The pressure alone knocked the breath from their lungs. It was not a smooth ride like travelling the Bifrost. For a brief moment, Thor believed they were all going to die, that Loki had stooped to murder-suicide. Being shoved through a hole in space the size of a needle-prick was apparently enough to make even Thor cry for death. But the fear passed with a loud pop and a crash. The personal flyer skidded through black earth.

"Ta-da," Loki sang flatly.

They had arrived in Svartalfheim. The Dark World.

The realm was eerily quiet. This feeling was not unlike their first visit to Jotunheim, when Thor was still brash and Loki was still innocent.

"We should go over the plan," Thor said.

"If it makes you feel better," Loki murmured, "don't."

They flew over the wreckage of a ten thousand year old battle. Shattered remnants of giant ships littered the ashen ground. Something like a castle blended into the scene, just as dark and jagged and broken as everything else in this wretched landscape. Thor draped his cloak over Jane's shoulders and stroked her forehead. The woman rested uneasily at the front of the flyer.

"What I could do with the power that runs through those veins," Loki sighed.

"It would consume you," Thor growled, giving him a dark look.

The raven haired prince in return gave something akin to a pout. "She's holding up alright. For now."

Thor sat close to Jane. "She's strong in ways you would never even know."

Loki remembered a time he once thought the same of Siv. "Say goodbye," he urged.

"Not this day," Thor whispered.

"This day, the next, a hundred years, it's nothing." Loki stood. "It's a heartbeat. You'll never be ready. The only woman whose love you've prized will be snatched from you."

"And will that satisfy you?" Thor interrupted, glaring up at him. Was this Loki's idea of a joke, to gloat down at him as he feared for his mortal? Was this payback for a thousand years of hurt chasing his own?

"Satisfaction is not in my nature," Loki hissed.

"Surrender is not in mine," Thor challenged.

Loki took it. "The son of Odin," he started, smirking angrily.

Thor stood. "No, not just of Odin. You think you alone were loved of Mother? You had her tricks, but I had her trust!"

"Trust?" Loki spat. "Was that her last expression? Trust? When you let her die?"

"What help were you in your cell?" Thor scoffed, nearing.

"Who put me there? Who put me there?" Loki shouted.

"You know damn well! You know damn well who!" Thor pushed him down into the edge of the flyer, fists threatening to bloody up that mask. He would have struck, too, if not for remembering his vow to be a better man. If not for the fact that Loki was just as upset as he. Thor pulled away, struggling with the anger in his chest. "She would not want us to fight."

Loki's face softened as he shrugged. "Well, she wouldn't exactly be shocked."

The brothers shared an empty smile.

"I wish I could trust you," Thor admitted. He backed away and turned, going to Jane's side once more.

Loki stood. The smile faded from his lips. "Trust my rage," he whispered.

The mortal at the front of the flyer stirred. Her eyes opened. Were they always so blue? But they were unnatural; her sclera were flooded with black tar, staining her eyes. She looked like one of the dark elves.

"Jane," Thor tried.

"Malekith," she whispered, peering over the edge of the flyer. The last dark elf ship hovered on the horizon. Loki landed the personal flyer behind a small hill; the three stepped off and headed toward the edge of the slope.

Here they were, the unlikely trio. The God of Thunder, the God of Lies, the Mortal of Nothing in Particular (except a strange and supposedly destroyed liquid rock of a weapon), to face off against a handful of doll-masked creatures thought dead for ten millennia. Where had they even come from? Loki had long suspected their arrival after seeing the fire beast become the fire beast in the dungeon. Once, Odin taught them about Svartalfheim's quest to return the world to darkness, about the war, about the Kursed. The one distinct memory the raven haired prince had of his "father" and it was about war for blindness.

'What a bland way to live. Blind. If only you could have slept a bit longer and waited for the Ragnarök,' Loki thought with a wave of grim humor. He had a lot of those waves lately. It came with the incurable sickness.

"Alright. Are you ready?" Thor asked, looking down at Jane.

"I am," Loki answered snidely. The couple gave him a look. The Aesir brothers stood. "You know this plan of yours is going to get us killed."

"Yes, possibly," Thor muttered. Loki offered his shackles to him. The golden haired prince hesitated.

"You still don't trust me, Brother?"

"Would you?" Thor chuckled grimly, removing the shackles.

Loki smirked. "No, I wouldn't," he breathed, and shoved a knife into Thor's gut. It felt wonderful to push him off of the slope. Payback for earlier.

"Thor!" Jane screamed.

Loki jumped down the slope after his rolling body.

"No," she whimpered, trying to do the same.

It must have been very inconvenient for her to have not known the entire plan. In the back of Loki's mind, he briefly wondered if Thor refused to tell her solely because she would have slapped them both. He had no time to ponder that, now. He had to play the villain Asgard summed him up to be.

The villain that he was.

"You really think I cared about Frigga?" Loki hissed, "About any of you?" He kicked Thor hard in the jaw. Ah, this truly did feel wonderful. A rumble echoed around his words. "All I ever wanted was you and Odin dead at my feet!" Not exactly untrue.

Thor reached for Mjølnir; Loki grabbed him by the wrist and sliced his hand clean off. Thor groaned in pain. He did a terrible job of acting. At least he tried. The hammer fell with a heavy thud. Jane ran to her god, panicking. What could she have done? She was only a human. Loki eyed her with disgust, grabbed her by the waist and pulled the struggling mortal to her feet. The dark elves neared him, unsure of what to do.

"Malekith!" Loki roared. "I am Loki of Jotunheim, and I bring you a gift." He shoved Jane to the ground. She looked up at the elven leader in fright. "I ask only one think in return," Loki continued. "A good seat from which to watch Asgard burn!"

Malekith went to Thor. Towered over him. "Look at me," he ordered. When Thor would not look, he kicked the prince onto his back. The dark elf levitated the mortal and extracted the Aether. Finally, he had his weapon.

Jane dropped to the ground, robbed of the liquid stone. Loki smirked.

"Loki, now!" Thor shouted. In a flash of magic, Thor returned to his natural self, hand still in place. Loki ran to Jane, protected her between the ground and his chest. The golden haired prince summoned his lightning and sent it straight to the heart of the weapon. A great explosion followed; shards littered the ash. It was over.

In the dust, the shards lifted themselves into the air, reforming into one substance.

The dark elves must have known this would happen. Malekith did not look particularly distressed over the potential destruction, but he also did not gloat. In these serious moments, Loki could not help but feel the overabundance in his lack of caring for this photophobic race of cowards. There were more pressing matters on his mind than the outcome of this battle. Actually, in a way, that was a lie. But Loki felt an overabundance in lack of caring about that, too.

Malekith and the fire beast turned to leave. Their doll-masked soldiers came forward to stop the Aesir. They were weak opponents for Thor, seeming as doll-like as they looked; the fire beast threw a bomb in their general direction. Loki shoved Jane to the ground and out of the way. This was going to be his noble sacrifice, if there ever was one. He pretended to turn to run, and the bomb imploded. Loki felt himself pulled into the black hole technology.

Thor slammed into his side, pushing the raven haired prince out of the gravitational force of the bomb.

'You,' Loki thought with a sigh as the Aesir pulled themselves to their feet. He would have to find another way to commit his valiant act.

Thor glided away with Mjølnir, engaging in battle with the massive fire beast. Loki was matched against four elven soldiers, all clad in the same doll-like masks. He sighed again, tossing his knife from hand to hand. His self-righteousness would not allow him to be killed by such weak things. And they were weak. Loki finished them without suffering any damage. How did Malekith expect to get anything done with servants like these? Loki turned in search of Thor.

The battle was not leaning in the god's favor; the fire beast trapped the golden haired prince between the solid earth and a barrage of fists. Loki's anger bubbled hot; only he had right to do that. Granted, he never once had the strength to do so before, but if he had, he would have imagined to be something quite like that. He robbed an elven carcass and shoved its blade unceremoniously through the back of the beast's chest. The beast stumbled. The Aesir assumed it felt some sort of shock, though it seemed wholly unaffected by the sword sticking out of its chest. The beast turned, grabbed Loki by the shoulders, and stabbed him through the lungs with the blade's protrusion.

'Oh, not like this!'

His world went white for a moment in searing hot fire as his body understood what happened, then bitter black and cold as eternal winter consumed his insides. Loki began to feel afraid, in spite of himself. This was what he wanted, right? 'Well, it's too late to go back now!' his brain snarled. Even magic could not fix this hole.

"No!" Thor howled.

The beast threw Loki to the ground. That was fine; Loki would not be crushed to bits. "See you in Hel, monster," the raven haired prince hissed through chattering teeth. Everything was so cold. Had he ever felt this cold? No; this was terrifying.

The fire beast understood only too late. The black hole bomb at its hip imploded, dragging its master along with it. It roared in pain as its body folded in on itself. It was a pleasing sound to Loki's failing ears, like being submerged in the sea, to hear the angry waves crash overhead. Heavy thuds neared him. It was Thor.

"No, no, no, no!" he stuttered, pulling Loki into his arms. The raven haired prince's hands grew cold and ashen against the mighty prince's chest. "Aye, you fool, you didn't listen," Thor murmured, holding him tight.

"I know," Loki panted. Sarcastic comments would get him nowhere now. He was scared – so scared, and he was dying – he did not expect it to feel like this, to die painfully – Thor was watching, he only ever wanted to die alone. "I'm a fool, I'm a fool." The ice spread over his lungs, he could feel it. It stole away his breath, made it hurt just to try. Everything hurt.

"Stay with me, okay?"

"I'm sorry," he wheezed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." And maybe he was sorry, for the cold spread exponentially fast and it was very hard to focus on telling lies. He was drowning in winter. He could never apologize enough – oh, gods he was scared – it never felt like this before – asphyxiation was more desirable than this.

Thor shushed him quietly. "It's okay," he smiled, nodding through the tears in his eyes. This was a death far better for his brother than any hate crime or Ragnarök. He was valiant and brave and fought with a cause. He was a warrior. "It's alright. I will tell father what you did here today."

Loki trembled in his arms, struggling to stay alive for just a little while longer. All his life he demanded control, yet could not even control his death. How miserable. But as the ashen husk enveloped, and the more the internal winter took hold, Loki no longer felt the pain. He relaxed with a soft breath. The last bit of warmth seeped from him in a tear. "I didn't do it for him," he whispered, staring up at his brother. Yes, after all that, Thor was still his brother. He just could not get rid of that golden haired arse. Fortunately, Thor could finally be rid of him.

Thor paused, guilt seeping into his bones. But he waited too long to say another word, and Loki closed his emerald eyes. The mask faded and Loki became his true, simple form. That Jotun husk, grey-blue and cold, clad in a simple tunic and simple trousers.

The raven haired prince was dead.

"No!" Thor howled again, the tears streaming from his face. He sobbed over his brother's corpse. A storm raged around them, stirring up the ashes in an unforgiving whirlwind. Jane came forth and sat beside him. The golden haired prince sobbed and sobbed. His mortal could do nothing but watch. She felt the sorrow grip her heart, but Jane could not mourn for the man who wreaked havoc on her life. The storm drew closer by the minute, threatening to swallow them all like Loki's winter.

"Thor," Jane finally whispered, "Thor, we have to go."

"I cannot leave him," Thor choked out. "I cannot leave him on this ungrateful realm, this place of hatred. We must bring him back to Asgard. We must prepare a longboat."

Jane rubbed his shoulder. "We can't, Thor. There's not enough time. We have to stop Malekith." It took coaxing, but Thor finally settled to move his dead brother to the flyer, covering him with his cloak.

"I am sorry for all the times I wronged you," Thor muttered through his tears. "I am sorry you were whisked into this awful mess of prophecies and hatred. I am sorry I was not the brother you needed me to be. When you see Siv again, stay with her. Don't let her go, don't push her away. It is just like you to block out the ones that love you. And greet Mother kindly. She believed in you til her last breath. Be well, my –" Thor cupped his cold, grey cheek, laughing in spite of himself; "– my troublesome little brother, be well. I will join you someday, and we shall be a family again. We can start over. I shall see you in Valhalla. You are deserving of such a glorious place.

"Bye, bye, blackbird," he whispered, stroking Loki's dark hair. And then the storm was too much for them, and Thor unwillingly left his brother's body to be buried in ashes.

҉

It was a cruelly beautiful morning. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, spilling golden light over the snow. The clouds were exceptionally fluffy and complimented a rosy pink sky with an array of reds and purples. A white weasel bounded through the drifts. Loki stared at it curiously. It paused by his feet, sniffed, squeaked up at him. Follow me, it seemed to say. So Loki did. The furry white weasel led him across frozen hills and past frozen lakes and through frozen meadows and around frozen trees, all the way down to a lonesome little tent in a clearing. The breeze smelled faintly of smoke and boar meat. The air tasted delicious on Loki's tongue. The weasel had no time for Loki to stop and sniff the air. It ran tight circles around him, urging him forward. Loki knelt and crawled inside.

The tent was warm and cozy. A bed of furs padded the floor, and a circle of down-feather pillows served as a wall between it and the thick skin of the tent. Loki found himself suddenly very tired, and he gratefully crawled under the furs. The weasel scuttled over the bed and curled up next to Loki's cheek, purring quietly. Wolves howled in the distance, calling for their companions. They were lonely things, and hungry, too. They were the outcasts of other packs, the weakest links, the runts of the litter. Perhaps they would band together and tell stories of their parents while curled up in a mountain cave.

A pair of spindly arms snaked around his chest. Loki did not want to open his eyes. He was too tired. But he knew who it was, and he gave a sigh. A warm little face snuggled into his shoulder. Loki willed one eyelid open.

"Siv," he grumbled out, "stop clinging, I am trying to sleep. You're too warm."

She whined quietly and gripped his tunic. He sighed in mock annoyance, pulling the little girl on top of his chest. She grinned and nuzzled under his chin. Loki briefly wondered if this was what it was like to have a daughter. He wrapped her up in his tired arms. His chest did not hurt, though it should have. And he no longer had that mind numbing headache, and his back was not sore. But he was still so dreadfully tired. Loki could not escape his constant exhaustion, even in death.

"I'm dead," Loki realized suddenly, looking down in the general direction of Siv. He could only see the top of her head over the bridge of his nose.

She nodded against his chin. "Mmhmm."

Loki flopped his head back into the pillow. The weasel squeaked in annoyance. "Oh, finally," he breathed, relieved.

"I've only saved you once, though."

"Oh, that," Loki nodded, remembering. "'Thrice'. Why was it so important? Why would you bring me back?"

Siv sat up, giving him a look much older than what should have been possible for an eleven year old girl. "Because I am eternal and I can," she sassed.

Loki laughed. It was a strange sound, a real laugh. Not a hollow one, or a broken one, or even a sarcastic one. An honest laugh. He hadn't done that for years.

"Besides, there is no such thing as death. Only birth."

Loki snorted. "Well, if that were true, we would have a rather unfortunate overpopulation crisis."

Siv sighed and swatted at him lazily. The little girl collected the white weasel and crawled out of the tent. Loki groaned. That probably meant he had to follow her. He pulled himself out of the furs and went back out into the sunlight. She helped him out of the tent, holding on to his hand. Loki looked up. Siv was tall. Ah, no, he was short. A child again. Loki sighed. But Siv was no longer young. She stood somewhere between eight hundred and a thousand years old, by Asgardian standards. He was once one thousand and forty eight. In all his talent for learning, he never quite understood why the Aesir used a Midgardian calendar.

It was then that Loki realized the morning sunlight was not sunlight anymore. They stood alone in the vastness of space before one single star. It was not hot, though it swirled in a fury so bright, Loki had to shield his eyes. The tumult of light dissipated to reveal a much smaller, much more important rock.

A little blue cube.

"This makes twice," Siv whispered.

Loki looked up at her.

She winked playfully at him.

҉

Loki awoke, gasping and sputtering. His lungs burned. His body ached. His husk crackled and fell away, leaving great chunks of his ashen skin in pieces on the floor. Floor? He was flat on his back in what appeared to be the personal flyer, a cloak draped over his face. A heavy layer of black ash coated it. Best to leave it there. Loki gripped his chest, unsure of what to make of the situation. His tunic was soaked in dried blood, but he bore no gaping wound. Only a pearly white scar told the tale of the battle. Why was he alive? And then the memory, the dream, the hallucination of the cruelly beautiful morning flashed in his mind, and Loki gave an angry hiss.

"Damn," he snarled. "Damn. Damn it all!"

But above himself, he heard the distant clamor of soldiers. They must have been new recruits, and young, because they cursed and carried on and made quite a bit of noise. Loki recognized one of them to be the third guard from the dungeon. Ah, yes. That wretch.

"There are elf bodies all over the place," one soldier grunted, tripping over them.

"Try to find Malekith or the weapon," another called out.

Only three so far. The rest seemed to be too far away.

"What is this?" dungeon guard number three murmured, tugging at the cloak over Loki's face. The raven haired prince stuck his knife in the poor man's throat and traded their faces. He could keep a skin of magic on a dead body quite easily.

"I've found something!" the guard (Loki) shouted, once maneuvering the dead body into place. "I think this is the body of that devil, Laufeyson! He's dead!"

Just like that, Loki infiltrated.

11:45

21.4.14