Loki was walking through the halls of the palace on Asgard, his footfalls echoing along the empty passage ways. There was a physical pain in his chest when he considered that he might never be able to return here. He felt homesick looking at the towering gold walls and exquisitely decorated halls.
His feet had subconsciously led him to his chambers. Hesitantly pushing open the door, he entered his old room and looked around wistfully. It was exactly as he remembered it. The bed was sloppily made, the covers hanging off the sides at awkward angles. His desk was just as messy, with papers, scrolls and open books scattered untidily across the broad oaken surface.
A fresh wave of pain washed over Loki as he remembered the days before his anger and jealousy had consumed him; the days when he had been content to lose himself between the pages of a book, convinced he could find all the answers he needed hidden in their inky embrace. He reached out to touch them, overwhelmed by an insatiable longing to run his fingers along their bindings, as if that alone could reverse all the harm he had done since he last perused their pages.
He turned as he heard a loud crash behind him. His door had been flung open, and in the archway stood Odin. Loki's blood seemed to freeze in his veins. He opened his mouth to speak but the words caught in his throat.
But then the Allfather smiled and crossed the room, sweeping Loki into a strong hug.
"My son," Odin laughed, voice booming in Loki's ear. "You have come home!"
Loki was astounded. "I – I am not your son," he stuttered, unable in his shock to say anything else.
Odin pulled away, and it was all Loki could do to keep from crying out, because the face he saw was no longer that of Odin Allfather, but rather the patterned blue face of Laufey, the frost giant who had fathered Loki, and who Loki had murdered.
"Yes," Laufey said, his voice like gravel. "You are my son, and none of your pathetic magic tricks will ever change that."
Loki tried to push him away, but Laufey's hands were clamped around his shoulders. "You're dead," Loki protested weakly, cold sweat starting to bead on his brow.
"No, boy. I am you, and you are me. You are my kin, and as long as you breathe, I cannot die."
Loki shuddered. Laufey laughed, harsh and guttural. "You cannot escape me, Loki Laufeyson. You are a monster, just like me. My blood runs in your veins."
With those words, Laufey raise his arm into the air, an icy blade forming in his fist as he did so. Loki gasped as he brought it down, plunging the frosty dagger into his flesh and spraying blood over the books he had so cherished.
Loki's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright, panting as he clawed at his shoulder where he had felt Laufey's blade pierce his flesh. It was just where the shard from the Bifrost had hit him, but there was no new wound. His Asgardian body had served him well, and the wound had already healed. He groaned, passing his hand over his face. His skin was cold and clammy, and his hair was damp with sweat, as were the sheets that lay tangled around his limbs.
He knew he would not be able to fall asleep again and so he swung his feet out of the bed and stood up, somewhat shakily. He had not bothered to undress properly before falling asleep, only removing the top layer of armour. Now he removed all but the base layer so that he was only wearing a simple black tunic and a pair of thin trousers. Both were torn but he had no other option.
He pushed open his door and made his way out into the hallway. It was still night outside, and the Jotunheim darkness was absolute. Loki was only able to see where he was walking because of the strange luminosity of the castle's walls. His boots clicked softly on the icy floors but the silence of Elsa's palace remained largely undisturbed. Loki was not sure where he was walking to, but his restless mind would not allow him to stay still, and so he wandered the halls of the castle, the horrors of his dream fresh in his broken mind.
Elsa stood on her balcony looking down upon the frozen wasteland below. Her face was void of expression but her mind was swimming with thoughts of the strange man who slept down the corridor.
She had seen his green fire come shooting through the clouds and so had been prepared. She had watched him stand on the far side of the bridge gawping up at her castle, and had had half a mind to summon her snowy doorkeeper to deal with him. He had made her immediately suspicious; he was not a Jotun, but no mortal could have scaled the North Mountain in the state he was in, so she had had to conclude that he was from Asgard, since no other realms were known to her.
This had not surprised her. Elsa hadn't expected Odin to spare her for long, and a small part of her had been happy. She hated it here. She had always been isolated, but at least in Arendelle she had been close to her sister, if not really with her. Here on Jotunheim all ties to what little of her family remained were severed and her powers raged more out of control than ever. Just earlier she had set off a blizzard simply because she had remembered when Anna had stood on this balcony with her, begging her to return to Arendelle. Of course, that had been on Midgard and now she was on Jotunheim. All things considered, it had probably been a mistake to make her castle here look the same as the one she had built at home. There were too many things here to trigger bad memories.
However, despite all of this, Elsa did not wish to die. There was a hopefulness inside her that refused to be quenched, and it told her that if she could stay here until she learned to control her curse, Odin would let her return to Arendelle and see her sister again. And so when she had seen Loki approaching she had been ready to defend herself. But something about him had stopped her. There was something in his stance and the way his eyes glinted with that suppressed mischievousness that struck a nerve deep inside her, but she could not for the life of her think why. Whenever she tried to place where she had seen him before the thought slipped out of her reach. It was infuriating, like trying to make sense of a half-remembered dream.
She tensed, the feeling of being watched making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She gripped the railing on the balcony a little harder.
"Who's doing the sneaking now?" she said without turning around.
Loki shifted uncomfortably and stepped forward onto the balcony. He had not intended to stop and talk to his host, but he could not help but watch her. Elsa had been standing with her head tilted slightly to the side, giving away the depth of her thinking. He found the curve of her neck and the way her hair fell - not a hair out of place and yet appearing somehow tousled at the same time - very distracting. He didn't like it one bit.
"Forgive me. You appeared engaged. I didn't wish to disturb you," Loki said, only letting the slightest hint of his irritation seep into his tone.
"It's all right," Elsa said. "I was only thinking."
There was a brief silence as the two just watched each other slightly warily, though each had very different reasons for doing so.
Elsa put her distrust to one side and sighed. "Can't sleep?" she asked.
Loki shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "Too much on my mind, I suppose."
Elsa nodded knowingly. "I know the feeling," she said a little sadly.
Loki eyed her sceptically, not believing she could comprehend the things he felt, but the look in her eyes made him reconsider his doubts. She was young, not much older than twenty by the looks of her, and yet lived alone in a mountaintop fortress in one of the most barren of the nine realms. And then there was what she had said when they first met, when she had immediately assumed that Loki had been sent to kill her. Considering this, Loki felt his curiosity be piqued.
"Really?" he asked, stepping forward so that he stood next to her at the balcony's edge.
She laughed and looked up at him. "You seem surprised."
"I'm rarely surprised, my lady. Although I am curious about you."
"Likewise," she replied. "You're strange, Loki of Asgard; I can tell that much already."
He smirked down at her. "You're not wrong."
"Tell me," she said, her blue eyes wide and encouraging.
"All right then," Loki said. "A trade: my story for yours."
"Agreed," Elsa responded. "You first. I want to know how, and why, you managed to climb to the top of my mountain."
Loki chuckled darkly. "It wasn't easy. I got caught in a blizzard on my way up. I've never seen a storm rage with such - ," he stopped when he saw Elsa's face. "What's wrong?"
"Sorry about that," she murmured apologetically. "I was a little upset."
Loki didn't understand her meaning at first, but then the pieces clicked together. The blizzard, the lonely ice castle, the snowy hair and ice blue eyes, and the mysterious 'curse'. He almost laughed. "That was you?" he said incredulously.
Elsa grimaced. "My curse," she explained. "I can control ice.''
Loki stared at her with mingled awe and fascination. Elsa stared back, searching for some trace of fear. Finding none, she was faced with a situation she was unfamiliar with. Loki presented her with the opportunity to confide in someone who had no preconceptions about her, and who placed no pressure on her to be anything she wasn't.
So they stood beneath the stars, and Elsa recounted her life to him. At first she was hesitant, telling only the most elemental things, but slowly they grew more comfortable in each other's' company. The gap between them lessened until their arms were almost touching. Loki stood rapt as Elsa told him stories of her childhood; the emergence of her gifts, the accident with Anna, the spiralling descent into helplessness that followed, and her isolation. He could relate to her loneliness in a way he had never expected to connect with another person, and so became almost distressed when she retold the events that transpired after her coronation. Her escape from Arendelle, the visit from her sister, the attempt on her life by the Duke of Weselton's guards, her imprisonment and subsequent escape onto the frozen fjord, and her sister's act of bravery as she threw herself in front of Hans's blade just as she turned to ice, a result of Elsa's powers. Elsa explained how even after she had saved Anna and thawed Arendelle, she had known there would be consequences.
Sure enough, as soon as Elsa was alone, Odin had appeared. Elsa had protested only weakly when he insisted that she be exiled. Loki's calm façade began to chip away at this part of Elsa's tale. His anger at Odin was exacerbated as he learnt of his involvement in Elsa's misery.
"I don't understand," he said through gritted teeth. "You unfroze your kingdom. You learnt to control your powers, just as he wanted you to."
"All the same, there was no way of knowing for sure that what I did wasn't just luck," Elsa replied sullenly.
Elsa's quiet acceptance of Odin's actions only fuelled Loki's anger. "What my – what Odin did was wrong! Where is his sense of honour?"
"You must try to understand, Loki. The lengths Odin went to in order to protect Arendelle and other kingdoms from the frost giants were immeasurable. He explained to me that the magic in the wards he placed on the kingdoms was so strong that it gave the land and everyone living there longevity of life."
Loki looked at her incredulously. He had never heard of such powerful sorcery, and certainly not used by his – by Thor's father. Odin had always frowned upon Loki's fascination with conjuring, seeing it as a coward's weapon and favouring Thor's strength and natural tendency towards hand to hand combat.
"He told me," Elsa continued, "that this was why he could not take the risk of allowing me to remain on Midgard. Because I could potentially endanger not only Arendelle, but the world beyond the wards, which he tells me has gone on developing and growing."
"Well, he wasn't lying to you about that. The Midgardians have certainly progressed beyond horse-drawn carriages and triple-masted sailing ships. But that doesn't condone the way Odin acted. He is the Allfather, and should know better than to banish one as gentle as you to a wasteland like this," he spat, gesturing to the frozen expanse below them.
Elsa looked at him with placid eyes, but Loki saw the storm raging behind them. She reached out and touched his arm, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Loki could feel her cool fingertips brush over his skin through his shirt, and was confused by the sparks of electricity that seems to flow through him at the contact.
"It's all right, Loki," she murmured, as though he was the one in need of comforting. Perhaps he was. "Really, I'm fine."
Loki frowned, baffled by her willingness to forgive when there was so much for her to be furious about. She was so much like him in that she had suffered isolation all her life, and eventually been exiled for trying to do what was right, and yet they were so different. She had supposedly accepted her fate; Loki, try as he might, could not do the same.
Elsa sighed. "I know we agreed to trade stories, but I am tired. Perhaps you could stay another day, so that I might hear your tales from Asgard."
Loki nodded, surprised at how readily his answer came to him. "I would like that very much."
Elsa smiled more widely than Loki had been expecting, and he felt himself smile in return, conscious that his suppressed happiness at being accepted by Elsa was reaching his eyes and giving him away. She made no comment, however. She just wished him a good night before turning back into her castle, leaving Loki alone, but less lonely than he had felt in years.