- Three Years Later -
Loki was breathing heavily, clutching the end of his golden staff as he dangled in empty space, the Bifrost tumbling away beneath him. Thor had a hold of the other end, and Odin of Thor. Loki's eyes were fixed on him. All the emotions which had been driving him over the past weeks were broiling under the surface: anger, jealousy, betrayal, even love. There was a visceral need inside him to prove both to Odin and himself that even though he was not Loki Odinson, but Loki Laufeyson, he was worthy of Odin's love and approval.
That need was there even now, when he knew he had failed yet again. "I could have done it, Father!" He yelled, voice cracking. "I could have done it! For you! For all of us."
Odin held his gaze. "No, Loki."
He spoke quietly, so it was a wonder he was heard over the strength of the winds. But his words were clear enough to Loki. In that moment, he felt his heart, along with the hopes he had built up, shatter like the rainbow bridge that was crumbling away as they spoke.
Thor saw this in his brother's eyes. He watched the last of the mischievous light dissipate and be replaced by a barren darkness. "Loki, no!" He bellowed, because he understood what was about to happen.
Loki did not hear him. He heard nothing; saw nothing but Odin as he relaxed his grip on the staff, his last tie to his family, and was pulled backwards towards the stars.
His hair whipped his face as he fell. Constellations swirled around him like he was inside a kaleidoscope. Intensely coloured cosmic clouds were sprinkled with stars, a harsh contrast to his thoughts, which were black and empty.
He fell, unsure of his destination. Not really knowing if he had one. Was he even alive? Part of him hoped he was not.
Shards from the Bifrost were swirling around him, their jagged edges whistling past his body. He did not notice them until one slid through a chink in his armour and into the flesh of his shoulder below his collar bone. A gasp escaped his lips as a searing heat flowed through his chest and left arm. His vision began to blur and fade as pain clamped him in its vice-like grip, the energy from the Bifrost trapped within the shard spreading throughout his entire body.
Loki was on fire; he was sure of it, the pain was so intense. But through the agonising haze, Loki felt something calming. There was a point on his arm untouched by the heat, and he focused on that point with all the strength he had until his mind capitulated and his eyes slid shut.
When he woke he was no longer falling, but lying on his back, staring up at a steel grey sky. He resisted the burning pain in his shoulder and pushed himself into a sitting position, looking around him. Desolate planes of ice spread all the way to the horizon, undulating slightly but remaining mostly flat until they met a line of craggy mountains which shot up into the clouds.
"Jotunheim," he whispered, appalled that he recognised the landscape so easily.
He had no idea how he had gotten here. The only solution he could come up with was that he had somehow found the strength to teleport after he lost consciousness, though he could not understand why his unconscious mind would decide to bring him to Jotunheim. It may have been his birth place, but it was not his home; he had no home now, having been cast from Asgard. Even so, he would never willingly return here. Loki had been so ashamed and angered at his connection to the ice realm that he had tried to destroy it and wipe its foul race from existence.
Then why in all Nine Realms am I here? Loki wondered silently.
He tried to think back to the moments before he blacked out, but all he could remember was the pain coursing through his veins. He winced at the memory. Loki was still in pain, but it was no more than a ghost of what had been there before. He pulled himself to his feet.
It was evident from the way his knees trembled that he was too weak to teleport anywhere and so Loki decided to find shelter. The mountains were the only landmark as far as he could see and so he made for them.
The walk was not long, only a few miles, but it took him over an hour in his weakened state. To make matters worse, as he reached the foot of the nearest mountain, the temperature plummeted and snowflakes began to fall. Within minutes Loki was fighting his way through a full blown blizzard. His emerald cape, torn and dirtied, whipped around his ankles and he lifted his arm to shield his face from the bite of the wind. The cold had never had much hold over him for reasons he had not understood until recently, but there was force behind this storm; anger and pain, as though the elements were at war with their emotions.
Loki felt himself falter and fell to his knees, grunting with exertion. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the sky cleared and the storm was gone.
Forsaken lump of ice, he thought angrily, climbing to his feet and brushing himself off. It's a wonder I'm the first who's tried to destroy it.
He had reached the mountains regardless. He pressed onwards and upwards, through narrow passes and along chasm edges. His original purpose had been to find shelter, but despite passing several caves, something kept pushing him on. It was like an inexplicable tug somewhere deep in his stomach; an instinct, perhaps.
He trudged through thick snow for hours, climbing ever higher. When he was just below the cloud line, he stopped. It was surely madness to continue any further, but curiosity got the better of him. He held out his hand and summoned a ball of flame which he then sent shooting off into the cloud. It very briefly cut a gap in the foggy veil before it closed back up again, but in those few seconds he saw something glint, and could not resist investigating.
As he emerged from the clouds, he came to a halt, his jaw dropping slightly. A huge structure towered upwards at least three hundred feet, its majestic towers and spires shining like prisms, their myriad soft colours seductive in the pale sunlight. It clung to the side of the mountain as though they were one, and appeared to be made entirely of ice. This was not the work of frost giants. Loki had seen their architecture. It was dark and aggressive looking, but what stood before him was a masterpiece worthy of Asgard.
Hesitantly, with steps weighed down by exhaustion and pain, Loki staggered across the surprisingly sturdy bridge spanning the chasm between him and the castle. Loki could think of many reasons to stay away from the castle and whoever lived there, but he could feel his strength draining, and the thought of possible death did not frighten him, but compelled him, for what reason did he have to go on living anyway?
He lifted his arm and thumped his closed fist against the towering sheet of glass that was the front door. It opened almost immediately, though no one had touched it. He stepped warily across the threshold and stopped, once more taken aback by the beauty of what he saw.
He was standing in a large circular room, bare save a fountain - which was more ornamental than functional as the water was frozen and hanging in icy tendrils - and the sweeping staircase which passed over it. Broad pillars towered upwards to support a vaulted ceiling and the crystalline chandelier which dangled precariously over Loki's head. He saw his breaths come out in puffs as he turned on the spot, mouth open.
Suddenly Loki sensed another presence in the room. He turned to locate the presence and found something he had not expected. A young woman stood at the top of the stairs looking down at him warily. A pair of wide blue eyes and thin pink lips were set into a dainty face. Her hair was swept back from her face in a long, snow-coloured braid that fell over her shoulder. Loki was awed, partly by her beauty, and partly because he could not believe that a woman like this could live in such a desolate place. His reaction irritated him, and he hardened immediately.
"There aren't many people who can sneak up on me," Loki said flatly.
"There aren't many people who climb to the top of the North Mountain," the woman retorted without hesitation.
There was a moment of silence as the two summed each other up. "Who are you?" she said finally.
"I am Loki of Asgard."
"Loki," she murmured thoughtfully, a look of confusion flitting across her face. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Why are you here? Has he changed his mind after all, and sent someone to kill me?"
It was Loki's turn to be confused. He did not know who this woman was, or who the 'he' she spoke of was, but what she was implying insulted his pride. "I have no idea what you speak of, but I am no one's attack dog. I am a king."
"And I am a queen," replied the woman calmly. "Or was. But regardless of status, you are under my roof, so I'll ask you again: why are you here, Loki of Asgard, if not to put an end to me and my curse?"
Loki was becoming frustrated and increasingly puzzled by this woman. He did not enjoy being puzzled. "I can assure you I've not come to kill you. I don't even know your name, let alone anything about a curse. I simply seek shelter for the night, if Your Grace would be so kind."
The woman watched him for a long moment, deciding whether or not to trust him. He seemed like the type to whom lying was second nature, and she did not believe for one second that he was king of anything. On the other hand, he was in a terrible state; his lip and cheek split, his green tunic stained with blood and his lower legs caked in snow that she imagined would be freezing for anyone other than her. Elsa was many things, but even after everything she had been through, heartless was certainly not one of them.
"My apologies. Isolation hasn't done my manners any favours. I'm Elsa of Arendelle. You're welcome to rest here for the night, since I don't believe you've come to kill me."
At this Loki grunted. She was a little slow on the uptake, this Elsa. She gestured for him to follow and they made their way through the castle, Loki trying desperately to focus on something other than the incredibly distracting sway of her hips. She stopped outside a set of doors and turned to face him.
"You can use this room," she said. "It should be comfortable enough, though I'm afraid I can't do anything about the temperature."
"That's all right," Loki replied, smiling bitterly. "The cold never bothered me anyway."
Elsa stared at him for a moment, slightly bewildered. She wasn't sure what he meant by that, nor did she particularly care to find out. There was something strangely familiar about him that she found unsettling. "I've decided to trust you, Loki. Please don't make me change my mind."
With that she left him, sweeping back down the corridor the way they had come. Loki watched her for a moment, amused, wondering what such a delicate thing could possibly do to hurt him, before pushing open the door to his room and collapsing onto the bed, exhausted. Within minutes he had fallen into a deep sleep.