Sorry this took so long, guys. I've officially be diagnosed with carpal tunnel. It's early, so hopefully I can avoid surgery, but it means I've had to slow down.
Which is sooo annoying.
Anyway, we get to the new story arch after this chapter and I for one am pretty excited about. Thank you all so much for sticking around.
Enjoy!
1st beta: Heather
Final beta: Erica
Part II: In the Dark
Chapter 17: Birthright
When Loki opens his eyes it takes him a few moments to determine exactly why their bed resides in his mother's library, but when he recalls the details of these last days he longs for the blissful unawareness of sleep.
Groaning as he is bombarded by waves of sorrow and hatred and loss, Loki pulls the blankets up over their heads. He blocks out everything beyond this bed. The universe is devoid of occupants and horrors. It is only Eleanor and Loki under a fur throw.
His wife sleeps on, her whole naked form angled towards him. Her hand rests on his chest, a possessive claim that pleases him endlessly. In the night she's shoved her feet between his calves. They seem eternally hot, even when the rest of her shivers, and she often seeks his cool skin to chill her feet, a habit that follows her in sleep.
Loki wonders how he would bear this on his own and is immensely thankful that Eleanor is with him now. Never again will he be alone, if she is to be believed.
And he does indeed believe her.
For now, anyway.
"Are you doing that creepy thing where you watch me sleep?" Eleanor's voice is garbled and she has yet to open her eyes.
"Guilty."
He touches her cheek. Her eyes stay closed.
"How many times did you bang the tall blonde doctor? What's her name?" she murmurs.
Eleanor's mind will forever be a mystery to Loki. Why she asks about such meaningless drivel so early is arcane and she is ruining the illusion of there being no world outside their blanket cave, but Eleanor's jealousy is a rare and refreshing thing. Loki would honestly rather discuss this than more pressing and depressing matters.
"I do not recall," Loki replies.
Eleanor's eyes remain closed and it makes her attempted glare an adorable one.
"What don't you recall? How many times or her name?"
"Both."
"Uh, try neither," Eleanor replies, fighting her smile as Loki trails a fingertip down the curves of her chest. "You remember everything always."
"Her name is Sigyn. And our affair was brief. No more than a year."
"A year is not brief." Her irritation in this is somewhat delightful, yet totally misplaced.
"It is when you live for thousands."
"Okay, yeah. Good point."
"This was all centuries before your birth, my love," Loki reminds her, still lightly drawing patterns on her skin. He traces his Jotunn runes on his wife, but still she does not open her eyes.
"Did you love her?"
Loki snorts. "No."
"She loved you."
"Unlikely."
"She totally did! It was obvious."
"It matters not. I much preferred her brother."
That finally gets her eyes open. They are wide and shocked for a moment before they narrow in suspicion.
"Are you fucking with me?" she asks.
"I would never."
"How did I not know this?"
Loki shrugs, pulling the blanket a little more firmly over their heads.
Eleanor looks past him at nothing, expression dreamy and eyes glassy.
"Eleanor?" he asks.
"Hush." Her expression is far away.
"Eleanor."
"Dude, you are ruining it," she says, placing a palm over his mouth. He jerks it away.
"What do I ruin?" he snaps.
"And I've lost it," she says, rubbing her eyes. "You've ruined it."
"What have I ruined, exactly?"
"You ruined my mental picture," she replies, pouting.
Understanding dawns and he rolls his eyes. "Really, Eleanor."
"Is it weird to be jealous of something and turned on by it at the same time?"
"Yes."
"You know, I was with plenty of ladies in my day," she informs him.
"Enough! I feel jealousy only. And also rage. I hate everyone to ever touch you, regardless of gender identity."
Eleanor laughs and kisses the corner of his mouth.
"I love you," she says. "I am ridiculously in love with you."
"Good," Loki says. "My mother is dead." The words come to his lips unbidden and suddenly the world outside the blanket is a very ugly presence. His chest is tight and he knows not what to do with his rage because those responsible for her death are dead also. Loki killed one, Thor the other. There is no more vengeance to be had.
Oh, and now he's made his wife cry.
He fears he will be the cause of her tears with greater frequency in the near future.
"Yeah," Eleanor murmurs, tucking her head beneath his chin. He holds her there. "She's really gone."
"My mother is gone and my false father is mad and my brother has unknowingly left us here to navigate the mess," Loki says.
"He's got to be back soon, right?" Eleanor asks, lifting her head to look at him. Their breath mingles hot, trapped under the furs. "I get that he's making up with Jane, but he's basically king. He has to be back soon. Right?"
"Yes," Loki replies. It is not wholly a lie.
"And you are going to wear Odin's face? At least until Thor comes home?"
He twirls a blond curl around his forefinger and kisses her temple, buying himself a bit of time to consider how much truth he should give her.
"Will you?" she asks again.
"Yes," Loki replies.
"So then what? With Odin out of the equation are you still going to insist on pretending to be dead?" Eleanor asks.
"Yes," Loki replies.
He waits with bated breath for her verdict, wondering how much she suspects of Loki's future plans. So far she seems to be basing her own planning on the assumption that Thor will soon return to claim the throne. She assumes that Thor wants to be king.
But in the thousand years lived at the golden prince's side, Loki has learned quite a bit about his brother.
"So we are still going to disappear into the Nine Realms," she murmurs.
"When Thor returns for the throne," Loki says, being careful to keep from lying so blatantly.
"Can we go to Midgard first?" she asks.
"Pardon?"
"Please? After everything I'd really like to see my family. And Darcy. And Jane, now that she's all uninfected. If you really want me to keep pretending that you are dead, I can but I'm not thrilled about it."
"Pardon?"
"I can do it." She pleads now, fists banging against his chest. "I can play the grieving widow. They will all be convinced of my heartbreak and then we'll leave, but I think I should give Jane a letter."
"A letter?" He is really not following.
"Yeah. I'll hide it in her house somewhere and eventually she'll find it. I'll explain that you are not dead, but we'll be long gone. That way Thor will know. He won't try and find us, Loki, not with Odin the way he is now."
It is an acceptable plan and one that, in all likelihood, will never come to fruition.
"We can go wherever you want after that," she says. "For as long as you want. I'll follow you anywhere, but we've got to go see the people I love first. And stop Thor's pain."
"You have no problem with me continuing to sit on the throne?" he asks. "Wearing Odin's face."
Eleanor's nose is once more pressed into Loki's neck. "Are you going to go all megalomaniacal tyrant on me again?"
"No," he says, blinking down at her. "And if I do anything you consider tyrannical, our bond still stands. You can command me to stop, if need be. My own little failsafe."
"I didn't even think of that."
"And yet you agreed to this arrangement?"
"I trust you, Loki. We'll do this until Thor gets back. It can't be more than a few days."
"Ruling is something I promised you I would no longer seek, if you recall."
"You didn't seek this. Unless you did and I'm just a sucker."
She will be furious with him for keeping this from her, but telling her seems such a risk. "Eleanor—"
"Blue!" The deep voice comes from outside their blanket cocoon and Loki sits upright, letting the morning sun in and the rest of the world with it.
"Eleanor, cover yourself," Loki mutters, gaping down at the Allfather.
Odin sits on the floor near the end of the bed, legs crossed underneath him. The casual stance looks unnatural for the Protector of the Nine Realms, and Loki cannot recall a single moment when Odin sat on the ground during his childhood. Not even when Frigga joined the boys on the floor to marvel over large picture books did Odin lower himself to such a position.
But now he sits on the floor with his legs crossed beneath him, large picture book in his lap and glaring up at Loki.
"How long do you think he's been there?" asks Eleanor.
"Honestly, I'd rather not know," replies Loki.
"Blue," Odin says again in accusation.
"I don't think he likes our plan," Eleanor mutters as she searches around for something with which to cover her nudity.
"Do you have a reasonable alternative, oh wise Allfather?" Loki asks, bowing slightly, mockingly.
Odin cringes away from Loki, frowning and blinking. He is so childlike and Loki would like to strike him for it.
Eleanor pulls Loki's own tunic on over her head before standing. It looks like a dress on his outrageously small wife.
"Guess it's time to get up," she says. "You have fake ruling to do."
"I have fake ruling to do," Loki agrees, smiling at the thought.
"We need tents," Eleanor declares.
She's gathered a ragtag group of Frigga's noble lady friends, various guards, and servants in a meeting room not far from where Loki sits on the throne. They all exchange wary looks at Eleanor's declaration.
"Princess," says Lady Zara, one of Frigga's closest confidants. Her tone is placating and Eleanor struggles to keep from grimacing. "Should you not be in mourning?"
"I am in mourning. I'm devastated and wearing black. My heartbreak has nothing to do with our need for tents." She sounds far more diplomatic than she feels.
"It is traditional for the recently widowed to spend no less than a month in isolation," says Zara. "And I am unsure how your attire is relevant."
Eleanor sighs heavily. "Odin isn't isolated."
"The king is male. This applies only to wives."
"It is traditional for women to spend a month alone after their husbands die?" Eleanor asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest.
"Yes, to properly grieve."
Despite her full night's sleep, she is still tired and Frigga is still dead and when she closes her eyes she sees Loki's grey, lifeless face, so she has no patience for this cruel, sexist tradition.
"Yeah," Eleanor drawls. "I'm so not doing that. We are going to figure out shelter for everyone that lost their homes in the attack."
"This is no concern of yours, Princess. Now is the time to grieve. Leave this business to our wise Allfather," says Zara.
Eleanor closes her eyes, working very hard not to lash out in frustration. She relies on every Princess Lesson, every courtesy Frigga ever taught her. Even with all that training it is only the memory of the dead queen that keeps Eleanor from slapping her closest friend.
"Have any of you been in the city?" she asks. "There are Aesir living on the streets, crowding around open fires to keep warm and trying to stay dry under hunks of crumbled buildings. This is unacceptable and we are going to fix it."
Frigga would deem both this speech and her mission acceptable.
"But, Princess Eleanor, this is a matter best left to the crown—"
"I speak for the crown!" she snaps, making Zara and several others jump. Typically, she is all smiles and charm to this crowd. She doubts she'll be capable of that level of charm ever again as this last week surely has sapped her of all pleasantries. "The Queen is dead." Her voice breaks. "One prince remains on Midgard while the other…"
Eleanor can't manage the words and she shakes off the image of Loki, laid out in the gavel before her.
"At the moment, the King has no one but me. In this I represent the crown. It is on Odin's instructions that I'm organizing this."
Actually, Loki has little interest in helping anyone. He plans to leave all this up to Thor upon his return, but Frigga wouldn't want her people to suffer a moment longer.
And neither does Eleanor.
"You!" Eleanor says, waving her hand at a few servants lurking in the back of the room. "Guys! All those vendor tents we set up for the summer festival? And that one huge tent for the feast? Can you get your hands on those?"
"Yes, Princess."
"And we've got bed rolls and blankets and stuff in the armory, right?"
"Yes, Princess," says Fandral.
Eleanor does a double take, but when she was talking three familiar warriors seem to have wandered in. Sigyn the healer is here too.
"Fandral," says Eleanor. "Get everything. All that bedding. Grab it and bring it to the amphitheater."
Fandral bows. "Of course, my Princess."
"Neela," she continues, turning to her jittery servant. "You are in charge of food. Enlist any servants you need on my orders. Gather all the food you can from the kitchens. We are going to set up a buffet in that huge tent. Once we get that huge tent set up."
"Yes, Princess."
"Zara, you are going to round up the ladies. Get all the clothes you are working on from the sewing room. Encourage all the nobles to donate. We need warm, winter things. Cloaks. Hats. Gloves. Got it?"
"But—"
"Got it?"
Zara sighs. "Yes, Princess."
"Sigyn. First aid."
"Yes, Princess."
"Okay. Be in the amphitheater in two hours. The tents will all be set up by then, won't they boys?"
"Yes, Princess."
After a year and a half on Asgard, Eleanor finally is starting to enjoy her title.
"Name?" asks Eleanor.
"Bori and Lucia."
She jots it down in the ledger.
"Any children?" she asks.
"Two."
She takes down their names as well.
"Okay," Eleanor says, glancing over her shoulder at Sif who is gathering supplies from carts behind her and handing them to the ragged, homeless family. "Four bed rolls, pillows, and blankets." She marks it all down in the ledger. "You're assigned to row six, tent seventeen. That's to your left, just that way. It's all heated and there will be another family in there with you. There's food in the big tent in the center, right behind me, and there is a medical tent set up on the stage if you need a healer."
The family stares at her in stunned silence for a few moments before the mother bursts into tears.
There are four separate check-in stations set up at the gates that lead to the field of the amphitheater, and so far they've checked in over 200 Aesir in the last two hours since opening up what Volstagg has so cleverly named City of Tents.
Eleanor estimates that there are 150 or so still in line that need shelter.
They've been remarkably efficient, even with the occasional Aesir weeping with gratitude.
"It's all right," Eleanor says. "You are safe now. You'll be warm and well fed. As long as you need shelter, you will have it."
Every member of this run down family shuffles past Eleanor, bowing and touching the back of her hands as they murmur their thanks. This would make Frigga proud and happy.
Eleanor struggles to keep her own tears from falling.
Loki says she has the love of the people. They certainly find her an entertaining novelty, but this is her first time actually helping them.
With Odin's brain turned off and Loki on the throne, too wrapped up in his own grief to care for the plight of the Aesir, Eleanor is the only one who truly has the power to repair this damage.
As the people thank her and touch the back of her hands, Eleanor feels like Princess is a title she's now earned. She is no longer pretending.
Still, she doesn't have room in her heart to fully take on their pain, but to make up for her lack of feeling she'll give them everything they need until Thor returns and she leaves them for real.
Between checking in families she glances at Sif.
"She would be so proud," whispers the warrior. Eleanor's heart gets heavy and she turns from the line of refugees to wipe her eyes. Sif pats her shoulder and Eleanor pulls it together.
"Princess Lesson the Thirty-Sixth. Tears are for private. Smiles are for the public," she murmurs to Sif.
The warrior laughs but it is a sad sound.
When Eleanor turns back to her work she comes face to face with the Crown Prince himself. He looks over her head, staring at the City of Tents.
"You did all this?" Thor asks. "Today?"
"Um, well. Organized it, anyway."
"My father gave you this task?"
Eleanor winces. "Sorta." Both Thor and Sif are scrutinizing her and she braids her hair. "He'll surely appreciate the help."
"Odin is not overly fond of you, Eleanor," he reminds her gently.
"It's different now." She can't look at him and lie. She stares at her feet instead. "Now that we're both widows."
"Oh, Eleanor." Thor reaches for her.
"Don't." She puts her palms up, warding off his hug. "Touch me and I'll cry."
Thor nods. "You've done great work here, Sister. Any chance you can get away? I would speak with you privately."
Eleanor glances around, spotting a servant. "Excuse me?" she calls.
"Yes, my princess?" He bows.
"Can you find Neela? Send her over here, please?"
Neela appears a few minutes later, accepting the ledger from Eleanor and taking over the check-in station with Sif. Thor and Eleanor make their way back to the palace.
"So you were able to successfully return, then?" he murmurs.
Eleanor nods.
"And—" Thor clears his throat. "And what of my brother's body?"
This is a question she should have anticipated and although she has no ready answer, six-plus years with the God of Lies has prepared her for such situations.
"I gave him a proper funeral, Thor," she whispers. Tears come at the mere possibility of dead Loki and she lets them fall. "Before I went to see Odin. I thought about waiting for you but… So many hated him and I didn't want to take the chance of anything going wrong."
Thor nods in understanding.
They walk in silence, snaking through the city – parts untouched, parts destroyed but now vacant – in silence. Eleanor's guilt eats at her, worse now that she sees the proof of Thor's heartbreak. He is aching for his brother, for his mother, but Eleanor made a promise, told Loki that she would lie.
In that moment she would have promised him anything, so great was her relief to find him alive.
They enter the golden palace and Thor turns to her. "I am so sorry, Eleanor. So very sorry."
"Thor, it wasn't—"
"He was my brother. My younger brother. When he was still small, nightmares plagued his sleep and I promised to always protect him. What a spectacular failure I am."
"Thor." She tries to comfort him again but there is nothing for her to say. She sobs and lets Thor take her hands.
"I failed when he discovered his true heritage. I failed when he let go of the bridge, certain death and the darkness of space preferable to coming home. I failed when evils beyond comprehension took him, and again when his mind turned on him while imprisoned in the Tower of Stark. But this failure… How will you ever forgive me, Eleanor?"
She wonders if she'll ever forgive Loki for placing her in this position, but then finds solace in the fact that she'll leave Jane a letter, explaining away all this pain.
"It's not your fault, Thor," she says, taking his face in her hands and willing him to believe her. "Remember what Loki said? To Jane and me? About misplaced blame? He would not have any patience for your guilt, Thor. He'd want you to blame the elf and you killed him in the end. You kept the universe safe for me and Jane. He would have wanted that."
Thor nods and takes a shaky breath, standing to his full height as he composes himself. Still, he doesn't bother wiping the tears from his cheeks.
"I now must speak with my father, but after I will return to Midgard. Jane and I… well, given everything I believe we will reconcile, but there is much to discuss. I will take you with me. How long do you require to pack your things?" Thor asks.
Eleanor winces. Thor's return to Midgard will delay his coronation and Loki will need to sit on the throne longer. But on the upside, it will give her time to work out any kinks with the City of Tents. And she'll have ample opportunity to change Loki's mind on this whole fake his own death business.
"I'm not ready to go back to Midgard," she says. "Not yet. I want to oversee the refugee situation."
"Truly? I thought it would be too painful to return to your quarters without him. And with this grievous danger past, I thought you would be anxious to go home."
"Everything is too painful right now, but at least here I have purpose," she replies. Lying to Thor is too easy and it frightens her.
"Very well, Sister."
Giant hands come to rest on her cheeks and she's never seen Thor so utterly broken. She is cruel, to let him grieve for his brother so soon after losing his mother, but she stays silent, putting her husband's needs first.
"We will always take care of you, Eleanor," he says. "Jane and I will take care of you."
I don't need to be taken care of. The words are on her tongue, her experiences and all she's gone through as ready proof that she is strong and capable and does not need to be taken care of, but Thor is hurting so she stays silent.
Thor kisses her forehead and Eleanor nods, letting more tears fall.
"Very good," Thor says, stepping back. "Inform Heimdall when you are ready to come to Midgard. Until then."
He turns with a flourish of his red cape, identical to the one he reverently laid over Loki. He's headed to the throne room, to speak to the king who sits there. He'll see his father but it is all a lie.
Silently, Eleanor trails the Crown Prince. She is a shadow, slipping unseen into an alcove near the throne. This was Frigga's first lesson, showing Eleanor where to listen to the goings on in the throne room without detection.
She does so now.
"Go, my son."
"Thank you, Father." Thor nods and bows before turning and marching down the hall. Loki fights his own grin, for his brother can always be counted upon to be unreservedly predictable.
Thor, God of Thunder, Crown Prince of Asgard, gave up rule in favor of several decades spent on Midgard with a rapidly aging mortal.
"I'd rather be a good man than a great king," he said.
Loki has no such ambition.
Thor reaches the door, exiting the hall, and Loki lets the illusion of Odin melt away from his visage. "No," he murmurs. "Thank you."
And then Eleanor emerges from some corner of the throne room where she was apparently listening, arms crossed over her chest.
For one brief, glorious moment he thought not of anything but this victory. He basked in its warm glow.
For one brief, glorious moment he forgot about this particular hurdle, standing between him and the throne. It is not the insane Allfather locked in a tower, or the legality of Thor's claim, or the necessity of spending the remainder of his days wearing another's face, but the small half mortal love of his life that will prove the most difficult obstacle.
But now Eleanor stands at his feet.
As Loki struggles to contain his gleeful grin – he beat Thor, nothing stands between him and his birthright – Eleanor gazes up at him, face utterly blank and devoid of emotion.
In his experience, emotionless Eleanor is never a good thing, as she defaults back into the lonely, despairing, self-destructive creature she was upon their first meeting.
Loki's elation at this achievement of his most lofty of goals is short-lived, ruined by the mask his wife now hides behind.
"Did you hear the entirety of our discussion?" he asks, clearing his throat and firming his grip on Gungir.
Eleanor does not answer, continuing to study him with a scrutiny that makes him long to drop her gaze and shy away.
Loki is the closest thing Asgard has to a king in this moment, so he looks her directly in the eyes as he awaits her words, preparing arguments to convince her that this course of action is correct and righteous.
"You're sitting wrong," she murmurs.
Loki blinks, surprised as ever by the songbird. "Pardon?"
Looking skyward, Eleanor sighs and lets her arms drop to her sides. "Put your Odin face on," she says, mounting the steps to where Loki sits upon the throne.
None are allowed to stand upon the dais without express invitation from the king – King Loki – but reminding his wife of this unbreakable rule seems ill-advised at the moment.
"Eleanor?" he murmurs, regarding her with trepidation. She is so close now that he must look up to meet her gaze. A king should not look up at any, but Loki keeps this fact to himself as well.
"Put on your Odin face," she insists.
Despite his wariness, Loki shifts into the Allfather.
"You're sitting wrong," Eleanor repeats, hands on his shoulders. "You're sitting like Loki, all cocky and slouched to the side. I didn't know it was possible to sit arrogantly, but you do it. Your body language is all you and the spread legs are sexy, but it just looks weird on Odin. How did Thor not notice?"
"Thor is a fool."
"Thor is heartbroken because he thinks his brother is dead." Eleanor's hands are on his knees, pushing his legs together. "Sit ramrod straight. Chest out. Shoulders back."
Loki straightens, trying to understand just what Eleanor is attempting to tell him with this bizarre little lesson. Her message surely transcends posture.
"Chin up," she continues, fingers on his jaw. Or his beard. Her fingers are on Odin's beard and he has this strange flash of jealousy as Eleanor is touching another – his false father – in a way, but he contains himself. "Put your free hand on the armrest. There."
Eleanor steps back, retreating down the steps and gazing up at him.
"Better," she declares.
"Lovely. I am now sitting correctly. Do you have any other lessons to give that do not involve touching this disgusting body?" His sarcastic words sound odd in the Allfather's baritone.
Eleanor crosses her arms over her chest and raises a single, arching eyebrow.
"Do you not have anything else to say?" he asks. "Beyond critiquing my body language, of course."
"You're sitting right now. It looks more believable." She nods once before turning on her heel and moving towards the exit.
"Eleanor! Have you nothing to say!"
"You're not as good at this as you think you are," she says over her shoulder. "All hail the fucking king."
Loki sits in stunned silence, listing to her shoes clink on stone until a door slams and she is truly gone. He thinks to go after her, to demand she offer an opinion on this most fortuitous turn of events, but an adviser enters, begging an audience and Loki takes stock of his posture, ensuring that he sits on the throne like the king Odin was, rather than the king Loki desires to be.
Before Malekith and his Dark Elves, thousands of years passed since Asgard was last attacked directly. It was long before Odin so benevolently spared Loki his birthright to die on a frozen rock, and because the destruction of the city is unprecedented in recent memory, there are no established procedures to efficiently correct the damage.
Loki must start from nothing.
He spends a great deal of time receiving individual citizenry from atop the throne, sitting straight like Odin and trying not to expire from boredom and irritation.
His mother died in the assault and in comparison the complaints of these Aesir are petty. He has no sympathy for the shopkeepers who lost the entirety of their stock or the widows seeking monetary compensation to help raise fatherless children.
But they speak to him with reverence and they accept his word as law. They listen. It's a novel thing, to be respected and listened to – even if they think him Odin – so Loki attempts to empathize with their woes.
He channels Eleanor, treating them as his infinitely more compassionate wife would.
It is tedious work.
Extreme boredom has never been so exhausting and Loki refuses offers to dine with various advisers and nobility. He wants nothing more than to crawl into bed with his wife, but she is in all likelihood very cross with him and Loki has one more pressing task he must see to before retiring.
The kitchen staff and servants bend in subjugation when Loki bans the lot of them from the royal living quarters.
"No one is to enter the tower," says Loki, using Odin's voice. "Only immediate family. No cleaning service will be required henceforth and all meals will be delivered to the door only. No one enters the tower, under penalty of death. Am I understood?"
They nod and bow and Loki revels in their submission before departing for said tower.
Here in the familiar rooms once occupied by his parents, Frigga's absence is painfully apparent and Loki rushes through the enchantments that will keep the unwanted out and the Allfather in. He uses much stronger versions of the magic that locked Odin in Loki's quarters for the day, while he sat on the throne and Eleanor busied herself seeing to the needs of refugees.
Upon completing the day's final task, Loki practically sprints through his mother's old bedroom without glancing at all the personal items, for they hold too many memories. He does not breathe again until he is safe in the secret passageway and moving towards his wife.
Eleanor is collecting Odin's empty plate like a common servant when Loki emerges in their rooms. He opens his mouth to object, but Eleanor glares at him, knowing what he means to say before he manages even a whisper.
"Odin's tower is now enchanted," Loki says instead. "We sleep here tonight while he can stay there undisturbed. Although we will need to see to it that he gets his meals. And we will be forced to keep the place tidy."
Eleanor hands Odin a goblet and nods absently.
"I thank you for watching him, but it will no longer be necessary," Loki says.
Eleanor crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow.
"With the exception of meals, he will be self sufficient in his tower." He is filling her silence with chatter and it makes him feel foolish.
"Blue," says Odin.
"Silence!" Loki shouts, making the Allfather startle and Eleanor glare. "I should bring you to Jotunheim, leaving you on a frozen rock to die. We shall see how you fare, left with a hostile population who thinks you a monster."
Odin lets out a whimper and turns to whistle at Eleanor, giving her a pleading look that is unnaturally childish on his wizened face. The Allfather is aware enough to know where his true ally lies.
Although Eleanor has no love for Loki's false father, she does have a weakness for the insane. It is the reason she brought Loki to Midgard in the first place.
"I will escort Odin to his chambers now," Loki murmurs, calming slightly. His peace is short-lived, for Odin looks to Eleanor once more, only choosing to follow when she nods in encouragement.
Even now, with Loki king and the once-mighty Odin reduced to the mental faculties of an infant, his false father does not listen to him. Loki's words and opinions and wants are of no great import, below Odin's notice.
It should no longer burn Loki so, but the rage that dissipated with Eleanor and the life they made on Midgard is returning now that Frigga is dead and Loki is king and Odin is the same, even in his current state.
Loki does not look at the Allfather as they make the familiar journey through the secret tunnel.
"Blue," says Odin as he steps into his room.
"Did you ever truly see me as your son, even for one moment out of millennia?" Loki asks, feeling miserable and weak.
"Blue."
The answer is clear.
All the lights are extinguished save a small candle next to the plate of food Eleanor left out for him. Although he has yet to consume anything substantial on this day, he would rather have Eleanor.
She is curled up on her side of their bed, looking so small and vulnerable under a pile of furs. The fire has nearly burned out and Loki strips, layer by layer, as he approaches her until he wears only a tunic and pants. The floor is cold under his bare feet and Loki longs to be nearer the warmth of Eleanor.
Instead he sits on the edge of their bed, careful not to touch her.
For long, silent minutes they simply gaze at each other in the low light as the dying fire bathes them in shadow.
"Did you eat?" Eleanor asks.
The sound of her voice is a relief after missing it for the majority of the day.
"Yes," he replies.
"Liar."
Loki chuckles, giving in to the urge to stroke her hair. "If you had your answer why waste breath on the question?"
"Just hoping I was wrong, I guess."
It would seem that they no longer discuss Loki's missed meal.
"What would you have me do, Eleanor?"
"I don't know."
"Shall I collect Thor? Tell him all? Drag him away from the life he wants with the woman he loves?"
Eleanor pulls away from his hands, sighing heavily. She sits up against the headboard, moving as if she is ancient and each twitch of muscle takes extreme effort. "Don't pretend that this is about Thor's happiness," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I do not pretend," he replies, struggling to stop his mounting anger. "You know I want this, Eleanor. That has not changed, but Thor and Jane and their happily ever after give you pause now. They are the reason you go against the instinct to end this whole illusion, not what I want."
Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Six years ago you tried to rule my planet and killed a bunch of people! Can you really blame me for being nervous about this?"
"I am much changed." How could she not recognize this? "No demonic puppeteer controls me. I am neither enraged nor insane."
"Oh? You seemed pretty fucking angry when you threatened to leave your mentally ill fake father on fucking Jotunheim."
He glares at her. The expression is returned with equal fervor.
"You knew," she whispers. For the first time in years she regards him with disappointment, with hate. "You knew the moment the Allfather woke up loopy that we'd end up like this. You knew Thor would turn down the throne."
A lie would do nothing but further incur her wrath.
"Fuck, Loki. Just, fuck! You've painted us into a corner here. Have you even thought what our lives will be like now? And Thor. I saw him today. He's devastated. I mean… fuck!"
After this day, after this last painful week, Loki simply does not have it in him to fight with his wife.
Ruling was once his life's great ambition, but he will give it up if being king means losing Eleanor.
With a heavy heart and a heavier sigh Loki rises, retrieving his jerkin from the floor.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"Leaving." He is finding reassembling his attire more difficult than it usually is. Magic is always an option, but he's been Odin all day and he is tired. Plus, he'll have to disguise himself while he finds Thor.
"Where are you going?"
"Midgard. London, specifically. You'll have to come too. Up you get."
"Loki, come on." Eleanor groans and tugs on her ridiculous mop of hair.
"He will begrudgingly take the burden of the throne when it becomes clear that there is no other choice, for I am no real choice. I never was."
"Loki! Fuck, come here."
He pauses in the process of pulling on a boot. "You ask me to give this up, so I am. What more could you possibly require of me, Eleanor?"
"I didn't ask you to do shit," she says. "The only thing I'm asking you to do is to take off your fucking armor and come here."
Reluctantly, he does as she says, settling back on the edge of the bed. She stares at him, deep in thought, and braids her hair.
"I can do this, Eleanor," he says, embarrassed by the pleading, desperate tremor in his voice. "I was raised to rule. I will excel in this."
She frowns and it hurts, for Eleanor is the one who does not doubt.
"You claim to trust me," he snaps, losing patience. "Do you truly think my reign would lead to the ruin of Asgard?"
"I'm not worried about Asgard."
"No?"
"I'm worried about the other twenty-six realms."
"Eight."
She growls at him. Growls.
"If you ask me to reveal all to Thor, I will do so," he murmurs, staring at his hands. The thought sickens him.
"No, you've done an excellent job manipulating me into this."
"Eleanor—"
"I'm not going to be the reason Thor becomes king. I'm not going to take him away from Jane just when she's got him back. And I'm not going to crush your lifelong dream, either."
"But?" he asks, bracing himself for the worst.
"I'm not fucking happy about it."