A/N: I have a couple of things to say before we get started... Firstly, sorry for the delay in posting this. It's been finished for a while but I was on holiday in the middle of nowhere in France and there was no internet connection anywhere. It was torturous. On the bright side it means that I've already made a start on the next instalment so you should have that soon hopefully. The second thing is just to say thank you to all of you who are taking the time to read (and hopefully enjoy) this story, and also to everyone who leaves a review. I really appreciate all of them and they make the writing feel that much more rewarding. I reply to as many of them as I can but to those of you who are guests or otherwise have disabled the PM setting on your account, this is me saying thanks!

For a brief few moments, Elsa was lost in darkness, helpless as she fell deeper and deeper into the throes of oblivion. The blackness surrounding her was absolute, pressing in on her until she felt as though she were drowning in it. Though she could see nothing, Elsa sensed that she was tumbling, whirling out of control. The sensation built until her stomach churned and her head felt foggy because of it. Her arms flailed like she was trying to swim, but it did little good. She continued to spiral downwards, but the longer it went on, the more Elsa felt sure that it was not her that was spinning, but her surroundings. She tried to focus, tried to make it stop, but the more she strained herself, the more tumultuous her thoughts became. Flurries of broken images flashed menacingly in the gloom, called forth from the depths of her mind, but before Elsa could pin any one of them down to analyse it, it vanished.

She saw the vaulted ceilings and gilded corridors of Arendelle Castle and Anna standing in mourning garb before her parents' portrait. Elsa longed to reach out to her, to comfort her sister now, though this particular memory was years old and no amount of contrition on Elsa's part could change the fact that she had been too afraid to go to Anna when it could have made a difference. At any rate, the image was gone and a new one had taken its place before Elsa could lift a finger. She saw the view of the fjord from her bedroom window; felt the bite of the cold as winter winds buffeted the peak of the North Mountain; heard Olaf giggle and gush about the joys of summer; all things so familiar to her that the memories could have been real, so vivid were the details her mind conjured up.

But not real enough.

Elsa's frustration grew until it threatened to bubble over. How was it fair that despite all her suffering, even after all her efforts to keep her people safe, she came to be exiled, left alone to be taunted so by memories of those she loved. Unlike some sorcerers and elementals, her powers had not been taught or bestowed upon her; she had never had the benefit of tutelage because no one had ever known what to make of her abilities. No one, that is, except the trolls, but after the incident she had been forbidden to even leave the confinement of her room, let alone the palace walls, and the trolls left their mountain dwelling for no one, not even a princess. So she had grown up deprived of any company that might have provided some respite from her interminable battle against the storm that raged within her.

Or had she.

Something scratched at the back of her mind, an incessant niggle that hinted at something revelatory. Elsa squeezed her eyes tightly shut and focused on expanding her mind, tendrils of consciousness reaching out, probing cautiously, curiously at the thought that irked her so. She felt herself growing close to the truth and excitement swelled in her chest like a caged bird unfurling its vast span of plumage as it prepared to take flight. This secret-that-should-not be-a-secret, so clandestinely buried in her own mind, called out to her. Elsa got the feeling that she had waited a very long time to discover whatever this secret was.

Elsa gently took hold of the tantalising morsel and it responded in kind all too vigorously. The truth surged forth and locked her in a stranglehold, robbing her of breath. As suddenly as the tide turns, the veil that had obscured parts of her history from her was ripped from her eyes with an alacrity that made Elsa gasp in spite of her breathlessness. So strong was her newfound conviction that a bright white light surged up around her, a conflagration of icy luminescence to chase away the shadows that crowded her.

Elsa felt rather than saw her surroundings change, temporarily blinded as she was by the intensity of the light. She blinked, frowning as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. When the white haze cleared behind her eyelids, Elsa gazed around, hoping to see something recognisable that would give her some clue as to where her wandering thoughts had taken her now, for she now felt sure that she was dreaming. To her dismay, the landscape she now found herself in was as inscrutable in its blankness as the previous one had been in its darkness. The only real difference was that now Elsa could feel ground beneath her feet and air on her face. Before there had just been... nothing.

She turned on the spot, eyes scanning the vacuous space almost desperately, but wherever she looked was alabaster, with no end and no beginning. Only the feeling of solidity beneath her feet indicated that Elsa was in fact somewhere.

But where? she growled inwardly. She was losing her patience. This was her own mind, was it not? There was very little that Elsa had had control over in her life, but she intended to retain the right to decide what went on inside her own damn head. Elsa felt the familiar tingle in her fingertips that meant her icy powers were stirring, but rather than succumbing to the temptation to let them flow through her unchecked, she suddenly had the inexplicable urge to hit something instead.

As if in answer to her silent conniption, a sound broke the oppressive silence, faint and muffled, but unmistakably there. Elsa focused on it with all the will she could muster and the sound became clearer. It sounded like someone crying, muttering something between shaky breaths.

"Conceal, don't feel... Conceal, don't feel..."

Elsa's eyes widened perceptibly as she recognised the words as well as the tremulous voice that spoke them. Her voice.

A scene began to take shape and Elsa could clearly make out the familiar sight of her old bedroom. It was just as she remembered. There was the wall made up of shelf upon shelf of books, all read so many times that Elsa felt she could recall each and every title; the floor to ceiling windows, fingers of sunlight reaching through the icy panes to bathe the plush blue carpet in soft grey light; the huge bed made even more cavernous by the azure drapes of the canopy, now twinkling like the night sky under a dusting of light frost.

Viewed like this, Elsa could almost see the beauty in her abilities, but when she caught sight of herself, a black mound huddled fearfully against the far wall, unceasing in her utterance of the mantra her father had repeated to her constantly, all positive thoughts vanished from Elsa's mind. I remember this, she thought grimly as she spied the mourning garb. I remember this all too clearly.

It was a day or two after news had returned to Arendelle of her parents' deaths and Anna had just come looking for Elsa, no doubt seeking the sisterly comfort that Elsa craved more than anything else, and yet was unable to give or receive for fear of harming her sister. Any minute now, Odin would appear and offer her both commiseration for the past and warnings for the future should she allow her grief to manifest in a way that posed any threat to the realm.

Elsa frowned as she stood there watching herself. Why of all her memories had her unconscious mind conjured up this one? She knew it well enough already; it plagued her by day often enough without it appearing in her dreams too. She had felt so sure that whatever she had caught hold of in the darkness had been something new and illuminating, but truth be told this was a little... disappointing.

However to Elsa's surprise, when the door to her chambers opened soundlessly, the person who entered was not the Allfather, but a woman. She stood erect as only one of royalty could, and her attire was only further confirmation of that assumption. Fiery orange silks hugged her womanly shape, which was apparent even despite the fact that a wrinkle or two creased her otherwise porcelain features. Chestnut hair streamed down her back in rivulets and she regarded the cowering Elsa with bottomless blue eyes that shone with grace and fidelity and wisdom.

A mother, Elsa decided at once from her vantage point by the window. She was now standing in rapt attention, thinking that she might be about to learn something new after all.

Elsa watched the exchange with interest, gasping when the woman said her name was Frigga. Loki's mother! Though Elsa supposed she was not his true mother. All the same, Loki clearly loved her more dearly than anyone else on Asgard and so Elsa regarded the woman with more respect and admiration than perhaps was due considering she was still by all accounts a stranger.

Elsa paused for a moment to consider her motivations for such feelings. Clearly it had to do with her affiliation with Loki, but Elsa was either too innocent or too stubborn to delve deeper into the matter. She brushed the thoughts aside. I only want to understand why I feel as though I know him.

She looked on, astonished at how gentle and understanding Frigga was. So different from Odin, with his sharp tongue and tactless threats. Elsa felt a small tug in her chest as she considered just how badly she had needed someone like Frigga to guide her through childhood. Instantly she felt guilty, as though she were forsaking her own mother. The queen had done her very best for her eldest daughter, and had been strong for her husband and second-born right until her dying day, but she had not known what to do about Elsa any more than had any of the masters and mages she had sent for from the furthest reaches of the known world.

Her thoughts were scattered and she was pulled back to reality (well, almost reality) when she heard the Queen of Asgard mention a familiar name.

"Loki..." Elsa breathed as the door was pushed open for the second time and a young man with raven hair and jade eyes crossed the threshold.

For the most part Loki looked as Elsa knew him to look. He had the same fine young features and lean build, the same penetrating gaze and easy, languid gait. But despite all the aesthetic parallels, there was definitely something different about this version of Loki, though Elsa could not put her finger on it.

She continued to observe, letting the scene play out. The longer Elsa watched, the more familiar it all seemed to her, and she felt her mind begin to coalesce with that of her younger self, her emotions all aligning dutifully. She felt the same unease when first presented with a stranger; the cautious delight when she realised that Loki was someone she could confide in; relief after her burdens had been allayed; awe at Loki's demonstrations of his own powers; pity, gratitude, fascination, hope. Elsa felt it all. It pained her that somehow, unbeknown to her, she had been deprived of such beautiful memories.

Elsa was almost disappointed when Frigga returned, signalling that the memory was almost over. She watched the exchange of tokens with wide eyes, suddenly recalling the smooth ice-like gem set into Loki's cuff and revelling in her newfound understanding of its significance.

At the thought of Loki (the real Loki) Elsa felt a tug deep within her. Slowly the ground began to slip away beneath her feet. Though she fought to stay grounded, she could not resist the force pulling her upwards, away from her blissful reverie. She stole one last look at herself and the young Loki and was shocked to see him gently brush away a wisp of her hair and press his lips to hers.

All too soon, the world began to return to darkness. As the shadows wrapped themselves around her once more, Elsa thought she heard someone whisper something into the void. She felt her awareness dimming and so made a final, desperate attempt to make out the message. Six words drifted to her ears through the blackness.

"Until next time, my ice queen..."

Elsa's eyes fluttered open, the tender touch of memory still playing at the edges of her mind, Loki's whispered words hanging in the air around her like fruit waiting to be plucked.

She pushed herself onto one elbow, grimacing as a wave of nausea washed over her. Swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat, Elsa noted that she was still in Loki's chambers, though at some point during her spell of unconsciousness he had moved her to the bed and swathed her in blankets.

The swaddling seemed a little officious to her at first (after all, she did not feel the cold) but when she reached up from beneath the blankets to brush a stray hair from her eyes, her arm became covered with gooseprickles and she shuddered. With a frown Elsa pressed her palm to her forehead and was shocked to find that the skin felt clammy and feverish. She sat up straighter, but the movement was too sudden and her head swam. A faint whimper escaped her lips and something stirred on the far side of the room. Loki had been hunched over the empty hearth, his hand resting on the mantelpiece, and his head pressed against the back of his wrist. The light was failing outside and the Asgardian's dark hair and attire had allowed him to blend so well with the lengthening shadows that Elsa had not noticed him, but at the sound of movement he turned to face her.

It was all she could do not to gasp. Elsa had thought that Loki's features were uncommonly fine, and so they were, but until now she had had naught to measure them against. The man that stood before her was but a shadow of the youthful one from her dream. No, she corrected herself sharply. Not a dream, a memory. One I must not forget this time.

The difference that Elsa had perceived in the younger Loki but not understood now became clear to her: this Loki was broken. Though no more than a few years had passed between then and now, the Loki from her memory was a green boy by comparison. He had yet to know true pain or fear, had still to discover the truth of his heritage, and receive the devastating blow that everything he had ever known was a lie; that the kingdom he had seen fit to call his home and his birth right had been little more than a cage to keep him returning to his own kin, a race whom everyone he had grown to love despised and reviled. To protect him from the fearful gazes of those around him, he had even been given false skin.

The Loki of memory had seen himself as a prince; the Loki who stood before her saw himself as a monster.

Elsa's fingers itched to reach out to him, if for no other reason than because she understood his agony. But instead of leaping out of bed to embrace him, she remained still.

"You're awake," Loki said, his voice so flat and weary that he could have been making an observation about the weather.

Elsa bit her lip. "How long have I been unconscious?" she asked. She was sure that it could not have been for any extraordinary length of time but she knew not what else to say. You mean you're afraid you might say something stupid, called a voice from somewhere inside her head. She ignored it.

Loki regarded her strangely, as if deciding whether or not to reveal a secret. Then, with a sigh he said, "Almost three days."

"What?" Elsa sat bolt upright, regardless of how her body protested. "But I only fainted! I can't have been out for that long, surely..." She trailed off. She thought back to what had transpired after she blacked out. The memory itself hadn't taken more than an hour to play out, but Elsa couldn't say how much time she had passed in the darkness beforehand. Then something occurred to her. "You're still here," she said. "You stayed."

For a moment Loki looked confused. "Yes," he responded simply.

For some reason her stomach did somersaults at the word. Elsa kept her expression measured, however. If she had learned anything of Loki since their (second) meeting, it was that seeking to draw close to him almost invariably only served to drive him further away. Like me. The thought made Elsa sad for a moment, but she didn't understand why his remote nature should make her feel so, and she pushed the thought aside.

You do know why, came the voice again.

What is that supposed to mean? she shot back in annoyance.

Admit it, the voice crowed. You want to be close to him.

I do not! Elsa declared hotly, but then she suddenly recalled the feeling of his lips brushing against hers, his fingertips grazing her temple, and a blush crept up her neck. She hoped desperately that it wasn't noticeable, but she was such a pale thing that all hoping was futile.

"Is your fever getting worse?" Loki asked, a hint of worry creeping into his tone. He moved swiftly to the bedside and crouched. Elsa held still as stone as he reached out a hand to press against her forehead.

Even from afar Elsa had immediately noticed that Loki was not his usual self. He had appeared slightly stooped, perhaps a little tired. Now that he was at close quarters Elsa saw that the reality was in fact much worse. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and dark circles hung beneath them like storm clouds; his hair had lost its luscious gleam and was in desperate need of a good combing; his clothes seemed a little bigger on him than she remembered. She immediately castigated herself for being so stupid. Of course he looked so haggard, he'd had no food in three whole days.

When Odin had exiled her, he had taken certain measures to ensure her comfort. She needed only think of food and it would appear by some sorcery he had had embedded in the castle. The furnishings were all his as well, though being aware of her 'skills in construction,' as he hadput it, the structure itself he had left up to Elsa. But, of course, she had not been thinking of food whilst she was unconscious, and so Loki was likely half starved.

She took Loki's hand in hers and lowered it back to the mattress where his other was splayed. "I'm alright," she assured him with a soft smile. He gave her a dubious look. "A little humiliated, to be sure. Fainting like some delicate swooning maiden, how embarrassing," she lamented. "But rest easy, I am well, save my wounded pride."

Loki quirked the corner of his mouth up in a grudging half-smile, and Elsa found herself fascinated with the way his lips were both soft and hard, full and thin. Clearly she stared too intently and for too long, because Loki cleared his throat and retreated. Elsa almost laughed. What did I expect? I'd have done the same.

Silence reigned for a few uncomfortable moments. Loki had his back to her again, but he turned his head slightly and said, "What happened?"

Elsa shifted uncomfortably. She knew what had happened, but she still did not fully understand it. Why did it require her to touch the token she had given to Loki in order to regain her memories? More to the point, why had the memory been taken in the first place? And by whom? There were so many questions, but in that instant all Elsa could think was, I don't want you to know what happened. If I told you the truth you'd either laugh at me or hate me and I don't think that I could bear either.

She took too long in answering, and Loki turned to face her fully, suspicion brimming in his beautiful eyes.

Hells, Elsa chastised herself. What's happened to me? I can't go five minutes without admiring something about the man. It was absurd; Elsa must have been approached by at least a dozen handsome high-born men with offers of marriage at her coronation ceremony, but for all their charms and graces she had turned the lot of them away without batting an eyelid. And I can be sure that none of those little lordlings were half so damaged as this man, even if his eyes are so very beautiful.

He repeated the question. "I can tell you know something, if not everything. No, don't try to deny it, I can see it in your eyes." Elsa took a deep breath to steel herself for what had to be said. Evidently she could not lie to him. As if to confirm that latest realisation, Loki said, "Don't worry. I won't get angry, whatever it is."

Elsa blinked at him. "Am I so easy to read?"

He shrugged. "I just assumed. I was... less than pleasant, shall we say, during our last talk." He seemed to be finished, but then he blurted, "And for that I'm truly sorry." He fixed her with a gaze so intense a blind man would have been able to see the plea for forgiveness that his eyes sang of. He still thinks himself a monster, she realised. And he expects me to see the same. But I don't... How can I make him understand?

Elsa shook her head vigorously. "You can ask my forgiveness if you like, but you shan't get it." She thought her heart might break at his forlorn look which was so tragically uncharacteristic and so she hurried on without pausing for breath. "I might as well toss coppers at a king's feet; it would be more a slight than a gift, for he does not need it."

He seemed confused, so she elaborated. "The last time we spoke, you showed me your true form and told me that you were a monster, but all I saw was Loki of Asgard, still. Yes, you had blue skin and red eyes, but you were, and are, the same person." She tilted her head. "And so far I've seen nothing of Loki to warrant him being labelled a monster. You're just a man who felt too deeply and fell too far."

It was Loki's turn to shake his head. "How can you be so..."

"What?" Elsa probed softly.

He chuckled. "I was going to say 'understanding,' but that doesn't even begin to cover it." Elsa smiled wearily and patted the bed, indicating that he should join her. She half expected him to frown and put another pace between them, but Loki was either too tired or too polite to argue and so he seated himself on the edge of the mattress.

"When I was a girl," she began, "no one saw my powers as a threat. I was a child who could make it snow at will, where was the harm in that? Some even went so far as to say I was blessed. After the accident with Anna, however, that all changed. I was locked away like some wild animal. Even my parents feared me, though they tried their best to hide it. I knew though, and the knowledge ate away at me every single day." She paused and drew her knees up to her chin to cover her chest, behind which her heart felt as though it were being eaten all over again. Only when her arms were locked tightly around them did she feel strong enough to continue. "I tried to prove to them that I wasn't bad, that I could control it, but the more time went by, the more I started to believe what I saw in the eyes of all the serving maids and doormen and kitchen boys, few as they were since my parents sent most of the staff away. Before I was even old enough to know the real meaning of the word, I had decided that I was a monster." She looked up at Loki through thick lashes. "How could I hate you for judging yourself the same way I judged myself?"

There was such warmth in Loki's eyes all of a sudden where before there had been only pain, like sunbeams breaking through a bank of dismal clouds. He reached out his hand again, this time cupping her cheek in his palm. His thumb traced her cheekbone and his eyes bored into hers for a moment before drifting to her lips, just as hers had done a few minutes before. He's going to kiss me, Elsa thought. Then, Don't be ridiculous, he wouldn't even sit next to you without you telling him to. Her heart fluttered frantically anyway, though whether for excitement or dread she could not have said.

It was almost a disappointment to her when Loki sighed and lowered his hand. "How anyone could think you a monster, I will never understand."

Elsa filled her lungs with brisk mountain air. It nipped at her throat as she sucked it in, but the cold was welcome and it gave her the courage she needed to say the next few words. Still, when she spoke her voice was scarcely a whisper. "You've told me as much before, you know."

Loki's brow furrowed, trying to recall when such words had passed his lips. Finding that he had no recollection of any such event, he begged her explain.

"You may recall during our last, er, chat I said some things about feeling as though we had met before somehow..."

Loki groaned. "Not this again. Elsa, I told you, I have no memory of you before I walked into your castle five days ago."

"But you felt it too, didn't you?" she demanded. He looked away from her but Elsa was not to be deterred. "Didn't you? Don't lie to me, Loki. You're as easy to read for me as I am for you. I know you felt it."

"I felt it," he conceded, but the lost, doleful look was in his eyes again. "But I don't understand it."

"Nor do I, really," Elsa admitted. "Not fully anyway, but I learned some things when I was unconscious." Loki cocked an eyebrow at her, clearly unconvinced. She nodded to the slight bulge on Loki's upper arm where her ice token was laid in gold. "It was because of that."

"This?" he said, feeling it through the fabric of his shirt. "I know you collapsed when you touched it but how can this have anything to do with it, Elsa? This was a gift from -"

"From your mother, yes I know. I also know that she has long chestnut hair and eyes so blue and bottomless, yet so full of kindness that you feel as though you could fall into them without drowning. I know that she can make images dance through the air and that her wisdom and understanding is so great that at times it seems she's reading your mind, but you never feel exposed or violated, just... safe."

"How can you know all that?" Loki asked, astounded.

"Because I've met her."

"When? Why did you never tell me?"

Elsa sighed. There was no turning back now. "Because until I touched that cuff of yours I did not remember."