This chapter was written mostly for funny, not quite as much plot. Still, it's good!

Aaravos's dream is based on "The Imprisonment of Aaravos," TheImaginativeOne's AO3 fic of their headcanon about, well, how Aaravos got imprisoned. It's quite well-written, and the second half is very heart-hurty.

I fully expect it to come in more later; however, for now that's it. TSATS does change a few things, but TIOA is basically how TSATS Aaravos wound up in the mirror.

Disclaimer: Neither author has ever been drunk, so these scenes may not be entirely accurate.

3: It's Not a Party Without Two Drunk Mages and a Snake

Sparingly utilizing the fresh food Loki stored away, the two mages prepared the best meal Aaravos had in centuries, far more flavor and sweetness than anything Avizandum had provided for him.

"I am growing quite fond of your pocket dimension," Aaravos admits, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. "It seems quite useful. Is there any way I could get one?"

"What I stored in there has its limits, mind you, so we should keep that in mind for the future." Today is a celebration, though, and Loki hopes that they will not be here much longer.

"And unless you feel inclined to elaborate on the specifics of your powers, I would not know how to teach you, or if it is even something you are capable of."

"Hm." Aaravos might have to consider telling Loki more, if it would mean he could get a pocket dimension. If he had one centuries ago, he might never have been imprisoned.

"I am not so inclined at the moment." Standing, Aaravos pushes back his chair. "I do have a little something extra to add to our celebration." He pauses. "You do drink, I assume?"

~TSATS~

Loki is not sure how Aaravos managed it in the first place, but somehow he is in possession of a spirit appropriate for special occasions. Loki is sure it was not left there by Aaravos's jailer, and the elf is particularly tight lipped about how he acquired it.

Still, Loki is not inclined to complain. She wonders if Aaravos will end up intoxicated. She is sure she can handle the alcohol, what with the potent drinks of Asgard and her physiology lending to a remarkable tolerance. Perhaps Aaravos will slip and reveal something in their celebratory drinking.

Aaravos holds up the bottle of deep violet liquid. "This is a–" he hasn't called himself a Startouch elf in front of Loki yet, and he is strangely reluctant to do so– "an elven drink called celestiale. It has a rather unique flavour, reminiscent of the beauty of a starry night." He opens a cabinet, taking out two cups. "I do not have proper wine glasses, but these should do." Offering one to Loki, he begins wrestling with the bottle's cork.

"Oh, allow me," Loki offers, conjuring the proper tool from her pocket dimension. "Really, you have no idea how lovely it feels to have this back, it is extremely useful."

"It does seem so." Aaravos takes the corkscrew, quickly opens the bottle, then pauses. "Shall we take this into another room? The kitchen isn't exactly an ideal place to celebrate."

"The library, then? Or did you have somewhere else in mind? Because I have to say, the number of rooms afforded to one person in this place is extraordinary."

"Perhaps my drawing room?" Aaravos suggests. "The chairs are quite comfortable."

Loki shrugs. "Lead the way."

She follows Aaravos to a room a little smaller than the library, with a cozier atmosphere. Two chairs are set by the fireplace, with a small side table between them. When she sits, she sinks into the plush cushions. "Comfier chairs indeed," she notes, leaning back with a slight contented sigh.

Aaravos smiles, then holds the bottle out over Loki's glass. "How much would you like?" It is quite a large bottle, and the glasses are not too large. There will be much more than enough.

"Just a glass," Loki replies graciously. "I would not want to drink all your stores, not after you have saved this bottle for so long."

Aaravos shrugs. "I can get more when we are free. We deserve to celebrate." He fills Loki's glass, then his own, which he raises briefly before seating himself. "To freedom."

Perhaps he should be more careful with his stores, particularly since this was not supplied by the Dragon King and won't replenish, but he feels like being a little careless. Why not?

Loki raises her own glass with Aaravos in kind. "To a lovely partnership, hopefully a short one." Tasting the ale, she is greeted with an elegant and effervescent taste. Aaravos was not wrong when he said it was reminiscent of starlight. It is a particularly strong drink, as well, though masked by the sweetness.

Aaravos adopts a hurt expression. "Short? You wish to get rid of me that badly?" He takes a long sip of his own drink, closing his eyes and letting memories of playing with other Startouch children long ago, and of his first taste of celestiale when he connected to the stars, wash over him.

"I only wish for us both to be free of here as fast as possible, that this alliance and joining of our strengths becomes no longer necessary." She pauses, considering the elf a moment. "In truth, I have no idea what to make of you yet. I may come to find you unbearable with more time."

"Unbearable?" Aaravos pouts, pretending to be more hurt by the remark than he is. "No one has called me that in quite some time, certainly never another mage."

"Well I imagine no one has called you anything in quite some time, if I am to believe you have been completely cut off from others these past few centuries."

"Oh, not completely." Aaravos looks into his glass, absently swirling his drink– how is it less than half full already? "Avizandum liked to taunt me occasionally."

It does hurt, being reminded of how removed from his beloved Xadia he's been, how few or none of the elves and humans he called 'friend' are now alive, but he'll stay in prison for another millennium before he lets Loki see that.

Loki supposes she hit a nerve with that last observation, but she says nothing, instead taking another swig of the celestiale. After a few moments of silence, the mood sobered so suddenly, she speaks up to get conversation going again. "I read in that book that there are six sources to draw your magic from. I already know you have the stars, do you draw from any others?"

Aaravos wags a finger at her. "Now, that would be telling. I do know mages who have learned to draw from multiple arcana, but it is quite difficult to do, and takes many years to master. After connecting." He takes a long sip of his drink, maintaining eye contact for several seconds before finally tilting his glass far enough up he can't, draining the last drops.

...this may or may not be intentional.

Loki is reminded of post-battle drinks and feasts with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three. Not about to be outdone by Aaravos, she knocks back the rest of the drink in one go.

...And then she remembers why she was almost always the one who chose to remain sober at those festivities.

The effect hits her quickly, and in a last ditch effort at maintaining some better alcohol tolerance, she shifts into male form, where he has a slightly better chance at maintaining a smidgen of sobriety.

When Loki changes form this time, Aaravos merely lifts an eyebrow and says, "More?" as he finishes refilling his own glass and downing half of it.

This time, he knows Loki can change shape, and he's determined not to let that talent of his catch him off guard again.

Loki considers turning down the drink, but accepts, thinking (incorrectly) that the shift to male form had sobered him a little. The unfortunate fact about intoxication is that one of its effects is inhibiting the ability to detect said intoxication. After the first refill, determined (for some inane reason) to out-drink Aaravos, he downs the glass in one go, and holds his cup out for another.

Aaravos smiles and refills Loki's cup. "So, Loki of Asgard, how did you learn to change your shape so quickly, with not even a word of spellcraft? In Xadia, shapeshifting is quite difficult, and takes many centuries to master properly." He lets slip, "I've managed, of course."

Loki stares into the violet drink for a moment. "If there was ever a time I learned, I cannot remember it. I have been able to change form since I was a baby."

"A baby, really? And can all of your kind do this from birth?"

What a power!

Loki smirks. "Give me some credit. I had a natural talent. Shapeshifting was remarkably rare where I grew up." And from what I can gather, frost giants cannot do so either… The question, among a thousand others, plagued Loki ever since he learned of his heritage. Where had that innate ability come from?

"Of course," Aaravos says. "Natural talent. We both have it." He raises his glass again. "To natural talent!"

Loki laughs, his volume less restrained than before. "Of course! To natural talent!"

Aaravos clinks his glass against Loki's, then empties it again. He should probably take it easier on the celestiale, but there have been times he's drunk four or five glasses this size before getting drunk. This is only his second; he's fine.

Loki supposes that as long as Aaravos is drinking, he can as well. He downs the second glassful, and quickly regrets it as it starts to hit his head. He laughs, "Norns, no wonder all those feasts were so unbearable. I suppose you can only enjoy them with this kind of buzz."

Did he say that aloud?

"Feasts?" After two– no, two and a half?– full glasses, Aaravos's head is beginning to spin as well. He refills his cup. "What kinda feasts?"

"We had feasts aplenty in Asgard, usually after one of my brother's glorious battles. I was always fighting alongside him, but they were my brother's battles." Loki snorts, half with humor and half with derision. "You know, it is quite nice to toast to me for once. Can we do another?"

"To Loki," Aaravos says obligingly. "Prettiest princess in mirror prison."

...he did not just say that aloud. With words.

He can flirt better than that, when he wants to. Loki can't start thinking that's how he flirts. He needs to do better. Because he can.

Loki's laugh has turned into something more of a giggle, and he cannot remember the last time he laughed so freely. "Not a terribly difficult title to attain last I checked, but I will take it. Besides, it is clear the prettiest mage here is you."

Aaravos smiles, taking another sip of his celestiale– and immediately coughs it out. "Pardon me?" He coughs again, several times. The accursed liquid has gone down the wrong way. "Yes," he manages through coughs. "Yes, I am, thank you."

Loki called him pretty?

Loki called him pretty!

Loki leans forward a little, smiling broadly. "Your hair reminds me of the clouds on Alfheim, that kind of soft feathery white. I miss those days, when I would run out into the forests on a visit to some planet or another and read or practice my magic. And your eyes are such a pretty gold, like the palace when the setting sun would hit it. You're like the skies, a sea of stars in the indigo." His smile falters a moment, then he chuckles, "You are certainly much better company than the last purple man I encountered."

For a moment, Aaravos is happy soaking up Loki's words, basking in the praise, until the last sentence.

"Of course I a–" he starts. Wait. Another 'purple man'? Another Startouch elf? He steps closer to Loki, closer than he likely would if he were entirely sober. "Another of my kind?" he asks eagerly. "Are you sure?"

Loki frowns. Norns, he hopes not. That would put a damper on things. Besides… didn't he say the titans died out?

"I really doubt he was one of your kind. No horns, no sparkly…" he gestures vaguely, "...stuff. Not so pretty, just… pretty awful-looking."

Aaravos's face falls. Of course, he hadn't really thought Loki's 'purple man' was another Startouch.

Just… hoped for a moment. That perhaps they hadn't all left. That another had decided to stay.

That he wasn't alone.

"No," he says. "Not my kind." Then, "You think I'm pretty?"

Loki sputters in his laughter. "Did I not make that clear? Or are you that greedy for compliments?"

Aaravos considers a moment. "Yes." He lowers his head slightly, looking through his lashes as he sips (seductively, he thinks) at his celestiale. "You're pretty too."

Dammit, he can flirt better than that! Why are none of his words coming out properly!?

Loki sprawls sideways on the chair, leaning his head over the armrest to look up at Aaravos upside down. "Oh, yes, my life's goal," he says, faking an earnest tone and stifling his laugh.

Can Loki hear how fast Aaravos's heart is beating? It certainly sounds louder than usual in his own ears. "Is it really?" Words seem to have vacated his head now that he's looking down at Loki's mischievous grin.

Why is this so hard today? It's only flirting. Come now, Aaravos, you've flirted with plenty of pretty men before.

Loki fights down his grin. "Oh yes, and now that you bestowed this honor on me, I can die a happy god! Goodbye Asgard, goodbye Xadia, my life is complete!" With his increasingly intoxicated brain, he believes this to be the peak of a comedic performance.

"A god?" Aaravos takes another sip before standing. The floor is not exactly cooperating, so it takes him two tries. "I'm honored to host such an illus– ill– great presence in my humble prison." A thought occurs to him. "If you are a god, why have you not yet left." He waves the hand not holding his drink around, attempting to illustrate his point. "Gods have…" He can't quite find the right word. "Lots of power. More than me, and that's lots."

Loki swings his arms wide, spilling a few drops of celestiale in the process. "Yes, bow down, bask in my godly presence." He giggles, a snort escaping him that even his drunk self finds embarrassing and undignified. He clears his throat awkwardly. "Is just another one of my titles, so you can't call me that either. The mortals couldn't understand us back when we traveled t'midgard more, s'they called us gods."

...Aaravos very much likes the sound of Loki's laughter, so he carefully sets his glass on the floor and sweeps an elegant bow.

Or, he tries to. He's not quite sure how he manages to overbalance, his feet falling out from under him.

"...I'm going to sit down," he decides. This takes longer than it rightly should, but he can't figure out why.

Once he's managed to get back in his seat, and refilled his celestiale (it's only his third glass. Fourth maybe (it is in fact his sixth)), he asks, "What's midgard?"

Loki holds his glass out for a fourth (fifth, actually) drink, hoping Aaravos will refill it. He has not been this numb in a very long time, and he's enjoying the feeling of detachment. "Nother planet. They call it Earth now. Is where the humans live."

Aaravos holds the bottle with both hands to refill Loki's glass. "No, humans got banished to the other half of the continent. Same planet." He looks morosely into his celestiale. "Wasn't my fault, whatever they told you. Was that dragon queen who didn't like my advice. Don't even know why she bothered asking if she wasn't going to listen."

Banished humans? Whatever they told Loki? "What wasn't your fault?"

Aaravos looks so sad and bitter, and now Loki feels sad too, and he does not like this at all.

"The um." Aaravos gestures. "That."

"The um that," Loki repeats, "truly very eloquent. So sparkle. Much smart."

Aaravos nods in appreciation. "Thank you. Tell that to the dragons. They don't listen enough. Great stubborn beasts."

"So, dragons rule Xadia? We should just send Thor in, problem solved. He loved slaying dragons when we were younger."

"I like Thor," Aaravos decides. "Is he as stupid as he sounds? Dragons're big. And magical."

Loki grins. "No, he's stupider. But he's got muscles and apparently that's enough."

Aaravos chuckles. "I like him a lot."

"Not as much as me though, right?" Loki pouts. Aaravos has not even met Thor and already he likes him!

Aaravos jumps up, nearly spilling his celestiale, and opens his arms. "Nope. Do you want a hug? I want a hug. Haven't had one in…" He thinks for a moment. "More than three hundred years. That's a long time."

Loki looks sad, and hugs usually help sadness. Also, Aaravos really wants a hug from Loki.

"That is a long time," Loki agrees. He stands, swaying on his feet, and more falls forward than leans into Aaravos's arms.

All his muscles tense, a delayed reaction but some survival part of his mind telling him to expect a knife to the back at any moment. His grip on Aaravos tightens as he tries in vain to relax.

"If you stab me, I'll never forgive you."

Aaravos tenses. Even drunk, he wasn't expecting Loki to actually give him a hug… but this isn't a real hug, Loki isn't relaxed.

"Can't," Aaravos points out. "I don't have a knife." Slowly, his muscles relax, and he starts to put his arms around Loki.

"It's very easy to hide knives on you. I would know." Loki reaches down to pull a dagger out of his boot that he stashed when Aaravos was not looking. He holds it aloft before placing it on the table, still clinging to Aaravos with his other hand.

"But I haven't got one," Aaravos says again. This seems very logical to him, and he cannot understand why Loki is arguing. "I told you I don't lie, and I haven't got a knife." He stops. "Well, in the kitchen I do, but they're all for…" He cannot recall the word for preparing food. "Eating."

Loki blinks slowly in confusion. "...You eat knives?"

Aaravos has to think about this. "No. They are for using to eat. And they are only for in the kitchen, so I haven't got any. How many have you got?"

He hopes answering this question won't mean Loki has to stop hugging him. He rather likes this.

Oh no, numbers.

And even worse, Loki is not accustomed to being in an embrace for so long. It feels weird, like this should be a choke hold or something. It is too soft. He squirms out of Aaravos's arms, counting with the assistance of his fingers.

Then, he stops, having already lost count, when he asks, "Wait, all of them or just the ones right here?"

Aaravos makes a face when Loki pulls away, but doesn't try asking for another hug. Instead, he sits down on the floor, because the chair is too far away. Looking up at Loki, he says, "...which is more?"

Loki plucks another dagger from the other boot, then a couple small ones for throwing tucked into his sleeve, and another one from his back pocket. "Six."

"Six," Aaravos says. He holds up both hands with the thumbs folded in. "This six?" He goes to take a sip of his drink, but the glass is empty again.

...he can't remember how many glasses he's had. That is not good. Plus the room is spinning, which is also not good.

"No that's… wait… yes that is six." The four fingered hand thing is weird. His head is hurting thinking about their math system. Or, no, his head just hurts. It's throbbing.

"When the room is spinning like this," Aaravos says, "usually that means it is time to sleep. I made that rule a couple thousand years ago," he adds proudly.

Loki holds his head in his hands, trying to remember whatever magic he used on Aaravos's head earlier to make it stop pounding. "Uh huh."

Aaravos frowns. "We have to do stairs. Only one set, at least. It was smart of them to put this room on the middle floor." He glares at the floor. "It would be easier if you would hold still."

Loki, now curled up in a ball to accommodate his head pain, growls back, "I'm being very still it's this damn room that's the problem."

"I was talking to the room," Aaravos says with great dignity. He holds out his hand. "Come on, we need to go… that way. And up the stairs." He pauses, then adds, "Do I need to carry you?"

"That would be lovely, but I doubt you could." Loki's brain takes a moment to think through his options.

Have Aaravos carry him. No, he's too heavy.

Get up on his own. No, just no.

Be less heavy, yes.

Loki transforms into a green grass snake, flicking his tongue at Aaravos in delight at his own stroke of genius.

That would be lovely. So did Loki not dislike Aaravos's hug?

...this is too many steps for his brain right now.

"You're a snake now," he observes. "That is smart." He leans forward, holding out his arm for Loki to slither onto, then manages to stand after a couple tries.

Leaning on the walls and railings, he makes his way up to his room, where he realizes something he knows he already knew.

"There's still only one bed," he tells the snake.

Loki cannot speak in snake form, and if he turned back into aesir, Aaravos would have to drop him.

So, by means of communicating his displeasure, he coils himself tighter around Aaravos's arm, nuzzling his nose into the crook of his elbow.

Aaravos giggles a little at the funny feeling of snake-Loki's nose on the inside of his elbow. "I like you too." He pulls his arm closer to his chest and moves unsteadily towards the bed.

No! No, abort mission! That is not what Loki was trying to say!

The moment they reach the bed, Loki slides off of Aaravos's arm to curl under one of the pillows, partly out of embarrassment for the miscommunication, and also hoping that, by remaining in snake form and out of sight, he might be permitted to stay and sleep.

Tentatively, Loki peeks from under the pillow, slitted eyes watching Aaravos carefully.

Aaravos lets himself drop into the bed, careful to stay on the side Loki is not on, and reaches out a hand to touch his head. "Good night, Loki. If it's night, it's hard to tell here. Sweet dreams."

His head falls onto the pillow, and he lets his eyes close, one hand still on Loki's pillow.

Loki, satisfied both that he can stay and that there is less awkwardness with him as a snake, snuggles into the underside of the pillow, a satisfying den to sleep in. Pleasantly warm, and headache fading, he drifts to sleep.

"No!"

Aaravos can do nothing but watch, tears streaming down his face, as his life's work is destroyed. Dark, the other elves call it, evil, wicked.

He calls it a different kind of beauty. And now it is gone.

The elven warriors hold him to the ground, the mages casting their spells using the power of his nexus.

If he had his full power, they would fall before him. Instead, he falls into the mirror, down and down and down and he will never stop falling–

and he is alone

and no one ever comes

Not even death could free him now.

Loki awakens on his back with a pillow over his face. How odd, he recalls that just moments ago he was a snake in his dream, running from an owl, and in the dream he thought it would be easier if he was bigger. Loki supposes he must have shifted in his sleep back to his aesir form.

Then, as he comes to more consciousness, he realizes that someone is holding onto his arm. He nearly jumps in surprise before he concludes that it must be Aaravos. Lifting the pillow with his free arm confirms this. The elf is on his side, arms reaching for Loki and clutching lightly at his arm. His brow is furrowed in his sleep.

I suppose I am not the only one of us with bad dreams.

Loki knows better than to wake someone as dangerous as Aaravos when he is having a nightmare. Instead, Loki slowly and stealthily adjusts the pillow so he can stay where he is and not disturb the elf. Then, with his free hand, he rubs one of the hands clinging to him, gently stroking down the wrist and forearm.

A soothing message to hopefully communicate to Aaravos in his sleep that he is not in danger. The crease between Aaravos's brows shrinks as his face relaxes marginally. It satisfies Loki enough that he soon drifts back to sleep.

Aaravos wakes with a start. Something is touching him. There is something on his hand–

It is LOKI'S HAND. How did Loki's hand get onto his?

For that matter, why are they both in Aaravos's bed at the same time?

Aaravos nearly pulls away, but his eyes have adjusted to the darkness now, and Loki looks so peaceful. He's not having a nightmare like he was last night.

….Aaravos likes seeing Loki like this. Peaceful. Almost like he trusts Aaravos.

Aaravos settles back into his pillow. He's not alone anymore.

Someone came.

His eyes close lightly, and his breathing steadies as he drifts back into sleep.