A/N: HELLLOOOOO READERS! First of all Readers I am sooooo sorry that it has taken me so long update. Its never my intent, but you know... well life happens. Nonetheless you guys have been faithful and I thank each and everyonne of you for that. I thank you for each and everyone of your follows, favorites and reviews. I appreciate them so much! It is your continuous support that has kept me going and has made me determined to finish this story. Anyway, this new chapter is pretty long, maybe too long (you've been warned) but look at it as my gift to you for taking so long to update ;D Well I won't keep you in suspense much longer. Once again, happy reads and writes and most of all God Bless!
The endless march of the Dark-Elves pounding footsteps drew closer. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. The echo of their heavy footfalls in the dark, empty hallways of the dungeon were drowned out only by the deafening sound of Sigyn's wild heart banging against her ribcage. Had her heart been a hammer it would have broken through her chest. It was pitch black within Loki's old holding where Thor was now kept, she'd dropped her torch light so she couldn't see anything. Fright filled her mind and heart. She wanted to scream out, but she was too scared to speak. She was so petrified that she'd become paralyzed.
All she could do was press her back further and further into the wall. She hoped and prayed that she would dissolve into the slime, slick stones. Then guilt overwhelmed her at her cowardly thoughts. Thor was chained and tethered worse than an animal. He had no escape. He had counted on her to help free him from this squalid prison and all she was doing was trying to imagine a way out for herself. She had no right! She had no right to escape when her own prince was held captive. She had no right to live if the son of the king was going to die. It simply wasn't right. This whole matter was her fault when she really thought about it long enough. She could remember seeing a monster with it's teeth coated in blood in Loki's cell. But besides his horrendous mouth she couldn't recall any of the details about the creature. She remembered finding Loki's lying limp on the floor after seeing the bloody-mouthed fiend, she could remember him springing up instantly and talking wildly, but she could recall anything that he said. She didn't have the slightest clue as to any gist of the things that he had said, but she knew that something that he had said had had something to do with what was happening right now. She just knew it. She had tried to think of it over and over as to what his exact words might have been, but all she ever could picture in her mind was a blank. She'd see black or she'd see white. Sometimes if she really concentrated, long enough and hard enough she could make out a shadow, but even that was useless. She'd told her sister, Rana about her dreadful dilemma as they traveled back to the Imperial City. She knew that Rana probably thought she was mad, she surely sounded mad. Rana then concluded that Loki must have put some type of enchantment upon her to keep her from remembering. It seemed possible, but Sigyn still blamed herself for it. If she weren't so feeble minded, then she would not have been so easy to enchant. Now all Asgard had to pay the price because she was too foolish to recall what had transpired before her eyes. Had she been stronger of mind perhaps she could have warned Prince Thor or Queen Frigga or even the all-father. Sigyn shook her head, fresh, hot tears started to fall once more. In part, it was her fault that everyone was going to perish. She'd no right to try to flee or escape such a miserable fate. She'd no right to let Asgard's crown prince suffer alone.
The footsteps grew closer and closer and louder and louder. Sigyn reached her had out and touched Thor's scratched and scarred back. She could feel him flinch at the touch. "S-s-sigyn," Thor's voice came out hoarse. "R-r-run, Sigyn," he whispered lethargically in the dark and although he couldn't see it, Sigyn shook her head.
There was no chance for the queen's lady-in-waiting to change her mind for in that very instant the Dark-Elves arrived,
Sigyn gasped as she beheld the first bloodless face enter the darkened holding. The round, white face was illuminated by a tube-like torch that contained a faint, pale blue light. It shone on the face and made it more eerie and menacing. Upon the sight of the one bloodless face, followed by many other Sigyn lost all the breath within her. They looked like ghosts. All she could do was slam her eyes shut and hope for a quick and painless death.
The Elfin soldiers descended upon them. They sent about 25 guards to retrieve the Asgardian prince. Truly there was no need for such numbers. Prince Thor was bound and helpless. His back was bent and he was unable to even raise his head to look in the faces of the pale fiends. The Dark-Elves sauntered in. They gloated. Their words were chortled in their crude tongue so that they could not be recognized by the prince or the lady-in-waiting, but their tone was undeniable.
They stomped into the small cell and encircled the perimeter of the holding. They shuffled about and did their best to make sure that each one of them could fit into the cell. They all wanted to have a good look at Prince Thor, Son of Odin, Descendent of Bor, the Destroyer. They took great pride in seeing him brought so low. There laughter rang like thunder in Thor's ears. It shook the blonde-haired son of Odin and Frigga because never in his millenium long life had he felt so utterly vanquished by a foe.
While the Dark-Elves encircled Prince Thor, Lady Sigyn scurried to a corner. Their torches were so dim and they were so busy pointing and jeering at Prince Thor that the didn't notice the large shadow of a woman scuttling across the ground.
"Look at him!" One of the Dark-Elf guards pointed out as he moved closer to Thor. "Pitiful," he elaborated. The prince was bare back and his trousers had been torn clean off, he didn't even have shoes on and his skin was covered in thick, black mud.
Another Dark-Elf soldier stepped forward, cruelly he gripped Thor's bedraggled, golden locks, he twisted his head so that all those from Svartalfhiem could get a good look at the him. The could see his, blackened eyes and busted and bruised cheeks. They could see his broken nose and busted lips and the blood smeared across his face and chin. The sight of his brokenness and his sorry state didn't cause them any pain nor did even elicit the slightest feelings of pity from them. It only increased their glee. They clapped their hands and stomped their feet and roared with laughter at Prince Thor's expense. "He looks like a filthy animal!" The guard exclaimed.
"He is a filthy animal!" Another echoed.
A particularly stocky Dark-Elf stepped forward. His armor had been decorated with a few rare dark gemstones which signified his high rank in the Svartalfheim military. Thor's head hung low. He was unable to support it against the weight of the wooden plank that was pressed against the back on his neck and shoulders. It flopped against his chest his chest as he struggled to breath in the crowded humid room. The stock elf nudged up Prince Thor's chin. Thor trembled as her felt the cold hand lay hold on him. His chin shook and his head twitched. He shook his head every which way trying to make out who his tormentors were even though his vision was obscured by his blackened eyes. "Asgardian pig!" The Dark-Elf hurled an insult and then he hurled his fist into Thor's face.
The hard, cold punch from the stocky elf sent Prince Thor reeling toward the floor. He fell face first into the mud and sludge on the floor. Thor struggled and thrashed. Mud and slime gathered in his mouth and caked up his nostrils. He was flopping like a fish on a deck struggling for breath. And all the while the Dark-Elves danced. They took one another by the hands and danced in circle around the prince. It was a mean-spirited game of ring-around-the-rosey. Sigyn could hear them loudly chanting their guttural chant in their indescribably harsh language. It seemed like they sang their cruel rhyme and made fun of Prince Thor for hours.
Finally, Sigyn just couldn't take it anymore. Even with her hands over her ears and her eyes shut so tight that it hurt she still couldn't drown out the horrid gravel like voices of the Dark-Elves. She flung open her golden eyes. She watched with horror as they circled round about Prince Thor as he lay face down in the dirt. They were kicking up their heels, singing and guffawing with raucous laughter while Prince Thor tried desperately to lift his head from the grime beneath him. His arms though no longer manacled, but they were still tied to the plank of wood across his shoulder blades, giving him no leverage to push himself up with. Sigyn found herself screaming, "NO! STOP! LEAVE HIM ALONE!" She was shouting at the top of her lungs for them to cease their torture of the eldest son of Odin, but her cries seemed to fall upon deaf ears. The Dark-Elves were far to engrossed in their mocking to pay heed to her desperate shrieks. At least she'd thought that she was shrieking. Maybe she hadn't been screaming out loud, maybe she'd only been screaming in her mind it was impossible to tell. Everything was happening so fast.
The Elves started to make utterance in the language of the Aesir. They wanted to make sure that Thor could understand every single word. They sang a song to the effects of: "We have the descendant of Bor, now Asgard is no more!" They repeated their merciless rhyme over and over without ceasing. Sigyn started to shake with rage as she listened to their incessant taunting. Those bloodless beasts! Were they just going to let Prince Thor suffocate from breathing in the muck?
She shook her head. They were honorless fiends. Too cowardly and weak to fight fair. Why would they need to bring 2 dozen soldiers to harass a bound and wounded, powerless prisoner? It was sport. Like when a bear was rounded up and bear and had a match in the arena. Everyone came to watch the spectacle of the bear in the fight, knowing good and well that the animal was usually unfit for combat and would most likely die at the hand of the challenger anyway. Such sports were unpopular now to most of the Aesir, but it was obvious that the Dark-Elves still found such torture as a pleasing form of entertainment.
She should do something. What point was there to her sitting there shaking with fury and doing nothing? Was she just going to sit by and watch? She gritted her teeth and reached her sore arm back toward her quiver. She moved very slowly. The Dark-Elves weren't paying her any attention, but she was careful that they might catch any sudden movement. Gingerly, she pulled out her bow and then placed on of the solid gold arrows into its position. Her breathing quickened. She only had ten arrows and there were more than 10 elves. She didn't have enough to use on all the Elves and if she didn't kill them all surely the ones remaining would attack and kill her. They'd make quick work of her. They'd already killed far better warriors than her this day. With their blasters, there was no way she could withstand them, she didn't even have a shield. She felt like a dreadful weakling. She shouldn't even be thinking in such away, her love for her prince and for the pride of Asgard and her desperation to stop the soulless savages should have been enough to make her take up arms and strike without hesitation, without a second thought. Even if it cost her life it shouldn't have mattered. She swallowed long and deep and hard. She gritted her teeth once more, she tightened her grip on the arrow and stumbled to her feet. Her ankle still throbbed but she pressed pass the pain and stood. She set the arrow and tried to lock down a target. The Dark-Elves were moving to fast all spinning in a circle. She couldn't pin one down. Her skills were rusty. She hadn't competed in archery events in years. There was a time during her schooling years when she trained hard every day, but that seemed so long ago. They used to train on how to hit moving targets. She used to be more assured of herself, but here and now under so much pressure in this dank and dimly lit cell she couldn't chance it.
Sigyn quickly reminded herself that the arrows were enchanted, she didn't need to rely on her own talent and strength to use the weapon. She need merely loose the arrow and it would do the trick all by itself. Maybe that was why Loki had chosen magic as his study, it certainly was convenient. Lady Sigyn mustered her courage once more. "The arrow can't miss! The arrow can't miss," she muttered to herself. She kissed the arrow's shiny, gold head. "Fly straight. Fly true," she whispered over it. She pulled her arm back and set the arrow. She was ready to unleash it when another thought struck her. When she shot the arrow and the Dark-Elves saw they would immediately attack her. She'd be dead in a blink of an eye. It wasn't just her desire for self-preservation talking. If she was dead, there would be no one left to help Thor! No one else was left in the palace and it was doubtful that anyone else would be able to get to Thor in time. Without Prince Thor and Mjolnir there was no way to keep Malekith from unleashing the Aether. At least if she lived she could hopefully escape to the shelter and let Captain Frell and Lord Algrim know what had happened to Thor. Maybe they could do something...she didn't know what they could do, but maybe they could do something...anything.
Sigyn weighed her options. She considered that the Dark-Elf soldiers might be here to kill Prince Thor. She wouldn't allow that, but as she watched their festive display they seemed more so wanting to boast in the prince's defeat than anything else. She thought certainly Loki wouldn't go so far as too allowing these terrible, white-faced savages to kill his own brother. He may have imprisoned him, beat him, robbed him of his powers but surely, Loki was not so depraved as to see to it that Thor would be executed at the hands of these demons. Her breath hitched. Perhaps that was just wishful thinking. She wouldn't sit by idly and allow them to murder the rightful heir to Asgards throne, but she didn't want to act to rashly.
Besides, Sigyn gulped. She still had the scroll. The scroll that Dagmar wanted to be given to Loki. The scroll that contained information about his child. After seeing the state that he'd left his brother in, Sigyn didn't truly believe that anything scribed on the piece of parchment could change Loki. He did this. All this evil and torment and torture and devastation and death had been brought about by his hand. He didn't care about anyone. He was truly a monster. Monsters didn't care about their children, monsters ate their young, they devoured their own flesh and blood. Loki had already done that. How could that scroll make a difference. Could it? It was foolish to believe it still could, but she'd always been a fool anyway. She had to believe that deep down inside something could reach Loki. It hurt too much to think that nothing could save him. That meant nothing could save any of them. It was too painful to believe that she'd spent centuries of her life pining after a monster. Though she concluded that that was the case. Still she had made a promise. She had to fulfill Dagmar's dying wish. She had to see to it that Loki got the scroll. What happened once he got it wasn't her part to play. But her part was to deliver it. Her part was to hope that the scroll bore glad tidings and that somehow upon hearing such news Loki's heart would be turned and then they could all be saved. But in the end if that didn't happen and Ragnarok still rained down fire, brimstone and ash upon their heads and she was forced to sail in her funeral longboat into the halls of Valhalla then she would enter with a clean conscience and find peace and rest.
So, she stayed her hand. The golden-locked daughter of Admiral Arn allowed her bow and arrow to fall back down by her side. She waited and watched and it broke her heart as she was forced to continue to gaze upon their merrymaking at Prince Thor's expense.
While Malekith's soldiers danced and clapped and paraded about Prince Thor still worked vigorously to get his face out of the mud. Some with shear determination and much wriggling, the Prince of Asgard flipped himself over on his back. The move was inelegant, but it did the trick. From his back his spit upon himself. He desperately coughed of thick globs of black much only to have it fall back in his face and sting his terrible cuts and wounds. Since Lady Sigyn had managed to cut the shackles off the wall, his legs, though still burdened with chains were free enough to kick.
His legs were sore and weary from the heavy shackles that had been placed upon him, but for the love of his people Thor pressed pass the unspeakable ache that spread through his calves and into his knees. He started to buck and kick. Through his busted lips, he let out a strong and proud growl. He fought like a bull in the midst of them.
Golden eyes watched the scene with fascination. She balled her hand in a fist and was ready to cheer, just like she had so many times before when she watched the elder son of Odin compete in the sparring arenas. He always fought with such tenacity. Even in his younger years. He would spar against the palace guards and spar against the Einherjar. Sometimes it would seem as though he had taken a great beating. Prince Thor would be down on one knee gasping for breath. Of course, no Einherjar would ever do anything to harm a member of the royal family, but during sparring arena there was a proper way that one had to concede victory. One opponent had to surrender to the other. It was a simple enough gesture. It simply consisted of challengers falling to their knees, lifting their swords or other weapons into the air and then placing that weapon at the feet of the opponent whom they were conceding to and prostrating themselves before the victor. The contest usually ended with the two parties shaking hands and smiling at the end. Thor would often fight 5 or 6 warriors at a time, but he would never surrender. He could be winded, battered, bruised or even without weapon, but he would keep going, he'd just keep right on fighting. He'd fight so hard and so long that finally the Einherjar would concede to their prince. There was one time during arena when Thor fought one particular Einherjar from dawn til dusk. This particular Einherjar was bitter against Prince Thor. He was tired of seeing Prince Thor defeat the Einherjar. Thor was barely more than a boy, he was cocky and arrogant and in the soldier's opinion showed no respect for the bravery of those who protected and defended him. He just wanted to see the golden child humbled. At least that was what he told the bards and scribes and minstrels who came up and talked to him after the sparring match. Sigyn had known better. Word traveled fast around the young nobles at court. The truth of the matter was that Prince Thor had been courting the lovely Ursula, that particular Einherjar's sister. Ursula had been suppose to be training as a Valkyrie, but she was no Valkyrie Virgin, rumor had it that Thor had deflowered her. Well Ursula, was so taken with Prince Thor and was excited about their courtship that she'd renounced her Valkyrie training, only to find out a few weeks later that Prince Thor was moving on to a new conquest, Pressilia. The young Einherjar had arisen to defend his sister's honor. Indeed, he put up a valiant effort. He had even been so brazen as to actually wound Prince Thor with his sword. He took blows to Thor's back and stabbed him in the foot. Such actions were ground enough for the fight to be stopped and for the Einherjar to be summarily relieved of his duties, but Thor held out his hand and allowed the fight to continued. He held up his sword and hobbled around the arena. He never stopped fighting. He fought so long that he caused the Einherjar to pass out. As Sigyn watched Prince Thor buck and kick about on the ground with all diligence it was easy to remember that day. She saw the same dogged tenacity from then that she saw right now. She held her breath hoping that the Lion of Asgard would come out victorious once more.
She watched as Thor landed a hard, strong kick to the groined of one of the Dark-Elves. The elf let out a great "umph," as he doubled over. Immediately, all the Elves stopped performing their jig. "Why you little vermin!" Groaned the Dark-Elf as he held himself for a moment before straightening up and stomping over toward Thor. The kick had taken a lot out of him and he laid flat on his back panting. Some other elves followed suit. The marched over to Thor as well and a few hoisted him to his knees. They held him up for had they not he would have soon fallen back over. The Dark-Elf who Thor had kicked looked the prince over. He flicked a piece of his muddy blonde hair out of his face and looked at Thor's blackened eyes. He started to smirk. Thor shook his head and showed his teeth. He coughed, but managed to hock up enough saliva to spit at the bloodless elf's shoes. The elf's pitch black eyes barely darted downward to acknowledge the spit. When they darted back up they stared defiantly at the prince who was blinded by his blackened eyes.
"Strong," he noted as he held up the broken fetters that were supposed have kept Thor chained to the wall. "Strong enough to escape your binds," he pointed out as he held up the chain and showed it to his comrades. The all started to pleasantly murmur something. The elf shrugged and turned away from Prince Thor. He turned around slowly and faced the exact corner of the wall where Lady Sigyn was standing. The handmaiden to Queen Frigga froze like a statue. She bit her lip to hold in a wheezing breath that longed to escape her lungs. Amazingly enough, the Dark-Elf soldier never seemed to notice her. Instead he rapidly turned back around and kicked Thor squarely in the chest. Thor started to cough and wheeze terribly from the blow. With that the merciless Dark-Elves preyed upon the thunderer. Each one of them coming up to him and devising more ways to attack him more and more viciously. They gripped at his hair and yanked at his beard. Thor would yell out as the snatched fistfuls of hair from his head. They even went so far as to one by one come up and slap him across the face. Their attacks were so cruel that they caused the prince's nose to start to bleed.
Sigyn watched it all transpire in the pale blue light of the Dark-Elf torches. But even the blue light could not hide the frightful color of crimson running down Thor's face from his busted eyes and broken nose. Sigyn shook her head, tears welled up in her eyes. She could no longer stand it. She didn't care if it cost her life or meant that Ragnarok would come. She couldn't just sit and watch Prince Thor get beat to death. She had to do something. She grabbed her bow and arrow once more and was ready to attack.
Thor did what he could by fight back, but there were so many of them and his hands were bound. But he still had his teeth. He kept his jaws moving and swung his head back and forth making great effort to bite his assaulters. He did manage to nip a few fingers. He managed to take hold of one Dark-Elf's white finger. The prince held fast to the finger in between his teeth, he pressed deeper into the cold flesh. He wanted to prove if these creatures were truly bloodless. The soldier cried out as the prince's teeth dug into his pale skin. He took to bashing Prince Thor on the head. Thor let out a few groans and grunts, but he didn't let go until he tasted something that was gooey and sour and bitter. The taste was so terrible that Prince Thor immediately spat out the finger. The Dark-Elf screamed as his thick, black, tar-like liquid oozed from his finger. Sigyn felt like clapping and shouting as she watched Prince Thor. It took all within her to keep still and silent.
"Asgardian dog!" Another soldier hollered stepping forth and looking at Prince Thor. "Hold him!" He commanded. More Dark-Elves came to follow suit with the order. They made sure to take a firm hold of Prince Thor. They grabbed the chains that were still cuffed to his wrists and ankles to ensure he hand no mobility. They gripped his long, blonde-locks keeping his head in place. The son of Odin was still heaving and breathing heavy and a small trickle of the thick, black liquid lingered just a bit on the tip of his tongue and dribbled from his lips and on to his beard. The soldier immediate clocked Prince Thor with a clean upper-cut. With that Prince Thor went out. They let go of his golden mane and Prince Thor's head flopped against his chest. They let go of his wrist and Thor's body fell lifelessly back into the mud with a thud and a splat.
Sigyn gasped as she watched the Dark-Elves draw their blasters. "No!" The words escaped her lips and instantly her bow was drawn and her eyes were narrowed and focused.
"I've had just about enough of him!" The elf with the oozing finger declared as he held his hand.
"I've had enough of all of Asgard!" Another followed.
"I've had enough of waiting for Convergence. Ugh! We have waited long enough!" One yelled.
"For twenty centuries, I've slept and dreamed of nothing but this day," one more chimed in. His words were followed with several rounds of hearty 'here, heres' and boisterous cheers. "I declare unto you, brothers, why need we simply tarry for Convergence? It is but hours away. Haven't we waited long enough?" He questioned to the rest of the men. "We have waited as long as we could for the day to exact vengeance upon Asgard and the House of Bor. Now we have the chance," he pointed out. "Let us kill the descendant of Bor right here and now. Ha! Let him die in this squalid prison, face down in the dirt like the worthless pig that he is," he railed. His argument made the Dark-Elves start to chant and stomp in agreement. "They did no better for our people. How many of our brothers and family members rotted in the sand because of Bor and his ilk?' He protested. How short the memory of the Dark-Elves was. How quickly they had forgotten that it was their own leader, Lord Malekith who sent the rescue ships crashing down to the planet. It was he who had been so desperate for a victory that he was willing to destroy his own race.
"DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!" The dreadful shout resounded throughout the small, dark cell.
"Oh, no you don't," Sigyn whispered in the shadows. "You so badly want to see death... well...you...you can be the first to taste it!" The blonde-haired hand maiden to Queen Frigga declared as she raised her bow higher.
"Steady. Steady men," a smoother, calmer voice broke the ranks of chanting soldiers. "This maggot will die soon enough," he said as his white lip snarled in Prince Thor's direction. He took his booted foot and nudged Prince Thor. The future king of Asgard did not stir and so the soldier landed a swift and heavy kick to the prince's side. "He will die at the hands of King Loki and it will be in a way in which all of the Asgardians can see. I'd rather them see it. After waiting all this time, I want to see the light and hope drain out of the Aesir's eyes. I want them to know their defeat. I want to watch them cry and wail and give into their utter doom," he stated. Soon the other elves were bobbing their heads in agreement. "Besides," he cleared his throat, "we have orders from General Malekith. Which one of you dares to disobey him?" He questioned. "I thought not," the soldier stated as he crossed his arms across his chest. A slick and sinister, slightly mischievous smile slithered across the Dark-Elf's bloodless lips. "I think he intends to make some sport of this Aesir whelp," he snickered. "For our amusement at that," he added. 'Let us not miss out on his further humiliation," he explained.
"You heard the man," bellowed a thin soldier. "Let's get him up and get him to Lord Malekith," he declared. With that, the rest of the Dark-Elves went to grip Prince Thor and hoist him upright. But Thor was still unconscious so two of the soldiers took either side of the wooden plank that was strapped to his back and held on to it as the started to pull his from the cell.
Thor made no effort or struggle. His head lulled back and flopped and swung listlessly with the rough movements as the Dark-Elves carted his limp body through the mud and out of the dark prison hold. They took no care with the royal son of King Odin. They would not even pick him up and carry him over their head. They simply carried him like a sack of potatoes. They allowed for his bare feet to be dragged through the muck and mud. They allowed for his broken, bruised and bleeding body the scrape across hard stone and wooden steps.
Sigyn stayed in the shadows of the lowly dungeon chamber watching with horror and despair as Prince Thor was toted away by the Dark-Elves. She dropped her bow and arrow. Her mouth hung open. "I cannot believe it," she mouthed. Her heart ached and suddenly, she felt as if she couldn't breathe. Her head reeled and she felt as if the muddy ground beneath her feet was starting to swirl right from under her. She gripped at the slime-slick stone walls trying to find something to hold onto. But the walls were so wet and slimy that she couldn't even find a grip. Her fingers slid right off and she slipped and fell flat onto her back into the mud and thatch. She was so distraught that she didn't even feel the hit her head took against the stone wall. Her minds sole focus was the grievous tidings that had just fallen upon her ears. Was it true? Was the terrible thing that the ancient elf said true? Was Loki's actual intention to murder Thor before all of Asgard?
Lady Sigyn shook her golden curls. "No!" She shouted in the darkness. No. It could be true. She knew that Loki was vile. She knew that he was loathsome and wicked. In every way he had proved that he was a madman. She couldn't believe that he was working with Malekith. She couldn't believe that he really wanted Ragnarok and death and destruction, but he did. Each step of the way Loki had constantly proven to be a treacherous snake. He'd proven that he was no prince of Asgard. For a Prince of Asgard could never do such a thing. He would never be a party to the death of hundreds of thousands of his own people.
But despite the fact that she'd beheld first hand all the terrible, wretched things that Loki had done somewhere deep down in her heart of hearts Sigyn still had a tiny glimmer of the smallest fragmented inkling of hope that there was still the teensiest sliver of goodness left inside Loki's soul. She'd seen It. She'd seen it. She'd seen it when after Loki had been accused of trying to murder Queen Frigga she found a slender shadow hovering over the queen's prone form singing a tender lullaby. She'd seen it, in those moments of helplessness when he'd been trapped in this awful dungeon and when he was so grateful for bread and water that he could eat from her hands. Her heart had melted at his tender vacant eyes darting about when he'd whisper timid thank yous into her ear. She'd seen it when she watched as he went and poured out his soul and mourned over Dagmar's lifeless body that sat in a funeral pyre. She'd seen the way he lovingly stroked her face, played with her ebony tresses, planted chaste kisses upon her cold pomegranate lips. Surely, that same man still possessed a heart. She'd seen all those actions, hadn't she?
Sigyn could feel her pulse quickening. Maybe Loki had been fooling her the whole time, after all he was a terrible trickster. It wouldn't be far fetched to believe he had conjured up images just to deceive her. Surely, it wouldn't have been the first time. Sigyn felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She hugged herself tightly. She felt like such a complete imbecile. Had she merely been being duped by Loki the whole time? Her breathing hitched. No, that simply couldn't be true. Could it? She shook her head and then grabbed at her hair. No. No. No. She had seen those things. She'd seen those acts of tenderness that Loki had performed. They were too real, too tangible to be illusions.
Unless, of course it hadn't been Loki conjuring the illusions. What if it had been her? What if it had been here the whole time? What if she'd been concocting her own girlish fantasies? Was she so desperate to believe that there was good in Loki that she could deceive her own self? Sigyn's eyes darted back and forth in the dark. She was unable to see anything except the faint bluish light from the Dark-Elf torches getting further down the hall. The cold, empty lonely feeling of the dirty, grimy cell washed over her.
She sat up and pressed her back against the wall. She wrapped her arms tight around herself to keep from shivering. What if it had been her make-believing that the Loki she once knew still resided deep within the Frost Giants skin? There was once a boy she knew... a shy, thin, dark-haired boy. He was different than most boys on Asgard. Young men who were and tumble, always practicing the art of war. Always running about and shouting, but Loki was different. He was quiet and reflective, smart and funny. He was always playing pranks on people. Most of which were truly amusing. Most of the time they were on peers, every so often they'd been on their professors, and sometimes they were even on her. Although she hadn't enjoyed being the brunt of his practical jokes as a child, she could never hold a grudge against him. Not when she had the chance to see him in a different light.
During their grammar school days, physical education was important. Sports were important in order to see what children were the most skilled and had the most stamina in order to become potential warriors. Loki wasn't the strongest or the most aggressive in games, he was quick, but he didn't necessarily have the stamina to win in races. Often, she'd found him in the field, breathing hard with bumps and bruises. Maybe she took pity on him. A wounded kitten that she wanted to cuddle and take care of. He was never the first pick for games and had it not been for the fact that he was a prince he probably wouldn't have been picked at all for teams, but that didn't stop him. He didn't give up he kept trying and practicing and he got better. She admired that. Her wounded kitten had the heart of a lion. He was a fighter same as any boy on Asgard, maybe he was even more of a fighter than they were.
Often, he'd sit alone during recess hours, there she'd spied him sitting under trees playing and training the animals that scampered across the schoolyard. She'd also often seen Prince Loki associating with students who weren't of noble birth. Often times noble and royal children would ignore and snub those of lesser social status. There were children of wealthy merchants or of famous bards and players were also allowed to attend the royal academy. Most of them were accepted, but other children, who were being raised at state funded orphanages were often given the privilege of attending the Royal Academy. Loki often befriended them, studied with them, since they did not have the benefit of having private tutors at home. A boy like that couldn't possibly be as impish as everyone said.
Then as they grew up, Loki became even more of the prince charming that she had dreamed of. He was gallant and genteel and suave. He was smart and witty and charming and polite. His smile was intoxicating. And there were times during their courtship when Loki's charms and charades had been so convincing that she had believed that on some level he cared. After all, his touch had been gentle, he pulled out her chair at dinner, he kissed her hand, sometimes he gave her gifts...what else was she to conclude, but that he loved her. Even though his silver-tongue could be sharp and biting against her, at times he could be cold and distant and he never went out of his way for her. Those moments had led to this; led to the fact that she could actually believe that after all this time, after all the evil and dastardly things he'd done she could still keep even a glimmer of hope within her that Loki had any goodness left with in him. There was no Loki that she used to know. She never knew him at all.
Well, that was it. This was the last straw. She was done being a naive simpleton. She was tired of playing the fool for Loki. She wanted to believe that it wasn't true... that Loki didn't really have some diabolical plan to murder his own brother in front of all the people of Asgard, but she could no longer hold on to such a notion. The Dark-Elves had no reason to lie about Loki's intentions. They hadn't even known she was in the cell. What type of man could do such unspeakable evil? What kind of man could turn his back on his people and sacrifice them all to Ragnarok. What kind of man was willing to watch innocent men and women and children from other realms who had nothing to with Loki's revenge die? What type of man could kill his own brother? It was monstrous! Simply monstrous. She and Rana hadn't always seen eye to eye, in most recent years they had scarcely talked, but she still loved and cared about Rana. She wanted them to be friends and sisters...Rana's help in this matter meant everything to her. If it hadn't been for Rana she wouldn't have gotten this far. She couldn't imagine trying to kill her. It was like he had no conscience whatsoever. How could he plan on doing this? He and Thor had been raised together. She'd seen them play together and laugh together and joke and walk and talk together, they'd fought by each other's sides countless times. Thor had loved him so. He'd wept for him like a baby at his funeral, she'd witnessed that first hand. Prior to that she'd read in the Imperial Harold how Prince Thor had scoured every corner of the Nine Realms along with the Valkyrie for any sign of Loki. Thor had gone to Midgard to retrieve Loki and bring him home. During the fight on Midgard Sigyn was sure that Thor had the opportunity to kill Loki, but he didn't. He stayed his hand and allowed Loki to live. And even once Loki had been brought back to Asgard and imprisoned Thor had immediately interceded for him. He begged for the all-father to spare his brother's life and to lessen Loki's sentence. It had been Thor who trusted Loki enough to free him from the prison and take him on a mission to save their entire kingdom. Thor had cared about his brother so much that he was willing to sacrifice his own powers to save his brother's life. And how was Loki returning the loyalty of his brother? By executing him!
No! Lady Sigyn wouldn't stand for it. Prince Thor wasn't going to die at the merciless hands of his false brother. Not on her watch. Promise or no promise, dying wish or no dying wish, Sigyn wasn't going to stand by and let Prince Thor be a sacrificial lamb for Loki's plots and schemes. Maybe Ragnarok was unavoidable now. Maybe their fates had already been sealed, but she was going to give Prince Thor a fighting chance. She'd do it by any means necessary. Sigyn reached into the fold of her torn cloak. Although her garments were tattered and dirty, the parchment scroll from Vanaheim remained pristine and untouched, protected by the deep pocket. She squeezed it tight within her hands. Carefully, Lady Sigyn reached down and felt through the mud and thatch until she felt the familiar, cool metallic finish of her golden arrow. She wiped the mud off the arrow and onto her already dirty dress. She then closed her fist tight around the golden weapon. She weighed both objects in her hand. She turned her head to the lighter object. Yes, she would still try with her utmost to get the parchment scroll to Loki, but if that didn't work. If Loki refused to read it or if it didn't contain the hoped for news that would change his mind, if he wouldn't change his mind or if she simply couldn't get to Loki in time... well...she turned her head to toward the arrow, but it was still so dark in the cell that she couldn't even see the arrow, but still she held it fast and swore, "I will use this to end Loki if I must."
Sigyn looked up, the pale blue light from the Dark-Elf torches was getting further and further away. Its glow so faint and dim it seemed like a firefly's flicker against the night sky. She had to get up. She had to do something. She didn't know what they were going to do with Prince Thor, but since they had stated that they weren't going to kill him yet that meant there was still time. There was still something she could do.
Lady Sigyn mashed her lips together and started to stand. She shot up too quickly. The crushing weight of her body on her bad ankle was enough to send her screaming. She clapped her hand over her mouth to hide her scream from the Dark-Elves. Immediately she sank down to the dirt. She was gasping as she grabbed for her ankle. It was tender to touch and she could feel how swollen it was. It hurt so bad she wanted to cry. She shook her head. She didn't have time for that. Sigyn flipped on her hands and knees and started crawling. She crawled toward the flickering blue light of the torches, the only thing her eyes could detect.
The healing chamber was quiet now. The sun had already set. Dusk had fallen. The night sky was thick and heavy with dark, foreboding clouds and the gloominess that had settled over the heavens would not even give way to the faintest glimmer of starlight. There was no light in the healing chamber besides the low glow of Odin's magic enforced aura shield and the lights on the machines and devices that kept monitor of his vitals.
Even the glow of Odin's aura shield was starting to fade. Normally, while the king of Asgard slept through the Oversleep. His shield still glowed full and bright, reflecting that the king was still vibrant and healthy despite his slumber. Odin's golden aura had faded from a brilliant gold to dull and sickly, pale lemon color.
Soft footsteps padded across the floor. They lingered at Odin's bedside for a little while, but the sight of the great king of Asgard all ashen and gray, his features sunken in and darkened was too much to bear. The feet continued walking toward the balcony. The window flung open. The healing room was stiflingly hot, but the cool air was frigidly cold for that time of year. Queen Frigga hugged herself tightly and rubbed her shoulders as a cold wind fresh off the sea whipped around her. From her lofty position on the balcony Queen Frigga had an excellent view of the sea. The waves often brought a sense of peace and calm, their sound a gentle song, the wind whistled in harmony, the tang of salty sea air often wafted into her nostrils and soothed her like perfuming herself with a myrrh bath. But none of that was true about tonight. Tonight, the ocean roiled. The waves restlessly crashed against the shores of the Kytherian soil. The water clapped against the rocks like thunder. Each grating applause reminded the queen of her eldest son. Her hands gripped at the banister on the balcony. She tried to keep herself from quivering, but the feat was simply impossible as she thought of Thor. She had no idea how he was fairing, but she knew the fate that his brother had planned for him. She shuddered as she thought of it. The wind was not whistling. It was howling and cantankerously so. The boisterous gusts blew through the palm trees and made them bow low to the point where they looked as if they would break entirely. Many of the seaside dwellers had battened down their houses and boarded up their doors and windows to protect from the impending storm. If only such offensive measures were enough to ward off the devastating effects of what Ragnarok would bring. The pleasant fragrance of seawater was replaced with the rotten odor of dead fish. All Asgard was groaning. Surely this was the end.
There was no light to be made out in the town. The townspeople had not lit the lamps on the street lights nor had they lit the candles in the windows. This was a sign of great distress among the Aesir of Kytheria. As a seaport town, the lamps were always lit on every street corner and in every house window. These lights were suppose to guide the Viking ships safely back to shore. But the people had given up... there was no point of safe returned to shore now. For there was nowhere safe left in Asgard. There was nowhere safe left in all of the Nine Realms. The Darkness of the Aether would spread through the Nine Realms. The Dark-Elves would attack the remaining people who survived and forced them into slavery and her son, Loki would lord over them all. Frigga bit into her lip.
She looked up to the blackened heavens and batted her sapphire eyes. This could be the last night she'd ever see the sky. It was such a pity that it was so dreadfully bleak. She inhaled the foul-smelling seawater. Although it was a pungent odor, it was still might be the last time that she had to smell the salty sea air. She felt the cool swipe of wind rustling through the fabric of her velvet robe and silk nightgown and blowing through her hair. The air was positively chilling, it nearly froze Queen Frigga all the way down to her bones, but still she stood her ground. Even as the wind howled more and more fiercely, she didn't run for cover. Rather, she savored every moment, because it could be her last. The royal woman surprised herself as she started to laugh. She laughed as the strands of her own mixed gold and gray hair blew about her head and got out of place. The wind kept pitching and the storm clouds kept rolling in and the tidal waves continued to crash against the beach, such was enough to make any person want to take cover and yet Queen Frigga felt drawn to the shore. Her slender, bejeweled fingers clutched tightly to the banister that ran along the outline of the rounded balcony. Her breathing grew harder. Oh, how she longed to rush down to the beach and feel the sand between her toes, how she wished to indulge in the sweet delight of race toward the sea and stopping just inches before the water's edge only to have the playful waves flood the sand and wash up on dry land and tickle her feet to make her acquaintance. A giggle escaped her as the thought crossed her mind. If it was to be the end of them all then there were a few pleasures that she wished to experience once again. The wife of Odin would have given anything in the world to enjoy all the beauties that Asgard had to offer once more. She would have loved to return to her childhood home in the hills of Kregg.
The grassy highlands were so beautiful. Many would not have believed that the Queen of Asgard had not been raised inside the illustrious walls of the Imperial City, but it was true. She spent her girlhood with her numerous siblings in hill-country. Her father had been an elder in her village and after getting honored in a banquet in the Imperial City for a plan he had proposed. After that he had been offered a low position as court scribe by one of the Official Judges in the Imperial City. That night at the banquet had offered her father just a small taste of the big city life, he had realized that the Imperial City offered a plethora of opportunities for the low level noble family to mingle and social climb. By the time, she was a youth the family had taken to living in the Imperial City. Frigga was also taken by life in the metropolis. There was so much to do and everything in the world to see but a part of her heart would always belong to hill country. That was why she always wore a scent of fresh cut lilacs and plums.
The fields in the hills always smelt like fresh cut flowers: daffodils, sunflowers, tulips, but lilacs had always been the queen's absolute favorites. Her village was also famous for their beautiful plum groves. They had a neighbor who owned a pretty plum tree that she loved to climb and pluck fruit from. It always had the sweetest fruit. They were so succulent.
It would have been great to see the hills once more. It would be bright with green and blue and purple and red and yellow. She wished she could have gone and climbed up the steep slopes once more and stood at the mountain's peak and looked down on the sleepy, quiet, little village of her childhood one more time.
There was so much now, that she longed to do, knowing that the end of all time was near. She would have adored to stroll the gilded streets of the Imperial City for the last time. It would have been great to shop in the city market place or go to a sporting event at the arena. She hadn't known how much she would have liked to see one more fierce tournament by the Einherjar. It would have been nice to go to the Opera House and catch a matinee with her sisters or her ladies-in-waiting. What she would have traded for one last chance to celebrate one of Asgard's numerous festive occasions. She longed to celebrate in grand style, with a ball and feasting and dancing and song, oh so much dancing and song. Fear and sadness automatically gripped the queen's heart. She realized that they hadn't even had a chance to celebrate Harvest yet. Harvest was only a few weeks away. A few weeks was an eternity when the truth of the matter was that it seemed as though it would never come. And Solstice. Queen Frigga felt hot tears starting to sting her cerulean eyes they hadn't even made it to Solstice. The golden locked queen gripped her heart as thought of a Solstice that never would be. The queen adored Solstice, it was her favorite time of year. Were the Fates so cruel that they would strip them of them of their life and then deny them the most cherished times of the year? They hadn't even experienced the refreshing beauty of the first snow. Frigga desired to taste the crisp, cool, minty flavor of the first snowflake upon her tongue. It would be great to make a snowball and toss it in the air and watch it fall in her face and powder her hair and eyelashes. She'd love to take a stroll through her garden just after a dusting of new snow. Her garden. Her home. More than anything else that she desired to do before this inescapable Armageddon came was to walk through the palace once more. The place that had been her home for more than 2000 years. She wanted to be in the place where her family had lived and where their memories were. She had never imagined that Ragnarok would come in her lifetime. Frigga shook her head and started to chuckle. No, she never thought that she would have to live through this terrible day, but somehow if it did happen... she had always thought that at least she would be with her family. That even as the world smoldered outside the safety of the palace walls that she'd have Odin, Thor and Loki with her. They'd hold hands and tell one another that they loved each other and that everything would be alright and that after their dying breaths, when they woke up...in Valhalla...they'd wake up to see the smiling faces of the ones they loved. They'd think of death no more, nor would they ever have need to fear the end of time again. They'd embrace and laugh and smile and stroke each other's faces. She'd smother each one of the handsome men with kisses. Then they'd all walk hand in hand to the grand mead hall to sit at the table for a banquet that would never end.
Queen Frigga mashed her lips together, she closed her eyes as she felt the moisture sting behind her lids. She blew breath from her naturally pink lips. The image was so pleasant and peaceful, but what did it matter. That imagination was the furthest thing from the truth. The palace was miles away, more than two days' journey by horse alone. It no longer stood as a protective sanctuary or a bastion of strength for the people to run into or a loving home. It was now hostile territory, an enemy stronghold. It hurt Queen Frigga's heart to think that those animals had taken hold of her home. The very thought that any of those savages could be sitting in any of the rooms that she had so carefully had decorated for royal guests made her skin crawl. The idea of that black-eyed critter hovering around her husband's throne was enough to make her blood boil. Odin had done his best to be a wise and kind ruler. He had reigned over Asgard and promoted justice and peace during his time. He had striven to preserve the legacy of peace that his father had laid down. The great King Bor had fought against the Dark-Elves to stop them from spreading evil, hate and fear throughout out the Nine Realms. Now the very ones he fought against had come to sit upon his throne and traipse through his home. The Queen of Asgard shook her head.
Her loving family was all but destroyed. Odin was lost in the Oversleep. His vital were reading lower and lower, with every passing second as they drew closer to Ragnarok more of Odin's life force seemed to be drifting away. She wondered if he still possessed the power of vision while his slumbered. She didn't want to lose him. Thor, her beautiful son, her strong, brave, proud, trusting, kind son; he was so fearless, so resolute and true. Ever since he had been born all of Asgard's hopes had ridden on his shoulders. For most, so much expectation would have been to heavy of a burden to bear, but not for her son. He never shirked or shied away, he always rose to the occasion, he had much to learn, that much was true, but he was becoming wiser everyday. Her pride in him had always been there from the first moment she held him in her arms, but now it was so much more. She could not take the image that she had just seen in those holograms. The sight of her mighty child beaten and broken, bruised into a bloody pulp until he was hardly even recognizable was one of the most painful things that she had ever endured. To see him brought so low and so abused by those... those vicious brutes was her worst nightmare. She shook her head. She should expect no better from Malekith and his ilk. They were merciless, soulless wretches. That was what they did, but Loki.
Frigga hiccupped. A sharp pain shot through her chest. It felt like a lightning bolt to her heart. The fact that Loki was the one who had orchestrated all this calamity, the fact that Loki had stood there and watched her as Malekith and the warriors of Svartalfheim beat and whipped his brother well that... that was a horror that was beyond speech. She dared to think that Loki had not been apart of such cruelty toward Thor. He surely hadn't stopped the abuse. Had he just stood there and watched as the Dark-Elves pummeled his brother into a pulp? Had he participated? Had he landed a few swift blows to Thor's back? What did it matter? Either way he intended to kill Thor. How could he? Why would he? Was his soul so engulfed with hate that he'd forgotten that Thor was his brother? She'd raised them to love one another? And once Loki had been so loving. Now he took fiendish delight and pleasure in announcing to all of Asgard that Thor was his prisoner and he was soon to be Thor's executioner. Queen Frigga brought her hand up to her quivering lips. She blinked her eyes several times the liquid wanting to leak from her crystal blue orbs. She could still see the image of Loki displayed across the hologram projector. His eyes were wild, like she'd never seen them before. They gleamed with a strange passion and she didn't see the baby that she'd held in her arms in those crazed pupils, no did she see the boy who sat upon her knee or who would so often confide in her and who she too could confide in. It was like he was gone, erased and replaced with some rabid wolf.
She wondered if he intended to break her heart. Maybe it was some act of mercy on Loki's part. Maybe he thought to spare her the pain of having to see Ragnarok rain down fire and brimstone over the realm by breaking her heart and showing her himself killing Thor. Loki intended to broadcast his brother's execution. Queen Frigga wanted to be strong. She wanted to be there with and for the citizens of Asgard and for the citizens of the Nine Realms at large. She was still their queen, still the all-mother... Loki was their destroyer and Thor was their martyr and Odin their fallen king, they needed one member of the royal family still standing strong and willing to be there for them through the end, but she could trust her heart not to give out or give in if she was forced to watch her youngest son slay her eldest. She knew Loki said he hated Odin. He resented him and didn't count him as a father. She also knew that Loki had said she wasn't his mother. Somehow, she couldn't blame Loki for his resentment. She loved him more than life itself, but she'd lied to him along with Odin. She'd lied because Odin decreed it needed to be so and she'd lied to protect him, but she'd lied to her sweet son none the less. It hurt, but somehow, she could take that all she had earned from Loki was his disdain. But she'd never know what cause Thor had given Loki for such hatred. Thor hadn't been deceiving Loki. He was a child same as Loki, he never knew. He never needed to know. He was not to blame for the elaborate deception that she and Odin had woven, but Frigga knew that it would be nearly impossible to convince Loki of that. She knew Thor had provoked Thor to jealousy, but it had never been intentional and she knew that Loki knew that, but it didn't matter to him now... envy was cruel as the grave.
The wife of Odin wanted to cry, but she stifled her tears. She exhaled. She tried to push the thoughts away from her mind. Wondering why Loki was doing what he was doing wouldn't stop Loki from his conquest. She tried to picture happier times. She thought of the joy and laughter in all the places that she wished she had one last chance to go to. She couldn't go to the palace, walk the halls or stroll through the garden and smell the rose, nor could she return the pleasant pastures of her girlhood home and roll in the grass, but she could go down to the sea. The shore was only a two mile walk from the Southern Palace. She could go down to the sea. She could feel the sand between her toes and the smooth water polished stoned. She could feel the cold waves crash against her legs and thighs. Tide was high, maybe the waves would even break as high as her abdomen or chest and she'd feel the spray of the ocean on her face. Frigga smiled the thought was pleasant enough to make her fears disappear for a second. Wouldn't it be beautiful to feel the strength of a stormy sea one last time?
Queen Frigga nodded to herself as she watched the sea get rougher. Her heart grew excited. It started beating wildly like the waves. She longed to go down to the shore. Her guards and ladies would advise against such a rash action, the sea was far too rough, but she didn't care. No guards or ladies-in-waiting were present. Even young Pita, who had been such good company wasn't with her any longer. She turned from the balcony. Her feet had taken control of her entire body. She started running, racing. She was planning to rush down to the beach and dive right into the ocean. Maybe the waves would be too rough, to much for her, but maybe that would be a blessing. Perhaps the waves would overtake her and she'd be carried out to sea and she'd never have to behold Ragnarok.
She moved quickly, but silently. She raced to the door and nearly thrust it open. It creaked as it opened just a crack and sliver of orange light from the hall torches crept into the healing chamber. Queen Frigga turned around and was suddenly, very aware of the faint hum of the protective forcefield placed around Odin's bed. She could hear the rhythmic, but all too slow beeping of the apparatuses that the healers were using to monitor Odin's vitals. Frigga looked at the door, her last chance for freedom and escape. Her last chance experience the wonders of the realm before all hell broke loose. She closed the door and proudly and slowly walked back to Odin's bedside.
All the while the queen chided herself. How could she have thought of running out to sea? That was the path of the coward. She was a shield-maiden, she was a queen and her name would never be synonymous with the word coward, not even in her last moments.
Soon she was standing over her husband's sickbed. Loki had been right when he'd said that he couldn't get used to seeing Odin in such a light. Weak, helpless and vulnerable was not a position that was easy for the all-father to take. She longed to see his face free of tubes and probes and monitors. So, that she could see how handsome he was. She wasn't used to seeing his cheeks without color or seeing his beautiful, blue-gray eye closed for so long. She'd give anything to be able to look him in the eye and tell him how much she loved him one last time.
She scrunched up her features as she looked down on his ill, slumbering form. She'd have to be satisfied with simply taking him by the hand instead. So, she did. She took him by the hand as she pulled up a chair to his bedside. His hands felt like ice and he didn't even squeeze her hand in return, but none the less the Queen of Asgard held fast to her husband's hand not letting go.
She had dismissed Healer Onrac and the rest of the healers. The news of their impending destruction had caused many to fall instantly ill with fever. They fainted upon hearing Loki's terrifying edict. They were mumbling in their sleep and completely incapacitated. Others were immediately stricken with panic attacks, strokes and heart attacks upon the news of how Loki was Asgard's new dictator and soon to be the murderer of their most beloved prince. Those poor souls needed tending to, even more so than the king, so she dismissed the healers to care for those individuals. Odin would have wanted it that way. Besides, she needed a moment alone with her husband.
Queen Frigga knew that the healers had done all they could for King Odin. She shook her head. Her eyes started to mist. She played with Odin's cold, calloused fingers, she rubbed her thumb over his wrinkled knuckles. Her fingers strayed to play in his gray hair. It was damp. She smiled. His hair had lost its pigment, but it still had the same thickness and wave pattern that it had had in his youth. Odin was so weak now, he was pale and sickly and fading, but she could still see the gallant young, strawberry-blonde prince who competed in the joust. It was too much to bear. She flung her hand off Odin's and raised her hand to her mouth. She could no longer keep her tears at bay. They streamed down her face.
Healer Onrac had stated awkwardly without many words that he was doubtful that the all-father would" survive. To this Queen Frigga could only offer a rueful smirk, it was doubtful that any of them would survive. Still, she knew Healer Onrac's burden. As a healer, he had pledged an oath to do no harm as a caregiver of the royal family he owed his king and queen to do everything he could to keep them healthy. Seeing the king in such a state was hard on all of them. Frigga had no doubt that it tortured him to think that he could provide no more assistance to his king. It weighed heavy on his heart that he could not lead the team of healers in discovering some new mysticism in which to help pull the king out of his deep and lonely slumber. He could not even keep Odin stable. In no way, did Queen Frigga hold her faithful physician responsible for what had befallen her husband. Being subject to the Oversleep was par for the course when it came to being ruler of Asgard and the circumstances surrounding the Oversleep were beyond any that could be under anyone's control. Still, she knew that Onrac was looking for away to assuage his conscience and ease his guilt. Keeping the all-father in such a miserable state bordered on the fringes of cruelty and malpractice. He didn't want the great king to die, not at a time like this, not in these Asgard's darkest hours, the most dire hours that the Nine Realms would ever have faced, no... no...no they needed Odin, but the same time Healer Onrac didn't think it was right to keep the Odin hovering in the valley between life and death. But of course, that wasn't a call the head healer could make.
"My love," she croaked as she wiped at her eyes. She wiped quickly, scrambling so that she could hold Odin's hand once more. She clung to him with both her hands. "I'm here, my love. I'm here," she patted his hand. "Can...can you hear me, my love?" She asked as she leaned over the bed. "I know you should be able to, but...but you seem so far away," she confessed. Odin remained stock still and gave no indication that he could hear a thing. "I...I...I" she stammered..."I can't believe it has come to this," she explained shaking her head.
"I'm sure you have seen..." Her voice trailed off. She hiccupped. "W-w-what Loki has planned..." She paused. "He showed us all. He showed us all," Queen Frigga announced water rolling down her face. She shook her head miserably. "Oh Odin," she cried as she squeezed his hand tighter. "He's working with Malekith and usher in Ragnarok," she shook her head. "He intends to kill Thor," she sobbed. "Thor! Thor! My son! Our son! THOR!" She nearly screeched. "Loki's got him chained up like an animal," Frigga stated. "It's so bad," she muttered.
Queen Frigga swallowed trying to get herself together, "And he calls himself a king," she rolled her blue eyes and looked up at the ceiling. "But he is blind Odin. He has forgotten every lesson we ever taught him about being a king," she expressed. "He's just become...he's become a madman and a fool and...and a...a...a," she didn't want to utter it, because no mother should ever say those words about her child, but it was true. "a monster," she whispered so low that she barely could convince herself that she had uttered the unmentionable word. "Oh, but he is! He is! He is!" She wailed. The tears spilled from the queen's pretty blur eyes and turned them red.
She exhaled deeply several times, she tried to calm herself, but it was useless the more she thought about the terrible things that Loki had planned the harder she cried. " I know what you must think..." "What you must be thinking," the queen qualified as she sniffled. "That you could have stopped this from the start. That had you done as you had intended none of this would have happened. "I know that you are probably thinking right now that you should have done something more drastic when Loki returned from Midgard...something harsher, stronger and more severed then maybe we wouldn't have been in this predicament," Frigga said bobbing her head and sniffing. Her pretty lips were pulled into am intense frown.
Frigga tossed her head back and let out a bitter and brittle laugh. "I am sure that you blame me for this as much as Loki," she said looking down at Odin's face. She ran her fingers through his beard. "Don't you...don't you?" She pressured him. Odin still lied helpless. "If you don't you should. It was I who kept begging you not to be too harsh with Loki. I didn't want you to punish him to severely...I...I knew what the full extent of the law called for, but I didn't care... I couldn't bear to lose Loki again...I'd already lost him once... my heart... I couldn't lose him again," Queen Frigga continued through her sniffles. "I couldn't...I...I...just couldn't," the queen confessed. She hung her head. Her shoulders slumped. "I...I know, that you didn't want to hurt Loki," Frigga insisted. "I know... I know the burden you bear you had to keep Asgard safe... had to be king before father..." She explained. Her hands gently stroked his face. "But...I...I...I can never be queen before mother..." The blonde-haired royal woman admitted. "I suppose that is the reason why they coined the phrase, 'Queen Mother'," The sapphire-eyed wife of Odin smiled to herself. "Mother... Queen the words are one for me... I just... I just... he is my son, my baby... I couldn't let you go through with everything that you intended...not I...or Thor," the queen spoke absently.
She gasped. "THOR!" Queen Frigga bellowed. The one-sided conversation was like a steak-knife through her heart. How could Loki truly intend to kill Thor? Hadn't he known that it was Thor who was constantly interceding on his behalf, pleading that his life be spared. The queen of Asgard shook her head and started to dry her eyes. "Maybe you even wish that you had never brought Loki to us," she blurted out. Her eyes darted down to glance at her husband's face. She halfway expected Odin to shoot up from his bed and declare that that was exactly what he was wishing right now. "Maybe, you even...even wish you had left him there... in that snowbank," Frigga's voice cracked and she shrugged. "You think that none of this would have happened if that was the case," she continued to stroke Odin's brow. "Don't you?" She prompted him. His answer was only a struggled breath. The corners of the queen's lip barely managed to pull up into the most pained sort of smirk. "Maybe it wouldn't have," she agreed with a shrug, "Maybe it would have, though," she pointed out as she stuck her index finger in the air. "Who can say now. Norns only know," she sighed. "Not I, but what I do know is I don't regret what we've had with Loki. I don't Odin, I don't... I truly don't" Queen Frigga stated. "I understand If you do...but I don't," she breathed. "I know what your wondering," Frigga stated as she pulled her blonde strands out of her face. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and rubbed her finger under her nose. "I know..." She smiled up in the air. "You want to know if I would have wanted us to keep Loki if I had known this was to come," she said wagging her finger playfully. "Even if I would have known what Loki would have become... I wouldn't change anything. I wouldn't want to not have had him in our lives," she went.
"Think of the good times," she begged her husband. Her hands wound through his gray hair. "Think of Loki's first steps... his first words," Frigga cracked a smile. "It seemed like once he started her never stopped," she guffawed. "Remember when he and Thor were young and Loki would come to dinner every night with a new riddle or joke to share with us. Think of him when he was training in his magic, how proud he was of himself," she nodded still smiling. "Recall every time he ever made us proud, Odin? Can you recall all the treaties he negotiated on behalf of Asgard?" She asked blinking back the tears that still lingered in her eyes. "I remember," Queen Frigga whispered. "I remember the conversations Loki and I shared," she said her voice trailing off as she stared longingly out the window at the not so distant sea. "He only ever wanted to make you proud," Frigga nodded.
"That's all he wanted, Odin," the queen explained. She whispered in his ear. "That's all he ever wanted," she mashed her lips together. The liquid from her eyes splashed down on Odin's gray cheeks. He didn't bat an eyelash or even stir as her tears wet his face."I beg you Odin, don't hate him," she implored. She took her husband by his cold hands and squeezed them tighter than she had ever squeezed them before. She thought that perhaps the only time she had squeezed his hand so tightly was she had felt those first intense labor pains from her pregnancy with Thor. "No matter what happens, Odin," Frigga's breath was lodged in her throat. "Don't hate him for what he's done or who he's become," she entreated him. "Promise me. Promise me, Odin!" She shouted as she grabbed him by the face, "That you won't hate him." Queen Frigga's face was streaked with tears as she finally leaned her head down on Odin's chest and sobbed.
The wife of Odin sobbed long and hard onto his chest. His chest that barely heaved with breath. His chest that hardly even had a heart beat. still leaning on his chest even with Odin unconscious and incapacitated she could still feel his strength. "The soldiers...the Einherjar...they are hiding in the shelters," Frigga explained against his chest. Her hands tugged and toyed with the smooth fabric of his sleeping robe. "And... and...and they have a plan," she whispered... "They want to blow up the palace...before Convergence takes place and before Loki has the chance to bring Thor to the square for a public execution..." She explained. "I know...I know," Frigga said throwing up her hands in the air and shaking them. Queen Frigga swiped the back of her hand across her forehead and under her eyes and nose as she sat up from his chest. "it's a good plan..." She admitted with a sigh. "Not full proof of course, now there are no full proof plans...for what is full proof against prophecy?" She shrugged. Sorrowfully. "But I can understand why they want to do it," she nodded and looked down at her hands. "If they succeed then Ragnarok could be stopped, but if they do stop Ragnarok we will lose both our sons," Frigga sniffled. "I suppose it's a risk that we half to take," Queen Frigga muttered.
"Oh Odin, my love," Queen Frigga broke from her composure and started to worry her hands. "What are we going to do? What are we going to do?" She asked as she gripped Odin, by his white satin bed clothes. Her blue eyes were wide, screaming and pleading. She looked at him as if she honestly expected an answer. "If they destroy the palace, that doesn't guarantee that Ragnarok will be stopped. Malekith survived more than 1000 years in his mothership, I doubt a blast will be enough to kill him. And the Aether, well you and I well know that crystal cannot be destroyed. Even your father couldn't destroy it. And Loki... well..." Queen Frigga chortled bitterly, "he is many things," she clicked her tongue..."Good or bad, he is a survivor," she shrugged. "Bombing the palace only guarantee's that Thor dies. I've taken all the measures I could take," his wife told him. "He survived days out there abandoned in the temple, he survived here in Asgard under false pretenses for all these centuries, he survived when he fell into the Void for more than a year, he survived his imprisonment. He could easily survive an explosion," she reported to her husband. Odin's only response was the struggling rise and fall of his chest.
She reached out her hand and stroked his face gently. She patted down on his heart, trying to ease him. "Now, you know I want to do everything that I can to prevent this terrible and evil day," she said to him. "I went into the Queen's Sanctum and I...I...I rent the tapestry..." She confessed. Her bright blue eyes looked down at Odin and she held her breath. She waited for his response. She could hear his deep voice echoing in her ear, saying no, but when she looked down at him his lips weren't moving and his eyes were closed and the color in his cheeks kept draining. She blinked and then looked away. "Once... a long time ago... during the Great Frost Giant Wars...I...I...Oh Odin I had such a terrible vision! I never wanted to weave that tapestry," she swore. "I...I...it was of you being slaughtered by Laufey. I didn't want to weave it because I knew as soon as I did it would come to pass and it would be woven into the fabric of time... but the vision wouldn't leave me Odin...in my every waking and sleeping moment I saw it. I was being driven out of my mind. I couldn't eat...I couldn't sleep...I couldn't tend to our son. So, I wove it. I was so scared that it was about you dying, every day I prayed that I wouldn't hear a report about how you had been slain in battle. I praised the Norns when you came home from war, I thought that perhaps I hadn't actually had the vision of foresight, but rather just my nervous mind playing tricks on me. And I was relieved, all this time I've been so relieved, living like the vision would never come to pass, but now I realized it wasn't about you at all, but about Loki and Thor. But I swear to you Odin I would have never woven that tapestry if I would have known that it would have meant this," she shook her head and squeezed Odin's hand for dear life. "I swear...I swear...I would have rather been driven mad by the vision than to have faced this. Then to see the end of time come and our sons destroy each other" the tears poured torrentially down Queen Frigga's face. All the blush and rouge and face paint had been washed from her visage.
"In away Odin...I am responsible for this," the queen reasoned. "No," she held her finger to the king's white, chapped lips. They were rough as sandpaper against her supple skin. "Don't try to tell me I am not for I am...I wove it. I placed it into the fabric time and I made these events set in stone," she bobbed her head and bit her lip. She wanted to scream. Guilt hung over her like a wet blanket. She felt as if it would suffocate her. Her whole body was started to tremble so vigorously that her blonde strands shook loose and fell in her face. "I've done what I could to right that wrong," Frigga admitted she took a deep inhale through the nose. Her bottom lip quivered. "I cut into the tapestry... I didn't tear it in two, but I made a snip. I know such a thing should not be done," Frigga's voice came out breathy. I know the stories...I know the terrible things that are said to be able to happen by one who tries to alter fate, but being that it is possible cataclysm that we are facing...I figured it couldn't get much worse," the golden-locked queen confessed a broken laugh escaped as a cough.
"But...I... But I...I... I don't think it's enough," she whispered earnestly. "If It was...well...if it wasn't something should have transpired already," she explained. "Loki is the one who ushered this in and I believe only Loki can stop this," Frigga stated firmly. "If Loki doesn't make a choice, if he doesn't make a stand then none of our efforts will matter. There's a reason why the Malekith has continued working with Loki, surely you can see that, Odin," Frigga spoke quickly. "Loki is powerful. He is the most powerful mage Asgard has produced in centuries, no doubt Malekith knows that and because of that I bet he needs him to help him unleash the Aether. If Loki doesn't help him then Malekith's ancient and evil plans won't come to fruition. I know you think he's gone too far...I know you think that his heart is too twisted and evil," the queen stated. "Odin, if I am honest I debate the same thing," Frigga raised her elegant hands in the air. "I wonder if he has any heart left at all. But we have to try!" Queen Frigga slammed her fist into her palm. "We have to believe, Odin. We must believe. WE can't give up on him!" Queen Frigga implored. "If we do... we give up on any hope that this world can go on. I'm not willing to give up on that, Odin, are you?" Queen Frigga inquired.
Her question remained unanswered by her husband. Frustrated, by her husband's silence, Frigga continued to talk. "I'm going to contact Loki. I don't know how...all the systems are dead. Our communication is limited to the most archaic of ways now...carrier pigeons," she stated, "I don't care if I have to send out a thousand doves to the palace...but there must be something...there must be something that I can say... something that I can do to convince him to turn from his wicked way," she mumbled more to herself than to her unconscious husband. Queen Frigga worried her hands as she looked down at the ground. "Oh Odin!" She cried out. "If only Loki could hear from you," her voice brightened with hopefulness. She clasped her hands together. Her eyes shined. They were still full of water, but there was a twinkle there. "If only he could hear you tell him that you still believe in him, that you still think there is good in him...that you still love him," she exclaimed. She rubbed his knuckles. "Do you?" Frigga's pink lips, free of paint whispered against Odin's ear. "Oh husband!" Her voice shook, 'do you?' The question broke her heart because she realized that she wasn't just asking her husband, but also herself. Everything thing Loki had done had cut into her heart like a knife. He kept severing through her soul. Each action was a mortal wound. It rocked her and shattered her faith in her son. It made her feel as if she had never known him. Was he such a liar from the start that he had been able to deceive her so elaborately for so many centuries. He'd hurt her and angered her in ways that she never knew possible and yet she still tried to hold on to the tiniest spark of hope that Loki had good inside of him. She held on for herself. To admit that Loki was pure evil was to admit her own failure and to admit her that they were hopeless and that death was the only option that any of them had and that darkness was meant to consume them all. She was queen she would never accept defeat easily. But as each passing second brought her closer to facing off with a grim fate she wondered would her hope for her youngest son last. If Convergence came and she had to watch Loki slaughter her beloved Thor and if she had to watch the worlds align only for the evil of the Aether to be unleashed into the cosmos all by Loki's hand would she still love him? Could she love him after that? Could she love him in in her dying breath knowing that he was the destroyer of her kingdom and of the Nine Realms? Would she still love him in the end or would she curse his name and hate the very day he was born?
"Oh, Odin that's all Loki ever wanted...I know...I know...that if he could hear those words from you... It would make a difference," she said with a sigh. "To hear that you loved him," she gasped. "Even now...even still," her voice broke. "It would mean the world to me," she expressed with tears streaming down her face. "Won't you tell him, Odin?" She implored. "what you tell me?" She pleaded a broken smile on her lips.
Odin's silence was expected so Queen Frigga simply smiled. "I want Loki to make the right decisions in this life because no matter the fate of the realms, Loki will have to answer for him in the next. And the punishment he will face will be an eternal one," the royal woman explained with calm dignity as she patted Odin's cold stiff hands. She nodded deeply. "But I can't make Loki make the right choices," she confirmed. "So, I will commission for the Einherjar to do what they must to preserve us, but I will entreat them to hold their strike until after midnight to give Loki a chance even if it's a chance he doesn't take."
Frigga finally rose to her feet. She broke contact with Odin's hand for the first time since she had begun talking with him. She pushed her seat away from her husband's sick bed. She put the chair back next to the couch. She paced about the room for a few minutes. She worried her lip. All the paint was smeared off it. She wrung her hands. Then she dragged her hands through her blonde hair. A few of the strands came out and she noted that many of them had lost their golden pigment. She turned around violently, tossed the hairs to the side. "I don't know what the future holds for us now Odin," she nearly screamed. Her breathing was ragged. "The future is now," she responded. "And time will tell soon enough what are fates may be." The queen of Asgard stated. "You are suffering so," she whispered as she walked back toward his bed.
She looked on him with tremendous pity. Tubes were shoved through his nostrils and down his throat. Knobs and wires were connected to his temples, forehead and chest. His lips were chapped and his face was gray and he seemed to shrinking and sinking all at once into the bed sheets. His aura was so dismal that without the protective shield placed about him she was sure it would have completely faded away. The Queen sobbed into her hands and then flung herself against his bed. She wrapped her arms around his legs, she held them fiercely as she sat on her knees by his sighed. "You are suffering so," she spoke as her voice warbled. "And I...I am your wife, your queen, I was meant to ease your pain and bear your burdens. I have never wanted to add to your sorrow or grief, Odin," she stated as she shook her head. "And I won't," Frigga said firmly. "I can't bear to watch you suffer any longer!" She declared as she violently gripped at the think white fur pelts draped across his bed. She calmed herself rubbing her hands gently over the soft fur. It eased her senses. Then delicately and gently she folded the pelts back and forth before tucking them higher around Odin's shoulders. Her blue eyes were round and tender as she looked down at his face. Pain was etched clearly on his unconscious visage. Hid brown was furrowed and creased like an accordion.
"I know not what you see," Frigga breathed against his ear. Her long fingernails barely skimming his brow. "But I know it is very great, indeed," she confessed. "I know what you've seen has left you broken. It's broken your heart..." She gasped the back of his hand flying toward her lips. "You are tormented by it," she stated. "I know what that is like my husband, to have visions for frightful and fitful that you feel as though they may drive you mad," she nodded. "At least I had some relief...at least I had my tapestries," she explained with a shrug. Her lips just barely managing to hold an uneasy smile. "I should be your relief," Frigga declared as she pounded on her chest. "I thought that maybe when we were wed that somehow, I'd be able to take on some of your burden from you," the queen stifled the sob desperate to escape. "Wish to the Norns I do that I could see into your mind's eye and know the things that you know perhaps see the outcome of this disaster and we could share in this together," she bowed her head down low so that their foreheads met. "Alas," she panted and breathed hard. "I cannot see what you see," she announced. "Try as I might," said Queen Frigga through her gritted teeth as she pressed her head harder against his. "But I can see your breaking heart," she admitted just as she let her austere venire to shatter and her face to crumple. "and a broken heart...well who can live with that?" she shrugged. "Who should have to?" She continued to question.
"Not you..." Confessed the Queen of Asgard. "You have been a strong and beneficent leader for the Nine Realms. You gained their respect and put them at peace," she reminded him. "You have been a great king for Asgard," she told him. "You have protected her, prospered her. "You have been a good father to our sons. You weren't perfect, Odin," she chuckled. "But I know you did what you thought was best and that's all that anyone can do," she recognized. "But you have been the best husband I could have ever asked for," she went on. He rubbed his hands. "I'd change nothing about our life together, Odin. Nothing. I'd marry you if you were a Museplehiem slave, but you know that," she said still stroking his hand with love. "I only wish that it was not under your reign...our reign that we had to watch Ragnarok fall upon us." She shook her head. "I suppose fate is not ours to define," Frigga grimaced. "I wish we had more time," her voice sputtered against her husband's ear. "Oh Odin, I wish that I had more time with you. If fire and brimstone are to be rained down upon our heads then I would to do it with us clinging to one another, looking into each other's eyes," she clung to her husband. "If not that then I'd at least wish for us to fight together, side by side with full vim and vigor against Malekith. But since that will not be the case..." Frigga paused and shook her head. "I'll not force you to suffer anymore," she stated she looked up at the ceiling with misty blue eyes and patted the great king's hands. "Oh Odin!" she nearly shrieked. "I wish to heard the sound of your voice once more, more than I wish for anything in this life. To see you smile," her face broke into fitful nervous laughter. "I don't want to lose you," she spoke softly as she looked back down at him and stroked his gray-hair. "I wish it was I and not you suffering so," she explained. Queen Frigga felt foolish. She kept talking about everything that she wished. But what good was wishing now. Wishing was futile. There was no genie or fairy dust to grant her wishes. The hours were winding down and as time drew closer she realized that only had a prayers chance of survival and even now prayer seemed to prove to be in vain.
"I don't want to lose you," Queen Frigga mumbled once more in earnest. "Asgard still needs you," she told him. "While you are still living, there is yet still a chance that Malekith could be defeated," she informed him. "Loki still needs you," she continued. She wagged her finger and flipped her mixed blonde and gray hair back out of her eyes for it was plastered to her face from her tears. "Believe it or not he does. While you live, he still has a chance of redemption, he still has a chance of proving himself to be a true Odinson and in all honesty, Odin, I know that that is what Loki has really wanted." With water, still in her eyes Queen Frigga of Asgard went on to confess, "But more than anything...I...I still need you, my husband. I need your strength, courage and wisdom to see me through to the end of this!" She reasoned. "I need your firm hands to hold me and your strong chest to support me," she elaborated as she massaged his chest. "I want you by my side," the golden queen reported, "I ask and beg of you that you fight. Fight." Her hand balled into a fist. "Fight your way back from this darkness. Claw your way through the shadow of death which hands over you like shroud," she entreated as she waved her hand over his prone form. "I want you to live," she said gripping his hands once more. "But I won't force you, my love, no I won't force you to live and watch the destruction of everything that you have worked so hard to fight for and preserve. I won't force you to endure the sight of this world being overrun by darkness and evil. I won't make you endure living through Ragnarok. I wouldn't wish that fate on even my worst enemy," she expressed. "So, I won't ask you to suffer through that, my love," she stroked his beard. "Not even for my sake," a soft smile escaped the queen's pretty lips. She put her slender finger to his lips where an air tube dangled. "Shhh," she cooed. "I know you would...if I wanted you to," Frigga qualified. The queen's voice was soft. "But it's not about what I want, Odin...it is about what you want," she smiled at him. She shrugged, "It's up to you," she placed her hand on his shoulders. "Whether you want to stay and see what becomes of us...it could be the end of us," she admitted. "Or if...or if..." Her voice drifted off and then it cracked completely before she spoke again, "or if you want to stay."
Golden-locked queen held her breath. She halfway expected her husband to answer back and say that he would stay and that he would keep fighting until the bitter end. But as she looked at his face, pale and gray, lips quivering, ashy and chapped, tears spilling out the sides of his eyes, brow ceased, his chest heaving hungry for hair even with the tubes and machines doing their best to pump air into his body, she knew what Odin's answer should be. She shook her head calmly and stroked her hand over her face "But I'm not making you," she whispered as she curled her fingers through his thick, white beard. "Either way," she added. "Not any longer," she confirmed. "My duty as queen is to be a strong leader for Asgard. And I will be that for them, Odin," Queen Frigga promised. "I will stay and watch and wait. No matter the outcome, I will be here with our people," she assured him. "But...my duty to you, as your wife is to be your helpmeet and ease your burdens." She spoke soothingly to Asgard's king. "That's what I want to do...that's what I must do as my final act of love to you," the queen explained. "So, you are free!" she announced. She exhaled and tossed her head back and opened her arms why. "You are free," she breathed once more. "Free to stay," she said panting, "and see what time has designed for us," she said as she stuck her left hand out to the side, "or go with hope in your heart and rest in the halls of Valhalla, never having to know the evils of Ragnarok," she stated with tears in her eyes as she held out her right hand. She weighed the two options "And if fate be cruel... or kind," she shrugged and half way smiled. "Well...either way... I'll see you soon," Frigga's beautiful lips spread into a shaky smile before she bent down and pressed her so soft lips against his cheek.
With that Frigga stood to her feet. She wiped her brow and shook her hands. She looked upon the king's weak form once more. All the while the all-mother wondered if it weren't for these contraptions and wires and probes and the healing water and the crystals and the force-field if her husband would still be alive. Healer Onrac and his staff had worked so hard to keep Odin stable, but he'd continued to have seizures and go into cardiac arrest. She knew that his body was simply responding to the terror he alone was forced to behold. She couldn't make him go through it anymore.
Quickly, Queen Frigga dived her hand back under the protective golden force-field that cradled her husband's aura and the Odinforce which he possessed. She began to unhook the wires and pulsars connected to Odin's chest. She gasped with each wire that she disconnected. The wires were used to shock Odin's heart if the beat started to become erratic, irregular or too slow. The cords were pulled rapidly and they left little red marks on Odin's white chest. Sometimes the king would jerk or hiccup when one of his monitors was disconnected. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry," Frigga mumbled tenderly as she methodically striped Odin's chest and forehead and fingers and forearms of the tubes and wires that were plugged there. She glanced up, breathlessly and looked at the screens and monitors and noticed as their glows dimmed and the beeping lights that they displayed stopped beeping. Frigga's blue eyes started to water. She felt Odin's body give a sudden shudder. The queen hesitated for a moment. Her hands shaking. With all the monitors disconnected and Odin's breathing so shallow she had no way of telling whether his heart was still beating. "Odin!" She cried. She took him by the hand. They were still so cold. "Odin!" she clutched his hand tighter. Her eyes darted around and she half way expected Healer Onrac to come rushing back into the chamber. But a minute passed and all was silent. She thought about it for a minute. She thought about running to get the healers and having them reset the equipment. She couldn't feel a pulse through Odin's wrist. Her own heart was caught in a knot in her throat. "Odin," her voice whispered through tears. Her left hand still held tight to his while her right one felt along the edges of the bed. She found the button and pressed it and it lowered the glittering, gold shield that surrounded the king. He was vulnerable now.
But she didn't remove Odin's ventilation system. If he wanted to fight and live on, then she'd left him some means to aid him in the process. She nodded while the water ran down her face. Gingerly, she slipped into the large bed and lied next to the king. She pressed her body against his. She laced her fingers with Odin's. They were rigid and stiff and she had to work the digits to get her fingers through. "I don't want you to give up," the golden-locked queen stated. "But it's your choice," she told him. She wrapped her arm around him. She snuggled into his neck. She pecked at it and then at his cheek. She continued to kiss and peck his face and neck and finally the Queen of Asgard pressed one passion filled kiss against the King of Asgard's gaping lips as air tube dangled from it. She waited for a while looking on his face. She cupped it lovingly with her hands. She wanted to behold a miracle. Like in fanciful stories when a kiss breaks every spell. She wanted to see the ruddy color wash over his skin once more. Feel his heart thrum proud and strong like a drum. She desired to see his eye. She could just imagine it slowly fluttering open, his stubby gray eyelashes batting back at her until his eyelids revealed his study blue-gray eye. It would glance around in bewilderment at first as it adjusted to the flood of light, but soon it would lock on her eyes and their hearts would beat in tandem once more. She waited with baited breath for this moment. The moment didn't come. Her face crumpled and she wept, openly and loudly. Her tears practically drowning the all-father. "N-n-n...m-ma-matter w...what happens," she stammered. "I'll be by your side," she panted as she tried to regulate her breathing and control her crying..."Until the end of time," she pledged. With that Frigga put her head down on Odin's chest. The breathing coming from it was so faint that it hardly lifted at all. She curled her fingers around the fabric of his night garment. And closed her eyes. She never wanted to let go. Still she knew that she couldn't tarry with Odin much longer. There were precious few hours left before Convergence took place and there was much to do. Most importantly was trying to make some contact with Loki. She had to get up. She started to, but just as Frigga started to pull her body away from Odin's she could have sworn she felt his cold hand give her's a firm squeeze.
"Brethren!" Malekith called to his men as he leaped from a high-backed chair with beautiful red upholstery, on to the top of one of rich, black wood table. The legs of the table were hand carved of the same rich, black wood and hewn in the shape of a mighty lion's paw. Malekith and his hoard were all held up in one of the Odin's private dining halls. It was usually in these rooms where Odin held council with his most trusted advisors. The chamber was right outside of the kitchen and adjacent to the main dining hall. Sometimes during royal suppers Odin and the members of Asgard's High Council would sneak away and convene in the chamber.
The Dark-Elves ran around the council chamber like maniacs. They had broken into the private room. Such force had hardly been necessary. Loki could have easily provided them with the key to open the large metal door. Easier than that, he could have simply used his powers to open the door. But the Dark-Elves delighted themselves in ransacking the palace. When they saw the heavy, locked door they decided to lift one of benches from the hallway and use it to ram the door. The door made of mahogany and overlaid with polished brass now hung off the hinges.
The Dark-Elves had made much sport of desecrating the palace. They paraded about the hallowed halls of the royal abode tearing things to shreds. They'd see a lovely vase and then they'd lift it up over their heads only to smash it in to pieces on the ground. They'd purposefully scuff the shiny marble floors. They'd see the elegant statues and bust that lined the walls of the corridors, they'd knock them down and leave a mess all about. Others would simply harness their blasters and take a shot and the statues. Completely obliterating the beauty and grandeur of the works of art.
Loki cringed and turned up his nose as he watched them destroy everything of opulence in sight. He had chided Lord Malekith to control his warriors. The leader of the Dark-Elves had merely sneered at Loki's command. He'd simply stated that his men were celebrating in a common fashion. Loki looked on their displays with a great deal of contempt. They were like savages. He supposed he should have expected no better from barbarians. They had no value for beauty. Their own land was proof of that. It was stark, harsh and barren and they as a people had done little to cultivate it or beautify it. Rather they had simply thought to turn the rest of the cosmos into a similar wasteland. They were creatures of darkness, mess and destruction was a masterpiece to them. Chaos their symphony. In that way, Loki found that he had more in common with the Dark-Elves than he cared to acknowledge.
It seemed a shame that he didn't favor them more for it. The mage had always had a penchant for mischief, there had always been a wild streak in him, he supposed. Since his youth, he'd had a captivation with trouble-making and trickery. He'd always taken a certain delight in deceit and had had a love for lies. It was his flawed design. He'd tried to hide it for so long, suppressing it as much as possible for the sake of family pride and the honor of Asgard and all such clichés that meant nothing now as his family and heritage had been nothing but a lie from the start.
It was only now that he had had finally had the chance to act fully on his passions. He had finally had the chance to be the chaotic creature he was always meant to be. It felt good...wonderful. He supposed the people of Asgard has suspected his mischievous nature nothing more than mean-spiritedness. Surely, it could have been. He'd proven himself to be every bit a fiend and as cruel a devil as he could be, but more so it had been for fun. Order was so highly overrated. For in the order he was always the lesser. Being the youngest son he was the least in his family, he had less prestige and honor than Thor and was less liked among the people. In Asgard, strength of mind was considered less than strength of body. Physically, he couldn't compete with most warriors. Oh, but with a little touch of chaos. With a little salt and peppering and sprinkling of magic and mischief, then he could upset the apple cart and have the advantage. He could easily vanquish those who were much more skilled in wielding a blade than him. He could make them take low and he could show up his brother and make Thor look like the buffoon that he was. And that had always felt glorious. And when Convergence came in just a few hours and the Aether was unleashed throughout the Nine Realms then all would be thrown in the glorious chaos and his strength, the strength of cunning, the strength of craftiness and the strength of mind would finally make the grandest of all triumphs over the might of brawn.
He supposed he should have been acting as the Dark-Elves were. By all accounts he should have been celebrating to the high-heavens. He should be gloating and drinking and making himself merry. But merrymaking was a difficult undertaking when one was alone. The dark-haired enchanter knew this very well. He was well acquainted with solitude. Loki greatly enjoyed his own company. A good book was a preferable companion to idiotic chatter of most young noblemen. He'd often preferred to spend time working his incantations than socializing with those who thronged his brother, but at the same time the emerald eyed magician had often longed for companionship. Dagmar had often eased the loneliness that he'd felt. When he was in her company, he didn't feel like the odd man out. She'd had always been his truest friend. They were two kindred spirits, two like minds, cut from the same cloth. But she hadn't always been around. Her times in Asgard weren't consistent and sometimes appease his seclusion, he had to join Thor and his band of fools. He often complained about their drunken tomfoolery. Thor would laugh wildly and slam his goblet down demanding mead and ale. Hogun would sulk into a bottle, while Volstagg would try to eat any tavern out of house and home and drink it dry all while telling ridiculously hyperbolized stories of their latest exploits. Frandal would down wine the same way he'd down women. He'd practically have two or three tipsy barmaids disrobing in front of the entire tavern within the hour. While Lady Sif entertained herself by challenging male warriors to duals. His brother and friends were plebian and droll companions at best. Their crude manners left much to be desired and most nights of drinking and carousing ended in bloody tavern brawls. It had hardly been his idea of a pleasurable evening. He would have much rather spent time at the theater, touring one of the museums or gazing at the stars in the observatory.
But as the self-proclaimed king of Asgard watched as the Dark-Elf soldiers acted like animals his stomach churned. He would have much rather spent an evening with Thor and the Warriors Three and Lady Sif than these barbarians. The raven-haired enchanter sneered. They carried on in a wild display. The had cracked open the glass liquor cabinet. They raided Odin's store of vintage wines, ales and meads. They had nearly guzzled all the contents of rare and expensive, imported wines and champagnes. What they imbibed they'd wasted on the floor. The cobble stone flooring was flooded with liquor and the Dark-Elves splashed about in it like children in a wading pool. They gathered up the royal chalices and goblets made of fine gold and silver, decorated with lovely jewels and guzzled the alcohol. Then they'd throw the goblet to the ground and scoop up the wine from the floor and drink it. They'd slosh and stumble their way over to the new king and cheers and toast him. They'd congratulate him in their guttural and crude tongue. Loki, in turn, elevated his keen nose, to avoid the stench of their mead soaked breath mingled with their rotting teeth. He just barely raised his glass to give the troops, a flimsy congratulation.
They hooted and hollered and jumped on the tables and chairs in the well-furnished chamber. They ran about the room knocking the maps and charts off the walls. They knocked down the coats of arms and dressed up in the armor. Danced around and sung in their old war chants, drunk on their victory. They banged their fists on their bodices and on the walls and on the table tops as the broke into loud chants. They tore down the tapestries that depicted the greatness of Asgard and the many kingdoms she had defended and the many foes that she had conquered. The soldiers stoked a fire in the hearth by throwing the tapestries in there for kindling. The fire burned bright and glowed with fervent heat as the flames lapped up the rich history of Asgard.
They were destroying everything. Of course, That was their intention. They would unleash the darkness of the Aether and wipe out the light from the realms and with that they would extinguish all that Asgard was. They would leave no trace of the great civilization. The king reminded himself that he should care little about these things. After all their intent was his intent was it not. This was what he wanted after all. He wanted Asgard gone. He wanted them all gone! Asgard was only his gilded cage. He'd been a prisoner there. He'd been locked away for Odin's own devices. He'd been taken from his family and culture and forced to be something else. He'd been raised in a culture with standards that were impossible for him to live up to. Odin had been a cruel captor. He had taunted him from day one with unattainable goals. He wanted them gone, he wanted to end it all. He'd remove every trace of the bright and happy realm that had once been his home. Then he'd never think of them again. He'd never have to be haunted by the loving look that echoed from Frigga's eyes or the mirth in Thor's laugh or the comfort of Odin's hand. No. All that would be in the deeply buried past. It would never rear its head again to torment him. He'd destroy Jotunheim too. The Jotun's were nothing but brutes as well. They'd left him for dead. Now he would leave them for dead. It was befitting. Ironic It was practically poetic. Loki smiled as he entertained himself with such horrible notions. It was his justice, his recompense for the heavy hand that life had dealt him. In the new world...in the new era that would rise out of the ashes of the Aether he would make the rules and it would be others, those few who remained that would grovel and scrape to live up to the standards that he would set. Oh, he intended to set them very high indeed.
Loki's sneer soon turned into a sinister snicker. He filled himself with the delight that was power. Thanos would reward him handsomely once he made his way back through the branches of Yggdrasil. He would be Thanos' right-hand, respected and unchallenged. He'd have everything that he ever wanted. Loki chortled, he almost allowed a snort to escape his nostrils. Then Loki's piercing green eyes shifted and he watched their revelry with more disgust that amusement. Their sloppy behavior was practically gag worthy. He watched them. They sang and danced and made merry. He was in their midst, but not among them. Loki waited for that nagging voice deep within. He had been expecting for it to rear its pesky, little head for sometime, yet it kept quiet. It remained quiet. He could scarcely feel himself trying to force up, the feelings of conscience, but they wouldn't come. He wasn't guilty. He was giddy! Tickled-pink! Thrilled! Empty.
"Brethren!" It was Malekith's bass voice that once again boomed and stilled the drunken warriors. The Dark-Elf soldiers froze in their back. Doing their best to come to attention, but most of them swayed on their feet or plopped down into the puddles of ale below. "WE HAVE DONE IT!" He exclaimed as he raised his hands in the air and tossed his head back. The Dark-Elves rallied around their leader. They raised their hands and hollered at the top of their lungs in victory. They clapped and stomped and cheered like madmen. A few of them stripped off their armor and beat their white chest until their turned purple and black. Some of the elves got even wilder and fired off their blasters into the air and shot out the roof. "After nearly two millennia after having our victory stolen from us, after being robbed of our power by the Asgardians, after being forced into hibernation in order to survive tonight we finally taste triumph!" He declared and raised his glass high. His men raised their goblets as well and the ones who had lost theirs scooped their hands down into the flood of wine at their feet and scooped up the wine to raise it. "Our revenge that was 2000 years in the making shall finally be realized!" He proclaimed and the Dark-Elves pounded their chest and like apes. "Have we anything to fear?' The leader of the Dark-Elves questioned.
"NO!" The crowd of soldiers roared.
"You are damn right!" Malekith confirmed. He threw his goblet down on the floor and then started cackling. His voice was deep in his throat and his guffaw housed only a wild type of pleasure. He arched his back as he continued cackling and once he concluded his outrageous chortle, he reared himself back upright then rubbed under his pointed white nose and spat to the ground. "There is now nothing that can stand in our way!" he told them. "We have defeated all of Asgard's forces! They were helpless in the face of the strength of the Aether! The Asgardians are cowering and scattered in their little bunker," The general explained to his men. He gestured with his fingers and wiggled them in the air.
The warriors of Svartalfhiem booed and hissed. "Hahaha" the Dark-Elves jeered. "Cowards!" They called out. "The Aesir are nothing!" They roared back. They slapped each other on the back and pointed and laughed. "They are nothing, but mice!" they exclaimed.
"They are lower than mice! They are roaches!" another yelled out. His commentary ilicited much applause from the crowd of drunken soldier.
"Don't let those roaches infest out new home," the female warrior of the Dark-Elves called out. She stumbled forward and waved her chalice in the air. The contents of the glass sloshed out of it and it fell on to her white face staining it a cranberry color. The alcohol dribbled down her face and rested like blood around her white lips.
"Here, here!" The warriors rallied behind her.
"Smoke the roaches out! Smoke the roaches out! Smoke the roaches out!" The Dark-Elves cried in unison. They chanted in their own language. To Loki's refined ears their words sounded like mere gurgles and grunts. The entire time listening to them scream and yell had been like being back in in his schooling days when the school masters and professors would get tired of dealing with unruly class. Finally, the frustrated teacher would all at once scrape their nails across the board. Loki cringed as he was forced to endure such a sound once again.
Malekith patted the air. He tried to quiet his rowdy troops, but the men were so worked up, that they could scarcely settle down. "Let Aesir tremble in fear of our might in their little mouse holes. Let them say their prayers." He waved his hand dismissively. "And cower like the wretches that they are," her spat his bloodless lips curled. "They can hide, but they can't run!" He whispered low into his throat. "The ending of everything they know and hold sacred is at hand." Malekith's eyes glowed. "Hahaha," he let out a breathy last in disbelief. "This world is about to end in ashes and so will the rest of the worlds," he explained rapidly. "And ours will be reborn!" He proclaimed. He was once again met with the thunderous applause of his soldiers.
Malekith smiled. He soaked in the glory. His men chanted his name over and over. "Malekith! Malekith! All hail Malekith!" They sang. They put their hands to their hearts and then raised their fists proudly in the air to salute him. Malekith's chest swelled. As his own pride mounted the Aether swirled within him. He could feel it. It was an active stone. It swirled like magma in a volcano. It bubbled and churned. It ached and ebbed and begged to be awakened and unleashed. He tempered himself. He spoke to himself in some ancient dialect. His words very rising above a breath. "Hail Malekith!" His troops continued to applaud. "Master of the Aether!"
"Now, now," Malekith said raising his hand and bringing calm to his rowdy, drunken warriors. The men didn't fall completely silent, but they managed to bring their tone down to a roaring murmur. "Please," Malekith placed his white palms in the air. "I have brought us very far indeed," he nodded. "But alas and alack, my men, I can't take all the credit," he paused. His voice was precise and calculating. The Dark-Elf leader shifted his gaze from the sea of ghostly, black-eyed faces and stared at Loki. Asgard's new king's eyes narrowed as they met Malekith's. Loki arched his inky eyebrow and didn't crack a smile in the general's direction. "In fact," he paused. He extended his hand toward Loki. "Without our king," he inclined his head and his white lips curled into a most unpleasant grin. "Loki," the general added, 'we may not have even gotten this far," he expressed. He kept his eye of Loki and Loki kept his eye on Malekith. The Dark-Elf leader's sneer only broadened.
The alcohol soaked elves heard the accolades that their general was bestowing upon the raven-haired enchanter and took it as another moment to break into song and dance. They clapped their hands and stomped their feet and kicked their heels through the wine on the floor. They gave hearty slaps to one another. They continued raising their goblets and filling them with wine and guzzling the more. "Hail! Hail! Hail Loki!" The Dark-Elves cried as they started to once more run around the chamber in a drunken zeal.
Pandemonium broke out amongst the Dark-Elves. While they shouted the names of their leaders they continued to smash all the finery within the room. They took the serving plates and threw them to the ground. They picked up the chairs and started tossing them out the window. A smug look played across Lord Malekith's face as he watched his army running wild. He squared his shoulders and placed his hands on his hips.
Loki immediately stood up from his chair. He pushed out of it in a blazed. He stalked forth across the room toward Malekith, who was still standing upon the black wood table. Loki leaped atop the table so that he was standing toe to toe with Malekith. He grabbed Malekith by the forearm. "What are you trying to do?" The trickster inquired through gritted teeth.
Malekith snatched his leather and iron-plated arm out of Loki's cold grasp. "Unhand me, Asgardian," Malekith stated. His short fuse already starting to burn.
Loki's face remained stern and unflinching, "What are you on about with all this pomp and circumstance?" He continued to question. He threw his hand back and pointed to the carrying ons of Malekith's men.
The Dark-Elf shrugged as he looked at his troops. His colorless lips remained ever curled in a smirk that could have only be fit the trickster himself. He rolled his eyes and marched across the table pass Loki. He his padded and spiked shoulder against Loki's. "I was simply giving you what you desire, oh King of Asgard," Malekith sneered. The leader of the elfin army gave a sweeping bow before the magician. Loki was sorely tempted to take advantage of the general's humbled position and swiftly kick him in the jaw. Before he could though, Malekith quickly rose back to his full height. The elf stood a few inches shorter that the newly self-proclaimed King of Asgard, but with his boots and armor the difference was hardly apparent. "This is what you wanted, tisn't it my liege?" Malekith asked with a grin upon his face that revealed his sickening yellow and gray teeth. "People to shout your name and esteem you...sing your praises in the streets, no less," Malekith explained. He boredly wiggled his long white fingers and black claws through the air and he leaned in to Loki's face as he spoke.
The dark-haired enchanter caught Malekith by his wrist halting his wriggling fingers. "Don't presume that you know anything about what I desire," the usurper advised.
"Dare you to lay a hand on I...Malekith Master of the Aether?" The leader of the Dark-Elves automatically challenged.
Loki's emerald orbs rolled in the back of his head. His strong, thin fingers didn't stray from holding fast to Malekith's wrist. His fingers were curled tightly around the leather bands and black metal wristlets. "I dare," Loki remarked, the corners of his mouth pulling upward.
"Hmph!" The white-faced fiend snorted as he snatched his wrist from Loki's clasp. "Lay not a hand on me!" The pale general declared as he waved a finger at Loki's pointed nose. "Lest you wish to feel the full force of the Aether ripping your flesh from your bones," he growled.
Loki slapped Lord Malekith's hand out of his face. Malekith rumbled with in his throat. He sounded like a vicious beast. His ire kindled the more toward Loki. He could feel the power of the dark crystal surging deep within him. The Aether's power called to him. It begged to be set free. It would take but a moment. He wouldn't need to use much of the dark energy at all. It would merely take a breath of power to blast that smug Jotun clothed in Aesir skin into another realm. He'd wipe the arrogant smirk right off the 'king's' face. No. No. Loki was but one. If he waited, waited until the final hour until the opportune moment when Convergence reached its peak then he would be able to release the fury and the power of the Aether upon all. He would finally have his vengeance upon all those creatures in the Nine Realms who had ever scoffed at the prophecy of Ragnarok. Those who had doubted that the great and terrible day of reckoning was ever going to come, well...they were in for a terribly rude awakening. The people of the Nine Realms believed in greatness of Asgard. They thought of the Aesir as their great champions and defenders. They expected that no matter what befell them that somehow the children of the realm eternal would step in and save them from whatever evil and calamities lurked about. Malekith smiled deep within himself. They were sorely mistaken. The Nine Realms would sit back and watch as Asgard fell and Ragnarok rose. Fear would overtake those pitiful souls and then his time...a time when darkness reigned would come to pass.
The eflin leader felt giddiness mingle with the ever-present flow of the Aether throughout his body. The urge to release was uncontrollable. His eyes darkened as the sinister stone moved inside him. Still, Malekith did his best to hold the power and contain it. He would have liked nothing more than to see the 'King of Asgard' brought low. The whelp was far to arrogant in his abilities. Yet and still he needed him. In order for the task to be brought to full fruition he would need the powers that Loki possessed. Convergence in and of itself only lasted a few precious minutes. Those few minutes would scarcely be enough time to ensure that the wondrous power of the dark gem spread throughout the Nine Realms. Let alone would it be enough time for Thanos to make his gallant return into the branches of Yggdrasil once more. Malekith cringed. If he didn't Thanos was not allowed to return into the Nine Realms once more after waiting all these many centuries his wrath would be insatiable. Malekith's black talons dug into his flesh as he was reminded of the torment that he would face at that hands of Thanos and the Other if he did not do his part to ensure that the Mad Titan was freed from his prison within the void. It was for this reason and this reason alone that the general was still consenting to work with trickster.
Loki summoned Gungnir to his hands. The solid gold scepter rested in his hands sturdily. He pointed it at Malekith's chin. "I don't threaten easily, Lord Malekith," Loki warned.
Malekith's lips snarled up into his nose, "Neither do I," he said stoically his soulless eyes burrowing into Loki's.
Loki's brows knit together as his narrowed. "Don't forget Malekith that I Thanos appointed king."
"How can I forget such a poor choice," Malekith uttered in his native tongue.
The left side of Loki's mouth pulled in a smirk, "Be sure to tell him that when he arrives," the enchanter challenged.
Malekith grimaced for a moment. Soon he was bearing his teeth at the pale and dignified new king. He would have loved to pounce on him and wring his skinny, white neck. "You maybe king," Malekith muttered miserably through his teeth. He rolled his eyes. "But I am the general," he informed.
Loki's mild smirk soone formed a full-fledged grin. He tossed his head back. His horned helmet nearly touched his shoulders. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means, your majesty," Malekith hissed, "That these..." He began his finger circling around the room. "Are my men," he pointed to himself. "They are loyal to me! And only to me!" He remarked. His tone was biting. "I won their respect after centuries of the rise and fall of arms in battle"They have followed me for more than 2000 years. They have followed me into war and famine, followed me into everlasting sleep. And when we all awoke, they woke up and harkened unto me," he continued pointing to the silver star in the center of his black armor. "They woke up with one singular vision...my vision!" He defined. "They woke up obedient and faithful to me," the elf continued to proclaim.
"Is there a point to all this endless chatter, or do you just like to hear yourself talk?"
"Oh yes," Malekith nodded. His eyes black and filled with the power of the Aether and his smile vicious as a shark. "It means...I can make them love you, serve you," he emphasized. "Or, I can make them abhor you," he leaned close to Loki's face and his breath that reeked of 1000 mornings assaulted Loki's nostrils. Despite the brutal, odorous attack Loki stood firm. Malekith seeing the Aesir's unflinching position offered a sleek, toothy smile.
Loki took a breath. His eyes shifted ever so quickly. He looked at Malekith's army. The wild and crazed bunch of Dark-Elves didn't seem like much in their frenzied, tipsy state. They had more resemblance to a bunch of youths having their first taste of mead after going through their manhood ceremonies than an army. Admittedly, Malekiths force was small, but despite their small numbers they were formidable. With a small battalion, they had ambushed the Aesir twice. That in and of itself was no easy feat, but they had now by all rights taken over Asgard. Not since the earliest days in Asgard's history, when the realm was still divided and the Einar ruled over individual clans had an enemy slipped through their gates and defeated them. The Dark-Elves were powerful. Perhaps it was years of pent up vengeance that fueled their vicious attacks or the incredible force of Aether, an Infinity Stone, one of the very seeds of Yggdrasil, that gave them their strength. They were a powerful army to have at his disposal. With them at his side along with the Chitauri, well, Loki could see himself being nigh invincible.
Loki's eyes grew wide and they gleamed. He pictured that moment of glory on Midgard. He had been standing on Stark Tower, overlooking the beautiful Midgardian City. It was an impressive metropolis for the limiting means of mortals. It would have been a wonderful city to build his capital in. As he stood on the platform on the lofty tower his mind had been filled with pleasant visions. He envisioned building a grand golden palace there. He pictured the statues and monument that the earthlings would build to him. Once they surrendered themselves to him and worshipped his as their king they way they should he would bestow mercy upon them. Mortals were so much like children, like sheep ever in need of a shepherd. He could recall looking out over the midst of the city. There was turmoil and chaos, screams and panic filled the street. The pitiful Midgardians scrambled and ran for their lives. Their tiny police force was completely overwhelmed by the sight of his army. He supposed he should have felt pity for the frightened mortals. If only he had. He felt nothing but glee as he saw them rush about for a safety that was nowhere to be found. It was only natural. It was the natural order of things new order would always spring forth from chaos. When a sight was made for building the sight was a wreck, filled with rocks and debris and holes, but soon a magnificent structure would spring forth, savage, bloody wars often had to be fought to lead to peace and even a woman had to travail through death itself to give life to her child. So, he had been all but completely satisfied as he saw the Chitauri run amuck, destroying buildings and shooting the earthlings down with their terrible weapons. He thought for sure they would win him the Earth. They were like a nest a ceaseless hive with their sheer numbers alone they should have easily been able to overrun the Midgardians. But still with their boundless numbers, incredible appetite for war and impressive weaponry they had fallen and failed him. Loki hissed as he recalled his defeat. He mashed his lips together and gritted his teeth while clenching his fist. His green eyes swirled with lust. He'd not taste defeat again. Malekith's force had gotten him the victory and the kingship that he so rightfully deserved.
Loki's ear was flooded with the sound of Odin's voice that he remembered from his youth. That voice that had a hollow baritone tremor. It was regal and refined. It was gentle and stern all at the same time. Loki shut his bright evergreen pupils. Odin had taught he and Thor many things in their lessons on kingship. The self-proclaimed king could feel his head inwardly reeling. Why had the pompous, old windbag even bothered lecturing him when he never had any intent of granting him the title of king? He sucked his teeth. He tried to block the all-father's voice from his head, but it was slow and steady and relentless. It willed its way into his psyche despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. Odin had taught them that a king's pride comes from his army. Thor had immediately thought it meant that a king had to take pride in the fact of whether his army won or lost. Odin had explained that the true pride of a king was in the loyalty of his men. A king of a small people still had something to be proud of if he had the love, loyalty and admiration of his army and his people. Even if a king and his troops came home in defeat if the men still esteemed him and valued him than he walked as tall and a proud as a victor.
Carefully, Loki's bright green eye glanced over his shoulder. Her observed the troops dancing about in the wine. They carried on patting their hands and stomping their feet. They hollered and hooted and Loki suspected that the noises they made were supposed to be the echoes of some old drinking chorale, but it sounded so guttural and base that it bore no resemblance to any music the royal was used to. As he looked at them he realized that Malekith had spoken the truth. This army was his only nominally. They may have sung his praises now, but their esteem was chemically induced. Naturally, they had recognized his prowess with magic and his skill in combat. They had cheered at his displays when he'd conjured the great tempest that spread the Aether attack throughout the Imperial City. They'd cheered vigorously when he'd struck down opponents. Surely, they realized that they needed him if they were going to make this old dream a reality. If they hadn't he was sure Malekith had explained it to them. Still, they weren't his, not in spirit. And the Aesir well he had all but destroyed them. He could never expect any loyalty from them.
In a split second, Loki's eyes were back on the elfin general. "Is it lonely at the top, your majesty?" Malekith sneered.
Lord Malekith's words jolted him inwardly. Not that a trace of such feelings showed on Loki's cold face. His visage remained distinctly bored and flat. He barely batted an eyelash, but running through his mind, he could hear Odin's voice asking him if he had anything to be proud of. Loki waited patiently for that aching, feeling to come. He was expecting the uneasy tug of a weak conscience to pull on his heart strings and remind him of the dreams of his youth. He thought he would be filled with old familiar longings of desiring to be accepted, liked and even esteemed by the people of Asgard. He had once so longed to be loved and admired. There was a time when he'd wanted nothing more than to be a member of the royal family that Asgard could be proud of. Loki waited just a second, but that feeling did not come. Loki's lips pursed, then his pressed them into a tight smile. He coughed out a slight chuckle. It was too late for that. The Asgardians had never embraced him, loved him or celebrated him. They'd taken the pride that he should have had as their prince and turned it to scorn and ridicule. So maybe they wouldn't love him. Maybe they wouldn't be loyal to him. They wouldn't take pride in him as the all-father had told him the should, but what did that matter anyhow?
Odin's little princely lessons on kingship had never been meant for him because Odin had never intended for his little Jotun to sit on the throne of Asgard. So, he would never have the loyalty of a people. He'd never have love and admiration and all those over lovely virtues that Odin had said should be bestowed upon a king. What did he care? He wasn't the king that Odin had groomed him to be. If Odin had ever been grooming him to be a king (He was convinced Odin had only conditioned him to be a slave.) After all, Odin was a good king. He was fair and just and had commanded the mightiest of troops in the Nine Realms and he even he was helpless, but to succumb to the Oversleep and the loyalty of his men couldn't wake him. Nor could his pride stop Ragnarok from coming.
No, Loki knew he was no king. He was a tyrant. Petty, ruthless and dangerous. Tyrants didn't need pride to come from their armies. They took pride in and of themselves. Loyalty of men could be turned and swayed, but fear...fear never changed. And fear bred obedience and submission. Loki was convinced that was all he wanted or needed now.
He'd won, he reminded himself. He'd won. He'd defeated them all. He'd beaten Odin and Thor and all the troops of Asgard and he'd defeated Malekith. After all he'd won out. General Malekith had wanted so much to be able to proclaim himself king of the Nine Realms to rule over the Aesir, but for all his ruthless and bloodthirsty tendencies Thanos had not selected him to be the new ruler of Asgard. So, the ebony coiffed king gave a smile so bright that it startled the hardened veteran before him. "When you are the elite," Loki began, "One must get accustomed to being alone," the king stated. Malekith's large white nose crinkled as he heard Loki's pompous response. "How is it for you?" Loki questioned. "Is it crowded at the bottom?" He inquired. He squared his shoulders and straightened himself to his full height. With his regal, polished and gold horned helmet, he towered over the elf. "How's the view from the bottom, Lord Malekith...disappointing?" Loki asked and he made sure that their eyes met.
Malekith snorted. Then he growled. It would take nothing for him to grab a blaster from one of the men and allow the Jotun bastard to taste oblivion and if he had been at his full liberty he wouldn't have hesitated to do so. Loki kindled his ire. There were no men that he had met who had angered him so who had lived to tell about. In accordance to the ancient ways of their people such angerings could be settled by blood disputes. These were duels to the death. He had fought such a duel with his once king. The King of Svartalfhiem had once been filled with vim and vigor. He had once been driven to snuff out the up and coming kingdoms and spread the ancient ways of darkness. Malekith had had no problem following such a ruthless leader, but somehow during their endless wars, the king grew soft. Somewhere along the way he started recanting in their purpose. He started to pity the people that they had conquered. He even talked about the kinship that they shared with the Light Elves. It was madness and blasphemy as far as he had been concerned. His soft-hearted ways had caused them to start losing ground. They weren't conquering as quickly as they could. They had lost several battles in Alfheim and their troops were wearing thin. The Light Elves although a peaceful people, who preferred to sit in the woods communing with the animals were skilled warriors and once the elf kingdoms had joined forces with Asgard it seemed as though they were not going to be able to overcome the Nine Realms. It was then that Malekith and consorted with Thanos. He found someone that would help them win, someone who craved power as much as he did, someone who hated the Aesir as much as he did. When he went to his king telling him of the fortunate find he expected the king to be overjoyed. Instead the king ordered that they not make any deals with Thanos. The king and many of the other generals and royal advisers had been hearing a cry among some of the people to end the wars. And the king was going to allow it. So Malekith challenged the king in front of all the members of the Svartalfalhiem court and in front the king's general. Their king was well aged and it would have been appropriate that he duel one of the king's sons or even one of the generals, but Malekith had challenged the king on his right to rule. So, the king fought to maintain control of the Dark-World. They waged in battle for 3 days. The king put up a good fight, but he soon grew faint. Malekith could recall quite well the sight of his king gasping on the ground, panting and holding his stomach, his innards practically spilling out from his armor. The palace floor was filled with their blood. He was hovering over the king with a dark sword in hand. "Please! Please!" The pathetic royal cried. "I give you the kingdom, but spare me my life and spare Svartalfheim a war with the Aesir," he panted as he choked. "It will only end in the destruction for us all," he spoke in a whisper as the black sands swirled through the palace courtyard.
Malekith could recall his own bitter laughter rising about the cries of the crowd. The king's officers begged for mercy. "A true king never begs!" He declared. "A true king is not so weak and pathetic as you," he spat. Hurling his wad in the king's face. "People of Svartalfheim!" He called to those who overlooked on the battle from the high and lofty spectator seats. "You deserve more from a king," he roared. "And I am going to give it to you," he swore. He let out a mighty battle cry before he brandished his black sword which was corroded with the blood of the many foes he had vanquished. As let out the cry, he let out the sword and he let it fall fast and swift and true, without one moment of hesitation he struck. The Elfin king's head rolled. With a sick cackled that seemed to last of hours, he lifted the king's head from the ground. He showed it to them. Now the Dark-Elves were hardened creatures. But such a sight was even more than many of the Dark-Elf leaders could bear. They booed and hissed and cursed Malekith for his vile and treacherous actions. Enraged by their resistance he unleashed a powerful display of the Aether. The power of the liquid infinity stone shot forth across the palace courtyard. The bright red shards of the Aether crystal flew all over. It caused a dreadful black cloud to descend upon them. "Now, listen! Listen all of you!" Malekith yelled against the roar of the Aether. "I am now the ruler of Svartalfhiem, but call me not a king as this weakling," he sneered as he looked at whom he had slain. "I am your GENERAL!" He screamed out at them. "And anyone who disagrees will suffer the same fate as he," Malkeith informed and he discarded the head.
How he longed dethrone another weak king. Malekith simply smiled as he looked into Loki's emerald eyes. They were strong and proud eyes, shrewd and full of mischief. But they weren't heartless. He cracked his knuckles. "We don't have to be enemies," the general stated. As he marched over the table. He circled Loki like a vulture.
Back rigid and eyes straight, "Don't we?" Loki arched his dark eyebrow.
"I'm coming to have more respect for you," Malekith admitted.
"You have yet to earn my respect, Lord Malekith." Loki announced.
The leader of the Dark-Elves didn't respond to Loki's insult. He continued walking around the self-proclaimed king. His white irises taking in every bit of the king's form. He was striking and resplendent in his polished gold armor and lush emerald vestments. He certainly was good at playing dress-up. "I thought you sniveling at first," he admitted. "You certainly didn't have the look of a formidable foe. Though, I confess you had the knowledge sharper than those of my advisers. Although I was in doubt of one so young," Malekith added with the click of his tongue. "You are a true master mage. A great wizard," he went on.
"Flattery will get you little from me, Malekith," Loki stated as he yawned.
The Dark-Elf simply inclined his head. "Your wisdom is of renown and you lived up to the accolades that I heard," he expressed.
"If only I could return the compliment and say that your intellect impressed me," Loki replied without batting an eyelash.
Malekith's head snapped back as he heard the king's harsh remarks. "Still," he retorted, "I thought you weak," he hissed. He marched back toward the black-haired enchanter. "So, slight of frame," he expounded. "But I was impressed by your magic and your skill in combat," he complimented once more. "On every turn, you have proved yourself to be my true ally. You have shown that we must surely bear a kinship," he stated.
"Call us allies, my lord. Call us comrades, but never refer to us as kin," Loki warned.
White hands flew up. "And who do you call kin then?" The general inquired. "We, the Dark-Elves? The Jotuns? I thought, surely, you would be soft on the Asgardians, but you showed in every way that you were truly against them. You unleashed your powers and slaughtered them without pity," Malekith shrugged and threw his head back and started laughing. "You drove them from this place like the miserable vermin that they are," he continued. "Sent the mice scrambling to their holes," he sneered.
Loki inhaled deeply, and sharply. Then he blew out a harsh breath. He could feel his palms starting to heat up. All over, his fingers burned. They were so hot. It was terribly uncomfortable. He almost felt compelled to revert to his Jotun form. He felt so hot, so a blaze that he was willing to do nearly anything to relieve his pain. He mashed his thin lips together. He bit his tongue doing his best to keep himself from screaming out. But how could one not scream when their fingers were being scalded by fire. His eyes for the moment broke their staunch and defiant stare at Dark-Elf leader and went toward the floor. The flood of wine and champagne and mead that poured on the floor certain seemed as though they would serve the purpose of dousing the flame on his hands. Still, Loki contained himself. He squeezed his hands into tight fists and grabbed at the edge of his cloak. He rubbed the edges of his fingers vigorously along the elegant emerald velvet lining of his cloak trying to soothe the pain that afflicted his hands.
"Even more so," Malekith went on as he wagged his ghostly white finger toward King Loki's pointed nose. "I was convinced that when you heard The Other's command for you to kill Thor, you would refuse. I thought that you would be too weak to carry the act out," he added.
"You said so yourself," Loki started as his shoulders fell ever so slightly from their rigid posture and he rolled them. "I have no kin," Loki's words were clipped and precise. Finally, Malekith had stopped circling around him like a top and Loki made sure that his green pupils gazed directly into Lord Malekith's. "Thor is nothing to me," he insisted dusting his fingernails on the fringes of his velvet tunic. "So why would I not be able to carry out the action?"
Malekith averted his eyes by rolling them. He rubbed his chalky palms together, "Oh I do seem to recall..." The general began, "Your dreadful sentimentality. You saying how you didn't need Thor dead..." His one eye rolling toward Loki.
"Yes!" Loki barked. "I don't need Thor dead. Thor is powerless and above all else he is weak of mind," he pointed out to the Dark-Elf. He pointed his finger at Malekith's chest. "He is nothing that I can't control," he muttered more to himself than to the general. Loki's tongue darted out over his lips and worried his hands. " But trust me when I say, Lord Malekith that not needing him dead and not wanting him dead are two entirely different matters," Loki explained.
A sneer graced the white-faced creature, "Perhaps, " he shrugged. "You certainly were convincing when you decreed to all of Asgard how you would kill him at dawn."
"I need convince you of nothing, Malekith!" Loki spat. "Just make sure that you and your men are prepared to do your part come Convergence," He warned.
"I have dreamed of nothing else for nearly 2000 years," he growled hungrily. The force of the Aether was strong with in him. He could scarcely contain it any longer.
"Good." Loki nodded as he started to walk away from the leader of the Dark-Elves. "then you'll stay on my good-side and Thanos' and avoid from incurring his wrath," the enchanter said with a wink. "And you won't have to worry about breaking our..." Loki paused. He put his thin finger to his chin. Then smiled a delighted and devious smile. "partnership," he qualified and took Malekith by the cheek and tapped it. The general from Svartalfheim gritted his teeth at the self-proclaimed king. He imagined pulling out his saber and chopping Loki's pale, thin hand from his wrist. He'd love to see the arrogant mage writhing in pain at his feet. He was sure he soon would. He would see. Thanos would soon see that this feeble enchanter was hardly a king. The pathetic boy would be as easily dethroned as he had been ground and that would be glorious. But not just yet...first he still needed him.
After patting Malekith's rough, pasty face Loki started to walk away. His foot neared the edge of the table and he tilted his golden horns backward. "Make sure your men have this place cleaned up," Loki commanded as he hopped down into the puddle of wine and mead.
Malekith seethed. His eyes glowed a hot vermillion. Insolent fool. How dare he think that he could give him order to give his troops. Loki had no authority as far as he was concerned. He'd see this whole palace destroyed sooner than follow the false king's commands. "Ah, let the men celebrate and have their revels," Malekith stated. "Tomorrow is our moment of glory, why shouldn't they rejoice," he countered.
Loki was about to answer back. He was about to remind Malekith that it was not he who was the commander and chief of the forces of Svartalfhiem. His word was law and was to be obeyed as such. He was also inclined explain the fact that Ragnarok and Convergence were events that would take careful and precise timing. How could the soldiers be prepared if they were hungover or incapacitated in a drunken stupor? But before Loki could mention any of this one of the Dark-Elf soldiers stumbled forward.
The elf splashed about through the wine. There was drunken grin plainly displayed upon his face. "My lords," the warrior greeted and saluted the pair. "Ahh Lord Malekith, I and some of the warriors were recalling the way we used to celebrate 1000 years ago," he chattered on. He rocked back and forth on his toes and heals. He started laughing to himself and even reached out his hand to hold King Loki's shoulder which was covered by the gold of his breastplate. Loki looked down with disgust upon the white finger that held on to him. "Remember? Remember, my lord...how...how when we conquered a village or a people would we would make sport of them?" He asked his eyes glazed over from the alcohol. "Ahh we parade them around naked," he reminisced. "And make them our slaves?" The drunken soldier laughed loud and long. He laughed so long that soon he doubled over and ran out of breath. He slumped down into the puddles of wine around the legs of the table. He rolled over on his back and started kicking and squealing like a sow. The dark burgundy and crimson and even purple color of the cocktail on the floor soaked into the soldier's white and stained it. It rose around his cheeks and face and stained them too. It made him look as his he was blushing. His white eyes slid closed and a rum-soaked grin slithered across ghostly-grim face. He revealed the rows of his sickeningly gray and yellow teeth. "Ah," he sighed with pleasure as he just continued to wallow in the wine. "Would that we could do that again, Lord Malekith," he slurred just as he passed out.
It seemed as though his comrades must have heard his loud slur. For immediately the warriors started to applaud and cheer. They started to chant, "Blister! Blister! Blister!" It was their slang term for the act of humiliation that they performed ritualistically against their defeated foes. Malekith heard the excited cries of his men. Their delight in the ancient costumes and traditions only fueled his own fire. It had been so long since he had had the pleasure of degrading his enemy in such a way. It was one thing to conquer a people, but to have the privilege to abase them, to parade them around naked and make them their servants, beating the men in front of their women and children until they howled like dogs and then pillaging the women in front of their own husbands well that was the sweet dessert after a satisfying meal.
Malekith turned his eyes dark with the Aether toward Loki. He leered at the self-appointed king. Then the Dark-Elf general raised his bloodless hands into the air. His simple gesture somewhat quieted his rowdy warriors. "Let the call be made by our new king," Malekith insisted as he proffered a hand in Loki's direction.
Instantly, 200 pairs of eyes shifted to stare at Loki. Their drunken faces seemed to immediately sober as they scrutinized the foreigner who Malekith called king. They waited expectantly, hopeful for a certain answer. And so, did Malekith. Malekith stood with his lips curling his demeanor smug. He folded his arms and stared the half-breed Asgardian down. He patted his foot impatiently as he awaited the royal's answer.
King Loki glared at Malekith. His severe lips grimaced. The frown etched across the wielder of Gungnir's face pleased the general of Svartalfhiem. He was sure he had finally ensnared the ensnarer. The fledgling king acted hard and cold on the outside. He seemed to display the characteristics of his biological heritage. But Malekith was convinced that Loki was as soft and fleshy as the Aesir skin that he chose to mask himself in and he intended to expose him for what he was before all the men. His troops were hard, ruthless without end. He'd groomed them to be that way. He'd had centuries to weed out any weakness or tenderheartedness from among their ranks. There was to be no mercy shown among those who worked in the ways of the Aether. Compassion and mercy toward enemies were not part of their ancient ways. For in the beginning it was not so. In the beginning, it was dog-eat-dog, survival of the fittest. Such traits as pity and kindness were the traits of the light and illumination invading the universe. They signified an end of an era, their era and he had never had any intention to let that come to pass. So, he'd easily snuffed out men who hesitated to take every opportunity to embarrass and degrade an enemy before they were put to slaughter. He was not left with the most war-hard, steel-hearted and cruel soldiers possible. They'd have no tolerance for a king who they thought did not uphold theses same ideals.
Loki's brows knit together as his bright, green eyes narrowed in Malekith's direction. The king of Asgard was far too shrewd not to see through what Malekith was trying to do. He knew well of the ways of the Dark-Elves in their conquests. Their torment of their enemies had been the subject of many a history book. Making some sport of a captured adversary was a part of the war, naturally. Some humbling and humiliation of an enemy was to be expected. Stripping them of their raiment, robbing them of their jewelry, plundering and spoiling their city well those things were enough to humble a foe. To take them and make them their slaves was an act that was merciless enough. But Malekith and the Dark-Elves took it even further than that. They'd treat their enemies like chattel. They'd bridle them like horses and force them to pull wagons. They'd take advantage of women and children in front of their husbands and fathers. They'd abuse and batter men in front of their wise and young ones.
Loki thought of the abominable acts of the Dark-Elves and his stomach started to churn. The terrible burning sensation in his hands started to come back even stronger. It was so fierce and so strong that it traveled from his fingertips that started working its way to his wrist and then up to his elbows. All the flesh of his forearm seemed to be being scorched by flames. He found himself inclined to pat his arms as if trying to douse a fire, but when he looked at his arms there was nothing there. It traveled up to his shoulders and then the heat ran across his neck. Loki felt so hot that he through his insides would melt. He could feel beads of sweat starting to form around his collar and under the weight of his helmet. His face started to turn red. Soon the self-proclaimed king's face was turning red as a tomato. Loki looked down at the pond of red wine that was the floor. All of a sudden, he was overcome with the temptation to lap it. His whole body was on fire. His tongue hot and as dry as a desert. He licked his lips. He was near the pointing of panting. He needed to do something fast or else he was sure he would melt. Loki found himself calling upon his powers to cool himself. He was tempted to reveal his Frost Giant form if that meant that he could stop the dreadful burning.
The Dark-Elf general had the nerve to reach out his cold, flakey, chalky, pasty, white hand and touch Loki on the shoulder. Loki turned his head sharply and faced Malekith. The elfin leader's hand continued to rest steadily on his shoulder. His long, ebony talons scraped against Loki's armor. His hand inched over ever so slowly so that it settled closer to Loki's neck and collarbone. There, he could feel Loki''s black leather that crisscrossed across his rich looking emerald velvet. He detected that the clothing was damp. This only caused the general to increase the small smile that was written plainly across his face. "Well..." He paused. "What say you, oh King of Asgard," he sneered.
Loki gave a smirk to the leader of the troops of Svartalfheim. Malekith wanted him to disapprove of the actions. He expected that he would. He wanted him to prove that he was soft. If he didn't allow the Dark-Elves to participate in their ancient rituals of humiliation, then this would weaken the tenuous alliance that he had formed with the creatures. He had come too far. He was too close to victory, he was too close to the ultimate revenge to lose it now over something so petty and sentimental.
He tried to block from his imagination the images of the nobles and councilmen being paraded around naked and in chains for the amusement of Malekith and his men. He shouldn't care either way. What did they matter, anyhow? Many of them had been nothing but trouble for him. They had ridiculed him from the start. They had never failed to mention how it was unheard of for a Prince of Asgard to practice enchantment. How often had they challenged his decisions and authority when he had been named Master of Court? Many of them had never trusted him (maybe he hadn't given them much reason to, all the impish pranks he had pulled in his youth). Still they had always been the ones who compared him to Thor, Asgard's Crown Prince, the pinnacle of all masculine virtues. They were the ones who pointed out all his flaws and short-comings when they talked amongst themselves. Also, hadn't they all been the ones clamoring for his death? He should feel nothing for them at all.
No matter that one of them was Lady Dagmar's father, Lord Audric. He could almost picture how horrified Dagmar would have been if she had to watch her father, Prime Minister of Vanaheim walk around chained and shackled live a slave and forced to serve these monsters. He could see her sweet, silver eyes filling with tears, her full, pomegranate lips twisting and contorting and she screamed and cried and pleaded for the Dark-Elves to stop whipping him. Of course, the hollow hearted fiends wouldn't. They'd only delight more in knowing that the pain they caused one caused another just as much pain if not more. Loki could practically feel the gorgeous tear filled eyes staring at him...looking at him with dread and disbelief mingled with a distinct hatred for him. She'd hate him because he just sat there, if he hadn't participating in the deriding of her father he had allowed it and that made him equally as guilty.
Quickly, green eyes blinked. He could see Dagmar so vividly in his mind. Every beautiful and flawless part of her had been brought back to life in vibrant color. It was a perfect illusion, so well crafted that he'd almost fooled himself into thinking...He took a breath then flexed his fingers ever so slightly before placing them rigidly back at his side. Dagmar wasn't alive anymore. He lovely silver eyes would never see anything again. She wouldn't see her father being stripped of all dignity and treated like a slave. She had him to thank for that. Somehow, he didn't expect to receive gratitude from the ambassador.
He exhaled, pushing thoughts of Dagmar far from himself. He'd killed her. He loved her and he'd killed her. Then he'd tried to redeem himself in her eyes by killing the creature that had slaughtered her. He killed the beast, but joined the beast's master, fighting against the very thing that she'd given her life to fight for. The more he thought about it the dizzier he became. What a wretched, sorry and conflicted soul was he. He deserved every ounce of her hatred. He wanted it. At least if she hated him that meat she felt something for him after all the years he pined away for her. He could never have her love and if all he could ever possibly hope to earn from her was her hate then there was not to go through with all he had planned.
His chin dropped though his head did not bow. He thought of Algrim. The elderly elf who had served as Odin's adviser and Asgard's Prime Minister. He had stood against him a few hours ago, but there was once a time when Algrim had been one of his few supporters. Algrim had been his first tutor. He and Thor had been schooled inside the palace walls before they started attending the primary school designated for noble children. Lord Algrim had been one of the first to notice his gift for learning and his voracious appetite for knowledge. He'd applauded him for taking his studies seriously. He'd encouraged him to seek out answers in the library when he was a lad and stuck around for conversations later. He'd been his adviser and a trusted friend. When he was a boy he had affectionately thought of him as an uncle and had sometimes called him as much. Was this man deserving of the horror and scorn that the Dark-Elves would inflict upon him? Would those be his final memories before Convergence? After all, Algrim had at least handed over Gungnir to him when Odin had fallen into the Oversleep. Even though Frigga had proclaimed him to be king at that point he knew the council was opposed to it. Mostly, because they wanted their chance to sit upon the gilded throne. He'd been nervous and unsure of himself. They weight of Gungnir in his hands felt as if he was carrying a boulder.
"You'll do fine, your highness," the Prime Minister told him.
He looked down at the golden scepter eyes wide. He shook his head. "I...I...I never thought..." His voice trailed off. He looked up at his family's trusted adviser. "It should be Thor," he admitted.
Algrim placed a steady hand upon Loki's shoulder. "It should be as it is," the head of council told him. "You are strong and wise, Loki and you are more than capable of reigning on the throne of Asgard. Odin and I discussed as much many times," Algrim informed him. Loki had looked up at the elfin adviser with curiosity in his emerald pupils. He'd never thought that Odin ever considered giving him the throne. Especially after learning of his true heritage. He wondered if Algrim knew. He dared not ask. The thought of such was mortifying. Even still, if Odin had considered making him king he hadn't and that made Thor's appointment as king even greater an insult. Perhaps Algrim noticed his apprehension still. He continued talking. "The appointment is only temporary, your highness," he expressed.
Loki snapped from his dazed look gazing upon the golden trident. "Yes. yes, of course," he nodded. "As soon as my father awakens or Thor returns I will relinquish the title, but Asgard needs a king," he explained.
"Yes, sire."
"Especially after what happened with the coronation. No doubt the people are jumpy. A smooth transition of power will make out government seem more stable for all people and to the Frost Giants," he elaborated.
"Absolutely, your highness," Algrim stated. Loki nodded. He fidgeted with the wondrous weapon in his hands. Algrim offered him a smile. "Don't worry, your majesty, we are all on your side and I shall serve you as I would serve your father," Algrim assured him. The new king offered a half smile toward his adviser. He wasn't sure if all were on his side as the Prime Minister stated, but he appreciated the support none the less. "Well, with your leave, sire, shall we head to the throne room," he inquired.
Yes, Lord Algim had been a trusted friend once. Even just a few hours ago, it was Algrim who handed over Gungnir to him once again. Of course, this time he hadn't done it with a pleasant smile etched on his elderly face, but rather he'd done so with disdain. He'd done it merely to spare Thor's life. He hadn't done it for him. Had he shown true loyalty then perhaps he would have been spared the pain he would have to endure at the hands of the Dark-Elves.
Loki thought of the others, the servants. Most had escaped, but there were some who were still trapped in the palace. He'd spied several familiar faces being rounded up by the Dark-Elves. Men, women and children had been rounded up and carted to their rooms. He saw the horror on their faces. The Dark-Elves didn't care if they were young or old, male or female or even if they were Aesir or another race, they treated them in the same cruel manner. The edges of the king's severe lips curled downward. So many of the servants had lived out their lives in the royal palace. In some aspect, it was just as much their home as it had been the royal family's. There were servants sleeping quarters and dining rooms, and private recreation areas designated for the serfs. So many of the servants he'd known since his earliest years. They'd made his bed, cooked his meals, cleaned his room (not that he left much of a mess), brushed his horse. When he was a lad he was often able to sneak into the kitchen and some of the older servant women would give him tarts and sweets. The older men who worked in the aviary would often come and get him and tell him when one of the many birds that were kept were hatching eggs and they'd often given him a few of fledging chicks to raise. How many times had the he found servant children spying on him as he worked in his laboratory. They watched with wonder and keen interest as sparks flew everywhere in his rooms. Often time he knew that there were small, curious eyes peering in on him and so unbeknownst to them he'd put on a spectacular show. He'd dazzle the children with his illusions and mysticisms, he'd conjure breathtaking images out of thin air. He'd weave fire about his hands and make the water dance. After a while there would always be one child that would squeal out either in glee or in fright and sometimes in a combination of the two. When that would happen would drop whatever he was doing spin around on his heels, turn around and yell out "Boo!" This would see the frightened youngster squealing, tripping over themselves, running down the hall. The mischief-maker would often have a good laugh at their expense. But if there was one child, who was very brave and dared to come back to his lair, he would invite the child in and show them a thing or two about his magic. Did these people deserve to be tortured in such a way as what the Dark-Elves had planned?
Loki could feel his flesh growing hot the more he considered the terrible treatment that Malekith and his soldiers would put the people through. He tried to steel himself against any such feelings of tenderness. The servants had so often been a thorn in his side. The servants often were more likely to overreact to his pranks and misconduct when he was a boy than they had been to Thor's. He could see how over the years they grew to resent him for his enchantments. They distrusted it and had the nerve to look down their noses at his work. There had been constant times when servants had nosed their business where they shouldn't and he had sound them snooping through his things. They deserved the fates they suffered for meddling in matters they did not understand. As he grew older there were some who had become testy, not obeying his commands to the order as they should. The servants fawned over Thor. They were always praising him, congratulating him and cheering him on, he'd received little adoration from the serfs over the years. He tried to remind himself of all the infractions that every single servant had ever committed against him. But he could recall so few now that he put his mind to it. He quickly dismissed all his sympathy for those who had so faithfully catered to him over the years... they were servants. Nothing more. Why should he care about their fates?
The last face to flash before his mind was Sigyn's. Sigyn. Her wholesome, cherub features swam before him. He had almost forgotten... She was here. Somewhere with in the palace. He'd seen her. Her appearance had been like an apparition. It had only been a few hours ago, that their eyes had met. But the way she had looked at him had made him wish it was years ago. She looked every bit the part of a swineherd's daughter. She looked nothing like one of the elected beauties chosen to serve as a lady-in-waiting to the queen. Her clothing was ripped and cut up like she had been in a knife fight, he hair was tossled and tossed and disheveled looking. Her garments had been filthy. Her face was terribles caked and covered with soot and grime and dirt and ash. Despite her haggard appearance her eyes managed to shine through. Those eyes. Her eyes. Her wide-set, bright, golden eyes had burrowed into his green ones. They were trembling and bloodshot, swollen from crying and still leaking with tears. They were wounded, like a child's eyes when someone they love lies to them for the very first time.
He wished that those large, golden saucers had housed hate. He would have done anything to see venom in her gaze to see that she too detested him. But in the moment when their eyes met he hadn't seen even the slightest traces of such emotions. Instead her eyes had housed fear. Oh, there was so much fear in them. She looked at him like he was a seven-headed hydra. A monster. She stared at him like he was some foul and unnatural, unholy beast. And yet that wasn't the worst part of it. The worst part was that somewhere amidst the tears and the sweat and the haze and horror and disbelief that was so plainly displayed across her pretty albeit dirty face there was something in those eyes that she still looked at him with wonder. It had been enough to make him stare back at her with the same amount of puzzlement. There was a question in her eyes. As she gazed upon him she looked for something...something that she still believed was deep within him. Something that wasn't there ...at least not anymore...come to think of it maybe It had never been there at all.
Loki's eyes closed for a moment. He wanted to block out the image of sweet Sigyn trapped and chained and naked before these animals. Sigyn was fair. She was a lovely woman, he looks deserved far more praise than he had ever afforded her. He couldn't bear to imagine what those savages would do to her if permitted. They were rammy, from centuries of sleep, they'd not had their hands on a woman in so long and doubtless they had ever had the privilege of seeing a woman as well fashioned as Sigyn. She was buxom and curvy. Her bronze body was soft and sweet smelling and smooth as fresh churned butter. He'd sampled what she had had to offer so many times, he knew how pleasurable she could be. He never cherished her. Loki mashed his lips together. The Dark-Elves would have a field-day with her. Malekith had already boasted about how attractive he had found Dagmar. If it hadn't been for the fact that he had so mercilessly snuffed out her life Loki had no doubt that he would have tried to have her in other ways. Was he really going to sit by and watch those fiends ravage Sigyn?
Loki couldn't think of one thing that she would have ever done to deserve that. Oh, the contrary, all she had done was care for him and about him when everyone else had found his life to be worthless. She'd come and tended to him when he was grinding in a cell. She'd cared for him like he was a child when he was sick and delirious. She'd touched him. Even while he was in his Frost Giant form, she'd dared to touch him. Even Dagmar when she'd seen him in such a horrendous state hadn't been able to bear the sight of him. He couldn't blame her for that. He had been a hideous monster. He hadn't seen Sigyn's face in the moments when she had tended to him so kindly. Perhaps her face had been repulsed by his garish appearance. If that was the case her hands and her voice never showed it. Her hands were gentle and ginger, they moved him slowly and delicately, they ministered to his every need, soothing his self-inflicted wounds, to ladeling broth into his mouth, her hands had demonstrated such care and concern. Her voice was light and bonny and pleasant, it pushed back the haze of delirium and called him to the world and let him know it wasn't alone. Every moment she spent with him had made him feel...loved. Loki closed his eyes. He clicked his tongue, his lip twisted on one side of his face. Was this how he was going to repay her love, by letting her be a play-thing for the Dark-Elves.
Loki groaned and cursed inwardly. Why hadn't Sigyn just gone to the Dales like he told her? He'd wanted her to go away with Theoric for a reason! She could have been safe! She could have avoided seeing all this! She could have enjoyed a week or two of marital bliss before Ragnarok was rained down upon the Nine Realms. Foolish girl! Why didn't she listen? It was her own fault! She'd brought this on herself! Her disobedience and stupidity had led to this. Darn her! Why had she come back? It didn't make any sense. Loki's eyes focused on his shoes as he became lost in the thought. Sigyn had known that Queen Frigga and many of the nobles and court officials were fleeing to the Southern Palace. If she intended to serve her queen why had she not traveled there? Sigyn's family now resided in the Dales. Surely her closest friend, Liv had escaped the city after the first attack. What reason had Lady Sigyn to come back? Then it dawned on the king all at once. His eyes widened and dilated just by a millimeter or two. She'd come back for him.
King Loki's body was once again overtaken by a blistering heat. It had moved far beyond the irritating burning sensation that had engulfed his hand and now had spread to his entire body. Every fiber of his being seemed to be consumed by the blazing fever. He was so hot that he couldn't breathe. His insides felt as if they were melting and he felt as if he opened his mouth he would erupt with fire.
Before Loki could even try to run and flee and try to find away to cool his feverish body he heard the leader of the Dark-Elves speak. "We await your answer, Oh king?" The general mocked. Loki snapped to attention and faced Malekith. The elf had a keen smirk etched on his bloodless face. His foot was still tapped and his arm were crossed. Malekith was sure he had trapped Loki.
Loki took one last breath to think. Perhaps he could find Sigyn. Maybe the woman was at least smart enough to have hidden herself if she hadn't already been rounded up by the soldiers. If he found her he could keep her in his chambers. He'd lock her there and make sure she was safe. He wouldn't allow Malekith and his men to defile her beauty with their barbarian hands. With in the palace Sigyn would be safe. He could at least ensure that she survived Ragnarok.
"Your answer, King!" Malekith demanded. His voice heavier and testier.
Loki now turned and faced the black-eyed elf with a glint in his green eyes. "Keep to your archaic ways, Lord Malekith," Loki said dismissively. He flipped his porcelain fingers at the general. "Round up the Aesir and have them prepare a great feast in honor of their new king," he ordered as he pointed to himself. "And in honor of our great victory," he went on. The Dark-Elves cheered. "But if you should find a young maiden with golden locks," Loki began. He projected an image of Sigyn in the palm of his hand for the elfin soldier to see. The Dark-Elves scrambled and pushed and shoved one another trying to get a good glimpse at the lovely Aesir woman being displayed. When they saw her beauty, the Elves made vulgar comments amongst themselves regarding how desirable the woman was. The men were ravenous beasts. Loki's nose curled and he closed his open palm into a tight fist. "Bring her to me," he ordered. "I want her for myself!" He declared as a slippery grin crawled across his face.
A few murmurs came from the drunk, lustful soldiers. Even Malekith gave a side eye to Asgard's king. He had a long history of taking the greatest beauty in a village a having her for himself. He took great pride in convincing the women if they gave themselves to him that he would spare their pathetic towns and villages sometimes even kingdoms. Then he'd take them. Have his way with them and destroy their cities anyway. The woman that Loki had displayed before them had certainly been appealing, but Asgard had no shortage of beautiful women, he'd find another out of the bunch to humble.
The leader of the Dark-Elves shrugged and then raise his hands. "GO!" He ordered his voice raised. He spoke in his native tongue. "Find the Aesir, drag them out of the cells and rooms, beat them if they resist and bring them down here! We'll strip them of their clothes all together and then we'll chain them like chattel as they prepare a feast for us. When they are all done, we shall have our way with them," he explained as he rubbed his chalky palms together. Inwardly, Loki could feel a fire risiing in hs belly. The blazing heat was so uncomfortable that it made him cringe. "GO!" Malekith roared once more at his army and the Dark-Elves dispersed.
The bolted from Odin's war chamber with a mighty battle cry. They sloshed through the wine and practically broke down the door desperate to get to a piece of Aesir meat which they could pray upon. All the while they screamed and drank and stomped their feet and banged their chest as they raced down the hallways. There had been bilgeschnipe stampedes that had been quieter than the drunken troops as they prepared for one of their raids.
Lord Malekith stood next to King Loki, his arms crossed and his face looking very proud. He breathed in the smell of the mixing flood of wine and mead and ale. He stomped across the wooden table until he was on the edge and then splashed down into the puddles of alcohol. He food one of Odin's prized silver goblets floating about the room. And walked toward it and scooped some of the cocktail into it he then walked back toward where Loki stood atop the table. "I have waited nearly 2000 years for this," he breathed raggedly. "I dreamed of this day. Having the chance to skurge and blister your people is icing on the cake," he expounded. He dipped his black talon into the cocktail a swirled it around before licking the alcohol off his finger. "I always dreamed of forcing Bor to watch as I tortured his people just before I rained Ragnarok down on their heads," Malekith explained. "I wanted the Aesir to feel as helpless as my people did. I wanted Bor to suffer the way me and my men had suffered having to sacrifice our families to preserve the Aether," he continued. Loki exhaled boredly through his lips as he listened to Malekith ramble on. "But this is so much richer," he chuckled. "You," he pointed to Loki. "The man who was their very prince, supposed to be their defender...you sacrificing them...and coming to my side," he cackled loudly. "Oh well that is a cruel irony that even in all my years of slumber could not have dreamed up," he pointed out. Loki offered a smirk, but his eyes were pensive, his body restless. Malekith raised his glass toward the new king. "To Ragnarok!" he proposed a toast. The white skinned elf had a smile on his bloodless lips and his eyes were wide and curious as he offered the self-proclaimed king a drink.
Loki looked at Malekith for the first time since the soldiers had left the room. He glowered down at the general and narrowed his green eyes as he focused on the Dark-Elf' face. For a moment Malekith that that he saw uncertainty in the ruler's bright green eyes but before he could be certain a look of complete arrogance and confidence washed over Loki's keen features. He was once again the epitome of calm and cool.
Loki almost reflexively started to reach his hand down to take the drink. He was so thirsty. His tongue had been on fire for what seemed like hours. His skin was burning as if he had been roasting in the sun instead of standing in a dark room. Every part of him begged for him to strip down out of his heavy regalia and plunge himself into an ice bath. It took all he could to keep from transforming from an Aesir fleshed man to that of a Frost Giant. His lungs were on fire and his tongue was parched. His palms were red as beet and his face was flushing, beads of sweat ran down his forehead. He needed to cool down somehow lest he spontaneously combust.
His fingers all to quickly were ready to accept the wine that Lord Malekith had scooped off the floor. Loki's sweaty fingers reached eagerly for the silver chalice and Malekith practically shoved it in his hands. It was only when the king of Asgard noticed the way the general was smiling that he retracted his fingers and let them curl back into a first for a split second. Pensively his emerald orbs moved about. Loki was not given to much strong drink. He'd seen how wine could become a mocker many times. He'd seen respected officials act like bumbling buffoons after a few glasses of mead. He'd seen Thor act like fool enough times after long nights of drinking. He'd talk foolishly, get into brawls, have wild nights with women he didn't even know, he'd acted so recklessly so many times that he lost costly things (one time the idiot had gotten into some bet over a night of drinking and had even gambled away Mjolnir). Loki rolled his eyes as he recalled finding the Crown Prince of Asgard hungover in a ditch somewhere naked, penniless, shoeless and without his magnificent weapon. It had been quite a quest to get the hammer back he recalled. Loki had also experienced first hand how alcohol could affect him. He had never been able to hold his liquor well. He had found that his magic only worked so well when he was intoxicated. He couldn't think straight and so he couldn't execute the enchantment quick enough to stave off the effects of alcohol. He hated being out of control, it made him feel powerless, it made him feel foolish to not have his full faculties about him. If there was one thing that he had always prided himself on it was his shrewd mind. No matter that there were many who were physically stronger than him, but few had his strength of mind. He didn't want anyone to forget that.
But as he continued to feel the heat rising over his entire body and his throat and tongue growing drier and drier the full glass of brownish purple liquid looked more and more desirable. Malekith stood still smiling, sinisterly from ear to ear. Loki's tongue darted out over his thin, pink lips the felt rough. He was almost certain that he had caught a drop of his own sweat hanging from his upper lip as he did so. He swallowed deeply. It hurt and burned to do so. His jade pupils dilated. He once more put on a stoic front and, but without hesitation, he reached his hand down and grabbed the proffered silver chalice and brought it to his lips. In the back his mind he slightly considered that the drink had been stepped in and sloshed in, but the silver metal was cool and soothing against his lips. He could easily use a quick incantation to cleans himself of any impurities that might have been in the drink. He shook his head and licked his tongue across his chapped, thin lips. He was no longer able to take the feeling of the flames engulfing his insides. Loki was desperate to be rid of such a horrible sensation.
Quickly, no longer able to exhibit anymore restraint, he guzzled the contents of the goblet. He drank it all in one big swig. His Adam's apple bobbed as the cocktail ran down his throat. It only extinguished the burning sensation momentarily. But that moment was so good, for once to not feel overheated. Loki's emerald eyes darted about. He needed more to drink. Anything to quench the flame that raged. "To Ragnarok," he panted. His lips already stained with the alcohol. Immediately he dove right back into the flood of mixed alcohol on the floor and scooped more into his goblet and drank some more as Malekith watched.
Malekith's men returned at some point. Loki lost track of time as he had continued to drink, willing to do anything to keep the fire from raging. "My lords," the warrior announced as they ran back into the war room. "The Aesir are gone!"
Loki spit the cocktail from his mouth. "What?" The king demanded.
Malekith growled and slammed his fist against the wall. "What is the meaning of this!" He yelled.
"They are not in their rooms Lord Malekith," the soldiers explained. "We tied them down, they were all bound and chained, we inflicted many pains upon them... the doors were locked..." They elaborated.
"Then how are they not there?" Malekith continued to fume. His anger was kindled greatly and the Aether whirled and raged within him.
"I don't know, my general," one of the lieutenants of the Dark-Elves reported. "They just vanished. The doors are still locked and chained, but the chains in the rooms are broken. It's as if they disappeared by magic," he continued.
"By Magic," Malekith rumbled low in his throat. "By MAGIC!" He shouted and then kicked over the blackwood table. It splashed in the flood of liquor on the floor. The leader of the Dark-Elves turned to Loki with his eyes ablaze. "You did this, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?" He demanded his black talon aimed at Loki's nose.
Loki chuckled, and wiped his mouth clean of the wine residue. His eyes were half lidded as he sauntered closer toward the Dark-Elf. "Please try to think logically before you ask me a question, Lord Malekith," Loki replied boredly.
"Why I ought to..." The general started.
Loki blew breath out the side of his mouth, another laugh bubbling forth from the new king. "What could I have possibly done. I have been here with you the whole time," he rationalized.
"Then, where are they?" Malekith ground out.
"I don't know," he articulated.
"Yes, you do!" Malekith railed. He raised a white knuckled fist to the air. "How could nearly 100 people disappear?" He demanded.
The raven-haired enchanter took his silver chalice and scooped another helping for mixed ale into his chalice. He took a long slow sip from the cup. His lips curling contentedly around the rim of the goblet as he smirked. "Perhaps your men didn't do a good enough job securing the prisoners as you would have hoped."
Malekith bared his teeth. The power of the Aether whirled about inside him. It could not be contained. He let his backhand fly and he slapped the ornate cup right out of Loki's porcelain fingers. "Possible!" The Dark-Elf spat. The soldiers protested proclaiming how well and how much care they had taken in performing the task they'd been given by their general.
Loki watched as his goblet tumbled through the air in slow motion out the corner of his eye. The ebony coiffed magician reached out his hand and froze the goblet in midair and kept it from splashing into the pools of liquor at their feet. The chalice warbled in the air for a little while, but the skilled mage summoned it back to his hands with ease. He snickered as it returned to his hands without a sip of the alcohol spilling out of the sides. He continued to drink from the chalice. He smacked his lips, enjoying the cooling effect it had on his mouth. "I wasn't finished with that," he added as he cast a glance at Malekith. "Perhaps if you had stationed your men with secure posts around the doors instead of allowing them to make merry all night long than we would not be in this predicament," he expressed.
"Don't you dare try to blame this on my troops!" Malekith yelled. "We have less than 16 hours..." He started to rant.
"Temper, temper," Loki cautioned the Dark-Elf general. He wagged a finger in his face before he turned away from him. "Let me think," Loki stated. He waved a dismissive hand toward the general before he pressed his fingers to his temples. His head was starting to throb. He tried to think, but the combination of several liquors sitting on his stomach made his mind foggy. Loki inhaled sharply and whispered an enchantment in his mind. He quickly felt his magic wash over his brain. He needed to be sober and vigilant he'd come to far to let this slip through his fingers. He thought of anyway in which the men and women of Asgard could have escaped. He could have named each one of the prisoners none of which were enchanters. There was no way that they should have been able to get out of rooms that were locked and sealed tight. Most of the servants' quarters didn't have windows. Furthermore, he'd seen the way that the Dark-Elves had handled the Aesir. They'd roughed them up and beat them mercilessly. The members of Asgard's high council had been in no position to escape their bonds without external help. But who could have possibly helped them? Everyone had been locked up and trapped. Everyone except..."Sigyn," Loki breathed her name.
"What?" Malekith hissed from behind.
"Sigyn," Loki repeated although he hardly heard the question of the general. He had told the Dark-Elves to let Sigyn be. he'd told them not to apprehend her. She was simply sobbing over the body of the young guard who he had just killed. He'd caused her enough pain. The look of hurt in her eyes still burrowed through his soul. Loki rubbed his half-lidded eyes and tried to remove the heart-wrenching image. He'd thought Sigyn posed no threat to his plan. Simple-minded, gentle woman that she was, he was sure that after she had taken time to mourn she would run for the hills. Maybe if she was smarter she would have done that, but the gorgeous blonde hand never been the sharpest knife in the drawer. Still, Sigyn wasn't strong enough to break down doors or snap fetters. Something wasn't adding up. Loki forced his half-sober mind to consider the foggy details.
Then it dawned on Loki, Sigyn was a lady-in-waiting and as such she had the privilege of learning the secrets of the catacombs. It was a precaution taken to ensure the queen or any other female members of the royal family were kept safe in times of siege. Sigyn could have easily accessed every single chamber in the entire palace through the catacombs. Loki's heavy eyes grew wide. Could Sigyn have truly memorized the catacombs. The catacombs were complexed. They were made to be difficult. They'd been designed with the intricate details of a labyrinth. It was supposed to be so that if an enemy entered them they wouldn't be able to find their way out. Loki couldn't have imagined that Admiral Arn's youngest daughter could have kept the tunnels and corridors straight. How could she when her head was so full of all the latest gossip. But she had to have memorized it...there was no other explanation. He thought and thought of alternatives, but there wasn't anything else plausible. The king was stunned, flabbergasted... and impressed. Sigyn had done this. Loki couldn't help but start to chuckle slightly to himself. Sigyn had done this. He placed his hand on his hip and then kept one hand on his forehead as he shook it. His slight chuckle grew a little louder. "Sigyn," he rolled his eyes and smiled up at the ceiling. Somehow Lady Sigyn had slipped in and out of the rooms while they were toasting and reveling. She'd tricked him and he was impressed.
"What in the world is a Sigyn? And what has that to do with anything?" Malekith asked.
"Nevermind that," Loki automatically responded as he faced the Dark-Elf general.
"Do not tell me to nevermind!" Malekith raged. "I have waited more than 1000 years for this day and now it could be jeopardized!" He stepped closer to Loki's face. "Thanos will have your head for this," he threatened.
Loki kept his posture rigid and his sharp features firm, but a chill ran over his entire body. The chill was rather pleasant in comparison to the smothering heat that had engulfed his entire being for the past few hours. But soon the good feeling was gone. That chill reminded him of Malekith's cruel hands beating him. Each time it had been like being slapped by a sheet of ice. "Those peasants haven't jeopardized the mission," Loki explained. "But Thor might," he thought out loud. Loki held fast to Gungnir. "Thor!" He turned to the Dark-Elf soldiers. "Did any of you nincompoops think to check the dungeons?" The king of Asgard questioned. The soldiers muttered to themselves but Loki watched as every one of them shook their heads. Loki gritted his teeth. "Idiots!" He spat. "Go down to the prison and make sure Thor is still bound and chained in his cell!" Loki ordered as he pointed his finger. "If he is, bring him to me!"
A/N: WOOHOOO! You made it to the end of the chapter. You gotta give yourself around of applause! I know it was a long one. but hopefully you enjoyed. Actually we don't have very much more to go. I honestly think that this story will be done in another 4 or 5 chapters. Well since you got through the whole chapter and the story will be ending soon you deserve to let me know what you think, so don't be shy leave me a review. :D :D