4: Two Disaster Mages Need to Sort Out Their Priorities

When Loki wakes a second time, unfortunately sober and with a pounding head that makes sleep impossible, the first thing he sees is Aaravos's sleeping face just a few inches from his. Looking down, he confirms that the sensation on his arm is Aaravos still clinging to him.

NOPE.

Every muscle in Loki's body tenses. He is never drinking again. If he can remember correctly, he fell asleep as a snake. Why, by the Norns was he a snake? How did that make any sense?

Did they really share the bed? Obviously, given that they are still doing so. Please, Loki silently prays (to no one, because to whom does a god pray?) Please let sharing the bed in the most platonic sense be all we did.

"No! Wait! Stop!" Aaravos yells. "Hold still!"

The pink hippopotamus just runs faster.

Somehow, it's running faster than Aaravos, and he knows this, yet he still catches its ear. The ear comes off in his hand, and he starts nibbling it. It tastes very pink.

"I like pink," he tells the hippo.

Aaravos clutches Loki's hand a little tighter, and mumbles something like "hold still."

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Loki does not dare move.

Then, of all things to come out of Aaravos's mouth next, he says, "I like pink."

...It seems Aaravos is still dreaming.

Which means he still has a chance at escaping without waking the elf. Then, it occurs to him, and he curses himself for not thinking of it sooner, he can turn back into a snake and slip out of Aaravos's grasp.

Loki shrinks back into the form of a green grass snake, and proceeds to curl back up under the pillow. Perhaps they can both pretend that Loki never made the mistake of shifting back to Aesir form.

Aaravos isn't sure what wakes him, but now he is awake and stars his head. AGAIN.

Loki was here just a few minutes ago– no, probably hours, but it feels like minutes. Aaravos still, or maybe again, can't remember his healing rune, but Loki's magic worked better anyways. (Not because he enjoyed the feeling of Loki's fingers on his head, no. That has nothing to do with the magic's effectiveness.) Perhaps he'll agree to heal Aaravos again.

With a monumental effort, Aaravos lifts his head and turns over. No, on that side is the edge of the bed. He turns back over. Still no Loki.

That is odd. He was in his humanoid shape at some point, Aaravos thinks– or was that only a dream? He had several dreams last night, including one of those dreams.

He reaches out, feeling the space where he thinks Loki was. Still warm.

"Loki?"

Loki peeks his head out from under the pillow in response to Aaravos calling his name. He realizes the bed and covers are still warm, so maybe he cannot pretend he never shifted back to aesir.

Loki slithers out from under the pillow, doubting that either of them can get back to sleep now, and shifts out of the snake form so that he is sitting upright on the bed in his usual Aesir shape. He hopes his face is not as red as it feels. "One of the rare moments I enjoyed any popularity on Asgard was when Thor and his friends asked me to cure their hangovers, especially when they could not go to mother because they were underage. I'm quite practiced at it, are you in need of that assistance?"

Aaravos blinks at Loki's sudden appearance. "I thought you'd gone." He lifts one hand to gesture vaguely at the door. "Breakfast. Why didn't you?"

Why didn't you leave me?

Loki shrugs. He has no answer. "I suppose I was not ready to get up yet."

That is the best answer he can figure, so he is able to respond with a believable level of nonchalance.

"Hmm." Aaravos buries his face in the pillow. What does that mean? Does his head hurt? Did he want to stay with me? "Me neither," is the best response he can manage.

Loki hops up from the bed, too quickly for his aching head. "So, breakfast? I could probably get us some orange juice, if you're interested. I do not suppose there is any coffee here?"

"No, unfortunately." What is coffee?

Aaravos realizes his words are probably unintelligible, and lifts his head. "We should heal ourselves first. I should have my rune somewhere." He rarely gets headaches, but the healing rune should be written in one of his many notebooks

"Yes, I have rarely had to heal myself, I am uncertain I would do it properly. I usually have the good sense to not get injured in the first place."

Aaravos laughs and immediately presses his thumbs into his eyelids. "I've had enough difficulty avoiding death. Anything that does not threaten permanence is a success."

External injuries were always easier for him to deal with than internal pain, though.

"Oh it is quite easy to avoid death, you just…" Loki stops mid sentence. How had he survived so many near deaths? "You just… keep your soul in your body."

"What soul," Aaravos mumbles under his breath. How many times have other elves called him a soulless monster?

What was a soul, really? Did having one even matter?

"Calling me soulless now? Very clever. Clearly the years of isolation have not dulled your wit or people skills."

Aaravos's eyebrows shoot up. "I– you– no. I did not intend any offense. I–"

If either of us lacks a soul, it is me.

Loki can barely process Aaravos's stammering apology, too tired and in too much pain to care. "Just, get over here so I can heal your hangover. We have a long day ahead of us. We cannot afford to rest on our laurels, I would like to get back to my world sooner rather than later."

Aaravos sits up, leaning over to put his head near Loki's hands. "Will you heal yourself, or will you allow me to heal you?"

Loki would like to keep touch to a minimum, so despite the fact that healing himself is more difficult than healing others, he answers, "I can handle myself."

He places a hand on Aaravos's temple, and channels a flash of seidr to Aaravos, less gentle than last night for the sake of time. Besides, the shock to the system might help Aaravos with staying alert.

Aaravos's head burns with pain barely long enough for it to register before it is gone. Reluctantly, he pulls back. "Thank you."

A question that has been bothering him finally allows him to put it into words. "...Why have you not already left?" He hesitates a moment before elaborating. "You say you would like to return to your world soon. You seemed to teleport here. Why have you not already teleported away?"

He can't, won't even think about what he hopes the reason is.

"Trust me, if I could leave, I would have already. Apparently it is not so simple as how I got here, which was accidentally in the first place."

Loki does not know if he is capable of leaving or not. He has not had the opportunity to test it, but he suspects it will be no simple endeavor, given that this place was designed to be a prison.

If he stays, and manages to free Aaravos, there could be considerable benefits to someone as powerful as this mage in his debt.

Perhaps Loki does not wish to return to his original dimension at all. He has been on the run, trying to stay under his radar for so long… being here, truly out of his reach, has been a weight off of Loki's shoulders.

But Aaravos does not need to know that.

Aaravos nods slowly, taking a moment to process this before he bounces to his feet and literally jumps out of the bed. "Then we had best get to work."

Both Aaravos and Loki are accustomed to being the smartest one in the room, so when they are in a room together, neither is inclined to defer to the other. Loki wishes to focus on honing their magic and better utilizing their joint power. Aaravos, however, demonstrates an insatiable fascination with whomever took the mirror from Avizandum, certain that the dark mage is the key to their freedom.

For the first week, at least, they decide to split their roles: Loki reading about Xadian magic so to better blend his powers with Aaravos's, while Aaravos gathers ingredients and studies the humans that come into view of the mirror, observing their actions and learning about their goals.

They do not share the bed again after that second night.

"Night," as Loki soon learns, is a loose term here. Through his magic, Aaravos has full control over the amount of light in the small dimension. Due to his long imprisonment, he can no longer remember whether it is day or night at any given time, so he sleeps whenever he is tired.

After the first week or so, Loki does too. Before long, his sleep schedule starts to overlap– interfere?– with Aaravos's, so the other mage helps him find a spell to enlarge the couch. It is difficult work, and takes several days to complete, but when it is done they have a second bed of sorts.

They build up a routine of sorts. They share the cooking duties, and whoever sleeps first takes the bed. If another needs to sleep while the other is still sleeping, they take the couch. At times, Aaravos eats breakfast while Loki eats dinner, but overall they find themselves spending a significant amount of time in each other's company despite each mage keeping to their own schedules.

The first week or two Loki values their solitude, keeping out of Aaravos's way while they both set about their own tasks. Then, they find themselves gravitating to wherever their cohabitant studies. The silence they share is surprisingly comfortable. Loki finds they enjoy Aaravos's company, and Aaravos is consistently thankful for the presence of another while he works to escape, even if they do not exchange words.

Loki continues to have the nightmares, and Aaravos often helps him with the sleep spell he used the first night. Then, miracle of miracles, Loki takes the couch while Aaravos sleeps in the bed, drifting off without the spell. He sleeps poorly, but no nightmares. He wakes relatively rested shortly before Aaravos wakes, and though he does not mention it, he tries to replicate a Startouch breakfast by way of an unsaid thanks for all the dreamless nights.

When they share meals, they also share stories. Loki avoids talk of their family, and they certainly avoid discussion of Thanos, but there are many other tales to tell, of spectacular planets and alien species. Aaravos shares bits of culture with Loki, the myths and legends of Xadia. He limits discussion of his personal history, though Loki manages to pry a few words from him with time: "Startouch," "Ziard," "dark magic," though Aaravos refuses to elaborate on the last. He even goes so far as to enchant any information on dark magic to vanish should Loki attempt to read it.

This frustrates Loki to no end, and is the subject of more than one heated argument. Aaravos remains adamant, as he has seen the damage that dark magic can do to a person. This is a protection.

Besides, if Loki is capable of Xadian magic, they should have no problem connecting to the moon arcanum. Aaravos cannot have his only companion harming themselves with dark magic when other avenues might be available. Yes, of course this is the only reason he feels so protective of Loki. No other reason.

Loki can go almost anywhere in the prison, but there is one room Aaravos tells him firmly to stay out of. The door is small and unmarked, giving no clue as to what the room might contain. Aaravos disappears into it frequently, usually after an argument with Loki or another unsuccessful attempt at getting the humans on the other side of the mirror to notice him.

When Loki finishes the final line on the fourth book on Xadian magic, this one on the specifics of Sun transformation runes, he decides to go looking for another tome. As he skims the shelves, he reaches a shelf with a row of interesting titles, more fanciful. This must be the fictional section.

Somewhat bored with magical theory, and needing a break, Loki takes a look through the summaries of each book.

There are a lot of romances, just as ridiculous as the one he caught Aaravos with on his second day, with equally salacious covers. Loki cannot hide the grin on his face. Who would have thought that the some thousand-year-old archmage would be so entertained by such repetitive stories? From what Loki could tell, most of them followed a similar plot: two people that dislike each other at the start, but grow to be completely enamoured through some cliche shenanigans.

Thinking he is alone, Aaravos trails his hands along the spines of his books as he enters his small, secret library.

And sees Loki holding one of his books– Kindling– and chuckling.

"What are you doing in here?" he demands. He should not be here. I told him not to come in here.

Upon hearing Aaravos, Loki places the book back on the shelf (two spots to the left of where he found it because he can tell how particular Aaravos is, and he cannot resist these small acts of mischief). "Quite the collection you have. How did you not grow bored of the one story that you had to have a couple dozen more just like it?"

"I told you to stay out of this room," Aaravos growls, hands fisting at his sides. If Loki goes any farther, he'll learn why Aaravos kept this room from him.

"Ah, yes, I suppose you did, but I finished the latest book and caught myself wandering in search of new literature." Loki shrugs. "I do not see anything in particular except some questionable tastes in entertainment that you should be so adamant about keeping me out."

He moves around the bookcase to check the other side for more books, but instead finds several rows of horns and antlers hanging on hooks.

This is why Aaravos didn't want Loki in here. Are the romances not embarrassing him enough for the universe's satisfaction?

Loki, still facing the antlers, glances to the side toward Aaravos. These all look very much like Aaravos's own horns in color and shape, though varied in small ways. Sometimes a lighter blue, or perhaps an extra branch.

Aaravos once said that all the other elves of his kind were gone, but failed to mention what exactly happened to them.

Loki keeps his voice even and his face as neutral as he can manage as he spins on his heels to face Aaravos. "Fond of trophies? Souvenirs from past kills?"

Aaravos's brow furrows. "Not particularly. I kill as necessary, and I see no reason to taunt those who might attempt revenge."

Why is this, of all things, what Loki chooses to ask? What could have prompted this?

Aaravos does not consider the shelf. All Startouch elves shed their antlers, after all.

Loki nods slowly, materializing one of his daggers behind his back, just in case.

"Why keep the horns of other elves, then?"

Other–?

Perhaps it is better Loki believes them trophies. Aaravos's face hardens. "I told you to stay out for a reason," he snaps.

"You should get back to your room, Asgardian," Nebula, Thanos's daughter, warns Loki.

He fails to hide his shudder, but still attempts some form of nonchalance. "You mean my cell."

Nebula scowls, "You must be a decent actor, to have convinced Corvus that you were broken enough to be allowed some freedoms. Don't waste it. You won't like what you see if you go wandering too far."

"As opposed to the cheery sights that await me now?"

He should have listened.

Because Thanos values his "mission" more than anything, he likes to keep reminders of the planets he "saved." A token of each population he culled. He found the trophy room, and he could not hide his horror when Thanos found him there. It ruined his act, and he found himself in yet another round of fresh tortures for the next week, to discourage further deceit.

Loki pales, sufficiently convinced he needs to go now. "Right, yes, of course. I'm sorry."

Something in Loki's tone tells Aaravos he may have gone too far.

But… not anger. Loki isn't angry, defensive, or even sarcastic, like Aaravos might have expected. He sounds… scared. Scared of Aaravos.

The last thing Aaravos wants is to scare Loki.

"Wait."

Loki pauses in the doorframe, almost out of the room. "There is no judgment here, Aaravos. I have known others that keep such mementos. I shall share the secret with no one." He chuckles. "After all, who could I tell?"

Aaravos sighs, dropping the hand he didn't realize he reached out. "They… are not trophies. Not as you were thinking."

"That still does not answer what they are. They look to be elf horns."

Norns, he cannot believe that he trusts Aaravos this way, that though the elf has not made any particular effort to calm him, Loki's heart eases at the sound of Aaravos's voice.

"They… are." Aaravos stops his hand midway to his own antlers. "They… are mine."

Aaravos's face has turned a deeper violet, the marks on his cheeks sparking like embers. Is this embarrassing somehow? "Yours?" Loki echoes. He walks back to the row of antlers. That would explain the similarities. "So, it is like cutting hair, then?"

Aaravos can feel his cheeks and ears burning. He takes a deep breath. "No. My kind of elf, Startouches, we– we do not have horns like other elves. We have antlers, that shed like– like a deer's, every thirteen years." He swallows, his mouth dry.

Don't be silly. He is not an elf. He will not see antlers as ridiculous the way they did once I was the only Startouch left.

But what if he does?

Loki grins, looking back and forth between Aaravos and the rows of antlers. "That is fascinating. You are unique among the others of your kind, then!" He lifts one of them off the hook. "I read that every magical creature in Xadia carries their arcanum in every fiber of them. Does that apply to the antlers as well? You could store all kinds of star magic in these, and then save them for an emergency? That would be quite the advantage."

Aaravos's body jerks involuntarily when Loki touches his antler. "Yes," he says, controlling his voice, "my antlers still contain Star power. However, it is not possible to 'store' magic in dead tissue to use later."

He conveniently forgets to mention dark magic.

Loki carefully returns the antler to the hook. "I shan't tamper with them, then, if there is still power locked inside. I can see why you might want to keep that to yourself." He smiles at Aaravos. "They are all beautiful."

Then, he frowns. "But… you were almost willing to let me believe you were a person that delighted in killing enough to keep trophies rather than tell me about a simple biological function?" He slaps his forehead with his palm. "We may need to take a look at your priorities."

Aaravos's heart flutters at Loki's smile, and the accompanying compliment.

Then he frowns, glancing at his antler shelf. "Other elves have horns. They do not shed them."

"What does that matter? You and your kind are a little different from the rest, that is nothing to be ashamed of." He scoffs. "And you have powers the other elves cannot comprehend or achieve, yet you are embarrassed of such a small quirk?"

...Oh.

...Loki realizes he is quite the hypocrite.

Aaravos shakes his head. "It is no 'small quirk'; it is..." How does he explain this? "Before my imprisonment, every thirteen years I would have no horns like the other elves for months. I looked nearly human!" He runs one hand along the curve of one horn.

"You wish to talk of looking different? Of not looking enough like your kind?" Loki laughs and, with a wave of his hand, reveals his frost giant form. "Those I was raised with looked much like humans, but this is the form I was born with."

Aaravos jerks back in surprise when Loki suddenly turns a similar color to himself and– this is the most surprising part– his grass-green eyes turn blood red.

He quickly regains control. "Are you sure you have no elven blood?"

Looking at Loki's eyes, he cannot stop thinking of blood.

Loki shuts his eyes once Aaravos makes eye contact with him. They are the aspect of this form he is most self-conscious of. "I… this is the form of a frost giant. My… birth father… he was their king. I assume my mother was one of them as well, but I have no idea."

He breathes deep. "I was raised to hate my own kind. When I was a baby, too young to remember, I shifted into the form you know best. I was raised on Asgard, never knowing what I was, and everyone always told me that the frost giants were monsters, savage and unfeeling. I believed them. I had no reason not to."

He barely whispers the last part, "I thought they were my family."

Aaravos focuses on his anger rather than the shattered feeling in his chest. "Your… family. They knew?"

In the back of his mind, he wonders how Loki can be a frost giant when he is shorter than Aaravos, but that is not the most important question right now.

"My parents did, not my brother. My fa- Odin, the man that raised me… he said I was abandoned to die for being small, so he took me in out of pity." He breathes out a half-laugh. "He told many lies, though, so perhaps that was as well? I may never truly know."

"Why not?" Aaravos asks, genuinely curious– and, he admits, maybe a tiny bit concerned. Loki's laugh sounded more of a cover than a genuine laugh, even without considering the subject.

"Well, I certainly cannot trust Odin to give me the truth, and… I killed my birth father."

"You…" Aaravos only has dim memories of his caretakers when he was a child, but he remembers enough to know he would have a hard time hurting them.

He no longer knows if he would, though that is a moot point.

"If he truly did abandon you," Aaravos says, "you owe him nothing. I do not blame you for wishing to hurt one who hurt you."

Loki shakes his head, looking to the ceiling and holding his eyes open in an attempt to dry the tears rising to the surface. "Yes, you would think I was angry with him for leaving me to die, but I was not. I did not care about that. No, it was all part of my attempts to prove myself to the man I had called father all my life. I thought I could show him I was not one of them, that I was worthy of his love, by finishing the slaughter of frost giants he began all those centuries ago."

He smiles, but it is without joy. In fact, it feels almost like a grimace. "How ridiculous. He killed so many of my kind, lied to me about what I was, and yet I still craved his approval more than anything. I craved it enough to kill for it."

Aaravos rolls his eyes up as far as they can go, holding them there until they stop stinging. "What sort of man would force his child to prove their worth? My caretakers were strict, always demanding more, but I never once doubted they cared." He laughs humorlessly. "There was a saying, once. I no longer remember the exact wording, but it was something to the effect of Startouches being wonderful mages, but such ineffective parents the entire village needed to look after one child. It was not wholly untrue. And yet, there is a still worse parent! What a joke."

"If it is a joke, then fate has a poor sense of humor." Loki shifts into his aesir form again, rubbing his hands and arms to chase off the cold that seems to linger in his bones. "This was originally intended to comfort you about your antlers. I understand what it is to be ashamed of a physical difference."

Aaravos rather wants to offer Loki a hug– he does look cold– but would that be weakness? Would Loki think he wanted it for himself? (Does he?)

"I can see." Aaravos takes a breath, then, before he can compose his words in his mind and make sure he says what he intends to say, he blurts out, "For what it is worth, I think your other form is enchanting."

Involuntarily, the corners of Loki's lips tilt upward. "Well… you would be the first, but thank you."

Strangely, neither mage cares much that the other knows their secret. Normally, Aaravos would feel threatened, knowing his shed antlers do hold considerable Star magic– but Loki still cannot use Xadian magic. Normally, Loki would never have shown another their frost giant form voluntarily– but Aaravos does not know anything more of frost giants than Loki has told him.

Slowly, over the weeks together, Aaravos and Loki begin to grow closer.

More and more often, they find themselves in the same room without even noticing, and little touches of hand to hand become more and more frequent. Often, Aaravos is happy to sit and listen to Loki talk of other worlds for hours, occasionally interjecting with an "I would like to see that someday," or a "When we are free…"

When did he start thinking we instead of I?

As time goes by, Aaravos checks the mirror less and less, in favor of spending a few minutes more with Loki each day. Loki merely thinks Aaravos watches the mirror while they are asleep.

The longer they stay in each other's company, Loki begins relaxing in ways he did not realize were possible. He becomes aware of his constant tension in hindsight because once he realizes he can turn his back to Aaravos without a second thought, he also realizes that he could not do such things with many people before. He appreciates how Aaravos keeps a physical distance, keeps his movements fluid and slow. He begins to believe in his heart that Aaravos would not harm him. Little by little, he stops conjuring his knives for comfort, not feeling he needs them for defense.

Loki feels safe. It does not make sense, but he relishes in the feeling.

One day, three or four months after Loki's arrival if he had to guess, Aaravos realizes he hasn't so much as glanced at the mirror in– how long has it been? At least five days.

He needs to check the mirror. Now.