At first, Loki felt absolutely nothing. There was nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to feel. It was just numb, vacant, void existence as the youngest prince of Asgard fell into the unknown darkness.
It was impossible to tell how long he drifted, but during those seconds, minutes, or hours, Loki experienced the most peaceful moment of his life as he waited - no, welcomed - death to slowly consume him. His worn mind and aching heart weren't plagued by what had just occurred, his past, the disappointment, the betrayal; he just let go, body and soul. And it felt good.
Of course, that silent peace only lasted so long.
Loki just barely caught the glimpse of a distant light source ahead before it suddenly felt like his body had been ripped in half. What felt like the weight of thousands of tons pushed against his very structure and every bone in Loki's body strained against it like it was about to snap like a meager twig.
It didn't snap, however. That would have been too merciful.
Instead, the pressure remained, but within seconds, it became the least of his worries. Everything started moving too fast. Unnaturally fast. The kind of fast that can only exist in the deep, unknown, vicious pockets of space that he was suddenly hurtling through.
Blindingly bright, incomprehensible flashes filled his vision and left his brain in searing pain. Sounds that he seemed to feel rather than fully hear screamed all around him and made the pressure squeezing every inch of him seem all the more enclosing and encompassing.
There was no shape, reason, or logic to anything. It felt like death, pure and utter death, but only the process of it and not the peaceful result.
And it didn't stop.
Every cell of his body screamed as he could feel them crushing and then splitting apart, every bone bending and muscle tearing, his blood being squeezed up into his throat and begging to be ejected, but through it all he could not move or even open his mouth to cry out. But the physical part was nothing compared to what was happening to his mind. Far from whole to begin with, now it was splintering and dissolving as surely as the cells that held him together were.
All he wanted was to die in peace. He thought it was the one thing that the fates would grant him. Instead, his mind was being stretched, pulled, poked, and prodded by the very universe as it sent him falling at a speed that showed no signs of slowing down.
The sounds turned into voices. Shrill, villainous, ominous, incomprehensible sounds taunting him, despite the fact that they said no words. Sometimes they laughed, and the piercing sound echoed through his dying mind until he could not take it any longer.
Pain. Too fast. No air. Nothing.
Nothing.
How could so much nothing torture him like this?
Just as he began to choke on his own blood and vomit, everything suddenly stopped. Every noise died without so much as a whimper. The pressure was gone. The pain was gone. Everything was gone.
Except for Loki.
He opened his eyes and hesitantly grappled with the change, wondering why he was hanging, frozen, in the middle of space. He wiggled his fingers and they moved, to his relief. He was no longer paralyzed as he had been a moment before.
Everything was dark, save for a lone, flickering star in the distance that shone just enough so that he wasn't completely blind.
Meaningless minutes ticked by. Many passed before he realized that he wasn't frozen at all, instead merely falling at a rate so slow that it was indecipherable.
Time meant nothing here. Nothing meant anything. Death had again eluded him.
How long would he be trapped like this? Seconds felt like hours. Perhaps seconds were hours here, wherever "here" was.
He could not speak. He could not use magic. He could only attempt to gather his frantic mind from being mentally and physically ripped apart by the hyperspeed pocket he'd just fallen from and to wait.
Wait for death, for anything.
As he waited, he lost all sense of time and logic. He hovered between being awake and unconscious and in a state of being fully neither. Dream-like images and voices wafted past him so slowly that each word took an eternity to reach his ears and flow into his feeble consciousness. Still, the voices and faces were as taunting as their supersonic counterparts.
He could recognize them now. Thor laughing derisively at him. Aemilia's lovely face contorted in disgust as she spat at him. Frigga doing both. Odin looking young and energized and happy in the wake of Loki's fate. All of this floated behind his eyelids in a never-ending procession of pictures and imagined voices.
Eventually, all of this meant nothing to him, because in time - whatever that was - he forgot who he was. He forgot what thinking was or even how to do it.
He fell for years. Eons.
But even the slowest of things must come to an end. When he finally reached the bottom of that terrible place, he slipped into one identical to the first pocket.
The jolt of hyper speed sent him spinning, flailing, and painfully remembering with a vengeance his identity. It was an electric shock to his brain, which had either begun to atrophy or had entered a survival hibernation state from the numbness of the never ending pocket before.
He was not grateful for being reawakened. The pressure and the pain was back, smashing and curling and suffocating at his battered body, and all of it was utterly inescapable. Death was so close and yet so far away.
This time, he managed to open his mouth and let out a tortured scream rip from the very depths of his being that rubbed his throat raw and bleeding. Hot tears flew from his eyes as violent sobs wracked his body. And when so much time had passed that he found he could no longer scream nor cry, uncontrollable laughter bubbled up his bloodied throat in a fit of madness.
He'd never know exactly why what happened next managed to happen at all. He supposed that in his hysteria, as his mind was slowly ripping apart, he somehow managed to pry a dagger from somewhere in his armor - armor that was almost fully disintegrated - and then made good use of the thing by vertically slashing his wrists.
The problem was, even in this black hole of space and time, where his body and mind were slowly peeling away, he still healed far too efficiently for such an attempt to work.
By the time he awoke after nearly but not quite bleeding to death, he was no longer at hyper speed. Time had reverted to being almost nonexistently slow.
The thought of enduring such a thing again sent pure terror through what was left of his mind.
Desperate to put an end to it, he reached for another dagger. The process of getting the infernal thing in his shaking hand felt like over a year's worth of time had passed. The act of putting it to the artery in his neck was equally slow. Piercing it through took about the equivalent of six months. Bleeding out took around three.
Three months of slowly bleeding to death from a self-inflicted stab wound to the neck.
But death snubbed him yet again.
He awoke stained in blood but fully healed, still falling. But this time, not too slowly, not too quickly. Falling like he fell from the bridge…at the correct speed.
But nevertheless, into nothingness.
His mind and body were in tatters. Just fragmented pieces of what he was before he fell, and he'd been broken even then.
He was out of daggers, not that they did him any good to begin with.
Stars began to light up his path as he fell. In the distance beneath him, he could see a dark rock slowly growing larger. Despite his blurry thoughts, he seemed to be on a path directly to it. A distinct gravitational pull confirmed his suspicion moments later.
His only hope was that he would crash into the unknown planet with enough force to separate his head from his body.
His morbid anticipation grew as he was pulled closer and closer and as he begged the fates to let him die at last. Of course, his request was denied once again.
He crashed hard enough into the planet to form a giant crater and break almost every bone in his body, but not hard enough to die.
In reality, his fall had only lasted for about an hour. In his mind, it had lasted lifetimes.
He laid in the self-made crater for an unknown number of minutes, maybe hours, maybe days – his sense of time utterly obliterated – and simply let the crushing pain overtake him. He stared up at a gray, dim sky, looking without really seeing. There were several small moons among the stars and shadows of other worlds, ones that he did not know and did not care to know.
He cursed death. He cursed life. Both eluded him, both mocked him, and both had rejected him.
At some point, as his wretched body began the painful process of knitting back together after falling apart upon impact, he closed his eyes. He was somewhere between sleep and consciousness, too exhausted to move but still in too much agony to truly rest, and he remained in this state until he was jarred fully awake by something sharp and wet gripping his limbs.
His eyes flew open to see a group of muttering, hideous creatures, who appeared to have slimy claws rather than hands that were collectively working to move him to some unknown place. They were as gray as the sky above and utterly unlike anything he had ever seen before. As they communicated in an odd, monotone, and grunted language and continued to cart him off somewhere, he barely noticed his lungs slowly tightening, closing their capacity to expand and contract.
He tried to fight, tried to loose himself from the creatures, but he was weak – weaker than when he first fell to the planet, he realized in surprise. An alarm sounded in every cell of his body when blood suddenly started trickling from his nose. His lungs were starting to strain and stunt his breathing, and his head was spinning from lack of air. An odd, strong wave of nausea suddenly hit him out of nowhere. Finally, he realized that, wherever he was, he was biologically incompatible with its atmosphere. It wasn't just a problem with catching air, it was almost as if he was being liquefied from the inside out, a definitive burning in his core.
Vaguely, he was aware of the gasping, wheezing sounds of his own struggling breath, and the increasing flow of blood from his nose. It started to trickle down his throat, and when he coughed in response, he finally noticed that he'd been laid down somewhere and that the creatures were no longer above him. He attempted to sit up, but his bones and muscles screamed in response to a point where his nausea suddenly spiked. Loki only had a chance to turn to his side before he wretched on the ashen ground. When he forced his previously clenched eyes open, he saw bright red blood staining the dirt beneath him as it dripped from his lips.
Still coughing, he turned his head with great difficulty, and on his right, he saw them, huddled together and, if he had to guess, arguing. On his left, he saw a cliff. It was a distance away, but it was there.
Then he looked up. Something, or some things, were circling, flying, getting closer with each painful attempt to breathe. The mangled fowl creatures looked as if their skeletons rested atop transluscent skin that contained black, bulging organs. They had disjointed skeletal wings that were bent in nightmarish ways, and from the high pitched, shrieking sounds escaping their black beaks, he could only assume that they were hungry.
And despite it all, he did not want to die by getting slowly eaten by a pack of revolting, disgusting, alien birds.
He had little strength to gather, but he somehow managed to pull enough from his bones and very soul to send out a burst of what magic he had left. It was a small little "feeler", a desperate, last-ditch attempt to find a way out of whatever forsaken rock this place was. And, like a miracle, something pushed back. Something that was familiar and inviting, something he knew as soon as he sensed it.
It was a ripple, a portal that would open for him if he could but reach it. It called to him, invited him, and somehow, he found the will and the strength to drag himself towards the cliff on his hands and knees. His pained wheezing intensified as blood replaced the air in his lungs, and he struggled to remain conscious as the sensation of drowning without water overcame him, making every move feel like it would break him in half, but the ripple that he knew was there was waiting, promising for, he hoped, a more peaceful death than what awaited him here.
The creatures noticed his movements and started after him, squawking in response. The revolting fowls were swooping in closer and closer, and bursts of new pain from his weak legs let him know that a few of them had indeed managed to sample a taste of his flesh. But he ignored it, focusing singularly on his destination.
And before his captors could grab him, and before the birds could make more of a meal out of him, he sighed in relief as he managed to fall ungracefully from the cliff and directly into the portal that awaited him.
He fell, once more. Shimmering light and a tightening but not suffocating squeeze of pure energy welcomed him as he was transported to a new world.
Then he landed, far more gently than he had in the last world. Oxygen flooded his lungs instantly and he gasped in a deep, glorious, perfect breath, and then another, and another, coughing up whatever blood was left in his lungs. Relief settled in as his body rejoiced with the new, far more compatible atmosphere, and then, with one glance towards the amber sky above him, he lost consciousness.
For a time, everything was black, quiet, and peaceful. Then, something prickled at his mind, beckoning him back towards the light. Something loud, something hard, something... violent.
His eyes flew open just in time to watch a large ashy fist collide with his face.
It hurt, but the pain was barely noticeable amid the rest of the agony coursing through his body as a result of the hell that he had already experienced. He tried to raise a hand to his face, but his wrists were shackled to the rocky ground beneath him, and his legs were equally bound and useless. Had he had a fraction of his strength, he could have broken the iron bonds, but at the moment, he was all but helpless.
A gravelly, growling voice sounded above him. "I know you."
He looked up and felt disgust wash over him at the sight of a face as ashen as the fist that had struck him, grinning and showing off a mouthful of sharp, mostly black teeth, matching a set of matching black and gruesome eyes.
"You're a Prince of Asgard."
The words set off a brand new wave of loathing, anger and hatred. Loki spat out a mouthful of blood before turning his weary eyes back on his captor. "I am nobody."
The thing laughed, the noise rumbling like a growl deep in his chest. "You certainly live up to your name, god of lies."
At that moment, Loki wasn't sure that whatever fate that awaited him here would be preferable to what he had just escaped. Apparently, the fates didn't think that he had suffered enough. He could only imagine what he would have to crawl his way out of next because his identity being known almost guaranteed that he would not be killed. No, he would be ransomed, tortured, sold, perhaps all three and much, much more.
"I have no quarrel with you," the creature said, "or with Asgard. But. I know many who do."
Just as he suspected. He should have just let those grotesque birds peck him to death.
"You understand. Business is business."
Finding his voice, he used it and tried to ignore how speaking felt like swallowing shards of glass. "I suppose it would be pointless to ask you to have mercy and simply kill me."
Another disgusting grin. "Kill you? You are far too valuable to kill. I suspect that what is left of Jotunheim would be very willing to pay me whatever price I name in exchange for you alive."
Genuine, nearly paralyzing fear shot through Loki at top speed. He could imagine no worse fate than being turned over to those monsters after he had murdered their king and nearly decimated their entire world.
"Ah, yes, I think so..." the thing murmured gleefully, obviously noticing the horror in Loki's features. "Then I chose wisely. You see, I sent them a message while you were unconscious. They shall be here for you within the hour."
Sheer panic wracked his broken body.
He had to calm himself. Gather his strength, his magic, find a way out. Find a way to die, a way to live, anything that spared him from the eternity of torture that he would suffer at the hands of his supposed, wretched "kin".
But his strength was spent, his magic nothing more than a dying ember. He would need days to recover. An hour was useless. He could not even send out the smallest burst of magic – he'd used up what little remained on coming here, to his impending doom.
"Take heart, Prince," his captor grinned, patting the side of his face. "It will not be in vain. You are making me very rich, indeed."
Loki focused everything he had on glaring at the thing, hatred seeping from his very pores as he hissed, "Rot in Hel, you filth." Refusing to go quietly, he spat blood on the monster's ashen face.
A murderous glare flashed in his eyes, and he humorlessly laughed in reply. "Perhaps I shall meet you there when the Jotuns are finished with you," he hissed, slowly stepping closer to him. "Or perhaps -"
Loki never got to hear the end of that sentence, because there was a flash of light, and then his face and torso were sprayed with thick, foul, utterly sickening black blood as the creature suddenly exploded before his eyes. Desperately spitting and trying to shake off the blood, gagging and heaving at the taste of the congealed drops that managed to sneak their way into his mouth, Loki managed to look up and focus on a new figure.
It was cloaked, relatively tall, and man-shaped. His eyes were covered by his hood, and a strange golden mouthpiece framed a visibly scabbed-over, slightly monstrous mouth. His right hand was outstretched, and his fingers were strange and oddly placed. Loki stared at him, waiting for him to speak and make his intent known.
"It is true." The figure stepped closer, slowly. "You live."
"How very astute of you," Loki muttered, his sharp tongue the only part of him that was still of full use to him.
Then, to his shock, his shackles dissolved. Having not anticipated it, he fell gracelessly to the hard ground, all of his wounds and injuries screaming in protest. Then, rising to his hands and knees as best he could, he turned wary and suspicious eyes on the new person. "Who are you?"
"A choice."
Loki rolled his eyes and nearly collapsed back on the ground for how weak he was. As he struggled, he watched a pair of large, booted feet edge closer, and then the person knelt down before him.
"Come with me, and I shall take you to one who can give you new purpose. One who can give you the power you crave."
"I crave death," Loki replied breathlessly. "I've no use for power any longer."
The person chuckled. "You know not the meaning of true power, Asgardian. Come with me, and you shall."
He had no desire to let this creature take him anywhere. However, if the black-eyed thing had been truthful, he was still on the verge of being found and taken by the Jotuns. Since nobody he had encountered yet had the decency to simply kill him and put him out of his misery, he knew that his options were exceedingly limited.
Perhaps, if he played the situation correctly, whoever this thing wanted to take him to would have the stomach to do it. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would have the chance to do it himself. Somehow, some way, he would find a way to die.
"Where?" Loki croaked out.
"To a world that few others know," the scarred mouth spoke, a smile slowly unfurling.
"And your name?"
Having little idea how significant this moment was, where it would lead him and the dire consequences that it would spark, Loki watched as the creature extended his strange hand and answered, "You may call me The Other."
A week had passed since Loki's memorial, and Aemilia's nights had been plagued with nightmares ever since. At first, sleeping had been her refuge, her one moment of blissful nothingness without the constant pain and grieving, but sleep became less of an option as the days went by. She was constantly in and out of slumber, waking in a cold sweat and Loki's pained voice ringing in her ears.
It was driving her mad. She was irritable to everyone, especially whenever Fandral made himself known – he had cut her a wide birth when she randomly snapped at him about three days ago, demanding that he leave her alone. Her battered mind was so tired it was difficult for her to comprehend the minutest of tasks, and even Frigga had tentatively approached her and expressed concern over her lack of appetite. She just couldn't bring herself to eat. She couldn't bring herself to feel anything except grief and guilt.
As the grief remained steady, her guilt only increased with time. She didn't want to be this person. She didn't like who she was becoming: this weeping, weak, short-tempered wretch of a girl. Nor did she think Loki would be fond of this pitiful shadow of her old self. He had thrived on her stubbornness, solid sense of purpose, strong will, and determination, which was now suddenly slipping through her fingers.
Not only had she lost Loki, but she was losing herself, too. Her friends, her family, her music, her magic. She was just so exhausted, andevery time she closed her eyes nightmares tormented her every thought. She couldn't bring herself to hardly do anything, despite her ever-worsening self-loathing.
One morning, Aemilia jumped awake, chest heaving, her white nightgown clinging to her sweat slicked skin. She had only been sleeping for an hour, if that. With a heavy sigh, she sat up in bed and ran a hand over her face in a sort of ill-fated attempt to wipe the weariness that lay so deep within her skin. If Loki could see her now.
"My darling Aemilia."
She froze, a horrifying chill running down her spine in recognition of that deep dark voice that floated like a shaky breath through the room. Her body clenched in dreaded fear. Was she hearing voices – his voice – now?
"Aemilia. Turn around." She yelped in surprise at the close proximity of the voice behind her before whipping around.
Her aching heart leapt into her throat at the sight.
It was him. Loki. He was here, looking as young and vibrant and mischievous as ever, casually lying on her bed and bathing in the morning sunlight, as if the past week had been nothing but a horrible illusion.
He sat up to meet her eyes, his expression soft, his voice impossibly smooth and calming, "Do not worry, little one. I'm here. I'll always be here." Tears sprang to her eyes as her hands flew up to her gasping lips. A silent sob wracked her chest when he ever so slightly raised the corners of his mouth in a smile. She knew he wouldn't leave her. Her skin practically hummed in desperation for his touch.
As if he had read her thoughts, his long fingers reached to brush her cheek. Her weary eyes immediately fell shut as she leaned in to his reaching caress, just barely whispering his name, but after a moment, nothing occurred. She opened her eyes to see him still there, eyes shining and hand on her cheek, but the expected smooth, cool sensation of his touch was simply…not there.
Eyebrows pulled together in confusion, she brought her hand up to place on top of his, but with a swirling green glow, her hand went right through his before he entirely disappeared from sight.
A gasp of horror ripped from her throat as she leapt from the bed, pulling the bed sheets with her in a tight grasp. Whirling around, she desperately looked for him, but there was nothing – no one – there. Her heart still thumping painfully in her chest, she slowly backed up to lean on the wall for support.
Closing her eyes and willing her strained breathing to slow, she collected her thoughts. I'm still in a dream. I have to be.
"I'm no dream, Aemilia."
Her eyes shot open to immediately come into contact with Loki's slightly amused expression once more. He was mere inches from her, his striking green eyes looking at her through dark lashes.
Wide eyed and breathing heavily, she pressed herself closer to the wall. "N-no. You're gone. You're not real," she shakily replied, as if she was trying to convince herself.
He smiled as if she were a confused child. "My darling, I'm here. Take my hand." His waiting hand hovered between them, and Aemilia very nearly took it, but the voice in the back of her mind screamed at her. He's not real! No! No—
"NO!" her desperate, frantic thoughts fought its way from her throat. His calm visage disappeared before her eyes. She pushed off the wall, circling in a panic to try and find him. Her voice was raw and cracking through her sobs, "You're not real! You…you're gone! You're dead!"
"That's right!" She whirled around to see him standing behind her, his face frighteningly close. Gone was his calm, alluring demeanor, replaced with the side of Loki that scared Aemilia – horrified, even. His face and wild green eyes were lit with a thundering fury that immediately froze Aemilia to her spot and made her heart stop. "I am dead!" He threateningly jabbed a finger at her, and Aemilia visibly flinched. "And you made me this way!"
Hot tears immediately fell from her eyes at his accusation, and her ever-building guilt became utterly unbearable. He took a step forward and she immediately backed up. Her voice weak from the abuse she had put it through, she replied, "I did not kill you, Loki! You let go!"
"If you had supported me, if you hadn't run to your little friends, none of this would have happened!" He stalked her towards the door, his footsteps slow, precise, and utterly predatory. "I would have remained King, I would have gained Father's approval," her back hit the door with a thud and her breath caught in her throat. He had never looked at her like this: wide green eyes glaring up and down her form, hatred and anger seething from his every pore. His voice low, he spat his final words, "Perhaps, I wouldn't hate you."
Aemilia felt as if a knife had been dug into her side and mercilessly twisted. Never, in all of their fights, had he ever said something to her like that. Despite all they had been through, Aemilia had never doubted that Loki, though it may have been far under the surface, loved her. Or at least cared.
Seeing him spit out his hate to her, whether she was hallucinating him or not, made her want to run far, far away, and forget everything that had happened to her in the past year. She couldn't take the guilt, the despair, the weakness any longer.
"Run." He whispered, as if he'd read her mind. Her eyes snapped up to his to find him devilishly grinning at her, utterly enjoying her torment. He was nearly sing-song in his tone, and it made that knife in her side twist even further. "Run, little one…" Her trembling left hand gripped the door knob, which did not go unnoticed by him. A mischievous glint flared in his eyes before he suddenly started towards her, and with a petrified yelp, she ripped open the door and bolted into the hallway, his distorted, evil laughter loudly taunting her inside her head. She turned left down the hallway, desperate to get away, but he suddenly appeared in front of her, his stance careless and relaxed but his eyes shooting lethal daggers at her.
She immediately stopped in her tracks and whipped around to go the other direction.
Before she could go anywhere, though, she ran into a pair of arms clothed in black silk. They attempted to steady her, but to no avail. Aemilia flailed in their grasp, trying to scream but her worn throat only allowing a weak, strained gasp. Her vision was blurred and her pulse pounded in her head along with the maniacal laughs from Loki.
Only until a particularly smooth, female voice punctured her subconscious did she stop fighting. "Aemilia!" She blinked rapidly until the ever beautiful visage of Frigga became clear. She stood there with wide, worried eyes, hands grasped tightly on Aemilia's shoulders.
Those caring, loving eyes immediately sent her into sobs, collapsing into her warm and soft embrace. Frigga eased her to the floor as her fingers threaded through the younger woman's hair. "My dear, what has happened?" When Aemilia didn't reply, the Queen pulled her face up to look her in the eyes. She repeated her question.
Aemilia shut her eyes as if she were trying to block something out. "He won't leave."
Frigga furrowed her eyebrows, "Who?"
An airy laugh suddenly filled the room, and dread immediately rested in Frigga's stomach at the familiarity. Aemilia silently cried, persistently shaking her head. The laughing intensified, before the source appeared directly behind Aemilia, a taunting and dark smile on his face. Frigga shut her eyes, reminding herself of reality. This was not her son.
"Oh, my dear," she tiredly sighed. No wonder Aemilia looked utterly sick with exhaustion and guilt.
The girl was frantic in the Queen's arms, breathing so quickly she was nearly wheezing.
"You can run away from me," Loki spat, "but you can't run away from the guilt! It will eat you alive until you're begging for—"
"Mother, please!" Aemilia wept, covering her ears, "Please make him go away!"
The millenias-old Queen froze for a poignant second as she realized the younger girl's words. Her heart lurched in her chest for Aemilia, loving her as strongly as any of her children. She had been through so much in such a short amount of time without any support from her biological mother. In Frigga, Aemilia had filled the void, perhaps more than it ever had been.
Unfallen tears clouded Frigga's eyes as she tightened her embrace around the girl who was too engulfed by sorrow to even be aware of what had occurred. She raised a weary hand, and the disturbing visage of Loki shone with green light before disappearing completely. As his figure evaporated, it revealed her eldest son watching with wide eyes at the end of the corridor. He was clearly concerned for the scene before him: his brother's partner sobbing into his mother's arms in nothing but a slip. He took a step toward them, but Frigga shook her head. He stopped, sending her a despaired look. Thor held Frigga's sad gaze for another moment before hanging his head and going back the way he came.
Frigga couldn't take listening to her adopted daughter's pained sobs any longer without losing her control as well. Delicately whispering in her ear, a sleep spell washed through Aemilia, and her tired body immediately fell limp. Wrapping her arms even tighter around Aemilia, they vanished into her chambers.
When Aemilia awoke, she wasn't frightened or exhausted or crying. She felt…rested. For the first time in what felt like a very long time.
Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal ornate golden décor, infinitely more extravagant than what was in her own chambers. She'd only been here enough times to count on one hand, but she immediately felt more safe and relaxed than she had in weeks.
"You're awake," the warm, familiar voice of Frigga sounded by her feet. She sat up to see the Queen, as beautiful as ever, perched on the side of her bed.
"How long have I been asleep?" Aemilia asked. She hardly recognized her own voice. It was always so melodic and lilting, and now it was nothing but a deep rasp.
"You fell asleep nearly a day ago, darling," she said with a soft smile. Aemilia furrowed her brows at that, trying to think back. It was all too fuzzy from sleep. Frigga, seeing the confusion on her face, edged closer and began to explain. "You were so physically and emotionally exhausted that you completely lost all control of your magic, much like you did at the…bridge," she paused at that, swallowing pointedly before continuing. "I assume you accidentally conjured a vision of Loki, but couldn't control it. You ran out of your room and fell into me, crying and asking me to get rid of it. So, I did, and I also put you under a sleeping spell and brought you here to watch over you." Frigga lightly laid her hand over Aemilia's. "You needed rest."
As Frigga explained, it slowly dawned on Aemilia what had happened. She remembered the fear, the panic, the guilt, the all-consuming fatigue. But mostly, the venom in Loki's voice as he spat out his hatred for her. She visibly winced at the memory.
"My dear," Frigga said, sitting right next to her with her hand grasping hers tightly. "You must know that, despite this guilt that you feel," Aemilia looked down at her lap, but Frigga brought her face back up to look her in the eyes. Despite the nearly overbearing sadness in the Queen's eyes, the honestly and love that remained there told Aemilia that she was telling the absolute truth. "Loki's death was not your fault. Do you understand? You were one of the few people Loki ever loved and never did him wrong. Do not let unwarranted guilt ruin you, do you hear me? Loki would not want this fate for you."
Aemilia stared at her for a moment as she processed everything. "I don't know how to stop feeling this way. I don't want to; I don't like feeling weak and helpless. I feel like I lose myself more and more every day, and I can't get rid of it."
"Then you fight it," Frigga replied, a slight fire lighting in her eyes. "You fight the guilt, and you fight to find who you are once more. You are a strong and passionate woman, fit for a queen." Aemilia glanced down at the ring on her finger for a split second before reaching Frigga's gaze once more. "I daresay the man most difficult to please in all of Asgard thought so," she said with a small smile, which Aemilia mirrored.
For the first time since Loki's death, Aemilia felt that familiar fire light within her again. It wasn't strong, merely an ember, but it was there, and that one small ember held promise. She wouldn't forget Loki – she couldn't – and by no means was she done mourning him, but she could begin to move on, and strive to be the strong, vibrant woman Loki helped her to be again. It was the least she could do.
"How would you suggest I begin?"
Frigga's smile grew in response, immense joy at seeing the old Aemilia flickering under the surface once more. She stood, smoothing her dress out before turning to the girl again.
"Perhaps it is time you resumed your magic training with me as your mentor."
After Frigga had Aemilia eat dinner with her, she was dismissed. It was an odd feeling, not yet her old self, but a glimmer of hope and of strength was there, flickering deep within. Honestly, she didn't quite know what to do with herself.
She slowly walked into her chambers, the bed made and the room clean, but Aemilia immediately felt the ghosts of the previous day return to haunt her mind. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm her accelerating heart. Fight it. The Queen's words rang in her head, keeping that little invigorated flame alight.
When she opened her eyes, her gaze fell on Loki's large ornate magic book on her desk. She tentatively approached the book, her thumb nervously spinning the glistening ring on her finger. It hadn't been opened ever since her fight with Loki, and she hadn't had the nerve to hardly even look at it since, but she knew if she wanted to start to heal, she needed to start with this.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked up the book and left the room, heading for the peace and beauty of the gardens. After the initial struggle of convincing herself to open the book was accomplished, she fell back into the book right where she had left off. It was by no means easy, nor did Aemilia's eyes remain dry as she studied the carefully written, elegant script of her lover. However, focusing on her magic – the magic that Loki helped create – made her feel closer to him. The Loki that had not yet succumbed to the damning fight for power and acceptance. She could feel his essence in every word and every drawing, and she relished in it, remaining in her spot on a bench in the middle of the gardens for hours on end.
The only thing that broke her concentration was a mature female voice sounding behind her.
"Aemilia."
She froze, immediately recognizing that voice. Both hurt and rage enveloped her body as she felt the undeniable presence behind her, waiting for her to turn around. This was, without doubt, the last person she had thought would show up. Face deadpan, she slowly rotated.
There before her stood Ayre, her long-lost mother, exactly as she had remembered. "As always, you have impeccable timing, mother," she stated, slowly closing Loki's book and standing to her feet, back ramrod straight with tension.
Ayre looked as if she was about to say something but thought better of it, closing her mouth. After a few more poignant moments of awkwardness, Aemilia cut the silence. "Why are you here?"
She took a few steps closer. "I wanted to see you. To apologize."
"You have already done so," Aemilia said, crossing her arms.
"But not in person," her clearly nervous hands fell to her side. She saw a flash of hurt in her mother's eyes for moment, of which she felt no sympathy. "I assumed forgiveness would require a face-to-face apology, since you never replied to my letters."
Aemilia looked at her expectantly.
Clearing her throat, she continued, "I truly am sorry for my actions, Aemilia. They were rash and undeserving, and I have come to utterly regret them. I punished you for something I myself am guilty of, and I was wrong for it. I miss you, Aemilia. So does your father."
At the mention of her father – the man she grew up calling father, not her biological one – Aemilia's gaze finally softened. They had never been incredibly close – he was too aloof for that – but she had come to miss his quiet and sweet presence.
When Aemilia still failed to reply, Ayre continued after looking up from her feet for a moment. "I also came to…express my condolences. About Prince Loki."
The previously diminished rage flared up again at the mention of him. A chilling venom was laced in her voice as she finally spoke. "You have no right to speak of him. Especially when you could truly care less about his fate."
"Aemilia," Ayre said, grasping her hand, "I know your pain."
Aemilia recoiled as if she had been burned. "You cannot comprehend my pain, mother!"
Tears of anger ran down both of the women's cheeks by this time, emotions that had been boiling under the surface for months finally springing forward. Ayre's tears fell faster at Aemilia's claim. "I can't? When your father died, I was completely devastated—"
"Our situations were, in fact, quite different!" she retorted, placing her left hand in between them, the large stone on her finger shimmering brightly in the evening light.
When Ayre's eyes fell on the ring, she immediately fell quiet, clearly wounded yet also shocked at the gravity of the relationship that she had been utterly unaware of. When Aemilia's hand fell and Ayre finally spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. "I am sorry, Aemilia. I never wanted you to experience such pain. And believe it or not, I didn't come here to argue with you." Aemilia had to choke down a scoff at that. "I really was hoping we could possibly…start over."
Too much was happening at once for Aemilia's own sanity. That sense of rest she'd had since she'd woken from Frigga's sleep spell was suddenly waning. Part of her felt like laughing in her mother's face, but the other part of her was just tired of the conflict.
Hesitant and wary, Aemilia eventually nodded at the awaiting Ayre. "Fine." It wasn't much by any means, but a ghost of a smile lifted at her mother's lips. Not wanting to push too many boundaries, she just nodded in agreement before going to leave.
"Mother?" She turned around, an eyebrow raised. "Please tell father to come visit me sometime."
And with another small smile and a nod, she was gone.
Aemilia passed her emotional limit for the day hours ago, and Ayre had just made it twice as worse, but ultimately, she hoped some good came from it. She would be lying if she said she didn't miss her, but, like everything else, their relationship would need some time to heal. Heavily sighing, she looked around a bit before grabbing the book and heading back to her room.
After all, there was more studying to be done.
FINALLY. The next installment of Ruin! I do want to apologize for taking so long to upload. I just started my first year of college right after the last chapter was finished, so I've been in a serious time of transition and trying to figure out the best time for me to write. Hopefully, now that I have a pretty good handle of my schedule (I am maxed out on credit hours...hold me.) and that all the holidays are coming up, I'll have more time to upload chapters more quickly.
I want to thank Team Damon for her immense help and input all the time, but particularly this chapter...Loki's scene was by no means easy, and I couldn't have done it without her (oh, how the tables have turned, :D).
Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, and make sure to leave a review (hint, hint) to let me know what you think!
Much love,
Midnightwings96