Holy Mother of Asgard!

The good news: here's a new chappie.

The bad: I didn't update this story at all in 2018.

I have no real excuse guys, save that time got away from me. Between my time abroad and the subsequent return home, coupled with full time work, I basically blinked and a million years had passed since my last update. But for the faithful readers and reviewers, please know that I never forgot about any of you, nor this story. This chapter ended up being so long that I have split it into two parts but will be posting the other half relatively soon. Thank you for reading and providing the feedback I needed to keep writing/editing this monster of a chapter. ;)

Now! Without further ado:

/

"Ruined! Do you understand me? Ruined."

The stars began to fade as the first rays of the morning tore through the night sky. Loki stared straight through the windowpanes with unblinking eyes and huffed out a quiet gasp - had so much time passed, truly? He could remember nothing for a moment and instead focused his attentions on his throbbing head and shaking hands. Morning, morning - how could it be morning already? Stiffly, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and came to stand directly in front of the window that looked out over the slumbering city. He doubted there was a soul awake at this hour, save the night guard and perhaps his grieving parents. The memory of father's enraged face and mother's quiet sobs had plagued him these last long hours, effectively trapping him in the nightmare of the waking world. There would be no respite for him, now or ever again. He tried to think of something else, anything else, but it seemed his mind refused to spare him. Guilt ripped through him until it hurt and he grasped at his chest, split wide open and gutted by the sobs that had so wracked his body but a few hours before. Father's voice echoed in his mind until he thought he might scream,and it was only once he dug his fingers into his hair and pulled that it quieted - but only just.

"Countless hours, negotiations, and lives have been sacrificed to bring Thor home and he – he has undone it all. His pride has cost us everything, Frigga."

He wondered how it was possible that the night should pass so quickly, yet drag on just the same. For a moment, he watched the rising light with a growing sense of dread before turning away from the window - how could I have been so stupid, his mind taunted for what must have been the thousandth time that night. His head felt heavy with grief and exhaustion alike, but sleep had been elusive and impossible. Loki staggered towards his washroom and splashed water, cold as he could get it, on his face. The sharp impact woke him up, but only slightly, and he stared at himself in the mirror until he began to hate every detail of his face.

Could it have been different? he wondered blearily. In the hollow green of his eyes, he suddenly saw his father again - raging and yelling so fiercely, he had wondered how the walls had not crumbled in his wake. So it had always been when father was angry, but somehow in the past he'd always held the assurance that father was wrong, that he himself had not committed so harsh a sin to merit the wrath thrust so heavily upon him. But this time, it was different.

This time, he deserved it.

"We did not know this beast's motivations before but at least we knew where he was. I've no direction now, Frigga. All is lost."

All is lost...

Cold. He was cold. As he washed and dressed, he briefly wondered if it would be worth it to bring a coat when the odds were so clearly stacked against him. But do you wish to die of the cold? his own mind countered, and though he still thought it likely he would perish before any real damage set in, he donned his winter coat anyway. His fingers, numb and shaking, made hasty work of the buttons but it was automatic - his mind was elsewhere. Memory danced on the edge of his understanding, and it was not until he looked at himself in the mirror again that recollection dawned, as bright as the still-rising sun. Mother had given him this coat. Not even a year previous, and she had smiled when he'd complained of it being too big, promising it would fit within a year's time. The sleeves, which had draped nearly over his fingertips, now hit at the wrist where they were supposed to. He began to wonder what she would think - what she would feel, when she found out. He grimaced and forced the thought from his mind, but it seemed altogether fixated on her. As he walked back towards his window, the ghost of her voice now clashed against father's but it brought no relief. Without his full consent he spiraled, and found himself back in that damned throne room, bearing the weight of his folly as the scene played out once more...

"We can begin anew." Mother spoke gently - a soft patter of rain against his father's battering storm. "There is still a way, if Aoife can -"

"Of what use is a sorcerer now?" Father demanded. Loki watched in numb detachment as Gungnir slammed to the floor, rippling bolts of energy across the throne room floor. "The thing has disappeared, and you can be sure we will not be finding it in Myrkviðr again. Nor our son, for that matter."

"How can you be certain?" Her voice shook as she spoke.

"How can I not be?" Father looked murderous, but all of them knew his rage was not directed against her. He started to pace then, and his footfalls sounded like war drums to Loki's panicked ears. "We are not dealing with a fool, Frigga. He would not return to where we first found him."

"And Heimdall?"

"Sees nothing, just as before." Father rubbed a hand over his mouth, shuddering out a breath. "We have lost him."

"Father," Loki whispered. "I could attempt to –"

"You will be silent." Father snarled, his head snapping in his direction. "You and your flapping lips have done enough, Loki." Something jagged ripped through his chest and he bowed his head, swallowing a reply.

"Please don't," mother said, and Father barked out a scornful laugh. "I am serious. It was a mistake."

"A mistake?" he bellowed. Loki dared to raise his head again and rather wished he hadn't - father's gaze was fixed upon him, dark and angry. "What was a mistake was allowing him to be a part of this at all. He is still a boy, and I was a fool to treat him otherwise."

"We should have told him, Odin." Mother gestured toward him wildly, her own voice rising with every word. "Do you not realize that if we had only been honest with him that none of this would have come to pass? Loki alone cannot shoulder the blame. It is our burden to bear."

(Something, somewhere, in the back of his mind whispered "honest about what?")

"Was he unaware there was an impostor in our midst?" Father's voice turned cold. "Did he not know that plans, elusive as they were, were in the works and he was under the express command to wait?"

"But if he knew the source –"

"Then the impostor might have learnt of Thor's rescue that much sooner." Father stared at him again, the disappointment so evident in his features that Loki was sure he was going to strike him. "He has sacrificed our firstborn on the altar of his self-importance. All because Loki could not learn to wait."

"Odin, stop."

"Will you coddle him forever?" Father shouted, turning his attentions once more to mother's sorrowful visage. "Do you truly not see that withholding repercussion will only serve to further this type of behavior?"

"I see danger, my husband," Frigga shot back. She turned to look at Loki then and the sight of tears in her eyes crushed the breath from his lungs. "I see danger in what you are doing here. Loki wanted only to save his brother and if you find fault in that, I fear the repercussions you speak of."

"Both of our sons are to be held to a higher standard not because of their princely standing but in spite of it," Father stated. "I rewarded Loki's dishonesty and Thor's conceit by allowing them passage to Myrkviðr upon your request, and look at what has happened! Every step of the way our youngest has impeded, plotted and scorned every word out of my mouth. And you would ask for pity? For pardon? Do you wish for him to remain like this as a man when Asgard's security rests upon his shoulders?"

"Do not turn this around on me," mother snapped. "It was a mistake." There was a pause then, as if she were carefully weighing her words as father stared her down. When she spoke again, her voice shook. "He would never have uttered a word had he known. I know that you know this. Do not act as if he intentionally waylaid your plans."

"Look at what he has done!" Father roared, slamming Gungnir to the ground once more. "One childish outburst has damned Thor's fate to gods know what – "

"Because he thought he was speaking to you!" mother cried, throwing her hands up in despair. "Would you fault him for falling victim to the beast's ploy when you yourself did as well?"

"I did not share vital information regarding its ultimate downfall," father said, eyeing Loki coldly once more. "By the Norns, Frigga. If you cannot see the depth of Loki's error then I shall waste no more time here. Thor may well be dead by now and you have him to thank for it."

"Odin, please. " There was a pregnant pause as Loki's heart fell swiftly to his stomach and his mother began to cry. "Such awful charges serve you not."

The glass smeared as the breath left his lungs in one quiet exhale - much to his shame, he found he was crying again. He sniffed hard and ran fast hands across his eyes, gritting his teeth until he thought they might crack. The night had made obvious the fate that awaited him...what next he he had to do.

What he should have done, months ago.

(Come and find me, little prince)

(Come and find me)

/

"What were you hoping to accomplish?"

The tone had changed to something more cynical, instantly drawing Loki's attentions outside of his own hysterical mind. Father was staring at him again, and he suddenly wished it were possible to melt into the floor and never be seen again. As it was, his tongue no longer seemed to be working; and as the king began to approach him, a tremor working down his spine prompted him to back away until he hit one of the marble pillars, effectively trapped. "Well then? It is not so common a occurrence that you do not rush to your own defense. Answer me."

"I...ahm," he cleared his throat as more tears threatened and he genuinely feared father's reaction to the overt display of weakness. He could not bear to look him in the eye, nor mother, though he felt her stare from across the space. The dread and horror of the evening clenched unpleasantly in his stomach as father came to stand right in front of him, his mouth a firm, unhappy line, his eye a darkened pool of frustration and rage. Uselessly, his hands skimmed the pillar behind him for some modicum of purchase. Lip trembling, he blinked away fresh tears and uttered the only word his mind was supplying: "Nothing."

"Nothing." Father repeated the word like it was an expletive, studying his face as if all his secrets were barred there. "I ask you what possible outcome you had been hoping for given the stupidity of your actions, and you answer...nothing." He shook his head minutely, as if the weight of Loki's actions barely fazed him. But he knew better; a lifetime of experience with the man spoke louder than anything now coming out of his mouth. He was furious, dangerously so, and the ground upon which Loki tread was precarious at best. Yet even so, a bitter realization surfaced in his mind; the words slipped past his tongue without his full consent.

"Your double," he spoke softly, "and myself, had quite the same exchange." Blood rushed through father's features, pulsing angrily in a vein on his forehead.

"You would dare to make a mockery of my words?" The tears finally fell as Loki shook his head, desperation bubbling from his throat in a choked reply:

"N-no, father. I -"

"A defense then? A means to give credit to the beast's truthful portrayal of my person, so as to soften the blow of your carelessness?" Loki sobbed, compelled to turn his face away; father grabbed his chin, forcing him to look upon him once more. "You will not hide from this," he snapped as Loki shuddered beneath his touch. "You will look at me, boy."

"Stop this," Frigga commanded from behind them. "Stop this, now."

"No mother." Father's hand fell from his face as Loki shook his head again, staring straight into the face of the man he had so utterly let down. "He is right. He is...right." He looked at her for only a moment, trembling and suddenly freezing cold. "I am guilty." Father looked on without expression as Loki crashed to his knees before him, slamming a shaking fist over his heart. "I alone have - have sealed my brother's doom. Such wrongdoing demands punishment, and my folly deserves no mercy. Do as you will, father." He dared to look up at him again, blinking away the wetness in his eyes. "I will not fight you."

"Loki." Mother's voice, saying his name with a tenderness he still could not understand. His heart thrummed in his chest with longing, but it wasn't her comfort he needed. Not now, when his fate had been so clearly laid out before him. He knew how this needed to end - how it should have already.

This, after all, had never been about them.

"I grow weary of this." The resignation in father's voice was far worse than his rage but a moment prior, and Loki watched in horror as he turned from him, shaking his head. "To bed, Loki." It was difficult to breathe, then; he could not bear it if he did this to him again, if this parting memory, fleeting as it was, would be etched in his brain as the final interaction he'd had with his father. Desperation clawed up his throat and he shook his head, reaching for him.

"Father." He did not turn, but instead fixed his gaze straight ahead. "Father, I am sorry." Long seconds passed in silence as the dread took a firmer grasp on his heart. Please don't. Please don't do this again, please father, please -

"I know."

Two words. Not spoken kindly, but not unkindly either and it had been enough. It was enough. Loki ran a hand across his mouth and shuddered, watching the morning colors melt against the fading night sky. He could not remember what he and mother had talked about afterwards as she had walked with him back to his room, if indeed they had spoken at all. He knew only that she had held him close, muttering soft words of comfort against his ear, until he thought he might die from the shame he held within his breast. He had asked for her forgiveness, and she had supplied it without hesitation.

He wondered only how long her forgiveness would last, once she found out.

He moved away from the glass for a final time, coming to stand before his empty hearth. The room felt colder than before, despite the dawning of the day, and he wondered if it only seemed so because he was taking full notice of its barren state. Inhaling sharply, he allowed himself a parting glance of his room, gaze lingering on the doorway, before he shut his eyes. Sentiment, he thought briefly, fully aware it was naught but a distraction. He needed to focus.

It was time.

"I am coming," he said softly, channeling the first swell of his magic towards the spell he had failed to master. He knew what his purpose was now, and failing again was no longer an option. He kept his eyes shut and focused solely on the task at hand, his breath slowing to an even pattern as the familiar sensations danced along his skin. The familiar panic crept in around his senses.

He thought of Thor.

And as the crushing weight of the darkness began to press against his bones, he forced his panic down by focusing on what he had lost – on what he had missed. Thor's goading, Thor's easy smile, the last kind words he had spoken to him before this nightmare had begun.

Loki couldn't breathe anymore but he refused to open his eyes.

Trust the darkness. Trust the darkness. Trust the –

There was screaming somewhere, and laughter – familiar laughter. Every ounce of his being zeroed in on the spell as it came to its completion, the solid ground beneath his feet falling away to nothing, nothing, nothing –

Reality ripped to shreds around him and with a violent start, he slipped through the spaces with a scream on his lips.

The air smelled of smoke and snow - a familiar aroma that brought with it the rush of memories of a time long passed, and many a winter's night by the fireside. Loki inhaled greedily, willing his heart to calm and the world to stop spinning in maddening circles. Light, cold, silence; the edges of the forest blurred before melting into solid focus as his senses returned to him, slowly and then all at once. In a daze, he made to stand on shaking legs, breathing out a sigh of relief as the familiar tingle of his magic replenishing itself flowed through his veins. It would take a few moments after the rather violent lurch through the spaces, but his success brought with it only a grim satisfaction as his gaze settled on where he had landed.

It was exactly as he remembered. The trees, now bare, cracked beneath the wind like dry bones and he found the misgiving that swelled in his chest matched the horror of his nightmares. "I am here," he said softly, sending bolts of energy from his fingertips as he began to walk. "Show yourself." Nothing save the wind sounded as a reply, but he could sense the presence of something just the same. It was here.

And it was watching him.

Every footfall sent a rush of memory of the last time he had walked this cursed place. Straight ahead he could see the tree where his blades had landed; the scars in the bark were the only true evidence that he had been here before, that he had lost his brother here, that the merciless attack had been as swift as it was unforeseen. It took a moment to register the swell of pain in his heart as he crossed the empty clearing where he had last seen Thor, fighting the mighty beast. Trepidation, guilt, fury - all waged war within his mind but the thought of his brother shifted his focus. He was the reason he was here. None else.

This would all be over soon.

"Show yourself," he said again, louder now. He stopped in the dead center of the clearing, moving his gaze rapidly over the treeline. "I know you are here." What sounded like a breathless laugh sounded behind him, but he whipped around to find nothing but more of the hideous forest. Gooseflesh crept up his arms as he turned in slow circles, his heart hammering a steady staccato in his ears. Shadows moved in his periphery, but every time he turned he would spot only a waving bush or swinging tree branch. Every nerve was on heightened alert and he worked to calm himself, lest his own mind distract him with imagined foes. He would not be taunted by this creature - not again. Anger began to bleed into his senses as the wind whipped steadily by and the minutes continued to pass in silence. "Show yourself!" he bellowed now, sending sparks of magic to etch angry burns into the trees. "Coward, mocker, wretch. I have done as you asked - will you not face me?" The echo of his voice faded to nothing and he scowled, coming to a standstill once more. The yet-rising sun dove for safety behind a cloud, casting the wretched landscape in eerie half shadow. Loki waited silently, his magic thrumming at the ready beneath his skin. The wind died down to a quiet whisper; for a moment, all was still.

You've been naughty, little prince.

Loki spun around, instantly raising a shield of protection about himself as the voice - the damned voice - faded off into a mocking titter and then disappeared altogether. Loki stared hungrily at the treeline, trying and failing to suppress his growing fear. A shiver ran down his spine and his hands shook by his sides, but he refused to move - to hide. He would wait the damn thing out all day if he had to, but he would not run away again. He would not -

The unmistakable sound of footsteps behind him sent a bolt of energy through his heart and he turned, yet again, with a shout on his lips. "Stop!" he demanded as his eyes settled on a figure emerging from the bushes. The sense of familiarity slammed brutally against his mind's eye, and for a moment, he could not place it.

Someone watching from the lilac bushes among the trees...

"Hey...!" Coherent thought left him as the figure straightened, granting him a fleeting glimpse of a young woman holding a wicker basket before she turned and ran. He immediately gave chase, eyes fixed on the heather-colored mantle she wore that practically gleamed in stark contrast to the dull gray of the trees around them. Confusion and instinct alike swarmed his senses as she fled towards the river and the sound of the rushing water sent bile into his throat. "Stop!" he called out again, his voice ringing out eerily in the dense space about them. She cast a quick glance behind her as she ran - was that fear in her eyes? In the fleeting moment he held her gaze, a blade slipped between his fingers and he threw it; though it found its intended target in a tree and easily missed her, her voice tore through the silence in a shriek. With some dim satisfaction he watched her stumble and fall, head over heels, down the slick embankment. Driven by purpose alone, he followed in her wake with ease, slamming to the muddied earth with blades already summoned into waiting hands. She gasped and struggled as he moved towards her, her basket cast off to the wayside.

"P-please," she stuttered, backing up until she hit a boulder. Her eyes were bright with terror as he approached and she held out a muddied hand. "Do - do not come any closer."

"Who are you?" he demanded. He pointed one knife towards her, and the sun glinted menacingly off of its pointed tip. From within, his heart pounded steadily in his ears - from without, the river flowed steadily on, just as it did in his haunted dreams. The girl stared at him, mouth slightly agape, but her silence only fed his already-brewing temper. "I asked you a question. Answer me."

"I, I am b-but a lowly servant," she stammered out, hand still stretched out uselessly. "Please, please I -"

"Why were you watching me?" His voice was cold, harsh. Beneath his skin his magic still waited patiently, mingling with his suspicion.

The air still smelled of smoke.

"I wasn't. I beg you, believe me. I was only gathering - " here she gestured wildly towards her basket at the water's edge, but he did not turn around. "...gathering roots and winter berries for my, my family."

"At dawn?" Her eyes widened.

"Yes, I -"

"Who. Are. You." He moved closer towards her and she flinched. "Answer me true, for I will not ask again."

"My name is Amora," she cried out softly. He paused, watching as her eyes filled. "I live in the nearby village. I do not have any money. Oh gods, please -"

"Take off your mantle." At this she choked out a sob, and something lurched within his chest at the utter panic in her features. Realization dawned and something like guilt crept in around the edges of his suspicions. "For weapons," he barked out. "Only to check for weapons." He motioned with his blade again and she stood, slowly, tears now streaming down her cheeks. He watched her carefully as she obeyed his command, but still his senses remained aware to the movements of the forest around him. She could easily be a distraction, or an aide of some sort, and it would serve him ill to let his guard down. He could not afford to be fooled again. He could not...

She removed her mantle with shaking fingers and held it out towards him, lips pressed together firmly. He nodded towards the ground and she dropped it, and it was only then he noticed...just how lovely she was. Golden curls framed her pretty face, cascading down her back in perfect waves. Full red lips, bright blue eyes, small and feminine figure - she was a thing of beauty and he wondered, briefly, if he should at least lower his weapon. A quick glance at her shivering form showed she had no weapons on her, and nowhere to hide them in her skirts. Doubt crept in and he fought to ignore it.

"Please," she said again softly, arms folded protectively over her chest. "Please don't hurt me." The waters rushed steadily behind him, matching the buzzing in his own ears. Instinct battled with caution in his mind as he studied her, refusing to break his gaze from her small form. She did not look a threat, but mistakes had been made before. Still though...if he were wrong, she could be wasting precious time. Hesitantly, he lowered his weapon and stared at her quizzically.

"I am not going to hurt you," he said softly, willing away the blades. She swallowed and took a step backward as he bent down to retrieve her garment. "I am...I am here to face a great evil. It would do you well to depart from this place." He held out her mantle and she stared at him as if he'd offered a serpent to her instead. He blinked and set his mouth in a firm line. "With haste."

"Who are you?" she whispered. Carefully, without taking her eyes off of him, she reached for her cloak. Her fingers were cold as ice, grazing against his briefly as she took it from his grasp.

"I am Loki," he said. "Second heir to the throne of Asgard." Recognition dawned in her eyes and she smacked a hand over her mouth. He smiled at her, but it was forced. "So believe me true when I tell you that you should leave at once."

"You are here to find your brother," she said, pulling up the hood of her mantle to cover her hair. He nodded briskly, noting the change in her tone. "I remember...when you were here, when you came to slay the beast -"

"Yes," he said quickly. "The nature of my visit is dire. You need to go." He stepped aside, beckoning her on, but she remained where she was, staring at him. "You have no cause to fear me," he said, gentler now. He cast a quick glance about them, then moved down to the riverside to retrieve her overturned basket. He spoke over his shoulder as he bent to pick it up. "The evil in these woods has never left, and I am here to vanquish it."

"You shouldn't have come back," she said softly. Loki could not help himself; he barked out an arrogant laugh, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Thank you for that."

"I mean it." Something flickered behind her beautiful eyes and he paused. "You should have listened." He straightened back up and glared at her, annoyed now. He had the nagging sense that he had seen her before, or that someone had uttered such a warning in recent days, but he simply could not place when or where.

"I think you should go now." They stared at each other for a moment before he turned to get her basket again.

"It is too late," she said from behind, sounding remarkably calm now. Loki frowned, tugging on the basket's lip - it was lodged somehow in the mud and wouldn't budge.

"What did you say?" With a final tug, the basket came free and flipped over, spilling its contents all over the muddied earth. The smell hit him first and he froze, hands poised in midair as the breeze blew the lilacs into the river, sending them twirling down the embankment. With a curse slipping through his teeth, he stood quickly and spun to face her, heart flying and blades ready, only to find that she was gone.

She was gone.

A whispered no had barely passed his lips before the force collided with his body, sending him crashing into the water.