Disclaimer: I don't own Thor, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

Chapter 29: Finding Judas

How serene it was, the gentle nip of winter, the chilled air filtering its way into his lungs. He lay quietly upon the steps in the garden, those that led down to the lakeside, let his fingertips play against the frigidity of the icy surface, let the feeling fill him. Strange that he'd find comfort in the dead of winter, in laying still as the snow fell briskly down about him, clinging to his skin and draining the heat away. But it was as though he did not feel it, could find no reason within himself with which to wish it all away. It was the most satisfying time of year. It made him feel somewhat complete.

The snow crunched softly as she came, cloak draped about her shoulders as she sat on the low wall just a little ways away. Perhaps upon the edge of the fountain, where she always lingered in summer, fingers wishing that the ice would melt and that the brightly colored fish would stick their little heads above the surface as if they wished to play.

"Are you cold?" she said, and Loki did not open his eyes, did not move save to scrape at the ice with his nails.

Satisfied with the darkness within his own head, the prince opened his mouth, breathed deeply the frosted air and whispered, "No."

The world certainly was pretty when draped in the warmth of summer air, the dashing colors that had been brought about by the new life of spring. But he did not crave it in the midst of blizzards as the others did, but dreaded it. Loki detested the thought of lying out in the sun, allowing the harsh rays to burn and irritate his skin, of being forced to keep his curtains shut and hide beneath the covers of his bed until the morning sun was covered by a cloud. He hated lingering indoors, fearful of the hot pockets of air that threatened to render him immobile.

When the falling of the leaves came each autumn, he would feel that spark of light burn through his bones, as if to say, "It comes. It comes." He would become eager, far more excitable than was the norm, find that even the stupid things said by his brother's friends could sometimes turn his stern expression enough to bring about a faint smile. The darkness of the night was the same. Cool air, no sun to hide from, no one awake to see what went on within the shadows, for the world was made up of them. The thin, graying little things that followed at a man's heels, or perhaps led him across the expanse of dark earth. Somehow, Loki found that he loved them.

"You should come inside," Frigga told him, and he felt the graze of her cloak as she leaned over him. "Get some sleep."

Loki shrugged, still refusing to open his eyes. "I'm not tired," he said, and heard her sigh.

She was trying to persuade him, find means with which to pull him into her arms without forcing him. He wasn't like Thor. He wasn't a wounded puppy who craved gentle, physical affection when he mourned. In fact, Loki rarely felt the way he did now, down and without a purpose. Yes, he had often experienced disappointment, anger, an incredible deal of jealousy, but he didn't pout as his brother did. More often than not, he'd stay irritable with someone for an hour or so before the whole thing disappeared into the atmosphere, to burn up among the stars.

Except for some of that envy. Much of that had seemed to accumulate within him recently, and it was steadily driving him mad.

Loki sat up, still kept his eyes closed as he leaned back, let his mother's arms coil around him protectively. They had sat here often, he recalled, stared out across the expanse of water and tried to count the number of tall pines upon the opposite mountain range. At least once, he had managed to number them around seven hundred.

"Your brother worries for you," she said.

He shrugged. "I don't care." Loki was far more concerned with Sigyn, with the punishment his father likely still had in store for him. "What of Father?"

"He is bothered," came the reply, and the prince of lies made a sound of acknowledgment, decided that it was best if he not go indoors for a while. "But he does love you. Now, please, darling, come inside where it's warm."

Loki scoffed. His mother did not lie, but he would prefer to hear those words from the Allfather himself. That would bring the old man down a notch, perhaps humble him a bit. But such was the curse of a throne, of a kingdom. To grow old and bitter and full to the breaking point with heavy pride.

Of course, when he became king, there would be none of that. Loki had determined to become more than twice the man his father was.

"I think," he said quietly, "I'll stay here." Frigga sighed again. "I'd prefer to not put Father out any more than I already have."

The prince frowned, hated thinking upon all the disappointment he'd brought upon the House of Odin, upon his mother. Why, what rumors she must have had to endure during her ventures into the royal city. What lies must have been spoken about him, about their family. And all of them, Loki feared, had something or other to do with him, the wayward prince of Asgard. He didn't conform to the rules as the others did, did not bow in the presence of their king and beg for forgiveness. Rather, he'd stand in open defiance, ensure that all who were present knew of the Allfather's many faults and hypocrisies. That was surely enough to form a great, wide rift between them. Loki on one side, and the rest of them on the other.

"What of Sigyn?" he murmured, almost afraid to know the answer. Loki had not seen her in a few days now. Perhaps she'd decided to go off with that fool Vryaal, or whatever his name was.

"She asks for you," his mother replied.

That was satisfactory, he supposed. Perhaps, when he felt like it, he'd find her, remind her why she was his chosen partner.

"Will you come inside now?"

Loki sighed, eyes opening to drink in the shock of white that drowned out the world. He smiled. This was what he liked to see. The whole of Asgard draped in but a single shade. Pure by day and tainted by night.

The prince of lies leaned his head back, caught his mother's gaze and nodded. "I suppose."

If no one else in Asgard, he did love her.