Dearest darling "Guest": There is a reason this story changes POV every couple sentences. Because that is how the mages wanted to write it. Also, thank you for letting me know that I am now well-known enough to receive flames. I happen to enjoy knowing that someone did not enjoy my story and still took time out of their day to let me know that. ^_^ It really does mean a lot.
My co-author is also happy. You've leveled us up in the Great Writing Game! Flames, and with a swear word to boot! You're the first flame for both of us, and I do hope you know your fire will keep my toes warm for days.
Also I wrote these paragraphs while on the high from seeing TWO amazing, highly complimentary Tumblr reviews, so you'll be happy to know your review didn't lessen my smile one hair, especially with all the other wonderful comments TSATS has gotten so far. Enjoy your day!
(Also Hope and I make certain to stay in the same pov the entire time. I stick to Aaravos's head, they stick to Loki's, and we just let the mages do as they will.)
JokuulRaseri, thank you for your sweet review! Just wondering, would it be less confusing if we had the names in there? For writing, we have clear sections with AARAVOS and LOKI, but we decided to take those out to post because of how clunky they'd make the story. But if they'd actually be helpful, I could leave them in.
Thank you for your support!
Indi, yes, must protecc stabby beans. ^^
Oh, and if anyone's read Narnia or spent time in the Miraculous fandom, there're a couple jokes in here for you.
***again, content warning for PTSD***
2: Many Hands Make Light Work, but Only if You Can Keep From Insulting Each Other For Five Minutes
Loki wakes up feeling more refreshed after sleep than he has in… he does not even know how long. It is almost as surprising as the fact that he is awake at all. Some small part of him thought he might not wake again, despite the elf's promise that he would not be harmed.
He became well acquainted with the sensation of having one's mind tampered with, and aside from the dreamless sleep, he can sense no change in his perception. He supposes he was right to at least trust Aaravos with that much.
Given how Aaravos had dodged the question, Loki is yet again surprised that now he knows his cellmate's name. It appears he is full of surprises, and Loki is not sure how to feel about that.
Loki does not bother with all the intricacies of his armor, choosing instead to remain in his leathers for now. He can still defend himself with magic if need be, but he should at least show his host enough respect to not approach him as if for battle. When he steps through the door into the hall, he notices the slightest shimmer on the other side of the door, a rune that flashes dimly before vanishing again.
He can deduce its purpose easily enough. He supposes he cannot blame Aaravos for not wishing to be snuck up on.
Hearing Loki through his spying surveillance runes, Aaravos begins preparing breakfast. Oatmeal is one of the few things he feels like eating in whatever equates to a morning here, that he can actually get.
"We will dance the whole night through, under a violet moon," he hums under his breath, a snatch of a nearly-forgotten ballad, giving the oats a quick stir.
Even without the heightened senses of his Asgardian heritage, Loki trained himself to pick up on the slightest sounds. Even from the top of two flights of stairs he can hear the faint notes of music… if one can call it that. That must be what it is intended to be, but parts of the singing are more reminiscent of the wails of a dying cat.
Loki does his best not to snicker. Such a pleasant sounding speaking voice, yet that abhorrent singing voice could belong to none but Aaravos, unless they received a new visitor.
Hearing a quiet sound, Aaravos spins around, wooden spatula at the ready. Oh. It's only Loki. He switches to using the spatula to indicate the small pot, hanging over nothing and heated by Sun magic. "I prepared breakfast. I hope oatmeal is to your liking."
Though if it is not, there is not much else.
Loki steps through the open door to what appears to be a kitchen where Aaravos is working. He must be jumpy, Loki supposes, having someone else join his isolation because he spins around brandishing his spatula. Loki smirks. Yes, Aaravos makes quite the terrifying picture interrupted mid-off-key mumbling and wielding a spatula.
Aaravos quickly regains his composure, ever the picture of elegance. "Far be it from me to turn down any sustenance, given the situation." He has certainly had worse than a warm bowl of oats.
What is that smirk for?
Aaravos indicates a cupboard. "Bowls are there. Spoons, there. Table…" He glances around, letting a smirk of his own grow. "Figure it out."
Loki snatches a bowl from the top shelf and a spoon from the drawer. When he receives his serving, he chooses instead to hop on the counter, glancing at Aaravos to check his reaction before digging into the food, hungrier than he thought he would be.
One might think he was raised better than that, having been brought up a prince, but Asgardians were never ones for table manners.
"There is a perfectly good chair right there." Aaravos jerks his head towards the table by the wall and its lone chair. "Or has no one taught you it's polite to sit on something meant for sitting rather than something meant for food preparation?"
This, he doubts. Loki has already displayed such charm, Aaravos is sure he's doing this simply to bother him.
"I would not dream of taking your only chair," Loki responds. "You have been so accommodating already."
"Please. I insist."
It bothers Aaravos intensely, for reasons he cannot articulate even to himself, to see Loki hunched over a bowl of oatmeal on Aaravos's counter, rather than sitting properly in a chair.
"I have others," he adds. "More comfortable ones, if you would prefer to eat in the library."
If Loki accepts this offer and spills on Aaravos's books, he'll wish he'd never fallen into–
A smile tugs at the corner of Aaravos's mouth. He likely already does.
"No need," Loki says, hopping down from the counter and scooping up the last spoonful of his breakfast into his mouth. "Already done. Where do you keep the dish soap?"
Aaravos starts, realizing his oatmeal is still untouched. "Dish soap?" He takes a bite of oatmeal, unsure if it's to eat or to avoid answering.
"How else do you clean your dishes?" Loki asks, eyeing the empty pot where Aaravos prepared the oatmeal. He is, unfortunately, still a little hungry, and debates asking if he can prepare more himself. No, he can get by. Better than starving at least.
Aaravos looks at the empty pot, raises the hand with the spoon, and uses it to draw a swirling Ocean rune. "Purificati."
Glancing at Loki, he sees the longing look on the other's face. "Did you want more?"
Instead of answering the question, Loki asks one of his own. "Where does the food come from? Have you been living on pre-prepared rations stored here all this time?"
"Yes," Aaravos grumbles. "Avizandum would not let me starve to death, because he is not as cruel as I, but fresh food?" His voice takes on a mocking tone. " 'Fresh food would be pointless, as it would rot within weeks, and only waste space until then.' "
"Surely you would run out eventually. Did you not say it has already been centuries?" Are they on a clock for their escape? Will they run out of food?
Aaravos waves his spoon dismissively. "No, in all the time I've been imprisoned my stores have not grown any less. I do not know precisely how he managed, but unless some of it is false food meant to starve me slowly, we have enough." He realizes that what he's said may not be reassuring, so he adds, "Avizandum is not that cruel. If he had wished to starve me to death, I would be dead already. He knows he may need me in the future."
Loki scoffs. " 'Not that cruel' yet he left you in total isolation. Honestly I cannot imagine, but I would prefer death if given the choice." He sets his bowl and spoon back where they came from, having been cleaned by Aaravos's magic. He has lost his appetite.
Aaravos shakes his head. "It was not as bad as you think." Startouch elves were always more isolated than the other kinds, Aaravos especially so after the other Startouches left Xadia and he remained.
He changes the subject. "If you're done eating, drink some water at least. Or did the wolves you were raised among not teach you how to drink properly, as they clearly did not teach you to eat?" He smiles, setting aside his own now-empty bowl and spoon. Jabs are safer than talk of loneliness.
A bark of laughter escapes Loki's mouth before he can catch it, which must not help Aaravos's impression that he was raised by wolves. "While my father and brother could certainly be on the… uncivilized and wild side at times, I was not raised by wolves. I'll have you know I was raised in a palace."
"A palace?" Another sliver of information about his companion. "So one of your parents managed to get a job working for your ruler. Certainly sounds impressive, when you put it that way. Not as much if you say your father poured the queen's wine."
Oh, this is fun. Should I tell him? Loki wonders. "Well, yes I suppose on occasion my father poured the queen's wine, but only when he was playing the part of the doting husband."
This is not much of a surprise, not with the way Loki worded it. He sweeps Loki a bow, setting one foot behind the other and raising an arm above his horns. "I am honored to host you, then, Prince Loki of Asgard." His tone is too sincere.
Of course he had to make it awkward.
Perhaps once Loki would have appreciated the gesture, but the words "Prince Loki of Asgard" grate on his ears. That was a different man, practically a stranger. He never much cared for the throne anyway, not really. Loki clears his throat, smiling amicably to cover his discomfort. "We're not in Asgard, Aaravos, so please continue to call me Loki. I am no prince here." Or anywhere… not anymore.
"Once a Prince of Asgard, always a Prince of Asgard," Aaravos teases, a smile ghosting across his face. "Still, I shan't insist you call me by my title, so I shall omit yours."
And what would you know of Asgard? Loki wonders silently. "I suppose I should not be surprised that you hold a title as well. Care to satisfy my curiosity?"
"First," Aaravos holds up a finger, smile dropping, "I have a question as well." His gaze hardens, pressing his hands against the counter to lean forward. "Who is the reason for what happened last night?"
Loki gulps. Me, his mind supplies. It was my fault. Instead he leans against the cupboard, a picture of nonchalance. "Looking for a name you can use against me? Would you care for a list?"
"If there is one," Aaravos says, matching Loki's calm. How can you speak like that about those who have hurt you? So untroubled, as if you had no nightmares last night.
"Information for information then. Tell me what crime was egregious enough to warrant centuries of solitary confinement, and you can have one of the names." Loki figures he does not even have to speak the name of the one who terrifies him most, an advantageous trade to learn more about his companion.
Aaravos smiles bitterly. "Crime? I was not imprisoned for any crime. Helping those in need has never been against any law I was aware of."
There was no law against Dark magic in Xadia until after Aaravos had begun training Ziard, after all.
Loki narrows his eyes. "A political prisoner then? A threat to another's regime?" He is well familiar with the concept, having come across a few such individuals in Asgard's dungeons.
"You could say that. Now, you promised me a name." Aaravos promises himself, the next name he learns will go directly under the Dragon King's on his to-kill list.
Loki huffs, suddenly displeased with this trade. There are plenty of names, he reassures himself. "Proxima Midnight."
"What sort of a name is that?" Aaravos demands, taken aback. "That cannot be an actual name." Named after a time? One might as well be named Noon or Dusk!
Loki laughs, only now realizing the absurdity of one of the names that had so haunted his dreams. It is a freeing feeling, allowing himself a moment of mockery over those ghosts. When he catches his breath, he elaborates. "Honestly, I do not know what any of them were named originally. I suppose he wanted them to take on names of darkness and fear when he took them under his wing. But truly, that is not the most ridiculous of names. I once met a man that called himself Tazerface."
At first, Aaravos frowns at Loki's laughter, but as it continues he catches himself smiling along.
"What is a 'tazer face'?" Aaravos asks. 'Tazer' is a funny word, soft and hard on his tongue at the same time.
He'll ask about who he is in a minute. The delay is merely because he dislikes not knowing a word, not because he hopes to hear Loki laugh again.
"A taser is a small weapon, used for self defense to give one enough time to run. It releases small sprays of lightning." Loki shrugs, "It is supposedly a weak weapon, so you can imagine my surprise to learn it felled my brother once." He laughs at one of the few bright moments of that time, trying not to let his thoughts wander to the other events. "But to be fair to him, he was without his powers at the time."
One eyebrow quirks up. "Interesting. And it requires no rune or word for this spell?" He could use a weapon like this, however weak. "Your brother is quite strong, then, for you to be surprised that he was felled by lightning?" Ah, and here is another chance to learn what Loki is. "I am surprised by this. Humans cannot typically withstand lightning well, even small lightning. I know from experience."
Loki ignores the questions about his brother. "Oh yes, that is why the humans would use it on each other. No, it requires no runes, no magic either. The midgardians are weak, to be sure, and rarely magically attuned, but they have some quaint little gadgets at times."
Midgardians. Aaravos notes Loki's odd word for humans, committing it to memory. "Yes, humans are inventive little things, aren't they. Fascinating." He smiles. "I am fond of the species. I owe much to them."
Loki rolls his eyes. "Now you sound like my brother. They are fine to watch from afar, maybe to prank every now and then, but what is it about them that fascinates you?"
Aaravos ponders this for a moment. He hasn't often verbalized his fascination.
"Their curiosity," he decides finally. "Humans are so curious, and so driven. Set a goal in front of one, and they'll stop at nothing to achieve it."
He well remembers Ziard's dedication to Dark magic, how he asked questions of it Aaravos himself would never have thought of.
Aaravos shifts, the counter digging uncomfortably into his lower back. "Shall we take this conversation to the library or the sitting room?"
Loki follows Aaravos out of the room, pondering the reasons behind Aaravos's fondness. "Yes, curious they are indeed, sometimes too much for their own good. You sound very familiar with them, like a mentor."
Aaravos's stride falters for an instant. How could he know?
"Yes, not long before my imprisonment, actually. My first and only human apprentice." He cannot deny he was fonder of Ziard than of many of his apprentices, though how much of that had to do with the fact he was a human and how much to do with his– somewhat misguided, in the end– nobility, Aaravos is not sure.
"Your magic is very different from that which I am familiar with. I could never take a human apprentice, as my mastery took a few centuries. It would be as fruitful an endeavor as teaching language to a bird. They could pick up a few phrases, but not enough to communicate with their limited life span."
Aaravos laughs quietly, stroking his hand along the spines on his shelves as they enter the library. "Quite possibly. Z– my apprentice could never achieve my level of ability, of course, but he was more accomplished than I would have thought possible, given his years. He learned magic many elves could never have done."
He is unsure whether he's boasting of Ziard's talent or his own teaching.
They enter the library, and Loki finds himself drawn to the books on the expansive shelves. He is curious about this world's magic, the history, the lore, anything. He was always a bookworm as a child, reading about the nine realms. Now, here he stands in a treasure trove of information about a world beyond them all. He glides his fingers along the spines of the books, looking for one to catch his interest.
Aaravos steps up behind Loki as he stands by the bookshelf, reaching over his shoulder to pull a title from the shelf. "If you're looking to learn about Xadian magic, I'd suggest Six Sources first."
Loki accepts the tome from Aaravos, flipping through the first few pages. Thankfully, he can read it, though a few terms may not translate. A fast reader, Loki mutters more to himself, "So that is what you meant by getting energy from the stars. Fascinating..."
Aaravos coughs. "Yes. Would you care to postpone your study an hour or two?" His gaze flicks longingly to the still-empty frame.
Just on the other side of that frame is his freedom, as it has been for three centuries. There's simply another barrier in the way now.
Is the frame empty on Avizandum's side as well? Is he wondering what has happened, or who Loki is and how he got here? Or has he not even bothered to check? There was a time when the Dragon King checked that Aaravos was still imprisoned regularly, every week. After some months, the checks became less frequent as he grew complacent. Last time Aaravos saw the dragon's face– or eye, rather– was nearly a year ago he thinks, though it was only for a second.
Loki skims through some of the basics of star magic, seeming to be the most useful to the problem at hand, but he promises himself to revisit the moon arcanum another time. He shuts the book, setting it on a nearby table. "Yes, of course."
His gaze flicks to Aaravos's star markings. "You channel your magic through runes, yes? Is there a way to draw that power to the surface without casting a specific spell?"
"What do you have in mind?"
Loki waves his hand as he searches for the proper words. "Clearly, none of your spells will work, or you would have been freed by now. As for me, the… energies of this world are not completely compatible with my own seidr. I need… a translator I suppose you could put it."
"Seidr is what you call your magic?" Aaravos clarifies. "Are you telling me you wish to, as it were, speak your language and have me translate for my mirror?"
Loki runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Yes? Truly I am out of my element. Perhaps the language analogy might not be appropriate. We are not translating for the mirror, but rather for, what was your world called? Xadia? We are translating for Xadia itself. I have the ability to reach it, but I cannot grasp it." Loki, lost in his discussion of magical theory, grabs Aaravos's hand, briefly startled by the missing fifth finger. He presses Aaravos's hand on the mirror frame, placing his own hand on top. "But your magic is in tune with Xadia. The boost of our combined powers is important, but even more so, your existing connection and familiarity with your world. Your magic is an extension of that."
Aaravos doesn't know what to do when Loki takes his hand. This isn't right. He should know what to do. He used to know what to do when someone took his hand. What did he do before his imprisonment?
Flirt. He used to flirt. Usually. But this is no time for flirting, and Aaravos doesn't know if he can reclaim his hand without breaking Loki's train of thought– that's all he's concerned about, of course. Loki's ability to free him.
"Pardon me, would you mind repeating that? I failed to understand."
He failed to hear, but that is beside the point. He's pretty sure Loki said something about magic, though.
Loki is startled from his explanation, realizing he may have gotten a tad carried away with the intricacies of magic theory. He pulls his hand away from Aaravos's. It is a rare thing for him to feel comfortable enough with someone to touch them, how had he done something like that without thinking? "In short, my magic can get us about 90% of the way. What I need from you is your connection to your world, the way your magic aligns with it."
He hopes he has not made Aaravos uncomfortable. They need to work together to get out, and any discomfort may interfere with that… that's all he is worried about… not how lonely Aaravos must have been for so long, or how startling touch might be.
"My connection to Xadia." Aaravos nods, still distracted from the feeling of Loki's hand on his. "Yes, of course. What do you require of me?"
"Do not cast any spell, just bring your power to the surface, however it is that manifests for you."
Loki holds out his hand, this time allowing Aaravos to come to him if he is comfortable. "I can manage without, but it will be easier to connect if there is some form of physical contact."
Aaravos hesitates briefly before placing his hand in Loki's. Refusal to initiate physical contact is a weakness of sorts. Aaravos will not be seen as weak.
Doing his best to ignore the sensation of a warm hand in his, he inhales several times. Each time is slower than the last, as he lets himself grow closer to the distant stars. His stars. His brethren. He is a star.
He opens his eyes, and the room looks different, almost glowing. He feels stronger, too; he could lift a shadowpython now if he wished, and if there were one available.
When Aaravos opens his eyes, they are shining like stars of so many colors. The marks on his cheeks and chest glow brighter, and Aaravos himself is like a nebula. Loki's breath catches for a moment. He's beautiful.
Focus. Loki reminds himself, and he tries again at the mirror, reaching out to catch the threads of connections to Xadia that still linger. Like last time, he can barely brush against them, but instead of stressing himself, he channels the energy Aaravos provides.
That energy is electric. Loki had the misfortune of being struck by Thor's lightning once, and the channeling of that power, the electricity seeking grounding through his body, seems pale in comparison compared to Aaravos. No wonder his enemies were so threatened that they would resort to this kind of prison.
Like a magnet to metal, Loki feels a pull, Aaravos's magic being pulled back to its home in the stars of Xadia. Cautiously, Loki lets them collide. This should reestablish the connection. "I think it is working!" he says.
And then comes the blast, knocking them both backwards.
A thrill runs through Aaravos at Loki's words, though it barely lasts a second before he crashes into his bookshelves, knocking the wind out of him.
"Owww." He lifts his head to look around, then drops it again. He can't focus with the ringing in his ears and the way the room won't stop spinning. He can barely see the green shape that he knows is Loki across the room from him.
Only a rare few times in his life has he been helpless. Last time was when he was first imprisoned. He likes the feeling no more now than then.
Loki is less worse for wear than Aaravos. Once one experiences the Hulk tossing them like a ragdoll, very little can compare. Regaining enough of his balance to stand again, he rushes across the room to where Aaravos lay dazed.
How much damage can he sustain? How strong are elves like him? Could he have a concussion? How would one check for that with his different physiology? For all I know his brain could be kept in his stomach.
He runs his hands along the back of Aaravos's skull to check for bleeding, and says a silent expression of gratitude that there is none.
Aaravos is very aware of Loki's hands in his hair, near the bases of his horns and behind his head. He's not in a position to protest, though, and Loki's hands are gentle.
"I will be perfectly fine shortly," he says once Loki's hands are gone. One eye opens to see Loki's worried face, then closes again. "In case you were worried."
"No broken bones?" Loki asks. "I am terribly sorry. I did not expect such a strong reaction, and I really know nothing about first aid for your species."
Eyes still closed, Aaravos begins to shake his head, stopping when a stabbing pain threatens. "No. I am well. Elves have stronger bones than humans." He cannot help but add, "like you," in another– likely futile– attempt to learn what Loki is. By now, the other man's reticence is all that keeps the elf's curiosity.
Loki does not miss the wince of pain when Aaravos starts to shake his head. "There is at least some form of head injury." He conjures a small light at the tip of his finger. "Open your eyes, please?"
All the years administering care to his thick headed brother and fellow warriors have taught him a few things. He will be damned before he fails to make some attempt.
Aaravos complies, glaring balefully at Loki. "What is that stars-cursed light for? I do not have a concussion. I am well."
"Humor me, at least," Loki grumbles, moving the light back and forth to check Aaravos's pupils. Satisfied with their behavior (his eyes are clearly not ones he is used to seeing, the sclera is black) he dissolves the light. "My mother taught me a thing or two about healing magic. I could ease the ache, but it could have been dangerous if you were to have a concussion, so I had to check for myself."
Aaravos does not want to thank Loki, so he simply nods and puts a hand on the bookshelf to pull himself up. His head protests this, so he slips on his Archmage of Xadia face, which does not show pain of any kind, and deliberately raises his chin and puts his shoulders back.
Loki holds his hands up, ready for Aaravos to lean on as he makes his attempt to stand. "So is that a 'no' on the healing magic?" he asks.
"Yes," says Aaravos, before realizing how that might sound. "I mean no. I mean you are correct." He blinks several times instead of shaking his head. "Shall we see if your spell worked?"
Loki rolls his eyes. Alright then, if he insists upon being stubborn, Loki can live with that. None of his business if Aaravos decides to stay in pain for the sake of his pride, and it is certainly not the first time Loki has had to deal with an idiot that wears suffering like a badge of honor.
He looks over to the frame, no longer empty, but instead holding reflective glass. "Well, it appears your empty frame is a mirror again."
"True." Aaravos grimaces internally, wishing he could remember the healing spell he used to use for his headaches– the rune eludes him at the moment.
Perhaps he should have accepted Loki's offer. But no, he cannot show more weakness than he already has.
"However, that does not mean it is working again. I'll need time to test that."
"Well it certainly did something. I did not put all that energy into a simple glass conjuration." Loki crosses his arms, looking over the runes on the frame again and wishing he could read them.
"Well?" Aaravos looks to the mirror. "Shall we see what happened?"
Loki shoots Aaravos a wry smirk. "After you, this is your area of expertise after all," he says, making a sweeping gesture to the mirror.
Aaravos smirks. "And you do not know how to activate it." He takes several steps closer to the mirror before reaching out to the ever-burning torch, pulling the fire into his hand with a well-practiced silent spell, and extinguishing it.
He is pleased to see the glass glow with the light from the other side. But–
Aaravos looks closer. This is not Avizandum's cave. This is not anywhere he's ever seen.
On the other side of the glass is a squarish stone room, filled with tables covered in vials and jars, which are themselves filled with very familiar supplies.
Aaravos's mouth curves into a smile. Whoever has gained possession of his mirror is a Dark mage. He can work with this.
Loki is startled by Aaravos's command over the fire in the room, but even more so by the fact that with the removal of the torchlight the light streaming through the window vanished as well. That is definitely not normal.
Looking in on the scene shown by the mirror, Loki cocks his head in surprise. "Not that I am very familiar with dragons, but that does not look like a dragon's cave."
Aaravos's smile also indicates that this is not the dragon's lair; that is not the face of a man confronted with his captor.
"It is not," Aaravos says with satisfaction. "Apparently, someone has liberated my mirror, and from the look of it, they will be eager to free me." His fingers twitch, thinking of the ritual he'll need. "I already know what to do."
"Eager to free you?" Loki echoes hesitantly. "You know that already? Care to elaborate?"
Perhaps the objects within sight say something about the person in possession of the mirror? Something that would make sense to a denizen of that world? Loki cannot make sense of those clues, and regardless, he doubts anyone would be so eager to help a trapped elf out of the kindness of their heart. Does this mean Aaravos is certain he will have something of value to offer in exchange?
Aaravos considers this. "Not now. I've plans to make." He turns, and winces. The first thing he will do is find his favorite book of healing spells and fix his damn head. This may not be the worst headache he's had, but it's the worst in the last century or so.
"And do these plans involve me at all? Do you plan to share any information about our current shared predicament?" Loki scoffs. "I have shared my resources with you, the least you could do is provide me with the same courtesy."
"When I can think," Aaravos stalls. Curse Loki for having a point!
"You'd be able to think if you were not so damn stubborn as to refuse a little help for your pain! I expect as much from the idiots that think with their muscles, but I would think someone as educated and intelligent as you would have a little common sense about these things."
Aaravos spins, the spike of pain in his temple only angering him more. "Fine! I was going to heal myself so as not to trouble you any further, but fine!" He stalks toward Loki, tilting his head down slightly. "Heal me, if you want to so badly. Well?"
Part of him wants to jerk back, to avoid Loki's touch. But that would be weakness. He stands unmoving, holding his head as still as he can.
Loki is not sure what to say at first, he is so stunned by the honest admission. He finally decides on, "It is no trouble, Aaravos. I offered, after all." He touches his fingertips to Aaravos's temple. "And I would have dropped it had you simply told me you had your own healing spell."
He begins the process, allowing healing energy to flow from his hands to Aaravos's head. He keeps quiet for this, only focusing on the act of healing. "I am sorry, I should not have assumed you were like others I have known. You are clearly wiser than that." He removes his hand, offering an apologetic smile.
Compliment, Aaravos decides. "...Thank you." He straightens. "For both the healing and your apology, which is accepted." He takes a breath. "I do hope you are not attempting to flatter me, though."
Loki smirks. "And if I am simply flattering you? I do not know if I should be insulted that you would think my flattery would not be informed by truth. I think myself capable of more subtlety than that."
"Then I should accept the compliment and know to be wary of you and your silver tongue," Aaravos responds.
"You were not already wary of me?" Loki chuckles. "What with all your evasive answers, I thought it was to keep an upper hand on me. If you are just now choosing to be wary, then you are either naive or arrogant. I am certainly insulted now that you had not thought to be wary of me before."
Having seen and felt the power that Aaravos is capable of, Loki is not surprised if he did not consider him a threat.
Aaravos curses himself for his slip. Perhaps now, arrogance is the best defense. It certainly does not hurt if Loki thinks he overestimates his own power.
"You may be powerful, but I am a force to be reckoned with as well. Besides, it is more difficult to be wary of you after last night and this morning."
The moment the words leave his mouth, Aaravos regrets them, but it is too late to take them back.
For a moment, Loki was enjoying their banter. He had kept a smile on his face to hopefully indicate that there were no real hard feelings.
He should have known better.
Loki's blood runs cold. His eyes narrow to slits, and he steps forward into Aaravos's space, damning the potential consequences that come with the threatening gesture. "If you think the infinitesimal fraction of understanding you have about what I have seen and experienced says anything about my ability to defend myself, then you are woefully small-minded. All it says is that there are beings with power that you cannot fathom, power used for the sole purpose of breaking your entire essence down into nothing but suffering."
Aaravos's eyes widen in surprise when Loki steps into his personal space, then narrow. If he thinks he can just–
Fraction of understanding? Power he, an Archmage, could not even fathom?
And what is that last thing Loki says? What does it mean?
Aaravos's mind rebels against accepting this at first. No being could be that cruel. Nothing could be. Even the worst parts of Sol Regem, Avizandum, and Aaravos himself could, would never do anything near that.
"They did what to you?" he murmurs.
Loki is shaking. His mind and body are at war, a simultaneous desire to stand his ground battling against his overwhelming urge to flee at all costs.
His face burns with shame for having revealed so much. At the moment he thought he was defending his own strength, but all he has revealed is that it is possible to break him before he dies.
His illusion magic wraps around him like a protective blanket, and he vanishes from sight, running to the door the moment he casts his illusion. He knows it is a cowardly move, but it is all he has ever known.
Aaravos pulls back from the suddenly empty space. "Loki?" he calls. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the nearly-closed door open just enough for someone to slip through, then close again.
Cursed moon illusions.
Aaravos crosses to the door, opening it to call loudly, in as bored a tone as he can muster, "When you feel like returning, I will be here. I intend to catch up on my reading."
There isn't a book in this library he hasn't read half a dozen times already, and he doesn't feel like studying. He goes to the shelf farthest from the mirror and selects a title, sitting back in the nearest armchair and opening it.
Loki is not familiar with this place, which makes running all the more distressing. He does not know what is on the other side of any of the doors besides the one to the kitchen and the one to the bedroom. Eventually he selects a door, opening up to a small courtyard.
He remembers Aaravos mentioned a garden. Looking up, he sees a swirling opalescent sky of many colors, like the stained glass windows across the house. There is no evidence of a particular light source, just a gentle glow like the rest of the prison.
There is no breeze, an unnatural stillness permeating the courtyard. Still, it is no more unnatural or unsettling than the rest of this place. He sits cross-legged in the grass underneath a tree, resting his back against the trunk. He always prefers it when his back is to something at times like this: one less side to be on guard for. He furiously wipes at the tears running down his cheeks, frustrated that he cannot seem to get angry without crying.
This garden is in desperate need of some wildlife. Loki thinks. He starts by conjuring a colorful bird illusion in the palm of his hand. It hops in his palm and chirps before taking flight, its red and blue wings catching the light as it flits through the small space. He adds a few more birds, keeping focus on having them weave around each other in flight, making spirals and complicated loops.
Now that we reestablished the link to Xadia, do I need Aaravos anymore? Could I break through once my strength is recovered?
That would likely mean leaving Aaravos behind, since this place was designed to keep him prisoner.
What do I owe him? I could leave him here, could I not? Whatever he did to end up here is not my responsibility.
I told him I would help him…
And I did help him, I brought the mirror back. I can leave and nothing will have really changed in his life. As if I was never here.
But I was. And I am not likely to soon forget him.
Damn his conscience. Loki sighs, waving away the illusion of the birds so they dissolve into the nothingness from which they came. He knows he has to keep his composure better. Why does this elf get to him so?
She folds her arms. "I still don't like you. Go away."
He chuckles. "No, you love me."
Aaravos closes the book, keeping his place with his thumb. Hello, My Old Heart is one of his favorite novels, but he just cannot focus on it today. Antares and Lyra's romance does not keep his interest like it usually does; his thoughts keep straying to Loki instead.
His words, the expression on his face as he shouted at Aaravos. He could not have been anything but sincere, particularly given his reaction afterwards.
And that means that somewhere, in some world, is something that should not be allowed to exist.
Loki's flight, and the speed at which he went invisible, indicates he's done this many times. A defense, most likely. But he is skilled in magic; that fleeing invisibly was his first recourse is troubling.
Will he come back? Aaravos wonders.
Moments later, his question is answered.
Having regained some measure of control over his emotions, and conjuring a mirror to confirm that his face has returned to normal color and does not betray the fact that he cried, Loki stands and exits the garden.
He pauses in the hall, debating whether to go to the library or literally anywhere else.
He is still curious about the workings of Xadian magic, and curiosity has always been one of his weaknesses. Loki straightens his shoulders and strides into the library as if nothing had happened, determined to maintain whatever vestiges of his pride are left.
He grabs the book Six Sources from the table he set it on earlier, and flips open to the first page on the moon arcanum. Reading as he walks, he finds a seat in the corner of the library, propping himself against the wall.
Aaravos lifts his book up, hiding his face as Loki walks in, shoulders back, so composed Aaravos is sure it's a performance. Peering over the top, he watches as Loki picks up Six Sources and opens it even before he leans against the wall to read.
"I…" Aaravos lowers the book to his lap, letting it close over his fingers. "Loki. I…" I do not see what I did wrong. He reminds himself, I do not know how long we will need to live together. This is necessary. "I apologize. I did not intend to hurt you." He glances at his lap, idly fanning through the pages of his book. It does not matter much if he loses his place.
Loki glances up from the book. "You must think me very weak indeed to be so hurt by a few callous words." He catches a glimpse of the book Aaravos has in his lap, an illustration of a fawning woman held in the arms of a strapping, half naked man. He snorts lightly in a half laugh at the ridiculousness of the cover art. "Interesting choice of literature."
Aaravos looks down, face burning when he sees the cover. "I… had forgotten… the cover…" He slams the book shut, face down on his lap. "I–"
Oh he doesn't think we're done with that does he? Not when it makes for a much better change of subject. Loki leaps up in a flash and snatches the book from Aaravos. He flips open to a random page and begins reading the cheesy lines aloud.
"Antares cuts Lyra off with an intense kiss, pressing his mouth to hers as if he has been parched and she is his only source of water. He holds her tight against him, crushing yet gentle all at the same time." Loki reads, "Oh this is hilarious."
Loki seamlessly morphs into his female form, hair growing longer and figure adjusting. She presses the back of her hand to her forehead in a fainting gesture. "Oh, Antares!" she continues to read the lines from Lyra. "How can I hate you so one moment, but I cannot live without your touch!"
Loki turns into a man again to read Antares's lines. "Love, hate, this is all just passion. Who cares about the particulars anymore?"
Aaravos ineffectively snatches at the book Loki is holding out of his reach. Stars, he's tall. "Give that back!"
Then Loki… turns into a woman.
This is… unexpected.
He– she is still reading from Aaravos's book. Aaravos's face heats as he imagines her saying that line to him, as Loki, before quickly banishing the thought from his mind.
"Stop it!"
Loki morphs back into female form, prepared to continue reading as Lyra while evading Aaravos's attempts to steal the book. She looks back to see Aaravos's face flushed a deeper indigo, the diamonds on his cheeks sparkling a tad brighter. She grins, supposing he must simply be surprised at her easy shapeshifting. It must be something rare in his world.
Still, she cannot resist the opportunity to tease him further, considering it payback for the jab earlier. "Do you like what you see, Aaravos?"
Aaravos stumbles over his answer, cursing mentally. He should be better than this! "N– ye– give my book back!" He grabs for it again.
Loki relinquishes the book, allowing Aaravos to snatch it back. She has had her fun after all. "I would not have pegged you for the type to like those sorts of books, but I suppose everyone has their eccentricities."
Aaravos can feel his ears heat up as his hand brushes Loki's. "Guilty as charged," he manages, tucking Hello, My Old Heart back into the wrong spot on the wrong shelf. He'll fix it later. He needs to know where his books are.
Loki looks down at her ill-fitting clothing, casting a simple spell on it so it fits more comfortably to her current figure. Not form fitting, just a little less clunky. She pulls her hair back, tying it into a ponytail. "I hope you do not mind if I stay this way for now. I had not realized how long it has been."
She stretches her arms and cracks her knuckles, feeling more comfortable in this skin.
"Not at all," Aaravos says, with only slight hesitation. "How long since what, might I ask, Princess?"
Loki sighs and rolls her eyes. "I thought you said you would not call me by my title. Besides, I have never been a princess."
"I…" Aaravos runs through the conversation– only earlier that day?– in his mind. "I suppose I did. But if you were a prince then, why are you not a princess now? Are you not a woman now?"
"Yes, I am a woman, but my title was Prince, and that is what my father always called me, no matter what form I took."
Aaravos smirks. "Well, if your title is Prince, then I did not agree to refrain from calling you Princess."
She could strangle that elf. Loki summons one of her daggers, pointing it at Aaravos, "Call me princess one more time and-" she looks down, realizing she has her dagger, and laughs with joy. "I have my daggers!" she exclaims, "I can reach my pocket dimension again! I must have reached it again when we connected with Xadia!"
Aaravos reaches out and pushes the dagger away with one finger. "I'm so glad for you."
He thinks he can gather what a 'pocket dimension' is.
"Do you not understand what this means? I keep so many tools in my pocket dimension!" She grins. "And you can suspend time inside it, as well, or perhaps encase something in ice to preserve it."
She summons a peach from the dimension, encased in ice from her powers. She vanishes the frost preserving the fruit, returning it to a normal chill, and hands it to Aaravos.
Aaravos's eyes widen. "Is that…" He hasn't tasted fresh fruit in centuries, and his mouth is suddenly full of saliva. He swallows. "For me?"
"A peach, enjoy." Loki keeps a few stashes of food in her pocket dimension as well. One never knows when one might be lost in the cold void of space and need a snack, and knowing she can give Aaravos his first taste of fresh fruit in centuries actually brings a smile to her face.
Aaravos chokes back a sob as he reaches out, not really believing the peach is real until he can feel it in his palm. "Thank you."
He stares at its fuzzy golden skin for several seconds before closing his eyes and bringing it to his mouth, letting out a blissful moan as a dribble of juice runs down his chin. "Thank you, Loki," he mumbles, mouth full.
He never realized just how much he missed having fresh fruit, during these past three centuries. The simple peach tastes better than any feast he can remember.
Loki chuckles. "Shall I give you two a minute alone?" she asks.
Aaravos takes another bite of the sweet, sweet fruit, shaking his head as he does so and getting stickiness on his cheek. He swallows. "No. No, stay. We have my mirror and your pocket dimension. This calls for a celebration."
Neither Hope nor I are genderfluid, so if anyone who is has any input on our Loki, we'd love to hear it!
Spell notes: "Purificati" means "be clean."
Other notes: Aaravos's book's title comes from our TSATS playlist (Hello My Old Heart is a great song for these two!); the lines come mostly from Hope's fanfic The Astronomer and the Mage with a name change. Seriously, if you like this you should absolutely check out TAATM on AO3. The original is ummm...adult, but there's also an alternate version if you don't want the smut.