A/N: So , yeah, I'm going to try and make this a full length story while getting through my writer's block for my other story. Thank you for the positive feedback from the first chapter- it's really appreciated and makes my day!

As soon as his feet touched solid ground, Loki examined his surroundings. He stood in the middle of a forest of tall, pale-barked trees with silver leaves. They were tall, stretching up for hundreds of feet, and had straight, thick trunks. The forest floor was a carpet of snowdrops and fallen silver leaves that crunched beneath Loki's feet.

Alfheim, home of the Light Elves.

Closing his eyes, the God of Mischief listened intently for the sound Alfheim was so famous for. And then he heard it; the soft, melodious singing of the Elves. It echoed through the forest, coming from all directions. It brought a small smile to his face.

The Elves responsible for the singing would most likely be miles and miles away, but the magic in the trees would carry their voices through the entire forest. And that was why Loki had journeyed to Alfheim.

Out of all the Nine Realms, Alfheim was the one place that Loki ever felt comfortable.

(-You give up this poisonous dream! You come home…)

(I don't have it.)

The smile fell from his lips, his brow pulled into a frown. Home. That was something he had not felt like he'd had in a long, long time. Even before he knew of his heritage.

Pursing his lips, Loki began walking at a leisurely pace through the forest, the leaves silent even as he trod over them. The soft melody of the Elves calmed him slightly, but his tumultuous thoughts were not completely abated. They continued to torment him, even as he walked.

(You are our son, Loki, and we your family.)

The one who had spoken those words to him was gone. Nothing more than a memory.

(Screaming. Screaming until his throat was raw, while those that had once called themselves his family attended the funeral of the only person Loki had had left.)

He stopped walking, squeezing his eyes shut at the tightness in his chest. His mind raged on, unforgiving. (Sanity. Where is my sanity?)

(Do you honestly think you can find it in this forest?)

(I am not searching for my sanity. I am searching for peace. Inner peace.)

Yet he knew it was an impossible dream. For how can one have inner peace when their very minds are against them?

He finally stopped in a meadow. There was a small lake at the far end, with rocks forming a small island in the middle. Trees surrounded the entire place; indeed, it seemed as though Alfheim was a never ending forest. The meadow consisted of tall grass that came up to Loki's knees and wild flowers of all kinds. He had been walking for hours, and this seemed as good a place as any to rest. The sun was already setting, and the nearest Elven city was probably dozens of miles away.

Walking to the edge of the lake, Loki sat, bringing his knees up and resting his arms on them. The sun had long since disappeared behind the tall trees, leaving the silver woodland in a cool blue- (Blue. The colour will forever haunt me.)- light under the darkening sky.

Heaving a sigh, he lay back, folding his hands on his stomach and stretching out his long legs. He watched as the stars- (Falling through the Void, they were the only thing that brought him peace. In the deafening silence, in the blinding darkness, the stars replaced his sanity.)- appeared in the darkening blue sky. The largest of Alfheim's moons- and there were three, if he remembered correctly- loomed directly over him, framed by the multicoloured stars and far-off nebulas. He stared at the stars for hours, never tiring of the distant singing of the Elves and the beauty around him.

There, in the glory of Alfheim, Loki finally fell asleep.

"Why, Loki?" The soft voice asked, interrupting his rest.

The world around him brightened harshly, and he squinted in the stark white light of his prison cell. Finally, his eyes focused and he looked at the source of the voice.

And his heart twisted almost painfully in his chest as he stared in disbelief at the form of his mother, exactly as he had last seen her.

"Mother?" He asked, rising from the bed.

"Why did you not come?" She asked, and silent tears ran from her eyes.

Loki came to a stop when he saw the first tear roll down her cheek, standing about four feet away.

"You could have stopped them, Loki. You could have stopped the Dark Elves. I paid for it with my life. Who next shall pay for your wrongdoings?"

"I-"

"You told them to take the left staircase, did you not?"

Loki's heart dropped at her words, and he realised with a sickening jolt that she was right. He had informed Kurse to take the left staircase, away from the battle. With the correct turns… it would have led him straight to his mother.

"Mother, please-"

"Do not call me that. You yourself disowned me, Loki Laufeyson."

She turned, and the hem of her dress and the end of her hair shimmered with magic. She would disappear, once more leaving him to his guilt. He couldn't live with the guilt.

"No! Don't go! Please! Mother, please- I am sorry- I-"

"Save me your lies, Loki. All I ever did was love you, and you threw it back in my face. I wanted us to be a happy family again, but you just couldn't let it go, could you?"

"Please, look at me," he begged.

She turned, much to his relief, but this feeling was short lived as he saw the deep red stain over her heart, contrasting sharply with the soft colour of her dress and the now-pale pallor of her skin. The stain grew, and Loki tried to move towards her, but his feet were rooted in place.

"Why?" She choked out.

Loki's breathing quickened, and he was aware of a hot liquid on his hands, and he was gripping something solid in his left. Swallowing, he looked down, and he exhaled sharply at the all too familiar red that coated his skin, and the very same dagger he had used to slay the Dark Elves.

"What- No, I-" but he couldn't continue. The blood was spreading over his arms, seeping into the tattered green fabric of his tunic and coating his skin. It spread upwards towards his shoulders, up his neck and into his hair. Finally I went to his face, and he was soon blinded by the red. The blood seeped into his mouth, filling it with the taste of copper, and down his throat. Choking him.

The last thing he heard was not the voice of his mother, but of Odin.

"Your birthright was to die."

Loki shot up, gasping desperately for air and clawing at his throat. His eyes were open wide, the green having a wild, manic glint to it. He took in deep gulps, curling onto his side while holding his neck.

Minutes later, his breathing slowed and his heartbeat slowed. Once he was sure he could think clearly, Loki reached up to touch the wetness on his cheeks. (Crying, how pathetic. And over something as silly as a dream.)

(But it was not just a simple dream.)

He sat up and practically crawled over to the lake, intending to wash his face in the water, when something caught his eye. Looking up, Loki watched in fascination as the mild breeze created a ripple over the surface of the lake. The glowing lake. The water was glowing an iridescent blue- (Always blue. Why is it always blue?)- that lit the meadow with a soft light. It was beauty as Loki had never seen it.

He recalled reading that Midgard had water like this, that it was a type of algae that caused the water to do this when disturbed. This, however, was not the mortal realm, and Loki knew this to be magic. Like everything else in Alfheim, there was magic in the water.

(Magic. The thing I was shunned for and the thing I excelled in above all else. Perhaps his is where I should stay?)

He looked around the meadow; at the calmly fluttering grass, at the rippling water, a the rocks that reflected the water's glow, at the stars and moons in the sky, a the softly glowing trees… And the Elves, he realised, were still singing.

(Yes. This is where I will live out the remainder of my days.)