Deep in Asgard's Palace
Thor's Almost-Coronation Day
"Prince Loki," the two guards standing on either side of the Vault doors said in unison.
The god of mischief kept his cool. Even if everything in him told him he shouldn't be taking this path of discovery. Every one of his cells begged him to turn around and continue living life as normal. But he couldn't, could he?
The frost giant's touch had not been masqueraded by any kind of magic. Especially not his own. As much as he wanted to believe his powers took preventative action, he honestly hadn't thought of taking that kind of precaution before leaving Asgard. Regardless, the Jotun who grabbed his arm had revealed something, whether it be his heritage or otherwise.
Perhaps his mother had long ago cast a spell on him so he wouldn't be harmed by Jotuns? Most likely not, seeing as Jotunheim was against many laws to visit. The Casket of Ancient Winters would give him a more definite answer. It was made by their hands, after all.
He acknowledged the guards. Quickly devising an answer they would deem appropriate to let him in. "My father has sent me to take inventory of the Vault, given today's events. I'm also to make sure the Vault's security wasn't damaged. May I?"
The soldiers glanced at one another. Their hesitating expressions not very subtle.
Loki took a small step back and partially turned with a thumb pointed backwards. "Shall I fetch my father and waste his highly sought after time because you question one of his sons?"
They returned to their rigid posts, response simultaneous again. "No, your highness."
"Very well then. I will pass." He kept his vision forward as he strode between them and through the Vault doors. However, he paused on the steps when they closed the doors. Everything within him still screamed.
He needed to indulge his mind's desires this once. Or was it his heart's desires? His heart required to know where it belonged. No, he knew. His heart belonged with Aura. It always had. But that's not the type of belonging he wanted at the moment. Even if he could start a family with her later on, he needed to know who his past family was.
His nostrils flared as he looked down. Was he seriously this scared? Had his spine left him all because a frost giant made his arm turn blue? Was that really all it took to make the cunning youngest prince cower in fear?
Loki's emerald eyes snapped up. He was no coward.
Silent yet deliberate steps carried him down the tiled steps and past the various artifacts and relics proudly displayed on carved pedestals. Carried him until he stood right in front of the Casket.
He took pause. Remembering when he and Thor were small and their father brought them down here to teach them of the Jotun-Asgard War. My, how much simpler times were then. All he had to trouble himself with were studies, learning magic, and making sure he stayed on his mother's good side. Even his father was easier to please. But those days were long forgotten.
It was time to remember a new era.
Inhaling a deep breath, he lifted his arms to reach for the Casket. There was no time like the present, and there was no sense in backing out now. Perhaps nothing would happen. Perhaps he would get a simpler explanation than being someone he didn't know.
Most likely not.
His hands clutched around either side of the Casket of Ancient Winters before he could talk himself out of it. With bated breath and a pounding heart, he lifted the relic of its pedestal. Held it up at eye level.
The same blue that flowed over him in Jotunheim emerged once around on his hands. Faded down his arms.
Loki set his jaw to keep from dropping the Jotun weapon. His lungs tightened. What did this mean? Surely it couldn't mean what he presumed. His chest resonated with every beat his heart took. He didn't know if he could keep up with the oxygen his unease required.
He lifted his gaze when he heard the Destroyer dutifully waking from its post, but it was too late. He couldn't let it go. No. He watched the blue skin consume the rest of his body. And he felt it.
Holding the Casket awakened something within him. He could feel the coldness seeping through his skin, leaking into his veins. Felt the ice forming around the far reaches of his mind. And despite not standing in front of a mirror, he knew his eyes turned red.
Yet, he didn't feel at peace with this transformation. It carried with it regret and sorrow. It was alien. Even with his tendencies for frost magic and the liking of the cooler temperatures.
The new transformation did, indeed, cause him fear. Because it potentially meant that everything he once knew was a lie. An utter, blatant lie. While he already toyed with the idea, he didn't realize how hard the blow would be.
Fire formed within the helmet of the metal sentinel.
"Stop," came a cry as a bang echoed through the Vault.
Loki blinked, searching the Casket and watching the Destroyer retreat behind its lattice. He knew who stood behind him. Fortunately, this time, it wasn't his brother, who once swore to slay every Jotun in sight. "Am I cursed?"
Odin straightened. "No. Please, Loki. Put the Casket down."
He returned the relic to its stand. Chest rapidly rising and falling, he slowly turned around. His pale skin's return not going unnoticed by him. He held out his hand to make sure his father saw it, too. "What am I?"
The Allfather offered his own trembling hand. "You are my son."
"But what more than that?"
Silence.
Loki swallowed. His emerald gaze fell to the floor. The pit in his stomach grew larger, and he was sure his heart would sink into it. This proved it, then. He blinked, slightly shaking his head. He wasn't Asgardian at all. Never had been.
Everything was a lie.
The ebony-haired prince looked back up with sudden realization. "The Casket wasn't the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?"
Odin gripped his staff tighter. He met the young god's stare. "No. It was after the battle that I went to the Temple. I found a baby, small for giant's offspring. It was abandoned, suffering. Laufey's son."
His eyes widened, and he stepped back. "Laufey's son?" He shook his head. This was all too much. He could handle being a frost giant, but the son of the king? Why had he been abandoned? Was it because he was too small? A runt to be left behind for the good of the others? Or was he a sacrifice because he had been found in the temple? Was Odin even telling the truth?
Loki honestly didn't know what to do. Everything felt surreal. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking. His attention finally returned to the king of Asgard. "Why? You were knee deep in Jotun blood. Why, in the Realms, would you take me?"
"You were an innocent child," Odin offered as he took a step forward.
"No. Everything you do has a purpose. You took me for a purpose. What was it?"
More silence.
"Tell me!" he cried with a heaving chest. Eyes frantically searching the Allfather.
"I once thought we could unite our kingdoms. Bring about an alliance of permanent peace," Odin inhaled a wavering breath, "through you. But those plans no longer matter."
Loki's voice filled with sorrow. "So I am nothing more than another stolen relic? A bargaining chip? That's why I've been locked here. Kept here until you have use of me."
"Why do you twist my words?"
His gaze suddenly hardened, his control slipping from him. "I'm not the one with the silver tongue after all. You're the one who's been twisting your words. You could've told me what I was from the beginning. Instead, I've been forced to live this…false identity. Why didn't you tell me?"
Odin sighed. "Because you are my son, Loki. My blood. I have only ever wanted to protect your from the truth."
"What truth? Because I-I-I am the monster parents tell their children about at night?"
The Allfather's tone deepened. "Don't—"
"Oh, it all makes sense now." Loki's voice turned harsh. As cold as the winds of his home Realm. Face reddening with rising passion and fury. "Why you favored Thor all these years. Why nothing I did was ever good enough for you. Why I'll never win your favor to return Aura."
"Listen—"
"Because no matter how much you claim to 'love' me, you could never have a frost giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!" Tears glistened on his cheeks.
Asgard's king raised his hand, a tendril of tiring magic unintentionally flowing from it. Then he grasped Gungnir with both hands. "Loki, please listen to me…" A breath escaped him, and he collapsed against the stairs.
Loki paused as his exhale caught. "What have I done?" He rushed over to the fallen king's body and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Father?" He suddenly felt like a small boy again, fearful and powerless. Surely his emotions hadn't summoned any magic. But this didn't look like anything he would do. His powers had their own signature, and what surrounded his father wasn't his.
He lifted his hand. Hovered it over Odin. This magic wasn't his own. It felt like his father's. But a more ancient one than what he was accustomed to feeling. What was this? What was going on?
"Guards," he managed. No, they couldn't hear him. His voice cracked with the rise in volume. "Guards."
The two soldiers guarding the Vault doors rushed in, immediately dropping to their king's aid.
One of them turned to the prince. "What happened?"
Loki swallowed, shaking his head. "I-I don't know. We were conversing…he fell. I don't know what happened."
The second guard looked up. "We should take him to the healing chambers."
The first guard frowned. "That will draw too much attention."
"Then what would you suggest?"
Loki's moment of panic cleared. "Take him to my mother. She knows him better than anybody. If anyone can help him, it's her."
The pair of soldiers nodded and lifted Odin, transporting him to the queen.
He momentarily remained on the steps of the Vault. Trying to process everything that had just occurred. He placed a hand on his stomach, feeling like he was going to be sick. This was too much for even him to handle. And he didn't have any idea on where to begin handling this situation.
Bottom jaw sliding open, he finally fell to one knee. His whole being trembling. He couldn't intake enough air. Couldn't get his heart to slow its pace. The tears drying on his skin did nothing to cool his warm face.
The door to Asgard's Vaults slid closed with a gentle thud.
He was alone.
Good.
The overwhelming sensation of the emotions caused him to drop to all fours. He couldn't hold back any longer. With a fresh round of tears escaping him, he screamed with frustration. Balled his hands and rested his forehead on them. The trembling increased to shuddering.
His burning chest swelled with every inhale. But it did all make sense now. Odin was never going to allow him the throne because of his heritage. He couldn't control where he had been born. Nor had he ever been told. How could he have known? There was nothing he could do to change that fact.
Then why was he given the same chance and hope as Thor to one day win the crown? Had he been nothing but competition for Thor to make him a better man? Not that it worked. But the fact remained. He had been simply another grooming tool for Thor.
This was why Aura had been banished, too, wasn't it? Odin couldn't have a Jotun mingling with his slaves. Much less, a Jotun prince. Would Aura's healing magic have one day found that out?
Aura. What would she think of all this? Half of her magic was based in fire. She loved warmth. Loved being in the sun and heat. Everything he could never give her. He could only provide her with the cold. The one thing she hated most.
How many times had she lamented to him about the chill of the night? He had to sneak her in blankets because the servants weren't provided with any. All the remarks of his hands being too cold when he would hug her. She hated the cold, which was every bit apart of her nature.
Even her light elf side helped in enjoying warmth. Alfheim was considered a paradise even more perfect than Asgard, although Odin never admitted it. The Realm of the Light Elves was filled with nothing but light and the pleasant warm feeling that made you feel fuzzy inside. Aura had never been there, but her instinctual desire for heat would never go away.
Would she hate him upon learning of his true identity? He would tell her when they were reunited. There was no way he could lie to her like everyone had lied to him. She deserved nothing but the truth from him. But would she hate him?
He released another exclamation, clenching his fists tighter.
All of this had come about because of his selfishness. He wanted her back so badly, he never once stopped to think of the consequences that could result.
Although….
This wasn't entirely his own fault. Odin had been the one who chose not to tell him who he really was. Odin was the one who spent years filling him with false hope that one day he could be king. Odin was the one who disapproved of Aura and banished her to who knew where in the Nine Realms. Odin was the cause of the majority of this.
Odin was currently unconscious, and he didn't know why.
Loki's eyes found the spear that was left on the steps. Pushing himself to sit on his knees, he finally took Gungnir in his hand. The unbridled power surging within it almost made him drop it. Almost.
Powerful magic wasn't something he was unfamiliar with. His mother used to tell him how she thought he was one of the most powerful beings in the Realms. At first, he thought the sentiments were simply a mother's doting. However, the more time he spent around other magic users twice his age, the more he began to see her point.
It was no secret his abilities could get him in trouble. But what did they expect when his source of power came from chaos itself? He was constantly walking the fine line between good and evil. It was one of the reasons he had to so quickly learn how to control his emotions. If he allowed them free reign, it was no telling what he would do.
And the feeling that barraged him the most at the moment? Sorrowful desperation. A potentially nasty place for a being like him to be in.
He was suddenly desperate to find his place in this Realm, in any Realm. He was desperate to learn about his true family and heritage. He was desperate to embrace the frozen magic within him. Desperate to be reunited with the love of his life. And he was desperately clinging on to the idea that he needed to take the throne of Asgard to do so.
His thumb ran along the smooth and perfect metal of the king's chosen weapon. It was cool to the touch and felt good in his hand. Newly concocted plans swirled within his mind. With Thor banished and Odin troubled with an unknown disease, Asgard was without a ruler.
Although, many would question his sudden claim to power. But he wouldn't completely claim the throne, would he? He would simply act as a stand-in for the Allfather. Asgard couldn't lose hope the old fool would return to them. The people were set in their ways and would be lost without him.
Even as substitute ruler, he could still manage to take control of some powers reserved for the throne. Such as returning Aura from her banishment. It showed he had some authority without indulging in all of it. But, if he did that, the people would ask him to return their beloved Thor. However, there were certain protocols with politics he couldn't expect them to understand.
But even if all of this could pan out, there was still one problem. The king had a queen, and technically, she would be the stand-in for him. Well, it was a good thing he knew how to pander to his mother's soft spots. Especially if he explained his desire to return Aura to them. Besides, Frigga would have her hands full making sure Odin was taken care of. She didn't need to be bothered with the burden of the throne.
Then it was settled. The perfect opportunity had all but fallen in his lap. There was no need to waste it. Only Odin, he, and most likely Frigga knew of his true heritage. As far as the people of Asgard were concerned, he was still one of them. There was no need for them to know in this volatile time. They needed a strong, stable leader until Odin could return.
Loki pulled himself off the steps with the spear. Ignoring the side of his brain that kept him sane. Ignored the part of his brain that kept him from crossing the fine line. Creativity was indispensable for the upcoming events. All he had to do was play his cards right, and everyone would get what they wanted.
Taking a deep breath, he straightened his tunic. Raised a hand to slick back his hair. Paused. He still needed to seem slightly disheveled because he mourned for his father. Not that it was too hard given his facial appearance. His eyes may be sunken in with his distress, but he didn't let that keep his trademark smirk from caressing his pale lips.