Loki didn't so much as wake up as he did jerk into existence. He inhaled sharply, body tensing; immediately, pain lanced through his ribs and a pounding started in the side of his head. The god hissed softly, eyes squeezing shut to maybe try and relieve the feeling. He laid there for close to ten minutes, just waiting for the pain to fade.

When it finally did somewhat, Loki opened his eyes with a long exhale. He was laying on his back in a stone cell. He could tell it was a cell by the fact there were thick bars along the far side, an expansive locking system taking up a quarter of the door.

The cell was dark and musty but not unclean; it smelt of metal and dust.

Loki winced as he began pushing himself up into a sitting position. The side of his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and he could feel the dried blood that matted his hair. Reaching a hand up, the young prince tenderly examined his injury with delicate fingers; he was relieved to discover it wasn't a serious wound—just a shallow gash that bled heavily because it was on his head. However, there was also the matter of why his ribs hurt with every breath. Worried he may have broken one, Loki lifted pieces of his armor away from his torso to inspect it.

No, just bruises.

He'd gotten lucky. His natural healing factor would have them fixed in no time, not to mention his magic could do it even faster.

Except, Loki realized with a sinking feeling, he couldn't even access the well of magic inside him.

Whoever—whatever—had taken him had also made sure to place a block on his magic. Damn. However, a quick pat down of his armor revealed he still had one of his daggers; they hadn't found it hidden in a boot. This brought some modicum of relief.

Loki shifted his legs under his body and shakily stood, whole body trembling slightly. He braced a hand against the nearby wall; the stone under his palm was cold and rough. Limping somewhat to the cell's door, the god tried to find any indication of where he was.

There were no clear details in the cell or in the dark hallways that led away from it in the front and to the right. Plain torches lit very small sections in various spots, barely illuminating any of the surrounding areas. Loki squinted his eyes to maybe see better, but the hallway to the front only faded away into darkness. He took a step closer and casually took hold of the metal bars to steady himself and get a better look, but a burst of pain made him cry out and release them.

Grimacing, Loki looked down at his now shaking hands. They were marked with dozens of repeated ruins that seemed to be burned into the soft flesh of his palms and fingers. The prince stifled a pained whine and instead pressed his palms to his thighs in an attempt to alleviate some of the sting.

Okay, so escape through the locked door wasn't an option.

Loki didn't let this completely defeat him, as he had yet to examine any other aspect of his current prison. Sighing softly at the dulling of the burns his hands had received, he pulled himself up to stand straight and scrutinized the cell door (keeping his distance, however). If one looked closely, they could see the numerous ruins carved into the metal bars along every inch.

Whoever has me trapped has certainly done their research, Loki thought with a begrudged admiration. It was quite excellent work, by the looks of it. No doubt the cell itself was keeping his magic repressed and permitting him from touching the bars.

Loki was now facing the dilemma of who exactly had abducted him. As he studied the rest of the plain prison for any sort of flaw he could exploit, he thought about his attackers and the situation that had led him to be kidnapped.

He and Thor had been walking . . . Thor. The elder prince had wandered off—or maybe he'd been taken out before so that whoever it was could get to Loki? That didn't seem likely, however, as any attack on the thunder god would have to work in one try and without Loki hearing anything. Perhaps Thor had simply just wandered off and was now searching for his brother, unaware of the danger he was in? Or was Thor also here, just in a different cell? Loki didn't hear any banging or the loud sounds frequently associated with him.

Loki deemed it unsafe to try and call out for his brother; he didn't want to attract any unwanted attention to himself. He could only hope that Thor was out there, not captured, and looking for him.

This place didn't settle well with Loki at all. He had a bad feeling—this all seemed too planned for just a simple kidnapping and ransom.

"Damn idiot," Loki whispered to himself about his brother, "wandering off. Now look at where I am."

As he took a seat on the nondescript stone bench in the cell, Odin's words from earlier echoed in Loki's head:

"You're not strong enough to go to Vanaheim . . . what happens if one of the witches or hunters there decides you're better off dead? . . . Would you be 'fine enough' to escape entrapment if they decided you were an enemy? If they overpowered you?"

Loki's heart sank at the thought; he slumped down, resting his head on a hand. Odin had been right after all; with Thor gone for less than five minutes, he'd succeeded in getting himself nabbed and in a rotten situation.

Loki's morale was gone, just like that, and he wished Thor had never gone to Frigga to ask her what was wrong. Then they wouldn't have come. Sulking, the youngest prince angrily scuffed one of his boots against the floor and scowled. There was no way—that he could see—to escape from the prison. Without help, he wouldn't be able to get out.

Loki wasn't sure how long he'd sat there when footsteps echoed from down the hall. He perked up at once, on high alert, and tried to discern who was walking towards him.

"I see our princeling has awoken," came a rough yet easy voice. Loki stood up to meet his captors, keeping his shoulders back and head held high.

A tall man stepped out, clad in a set of black-and-violet armor and a white, off one shoulder cape. His whole ensemble dripped with wealth and power, from his shined boots to his sharply angled face. The man's white hair was pulled back to a low ponytail, two pointed ears sticking from the pale strands—ah, an elf. Scarily purple eyes gleamed in the lowlight, examining Loki with satisfaction.

The elf was flanked by two plain looking people in black robes whose cowls covered half of their faces; there was one man and one woman.

Loki decided to keep quiet for the moment.

"I bet you're wondering why you're here, young one," the elf began. He wore a self-righteous smirk. Loki didn't give him the satisfaction of any response, instead just keeping intense green eyes locked to the elf's gaze.

"Well, I'm certainly not in a rush to tell you. Afterall, your acceptance isn't required for this. I'm sure you understand, yes?" the elf asked with a smug grin. He then turned to the two accompanying figures. "Take him to the room and get that wizard to prep him for the spell. I want it done within the hour."

"Yes, Master," the man and woman agreed simultaneously, bowing. The elf nodded and stalked off, back straight and hands clasped behind him. He vanished into the darkness.

Once he was gone, the servants turned to Loki. The prince eyed them warily; being taken to 'the room' and 'prepped' was not something he was interested in partaking in.

"Please don't try and run," the man said as he stepped forward with a key in his hand. "It'll just make it worse."

Loki again remained silent as he studied the situation. They were about to let him out, and, knowing he could more than likely practice magic outside the cell, they would probably restrain him somehow. The servants didn't seem too tough by themselves; he could probably fight them off, especially with the assistance of his magic. He remembered the dagger stowed now at his hip and prepared to take advantage of the situation.

The man opened the cell door; that was when Loki struck. He whipped the dagger out of its hiding place and slashed at the male servant. However, he had apparently seen it coming and sidestepped the attack, causing Loki to lose his balance somewhat and stumble farther from the cell. The man ripped the weapon out of his hands and cracked him in the back of the head with the handle. Loki gasped as his eyesight flickered, but he managed to stay upright and regain his footing.

Energy surged upon his removal from the prison and the god immediately prepared a spell. He whipped around, green crackling at his fingertips.

What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the woman reaching out for his arm. She lifted him easily off his feet with a quick flick of her wrist. She sent the prince head over heels to slam into the ground, knocking the wind out of him. At once, she was on top of him, her eyes burning a fiery pink from under her cloak's cowl; the man grabbed one of his wrists in a grip like a vice. He twisted his arm, earning a choked cry from Loki, and slapped on a cuff, clicking it into place. The magic the god had felt again in his veins flickered from existence just as fast as he'd had it back.

The woman stood and shoved Loki onto his stomach, where the man took his other arm and proceeded to lock a cuff onto that wrist as well. Loki snarled in frustration as he was yanked to his feet by the man. These people—these servants—had beaten him: a god! He wanted to howl in anger.

Why were they so freakishly strong and fast? They'd shut him down like he was nothing, and to add insult to injury, his ribs ached more strongly now and his headache was back.

"Told you," the man admonished in a dull voice as he pushed Loki down the hall. The god refrained from snapping back, instead choosing to remain in the present. What was going to happen to him? Nothing good, he knew.

Seeing as how these people were servants—albeit skilled ones—Loki decided to put his silver tongue to good use and maybe discover what he was needed for.

"So . . . where exactly are we going?" Loki asked, trying to sound casual. He didn't want to show fear, even if he was becoming an anxious mess as he was forced down the long, dark hallway.

No answer.

"I heard your boss mention a spell?"

Still nothing. Loki wasn't getting anywhere. Maybe remaining aloof wouldn't get them to spill anything.

". . . Are you going to kill me?" Loki asked, letting fear drip into his voice. He was, after all, the youngest prince and not as strong as Thor, so would it be so unbelievable to be afraid?

"We're not," the man replied stoically after several long moments of silence. He jabbed Loki in the small of his back with the handle of the god's confiscated dagger. "No more talking."

"B-but why? Have I done something to anger your boss?"

"Quiet." The man prodded Loki again before pushing him slightly to the side to open a large door. He shoved the prince into the room, the woman following with soft footsteps.

The room itself was circular, with nothing in particular that screamed dangerous. The walls were smoother than the rest of the places he'd been and were scattered with specks and streaks of white. Loki couldn't place what the powder was, but he didn't think that was the most important thing at the moment. Off to the side, the woman pulled a lever on the wall, and with the sounds of rock grating against rock, a large stone slab lifted from the floor. It rose to about waist height and stopped. The platform was writ with minuscule lettering (ruins to stop magic use, again) and adorned with pieces of leather—restraints for anyone laying upon it.

The man shoved Loki forward, nearly knocking him over as he stumbled over his own feet. The prince was herded towards what could definitely be called an altar.

"I am not letting you tie me down on some stupid slab of—hey!" Loki's objections were cut off as he was picked up none too gently by the man. He struggled as he was practically dropped onto the stone altar face down, where he was held down by way too strong hands as the woman removed his cuffs.

Loki attempted to pick a fight with them, scrabbling onto his back to use his fists and legs to kick them off. Two sets of annoyed pink eyes drilled into him—as if he were a mere child that was throwing a tantrum and the parents were simply done with it all. The man took both of his wrists in a tight grip and slammed them down on opposite sides of his body; the woman grabbed his ankles and did the same.

"Let me go!" Loki snarled, desperately wishing he could use his magic. The pair of servants strapped him to the altar without second thoughts, their actions precise and practiced. Loki writhed on the table, furious and spitting like a cat. He pulled angrily at his restraints in vain.

"Find Dalin and tell him to get in here. I will report to Master," the man said, addressing the woman. She nodded in affirmation and they both exited the room, leaving the god strapped to the altar.

The forest was still dark when Thor finally sat up, his head swimming. He growled in his throat as he did so, unsure of what was happening. Pain flickered in his skull and he curled his lip.

Thor finally regained a sense of awareness and opened his eyes, blinking. He raised his head to the stars and frowned. Where was he . . . ?

"Loki!" Thor exclaimed, springing to his feet in an instant. This didn't last long as a wave of nausea overcame him and he swayed, losing his balance and toppling to the forest floor. Thor shook his head like a dog, dizzy. A distressed groan left his mouth before he could stop it.

Thor sat up on his knees, eyes wide open and pupils completely out of sync. He growled and whipped his head back and forth again, hoping to clear the sick feeling. After several minutes passed, his healing factor kicked in and began healing his ailments. The angry throbbing at the back of his head faded fairly quickly, but left a dull pounding in his temples for a while longer. Thor reached a hand up and came back with blood on his fingertips.

"How dare someone attack the son of Odin?" the thunderer grumbled as he saw the red liquid. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbing Mjölnir on his way up. Thor glanced around him, on edge. The sky was still dark, so he hadn't been out long—an hour at most.

Thor didn't know who had attacked him, but he knew they were going to pay. Not just for hitting him while his back was turned, but for distracting him from Loki.

Thor recognized the path he'd taken when he'd chased down whatever it was that he'd seen earlier that had ultimately ended in him leaving his brother's side. In only a few minutes, the older prince was in the area he was sure he'd last seen Loki. He began searching, hoping that without his guardian, Loki would have had the smarts to stay still and wait for Thor instead of going further.

However, this didn't seem the case as Thor continued looking. He couldn't find any sign of Loki, not hair nor hide, and was getting increasingly worried.

Stepping over a log, Thor heard a crunch under his boot and recoiled, startled. At first, he thought it just a branch, but upon closer inspection, found that it was glinting in the moonlight. He bent down and picked it up—one of Loki's daggers. Thor had accidentally stepped on it, snapping the handle with his weight.

A sudden realization dawned on the thunder god and his eyes widened. Someone had taken Loki! The distraction, the attack; it had all been a set up. He was absolutely sure that this was what had happened, and it sent his blood boiling.

Thor tucked the now broken weapon into his belt and returned his eyes to the surrounding forest. There was no evidence of any struggle nearby. Already, Thor felt overwhelmed, not only with worry but also because he had no idea where to start searching.

Thor ran a hand through his blond hair and stood in the middle of the forest, alone.

Loki could not get the restraints off his limbs. He'd tried everything he could think of, but with all the factors, he was helpless.

It hadn't been very long since the servants had left him alone to wait when the door opened.

Loki's head snapped to the side to see a scrawny man donned in dark gray clothes and cloak enter. He made eye contact with the prince, and Loki could see that he had a scar that went from his right temple to the bridge of his nose, the old injury barely missing the top of his eye.

"Oh, hello, hello, hello," the man rambled as he closed the door behind him and scurried over to a wall. Already Loki was perplexed by his demeanor.

The man opened an unseen panel on the wall, revealing a cabinet of some sort. He dug around in there, collecting items as Loki craned his neck to try and tell what it all was.

"Who are you?" Loki asked, hoping for an answer. This man was strange compared to everyone else.

Speaking of the man, at Loki's words, he perked up and turned around, fumbling slightly with the items he held.

"Oh, uh, you can talk!" he exclaimed, apparently alarmed.

"Um, yes. Why is that a surprise?"

"Pardon me, pardon me, no reason."

Loki frowned, baffled. This man had to be crazy.

"Anyway, my name's Dalin! I'm the magic expert around here, yes," 'Dalin' continued in answer to Loki's question.

"So you're a . . . wizard, then? The wizard the elf spoke of," Loki said.

Dalin paused, shrugging. "I suppose I am. Mister Sage can be a bit mysterious, ain't he? Yup, yup, yup, he can." Something he was holding fell, and he muttered an apology to it before picking it up.

"I'm sorry, but I can't tell if you're purposely acting like a lunatic or if you truly are." Loki's tone was full of confusion.

"No, no, no, you're mistaken."

"On what?"

Dalin stopped in his tracks. "What was the question?"

Loki held in his exasperated sigh. At least the wizard was giving him names. He could try and get more out of him.

Dalin stood off to one side and flourished a piece of . . . what was that? Loki narrowed his eyes to inspect it and realized it was chalk. So that was the source of all the smudges on the walls. Words and symbols were taking shape as Dalin began his work.

"What are you doing?" Loki asked.

"Getting ready for the spell, of course!" Dalin answered without a care in the world.

"What spell?"

"Oh, well, I shouldn't say—you wouldn't like it, no, no, no."

The answer made Loki's anxiety spike. If even this crazy mage would not tell him what spell was being prepped for, it did not mean well.

"O-okay," Loki stammered, real fear settling in. He fidgeted in his bonds. "Will it kill me?" He wanted a second answer.

Dalin turned to the laying god, his head cocked. "Will what kill you? I won't kill you, no, no, no!"

"So I won't die?"

"I—not by me, not me!"

Loki's patience snapped. "By the Norns, you're the magic user! You're the one preparing this spell! You are going to kill me, are you not!?" He pulled at his restraints, frustrated.

Dalin shifted in place, his silvery eyes avoiding Loki's gaze.

"Mister Sage commands it so. I have to obey him, you know," Dalin murmured, mood changing from eccentric to sullen.

Loki found the switch unnerving. Maybe if he appealed to this obviously insane man, he'd release him.

"Is Sage the one who gave you that scar?" the god questioned slowly. He kept his eyes on the wizard.

Dalin perked up again, meeting Loki's gaze this time, a chalk dusted hand going to the scar. "I have to follow! Can't afford another one." He dropped his hand, leaving a white streak on his face, and turned back to the walls. He resumed his quick writing.

Okay, I have to be careful with this. I don't want him turning on me, Loki thought.

"Dalin . . . if you let me go, I can get you out of here. You'll never have to worry about Sage hurting you again," Loki explained.

Dalin froze. He stood there for a long time, unmoving. Loki held his breath, nervous.

"No, no, no. I have to do the spell, the spell! You know? Yes, the spell," Dalin finally rambled on, dashing Loki's hope of escape. "I must finish the words, see? And then you, small prince."

"W-what?"

"I've got the tools, I do! Don't worry, don't worry, I'll make it as least painful as I can." Dalin began humming to himself as he worked, scrawling more ruins across the walls.

Loki took a deep breath to steady himself. He couldn't get worked up. He needed to remain calm. He wasn't sure exactly what Dalin meant by what he said, but it wouldn't do to dwell on it.

An hour passed as the wizard finished his work on the walls. He dropped the chalk on the floor and ran his hands through his dark hair, streaking the white dust throughout it. He didn't seem to realize he'd done this and continued.

Dalin bent to retrieve something he'd set on the floor earlier and stood straight again. Loki's heart skipped a beat when he saw it was a knife. A very sharp knife, if the glint off its edges was anything to go by.

Loki struggled in his restraints as Dalin approached him. Panic welled in the god's breast as he frantically looked around for anything to help him.

"The twins did a good job in getting you here, yes they did," Dalin commented as if it were completely normal to say. He placed one thin hand on Loki's chest and tapped his fingers against his armor. "But they didn't do as I want and undress you. Sad, sad, sad. Annoying!" Dalin seemed irritated now, and he placed the knife's tip against the bottom of Loki's chest piece.

"Look, you don't have to do this! Come on, Dalin, isn't being free worth the risk?" Loki asked hurriedly, hoping to swing the man in his favor.

Dalin cocked his head at Loki and tsked. "Now, now, don't fret!"

Loki squirmed as much as he could like this. It did nothing to stop Dalin's knife from slicing through his armor like it was nothing more than burlap. He cut around the gold accents and up to the god's neck, then began peeling the armor away from his chest.

The rush of air had Loki panicking, and he fought as best he was able. Dalin barely noticed.

"Sorry, little prince. I have a job, yes I do," Dalin said, his head bobbing in a nod. He rocked on his feet and sharpened the knife again for a brief moment.

"Please, I can help you! My brother will come for me, and he can get us both out of here!" Loki tried explaining, struggling to remain collected.

Dalin shook his head. "Sorry, little prince," he repeated. He pressed a hand against Loki's sternum to keep him steady while the other hand lowered the knife down to just under his ribcage. The tip pressed against his skin; Loki could feel just how sharp it was now. He trembled under the blade.

"Thor, help me!" Loki couldn't help the terrified cry he let out.

The first drops of blood fell.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait!