True story: I struggled with this chapter. Immensely. And I think that's mostly because I had this idea in mind that wasn't translating well into the actual writing, so two months later, I finally manage a chapter that I'm sort of satisfied with. Thank you to all who have been reading and reviewing during my absence. You all rock, and I anxiously await your feedback.

And to the guest reviewer on the last chapter: thank you, dearest friend. I greatly appreciate your kind, encouraging words.

/

He was plunged in darkness, as thick and as heavy as the shadows of Niflheim. He could see nothing above, below or in front of him but still his arms flailed, seeking purchase in the empty air around him. He was surrounded in mist and smoke – he could feel it moving against his skin, smell the putrid stench of something burning – and the terror that filled his heart was like none other he had ever known before. He couldn't move. He couldn't move, not at all, he couldn't move -!

"Thor!" he called out, though he knew not why. His breaths were quick and panicked as he shifted his weight, frustrated by the immobility. His useless struggle was made all the more trying by the unknown substance halting his movement, wet and firm around his knees, keeping him firmly in place. His heart thundered in his ears like the hooves of a thousand horses and he whimpered, softly, as he sunk further towards the earth. "Brother, can you - can you hear me?" His hands grasped desperately again in the dark, sinking entirely into the slippery sludge that imprisoned him. Mud, mud - it felt like mud. He was stuck, and he couldn't find Thor. It was so dark. So dark and quiet and he couldn't move, there was no solid ground anywhere near him! "Brother?" he called out again, frantic now. Wind rushed past his head, sending a chill down the back of his neck, for he swore he could hear whispers within it.

It was getting harder to breathe.

"Thor!" he bellowed now, hysterical. "Help me!" Oh gods help him, how useless he was! Thor was the one in need of saving and once again he was a simpering child, scared and weak, trapped and alone, useless. A cry of despair slipped past his lips as the wind rushed past him again, and there was no mistaking the laughter that accompanied it this time. The sound of it inexplicably terrified him and he gasped, horrified, as the mire began to solidify, holding him in place as if it were a living thing that sensed his attempts at escape. He realized a moment too late his hands were still by his side; the whispers flitted through his mind as he cried out again, stuck stuck his hands were stuck. All rational thought left him – he knew only his own fear, knew only the iced blood running through his veins and the overwhelming and unmistakable sense that someone, somewhere, was watching him. "Thor please!" he screamed. "Do not hide yourself from me!"

"Hush now, little prince," a voice suddenly whispered. Something moved behind him and the rush of air against his neck was frigid – almost to the point of burning. Cold hands came down to rest upon his shoulders and his anguished cries died out to a stifled whimper. "You've only just come, just come to see me…" The hands swept up and around his throat and squeezed, squeezed until his eyes filled with tears and his body jerked, unable to fight off the grip slowly crushing his throat. "Do not struggle, please don't. It will only hasten the matter and I…" A pair of lips pressed against his temple in a lingering kiss and he froze as the rush of frosted breath moved against his skin. "Well, I…I want to watch." And just as quickly as they'd come the hands dropped, freeing his airway, and the moment he could draw breath, his brother's name was on his lips in a terrified scream:

"Thor!"

A blow to the back of the head, quick and harsh, and his screams died along with him.

Laughter, mocking and unfamiliar. Agonized howling, then a pitched whine, like that of a dying animal. The frantic beat of his own heart, slowing, slowing, slowing.

Water flowing past his head, deep and rumbled – like a dog's growl.

Everything hurt. Oh gods, it hurt so badly –

He awoke to cold, burning and bright, gasping out loud as he drew air greedily into his aching lungs. It took several moments to place any meaning towards what his senses were telling him: that he was lying facedown in the mud, spared asphyxiation by virtue of the fact that his head was turned sideways, that his fingers were numb and unfeeling as the river's cold water washed over them in a steady rush. Get up, get up, get up, his mind thrummed and he wanted to – he needed to but he was in so much pain. He was dying. Dying alone, in the mud, before he knew what fate had befallen his brother after the beast had struck its mighty blow –

Sending him here, crashing to this place, bloodied and broken and dying, DYING –

"It is too late."

His eyes opened, though he did not remember ever closing them again. A garbled reply whispered past his lips, his fingers twitching by his head. The voice that had spoken was familiar, welcome even, but he could not place its intonation with a face. He tried to push himself upright and failed, barely making it onto his elbows before he crashed back down to the earth. He was dizzy. And he was hurt. But he had to move…

"Loki, Loki…my brother…" Understanding dawned slowly, then all at once. Fire erupted down his spine as he forced himself to his knees, gagging with the effort, but he didn't care. His brother was here, Thor was here, he hadn't killed him, not this time…!

"Thor," he rasped, unable to stop the rapid tremor in his limbs as he made to stand. Hunched over and coughing he turned, eyes hungrily scanning the landscape, shivering violently from the cold. "Thor, I am here. Show yourself." The treeline was high above him and he eyed the scraggly branches with alarm – they looked so, so far away. Walls of rock surrounded him, and the river flowed steadily behind. He did not remember this. He did not remember it being so high…

"It is too late," the voice said again. He spun around towards it, wheezing in pain and shock when nothing but trees on the other side of the water met his gaze. "Far too late, little brother. You must go now."

"It isn't," Loki whispered, gritting his teeth against the quaking in his knees. "Thor where are you?" Only silence met him and he could feel the panic rising from his belly. A shattered memory flitted through his mind and without his conscious knowledge, his hands flew to his throat. "Thor?"

"I'm here," he whispered, right at his back. Loki yelped and spun around, losing his balance in the process, crashing to his knees in the mud and mist. He was crying now, trembling and sobbing and choking, and when he finally cast his gaze above the rocks and found his brother looking down at him, he was nearly certain he was looking upon a ghost.

Thor was filthy, deathly pale and far, far too thin. He was just out of reach, standing on top of the rocks that encased the water's edge. One arm was wrapped protectively around his belly; the other hung limply at his side. When he spoke his voice echoed all around him but he heard it as if he were standing right at his side."It is too late, Loki."

"Stop saying that," he cried, reaching for him. Thor made no effort to move and only stared down at him with vacant, empty eyes. "Please Thor, it isn't. It isn't –"

"Is it not?" Thor grimaced, lurching slightly, and Loki's hand shot out instinctively.

"Do not move, you are – you are hurt –"

"Do not come for me," Thor whispered. He moved his arm down and wheezed in agony as Loki caught sight of the deep, deep claw marks marring his brother's flesh. "Too…late." Thor teetered dangerously close to the edge, mouthing something to him – but his voice was drowned out by a sudden rush of sound, loud and angry and violent, and he realized the moment the force hit his back that it was water, water like a dam breaking, like a dog's growl…

"No no no no NO!" he screamed, taking his brother's face in his hands. He could not remember where he was, only that it was familiar somehow, that he was meant to be here, and that his brother's dead body, lying broken and mangled in the grass was wrong, wrong, and entirely his fault. "Thor please, please don't. Not after all I've done…not after all I've done to find you…"

The electric blue eyes stared dully past him up at the sky, unseeing, uncaring, and empty.

"You shouldn't have come back," someone taunted but he only held onto his brother tighter, sobbing uncontrollably. The sky above was blazing with a too-bright sun, and he was going to be sick because he had killed his brother, he had killed his own flesh and blood because he had

Been

Too

Late!

"You should have listened," a voice said and he began to wail, unabashed, horror coursing through the whole of his being. This was not supposed to have happened this way. This was not –

Hands grabbed his shoulders and he shrieked, thrusting his elbow backwards as he rasped out a desperate cry: "Do not touch me!" Yet the hands cared not for his sorrow, nor his pitiable lack of strength – they grabbed him easily, forcefully yanking him back away from his brother, prying his hands from his body. "Don't!" he screamed, but it didn't matter, not at all. Thor's body fell from his frantic grasp, rolling away to lie facedown in the grass, never to move again. Oh, but that he had listened to the warnings -

"Your turn," the voice chirped and the hands suddenly moved, grabbing him firmly by the sides of his head and squeezed, squeezed until the pressure was too much for him to bear and he could do nothing but scream, scream in the hopes that someone would come, that someone would find him, save him, stop this evil from ending both of their lives this day –

But right before his skull snapped, right before the searing pain overwhelmed his hysterical senses he swore, he swore he saw someone watching from the lilac bushes amongst the trees.

"Be still my child. I am here."

A cry tore from his throat, pitched and frantic, and he swung his arms madly to fight off his invisible foe. The world blurred and he suddenly froze, confusion halting his senses – something innate was telling him to breathe, to calm, to hold still for just a moment, though it went against every fiber of his instinct. And what was it? his mind inquired, though he could not make sense of the question. He reached blindly for some sort of physical consolation, somehow keenly aware that his main senses were unreliable in this half-woken state. Soft fabric tickled against his searching fingers and he turned his head, squinting through the dark – gods, but why was it so dark? – and could just dimly make out the familiar patterns of his bedspread. His heavy breathing began to slow as the steady process of waking beckoned him towards the knowledge that he was splayed out flat, in his own bed no doubt, and had been in throes of an obvious nightmare. "I must find him," he mumbled faintly, though in his own mind it sounded more like a whimper. Find who? Find who?

"Find who?" someone murmured and yes – he was certain this time that he had heard it, that it was not the lingering echo of his terrifying dreams. A gentle hand pushed the sweat soaked locks from his forehead and he sighed, leaning into the touch.

"Thor," he breathed, blinking slowly. He could just barely make out the blurred orbs of candlelight poking holes in the darkness across the room. He tried to swallow and grimaced against the dry ache in his throat, coughing before he could stop himself. He felt dizzy and tired…so, so tired. Was he ill?

"Thor is home, my darling," the voice said. "Rest now."

"No…" He rubbed his eyes viciously, suddenly vehemently against falling back asleep, as he could not shake the pressing need for attentiveness coursing through his body. He was forgetting something…something important, something he could not remember. Gods above, why could he not wake up? Had he been given some kind of sleep tonic? Why this heaviness in his limbs, this ache in his spine, this dreadful and all-encompassing dark? "I need to…ask…"

Do not come for me.

What felt like electric bolts clashing within his belly sent him flying into an upright position. He had…he had heard that, heard it spoken clear as day, but it had been within the confines of his own mind –

"Loki." The world spun and he was falling into a panic again, but something about the voice soothed him, inexplicably made him feel like he was protected. "If you will not rest, I need you to wake up."

"I am up," he said, mouth going numb. He reached forward again, wrapping stiff fingers around the comforting hand resting on his arm. "I am up," he said again, stronger now. He could just make out a face now, framed with golden curls, could smell the perfumed scent of flowers and he knew who was with him before the halved lines of his vision finally bled together. "Mother," he whispered as her lovely face came into view, smiling and comforting.

"I am here, Loki," she said gently, dabbing a cold compress to his clammy skin. "Shh...you've had quite a fright. Hush now. All will be well." Relief and worry battled for dominance in a brief frenzy behind his eyes, but curiosity soon edged its way in instead.

"What…what time is it?" He looked beyond her again as the room shifted, but still he could make out nothing save the flickering light. Something about it didn't feel right.

"About an hour before sunrise," mother supplied. She shifted to stand upright, placing the compress beside the chilled bowl of water sitting atop his nightstand. She took a slow seat, watching him carefully. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," he lied, though he had no idea why he had done so. In reality his heartbeat was thundering in his ears as if he were running out of breath underwater and the fire in his back was rising with quickening intensity. All at once, his nightmares came rushing back to the surface with deadly clarity and he cast a panic-stricken look at his mother. "Rather…rather, I should ask, why would I be feeling unwell?"

"You do not remember?" Her voice was tinged with the first indications of concern and that was simply something he could not have.

"Oh I do," he replied, bracing his body weight against his hands to sit up straighter. He sighed quietly to buy himself some time, silently wracking his brain for the semblance of any memory, any indication of how he had ended up here. "It is just that I…am still sleepy. That is all."

"I would imagine so," she said gently. There was a pause before she spoke again. "You've been in bed for four days." Alarm popped within his chest, then dissipated in chilled tingles to the pit of his belly.

"Four days?" he repeated, and it sounded even more ludicrous coming from his own mouth. Four days? Four days? With alarming slowness, his memory began to shift into place and he could suddenly feel the rush of his magic leaving his body, the strong arms slamming him back repeatedly against the tree. His gaze dropped to his bedspread, wide and petrified, at the dawning knowledge that those horrors had not been a dream.

Thor.

He is home, he is safe, he is here –

It is too late, little brother.

Do not come for me.

"Where is Thor?" he gasped, clutching at his chest. Mother's features had melted into a baffled stare and she cleared her throat twice before speaking.

"He is...well, he is asleep I would imagine." She eyed him strangely for a moment. "Would you like me to send for him?"

"No," he said quickly, pulling his legs back to sit upright on his knees. "No, mother, I must speak with you at once. I..." Her hand shot out to brace him as he swayed, suddenly overcome with dizziness. He spoke quickly, afraid that if he didn't get the words out now then he would not be afforded another chance. "It is why I came to see you before and already I have wasted so much time -"

"You must rest, my child. You've only just awoken -"

"No, no, please mother I am in perfect health and I cannot wait any longer -"

"If you would but lie down for a moment, Loki, just -"

"Thor has not returned to us," he blurted. Mother froze with her arms out in front of her, halted momentarily in their effort to calm him. Something flashed in her gaze that he did not recognize and for a moment, just a single, fleeting moment, he wondered if she too was but another of the imposter's illusions.

"Loki." Her mouth turned down at the corners and tears formed in the crystal clarity of her gray eyes. "I know."

The air drained from his lungs in a rush, then swelled immediately thereafter with the most confusing elation he had ever known.

"You know?" he croaked, nearly collapsing beneath the weight of his shock. Mother nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off of him, and out of all the varying emotions conflicting within his chest - joy, disbelief, concern, confusion - he found his relief was quickly being replaced by the sour and unexpected sting of betrayal. "How long? How long? But..."

"I haven't much time with you, my son," she said gently, holding out a placating hand. "Please, do not stress yourself so. I have only known since you collapsed in my study four days ago, as a result of your magic being so dangerously depleted." Her arms lowered and a shadow fell over her face. "He nearly killed you, Loki."

"What?" was all he managed. She took his hands in hers, squeezing them affectionately, and when he looked at her it seemed almost as if she were glowing in the hazy light.

"You are so powerful, my son. So much more than you recognize, so much more than you yet know. You will persevere through this - believe my words true. You will not be overcome." Questions, what felt like thousands of them, danced about in his head until they blurred into a cacophonous roar, yet not a single one manifested into actual words. Mother only grimaced and swallowed thickly, speaking urgently through the fog in his mind. "Listen to me, Loki. We have an evil in our midst - an evil your father and I failed to recognize at first, but one that has proven to be far more sinister than even we knew. And yet through it all, you saw the truth; you saw what we could not. And we need you, my son. We need your insights, your power, your -"

"I can offer you nothing." A lump burned fiercely in his throat as he pulled his hands from her grasp. "Look at me, mother. Look at me. How easily I was overcome and rendered worthless. How by your own words, I could have perished -"

"But you did not." She leveled him with a gaze that forbade any further attempts at challenge and he quieted. "The being's powers could not overcome your own. Your natural aura - the magic that flows through your veins, just as the blood does in mine - is innate. It is a part of you, something you have had since your infancy, and it protects you without you even knowing it." She held her hands out and at some unspoken command, blue flame erupted from her fingertips. "This power, though honed and guided by my own hand, far exceeds my own capability. And from the moment I first held you in my arms – from the very first moment, my son – I knew that this power would be one that gods and demons alike would covet, one many would seek to steal from you and so destroy its vessel." She paused and stared at him again, eyes brimming with some unknown sentiment. "Do you understand what I am saying?"

"No," he whispered. She managed a watery smile and tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear. He could not fathom the tears in her eyes, nor the burning swell of pain lingering in his belly.

"I know this does not make sense to you now, but it will. It will very soon. If I could but find a way to make this last…" She stood suddenly and he watched her pace, fingers clasped in front of her. She stopped abruptly and looked at him as he slumped backwards, entirely confused by her vague words. She seemed to sense it and when she spoke again, her voice had taken on a softer edge. "Loki, my son…" He turned his head to look at her, desperately hoping she could not see how quickly he was weakening again. "Any being that is capable of stealing your power in that way is not of this city, nor is it my son. As crafty as this imposter is, he made a critical mistake in not only underestimating the power you possess, but in thinking you easy to fool. There is none else in this place who know your true brother better." She paused, suddenly pensive. "Not even myself."

"Then we must find him," he said softly. "Mother, we must find Thor if he is not…that is, if he is still…" The words refused to make it past his tongue, unwilling as he was of considering the possibility that had plagued him since his brother had first disappeared. Yet she knew – of course she knew.

"Your brother still lives." Her tone left no room for argument.

"How can you be certain?" he asked anyway. The room was starting to spin around him and he swallowed, silently willing away the nausea rising up in his throat. "What if he has been…gone all along?" It is too late, brother…

"Then what is the purpose of his double?" She came towards him again and her form blurred. "Whoever is with us now serves only as a distraction, my son. If Thor had perished that day in the woods, there would be no reason for this being's presence. We would have found his body, mourned for him, done our best to go on as we did before." She paused again, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No, my son...this imposter is among us to stop us from seeking your brother at all. But seek him we will. And it is you, Loki Odinson, who will find him." There was a finality to her words he didn't like, but he had little time to ponder the matter as all of the light in the room suddenly extinguished and the two of them were cast into total darkness. He reached for her instinctively, a half-formed inquiry on his lips, but cut himself off when a sudden and steady glow began to fill the space between them. He stared, mouth slightly agape; there was no mistaking that this time the light was emanating from her.

"Mother," he said slowly. "What is happening...what is happening to me?" He raised a limp wrist, staring at it wildly as warmth began to spread beneath his skin. The sensation was far from unpleasant – it reminded him of the moment warm water made contact with the skin when taking a bath – but it was unknown and it was strange and nothing was making any sense anymore. Nothing at all.

"Allow me to give this to you," she said softly. "For all the pain that I have caused you." And it was not until the air around him swarmed with the scents of hyacinths that understanding took a firmer hold and he shot a panicked look at her, head bent and eyes half closed in concentration, as her aura began to replace his own – began to fill what had been stolen from him, to hasten the process of his healing.

"Don't - !" he protested but it was useless. The spell had already been cast and he swore he could almost feel the pain this was causing her, could sense the pull of her own aura from her body as it bled into his own.

"You need this," she murmured. Her hand slipped from his shoulder and squeezed tightly around his fingers and he held onto her as panicked words bubbled out of his throat:

"You can't mother, I can heal please don't do this –"

"I will be fine," she assured, though her ashen complexion indicated otherwise. "The beast's hold will not stand, dear one. These nightmares will not return – of that you can be certain." Strength poured into his aching muscles and he could breathe again, could selfishly move without pain now and move he did, scrambling to his knees without releasing her hand from his own.

"The beast's hold?" he cried in confusion and she nodded, planting her free hand down on his mattress to brace herself.

"We are out of time," she gasped as the light began to dim. "But it matters little, little at all; your strength has returned but you must promise me something Loki. You must promise."

"Anything," he sputtered, horrified at the weakening form of his mother before him, though her voice and her grip were as strong as ever.

"Remember, Loki." She suddenly pulled her hand from his grasp and straightened, breathing heavy, hands pressed to her chest. "When you awaken, remember."

"When I awaken…?" She thrust her hand out and some invisible force struck him square in his forehead, swelling out and around until he felt dizzy again, collapsing back in a daze, staring up at the ceiling as her last command spun around and around in his head until he drifted into a dark, cold nothing.

Remember, Loki.

Remember what you saw in the woods.

Loki's eyes opened against the early morning sun and he grimaced, raising a hand to block its too-bright rays. Though aware that he was only just waking, he felt impossibly alert, at attention, as one might when in the midst of battle. He inhaled slowly, sitting up carefully as his room came into focus - everything was as it should be and there was no stifling haze choking out his sight or his mental faculties. It took several beats for him to realize that he was not alone and he turned, quickly, to the sight of his mother sitting at his bedside, watching him with a small smile. The breath hitched in his throat as he struggled to speak but she only shook her head, leaning forward over the clasped hands in her lap.

"Well, my son," she said softly. "Tell me everything."

/

More coming soon...very soon.