Ahlan the Jailer prowled through the kingdom he had established beneath the palace of Asgard, relishing in the cries and dryness of voices that reached him as he passed the cells. His guards had grown hearts of stone to withstand them and did not bat an eye as screams pierced the stoney silence, listening absentmindedly to the empty dripping coming somewhere from beyond the corridors.
The Jailer paused in front of the largest cell, where the remains of golden chains still rested like dead snakes upon the flags of the stone floor. He chuckled.
"When he comes back," he said to the guards standing outside the doors, "We will drip snake poison into his eyes until they're black like his blood. Then perhaps he will realise how much of a fool he was to escape."
The guards said nothing, for he required no answer and they had hearts of stone. Ahlan watched for a moment, then turned, for the sordid harmony was broken by footfall upon the stone flags.
"My lord." The man who arrived kneeled with fist upon his breast. "I bring news."
Ahlan disliked Jeehl the fair-haired, for it was the only man in his guard who's heart had not hardened like the others. However, he was keen, observant and his thoughts travelled into places where even his own did not, and so he kept him, for he was very, very useful.
"Speak."
"His highness Thor Odinson has returned from Midgard a few days ago, Sire."
Ahlan nodded in approval.
"Useful news, but you have more to say."
"Yes, Sire." Jeehl stood and clicked his heels together, although his face was cold upon meeting his own. "I have been talking with his servants."
"Oh?" Ahlan grinned, his teeth sharp and cold as metal. "With his chambermaids? Do not be fooled by their rosy cheeks and glittering eyes, Jeehl, for they delight in many partners."
A slight tinge of pink crept upon Jeehl's taught skin, but it disappeared almost equally quickly.
"I do not partake in such debauchery, my Lord. It was only to obtain information, and I have done so. The fallen Prince is in Midgard."
Ahlan's face hardened at the mention of Loki Laufeyson.
"You are certain."
"Yes Sire."
"And how are you so?"
"It appears that his highness Thor Odinson has a habit of talking in his sleep and to himself, according to the chambermaid. She has managed to piece together his sentences and so has relayed them to me."
Ahlan looked Jeehl the fair-haired in the eyes, sensing discomfort at this betrayal. He chuckled.
"Do not worry, Jeehl. Loki Laufeyson is a madman, who delights in the destruction of others, as you have seen for yourself. You did well to succeed in this mission. Now tell me what you have to say."
Jeehl raised his eyes and set his jaw, although his eyes did not change.
"Loki Laufeyson is in New York, my Lord, living with a woman by the name of Henrietta Knott, if the chambermaid, and I, are not mistaken."
Ahlan smirked, then patted his cheek, daring him to flinch away. When he didn't, he nodded and stepped away.
"You've done a good job. I have one more for you, now. The Allfather is waiting on his throne - tell him I request an audience with him. Now. I'm going to have a little talk with him about where his son's loyalties lie."
A few weeks had passed since Thor had come over to lift spirits with Loki Laufeyson and left with tears instead. It was noon, the room was darkening and Loki was lying on the couch with his feet propped up against the armrest, therapist-patient style, with his hands folded neatly on top of his stomach, clouding the air with his sighs.
There was a slight creak as Henrietta entered the room, then a click as the light was switched on. She beheld him in full, giggled, then went to sit on the chair beside him.
"Something is wrong." She murmured, leaning towards him expectantly. "Tell me, I'm all ears."
Loki trained his gaze onto her. It was true. Something had been tugging at the corner of his heart, causing him to rub his chest quite often and sigh rather than laugh. It was a feeling of waiting for disaster. The last two weeks, he had been too happy for it to be allowed. Something was bound to happen, something that would crush him, something that would grind him into dust and cast him into the eternal desert of mourning as it had done with many before him.
And fate was never on his side, which didn't make him feel any better.
Or perhaps it was the feeling of the neglect of something important, but Loki couldn't quite place what it was. He wasn't hungry, for he could eat again without trouble and enjoyed spending time in the kitchen with Hattie while she cooked. But what it was, he could not place.
"Your hands are cold." She said, lacing her fingers into his. "You must have been sitting here for such a long time."
"Hands?"
Ah. That was it.
"I've been putting something off for a very long time, Hattie. I suppose I've been afraid of it."
He detached his fingers from hers and held his hands up.
"Henrietta. Tell me, truly. What do my hands look like?"
She looked him in the eyes, reading them, then sighed and looked at his hands. Truly looked at his hands.
Loki was glad she had trained her face not to betray anything, for he was beginning to bite his tongue into two in agitation.
After a moment, she took one of them, then drew a line beneath the first joint of his fingers.
"See this here?"
"Yes…"
"It's faintly black. The remnants of, you know."
He blew out a sigh of relief and seemed to sink further into the couch.
"Do they drip at all?"
"No." She smiled. "They don't, Loki Odinson. They're about as black as every other person around. Less, even."
"Oh, good. Good." He sighed, leaning back again, fixing his eyes into the ceiling. Henrietta watched him for a little while longer, then propped up her head on her folded palms.
"You still haven't told me what's wrong."
"You ask so many questions, Knottie. Open questions. Oh, very well."
He turned around so that he was sitting on the couch properly, fixing his eyes into hers and sighed.
"I'm sad. That's all."
She sat next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Do you know why?"
"Not particularly. Perhaps it's this accursed weather. It's not stopped raining for the past two days."
"Hm, well, in this house, it's illegal to be sad."
Loki managed a smile, a faint glimmer sparking in his eyes.
"Illegal? Oh. What's the punishment?" He murmured, turning towards her. "It better be ruthless."
"It is." She smiled, looking away. "It's punishable by three kisses on each cheek."
"Bad girl." He breathed as he sat, took her hands and closed his eyes as her lips brushed his skin. "But I ought to be punished more… hmm… severely."
"I wouldn't know how to do that." She said, her teeth glinting, her eyelashes long over her eyes.
Loki couldn't stand it any longer. He scooped her up, swiftly, laying her on the couch, then laid himself next to her, partially on top of her, his hands folded on her chest, looking down into her eyes.
"Henrietta." He traced the outline of her face with a finger. "I told you this once already, I think, but I am known for doing exactly what I want."
His finger paused on her chin, then began tracing the outline of her lips. She wasn't scared, no - her face lit up in a brilliant blush, her eyes glimmered with sparks she had held in with a breath, but she was still in control. He could see that.
"I do what I want," he muttered, tracing, tracing, "I get what I want. And right now, more than anything in the world, it is you."
"Really?" She said, although her voice was not unaffected. "How do I know that, when…"
She slid her hands beneath his shoulders and moved, so that they were both upright. Loki looked incredibly reluctant, a tense sigh escaping him, but his fingers wouldn't leave her lips.
"You haven't told me that you love me, yet." She finished.
He sucked in a breath, then rested his forehead on hers, his hands on her shoulders.
"Henrietta, I don't need to do that… Let me prove it to you, let me prove it…"
Their noses touched, their breaths mingled, but still, their lips remained apart. Henrietta enveloped his face in her hands and placed her thumbs upon his lips.
"I'm a woman of virtue, Loki Laufeyson." She whispered. "But let me promise you something. Let me explain something to you."
His hands tightened on hers, electricity coursing through them.
"You're drawing me in, Hattie." He murmured, his eyes closed, an agonising battle within him. "I can taste words and none have ever been as sweet and tempting as yours are."
"A few sentences. Just a few."
"Speak, speak, speak, then, darling. I bleed, my soul bleeds, my heart bleeds and it's your doing."
Hattie smiled.
"The moment our souls are joined, you will be the only person to ever lay your lips on mine." She said in one breath, gently moving his face away from hers. "I will be wholly yours. Just yours. No other man's."
He gave a whimper, then pressed her hands over his face.
"You promise me the world and yet I cannot give you but a city." He breathed into her palms, relishing the smoothness of her skin.
His gaze was everything - fire and ice, love and hate, sharp and soft. They sparked with lightning that rivalled his brother's, making Hattie thank the powers above they gifted her with a character so hard; a will an ounce less strong and she would have given up long ago.
"Hattie - I have tasted the words of others and more." He muttered, tearing his gaze away from hers. "I cannot match your offering."
She giggled, then stood swiftly, breaking contact with him - he let his hands fall slowly.
"You have given me all I have ever wanted," she whispered, slowly moving away, "and that, Loki the Charmer, the Sweet, the Frivolous, is you."
"Your highness, the Allfather requests your presence in the throne room."
Thor paused. His eyes and skin crackled with electric blue, Mjolnir at the ready to be packed into the target in the training hall. He yelled and released it; it destroyed the targets with stunning ease, grinding them into nothingness upon each touch of contact, then turned and spun to a stop within his hand.
"My father wishes to see me?" He said, panting, sweeping his hair back. The servant bowed, terror in his face, although he must have known nothing was directed at him.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Very well, I'm on my way."
Odin sat on the throne, crowned in glory, his gaze deep and aflame, for he was filled with a violent anger; his age was engraved into his face, each silver hair marked a yawn of wisdom and his eyes conveyed both the darkness and the light of all nine realms.
Thor felt it as he entered the room and bowed, still feeling like a child in this presence, remembering his father's anger all too well from when he was a boy. He rose, keeping his face business like, wondering, dreading what all this was about.
Odin moved when he entered, fixing his gaze into him.
"Son."
"I am listening, Father."
"Where is Loki?"
Thor felt his stomach clench. He kept his head bowed, and although he opened his mouth, no words came out through his throat.
"You possess knowledge of his location."
Odin's voice rolled around the throne room like a giant boulder, knocking the rest of the easiness out of him. Thor shut his eyes tight, as though that could make the situation go away.
"You know he is in Midgard; you know in which building he is stationed."
Silence.
"Son. Look at me."
Thor clenched his fists on Mjolnir and raised his eyes, almost flinching when he met them.
"Do you deny what I have said?"
The handle of Mjolnir had never felt such force exerted on its handle. Thor straightened, his voice trembling like his fists.
"No, Father. You speak what is."
The silence was crushing. Even Thor felt it. After a pause, Odin spoke.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Father," Thor started, after a long, long while, "Father, please. Don't put him back in the dungeons. He's paid dearly for his sins."
"You give yourself the right to judge what does not belong to you, son."
Thor clenched his jaw and hardened his will.
"He's my brother, Father, and your son. I love him. I know you do too. Please, Father."
He bowed his head, sinking to one knee.
"I beg of you not to pursue him. He is a changed man. He means no evil. I have seen, spoken to him. I know-"
"Rise, Thor. Have sense!" Odin's voice boomed from above him, causing him to flinch. "He is the essence of tricks, mischief, the father of lies! He has fooled all of us, all of our hearts. He continues to do so. You cannot be so reckless in all your good will!"
"Not this time, Father, I swear." The god of war said, very close to tears, "I have seen him, drank with him, talked with him… I have seen his eyes! He is a changed man. He is nothing he used to be."
"So you have said to me before, on many occasions. Besides, you know yourself what the consequences of escaping his punishment are."
Thor lowered Mjolnir. Tears streaked his cheeks.
"Then, once you capture him, Father…" He looked up, not wiping them away. "At least give him another trial. Then, you will see what I mean."
Odin studied his son, moved by his outburst, for he had not a heart of stone. It had been well protected by years of tragedy and rule, but he loved his children. He bowed his head once, then spoke.
"I will do so, then judge once again. If he, as you have said, has changed, I will be more than willing to put him back upon the throne he used to sit in, before he became the fallen. Now you may go, son. Attend to your business. Do not fear justice, for it must shine upon all."
Thor bowed, then retreated, back into the places he was feared. He had done all he could, and, according to him, he had done his brother a favour. Odin would see what he meant, that his heart had grown soft, that he had sacrificed his own time and will for others. Thor left the throne room with a smile, not knowing Ahlan the Jailer had no intention of giving Loki Laufeyson an opportunity of reconciliation.
Tony Stark was woken up from a deep, after-party slumber by the drilling sound of his mobile phone ringing.
He groaned, pressing his face into the soft of his pillow, then turned and buried his head under the covers, hoping it would go away like the severe hangover he was currently suffering from.
Neither the ringing nor the hangover did.
He swore furiously, rose, somehow managed to wiggle out of the cocoon he had created out of his covers while he slept, then seized his phone and pressed the green button.
"I don't know who this is but I hope for your own sake you've got a damn good excuse for waking me up this early." He growled. "What do you want?"
"Oh, no, I'm so sorry, Tony. It's ten o'clock, I thought you would be out of bed by now."
It was Henrietta. Tony shut his eyes, repressing more curses at himself for being such an idiot.
"Hattie? Sorry, I didn't know it was you. Yeah. Sorry. There was a little gathering yesterday that went well into the night, so I'm, you know…" He ran a hand down his face. "Catching up on sleep."
"It's alright." She was amused, which lessened his guilt a little. "I just can't believe you, to be perfectly honest. I thought after what happened during the reconciliation dinner, you would lay off Mr. Laufeyson as you said."
Tony thought his brain had muddled up what he heard.
"Sorry?"
"You've stationed men outside my house, haven't you?"
He missed a beat.
"Tony?"
"Men? What men?" He said, awake completely. "I've not stationed anybody around your house."
She laughed.
"Very funny. Could you just call them off, please?"
"Henrietta, I swear that I haven't stationed anybody around your house!" He swung his legs out of bed and staggered out of it in nothing but his boxers, tripping over the eagle's nest he had left on the floor next to his bed the night before and narrowly missing the bedpost with his forehead. "Don't move, I'm getting dressed, I'll be there in a few moments with backup."
There was a stunned silence on the line.
"Henrietta?"
"Yes, I'm here." Came the reply. "Are you sure…"
"YES!" He said, as he tried to put his trousers on whilst pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder. "How many of them are there?"
"Heavens, I don't know… Twenty, at least. I'm at the window, looking out into the garden."
"Where's Laufeyson?"
"Sleeping." She muttered. "I'll wake him up."
"Do that. I'll be there soon."
"Okay… ah-!"
The line went dead. Stark froze.
"Henrietta? Henrietta!?"
He swore, threw the phone onto his bed, then leaped into his clothes and called feverishly for Jarvis to get his suit ready.
Hattie had backed away from the window, then whipped around, for she had bumped into something hard.
She dropped the phone. Towering in front of her stood a man, built like Thor, except his eyes were cruel and cunning. He smiled a smile like biting steel and crushed the device on which Tony was still talking with his heel.
"Say one word," he muttered, pressing a finger to her lips, "and you will not live to call his name."
A blade was pressed against her throat. She swallowed, feeling herself sway, then cried out as he picked her up, muffled her and carried her outside. His muscles were like rocks - his grip like blacksmith tongs.
The Asgardian soldiers watched as she was placed on the floor. One particular fair-haired fellow watched with his lips pursed and his gaze hateful towards all but Hattie.
"You may speak, silently." The brutal-looking man murmured, bending down towards her. "But one loud or startling move and you will die. Do you understand me?"
She gave a shaky nod.
"Very well. I am Ahlan Getrelson, the Jailer of the palaces of Asgard. Let us begin, for we do not have much time. Jeehl?"
He outstretched a hand. The fair-haired man stepped forward and placed a vial of yellow liquid onto it, then retreated back into the ranks.
"You have two choices." He said, displaying it so she could see. "Number one: death. I will pierce you, you will bleed out, and will know no more. Number two: this."
The liquid swirled around in the vial. Hattie trembled, her voice gone, hearing nothing but a name being screamed in her head, over and over, like a siren.
Ahlan chuckled at her expression.
"Oh, she's an intelligent one. She knows what I'm talking about."
Hattie dared to reach out to his mind, then covered her mouth and cowered, for what she read there was worse than any other. It was stained with sticky blood, it rang with cold laughter, it tasted of delight at other's pain.
"You will appear dead once you drink this. No beat will sound from your heart. Your lips will be drained of colour. Not a thought will skip through your head. Now choose. You have two minutes to make up your mind, decide the better option."
Ahlan sat himself upon a nearby stump and folded his huge arms, baring his teeth in a sickly grin.
"Come, Miss Henrietta Knott, niece of Haldanson the foul. Face your future, for I assure you, you have nothing but those two options."
Hattie sank to her knees. She covered her face in her hands, weeping silently, her heart crumbling, begging the heavens for mercy, but none came.
