In which Loki has learned some life lessons and his outlook toward the world is just a little better.
"Are you ready?"
Loki felt his chest tighten, but he gave a short nod. He stood at the end of the Bifröst, his mouth dry as he lingered at the entrance of the Observatory. He wore simple armor and brought with him no weapons, nothing—nothing but the Casket between the spaces.
"Loki," said Thor. He stood behind Loki, a hand on his shoulder, and Loki wondered how little Thor thought of him if he did not trust Loki to take a trip on his own. "You do not have to go alone if you do not want to."
"Well, there's the catch," said Loki. "I do want to go alone."
He was apprehensive—there was no denying that. Scared, even, if he would dare to admit something as drastic as that. But he did not want Thor or the Warriors Three or anyone to accompany him to Jotunheim. This was his journey, his wounds to mend, his apology to make. The idea of backing out now did not cross his mind; only the Observatory and its yawing pathway through the stars.
"I ought to be back in less than several days, if even not today," said Loki. "You don't have to pine for me here."
"I will not," said Thor. His hand tightened on Loki's shoulder.
"I'll be fine," said Loki. "I am not so weakened."
"Bring Sif to accompany you—"
"Please, Thor," Loki said, his voice roughing up on its own. "I'd rather be on my own two feet until the end instead of you babying me as if that would push the inevitable further away."
A silence fell between the brothers and Loki realized how tactless he spoke. He refused to look at Thor, but he could still feel that broken gaze on the back of his head.
"All I mean," Loki said more calmly, "is that I'm perfectly capable. I'll be back as soon as possible, and I'll be all right. You mustn't spend your life worrying more about me than worrying about Asgard, or yourself for that matter."
"How can I help it?" Thor said. "When neither would be the same without you."
Loki let himself give a wry smile. "Composing love sonnets for your Jane have certainly left their mark on you."
He stepped into the Observatory, where Heimdall waited at his post to deliver him. Thor lingered behind, backing away to where the others who had seen Loki off stood. Loki let himself look back once, to his mother and father waiting down the Rainbow Bridge, to Thor, to Natasha and Steve who made time to bid him goodbye, and realized that they all trusted him—that at any other point in his life before this he would be accused of treachery or treason or mischief for disappearing on his own to Jotunheim, but now this was no longer the case. Truly, how far had he gone?
"Are you prepared, my prince?" said Heimdall.
Loki smirked. "How is it," said Loki, "that you would so readily show obedience to me as a mere prince than when I was rightful king?"
Heimdall said nothing. Loki drew his hood over his head as the Observatory began its spin, the gold and flashes of light meshing into a brilliant blur. The powers of the Bifröst hooked onto him with sturdy fingers and jerked him through its opening, rushing him through the folds of Yggdrasil.
Jotunheim was a lonely blue dot in the backdrop of galaxies, by far the weariest and rundown of Realms. Loki could feel that familiar gale of cold as he drew closer to the Frost Giants' home—how it did not swathe him with clean comfort as the cold usually did, but instead penetrate him cruelly like needles. The reason for this change in his sensitivity did not go unnoticed and he placed a hand over his chest as if that was all it took to squelch the Mind Gem.
Landing on his feet from the Bifröst was less smooth than expected and he stumbled in the snow, nearly falling to his knees. His head pounded and he rubbed his chest to regain his heavy breath, shivering uncontrollably as gusts of snowy wind nearly toppled him over. He pulled himself together, drawing his hood closer as he trekked down the crag that the Bifröst left him.
"Heimdall, not a word to the others," he muttered before coughing into his fist.
Jotunheim looked barely any different since the last time Loki set foot on the barren ice. The civilian towns, which had always been farther off from the castles and temples, were barely in sight from where Loki stood, and the buildings that were meant to be grandiose in size and style were thinned with age. The ground was uneven and old, fissures marring its surface from where the Bifröst once scarred it.
Clear signs of skirmishes presented themselves in the form of overthrown rocks and crumpled statues; the Kree clearly liked to play with their food before they ate it.
With each step that brought him closer to the Frost Giants, his heart shuddered. Each beat was a nervous kind of beat, the one that made the chest hurt and the lungs feel out of place until something sour and irrepressible ballooned in his stomach. Every time Loki was on Jotunheim, someone somewhere wished him dead (namely Laufey, now that he remembered). What made this time any different?
From a distant, he saw shadows moving in the snow. His mind panicked without his permission and his steps faltered, stumbling in the snow. His sudden movement must have caught their attention, because out of the corner of his eyes he could see the forms moving faster toward him. He swallowed hard, knowing that they could recognize him the minute they saw him, but forced himself to hold his head high as he struggled to take one step after the other forward.
The snow froze without warning about his ankles and he fell sharply. He panicked as the snow encircled around his wrists, locking him in place. Lifting his head, he could see the figures running now, hands outstretched as they commanded the snow and ice to their bidding, freezing Loki's skin as it handcuffed him to the ground.
No, this certainly wasn't supposed to happen. He hadn't done so much as breathe in Jotunheim and already he was getting arrested. He called up a surge of magic to melt away the snow, but resignedly let it go. If he wanted the Frost Giants' cooperation—if he wanted to help them—he couldn't make himself look like a threat.
He could only raise his head enough to look upon the Frost Giants' knees when they approached him. A rough hand grabbed him by the collar and jerked him up until he looked into the face of the one that apprehended him. A dark, gruff Jotun face glowered at him, so close to Loki that he could feel the cold breath freeze his lips every time the Jotun exhaled.
"Who is it?" the other Frost Giant said. Loki could not see him, but he sounded young like a pageboy. "Who intrudes upon our home?"
"I do not bring harm," Loki said, his breath tightening as the guard jerked his head higher. "I come only to speak with your queen. To bring warning to Jotunheim."
"He's an Asgardian," the guard said with a grunt. "And he came with no warning."
Loki couldn't see, but he was certain an ice dagger was poised in threat before him.
"Declare yourself, Asgardian," said the guard. "Why do you come unannounced to Jotunheim? Check his body—see if he has any weapons."
Stiff hands patted down Loki's armor. Loki winced at the force and struggled in the ice bonds.
"I am Loki of Asgard," he said. "I come with aid to your queen."
"The fallen prince of Asgard!" said the guard. "Was it not he that sent the Bifröst to destroy Jotunheim four winters ago? That killed old King Laufey on his pursuit of vengeance?"
"Rumor had it that he was stolen by Thanos," said the page. "The Asgardian king claimed so himself, and yet here the prince is and here Thanos strikes."
"The All-Father spoke the truth," said Loki. "Thanos had taken me, and Thanos wages war on all the Nine Realms."
"Does he wage war in search of you?" said the guard.
"No," said Loki. "He seeks the destruction of all living beings for his own pleasure."
The guard cursed. "Then what brings you here? To witness the death of your so despised enemies yourself? To aid Thanos in Jotunheim's demise?"
"I come to help," said Loki. He could barely feel his face as the cold air numbed him. It disturbed him; never had the cold been so cruel to him before. "I've come in repentance."
"He is the trickster god," said the pageboy. "The Liesmith. How can we trust his word?"
"I am very aware," said the guard. His voice was low and dangerous.
"All I ask," said Loki, forcing himself from chattering his teeth, "is that I speak with your queen. Please. I swear, I will speak my matter and be gone, and it will not be of harm."
"Was that not the promise you paid to the old king?" said the guard. "That you would promise victory and security to Asgard only to kill him and attempt a massacre on our people?"
Loki was beginning to fully appreciate the fact that they had not killed him on the spot, if they still remembered his crimes.
"I have no weapons with me," said Loki. "And—if you take from me the silver arc on my chest, I will have none of my seidr available. Will you trust me then? This arc keeps my magic unbound, but if you take it from me it will be depowered." He tried to shift to show his chest to the Frost Giants, but found himself still bound by ice. "Bind me, blindfold me, drag me if you must, but I must see your queen."
His brutal honesty stunned the Frost Giants—stunned even himself, for that matter. Without his seidr and with all his senses and limbs bound, he would be utterly defenseless. All of this was not even for his own sake, yet it mattered not. It was cruel to risk the safety and victory of an entire realm all for his own.
"Is there trickery in this request?" said the page. "Shall we hit him in the head first to be certain?"
The guard grunted. "He barely has the strength to lift his head on his own. Any blow of ours will only kill him."
Loki felt the ice melt away from his ankles and wrists and he breathed a sigh of relief. Just as he managed to pull himself from the ground and onto his feet, a cloth pressed itself against his eyes, forced tightly to the back of his head. His arms were wrenched back and bound and he wondered how the two would react should they touch Loki's skin and reveal the truth.
"Come," said the guard with a stony hand on Loki's armored shoulder. "Do not try to escape. An Asgardian cannot undo the ice that blinds and binds you, and you will sooner fall into the chasms than reach the site of your Rainbow Bridge."
The irony of such a bind was overwhelming, but Loki made no reaction. Now that he could not see where he walked, each step was more labored and precarious. The ground was uneven from the debris of battle and the permanent scars on Jotunheim's rock, and many times he stumbled. He could feel the guard's fingers press tightly on his shoulder and wondered if his skin turned blue underneath the leather and metal.
But their footsteps soon shifted from padded snow to the echoing of clean stone. Clanging of metal signaled to Loki that other guards were present, and the murmurs of voices were all too clear. They were nearing the castle and Loki could almost hear his heartbeat double its pace. Who was to say the queen would not order his head the moment she saw him? Thor said that she had no affiliation with Laufey—that she rose to power as a result of a coup d'etat—but that did not mean that she held no love for the old king.
"Who do you bring?" demanded an older voice before them. Loki felt a hand pull at his collar and realized how very lucky he was that no one touched his skin. "An Asgardian?"
"Loki Odinson of Asgard, sir," said the guard. "He requests an audience with our queen."
"Pah! What gesture did he make that made you trust him so easily?"
"At ease," said another. "Did Asgard not extend a hand of aid and alliance to our queen? Nothing so far has shaken their promise."
"Metal weregild and a few hammers in exchange for the lives of our brothers and sisters and children. They may smith us a promise, but they can never prove one."
"He claims he has news that will help us against Thanos' attack on our home," said the guard. "That he seeks to provide for Jotunheim and their victory."
"The Asgardians were not so keen on our survival before," said the head soldier with a scoff.
"Begging your pardon, sir," said the page.
"Speak," said the soldier.
"If they were not so keen, they would have continued destroying us with the Bifröst, and they would not have wasted their time and resources on repayment," said the page. "The Kree are able to drive our men back—they are few, but immensely powerful. If perhaps this could be our hope, our strength—besides, our men and our queen will not be so easily overpowered."
What a wise, young page the men had. Loki could hear an exasperated sigh of resignation before the sound of metal scraping along stone as doors were thrown open to accept him. The air changed just a mite warmer as he was led inside the castle, each breath and footstep echoing in the cavernous hall; despite so, he shuddered.
"Our queen, our queen—someone bring her."
"She is on her way; we've had one fetch her already."
"What child is this? Who do you bring between you?"
"Quickly now, she comes—"
Many voices rose from the silence and Loki was only now aware of how many people must have been present. He nearly took a step back when he realized that he must have been right in front of the queen, in front of the ruler of Jotunheim whose hands currently carried Loki's fate if she so wished.
The binds and the blindfold fell from him and the blue light filled his sight. He realized with a jolt how titanic the hall he stood in was—the ceiling could house Yggdrasil full grown if it wished, the carvings over his head intricate and mysterious. The windows of ice stretched far and wide and permitted hazy blue light into the hall, making the Frost Giants look as if they glowed when it fell upon them.
And his eyes fell upon her.
If Laufey was sharp and coarse, like a snowstorm personified, then the queen was a nighttime snowfall in Jotun form. She was tall—shorter for a Frost Giant, but a good foot and a half over Loki—with black hair coiled in a braid down her back. She looked older, with thin cheeks and many millennia in her red eyes. Even with the lack of royal symbols on her skin or overbearing muscle that many of the men bore, Loki found her foreboding in a way that he found Frigga foreboding when he had done wrong in the past and her temper threatened danger to all near her.
"What is the meaning of this?" said the queen. Her voice resonated impressively.
"Mother, this Asgardian has requested an audience with you."
Mother?
Loki turned to see who spoke. His eyes landed on an adolescent Frost Giant, whom he had been so certain was a mere pageboy. He was small—unusually small, no larger than an AEsir of his age, coming up to Loki's chin. Loki forced himself to keep his eyes forward, in case anyone thought him rude.
"So you bind him like a stallion to be broken?" said the queen. "Come, let him step forward to me if he wants to speak with me."
Reluctantly, the guard let his hand fall from Loki's shoulder and nudged him to take a step. Loki bit down on the tip of his tongue as he stepped forth, keeping his gaze steadily on the queen.
"And which Asgardian requests this?" said the queen.
"Loki, son of Odin," said Loki. He bowed his head in respect, in the meantime letting his gaze wander to his surroundings. Indeed, many Jotuns were with them in the room, surrounding the perimeter. He wondered if every day was like this or if he ought to be flattered that they thought him as such a threat that required all the helping hands.
"The famed prince of Asgard," said the queen. "Last time you set foot on Jotunheim, it did not bode so well for our people."
"I remember that," Loki said, slightly irate. Had they not already driven it in his memory that he was the last person to trust, but the first person they needed this moment?
She scrutinized him; there was something in those red eyes that scoured his mind and he restrained from thinking too brashly in case it were the truth. The tension in the air was enough to shatter into an avalanche the moment something dared to break it.
"And what is it that you come here for?" said the queen.
"To bring aid to Jotunheim in the time of war," said Loki.
The queen's small lips stretched into a smile before lifting her head to gain audience of her people.
"I request everyone's leave," she said.
The Frost Giants murmured amongst themselves, disbelieving and wary. When no one moved an inch, the queen outstretched her hand. A long staff of ice formed in her palm and she slammed its end onto the floor. It echoed loudly like a cannon and the incessant mutters ceased immediately.
"I will speak with Odinson alone," said the queen. "There is no need for this audience fit for a play. Too many ears can dilute a conversation."
One by one, the other Frost Giants reluctantly filed out of the hall. Many an eye glowered suspiciously at Loki as they passed; Loki paid no heed to them, keeping himself standing stock still and calm in front of the queen. The air felt colder as more people left, and the realization that he stood alone with the very queen of Asgard who may or may not truly believe Loki's intention dawned on him. Epiphanies were evidently not rare when finding himself in an unfamiliar and very precarious situation.
"You too, my son," said the queen to the young Frost Giant, page boy no longer. "Go tend to your brother, quickly."
The adolescent nodded and followed his elders out of the hall. The door echoed as it closed behind Loki, loitering in the hollow roof of the hall when it was only him and the queen. He did not bat even an eyelash as she descended from her post, the ice staff still sturdy and gleaming in her hand. The only thing of him that moved was his eyes as they followed her when she drew closer.
"Well," she said. "You came to speak, and yet you are mute."
"It only impresses me," said Loki. "How quickly you decide to trust me alone when your people are not so willing. And rightly so," he added with an afterthought.
"I like to think I have a knack of detecting truth from lies when people speak to me," she said. "And when the infamous trickster admits the truth, it is far more obvious."
"Is it?" he said. "It seems that my reputation has arrived earlier than I have."
"And your magic is quite depleted," said the queen with a shrug. "Even if you were lying, a bat against the head would have knocked you down."
Loki raised an eyebrow. "It is worn down, but I would not go so far as to say depleted." He furrowed his eyebrows. "And I do not think I've done anything yet to make you assume I was in poor shape."
A smile quirked on her lips. "Seidr is not so difficult to detect, especially in a sorcerer such as you."
"You'd be surprised," said Loki, remembering the many times Thor could not tell the difference between Loki's projection and his true body. "But I believe seidr is best sensed by fellow practitioners of magic."
"Tut, tut. Making assumptions of the queen you're bargaining with. Not very wise," said the queen. "Sorcerers in Jotunheim are rare, as they are in any other realm besides Vanaheim, but they are not extinct."
"You are a sorceress?" said Loki.
"Not enough to pride myself as one," said the queen. "Magic can be learned, but it is also gifted. I'm afraid I've only the former on my side."
"And you, admitting your weaknesses to a stranger like myself," said Loki. "Especially with all your men away. Very wise."
"And you think that the only power that is in the world is that of seidr?" said the queen.
Loki opened his mouth before his lips twitched into a half-smile. "I suppose not."
He gazed out of the window of ice, the surface hazed and spinning the sight outside like meshing paint, much like a glass of honey. He thought he could see the city where the townspeople lived in the distant. The city was not magnificent, but it was humble in a gentle way, not anything like the bustling liveliness of New York City or Asgard.
"Jotunheim is different from Asgard," said Loki. "Very different."
"I do not mourn it," said the queen. She approached the window, a long finger trailing the ice and leaving a clear path. "Laufey's reign had militarized our home, forcing us into the idea of conquest when our own homeland was neglected in return. Even when our forces were defeated, he would rather build weapons and shields than homes and farms. I thought we could finally focus on our people, the ones we should care for the most, when I took the throne and received the aid from your people." She let out a wry chuckle. "Only then did true war fall upon us."
"It is not a bad thought," said Loki.
"What is?"
"A kingdom that does not need to think of war," said Loki.
"Unfortunately, no such a luxury exists," said the queen. "The rest of the Nine Realms look poorly on us, after Laufey's attack upon Midgard and his subsequent failure to protect our kingdom. If Thanos was not so wonderfully fair about his genocidal desires, I'd say someone else out there would be very willing to take us down."
"You spit Laufey's name from your lips as if it is poison," said Loki. "A rare risk. I thought the dead were to be renowned."
The queen's eyes narrowed and she curled her fingers to form a fist. "He was cruel. A merciless king—an unworthy father of Jotunheim. His heart had hardened long ago and it had never beaten since."
"I see," Loki said, his voice soft. "And you?"
"What of me?"
"Who were you before Queen of Jotunheim? A duchess of sorts? A famed warrior?" said Loki.
"You flatter me," said the queen. "I rose to power because I had the vision that Jotunheim needed."
"And truly, what is it that Jotunheim needs?" said Loki.
"Care," said the queen. "To remember that they are people to be loved and love one another. Not to be only warriors hardened with battle to achieve whatever ends that may not be worth it."
Loki bowed his head. "I should have expected," he said.
"And why do you think so?"
"A seemingly petty reason," said Loki. "Your son is small. Very small, for a Frost Giant."
The queen scrutinized him, choosing her words carefully. "You do not underestimate him for his size, do you?"
"How can I? He bound me to bring me here, did he not?" said Loki.
"Good," said the queen with a smile that showed all her teeth. "He is very adept with his defense, after all. Many a peer who poked fun at his younger brother has realized that very quickly."
"He is your firstborn, then?"
The smile on the queen's face slid like frost melting in spring, revealing the deadened and barren earth.
"No," she said, and nothing more.
Before the silence could fester into something painful, Loki took in a deep breath.
"I have the Casket of Ancient Winters," he said.
She blinked once. Twice.
"A strange transition of subject," she said.
"That was what I came here for," said Loki. "You cannot fight off Thanos and the Kree if you are already weakened. The Casket restores the balance of power to Jotunheim, and I…I want to return it to you."
"You are willing?" said the queen, her voice quiet. "After all these ages of being in the dark, now you bring us our relic?"
"Do you not believe me?" said Loki.
"Yes," she said, as blunt as Mjölnir. "Hardly at all. We were not even returned the Casket when your Bifröst nearly tore us apart."
"That is because Asgard did not possess it," said Loki. "I did."
She raised an eyebrow. "You? Begging your pardon, young prince, but the Casket is not meant to be handled by a simple AEsir. The All-Father, perhaps, but even his powers must surpass yours."
"You yourself said I was a wielder of seidr," said Loki. "If you could so easily sense it while it is unused, imagine its prowess when I had taken the Casket at my potential."
The queen licked her lips, searching Loki's face for a mite of explanation—of honesty.
"They were not incorrect when they said you were the one who unleashed the Bifröst on Jotunheim years ago," said the queen. "Many died that day. Many innocents died that day. And yet here you are, offering to return the very artifact that could easily undo all your hard work and protection of both Midgard and Asgard, appearing defenseless and humble, and I cannot find a single lie in you."
"You have much faith in your abilities to detect the truth," said Loki.
"It will sometimes fail me," said the queen, "but not today. I cannot afford to lose faith."
She held out a hand to him. "Come with me."
"And where will that lead me?" said Loki.
"Where you promised," she said.
The cryptic mood of her words did not go unnoticed, but Loki took her hand anyway. He felt the air shift around him, as if the floor under his feet jerked him from the spot and yet he did not move. The lights darkened around him and he found himself very cold and empty, as if borne in the hollow of a frozen tree. He recognized the teleportation spell the moment his head spun and he stumbled back, his hand falling from the queen's as she brought them to the new location. His boots caught on snow and he nearly fell, but not before she caught him by the forearm.
"Little legs really are the clumsy ones," she said.
Her hand was cold against his skin, even through the leather he wore.
"Where is this?" he said.
"The Ice Temple," said the queen. "The true home of the Casket."
It made sense, once Loki's eyes adjusted to the dark. The lonely podium that was perfectly sized for the Casket, here in the head of the room. His boots crunched the snow as he approached it slowly. The room was small, but with a tall roof that emitted a tired blue light. The walls were intricately carved with stories Loki never grew up listening to, and he could have sworn that in the corners of the room he heard the echoes of hymns he never fell asleep to.
And he knew—the last time he was here, he was a little baby, dying, wailing for mercy, abandoned until Odin walked through the entryway.
Was it this corner that he was tossed into, the one with a healthy pile of snow waiting to be nestled in? Was it behind the pillar, with barely enough space to squeeze a hand between? Did he, as a baby, even know he was abandoned within the stone, like the Chitauri baby he had killed, and spent what he thought was his last breath crying?
"What is on your mind?" said the queen.
Loki shook his head, his lips shivering.
"Questions, and nothing more," said Loki.
He raised his hands to the podium, his breath hitching. He realized, as his blood ran cold, that the moment he brought forth the Casket he would regain his Jotun form. What would commence then? Would it make a difference—for better, for worse? Would she think him a better ally or perhaps a traitor?
But this was beyond him now—of greater importance and purpose than what race he was or was not. It did not make a difference to Jotunheim if he was a Frost Giant or even a dwarf—they needed the Casket, and he could give it to them. And in the end, that was truly all the difference it made.
He took in a deep breath and called forth the Casket from the inner folds of the space between existence and magic. A cold rush enveloped him as the incandescent blue casket materialized between his hands, blue hues creeping from his fingertips to his wrist, following the trails of his veins up his arm and to the rest of his body. His fingers tightened around the slowly forming handle until the Casket completely solidified into existence, flurries spinning around its presence.
It settled into the podium and the effect was immediate. The power of Jotunheim bonded with its long-lost companion of the Casket and the Casket burst with light. Rivers of glowing blue that reminded Loki of the waters on Midgard streamed down the podium, snaking across the ground and lighting up the entire room. The icy powers criss-crossed along the floor as Loki's own magic fueled its revival, forming spider webs of life. He could hear the rush of magic like a whirlwind in his ears and his own arms shake as the Casket roared with power. This was the true power of Jotunheim—what Asgard had locked in a vault for centuries on end. This was its true purpose.
And as he was bonded to the Casket, he could feel how it healed Jotunheim. He felt the earth knit together, he felt the fauna flourish. He could see the buildings piece themselves together, more resilient than ever. The wind softened and the storms ceased and Jotunheim did more than survive—it lived.
He thought he could hear the earth singing to him—singing the tales he never knew. His senses became all in one—he did not see or hear or feel, but he was Jotunheim for a moment. He was what mended the cracks, what pumped the strength into the people's limbs and heart. He was what made the ice shimmer.
For a moment, he nearly forgot his name—that he was anything or anyone except for Jotunheim's Casket.
He didn't realize how the breath left his lungs for too long until his sight blurred, or how his grip on the Casket slackened, until he nearly fell back. The bond with Jotunheim broke immediately when he fell away, the Casket dimming to a peaceful hum. He stumbled into his senses, breathing heavily as his heart echoed in his ears. His knees shook underneath him but he refused to crumple. He will not fall. He will not fall.
There was silence, interrupted only as he caught his breath. He almost forgot the presence of the queen until her clear voice shattered his thoughts.
"Well," she said. "I suppose that explains why you could bear the Casket."
Loki said nothing. His breathing slowed to normal as his health and AEsir appearance returned slowly to him. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and let his gaze fall to the queen. She watched him, her lips pressed in a firm line, but her eyes shone with something undecipherable.
"Loki, son of Odin," she said. "Who are you, really?"
"I've told you the truth," he said. He flashed her a quick smile. "Else you would have noted the untruth in my words, would you not?"
She reached out and gingerly cupped his jawline. Her hand was cool and calloused and even without looking down he knew that his Jotun form was taking its place at her touch. She pulled away immediately, as if his skin burned her icy self.
"Thank you," she said. Her voice shook slightly. "For the Casket. For returning –it—to us."
"Do not thank me," said Loki. "It was meant for this Realm, after all."
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Where had all her silver words gone? Where had her composure fled between the unleashing of the Casket and now?
"You look unwell," said the queen. "Seidr indeed thrives in you, but it is fading, even if you claim it is not." She exhaled softly. "You are fading."
Loki closed his eyes.
"You are small," she said. "Small for a Frost Giant as well."
"There is a reason why I was raised in Asgard and not here," said Loki.
The queen's lips thinned but she did not press further. He said nothing more—he found that he could not. She reached out, as if she wanted to brush stray strands of black hair from his face, but she hesitated and withdrew her hand.
"Will Jotunheim be stronger now?" said Loki.
"More than ever before," said the queen. "For their hope has returned, and I will lead them."
He nodded, unexpected relief flooding his mind.
"I should return to Asgard," said Loki. "My family expects me back soon."
"Your family," she said. "The All-Father's family."
"My home," said Loki.
He thought he saw sadness in her eyes, but he could not tell so easily. Red eyes were harder to read.
"Let me escort you back, child," said the queen.
"I am not ill," he said. "Nor am I a child."
She gave a wry smile. "Even so, I would see you off. I can't have a foreigner wandering around unchecked for in my land, can I?"
He silently relented and let her lead him out of the Temple. The sight that welcomed him outside was stunning—nearly unbelievable. The ruins were rebuilt to their full glory, the sun shining more boldly through the snowy clouds. The ice gleamed with new spirit and Loki could almost feel the power of the Casket still thrumming within the small crevices everywhere around him.
But what was more astounding was the crowd of Frost Giants that stood around him. Young and old, men and women, noble and commoner—they surrounded the Ice Temple with stunned silence, and Loki noted that even their health looked fuller with the Casket in place. When their sanguine eyes fell on him, he noted how very small he truly was compared to them.
"The Casket has been returned to us," the queen said, her voice carrying over leagues and rivers. "Jotunheim is restored."
There was at first impenetrable silence—of disbelief, of shock—before a roar. Not a roar of victory or viciousness, but of joy, perhaps even celebration. Of thankfulness. Of the patience of waiting for a thousand years and finally the Norns had answered. Of rebirth.
And Loki felt so overwhelmed that he felt incredibly lightheaded. Here were the Jotuns that were supposed to hate him, supposed to never forgive him for the heinous crime he committed against them, and yet they were celebrating what he had done for them. They did not strike at him, spit at him, show any anger or hatred toward him. These were—in some indescribable sense—his people, and they rejoiced in him.
He did not know how long they had stood amongst the crowd in the Frost Giants' returned hope. He did not really know when he had fallen with fatigue and the queen had to hold his arm to keep him upright, or when eventually he was given a pure white steed to escort him to the Bifröst site. Everything was a blur, out of shock and weakness and relief. Mostly—relief. But the next thing he knew, he was upon a hobbling steed alongside the queen, her hand steady on him as they drew away from the city and the castle to the lone crag, and he realized that truly—this was how it felt to be fading.
No, not fading. Burning out bright.
He slid off the steed and back onto his unsteady legs. He no longer cared how weak he appeared, because inside—in his mind and heart—he felt rejuvenated. He felt strong. And strangely, repaired.
"I thank you," said Loki. "For the steed. And for accepting me into your audience."
"You really are a fool," said the queen. "It is I who thank you."
"I suppose we can have a trade-off, then," Loki said with a crooked smile.
She returned a genuine smile to him. "May I ask you something, child?"
"Yes," said Loki.
She watched him carefully, eyes shining like rubies.
"Are you happy, with the life you have?" she said. "Are you loved?"
Loki was silent at first. All of a sudden, he remembered the feeling of blood on his hand. He remembered the coldness of an abandoned star and how he let the breath fade from his lungs as the world ended before him. The pain, the humiliation, the torture that rattled his bones.
Of No, Loki.
Of you will wish for something as sweet as pain.
For the mercies that were never shown to him, the heartbreak that riddled his heart with scars. For every tear he shed and second of loneliness that hurt more than any knife.
The guilt on his hand and the lives tallying in his ledger.
Of Thor, holding him tight, crying for him.
Of Natasha who kissed away his tears.
Odin who forgave Loki the moment he saw him.
Frigga who cradled him from birth. Tony, who refused to leave his side. Bruce who healed him from the beginning, despite the slander Loki had wrought upon him long before. Steve wiping the blood from his arm. Clint who finally gave him a smile.
He thought of all his life, the long trek that took him everywhere, from pain to peace, hate to love, and oh, how difficult it was to reach this point.
"Yes," said Loki, and he meant it. He meant it. "I am. I do."
She smiled, and he could have sworn that shine welled up in her eyes. She bowed her head and he his before she hooked her hand around the reins of her steed, leading it away from the crag to let Loki depart.
"May we both win this war, little one," said the queen. When she smiled, she looked as if she already won peace. "May we both live."
"Wait," said Loki.
She stopped and turned around to face him.
"What is the queen's name?" he said. "That I may remember her?"
She hesitated, a breath escaping her lips, before finally acquiescing.
"Fárbauti," she said. "My name is Fárbauti."
"Queen Fárbauti," he repeated, and her name was easy on his tongue. "Until we meet again."
She closed her eyes and turned away from him, for what they both knew to be the last time, before leaving him. Loki craned his neck to face the sky, and the sunlight nearly blinded him.
"Heimdall, bring me home," he said.
Snowflakes caught on his eyelashes, and he was gone.