki back?"

Thor bristled--so she wasn't stupid, then.

"And you're under the impression that Midgard will?" Thor's icy blue eyes pierced hers.

Amoril shrugged. "Probably killing him won't be their first choice, unlike other realms."

Thor conceded her point.

He began his next request nervously.

"…We need my father's blessing."

Amoril sighed, eyes shifting away before returning sadly. "Thor, I don't believe we'll receive it." Her stare was glum and mournful.

"We have to try," the thunder god insisted.

Amoril stood, somewhat shakily as her empty stomach growled its protests.

"I will," she stated, looking to Thor. "You go to Eir and I will meet you at Yggdrasil to speak with Heimdall." Her eyes shone in seriousness. "No one else must know of this. We have to lie low. Understand?" She quirked a brow to him and he quickly nodded.

"Tonight, we rescue." Thor said, almost numbly.

How had things gotten to this point?

Amoril agreed.

"Tonight we rescue."

{*}

It was while the young guard was stuffing her pockets with breads, cheeses and pastries that she allowed herself to think back to the conversation she had had with the second prince.

Namely, she considered her options going forwards. Naturally she felt needed in his care and her heart was speaking to her to accompany Thor to Midgard but her brain held its doubts.

On the one hand she felt like a trusting and familiar face. On the other, she feared she would be over-stepping boundaries.

Maybe there was more she could do on their home planet, convincing the Allfather to sentence crimes against his seemingly golden boy, Alastor.

She couldn't help but to pray, then, that the king would listen to her. But her doubts encircled the tendrils around her mind.

Maybe if she went with the princes to Midgard she could act as a buffer between their strained relationships. Maybe Loki was already trusting in her that she'd be there for him--physically and emotionally--though if she asked him he would never admit it.

Amoril stuffed a thick, creamy pastry into the confines of her mouth, eagerly. She had to eat. She had to keep up her energy as she twirled away from the banquet hall, keeping her head and gaze down so as not to draw attention to herself as she traveled.

Luckily, few seemed interested in her past a few furrows of their brows or a shifted glance in her direction.

Before she knew it, she was at the throne room.

She took a deep breath past the sugary remnants between her cheeks, running a sticky hand through the fraying strands atop her head.

I can do this, she thought. I've got this.

She released a few steadying breaths, thinking to herself how different the Allfather had been since his grief encompassed his soul. She knew the pain all too well. Her first few months after her father's death were dark and encircled by meaninglessness and desperation to heal, desperation to remain whole and intact.

She thought of this as she rapped knuckles upon his door, entering only when receiving a grunt of acknowledgement in return.

Maybe his pain of losing their Queen and losing his second born to the depths of darkness few had realized in time to change the course of, weighed on him heavier than any could predict or pretend to imagine. Odin, Allfather, wasn't himself and Amoril prayed it wasn't this version of a stranger that would continue to make decisions against the aid of their second prince. She feared the elder man wasn't thinking clearly and with his alliance potentially in line with Alastor… She feared there was little anyone could do to reach out and find him.

She didn't know if the future would mean for him to regret his harsh, abrasive attitude towards his second son or make little to no difference--but she hoped that with time he would change his mind.

It was just that she and Thor had to ensure this possibility by giving to Loki aid in his health problems that many in this situation seemed to be ignoring. If even Eir didn't know what, why or how Loki's symptoms were persisting and progressing--they couldn't even know the extent of it since Alastor has been "watching" over Loki--then what hope could they have that this planet would be the integral part of Loki's recovery? Maybe it was the fresh pair of eyes that wouldn't treat Loki with razor sharp claws and hot, curdling breath that the young boy required to get better.

Loki's ailment wasn't something any on this planet had witnessed before--not that Amoril was aware of--and the panic of that was so large, Amoril couldn't comprehend how Odin and Alastor so fully believed it was a trick, a lie, a farce.

Yet Amoril knew she couldn't do much to make them see what she saw or believe what she believed.

For now, she set shaky breaths into the air surrounding her and Asgard's king.

"Allfather," Amoril whispered, saluting to the power that sat within this room.

Odin looked to her, weariness in his stare that she hadn't seen in a long time.

She tried to pick up the pieces of her broken heart as she spoke. "I am here for Loki."

The Allfather recoiled, spitting venomously. "And what of him?"

The cruelty of his tone caused a flash of judgment to rain down upon Amoril, who unleashed a heavier breath than she registered she was holding.

"He is your son." It sounded like a question because of the strain in her voice, when truly it was thickly clogged emotion of shock and disbelief that cradled her words in a tight hug.

"Adopted," Odin remarked gravely.

"And does that make all the difference?" Amoril's eyes diluted with rage.

"You have come to me," Odin reminded, patiently. "Why?" Before she could interject, he continued, "To speak highly of a prisoner? Or to argue that Loki's treatment should be higher merely because he is related to the royal family?" Odin looked down at her from the slope of his nose. "You have a soft spot for him that he does not deserve."

"He has earned it for putting up with your disapproval," Amoril replied haughtily, surprising even herself with how vehemently she spoke up for the prince.

"You love him," Odin cooed teasingly.

"Only as you should have through all these years." Amoril observed, throwing back her distaste at the leader of her realm. Carefully she asserted, "You are a powerful king, Allfather and a terrible parent--if only to Loki. Your actions--your neglect--have created irrevocable damage that caused others in this realm and the next to pry apart an innocent soul who wanted nothing more than to belong, be loved and be approved of." Amoril paused. "You were his father and yet you failed him in that regard. You were meant to keep him safe, to protect him yet you showed him the cruelty of the world before he was ready to face it himself with the tools you were made to teach him on how to handle it.

"These are your failures staring back at you. And now, when he needs you again, you shut him out? You push away his burdens for others in this realm to show him the kindness and compassion he was meant to learn by you?" Amoril shook her head.

"Why do I feel that you know of the abuse that Alastor has been bestowing upon Loki and that you hold no interest in preventing?" Amoril sighed, barely perturbed by the glare in Odin's eye, his chest heaving with fast inhalations.

"I shall have you locked aside your precious love if you are to utter another foul word!" Odin snarled.

Amoril, conveying so much of Loki then, raised her chin in challenge.

"I am not your child for you to punish. I was raised by my father, Zaid, who came to perish in your dungeons by many a guard whom disrespected their power; including that of Alastor. I will not stand by to allow another preventable death to fall upon this kingdom. My father raised me right and he would be ashamed to call himself Asgardian if he knew of your deceit and compliance to harm another individual residing in the dungeons." Amoril's fiery eyes narrowed as guards approached her from both sides.

"Enough of your treason!" Odin was calling out, teeth barred. "I know not of this so called abuse to Loki and even if I had heard it, I would not condone it." Anger sparkled in Odin's eye--but whether his words were true or not, Amoril couldn't tell.

"You have merely fell prey to the lies that Loki tells. Alastor has reported no ailments occurring to Loki in the time that he's been in the dungeons. He is serving his time for the evils he has committed. Alastor is one of my greatest guards and has nothing to gain from lying. He is a far more reputable source than the trickster. I trust in Alastor as all should." Odin commanded loudly.

The comment flew from her mouth before she had time to reconsider voicing it, "Is this trust in Alastor coming before or after you've sucked his cock?"

The silence roared in her ears as the guards now holding her widened their brown eyes, waiting for the command of their king to take her away.

Odin, for what it was worth, unhinged his jaw and shifted it back and forth, before speaking lowly. "If you love Loki so much you can enjoy your sentencing in his cell until the end of the next century."

Odin's thin lipped frown engaged with the anger inside his iris--a trace of emotion Amoril hadn't seen since Frigga's passing (which, she could admit, hadn't been very long).

Amoril didn't fight as she was taken away.

True, her roasting the King of Asgard wasn't exactly in their frame of a rescue plan but if it meant to mildly discourage Alastor from enacting his plans of harm and if it bought Amoril a way of aiding Loki while also reigniting emotion into the Allfather, then, truly, she hadn't derailed the plan, right?

Guilt pooled in her boots as she realized she'd been nervously sweating during the entire duration of her speaking. She sighed, praying that Heimdall could reason a plan with Thor after she had floundered so badly.

If nothing else, she felt catharsis after getting it all off her chest and she must have weighed the advantage of being sent away into the very place she was looking to rescue the demigod.

That's what she told herself at least as she was half-carried to the dungeons. The other guards squeezed her biceps harder than necessary and she could feel the pastrami digging into her waist.

She figured this story would be an interesting one to tell her peers about.

She smiled to herself a little: not only would this earn Loki's respect more than their previous interaction but she had succumbed to her final decision.

She was going to Midgard.

In that, she found some solace.

{*}

The demigod was wearing a heavy, red-hooded tunic as he slid down the palace's halls, sneaking behind a young healer as he followed her through the rose tinted gardens and later into the healing rooms.

Thor nearly screamed when he saw Eir watching his trying to be stealthy with an amused expression on her face.

"Too obvious?" He asked, playfully.

"Indeed," Eir affirmed, crossing her arms due to the sudden chill in the room. "You look like you're plotting something." She reminded him so much of Loki then.

His heart ached as he responded solemnly, "Well, Amoril and I are planning to be Loki's get out of the dungeons free card." He smiled sheepishly but no twinkle appeared in his eyes and he groaned internally with his lame attempt at a half-jest.

The circumstances of these events were lying heavily on his shoulders when he merely wanted to rest. But he knew he could trust Eir and he knew she would keep her word and swear the other healers to confidentiality to the rescue mission that was gradually unfurling.

If nothing else, Thor had the feeling that Eir supported them in rescuing Loki--even at the face of going against the Allfather's wishes.

"If you don't take him, I fear death will be his next predicament," Eir murmured darkly, eyes awash with pain and confusion. "I don't think we can possibly convince the Allfather otherwise." She lowered her gaze in shame. "I do not trust Alastor." She opened her arms for Thor who greedily took up her offer.

She held him tight as she whispered, "Without Frigga to keep him comforted, I fear darkness will lead the way. We must not let that happen, not… not again." She pulled away from Thor and placed into his warm palms two vials of a pink powder.

"I pray this will help for now. Odin, Allfather, will consider your actions treason, and I know you know what that means."

Eir looked knowingly at Thor and the older sibling nodded slowly and sadly.

"There will be hell to pay." Thor said quietly.

"But Loki will be safe," Eir stated. "That is all that truly matters." She gazed fondly at Thor, considering all the ways in which he'd both grown and stayed the same.

She was pushing him towards the door next, telling him with urgency, "Go, go now. You two will need all the time you can get." Eir smiled thinly as Thor turned around at the door.

"Be safe," she whispered sincerely.

"And you as well." Thor returned. He knew, with the heaviness in his chest, this mission could tear apart the life he once knew but he resolved himself in knowing he was doing the right thing for Loki.

With Frigga gone who would be in his brother's corner? He sighed; he had to show Loki how much he meant to him. Protecting him from being assassinated or pushed into a worse health scare was one way to prove his love, right?

The more Thor thought about it, the more it seemed to him that they would need an extra set of hands, ears and eyes. Thor decided he would pass this idea to Heimdall, the Gatekeeper. It was where he was heading now, anyways.

{*}

Thor was making a sound of exasperation caught between a grunt, sigh and cry of pain.

"She did what?!" He exclaimed, mouth open and slapping a palm to his forehead.

"Amoril has…disrespected the Allfather and has been sentenced to a punishment within the dungeons." Heimdall couldn't hide his smirk and favor for the young woman.

"She was only meant to gain his blessing," Thor whined noisily.

"I do not believe she would have earned it, otherwise." Heimdall said solemnly.

"Join the crowd," Thor grumbled, rolling his eyes. "What do we do now?" Thor asked at a loss. He was biting his lip when Heimdall arched a brow.

"You get help." Heimdall's smile grew a fraction larger.

Thor immediately felt soothed, blue eyes shifting back to the Gatekeeper. A sense of glee and serenity eclipsed his awareness.

"Amoril is in your brother's cell. It should make get help easier." Heimdall stood as still as a statute which helped Thor's vision peak in clarity. "I will be here to point you to Midgard as soon as you arrive." His gaze flicked right. "But hurry, plans are changing."

Thor didn't need to be told twice.

{*}

He had awoken late that morning, his limbs feeling heavy and old, and his yawns following him around the palace as he went to switch roles with the morning guards.

Alastor chewed on some of the richly flavored meats left out for lunch as he approached the halls of the dungeons.

He wasn't surprised to see the afternoon guards swapping with the morning guards, a change of shift occurring as the prisoners looked out of their cells in boredom.

Alastor couldn't help but laugh at the prisoner's lack of interest in the change of command. Alastor was among his friends and the fools didn't realize how much danger they were in with Alastor leading them into the gallows.

It made Alastor feel powerful and he enjoyed and felt enriched in those feelings.

He was already patting a fellow guard on the shoulder as their eyes lit up with honor when he noticed something different, something…sinister.

He shifted on his feet, hand clenching in white hot anger to the other guard's cuff, making the man bite back a scathing retort or yelp of pain.

"Do we have company?" Alastor asked with interest, the maggot's cell just hidden away enough that he could only barely make out an enemy of his also cozying up with the god.

The other guard followed Alastor's gaze then huffed in agreement, "She came after speaking with the Allfather." He didn't offer more information, secretly wishing that Alastor would want to know more but having doubts that he should be the one to inform him.

"And what of her sentencing?" A carnivorous gleam resided in Alastor's eyes along with the sharp upturn of his growing smile.

"Until the end of the next century." The guard replied, spirit rising on having been chosen.

"Enough time then for us to make an example of them," Alastor cooed, staring down the large bulge of his nose.

"Indeed, sire," the guard remarked as he watched Alastor unhook his hand from its grip and danced his way down the hall.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the broad who only wanted to 'help,'" Alastor mocked, a frown settling awkwardly on his features as his voice rose to exaggerate what Amoril's sounded like.

Amoril steadied an unapprovingly, haughty glare his way.

"And if it isn't the Bastard himself," she replied, heart pounding as anger flowed through her system.

Loki, with more interest and arousal than he had had in days, glanced from one guard to the next.

This may prove to be very entertaining after all, he thought, Amoril earning more respect from the trickster than he had considered possible.

Alastor raised a brow in challenge to the lowlifes.

"No more crying to Daddy now, eh?"

Amoril opened her mouth to retort but Alastor was tsk-tsking and shaking a finger.

"Now, we wouldn't want the others to hear now, would we?" His gaze flicked to Loki's. The trickster was appearing more well put together than he had in weeks.

Time to change that, Alastor considered with contempt in his veins.

"It's nice that you brought a friend along to watch you die," Alastor said coldly, scratching a finger down the golden shield--not only functioning to keep the prisoners in but the guards out as well--a function Loki hadn't appreciated until that very moment. "And maybe your father will appreciate the view of you in Valhalla," he growled, looking to the girl. "But know this: I will slowly kill you, trickster, have her watch and then face no punishment thereafter because the Allfather and I are just that close." He thought for a moment. "In fact, the Allfather will thank me for my actions and no longer have the reminder of his failings above his head. It's truly only what Frigga would have wanted." Alastor snarled lowly, taking enjoyment out of the hurt and anger that flashed in Loki's eyes.

"That is vile!" Amoril was shrieking, standing up to break the shield but it was Loki holding her back.

"I don't make the rules." Alastor said, backing up, palms open. "I only enforce them."

His laugh echoed through the dungeons as the hearts in their chambers beat faster and faster.

{*}

Alastor plucked a lone toothpick from out of his pocket, tampering the fine wood into the corners of his teeth as he had forgotten food stuck within the tight confines. He did this act as he walked his way towards the Allfather's chambers. He was already cooking up what he wanted to say, what ways in which he would lie and how the old man would believe him by blindly trusting in him--a trust Alastor believed he hadn't yet earned.

But he liked this power that he had over individuals. And he knew that the Allfather could relate to that, in some respects.

The lies came freely to Alastor like moving through a pool of water. There would be some resistance initially but not so overpowering that it changed his actions in the end. Besides, he'd be doing the Allfather a favor by getting rid of the last thing that held him back. Alastor was really doing the Norns work.

"Allfather," he pronounced swiftly, even before the door had shut behind him.

Odin's eye stared blankly ahead, watching the shadows dance in the dim light.

He hummed to himself quietly before his gaze shifted to his guard.

"Alastor, what news have you brought to me this time?"

The comment fell harshly flat--as though the Asgardian king was twirling around with doubts and second guesses. It made Alastor's skin crawl.

Don't give up on me now, old man, he thought, even as he forced a smile onto his face.

"Amoril is getting cozy in her cell with the trickster," Alastor declared, eyes hard set with an apathy and slight indecisiveness that he tried to hide deep, deep down, but it would sometimes come out in tense situations (and this was one of them). How lightly could he dabble into what his plans were and not get caught? It made him excited with gladness and the notion gave him a rush of feelings that he just often didn't experience these days.

"Mmm," Odin sounded, eye wavering a little in its explorations of the room surrounding them.

"And Loki? What of him?" Odin's eye shone with pain, a pain Alastor couldn't quite place--for the king himself or for the second son that was estranged from his royal not-family?

Alastor laughed, "He's being taken care of."

Taken care of indeed, he thought.

Odin looked seriously at Alastor for a long, long moment. The King gauged the reaction of his most trustworthy guard but something didn't feel right. But then again, most things didn't these days.

"Do take care of him," Odin murmured slowly, considering how well he could trust this guard. Was it appropriate to share his fears with Alastor? Surely Alastor couldn't be the villain that so many painted him to be?

Odin's eyelid fell closed briefly, aching and yearning for his Queen to be by his side once more.

"I cannot lose another…" He said so quietly and voice so filled with pain that tears were brought to his eye.

"You won't." Alastor replied, almost too soon. He saluted to his King. "You won't lose another."

To him, Loki had already been lost centuries before.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Alastor walked back towards the dungeons and then towards Loki and Amoril cell and stood there watching them Amoril was trying to calm loki down after another seizure

. "Cant believe you actually believe him hes clearly faking it his fakes them all the time whenever something not going his way he fakes one of these and thinks all we be forgotten and forgiven".

Amoril just ignore him and continued to try and calm loki down when loki was calmed down she went the the golden barrier of the cell she stood so close to the magical barrier she could feel the magical shocks used to keep prisoners in their cells.

"He can clearly seee hes not faking these there is something seriously wrong with him and all you care about is your self. I couldn't stop you killing my father but I will not let you kill anyone else."

Alastor laughted at her "your just a young woman how to do expect to stop me I'm a lot stronger then you and I have complete crontol on you and him if he even dare think you can stop me I will go to the all father and tell him are you are uncooperative and causing a problem and a danger to his son and request for you tto be removed from his cell and put into your own cell the. You can not stop me".

Alastor then walked away and sat in the guards chair with the other guards who didn't hear anything he just said. Amoril put her attention back in loki who was asleep and she tried not to cry she was scared and worried and didn't know what to do and hope and prayed to the ancestors that thor would be able to get them out before midnight and save loki from this horrible man.

She then fell asleep crying quietly when she woke up loki was awake but quite for him and staring at the magical barrier as if watching for someone.

"Are you ok" Amoril said loki looked at her and gave her a small smile "yeah I'm fine did you say thor was trying to get us out" Amoril looked at him and smiled "yes he's working on a way to get us out of here and away from asgard to take you some where safe and where they can help you"

Loki looked at her a bit worried "where was he thinking on taking us"

" Midgard it will be ok you be safer there then here and they will help you and thor will not anything happen to you"