Visitation

by kalimecat

Loki has returned to Asgard and is imprisoned for his crimes. While in prison he has the occasional visitor, will the love of others bring back the fallen prince or is he truly too far gone?

41. The Reality of Nightmares

A/N: HEEEEEEELLLOOOO READERS! Readers I am so sorry. It has been ssoooooooo long since I have posted. I have no excuse. I had every intention of doing so much writing this summer, but work and trips and life got in the way of writing. I was always writing, but it took me a lot longer than expected to finish this chapter. Still, I want to thank you for all your support. Your reviews, follows and favorites keep me inspired and strengthen my resolve to never stop writing this story until it is complete. All and all I had a different vision for this chapter. It's not quite ending at the point that I thought it would and it may not be the best chapter, but know that I wrote it with you in mind. I tried to edit as much as possible, but I'm sure there are still a few typos that I just couldn't catch. I apologize.

Furthermore, I would like to give a mad shout-out to my dear friend and faithful reader Priestess of Freya. She and her family have gone through a devastating loss this summer. Please keep her and her family in your prayers. I dedicate this chapter to her. If it's possible I hope it can bring her a moment of relief from her grief. To all happy reads and writes and as always MAY GOD BLESS YOU.

Chapter 41

The Dark-Elves went ballistic with shouts, hoots, hollers, catcalls whistles and taunts they beheld the descendant of their ancient enemy bound a tied like a slave standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the banquet hall. They sounded like a terrible flock of squawking crows. The sounds that rang from their throats were practically animalistic. They were already merry with wine and mead and all the wonderful hospitalities of the house of Odin and their frenzied revelry hit the ceiling. Before long the pale-faced creatures were jumping up and down, dancing on the tables and swinging from the lovely gold and diamond chandeliers.

Malekith rose to his feet. His soulless eyes gleamed as he beheld Prince Thor shackled and chained worse than a rabid dog. He had dreamed of this day for so long. Since he and his men had been forced into hibernation by the dormancy of the Aether he had been granted the privilege to receive visions. His connection with the Aether was incredibly strong and even though he and it were separated by space and time he could still manage to tap into some of the powers of the Infinity Stone and be granted visions. In those visions, he saw this day. He saw this glorious and proud day. The day that he had fantasized about since he was a youth. He would return the universe back to its original state. A state where the force of destruction reigned supreme and unchecked. A time of lawlessness and ruthlessness and blood battles for survival was the way of it. And his people, the Dark-Elves were the greatest and most advanced of all the people. They would plunder and pillage and rule the cosmos unchecked and unrivaled. Their power would know no bounds. It would start by the end of the line of Bor and then the annihilation of the Aesir in general, but he could let them die out slowly. They would die out soon enough once their king, queen and prince were dead. He had always been a sucker for a painful death. He had always prided himself on making his victims suffer. Quick kills were a sign of mercy and he had none of that within his being. Likewise, he would have the Aesir suffer in a slow genocide. He'd break their spirits, dry up their hope and then they'd die and the rest of the people of the Nine Realms would be powerless to stop the Aether.

The more he thought about it. The more excited he became. His breathing came quicker and quicker and his chest tightened as he felt the dark crystal rage within him. Try as he might, the Aether's powers, which were so enmeshed with his own emotions, could no longer be contained. Neither could the elfin general's elation. As he stretched forth his hand as he once more bellowed, "Behold," while pointing to Prince Thor, shards of the Aether shot forth from his hand. The dark crystal flew across the room its dull glow was that of the final embers of a dying fire, but the powerful blast managed to knock out one of the back walls. To this, the Dark-Elves only exclaimed wilder and danced harder and yelled louder. Then they burst into fits of crazed laughter.

The King of Asgard leaned in, with his elbows against his against his knees. His bright green eyes squinted as he strained to observe the damage. He scowled as he noted how the elves had completely ransacked the ballroom. They had practically destroyed it. His home. His gorgeous palatial abode was now crawling with vermin. They were such savages that they cared not for things of beauty, finery or wealth. They simply drew their pleasure from the chaos and destruction that they were able to rain down on others. And yet they were his allies. And yet he was one of them.

Loki could feel his palms starting to sweat as the realization set in deeper and deeper into his psyche. He rubbed his slick hands on his regal leather trousers. He could feel it. He could feel it welling back up. That all too familiar and ever present burning, stinging consuming fire. The things that sought to ravage him from the inside out. It welled up from the pit of his stomach. It spread to ever fiber of his being. he could feel all the raw heat washing over every organ and muscle and singeing it and melting his very bones. Loki instantly opened his mouth to let the fire out , but as he mouth dangled open, no flames sprang forth from his throat.

The enchanter quickly closed his mouth so as not to incur the strange stares of Lord Malekith. Quickly the mystic shifted his eyes just ever so slightly to his right so that he could glance at Malekith. The leader of the Dark-Elves was too heavily engrossed in the festivities to notice the self-appointed king of the Realm Eternal. With that Loki had time to collect himself. He took in a deep breath. Spoke the words of a cooling incantation in his mind. All at once his body was seized with shudders as a frosty chill came over him. The cold was pleasant to him always and he would certainly have welcomed frostbite to the terrible feeling of being set on fire. With in a few moments, he was comfortable and cozily cool. He settled back, resting his back against the throne and slumped ever so slightly. He allowed his legs to spread apart and he sat cockily upon the throne with the power of Gungnir in his right hand. He continued to look back at the back wall. He told himself that when this was over and Convergence had finished and the Aether had spread like wildfire through the Nine Realms that he would see to it that the Dark-Elf soldiers restored the palace to its former glory. He was king and he intended to live in a grand palace not some crumbling shack. Loki snorted as he glanced once more at the wall that was not there. His shrewd emerald eyes in the process also fell upon the pitiable prisoner.

There in the light of the doorway to the kitchen stood the son of Odin. The mage had done his part in patching up Thor's worse wounds, but patching up and healing were two different things. He covered wounds with fresh skin, but he hadn't stopped the bleeding and beneath the false skin blood still boiled and flowed. He numbed the throbbing pain of Thor's broken bones, but he hadn't set the bones back in place. The patch job was showing signs of wearing thin. The frail veneer of health was starting to slip. Thor's color was leaving, his eyes were dark and heavy and he swayed back and forth as he stood. The shackles were heavy about his neck and the thick metal dug into his head making it hard for him to breathe. His arms ached from the immense weight of the chains and even Thor's thick ankles were starting to twitch.

A sliver of a smirk wriggled its way across Loki's sharp features as he glanced at the 6'6 prince of Asgard's shoulders heave with the chains on them. He was delighted to see Thor standing barefoot and naked before all completely defenseless. How many days had he stood in front of all of Asgard in the same state? He hadn't been physically naked of course, but he might as well have been. He tried to have some transparency to show the people of Asgard a part of himself, but when he did it ended in humiliation. Usually, it was Thor's fault when it did happen. If Thor wasn't so glorious and wonderful and awe-inspiring then perhaps the people of Asgard could have seen what he was capable of so long ago. Perhaps his gifts wouldn't have been made shameful. Now the shoe was gloriously on the other foot. It was delicious to behold. Now Thor, for all his gifts was mocked instead of applauded, he stood like a man at a mark rather than a man on a pedestal. Loki drank it all in. His slight smirk lingered for a while as he listened to the Dark-Elves continue to roar.

All at once the Dark-elves started to stomp their feet. It was loud and rhythmic, a two count stomp. Along with their stomping, they started to bang their mugs of frothy grog and ale on the table. The banging of their mugs was in perfect time with their stomping. Soon the followed with woots and hoots like some primitive mating call of some swamp creature. They went on like this for several minutes. Intermittently, they one by one started to sit down and stand up. They did this all across the banquet hall making a wave pattern. Then their wooting and hooting stopped and they started to whisper something. It started in low. With just one elf saying the words. Then it started to grow, louder and stronger until it seemed that all of the dark-Elf soldiers and guards were in full voice giving a rallying cry. "Scourge. Scourge. Scourge! Scourge! SCOURGE!" They chanted. Some started to raise their hands as they screamed out. With every utterance, their voice grew louder and rowdier until they seemed to shake the chandeliers from the ceiling.

Thor stood in the doorway. He was sweating profusely and his hair was dangling sloppily in his face. His mouth was ajar as he panted and he rocked slightly from side to side and then back and forth on to his heels and then on to his toes. He wheezed and his breath came out in a haggard huff. Thor batted his eyes several times as he tried to clear his head. His head was pounding and the loud raucous was like a drill being driven into his temples. Prince Thor groaned as his weary blue eyes tried to focus. The were blood-shot and droopy and one could scarcely make-out the beautiful cerulean color of his eyes. He tried to make out the forms of those around him and make out where he was with in the palace. He hardly recognized the banquet hall. Everything was so demolished and destroyed, there was all manner of debris on the floors.

The curtains and veils were torn to shreds and their remains scattered like ribbons in a seamstress shop. Ale, grog, mead and wine soaked the gorgeous marble floor in puddles large enough to be ponds. Things were burning in different spots. It was not the warm glow of a hearth or the romantic burn of fragrant candles, but rather scattered bonfires like in a den of thieves. The one of a kind, antique, priceless vases that had been crafted by the ancients had been smashed to bits as if they were nothing. The tables and chairs made of hand carved mahogany and overlaid in gold and ivory were overturned and strewn about the room like some sort of bomb had gone off. And the Dark-Elves...they were everywhere. They overran the banquet hall like roaches. It made the crown prince's stomach churn to see the run about and dance about and to hear them raise their voice in such triumph. He looked around wildly trying to make out their faces. But he couldn't. They all blurred together. It was a swarm of bloodless skulls with hollow dark eyes and all of them were raising their voices and raising their fist and calling out. They were all the same. They were like animals.

In the midst of the yelling, The blonde-haired son of Odin happened to look up to the pedestal where his parents normally sat. He noticed the tall iron clad leader of the Svartalfhiem's forces. Malekith was standing in right in front of his mother's throne. The slimy warlord was standing and pointing right at him. He was showing his teeth and they were all pointed like knives. He stood there with his white palms outstretched. And he was laughing. Thor felt nauseous like someone had kicked him in the stomach. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Thor shook his head in disbelief. "I can't be seeing this," he whispered to himself. The thunder-bearer tried to bring his large strong hands up to his eyes in order to cover them. He hoped to rub them and rub away the awful image, but the weight of his bonds was too heavy and the chain was too short he couldn't even bring his hands to reach his chin. "No. No. No. No! NOOO!" Thor moaned as he slammed his eyelids shut. All at once the prince of Asgard became very out of breath. A few moments later, after counting to 10 and then 10 again and then to 20 and another time to 30 and finally to 100 and praying to the Norns that they make this travesty be merely a mirage, he flung his eyes open. He was aghast to find the general still standing atop the podium.

The crown prince of Asgard plunged his teeth deep into his full lips. It was all he could do to keep from screaming or crying. He balled his hands into tight fists. Malekith had placed himself upon one of the thrones of Asgard. He'd taken a seat on the very throne where his mother often sat and presided over her galas and affairs with grace, dignity, benevolence and beauty. It was a mockery and he could not stand for it. His whole body started shaking. His hand quivered and he opened ready to take hold of Mjolnir. He found it remained empty. Thor felt his eyes start to burn. A burden fell on the prince that was more than the full weights of all his chains. His knees started to buckle and his throat started to ache. Water stung his sapphire pupils. "I'm sorry, Father, Mother" the future king of Asgard mumbled as the Dark-Elves continued their feverish chanting. "I've...I've...I've failed you," he sighed. His shoulders fell as if they would hit his knees. "I've failed Asgard," he muttered. All of the Realm had been counting on him. His mother had placed their fates in his hands. He had assured her he would be successful, he would save their people, save the Nine Realms. He'd failed them all and left them without hope. Convergence was just hours away and even in Asgard where time moved very leisurely, time was running out. He could only now, pray that the Norns would have been gracious enough to have at least crafted into the day that foreordained for their destruction that at least it would be quick.

Thor turned his head to the left, there, he saw a shadowy figure looming over his father's throne. Such a sight sent a shiver racing down Prince Thor's spine. It was deja vu and that made it all the more chilling and haunting and dreadful. There was a rounded back like some coiled serpent and hideous, garish, large horns hovering above such a crooked body, like a dragon. Thor's back grew rigid and his eyes saw red. The energy of a Beserker rose up in him. Despite the weakness and fatigue that had previously taken over his body, Thor stretched and strained and pulled against the chains. He growled like a wild animal. He stamped his feet like a bilgeschnipe bull ready to charge. He gnashed his teeth and practically foamed at the mouth. He yanked hard on his chains and he started to manage to drag the Dark-Elf guards who were holding fast to his chains, but the two soldiers managed to dig their spiked boots into the floor and they could not be budged further. Furiously, he started to swing his cuffed fists at the air. His fingers clawed and scratched desperate to get to that snake on the throne. "LOOOOOOKKKKIIIIII!" Thor bellowed. But even the Thunderer's booming voice was drowned out by the ever persistent rally calls of the Dark-Elves. Thor continued to scream and strain. His muscles bulged as he pulled against the chains and rattled them. He yelled his voice sore and raw. His eyes were focused like a tiger as they burrowed into Loki. Yet the helmeted ruler didn't even give him a glance.

Thor had exhausted himself with his screaming. Finally, he fell silent. He might as well have been for his cries had merely fallen upon deaf ears. He dropped his arms and bowed his head so that his chin was resting against his chest. He breathed deeply and tried to catch his breath. He found that he couldn't. For every slow, calming inhale that he took came two rapid exhales. It filled Prince Thor with a wild rage to see how Loki had slipped into his father's position. He hated seeing Loki sitting there, pretending to be the all-father. He was no all-father. Odin had taught him since his earliest days that his duty as king of Asgard was to ensure stability, peace, happiness, justice and prosperity to the people of Asgard. Loki had done the complete opposite. He'd destroyed Asgard, he'd slaughtered the innocent people and was about to leave the realm of beauty and light into darkness. Thor shook his head, hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. The responsibilities of the all-father had been clearly laid out by the original fates. He was to serve, protect and help guide the Nine Realms. Loki was serving the Nine Realms on a silver platter to simply be fodder for Malekith and his hoard. He'd kill him! He'd kill him. Thor swore with every fiber of his being that he would destroy the man he'd once called brother.

He'd kill him, he'd swore he'd kill him if only he could. How could he? He was a prisoner of the Dark-Elves in the worse possible way. He had failed. He failed all of Asgard and the Nine Realms. He hadn't meant to be he had. His best intentions and best-laid plans had led to this. He'd done this. It was all his fault. He'd let Loki out of his prison cell, despite his friends telling him that Loki would betray him and he'd led him to the Dark-World. He'd let him go off and look for Malekith unchecked and unsupervised even though he knew that Loki was not to be trusted. Then he had stupidly and naively gone to search for Loki. Sif had told him not to. She had told him not to risk it. She'd reminded him of his sworn duty to protect Asgard. She'd implored him to return with the battalion back to their home world, but he foolishly hadn't done so. Had Prince Thor been able to raise his foot he would have gladly kicked himself in his rear. Then he'd found Loki and when faced with the ultimatum of letting the spineless, traitor die or surrendering his powers to save his life, he'd senselessly, blindly, crazily just handed over his powers to Malekith. He'd sacrificed his cosmic connection to Mjolnir, his ability to manipulate thunder and lightning, he'd given up his inherited Odin-force to save his brother's life and all Loki had done was bring Ragnarok inching ever closer to coming to pass. And now he could do nothing. He could do nothing to save the people he loved now. With every moment Ragnorok crept closer. By first light, the day of Convergence would arrive and by high noon Convergence would be at its peak. Thor was sure his life would have already been forfeited by then. Leaving Mjolnir without a wielder. He'd seen the way Loki's powers and the combined energy of the dark crystal had torn through Asgard's defenses like parchment. Even if the armies of Asgard were able to regroup and remount a force that could combat the Dark-Elf soldiers, there would be nothing they could do to stop the Aether without the power of Gungnir and Mjolnir combined. While his head hung low Thor's mind drifted to the caveat that his father had once put on the magical hammer. "Please," Thor said as he raised his weary, blood-shot, moist sapphire eyes, "Let someone be worthy," he prayed.

"Move!" Ordered one of the guards who had been steadfastly holding onto Thor's chains. He was a stocky build for a Dark-Elf and he carried a spear in his hands. Thor did not budge at the elf's command. The elf shouted his order once more. The prince of Asgard continued to stand his ground despite the fact that his throat was sore from yelling and his chest was constantly growing tighter and tighter. His legs were starting to shake. The Dark-Elf stamped the end of his spear on the marble floor. "Are you deaf, Asgardian?" The guard demanded. "I said MOVE!" He roared once more. Thor did his best to keep his gaze forward.

"You will do as we command, slave!" Spat the second guard who was holding Thor's shackles like a leash. He looked at his counterpart and nodded, then quick as a flash he drove the tip of his spear into Thor back. He cruel scraped the weapon up Thor's spine. Thor gasped and nearly yelled. He instead bit his lip. The other elf immediately followed by ramming the sharp edge of his spear into Thor's sensitive side. He jammed the spear into Thor's flesh deeper and deeper. He punctured his way through the tanned skin and through the muscles. The other Dark-Elf soldier followed suit by doing the same on the other side of Thor. The let out a loud moan. He groaned so loud that he practically growled as he felt the sharp, cold, pointed arrowheads deeper into his sides. He could feel it starting to tear through his arteries and veins. He clenched his fist until his knuckles started to turn white. He bit so deep into his lip that he tasted the salty, bitter metallic taste of his own blood. His toes curled tight as they seemed to try to claw their way into the floor. He huffed and puffed as the spear dove further and further he could practically feel it scraping against his ribcage. Finally, the prince screamed out. His cry was ragged. Then without mercy, those tormenters tore their weapons from out Thor's side. They ripped through the flesh and brought bits of muscle with them His knees started shaking profusely. They knocked together on the very of buckling. His whole body started to shake furiously. His life juices flowed like water from a fountain down his sides. They formed puddles deep enough to be considered ponds of the filthy marble floor. Thor felt all the wind leave his body in one ghastly gulp. Immediately, he dropped. His legs gave way without his consent. He fell to the floor. He fell into his own blood. It was some feat for him to even be able to catch himself on his hands and knees.

The two soldiers started to laugh. Thor could feel the pupil-less gazes of the Svartalfheim soldier transition from looking at each other and having a hooting and hollering fit, to looking at him with amusement. The stocky elf gave a callous chuckle. "Move!" He ordered once more.

"Get up, get!" The other taunted.

Prince Thor's every limb was shaking like a leaf. There was a part of Thor. A part that was feeble, in the very back of his mind that urged him to capitulate to the whims of the Dark-Elves. The pain was so excruciating and so consistent, he wanted to do anything to get it to stop. He'd do anything to escape their spears. But he couldn't. He was the last defense between the Dark-Elves and the Nine Realms. He had to take a stand and show them that the people of Asgard weren't just going to roll over and play dead and make nice-nice and become willing slaves. They may die, but they would die by the swords, they would die fighting to the last. "Nnnnooo" Prince Thor choked out.

Somehow Thor's muffled defiance caught Malekith's ear over all the hullabaloo that was taking place in the banquet hall. It wasn't necessarily that he heard the prince tell the guards no, but he observed his posture. Even though the golden son of Asgard was on his hands and knees bleeding through the floors, he still managed to hold his head up high. He still managed to stay where he was. The general's charcoal eye soon simmered with the heat of the Aether's power in their center. His eyes met with the guards. Immediately, the guards knew what to do. The plumper of the two guards screamed out with rage as he glanced down at the obstinate Aesir prince crouched on the ground. The second elf, who was no less as sturdily built for war, but had a slimmer face, he started to swing his staff about. He twirled it around like a baton. He spun it rapidly so that the weapon was only a swirling blur. While doing so, he flipped a switch. This switch turned the spear into an electric rod. "How dare you defy us!" He screamed out as he jammed the taser staff into Thor's back. He placed the sharp electric arrow head right into the cut that ran up and down Thor's spine. Terrible, purple electric currents raced up and down Thor's back. The crown prince hollered like an animal. He had never felt the brunt force of Mjolnir being used against him, but he felt like he had been hit with the weight of his own weapon. He now felt pity for all his enemies.

Thor's whole body began convulsing, shuddering and seizing in the most fierce manner. He was shaken from the inside out. He felt his bones rattle against one another. His limbs quaked so badly that they could no longer support him. He fell flat on the floor into the slowly forming pool of his own blood. He felt the horrendous sensation of electricity dancing within his veins. It pulsated through his nerves. His whole body was on fire. For just one terrible moment, he was stock still as the electric shock cause his whole body to seize. The energy was too much to contain and almost instantly he came out of the frozen state and he shook like leaf as it tried to find an outlet from his flesh. Prince Thor continued to wail like a banshee for several long and grueling minutes. Finally, his desperate cry seemed to rise about the wild chanting of the Dark-Elf soldiers. They took note of his tortured bellowing long enough to finally cease their clamor.

His tormentors only delighted all the more in hearing Prince Thor's screams. Each one of them could recall well how much it took to break an Asgardian in such a way. Some of the people of the Nine Realms had been easy to humble. Many of the inhabitants of Alfheim were a particularly frail and feeble folk. The Faerie and the Light Elves (their kin, poisoned by the Light) could do nothing to with stand them. The Vanir, armies valued enchantments, but none of their magicians were well versed enough to handle the force of the Aether. The people of Nildelvar, the Dwarves were strong, hardy and stubborn like ground which they did mine, but when enough pressure was applied they too could be cracked just like the earth. But the Aesir were somehow different. The Dark-Elves were never ones to shy away from the most inhumane treatment of their prisoners, but even still an Asgardian soldier would never betray their command or fold or capitulate to their demands. They had broken the bodies of a few Aesir, for the proud warrior race was elusive and hard to capture in battle, but they had never broken a soldier's spirit or will. Even if it had cost the man his life. Every Aesir had remained resolute. It had only angered them the more and increased their hate of the golden race.

Malekith looked on with interest as Thor continued to wallow and shake. He knew that the Crown Prince of Asgard was doing all he could to withstand the power of their shock staffs, but as he watched him twisting and writhing and moaning and crying he knew that soon such attempts would prove entirely futile. If he continued to resist he would no doubt wind up dead. A smile tugged at the general's bloodless lips as he thought of Thor dying right then and there. He cast a quick glance at Loki. Oh, how he hated the fact that the half-breed Aesir was being given the honor of slaying the beloved son of Odin. The honor should have been his. He had waited too many centuries dreaming of nothing but the day when he could enact his vengeance upon Bor. It annoyed him to no end to know that Bor had long since died. But he still wanted to feel that dreadful joy from knowing that he had single-handedly ended Bor's line. He wanted to do it with his own bare hands. King Bor had given him no choice, but to end his own line after all. He wanted Thor to die right there in the midst of the scourging. Then all the realms would know of his power and might. He'd be feared something terrible then.

Asgard's king had a lump in his throat the size of a prize winning melon from one of the harvest festivals that took place in the countryside. He was sitting on the edge of his seat. His fingers groped viciously at the armrests of his throne. He bit the inside of his thin lips forcing them to drawn back so severely so that his mouth was only a line. His breath hitched, his pulse raced and his skin was covered in a cold sweat as he looked on the distasteful sight. He watched as the elf soldiers dove their electro-spears into Thor's open wounds. The blood squirted and Thor squirmed and twitched and twisted and writhed like some type of possessed serpent on the ground. The way his body twisted and contorted was enough to put King Loki's stomach into mangled knots.

The enchanter quickly averted his gaze. It was a split second, but out the corner of his eye, he found Lord Malekith's hideous half charred face watching him. Immediately, Loki swallowed the gigantic lump that had lodged itself in his windpipe and made it difficult for him to breathe. Instantaneously, the royal's face became placid and tranquil, nearly delighted as if watching a sunrise. Loki, lackadaisically, leaned back into the golden throne. The liesmith grinned cleverly and showed the same amusement as the elves around him at Thor's pathetic form flopping about on the ground. Malekith merely glared at him and then grunted at Loki's newly formed callous expression. The Dark Elf general folded his arms across his armored chest like a petulant child. He stared onward back to watching the prince writhe on the cold floor. The vision once more brought pleasure to him. His glee made the Aether bubble within him. The sight of such pain fed the dark gem. He had to breathe deeply to calm the power. He settled in his royal chair and smiled, but all the while, he kept a vigilant dark eye on the king's alabaster face.

Loki crossed his legs and did not blink or flinch as he beheld the Dark-Elf guards continue to plunge their spears into Thor's sides. He sat relaxed and still upon the throne, he tapped his toe to the sound of the son of Odin's screams. He drummed his fingers along the edges of the armrests impatiently. Without thought, he found his finger straying to rub just above his upper lip. It wasn't until he tasted the perspiration from his lip that he even realized that he had been doing the gesture himself. He immediately went back to his indifferent posture. His deep green pupil darting to the side to see if Malekith was still viewing his with such scrutiny. To his astonishment, the warlord seemed to be enjoying the festivities too much to take much note.

In his mind, Loki heard words echo, Come on, Thor. It came so quick he could have given himself whiplash as he tried to interpret it. Come on Thor! It repeated more hopefully. His chest was tight despite his icy appearance. Fool, do you want them to electrocute you to death. This voice wasn't necessarily snarling or accusatory, more just earnest. Move you dolt! It hollered from deep with in. The cry so frantic that it nearly startled the enchanter. Loki's eyes shifted back and forth. The scream had been so loud that he wasn't sure if he hadn't actually cried out loud. Apparently, not. For the Dark-Elves gave no indication. They were all still rooting like they were seeing some spectacle.

The agony that his one-time brother was experiencing was so plain, he could not comprehend why Thor wouldn't budge. Was he truly that stupid? That stubborn? Perhaps he wanted to die. It wouldn't have been surprising. The code of any Asgardian citizen was death before dishonor. He had no doubt that the blonde-haired prince would prefer death than to seeing the cosmos consumed by the Aether. He'd rather die than to live to see his own failure. A smug expression ran across Loki's severe lips. Sorry, brother. I bet in all our wildest dreams, in that charmed little life of yours, you could never have imagined you'd have to face such defeat? You never thought that you'd disappoint so many, did you? You never thought that you'd be the disgrace. Loki smiled. Not to fear though, your suffering will end soon enough.

The cruel thought made Loki's body start to heat up and uncomfortably so. His mouth hung open and he started panting. Thor must have wanted to die and it was because of him. Loki's eyes glanced downward for just a moment. He looked at his boots that felt as if they must have been walking on hot coals. A question tumbled in his mind. Why did he even care? Thor's death was certain. Thanos had declared it so, Malekith and his men would make sure that that order was enacted. And that would be the end of it. The end of an era, the birth of a new age when he would be king of Asgard and second in command to only Thanos. What difference was it if Thor died here and now as a pitiful beast of burden for the Dark-Elves to make sport of or in a few hours as dawns beautiful light graced Asgard's sky for what could be the final time. What difference did it make? None. Absolutely none! It was but mere hours. Flimsy, foolish, meaningless hours. Drops in the bucket, pebbles in the quarry of time, worthless hours. It didn't matter and he wanted Thor dead after all. Didn't him. No. A shrill voice gave a shriveled protest. The word it offered was just an imperceptible breath. The word refused to be repeated. Thor Loki practically begged the voice to come back. He waited with bated breath. To hear it again, but it did not return. It was far too weak to render itself again.

With that King Loki snorted. Of course, the answer was no. He didn't want Thor to die here and now. Naturally, for that took away his victory. He wanted to be the one to take the golden one's life. He wanted all of Asgard to see it. After all hadn't Thor done it? He'd done it? Thor had sat there and watched as they plunged him into that ooze. Thor saw them put him in that wicked potion that would pull out all his powers. Thor had orchestrated it. Ordained it even. He'd watched. He sat in the royal box and gazed down while he was strapped to a table and tortured. Anger flared and so did Loki's thin nostrils. How did he know that Asgard's lion hadn't laughed and hadn't delighted himself with some sick pleasure while he screamed and begged for mercy. He had. He had. He had. He had. He had to have. Loki kept telling himself. His breath came out quicker and quicker until he was panting and then he was cackling. He was laughing wildly and madly like a fitful child. The go ahead and sit there you fool! Loki spat inwardly. Let them kill you! Die you stubborn jackass! Go ahead! He went on and on as he laughed like a maniac. Then he watched as the guard gave one more might stab to Thor's back. Thor let out a bloodcurdling wail. THOR MOVE! Loki hollered back inwardly.

Somehow, as he heard him, Thor managed to crawl away from the spear. The soldiers laughed but they finally stopped prodding the prince with their taser rods. Thor shook terribly as he stumbled to his knees. "On your feet!" Barked one of the guards. He held his spear at Thor's neck. Thor groaned and winced as he saw the powerful blue and purple electric currents radiating off of the spears. Loki looked curiously at the blonde prince's pained expression, he could scarcely recall a time when he'd seen such a fearful expression on the man's face.

Thor hurried to obey the commands of the elves. It was a struggle to climb all the way to his feet. He pushed off the ground and then fell back down twice. On the third time, he rose to his feet. His legs were shaky, but he was standing. He rocked back and forth. His eyes rolling in the back of his head. His face which was always golden and bronze was a ghostly pale shade and the electric shocks had made his veins sit out.

"That's more like it," chuckled one of the guards. "Now serve," he ordered. Thor made no protestation. It was hard enough to breathe. Every painstaking breath seemed to cause another convulsive shudder to wrack his body. He dare not try to talk. Instead, he humbly, weakly, tiredly complied with their demands and turned toward the kitchen. He body shook and the chains that bound him rattled as he made a tiny march toward the doorway of the kitchen where the light flooded out. The light hurt his eyes, but he could not even bring his hand to shade his blue eyes, so his eyes just kept rolling in the back of his head. He was out of breath when he reached the kitchen. He saw the food that the Dark-Elves had laid out on the silver countertops in the kitchen. It was quite an elaborate fare. It was a feast fit for the royal guests of Asgard who would have normally graced the dining hall. There was roast suckling pig, quail and braized-beef, turnips and leeks and onions and cheeses and freshly baked rolls of all kinds. There were grapes and citrus, figs and dates. Thor's mouth watered as he saw the scrumptious meal that the elves had prepared for themselves. He was so hungry. He had not eaten in days. He was weak. His stomach growled. It was practically roaring. Thor doubled over as hunger pangs hit him. Rage filled him. He wanted to flip over the table and send all the succulent food flying across the floor. How dare they eat the meat that was meant to serve kings. How dare they take what was Asgard's. Thor started to bear his teeth. His muscles bulged as he fury was about to be unleashed. He pulled against the chains, he was about to rush the table, but as he started to move he felt the shudders start to seize. They made him halt and take pause. He became breathless. Also as he started to tug away he felt the Dark-Elf soldiers pulling on his chains. One yank and he felt as if his neck would snap from the weight of the heavy shackle around his neck. He also was able to recall the ball and chain around his ankles. Their heaviness made him want to break his legs off. He could barely raise his arms to his shoulders due to the fetters. Prince Thor sighed. His mammoth sized soldiers slumped as he realized the futility of his efforts.

Bitterly, Thor walked to pick up one of the plates made of his mother's fine crystal off of the table. He scooped it up in his two restricted hands. "Get another," he heard one of the Dark-Elves command. Thor shook his blonde-haired head in confusion. He couldn't possibly carry two plates when his hands were bound together in such away. Thor attempted to maneuver the plates with shaky hands, but even the Dark-Elf soldiers could see that his struggle was no fraud. The plate clanked down on the table. Some of the grapes fell off the side as it fell. Thor looked up at the soldiers with weak, pleading eyes.

"Like this," the other elf snapped. He dropped the end of the chain for one moment and stomped over to where Prince Thor was standing. He picked up on of the plates and shoved it in Thor's hands roughly against his bare chest. Thor let out a gasp. Then, without warning the warrior gripped Thor's dirty, blonde locks and yanked his head back. It forced his mouth to open as he let out a groan. He shoved the other plate in Prince Thor's mouth and forced the son of Odin to carry it out with his teeth.

Thor grunted and groaned and strained with the heavyweight of the crystal plate resting between his teeth. His teeth ached and his jaw hurt as he struggled to carry the heavy platter. "Move!" Yelled the elf in Thor's ear. His voice so loud and grating that it caused Thor to jump. The plate in his hands nearly fell on the floor. He caught it just barely. He could picture the type of cruel punishment that would await him for such an uncontrollable infraction. Slowly, the crown prince of Asgard lumbered forth from the kitchen with a tray in between his teeth and a plate in his hands. He was bound and shackled worse than even the lowest slave of Musepelheim. His head hung and his sweat-soaked dirty, golden locks slapped him in the face with every footfall.

The angry mob of Dark-Elves hissed and heckled Prince Thor as he hobbled forth. They cursed and swore at him "HA! Here comes the fair son of Odin!"

"Make way for the mighty Thor," they jeered.

"He's nothing without his hammer," they called.

"Worthless piece of Asgardian slime!" They hooted and booed.

Thor tried to keep his head up. He tried to walk proud and strong like a true son of a king should, but how could he. He was broken in both body and in spirit. The words of the soldiers from Svartalfhiem tore into him worse than even their weapons did. Never in his life had he tasted such defeat. It was an awful, bitter, sour flavor. Even his time on Midgard during his banishment had not been so miserable and painful. Yes, his father had removed his powers and taken Mjolnir from him, but he was not comfortless, he still had some hope. Even after Loi had lied to him and told him that their father was dead even after he'd been told that he could never return to his home, he still had a fleeting feeling that he could somehow learn the ways of mortals and make a life for himself on Earth. As he looked into Jane's sincere and intelligent chocolate eyes he had an inkling that he could even find love on this distant realm. Now there was nothing to hope for. He had been his parents' last hope. He'd been the last hope for his people and for the entirety of the Nine Realms and he had failed them all. Thor could feel water pressure building up behind his sea-blue eyes.

Just as his tear was about to be shed he felt an abrupt and firm yank to his chain. The stern grasp could have broken his neck it was a wonder that it hadn't. It was then that he finally looked up and noted that he was standing on the dais that presided over the banquet hall. His eyes gazed up at those who sat upon the golden pedestal and hot fervent venom bubbled from his gut. Thor wanted to unleash all the fury of the heavens upon them. His eyes flickered with a hot rage. He wanted to rain down lightning from every corner of the globe to fry them. Then he'd let acid rain pour fresh on their heads. His body started to shake with a torrential vehemence. He could feel himself summoning every known storm imaginable to annihilate him. He wanted to awaken the blizzards and the tsunamis and the earthquakes and hurricanes and tornadoes. He'd have hail made of fire and brimstone crash down upon their heads. He would destroy their evil race and make sure they'd vanish without a trace or a remnant of their kind had ever existed in the realms.

Thor pictured it all so vividly. He closed his eyes and then quickly opened them. He was breathless, he couldn't wait to see the wrath that he had unleashed. But when his beautiful blue eyes opened once more he found no such thing. No rain, no snow, no hair or wind had prevailed. For a moment the Thunderer was perplexed. How could this be? Then he looked at his hand. Mjolnir, his master weapon. The ancient symbol of power forged by the Norns and once possessed by the Vanir of old and now passed down through annuls of time to the Aesir race, one of the most coveted artifacts in all of the universe was no longer his. He looked down at what had replaced his magnificent mallet. There in his hands was an object of servitude.

Prince Thor mashed his lips together and pressed tightly on the crystal plate between them. His eyes looked up from the serving dish in his hand to the black boots of Lord Malekith. The boot tapped the floor. Thor felt the guards give his fetters a distinctive shake, a prompt for him to act. The golden-haired Aesir emitted a low rumble from the very back of his throat, halfway from annoyance and halfway in pain. He rolled his eyes and found the despicable, snow-white face of the general. The villain was grinning wide from ear to ear. Thor's hands started to shake with fury, he wanted to crack the plate in two and hurl the food at Malekith. He felt the cold metallic chains crack against his back. It was a cruel reminder of the pain that these fiends could cause. It caused his body to ache all the more. He suddenly felt his knees grow weak and he could hardly stand. Malekith leaned down on to his knees, a severe smirk plain as day written on his face. He clicked his tongue and then gave a whistle as he extended his hands. Prince Thor's head was throbbing. He started to sway slightly. He swallowed deeply as he tried to counter the noxious feeling that was starting to rise up in his stomach. Despite himself and his efforts at resistance, he found his arms were growing incredibly tired and heavy. The manacles and chains on his wrists must have weighed a ton and carrying even a tiny plate of food had exhausted him. Finally, he was forced to place the feast fit for a kin in the hands of the scoundrel, Malekith.

The crystal plate fell heavily into Malekith's cold, chalky, gloved hands. Thor's breathing quickened. His swaying intensified. His head pounded and his throat throbbed. The weight of the chains was becoming more and more unbearable. Before long Prince Thor crashed onto his knees before the dais. He found himself kneeling at the feet of his enemy. The crown prince of Asgard started to quiver. He shook violently. His teeth chattered as he struggled to hold the other plate with his mouth. He was sure he would drop it.

All the while Thor heard the celebration of the crowd. The room full of Dark-Elves erupted into applause and screams and cheers. Their clapping and stomping and roaring and guffawing at the expense of the son of Odin sounded like thunder in his ear. Thor gritted his teeth so hard that he thought the bones in his mouth would have cracked through the crystal china. He started to scream through his teeth. He raged and started to cry. The sound of thunder had always been a comfort to him. It was like one of his mother's lullabies. It had always soothed him, comforted him, invigorated him. Now the sound that was so much a part of him that it was like his own voice, now only served to mock him. It was more than the prince could bear. Hot tears rained down from his eyes and ran like a waterfall over his cheeks.

Lord Malekith lifted his presented plate with fresh, piping hot meat and raised it above his head and showed it to the men in his command. The Dark-Elves went deeper and deeper into their reveling and exploded into their tongue shouting their victory chants over and over. "Scourge! Scourge! Scourge!" The roared over and over and over.

Thor continued to rest on his knees. His limbs were practically limp and they felt like rubber as they shook. His pulse raced, his heart beat wildly and he felt like it would explode within his chest cavity and he wanted it to. He wished to die rather than to be made a puny slave of these monsters. Thor closed his eyes and prayed to the Norns that they would end it all. I've failed! I've failed! I've failed. He whispered weakly in his mind. I'm so sorry, he cried inwardly. I know...I know...I know you tried to warn me, all those centuries ago. Youdidyoudidyoudidyoudid...I...I...I was foolish...I was stupid...I was a naïve boy. He started to shake his head and squeeze his eyes shut even tighter as he tried to press deeper into his prayers. I was everything Loki ever said I was. I was so full of folly. The liquid rolled down his face. I didn't know any better...I thought...I thought that protecting Loki would be the right thing, but I was wrong. Wrongwrongwrongwrong. He sobbed like a child. I made a mistake. He pleaded with the fates. I don't deserve not to see that which I have set in motion to be, but please...please...please...I can't bear it.

Thor's jaw was growing weak. His bottom lip was quivering fiercely and he was in desperate need to put the plate down. Once more the prince felt the sting of the cold iron chains slapping his bloody bare back. He felt the pressure of the dreadful shackle that had been placed round about his neck being pulled and tugged in a different direction. The painful yanking forced Prince Thor to crane his neck ever so slightly and turn his head just a few degrees. At that moment he was made to open his eyes. They were still facing downward and he caught a glimpse of polished, shiny, black boots that stretched to nearly the knees over a pair of long, thin legs clothed in evergreen trousers made of leather and velvet. His eyes trailed up the legs that were arrogantly crossed with ankle touching the knee cap. He found the torso that was cloaked in the most pristine and resplendent golden armor imaginable. On the floor, he could see the outline and shadow of two great curved antlers. The shadow reminded him of a demon and made him shiver. Thor blinked for a moment. He tried to get the tears from his eyes, but they kept forming. He willed himself to look in the face of the man who he once called his brother. Now he only saw a monster. The man, the animal was wild eyed. His crazed green pupils were dilated with excitement. He wore a sick wolfish green that made Thor's skin crawl. He sat on the throne of their ancestors and called himself the ruler or this domain. He took on the title of king when he had absolutely no right too. He was no king, he was nothing but a fiend, he was no Aesir though he still wore their flesh he was a hideous Frost Giant, he was no brother, but the purest enemy Thor had ever had.

Loki reached down with magnanimous hands. They were elegant, graceful and skillful hands, they were delicate, royal hands and they languidly reached toward Thor. They tapped him just under the chin. Loki's slender fingers scratched Thor under the scruff of his dirty, blonde beard. Loki chuckled in Thor's face. "You have something for me?" Loki inquired as he looked down quickly at the plate of delectable bites that hung in his brother's mouth. "Give it here, Brother dear," he added as he twisted the knife while tickling Thor's beard. then he patted his knees.

Thor's eyes went wide and his nostrils flared, but his jaw ached so much so that he had no choice, but to comply with Loki's heartless demands. He plopped the beautiful crystal plate into Loki's lap. Shakily, he collapsed on to his hands and knees. He was breathless and panting. His head hung low. Then he felt Loki smooth, alabaster hands pat him on the head. "Good boy," Loki whispered in his ear. Thor bent his head down just enough so that he could dodge Loki's feather-light, long skillful finger running through his dirty mane. He lifted his head and looked at Loki with fire in his bloodshot crystal blue eyes. It was enough to make the jade eyed mage recoil his fingers for just a second. His momentary reflex was quickly overcome as he let out a deep dark chuckle. His smug facial expression never faltered. Dismissively, with a very flippant gesture, he waved Prince Thor away.

Instantly, Thor's chain was yanked roughly by the Dark-Elf guards. They heard him give a pained gulping sound, they did not even wait for him the climb to his feet. They simply dragged him away. His beaten body tumbled across the dirty floor and became tangled in the heavy chains. They carted him back into the kitchen and they repeated the process over again. They forced Prince Thor into servitude once more. They hoisted him to his feet roughly as he groaned in pain. Then they placed plates in his hands and upon his head and in his mouth and marched him back out in front of the Dark-Elves so that he could serve each and every one of them.

As Thor was paraded before the warriors of Svartalfhiem they continued in their merry-making. They laughed and mocked and hooted and scoffed at the nearly naked prince of Asgards. As he walked by the Dark-Elves took care to hurl bits of their food at him. They'd pelt him with half bitten piece of fruit and vegetables. His body was soon covered in their mess.

They took long drags of a fresh wine and ale from the royal cellar. This drink Thor was made to pour for each of the men of Lord Malekith's army with his teeth. He served them breathlessly, weakly. His jawbone and spine ached from the repetitive movement of bending over and attempting to pour with the handle of the pitcher pressed between his teeth. They laughed in his face as they saw his earnest and valiant attempts to perform the task. Truly, the blonde-haired son of Odin failed miserably, despite his efforts. The wine and ale and grog missed the goblets and spilled into large puddles of the floor. To add insult to injury the Dark-Elves had the nerve to take deep swigs of the alcohol and then spit it out at Thor in his face. They nearly blinded and drowned him with their constant bombardment of liquor to the face. The wine ran down Thor's face into his eyes and stung them. Thor shook his head and tried to bring his hands up to wipe his face, but they were so weighed down by the heavy fetters that he could not even raise them to cleanse his face. He stumbled blindly about the dining hall trying to find those who still needed to be served. The Dark-Elves would whistle and clap their hands and call rudely to Thor so that he could find them. Thor would hurriedly and without resistance rush to obey their calls. His bloody bare feet would slap against the cold marble tile of the banquet hall as he'd rush to give the Dark-Elves their feast. In cruel sport, different elves would scoot their chairs forward or stick their feet out and cause Prince Thor to trip and fall flat on his face. He'd spill the trays of food all over the floor and for this, the guards who held fast to his binds would not hesitate to beat him. They'd unleash the whips that they held in their belts and let it dance across Thor's broad and slashed back. By now Thor screamed out with every painful lash.

The lashes sent the prince scrambling like a frightened mouse back to a hole into the kitchen. There, he worked quickly and deliberately to finish serving the Dark-Elves as they so desired. Their laughter roared in his ear as he came back out into the crowd of monsters again and again. He served them for what surely seemed like an eternity. They gave him no rest or peace. For even in his humbled state when they'd cast him down and made a slave of him they still continued to be unmerciful and give out endless punishment. Thor was shaky and weak as he served them, but it did not matter as he would approach the Dark-Elves would thank him by giving him a swift slap across the face or a hard, fast kick to the abdomen.

When Thor was completely done serving every last one of Malekith's men he collapsed onto the floor. He was panting and gasping for air. He was unable to even move. The Dark-Elves stomped their feet and continued their ferocious chanting. Thor's head pounded. His skull ached. Yet he could not even put his hands up over his ears to block out their jeering and scoffing and vicious insults.

Slowly, Lord Malekith rose to his feet. He started to walk across the dais and went to the edge where the steps were. He raised his arms in the air. Somehow in the midst of all the frenzied commotion and celebration, the Dark-Elves received their commanders signal and managed to quiet themselves. Malekith spoke something in the native language of Svartalfheim. To his words, the soldiers responded with raucous laughter and knee slapping. They continued to point and mock the crown prince of Asgard. Malekith talked for a while in his language, apparently telling many jokes at Prince Thor's expense. "Every servant is worth their hire, are they not?' The general asked his troops. The warriors started to cheer and clap their hands. "As the old parable says let us not muzzle the ox who treadeth the corn," the white faced fiend chuckled to himself. The army laughed as well. Malekith turned the seared side of his face toward Prince Thor. He let a bloodcurdling smile slip over his cold, bloodless lips. "Shall we not give this faithful servant what he deserves?" He demanded of his people. To this, the warriors of Svartalfheim exploded into a type of fitful, gleeful exuberance. "So much hard work," Malekith said in a taunting baby voice.

Thor managed to open his blackened, tearful, bloodshot eyes and he stole the chance to look up at his enemies. His vision was terribly blurry. The faces of the Dark-Elves all swirled and meshed together as the room. Their crazed laughing faces were all like terrible mocking masks from a masquerade ball. In the midst of all his pain and confusion and incoherence, while the hideous, snowy, dark-eyed faces swam and flashed before his eyes in a slurry, he managed to recognize one face. It was thin and keen, handsome and somehow all at once horrifying. The eyes were a wild forest green and the smile was so slick and serpentine it made Thor's skin crawl and it made him shiver where he was. Thor tried to look away, but the faces were everywhere. He tried to close his eyes, but even when his eyes were shut he could still see piercing jade eyes shining in his cranium and burrow deep into his mind's eye. He couldn't get them out. The sick grin was still there slithering all around him. Before long stark white faces of the Dark-Elves started to fade into the background. Soon all Thor could see was Loki's face mocking him. He watched as the face of the man that at one time he'd probably trusted more than anyone else in the world morphed into something monstrous. Loki's royal helmet molded into his head and his keen regal featured became sharper and scarier, his pointed nose became a muzzle and his prominent cheekbones twisted into a scaly jaw. His smile somehow remained the same. It remained long and jaded and serpentine, but now it had long, knifelike teeth and a slimy forked tongue to match. His laughter became a howling, screeching roar in Thor's ear.

"Surely, he is tired after his labors and in need of refreshment," Malekith offered and pointed to the poor soul before him. Malekith yelled to two of his henchmen. The two guards who had been holding Thor's chains finally let go long enough to take heed to Malekith's command. The two Dark-Eves who seemed so inebriated that they could scarcely stand stumble forward laughing and muttering to each other in a foreign tongue and laughing and pounding fist and slapping hands with one another. When they reached the foot of the steps before the dais they inelegantly bowed toward their general. "Please won't you bring Prince Thor some refreshment?" He asked. He clapped his hands like a fastidious king and sent his little servants scrambling.

The pair of guards came waddling back carrying a large heavy bucket between them. The bucket had a lid on it and a clumpy, brownish green mixture bubbled forth from the pot. Finally, when they reached Thor's side the slammed the pot down. They lifted the lid and the noxious fumes of the slop filled the room and wafted right into Thor's nostrils. It made him gag. The two soldiers then proceeded to cart the mush up the steps and present it to Lord Malekith. Malekith waved his hand and inclined his head toward King Loki. "Do you care to do the honors?' Malekith asked. His look toward the newly proclaimed king was an incredulous one. It was questioning and ready to condemn all at once.

Loki smiled lazily and then started to chuckle low in his throat as the Dark-elves carted the slop closer to him. He could smell the repugnant and all too familiar odor. The same garbage and slop that he'd been forced to suck down while Thor sat at a banquet. The green eyed enchanter was on the verge of bursting into fitful giggles as he thought of repaying his brother with the same treatment that had been extended to him. He uncrossed his long legs and stood to his feet. His lanky presence towered over the elves and the prince who was writhing and gasping helplessly on the cold marble floor. The king of Asgard stretched a little before he plucked the large spoon from one of the guard's hands. Lethargically, he ladled through the swines' slop. He then took a heaping spoonful and raised it up in the air before the crowd of Dark-Elves. "A feast fit for a king," the articulate mage announced. His allies hooted and hollered and cheered. Loki's smile was full of an unbridled, wicked and fiendish delight. His toothy grin stretched wide as he thought of how sweet vengeance was.

His reveling in his vengeance was cut short. The foul smell of the slop hit his nostrils. It's all too familiar stench. His body naturally reacted. A gag reflex was triggered. His stomach tightened and he started to feel sick. Loki swallowed hard trying to stave off his desire to throw-up as he recalled having to dine on this refuse. He'd always had a sensitive stomach, he had far too many allergies for a prince of Asgard who was supposed to be the epitome of health and vigor and have a manly appetite. This was public knowledge. The servants and cooks and cupbearers all knew it and so did the guards. He knew it was something that many had sniggered about behind his back. That added all the more to the insult when the guards had served him the terrible slop. He started to feel queasy and light-headed and if it hadn't been for his powers helping him fight off the natural effects of being forced to smell the disgusting mush he would have retched in from of them all. Loki shook his head. His spine tingled. That would be a very unkingly thing to do before his new subjects.

The bearer of Gungnir did his best to strengthen his resolve. He gripped the ladle tightly and firmly. How would it be to shove this swine's food down Thor's gullet? Thor who had never once known anything less than the best. He'd never once dined on anything less than a delicacy. Oh, how he longed to see the blonde be forced to try and swallow the slime. A devious little cackle bubbled forth from the back of his throat. He was powerless to stop it. And all the while, at the same time he could feel another hot flash hitting him. instantly sending him into a sweat so much so that his armor started to stick to him and he opened his mouth in a pant. A thought came to his mind. He thought that perhaps Thor hadn't been the one to commission him to eat the slop. The simpleton probably hadn't even known. Inwardly, Loki hissed. He chided himself for any thought of mercy that he may have felt toward his once brother. He took the ladle firmly in his hand and spooned and another heaping helping into the utensil. He was so ready to pour it in Thor's mouth. For a moment Loki paused and thought about serving Thor the nasty goop, but then he thought better of it. Why should he force himself to smell the stench of it? He signaled for the guards to come over and commissioned them to serve the son of Odin slime.

Without a moment's hesitation, the ruthless soldiers of Svartalfheim gripped Prince Thor. They grabbed him by his trembling arms. They paid no heed to how he shook or how his color had faded. They brought him to his knees. He could not even sit on his knees without their support. Even his head flopped to the side, or forward. One of the guards stood behind him propping him up. He roughly pushed Thor's head in place. "Wake-up! Wake-up, you fool," he taunted. "Time to eat your num-nums," he laughed and the crowd of elves laughed with him. Thor blinked his weary eyes slowly. He was in such a stupor of fever and pain and fatigue that he couldn't even make out what more was transpiring around him.

The Dark-Elf took a fistful of Thor's golden mane and yanked his head back while the other guard proceeded to draw closer carrying the bucket of slop. Thor shook his head and grunted to offer weak protest. The prince knew not what was going on, but the cold, gritty feel of the Dark-Elf hands told him that he was still their prisoner and the son of Odin knew that these beasts had no pity or any trace of kindness within them to offer their enemy any courtesy or kindness. He continued to struggle. He groaned and grunted like a wild animal. That mattered not. The elves could not hear him. One of Malekith's men dipped the ladle into the slop. He scooped up and a heaping helping of brown and green mush. It reeked and he made sure to waft the nasty goop in front of the prince's nose. The noxious smell cause the blonde-haired thunderer to curl up his nose and twist his lips, naturally, he tried to swing his head away from the sickening fumes. The Dark-Elves would not even allow him that much comfort. The other guard quickly made sure to grab Thor by the jaw. He forced him to hold his head straight while the slop was presented. Roughly, he twisted the jaw and forced Thor's mouth open. He sat on his knees with his head back and his mouth hanging open as a guard allowed the first drop to drip onto Thor's tongue.

The Dark-Elf soldiers hooted and erupted into thunderous applause while Thor gagged on the swine's food. They didn't let up. The more they saw Thor's face twist and pucker the quicker the shoved another spoonful of the disgusting brew into Thor's mouth. Thor was screaming as his mouth was filled with pigs slop. His stomach churned like waterwheel and he was forced to suck down the refuse. He gagged, a reflex and he would spew the slop back out. Every now and then as the spittle would fly from his mouth a little would spray onto the armor of the Dark-Elf soldiers who were conducting his torture. All of a sudden their merrymaking at his expense would come to an abrupt halt. They'd all at once become fueled by rage and ire. They'd egg each other on.

"Are you going to let him do that to you?"

"Don't let that son of Bor spit on you!"

"Teach him a lesson, Yger!"

"Don't tell me you have forgotten how we found your brother's body stabbed clean through with an Asgardian sword?''

All at once Yger saw red. He let out a feral growl. Then he slugged the prince clear across the face. The slop still in his mouth sprayed everywhere followed with Thor's own vomit. The crown prince of Asgard's face was covered with the muck. Nasty chunks of brownish-green refuse dangled from his bearded chin. His face was a horrid combination of red and green.

The king's nostril's flared with every sharp breath he took as he watched the mistreatment of Odin's son. His own stomach was filled with butterflies as he watched as Thor was forced to eat the garbage and filth that he'd been forced to stomach. Yes, yes, how do you like it mighty Thor? He heckled inwardly. He rubbed his thin hands together as he watched the spectacle and heard the wondrous ecstatic commotion that the Dark-Elves made. Count yourself lucky, at least you will only have to endure the slime once. For me it was months. Tis justice...tis justice...tis justice...tis recompense...tis fair...tis fair... TIS JUSTICE! Loki was practically tried to control his breathing. His serene veneer nearly cracked as he very deliberately made sure to take slow inhales and exhales.

Loki watched as Malekith's soldiers drew closer to Thor. They had the bucket of slop and some good hemp rope. In an instant, he knew what they were going to do. They were going to tie the bucket around Thor's head and force him to drink the slime. He recalled during something very similar to the dungeon warden, Ingvar. With his magic, he'd shoved the bucket against the warden's face and blocked his airways. He'd watched Ingvar's eyes bug, he'd seen him frantically fidget and desperately try to pull the bucket off of his face all to no avail. He'd watched with much pleasure as Ingvar's attempts became less vigorous and more sluggish within a matter of minutes. Loki remembered smirking in that last moment before he caused Ingvar to drown on the pig's slop. He thought of Malekith's guards doing the same thing to Thor. All of a sudden his pulse was racing. His heart started to pound. His throat began to throb. There was a furious fire that took to burning his tongue. He was on the edge of his seat. His finger rubbing across his lip while his other hand had fingers drumming across the arm rest in rapid time. Finally, he could hold his tongue no longer. "STOP!" He shouted just as the Dark-Elves were about to tie a full bucket of the disgusting slop to Thor's face.

The room froze. There was a deafening silence, so deep that one could hear a fly fall. Instead, the clank of the bucket and splatter of the mush and the thud of Thor's limp body hitting the ground resounded throughout the large hall. Snow-white faces and pit-like eyes turned in the direction of Asgard's self-proclaimed king. Lord Malekith rose to his feet. He was livid. He stomped toward the ruler who had a newly formed relaxed posture. "What is the meaning of this?" The general demanded. He grabbed Loki by the shoulder and squeezed tight. The king rolled his shoulder out of the general's clamp. Loki narrowed his effervescent jade pupil's as he stared at the Dark-Elf. Malekith, in turn, went to reach for Loki's elbow. He leaned into the Aesir king's ear, his voice biting and hissing, "What do you think you are doing?"

King Loki lethargically rolled his eye to look at Malekith. His face at ease. Slight lines formed around his eyes as he gave the warlord a telltale smirk. Slowly, he pushed off the throne of the kings of Asgard's past and rose to stand above the Dark-Elves. The soldiers who had accosted Prince Thor dropped him in surprise at the new king's command. Prince Thor continued to writhe on the ground. He coughed and gasped, and spit-up. "You've had your fun with him," Loki began to explain to the Dark-Elves. "I've allowed you the revelry of ritual sport," he continued. "But torment him much more and I fear he won't make it," Loki said in a pitying tone.

"You show mercy to him?" Malekith accused.

Loki whinnied. "Hardly. I care not for the son of Odin. I care for my victory over him. I seek not to be denied my right to enact the right of first blood upon this first born son," he continued and snarled his lips. "For it is foreordained that he shall die," Loki announced loudly. His breath-hitched for just a moment. He could feel his throat tightening. His tongue once again felt as if it had been set aflame. He wanted to scream and cry and run and plunge his face into a bucket of ice. But he couldn't. "By my hand," King Loki declared his voice cracking. Loki took deep breaths. Through his nose at first and then through his mouth; over and over again until his breathing was coming out jagged and ragged and he was to the point of hyperventilation, but instead, it came out as a wicked cackle. "You dare deny such a right to your king?" Loki asked with a wild grin on his face. He turned toward Malekith and licked his lips while he grinned like a Cheshire Cat. Malekith sucked his teeth and turned his head sharply and stared in the other direction.

"Nay! Nay!" The soldiers shouted in a rallying chorus. They raised their glasses and drank to that.

King Loki's shoulder's heaved, then they slumped and he relaxed and smiled. He straightened himself up. He adjusted his helmet upon his head. He wiped his brow that was slick with perspiration. He raised his head. "Ah, thank you, my children," he said smiling. "Now the hour has grown late," he eyes darted toward the large sundial like time piece that sat to the far side of the great hall. "And tomorrow is a somewhat important day," he chuckled. The warriors of Svartalfheim laughed and clapped in response. "You should all rest up and prepare yourselves for the Convergence."

"We have nothing to fear," Malekith chimed in. "Convergence is as good as here and there is nothing that the Aesir can do to stop us," he told his people.

"Do not underestimate the Aesir!" Loki snapped turning sharply to the general. "They do not accept defeat well. They will not slip quietly into the night. The Aesir fear Ragnarok more than all else and they will do anything to prevent it," Loki explained.

"They can't stop it," Malekith challenged.

"That does not mean that they won't try," the king of Asgard warned. "Do not forget how time sensitive Convergence is. You will only have a small window to release the Aether and if the Asgardians offer too much resistance that opportunity could be missed," Loki stated with a sincere level of gravity. "What would Thanos say to that?' He questioned as he raised an inky brow.

The leader of the Dark-Elves clicked his tongue as he furrowed his brows. "What indeed?" He mouthed back. Malekith then turned to address his army. "Soldiers of Svartalfheim, rejoice in what you have accomplished this day. You have rekindled the dreams of our ancestors. Your skill and determination have brought us here. We alone have done that which is right. We will unleash the Aether and return the universe to its natural state of glorious chaos," Malekith breathed in deeply. He could feel the power of the Aether growing stronger deep with in him in every passing moment as Convergence crept ever closer. The dark-crystal was desperate to be released. The Aether was not some bobble that was meant to be contained or displayed. No, it was a pulsing, beating, breathing entity. It was destruction itself and it knew no bounds. "Soon, soon," Malekith soothed that force inside of him. "Rest well warriors, for you have earned it. Ready yourselves and prepare for whatever the morrow may bring. If the Aesir offer us any resistance it shall be futile. Now take that one away," Malekith commanded as he looked down at Thor. "See to it that his last night is quite comfy, in the dungeon," he mocked. With that, the Dark-Elves toted Thor's unconscious body out of the grand Dark-Elves dispersed. They'd drifted to their quarters (the rooms that normally belonged to nobles and palace guests) in drunken revelry. They'd rolled into their respective chambers about as gracefully as stones tumbling down a hill. They'd had so much alcohol that most had collapsed as soon as their feet stumbled across the thresholds of their bedrooms.

---

The Dark-Elves dispersed. They'd drifted to their quarters (the rooms that normally belonged to nobles and palace guests) in drunken revelry. They'd rolled into their respective chambers about as gracefully as stones tumbling down a hill. They'd had so much alcohol that most had collapsed as soon as their feet stumbled across the thresholds of their bedrooms.

Malekith asked to be shown where Odin's chambers were. Loki obliged the Lord Malekith and escorted him to the North Wing and the highest floor. It was there that the royal family kept their bedchambers. He allowed the Dark-Elf to look in the room. "This is where Odin slept?" He asked.

"Yes," Loki answered as he raised his hand to cover his mouth after he yawned.

"And Bor?" Malekith turned his head to face the porcelain skinned Aesir. "He too slept here?"
"Yes, but that was thousands of years ago," he explained.

"It matters not," Malekith shook his head and grinned. "He laid his head down here and felt at peace," the elfin general chuckled. "He felt safe in his stronghold. He laid down thinking none could ever take his kingdom from him," Malekith tossed his head back and laughed. Loki grimaced as he watched the madcapped elf's wild guffaws. He felt a pit grow in his stomach. "I shall sleep here tonight," he immediately proclaimed.

"I beg your pardon?" Loki said suavely and genteelly.

"It is only befitting. Only right. I have dreamed of this day for so long," he said breathing in deeply. He dared to step foot into Odin's bedchamber. He felt the alabaster columns that seemed to hold up the room. He looked around at the gold encrusted wall. He felt them and made scratches with his long, black fingernails in the rich mahogany wood. Loki winced hearing the sound of Malekith's talons carving into the furniture. Malekith continued to parade himself around the room. He took it all in; the sparkling diamond chandelier, the rugs and paintings, and tapestries. "To sleep in his bed, the ultimate victory," he continued to rub his hands together as his white knuckles grazed the rich bedspread. Lord Malekith continued to saunter around the chamber. He took it all in. There were suits of armor around ones from each era from the times of the first Asgardian kings. There were couches and lounging chairs as he walked into the sitting salon in the bedchamber. "Tantamount to sleeping with a man's woman," the warlord muttered under his breath as he walked into one of the art rooms. He gazed upon a portrait of a woman who could only be described as exquisite. Her portrait showed her beautiful blue eyes proud face, full lips, her bronzed shoulders were exposed and she wore a red ruby that dangled into her cleavage. Malekith bit into his lips while his talons reached up to touch the portrait.

In the blink of an eye, Loki appeared before him. The wizard's trick startled the Dark-Elf. He jumped slightly and recoiled at the king's appearance. "That won't be happening," he said firmly. Loki's green eyes grew stern and serious.

The leader of the Dark-Elves merely smirked. He put his hands up in the air and allowed his tongue to trace over his ghoulish lips lasciviously before he backed away. "Suppose not," Malekith mumbled. "She'll be dead soon enough anyway," he shrugged. As he took slow and calculated steps to continue to walk throughout the room, he wandered into another room. It seemed to be a study for Odin. Over the large writing desk hung another portrait. The image was painted remarkably in the likeness of Odin, Frigga, Thor and Loki. The image of the young men was far younger than their current ages. Both seemed to be barely in their adolescence. In the picture, the boys were carefully positioned. Thor stood at Odin's right-hand side and Loki and Frigga were seated. Odin placed a gentle hand on the younger child's shoulder. "Better still," Malekith mused as he raised his finger to his chin and tapped it several times, he then turned ever so slowly to face King Loki who was only a few steps behind him. "Perhaps the ultimate victory over a man is taking his son and raising him as your own," said Malekith as he allowed a cruel smile to roll across his face.

Loki blinked and worried his lip on the inside of his mouth. He looked askance. It was so quick that Malekith had to cock his head to make sure he'd seen the gesture correctly. The elfin lord simply smiled more deeply after taking note that the pretend Asgardian had heard his words. Pleased with his statement Malekith flopped back on one of the plush lounging chairs. He wriggled into the velvety cushions. He rested his head on one of the embroidered pillows and allowed himself to fold his hands behind his head so that his elbows stuck out the side. "Yes, I shall sleep like a king in the bed of my enemy," he said taking slow and steady deep breaths as he relaxed on the couch. "How rich," he continued. The general started to kick his boots off.

The new king stretched lazily and removed his large, golden, horned helmet. His jet-black hair was plaster to his forehead and Loki ran his fingers through his ebony coif to fix it. "I am so sorry Lord Malekith," the trickster began, "But I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request," he stated simply as he allowed his helmet to rest on the coffee table.

Malekith's eyes flew open wide. From the black pits of his irises, Loki could see the fire raging from with in. "WHAT!?" he screamed. He bared his teeth and growled like a wild animal. He aimed his claw like nails at Loki's neck. The Aether was festering in his veins and ready to explode and destroy.

A smug grin rest on the master mage's thin lips. He folded his arms across his chest. With royal composure, he simply stated, "Means no."

"How dare you!" Malekith growled. "You ungrateful leech!" He spewed forth all his venom. "It is mine right, you here! The right of I alone who have dreamt of nothing by the destruction of this bright realm since I was but a lad. I have waited for more than a thousand years to bring vengeance upon Bor! I wished to kill him! I wished to have watched the light fade from his eyes, I wished for him to see the destruction of his own world just as I have had to witness the destruction on mine own. But time and the cruelty of a twisted fate has robbed me of that, but the very least I can do is claim his lush bad as mine own and you seek to deny me that," a rumble came from deep with in the general. "NO!" He barked. "I've always been willing to fight to the death for what was due me. I'll fight you still for this and slit that pretty white neck of yours!" Malekith raged. He unsheathed a dark saber from his belt. It was rigid and jagged on the end as if it were made from bones. "FIGHT ME! FIGHT ME!" He howled as he raised his sword to King Loki in a challenge.

Loki looked down boredly at the broadsword pointed toward his throat. A smirk appeared on his pink lips. "Put down your weapon, Malekith," he replied.

"Never!" The Dark-Elf decreed.

"This room was made for a king of Asgard," Loki said as he gestured to the extravagant chamber. He then brought his hand to push aside Malekith instrument.

"Hence, why I desire the chamber," Malekith snapped back. Loki's cool demeanor in the face of his threat was unnerving. It made the Aether all the more restless inside him. The dark power gem fed off of negative energy and emotions. It thrived in the midst of chaos and war. That was why the Aether had always been fluid. It could grow in a harsh environment and flourish turning all around it to nothing but ash and it could fuel hate and amplify anger tenfold. The Aether demanded satisfaction. It demanded the opportunity to display its horrible wonders and so did Malekith. Amongst the Dark-Elves denying a challenger was an offense punishable by death. It was dishonorable. He would have never allowed it. He couldn't imagine that the Asgardians would have felt favorably upon it either. He'd had enough of Loki's silver-tongue banter. He weaved webs like a spider with his words, but Malekith was ready to cut him down.

He raised his machete above his head. He let out a battle cry and said some words in his own rough language. "If you will not fight then prepare to die!" He railed. Then he went charging toward Loki. The general took a long and wide swift swing. His goal decapitation. But while his sword was still slicing through the air Asgard's new ruler vanished before his eyes. The trickster had disappeared without a trace. Malekith's eyes were wide as he searched about for the magician. He saw him not but immediately felt a hard, swift kick to the behind that sent reeling head first into a coffee table. Malekith looked around bewildered and disoriented. he still saw no signs of Loki. The elfin general went into a ferocious tantrum. He swung his sword wildly tearing up everything his path. Glass and china and porcelain crashed all about the room.

Finally, Malekith felt something take hold of his body. He felt as if he'd lost control of his being. All of a sudden he was unable to move. He tried. He tried hard to pull and tug away from the powerful grip that caused him to be stock still, but he could not. There he stood smack dab in the center of the chamber with debris all around him from his attack and his arm stretched over his head with the sword in hand, unable to move. he started to scream. His fits causing the Aether to surge through his bloodstream viciously. Instantly, he felt as though his fingers were being peeled off of his sword and he watched in horror as his sword was slipped from his hand. Then his sword was turned on his and now the ancient weapon was pointed right at his forehead. "Come and show yourself!" Malekith yelled. "You fight like a coward! You fight like a snake," he fumed all the more. Lord Malekith foamed at the mouth as he desperately tried to break free of the enchanted hold that Loki had placed him under. "You fight just like your pathetic wench!" Malekith spat.

No sooner had the words flown out of his bloodless lips did Loki appeared. His pale face had turned crimson and his eyes were blood red all around his evergreen irises. The silver-tongued mage did not take time to speak. Without hesitation and with a flick of his wrist he allowed the sword to slice across Malekith's face. It barely missed his black eyeball. Malekith screamed. The Dark-Elves always laced their swords. Sometimes they laced them with poison, other times his electrocuting shards within the blade, Malekith's was the latter. he hollered as he felt the shock run from his cheek and into his teeth and then through his skull.

"I told you never to speak of her," Loki declared. He dropped Malekith out of the hold and allowed the Dark-Elf general to drop to the floor where he could scream and writhe. "I'LL KILL YOU! I"LL KILL YOU!" Malekith proclaimed as he twisted and shook on the ground while holding his face. The Aether that was contained within him immediately started to shoot off an active red blast. They were fired randomly all around the beautiful bed chamber. Once they hit an object they left nothing but ash and an empty crater where an object of profound beauty had once been.

Loki stretched forth his hand and put a green forcefield around Malekith. Loki's emerald green energy shield held the power of the Aether at bay, but such magic could only be contained for so long. The Aether did not want to be placed in a box as Malekith's desperation and rage continued to empower the infinity stone it continued to forcibly beat against Loki's shield. Loki could feel his forcefield weakening. The constant bombardment would soon easily breakdown and over power Loki's mystic shield. "You cannot defeat the Aether!" Malekith yelled and started to laugh. "You're not powerful enough. No one can stop it," he shot back.

"Stop it Malekith!" Loki ordered. "Or you'll destroy us both!" He warned as he saw the Aether's power building up beneath his forcefield. The Aether was pushing hard against the inside of the forcefield. A bubble within a bubble that was ready to pop. It was a woman who was too great with child and looked like she could bring forth life at any given moment.

"I'd destroy myself it if meant being free of you," Malekith panted as the pressure for both magical entities weighed heavy upon him.

"You are talking nonsense," Loki stated. "You would destroy yourself and your men and never live to see the day that you have waited 5000 years for all for the sake of a bedchamber?" Loki explained calmly.

The enchanters collected demeanor only served to anger Malekith further, but at the same time, he knew that the dark-haired Asgardian spoke truth. He'd come too far. He'd come so close to the thing that he had dreamed of to let it go over something so petty. Malekith spoke an ancient incantation and the dark shards of the Aether finally stopped making their assault against Loki's shield. Soon they were sucked back inside Malekith. The Dark-Elf general was left breathless. Loki removed his shield from around Malekith and the leader of the army of Svartalfheim slowly climbed to his feet.

He rose only to find Loki smirking, "I thought you'd come to see it my way," the emerald-eyed enchanter sated. "Now if you are done with your little tantrum are ready to give away to adult conversation, I am more than willing to talk," the king expressed. Malekith didn't say anything, but he listened. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. This chamber was made for a king of Asgard, which you are not," Loki pointed out.

"You call yourself king. No one else does. My men follow me," Malekith retorted.

"Thanos has called me king."

"You honestly think Thanos cares about your supposed kingship?"

Loki cocked his head to the side and shook it. "Thanos cares about his orders being followed. He cares about his minions obeying his commands. If you challenge me, his own appointment then you are challenging him, questioning him, disobeying him. You know the penalty for such actions Lord Malekith, do you not?'" Loki arched his eye brow as he circled around Malekith proudly. The Dark-Elf general stared down at the floor. "You're so close to having everything you want...why lose it over something so small," Loki asked with a shrug. When Malekith's dark eyes flickered back up he found Loki wearing a signature satisfied smirk as he sat on the armrest of the chair. "Do not worry, Lord Malekith the palace is full of many exquisite chambers I am sure we can find one to your liking."

"I care not for how exquisite your rooms are!" Malekith mumbled bitterly. "I only care for my revenge!" He spat as he closed a tight fist in Loki's face.

Loki covered his mouth with his hand as he yawned. "Vengeance comes at first light you only need be patient and get a good night sleep in one of our numerous suites," Loki expressed his hand gesturing toward the door.

"I'd just as soon sleep on the floor," Malekith spat.

Loki shrugged and yawned once more, "Suit yourself, for that can very easily be arranged," he remarked.

Malekith reached for his boots, turned on his heels and stomped off. "Not on your life! I'll sleep in my pod," he then stated as he exited from Odin's bedchamber.

King Loki continued to sit on the armrest of one of the great chairs by the fireplace. He wiggled his fingers as he waved Malekith off. "Toodles," he grin. It was both sheepish and serpentine at once. "Pleasant dreams," he chuckled as he saw Malekith storm down the hall. The leader of the Dark-Elves sauntered away mumbling and grousing under his breath. The mead and wine in his system and the promise of tomorrow were enough to keep him content for the moment.

---

Asgard's king watched with satisfaction as Lord Malekith was forced to acquiesce to his demands. Soon the general clad in iron and black leather became smaller and smaller until he was nothing but a speck of black dust floating in the hallway and then he was gone. Loki continued to grin as he watched the Dark-Elf vanish amidst the suits of armor and ornate vases and tapestries in the hall.

When Malekith was no longer in view Loki used his magic to close the door. The door slammed as it shut. Loki nearly started at the sound. He didn't know if the door seemed to slam because after a long night of carousing and drinking his powers were somewhat off or if because the halls were so empty. Besides the Dark-Elf army, there was no one in the palace. There were no guards, servants, courtiers or foreign dignitaries...no family. The palace was empty and vacant and eerily quiet.

King Loki tried to remind himself that that was exactly what he wanted. How many times had the palace been filled to the gills with people? Most times it seemed like there was always someone staying at the palace. There was always a banquet or a celebration or a festival. There were always nobles and other royals or family members spending the night. He'd often tried to escape the crowd to find a place of quiet where he could study. He remembered how often, when he would try to slip away Odin would chide him. He'd remind him that as a Prince of Asgard he had obligations to his people. He was not simply allowed to retreat to his own private world of ancient arts. He recalled his slight annoyance at the all father's insistence that he stay. How often had he grown tired of all the pomp and circumstance of the countless ceremonies and balls? They had been nothing but feasts for Thor's ego anyway. Although sometimes he had to admit that he had enjoyed the occasions. At least they had provided him with the opportunities for a little mischief.

Immediately, Loki grimaced. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. That didn't matter now. Now he'd have exactly what he wanted. Peace and quiet. He no longer had to worry about pushing his own desires aside to please Odin, nor did he have the burden of constantly having to be around to pat Prince Thor on the back. Oh the contrary, finally Thor had experienced embarrassment and humiliation and pain and disgrace, rather than honor and esteem at a banquet. It was only befitting that he should allow the once oh so proud, oh so mighty son of Odin to have a taste of what he had felt all his life in Asgard. Thor was lucky, he wouldn't have to live with the disgrace that had been put upon him. Come dawn, he would be no more.

Loki swallowed thickly as the thought came to his mind. Thor's time grew short. Every second that passed was one second less in his once brother's wretched life. Subsequently, it would probably be the end of Odin as well. The Trickster's lips pulled in a wicked smirk. Naturally, he knew well of the powers of the all-father. He knew that even while Odin slept his connection to Asgard ran deep. While in his sleep he was granted powerful visions. No doubt he would be granted the privilege to see his own son's swift beheading. Loki was convinced that the sight of such would surely kill the monarch. Odin could never bear the thought of any evil befalling his precious Thor. Loki winced. He doubted Odin had even batted an eyelash at his supposed death. He scoffed as he thought of bringing the old man pain.

The new king of Asgard dragged weary, porcelain fingers over his face. He knew the hour was growing late, although he didn't know exactly how late. He pinched his nose and rubbed his bleary, green eyes. He slowly backed away from staring at the door. He was tired and it was time to retire. He was more than ready to take the advice of his treacherous ally and lay in the bed of his enemy.

He turned around and surprisingly, he found himself stumbling ever so slightly over his own two feet as he made his way back into the main room of Odin's chamber. He sniggered slightly as he found himself tripping and falling into one of the great white, marble columns in the chamber. He was sure he would have ended up on his face had it not been for one of the great pillars in the center of the room which broke his fall. Loki leaned heavily on the column for support. He continued to laugh quietly for awhile. Then he shook his head to clear it. Perhaps he was overly tired, overwrought. Perhaps? He shrugged, but his eyes were bleary and his head was pounding. Loki frowned as he was lead to the conclusion that perhaps he had had too much to drink. He could scarcely recall drinking and yet he could not picture a time in the night when he had not had a drink in his hand. He drank so rarely in large quantities. He could not remember the last time he had been drunk. Normally, he used his magic to stave off the undesired effects of alcohol. But even with his magic, after so much mead, wine and grog his reflexes became slow and couldn't execute his incantations quick enough to keep from becoming intoxicated.

The emerald eyes enchanter whispered a spell as pushed off of the pillar and stood back to his feet. He could feel his drunkenness starting to dissipate as the magical words floated in the air. He was grateful for that. Loki had never liked the feeling of being drunk and out of control and vulnerable, it was a level of exposure that he preferred for no one to see. If the Dark-Elves saw such, that would surely be a sign of weakness. For he'd be no better than them. He'd simply be a drunken reveler, same as they. As their king, King of Asgard he should be above such.

He managed to straighten himself and walk in a straight line as he made his way to the master suite where Odin's bed was. He looked down at the bed where Odin and Frigga would have normally been sleeping on a night like tonight. Loki tried to push those thoughts from his mind. He tried not to recall the times when he had run into this bedroom as a frightened child during thunderstorms in the middle of the night. He tried not to picture the moments when he'd been so very ill as a child and Frigga had brought him into the room and placed him in her bed and cared for him around the clock. He fought against the memories of he and Thor running from their old, stodgy nursemaid, Helga, who would desperately be trying to get them to get ready for bed. They'd run into this large room and hide in the closets or under the bed. They knew that even Helga would not dare enter the king's bedchamber. They'd giggle as they heard her lumbering footsteps and labored breathing as she searched frantically all around.

"Where the devil are those princes?" The elderly woman would ask right outside the king's bedchamber door.

"Is there a problem, Madam Helga?" Odin asked as he came down the corridor.

"Oh sire," the old nurse would say. She'd immediately fold her portly body into a polite curtsey to the monarch. "Oh well, it's no problem, my king, no real problem that is," she'd mumble look sideways and twiddle her thumbs. "It's just the princes have run away," she admitted.

"Run away?" Odin would ask a gray eyebrow arching over his good eye.

"Oh never fear, my king, they are within the palace and I intend to find them and I will be sure to get them straight to bed. I will make sure that they are pressed and polished and raised as perfect princes," she assured the king of Asgard.

"That is very admirable Madam Helga," Odin complimented. "Your dedication to being a proper governess for our sons is nothing short outstanding, but I believe I can take it from here. I will be sure that the princes get to bed in a timely manner," he expressed.

"Oh no, your majesty, you shouldn't be bothered with such trifles," the old woman bowed toward the king.

"Honestly, Helga, I insist. If you could see that the boy's beds are ready for them I believe I know exactly where they are," he said as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

Helga looked some what shocked by King Odin's wishes, but who was she to argue with the wishes of her lord and king. Reluctantly, albeit dutifully she hobbled forth toward the princes' bedchambers. She hoped that those naughty princes had already taken to their beds so as not to bother their father.

While Helga made her down the corridor, Odin slowly opened the gold and bronze door to his chamber. "My, my, my," the king said as he stretched and yawned. "I do wonder where my sons have gone? I do hope I don't have to call the palace guards to search for them?' He said loudly. "Whatever will I tell their dear mother?" He asked as his heavy footfalls made their way closer to the large bed. He started to hear fitful little sniggers coming from under the bed. He sat down on the bed heavily and the mattress sank. He heard anxious squeals. He flopped back on the bed with his whole body making the mattress sink deeper. The young princes beneath the bed put their hands over their mouths to keep from screaming out. "Where could they be?" He wondered aloud as he rolled back and forth on his king sized bed. "We've checked everywhere," he said as he sat up on the bed. He pulled his boots off of the floor. "Except," the king's strong voice tried to imitate a whisper. "For..." He paused for dramatic effect as he heard Thor and Loki scuttling underneath the bed. "Under the bed!" He exclaimed as he dipped his head under the bed to peek at his snickering, giggling boys. They screamed excitedly when they saw the king head staring at them from upside down.

Odin immediately reached his big, strong, calloused hands under the bed to grab at the little boys who were desperately trying to get away. They were unable to escape Odin's long arms though. His hands soon grabbed hold of their thin arms and he easily snatched them out from under his bed. They were all laughter and squeals. He swung them around for a minute before he pulled them in so that he was able to hold one son on each shoulder. He looked up at their two young faces that were both full of mischief and delight. "Now what's this? What's this I hear about my sons not wanting to get ready for bed?" He asked with a grin on his face.

"Awww papa, please don't make us go to bed it's too early," Thor pleaded. He pouted and stuck out his lip.

"Please, Papa, we are not sleepy," Loki said shaking his head and yawning at the same time. He batted his large green eyes in the king's direction.

Odin shook his head and tried to cover his eyes to shield himself from being weakened by his sons' sweet faces. "Oh no you two don't you try to butter me up," he said in a somewhat stern voice. "It's time for bed," he said firmly with a stomp of his foot.

"Oh please, Papa," they said in unison.

"Oh no," Odin shook his head. "It's time for all of us to go to bed," Odin declared as he ran toward the king sized bed. He took a flying leap onto the bed with both Loki and Thor still on his shoulders. The boys hollered giddily as the three of them sailed through the air and crash landed on to the soft bed. Odin and his sons landed in a wild heap of wild guffaws. Odin then started to tickle his sons until the squealed and begged for mercy. "Now are you ready to go to bed?" He asked as the boys' eyes filled with tears from laughter. They were so lost in their chuckles that they could scarcely sleep they merely managed to nod and Odin tucked them into his bed.

The edges of Loki's mouth twisted and curved, he couldn't decide if the memory made him want to laugh or cry. He hardly noticed that his hand had strayed to touch the corners of an old family portrait on gold and marble nightstand next to Odin's illustrious bed. His green eyes quickly took in the old portrait. He looked at the serene faces of those individuals. They were all so familiar and yet they were strangers. The one he knew the least was the young, slim, black-haired young man. His face was young and fresh, regal and poised. He could recognize the mischief that danced in those eyes, but there was also innocence and gentleness there. No, he didn't recognize that person anymore. Loki clenched his fists tightly around the sides of the sterling frame of the portrait. He studied the faces once more, then he clenched his jaw tight and slammed the portrait and frame down on the marble tabletop. He picked it back up and flung it against the wall. The glass that surrounded the portrait shattered into a million pieces. Loki stood at a distance with his shoulders heaving as he watched the light from the chandeliers shimmer and reflect off of the broken glass.

He hated that old portrait. It was nothing but a lie. He hated that seeing them and thinking of their memories elicited any response from him. Whether that response was one of laughter or one of the tears it didn't matter, it was still a response. It was still dreadful sentiment. Attachment. He hated Odin and Thor. He swore to himself that he did. He hated the Warriors Three and Sif and the nobles and guards and the people of Asgard. He hated them all. Because in their own way each and every unsuspecting citizen had been a part of the elaborate lie that was his shambled life. Every bow or curtsy that they'd ever made in his presence had all convinced him that he was a son of Odin, but he wasn't. And he hated them all for that. Still, Loki knew that hate was not the emotion that he wanted to feel. Because hate still had a fire and a passion. Hate was not the absence of love it was just the other side of the same coin. What he longed to feel was the blissful, freeing feeling of no response. Indifference. Soon, he would have that glorious feeling. After first light, they would be nothing but ghosts and he'd no longer be trapped by them.

Loki started to disrobe. He removed his heavy, golden helmet. The headdress weighed a ton. He set it on the same nightstand that held the portrait of the family of strangers. Loki rolled his shoulders and rubbed his long neck. His fingers dug into the curves and grooves desperate to massage away the kinks. It had been a long day. But of course, conquering Asgard was no light undertaking. The weight of a crown was always a heavy one. It was a burden to bear, but he would bear it willingly. In just a few short hours he'd have everything he could have ever wanted. He'd be able to call himself the all-father. He'd rule over all the Nine Realms (what would be left of them, at least). He'd be second in command only to Thanos himself. He'd have raw, unlimited power. Wasn't that worth everything?

The king continued undressing he removed his surcoat and outer vestments, he took off his gold plated arm guards and wristlets. He allowed them to fall to the floor in heavy clanks and thuds. He removed his inner cloak and then his breastplate. Next, he took off his black, leather strapped tunic. Finally, he was left with a very loose fitting, velvet emerald green kirtle. The shirt was long and came past Loki's thin hips. It was cut in a low v-neck that exposed his bony and pale chest. Without the rest of his outer garments, the shirt dangled off of his narrow shoulders. With that Loki pulled the shirt from its neat and refined position of being tucked inside his trousers. He let the velvet green kirtle hang over the belt of his leather britches.

With that, the self-proclaimed king stated to unlace and unlatch his boots. The king stretched out languidly across the royal bed. The plush fabric, silky sheets and rich, warm pelts engulfed his body and smothered him nearly drowning him with the overwhelming sensation of fatigue. He was so tired. He told himself that his drowsiness was a natural side-effect of the mead and wine of physically exhausting day. After all, he'd fought hard this day. He'd unleashed a terrifying display of his magic. He'd created a whirlwind that swept through the city carrying the Aether and destroying everything in its wake. He'd engaged in battles of wit and he'd had hand to hand combat. He'd killed a man all in this day. Loki could still see the brave, albeit, foolish palace guard dying on the floor in the middle of the throne room. He could still see, gorgeous, wide amber eyes staring up at him with disbelief and horror and rage. Oh, there was such rage in those normally sweep, vacant eyes.

King Loki mashed his lips together and ran his fingers through his sweaty, ebony tendrils. He pushed all thoughts of those tearful honeycomb eyes aside. What did it matter now? She'd seen him for what he really was then. She'd seen him as a monster. In that sense maybe he'd done her a favor. Sigyn was such a simpleton, so trusting and naïve. Much like Thor, but she even more. He didn't know what her fate would be in the end. He'd tried to warn her. He'd tried to warn her to run to the Dales and take shelter there from this storm, but she hadn't listened. Stupid girl. He could almost hear her proclamations. He could almost hear her rationalizing that she thought that somewhere deep down inside of him that there must have been some goodness and virtue. Loki shook his head and started laughing. Oh but now she'd seen how wrong she was. There was no good left in him at all. He was simply a heartless wretch. A monster. Now she knew it. She should be grateful to him for that. She didn't have to be a fool anymore.

Loki flopped back on the bed. He crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms behind his head with his elbows sticking out the side of his head in kings pose. He smirked to himself as he stared up at the ornately painted ceiling in the king's bedchamber. On the ceiling, there was a gorgeous depiction of Yggdrasil and all her glorious branches. The branches were painted gold and silver and each one showed the beauty of one of the Nine Realms. Even Jotunheim looked like a peaceful and magnificent world in the painting. And the crowning jewel in the midst of all the splendid realms was Asgard. The gorgeous golden edifices, tremendous temples, and breathtaking monuments were all outlined and painted in such glorious detail that it looked like more of a three-dimensional model, rather than a painting. He knew it. He could have named every ornate and elaborate building depicted on the ceiling if pressed. And in the center of the portrait of beautiful Asgard was the Imperial Palace. The palace was illuminated and it seemed to shine and sparkle right off of the ceiling like a lighthouse. It was a beacon. Just like Odin had always told him it was as a child. Loki shut his eyes. He didn't want to think about Odin's words. Odin had called him "Silvertongue", but if he was a silver tongue than Odin's tongue must have surely been made of 24 karat gold. He had weaved the most elaborate deception of all. They called him a trickster. Loki had always known that the label was not meant as a compliment. In Asgard trickery was frowned upon and honesty was a virtue to be commended at all time. If only the Aesir would have known that their beloved king, their honored and revered and esteemed all-father was the greatest trickster of them all.

King Loki chuckled as he fluffed the swan feathered and silk clothed pillow that decorated Odin's bed. "Oh, what tangled webs we weave when we try to deceive," Loki whispered to himself in the large bed with a smirk on his face. "Guess the jokes on you after-all, Odin," Loki mumbled bitterly. He rubbed his finger across his top lip. "You thought to raise me as your own to usurp, Laufey," he paused and sighed. "And here...and here I have usurped you," he announced to no one. He allowed his hand to fall into his lap and he started to laugh louder and harder. He cackled madly all by himself as he kicked about in Odin's bed. Finally, he brought himself to being rigidly still. His white eyelids swung open and he was once more facing the painting of Yggdrasil and the Nine Realms and Asgard. He let out a long drag of a breath. "How delicious," he declared with a smug expression on his thin lips.

The enchanter started to close his eyes. The hour was growing later and later by the second. Dawn was swiftly approaching and he had quite a day ahead of him in the morn. Still, the lovely image on the ceiling caught his eye once more. His chest tightened as he reflected on the fact that come high noon tomorrow Convergence would take place and Malekith would unleash the Aether and Ragnarok would begin. It would be the beginning of the end. Asgard would fall. Without its beacon the Nine Realms would falter and their fate would be the same as that of Asgard's. Few would survive. The prophecy said that only a tenth of life in the 9 Realms would avoid being wiped out by the forces of darkness that flowed through the Aether.

Loki's breath hitched. He was panting in the bed. He told himself that this was wonderful. It was his victory. Asgard did not matter. It had been no more than a cage to him. He knew that the def of so many would mean that he would reign supreme and unchallenged over Asgard over all of the Realms. Tomorrow was the day he had been dreaming of he reminded himself. "Yes," he muttered in a low tone. He rubbed his cold, porcelain palms together. "My moment of glory is almost here," he encouraged himself as all the while his heart thumped and thundered in his hollow chest.

Loki waved his hand and dowsed the lamps that were a glow in the king and queen's chamber. He allowed his eyes to flutter closed. He worked hard at keeping the words of Lord Malekith in mind. He'd won! He'd won! He'd finally won. He'd defeated Odin. He'd sent the old fool spiraling deep into the depths of the Oversleep. Soon with Asgard burned and Ragnorok unleashed he'd send the all-father to his grave! He had no right to pray, but he could only hope that the Norns would see fit to punish Odin for his poor stewardship over the Nine Realms, then Odin's soul would reside in Helheim and he'd see him there in due time. Then when they met up he'd have the chance to gloat. He'd gloat and crow and mock the old goat of a ruler and he'd remind Odin of the momentous occasion when he had taken Odin's ultimate victory from him. "Isn't it funny, Odin" Loki mumbled in the dark. "You thought you had the ultimate victory over Laufey," he shook his head against the pillows. "You defeated his armies, took their sacred weapon, reared his son to hate the people who sired his," Loki chuckled. "Tried to take the son of a savage and raise him as a civilized being, but now look...you didn't raise a civilized son, but rather you raised an enemy. An enemy who has now replaced you in your own bed. I hope you are still alive, all-father," Loki confessed. "Even if just barely so that you can know that your enemy will kill your own son," Loki whispered as he drifted off to sleep all the while dreaming of the day to come.

In the quietness and stillness of the room and with the candles out and his face pressed against the silk bed sheets he caught a whiff of a familiar scent. It was a sharp odor of saffron, myrrh, cider and just a hint of fine musk. The scent made Loki's eyes flying open. Odin's cologne. He remembered sometimes many times when he was younger, Odin would be away on matters of state. There were times when he'd be gone for weeks at a time. He'd miss the king when he was gone and he'd often time sneak into Odin's closet and borrow one of his father's tunics. His tiny body would be practically swimming in the oversized garbs, but he didn't care. he'd wrap himself up in the robes like they were blankets and he'd feel comforted by the familiar scent of the king. It smelt strong and wise and royal and powerful, all the things that his father was.

Immediately, desperate to escape the pesky unwanted memories Loki scuttled to the other side of Odin's large bed. Loki sprawled out on the other side of the bed, he stretched his long, tired limbs across the bed. He dug his fingers into the fine fabric of the sheets, he pressed his face firmly against one of the pillows while he placed another pillow on top of his head. He was in dire need of the rest. He shut his eyes tight. He was ready to allow sleep to claim him like a prisoner, but just as he started to relax a new smell tickled his nostrils.

The new scent was not so potent. It was soft, gentle and fragrant. It was the pleasant and recognizable aroma of lilacs and plums. "Look, Mummy, looky...looky... these smell like you," he ran toward Frigga, tripping over himself and the white stones that littered the pathway of the queen's garden. She turned toward him, her face serene a lovely in the sunlight. She smiled brightly as she stretched open her arms to receive the tiny raven haired tot with dancing jade eyes. His skin was pale, but his cheeks were rosy from the time out in the sun and he held a bouquet of purple flowers in his small hands. He was almost toward her but he took a fierce tumble and ended up slamming into her body.

"Umph, Loki," she gasped as she felt his little body ram right into her own.

"Sowwy," he giggled.

"No, darling, it's fine," she stated as she wiped his black hair from his eyes. "Are you alright?' She asked as she examined him. She had seen him tripping over himself the whole time.

"Yes, Mummy," he bobbed his head eagerly. "Looky, what I found" he exclaimed as he presented the queen with a not so impressive bouquet. The petals were missing off of most of the flowers. He looked down at his flowers with confusion and disappointment. They didn't look so appealing anymore.

Frigga laughed and nudged up his chin. "They are beautiful," she said as she scooped him up and squeezed him tight as she placed him in her lap.

Loki was nothing more than a fit of giggles sitting on her knee. He buried his face in her neck, he playfully pulled on her earrings. They were pretty and shiny. He smelled her hair. Immediately, he was reminded of the reason he had run toward his mother anyway oh. "Oh, Mummy, these smell like you," he announced once again. He took a quick sniff of her long, blonde tendrils once again and then sniffed the flower to make sure his hypothesis was still correct. He nodded finding that his conclusion was still correct. Proudly, he shoved the pathetic bouquet toward Queen Frigga's dainty nose.

The queen chuckled mildly as she plucked the flowers from Loki's tiny porcelain fingers and then returned the gesture, by tickling him with the flowers in the nose. He laughed for a while and then sneezed. "Bless you, my son," she whispered tenderly before placing the flowers in her lap. "They are lilacs," she explained tapping on his nose.

"Lye-licks," he repeated clumsily. He is young, no more than a toddler. He knew so little about the world then. But he was curious and inquisitive and like a sponge eager to soak up any knowledge that life would afford him. His world was tiny and safe. It was the palace and mother's garden and the summer home. He is helplessly trusting of those around him. He knew there was much to learn about life, to an extent he realizes he knows nothing, he listens to his older brother, but he is beginning to realize that his older brother doesn't really know much more and his mother was his favorite teacher.

Frigga's gentle hand pinched his smooth, red cheek. "That's right, darling. They are my favorite flower," she explained.

"They smell pretty," he added.

"Yes, they do," the queen of Asgard stated

"They smell like you! You smell pretty, Mummy," he said as he clapped his little hands.

"Well thank you, sweetheart. I love these flowers. They remind me of home," she said wistfully.

"The palace?" Loki scratched his head and pursed his lips. He couldn't understand why these flowers would remind his mother of the palace. The palace smelt like many things. The kitchen always smelled like baking bread and butter and ginger. The hallways were perfumed with jasmine and incense. The library and his own bedroom smelled like books.

"Well, no. My other home..."

"The Southern Palace!" Loki's eyes lit up as he thought of a new answer. Then a confused look took over his face. He furrowed his brows. The Southern Palace smelled like the seashore, salt, fresh air and sandy beaches.

"No, no, no before that. Before I lived in the palace I used to live in a small village in the mountains. My father was the governor there. We had a small estate," she shrugged.

"Did you have a garden there, too?" The little prince inquired.

"I did, but I didn't grow lilacs in the garden. Actually, they grew wild right there on the mountain top. In the spring wild lilacs would bloom on the hills. It was so lovely. Field all purple. Magical. I would collect the fresh blooms and put them on our table," she expressed. "Then I would go back and have my sisters and we collect more and leave them in great bouquets for the rest of the families in town," she explained

"Oh," Loki paused. His mother's face was pleasant enough, but there was a distant look in her eyes and her voice was trailing off just a bit. " you miss it, Mummy?"

"Sometimes," Frigga confessed. She shrugged and then allowed a gorgeous smile to be displayed across her face. "But most times no," she assured him. "I am so happy here with you and your brother and father, this is my home now," she went on. "but the lilacs are a nice reminder of where I came from," she explained.

For a moment they sat in silence. He was content to look at her sweet face and smell the lovely aroma that she perfumed herself with. "They remind me of home too, Mummy," Loki finally spoke up after some time. He nodded his head and he had a very stern and decisive look on his little face.

"Really, my dear?" she inquired. "But you've never even visited my little village, maybe one day when you are older we can go," she offered.

"No," he shook his head and laughed a little bit. "They remind me of home because they smell like you," he giggled as he took the flowers and a clump of her lovely golden locks and smelled them at the same time.

Frigga enveloped her youngest son in a strong, warm embrace. "Oh yes, my love, this will always be your home," she showered his raven hair with kisses. "Your home is always here, in Asgard, in this palace, but most importantly in my heart," he cupped his face and brought it toward her bosom. "Whenever you see or smell these lilacs even if you are a million miles away know that home and my love are so very near you, ok my little angel," she explained as she looked him in the eyes. Her cerulean eyes were filled with water.

The thought of seeing his mother cry was more than he could take. He bobbed his head in earnest, "Yes, Mummy," he promised her. "But I won't ever leave you, Mummy," he said wrapping his arms around her neck.

"Oh, you better not," she insisted and gave him one more tight squeeze. "Come," she stated gently as she rose to her feet she swung him so that he was placed on her hips. "I think it's time for lunch!" She gave him a wink.

"Yay!" Loki exclaimed. "Guess what, Mummy?"

"What?" Frigga asked as she carried him.

"You smell like plums too. Can we have plums with lunch?" He asked.

Frigga started to laugh, "What's this? You say I smell like plums and then you say you want to eat plums?" She asked in a funny voice. "What are you trying to do Are you trying to eat me up?" She played and her eyes got wide.

"Nooo, nooo," Loki replied shaking his head and trying to hide a giggle.

"You better not be trying to eat me up," she admonished. "Because I want to eat you up!" She exclaimed and made her hand like a puppet to bite Loki's nose. He started to scream, squeal and kick in her arms. She brought her thick painted lips toward his rosy cheeks and then pretended to bite and chew them. She moved down to trying to nibble his arms and then she got to his stomach and Loki had a fit.

Loki's eyes flung open wide! He tossed the blankets off of him. He wanted to scream. He covered his mouth and nose with his hands trying to block out the sweet fragrance from his nostrils but the smell had already permeated his skin and it was on his hands and fingers and it wouldn't leave his nose. He flopped on his back, breathing heavy, he was starting to feel beads of sweat gather around his temples and forehead. Every breath was painful, torturous. He felt as if he could scarcely breathe. Every inhale that he took filled his nostrils and lungs with the scent of the queen. It was fragrant and robust and practically suffocating. With every breath, Loki was forced to hear the voice of the wife of Odin. It was soft and sweet like spring rain on the mountain tops. It was light and airy like the tinkling of gentle chimes in a window and yet it was commanding. It was the voice of a queen and it could not be ignored.

"Loki...Loki...Loki...Loki" Queen Frigga's voice called to him on the wind. Loki panted as he sat up in his bed. His green pupils were dilated. He looked around wildly, but the royal suite was pitch-black, he couldn't see a thing. The king of Asgard took a few deep, cleansing breaths. He tried to calm his nerves. He opened his left palm wide and allowed a thin light to shine from his palm. It was a sliver of bright white and it penetrated the lonely darkness of the chamber. "Who's there?" Loki asked his voice barely audible as he green eyes scanned the room. All the doors to the bedchamber were locked and closed off. Loki climbed off of the bed and went toward the balcony. His feet softly padded across the cashmere rugs as he made his way to the balcony window. The doors to the balcony were closed and the curtains were drawn.

Loki rubbed his palms together and then his rubbed his shoulders to warm them up. He dug his narrow fingers into his eyes. "It must be the wind," the king told himself, tiredly with a yawn. "Yes, yes, that's it...the wind," he muttered. But the night was still and quiet. There wasn't a breath of wind outside of the window. The smoke from the attack still lingered in the air and hung like a thick and heavy fog over the city. It blocked the stars in the sky. The stars that were normally so bright and vivid that their hues could be made out. Even the 3 moons that sat above the Imperial City and watched over the kingdom like mighty knights in the night, they were covered by the cloud of heavy ash and soot and fumes and refuse that were still rising in a toxic cloud over the city.

Loki meandered back to the bed. All the while he grumbled to himself about how the hour was too late and how he had had had far too much mead and ale. He allowed the light to fade from his hand and he walked on blindly groping at the edges of cabinets and dressers and chairs and tables as he felt his way back to bed. Finally, when he found the mattress he collapsed back on the silk sheets. He slammed his eyes shut and willed himself to fall asleep.

Still, sleep proved to be nothing, but a tease and temptress, who never left a man satisfied. The queen's smell remained constant, tickled his nose and plagued his mind. As long as he could still catch even the faintest hint of Frigga's perfume it was as if her presence was with him. He could picture the moments they had spent together when they once strolled hand and hand through the garden, times when they played cards in the parlor, suppers they'd shared, her hand on his cheek when he was petulant and irritable, her lips on his feverish brow. It all seemed so real, but he could block it out. He could push away the thoughts of her and her could recall other times when he was wounded and delirious in the Void with only Thanos' minions as a comfort. He kept the image in his mind's eye, unpleasant as it was it strengthened his resolve that what he was doing was right and just and the necessary evil to grant him his justice. Although he could blot out Frigga's pretty face; somewhere, perhaps in the back of his mind, he could still hear a familiar and faint call. "Loki...Loki...Loki...Loki," she beckoned him. Her voice was far away and close by all at once. It floated in on the breeze and rustled the curtains although there was not a breath of wind in the room.

Loki cupped his ears with his hands and tried to plug them so that they could not hear the melancholy sound of that distant echo. He counted in his mind. He drove his fingers deep into his ears. He did everything he could think of to silence the murmur, but he could not. Still, the Queen's intonation toyed in his eardrums. "Loki...Loki...Loki...child...son."

Loki writhed in his bed. He twisted and got himself tangled in the silky, golden sheets of the bed, while his heart thrummed erratically in his chest cavity. He felt as if his heart felt as if it would explode. "Quiet...quiet...quiet," Loki whimpered on the bed. He grabbed his head. It was pounding and throbbing. "Please," he begged.

Frigga's mutter did not take heed to the desperate plea. An airy tone continued to talk in a calm, still and tranquil, "Loki, what have you done?" The queen's words rung in his ears. It sounded like when he was younger and Queen Frigga would find out about some sort of mischief he had performed in court. It was disappointing but no less kind and patient and loving. As a boy, her disappointment could cut him like a knife. He had never expected to be anything but a disappointment to Odin. He was not the strapping, strong, rough and tumble boy that Thor was and so, therefore, he has always been dissatisfying in the king's eyes, but the queen had been different. She had praised and encouraged him, maybe that was why when he did anything that displeased her he felt such guilt. As a boy, he couldn't ever look her in the face when she posed such questions to him. "What have you done?" The voice demanded a second time when he did not answer promptly, but this time her words came not so mildly, but it was horrified.

"Don't answer," Loki admonished himself as he squeezed his jade eyes shut. "It is nothing...it is nothing," he muttered to himself over and over again. "It is naught...it is naught...it is naught, but my mind...it is the mead and the ale," he went on explaining to himself. But the call of the beautiful queen, who he once referred to as his mother was too strong. "It's the wind," he repeated. But her voice was too real. It sounded so much like her. It was so undeniably and unmistakably her that he could not merely believe that it was his own wine-soaked mind playing tricks on him. The all-mother had many gifts. Many of which she had shared with him at the time or another. She had been the first to teach him enchantments. Her main gift was that of foresight, but she knew other arts. She was well versed in the art of projection and illusions. She could project her consciousness and cast her voice and her image. She had a special mirror that she used for this. She used to do that for him when he was little. She would be away, sometimes visiting relatives, other times negotiating treaties, but she would make sure that her voice was there to lull him to sleep with a special song. "Are you there?" he asked again. His voice shook slightly. He started to open his eyes, but then thought better of it. In case she was actually before him.

"What have you done?"

"I have done what needed to be done," he ground out. He was annoyed and infuriated that he could not resist her words.

"Why?" The sound of the queen's voice was so frail and weak like dry leaves tumble through the wind.

"Destiny has to be fulfilled, Frigga. Even you know that. Ragnarok has to happen sometime," He shrugged.

"It doesn't have to be fulfilled by you, it doesn't have to happen now," he could hear her muffled sob. "You must stop! Please stop," it wasn't a command it was a most earnest supplication. There was a distinct tremor in her voice, one that he had never heard before. The tone sounded so very very scared almost like a little girl. He could feel a light touch ghosting over his clenched fist. He recoiled and tucked his hand tightly under the sheets. "You must stop," Frigga's words begged. "Please! PLease! Please, Loki stop!" she shouted.

"I can't stop," he remarked through his white teeth.

"Yes, you can..."

"I don't want to stop!" He snapped.

"My son would never..."

"Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!" he finally screamed. He pounded his fist upon the bed. "Begone!" He demanded. He covered his ears once more. "You can't stop this! You can't stop me," he said. His voice was shaking with a wild sort of madness. "You have no power over me anymore. I'm not that sniveling little boy holding on to your skirt tails any longer," he hissed. His eyes snapped open now. He sat up bolt straight in the bed and looked around wildly.

"Then who are you?" the tone was fading away. Drifting further and further from his ear gates. Loki started to speak. His lips were moving but words failed his silver tongue.

"You have forgotten who you are, my son" a gusty sigh was expelled and Loki felt moisture on his cheeks.

"I'm not your son!" He growled. "I am not now, nor was I ever. After you see what I do you will never think of me that way again. You will hate me and then I will be free of you," he sobbed.

"Who are you?" Frigga's voice was nearly gone.

Loki swallowed deeply, he steeled himself and sat up proud and tall. He swiped his hand through his dark locks. "I am what I was born to be," he said with a cruel smile on his lips. "A king," he finally stated with a sneer. He cackled as he thought about it. Everyone had tried to keep his destiny from him. Laufey had tried to kill him when he was born, Odin had given the throne to Thor and Thor and his mortal friends had kept him from conquering Earth, but finally, the throne was his. He was king and there was no one in his way.

"You are no king," Frigga's voice hissed in his ear. It was shocking smack. For she had never been one to burst his bubble before. "A king protects his people! A cherishes his people and defends them with his life and heart. How can you call yourself a king?"
"I AM KING!" He yelled.

"You are no king of Asgard," the queen's words her a faint taunt in the distance. "What king would destroy his own kingdom?" she questioned."Slaughter his own people? His own brother," Loki heard a slight shudder and then there was a rumble and rustle like distant thunder.

"They were never my people," Loki mumbled as the room grew very cold. "And Thor was never my brother,' he stated proudly.

"You lie," the wind whistled all around him. "You must stop! Please! PLEASE! Remember who you are and stop this madness before it destroys everything," the voice was begging, but it was slowly vanishing. Loki could scarcely make it out. "Please, repent and remember before it's too late."

"It already is too late," Loki sighed.

"You need to remember who you are and come home," the tone was further and further away, but Loki remembered the way she said. It was said like when he was little and she would read him his favorite bedtime story, Snow Queen. "Come home, my son" the call was soft and pleading.

"I'M NOT YOUR SON!" Loki cried as he grabbed a thick clump of his own inky hair. "Do you hear?" he continued his breathing growing more and more ragged as his eyes grew wide. He looked around as if he expected to have her appear before him, but the room remained vacant and he was alone. "Your son..." he started and gasped as he tried to catch his breath. He crawled across Odin and Frigga's luxurious bed. He reached trembling, long arms across toward the nightstand. He scooped up the old portrait of the royal family. He looked at it. He frowned and his green eyes narrowed as he tried to inspect it in the darkness. He saw all their faces, serene and comfortable, loving of one another. His palms grew hot. Instantly, to relieve the distress that was coming over his hands he flicked his wrist and sparked a fire in the hearth. With vehemence, he hurled the portrait into the flames. "Your son is dead!" he bellowed as the portrait sailed through the air. It landed in the fire with a loud crackle. Yellow, gold and green sparks flew everywhere. Loki had to shield his eyes from the intensity of the blast.

The fire in the hearth rose and swelled. The orange flames seemed to leap from the pit. The roar of the fire seemed to emit words. "My son is dead?" There was shock and hurt and confusion to the words.

"Yes," Loki's head snapped away from facing the raging flame. His eyes flickered in the dark as the flow from the hearth was reflected there. "And soon both your sons will be," he uttered. There was a broad grin plastered across his face. He tossed his head back and cackled.

The flames started to simmer within the fire place. The room grew dimmer and dimmer despite the warm fire. In the dreary light, Loki thought he saw a figure move about. A woman's silhouette. Tall and of noble bearing, but the figure was shaking and stumbling. Finally, it collapsed on to its knees before the fire. He watched the shadow of the back coiling over on itself. He heard a distinct moan, it sounded as pained as a woman in travail. "My son is dead." It was a soft statement. " so, who are you?"

"You know who I am! " Loki admitted his whole body started to shake. His breathing was labored and heavy"Say it! Damn you! Be done with me! Hate me! Say it once and for all," he raged to no one. "SAY IT! SAY IT!" He demanded as he stood on top the bed with his head up.

"Monster...monster...monster...monster" Frigga's voice vanished into the blackness.

The fire immediately died down. The room was noiseless and bleak. It was so dark that the king could no longer even see his hand in front of his face. But even without trembling her knew he was shaking like a leaf. It was so cold in the room that he was sure had there been even the tiniest glimmer of starlight peaking its way through the gossamer curtains that he would have seen his breath forming ice crystals on the wall.

Loki flopped back bonelessly on the bed. His body sinking deep into the folds of the mattress. He could no longer smell any traces of Frigga or Odin. They were gone. He'd no longer be haunted by the ghosts of the facade of a loving family. He was grateful. He didn't know how much longer he would have been able to lie there in that bed had their scents still lingered. He growled inwardly at himself for even such a thought. They shouldn't matter now. They didn't matter any longer. The Dark-Elf general was right. Sleeping in Odin's bed was the ultimate insult to the old king. He was about to destroy everything that the all-father had worked so hard to preserve and protect and he was lying in his bed the night before he would bring Ragnarok to Odin's realm. It was wondrous and it was only sentimental, childish buffoonery that would make him give up this moment of gloating. He hoped that the all-father was somewhere gasping and writhing and convulsing at the image him lounging in his bed.

Loki smirked to himself as he pulled the sheets around his waist and shoulder to shield himself against the ghastly cold. He focused on trying to sleep. He'd spent too much time talking to no one this night. He needed to be prepared the morn. After all, it was his coronation day after all. He needed to be fresh and polished. When he held that ax over Thor's head come first like he wanted to look like he'd had the best night sleep he'd had in years. Loki started to chuckle at the thought, he hadn't had a good night sleep since before the Void. He growled and pulled the quilts up closer around his chin. That didn't matter now, once he was done with this task and he had gotten Thanos what he wanted then he would be king unquestioned and unrivaled and no one would be left to stand in his way...not Thor...not Odin... not Frigga...or anyone else. Then he'd have nothing to fear.

Therefore, if he was going to be king, he needed to look like a true king of Asgard, standing before the people in all his regal glory. A king had to be unflappable and unmovable He wouldn't want to show, Therefore, if he was going to be king, he needed to look like a true king of Asgard, standing before the people in all his regal glory. A king had to be unflappable and unmovable He wouldn't want to show any weakness A king had to be unflappable and unmovable He wouldn't want to show weakness. it was his coronation day after all. He needed to fresh and polished. When he held that ax over Thor's head come first like he wanted to look like he'd had the best night sleep in years. He needed to look like a true king of Asgard, standing before the people in all his regal glory. He wouldn't want to show the slightest unease or weariness. He'd be well rested. he wouldn't flinch or flicker or hesitate to do what needed to be done.

Convinced, Loki's fatigued mind drifted away. Into a hazy world where ice and snow rained down in heavy sheets on the Imperial City. Normally, snow was a daylight in Asgard. It turned the golden splendor into a diamond studded metropolis. But what he saw wasn't radiant or glamorous. He saw horrible things. He saw war. Death and violence and blood. Carnage was everywhere. Bodies discarded like bones after a feast. Aesir soldiers rushed about everywhere fighting a terrible enemy, the streets were soaked with the blood of the young and old. He heard the screams. OH, such terrible screams. Some people tried to flee, but how quickly they were cut down by the merciless enemy.

It was like the descriptions that Odin used to give he and Thor of the Great War with Jotunheim. Thor always begged for more gory details and Odin ever indulged his son's bloodlust. The only difference was that the streets that were covered in blood weren't the cold frozen road that crisscrossed Jotunheim's horrid terrain, but they were Asgard's very own streets. The buildings that had been bombed weren't the ice temples of the Frost Giants in their sacred city, but they were the galleries and museums and temples of the Imperial City. Everything was being coated with a fresh polish of an arctic blast and besides the bodies, there was no living Aesir to be found. The only people that remained were frozen ice sculptures. It was terrible. Men and women and children caught in mid-run, mid-swing, mid-kick, mid-jump turned to ice by the blast of a Frost Giants.

He could feel himself moving although he couldn't see his own body. His heart was pounding and his eyes darted back and forth wildly he scanned quickly through the ice and snow searching for bodies among the rubble. He wanted to know if any of his friends had been lost in this brutal attack. He called out their names. Frandal, Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, Sigyn. His heart gripped with fear at the thought that harm could have befallen her. Surely she was the most susceptible to being harmed by the brutes. He would not put it above the monsters to capture a beautiful Aesir woman and freeze her to admire her beauty in the halls of their king. That would be the kindest fate they could give her. He started to race through the snow. He had to get to the palace, find Thor and Odin, see what he could do to help. Loki had a sinking feeling in the back of his mind that somehow he was responsible for all this. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen when he'd let the Jotuns into Asgard during Thor

s coronation. It was just a bit of fun really. He just wanted to keep Thor from becoming king. He didn't want their enemies to take over. Look where jealousy had led them. He should have thought his insecure and childish plan through. As he drew closer to the palace gates he could not help but watched helplessly as a great battalion of Frost Giants made their way across the Bifrost and stormed the palace. They came marching in by the tens, by score, and by the dozen. Loki could feel his pulse race. He had to do something. Just as he was about to conjure some sort of spell to fight the Jotuns, a few Einherjar rushed to meet the enemy. They raised their swords and their spears and their lances. Steel clashed against ice. Iron and brass hit against rocks. They put up a good fight, the Einherjar would do no less. They fought tooth and nail, they gave it all they had, but their efforts were easily overcome. One by one Loki watched the noble warriors of Asgard fall. The Jotun's froze their bodies and then stepped on them and shattered them into a million pieces.

One of the Jotun's made its way toward the entrance of the palace. His back was turned but Loki could hear him muttering for some of his men to stand and keep guard. There were no more guards left so the Jotuns just walked right through. He recognized the leader of the Jotun army immediately. Who else could it be. save Laufey? Laufey walked through the palace like he owned the place. His men carrying the Casket of 1000 Winters took the liberty to freeze almost everything they saw as they walked by. Finally, he crossed the threshold into the king's bedchamber. Loki heard the hurried muffled whispers from behind the closed door. He could make out the sound of crying child. Before Loki could think much about how strange that was the door was broken open and Laufey came right through. There, huddled in the back of the bedroom chamber were King Odin and Frigga, much younger versions of themselves than what he was used to seeing. The all-father was bleeding through his golden armor. His eye seemed freshly gorged out of the socket. The great king could hardly stand. Queen Frigga was supporting him. He had one arm draped around her shoulder and he leaned heavily on Gungnir for support. He pushed away from the queen. Frigga was crying profusely, her hands were trembling as she reached for Odin's hand.

"It's over Odin," the Frost Giant king announced.

Odin lumbered over toward where the Frost Giants were standing. He collapsed on to his knees panting and grasping and holding his side. He managed to present Gungnir to the king of the Frost Giants with trembling arms and shaking palms. "You've won," Odin stated simply. His voice slight and hollow and broken.

"I know," the Frost Giant breathed and raised his hands. His men clapped wildly at his victory.

"Do...what...you...want...to me," Odin muttered as cold hands scooped up his sacred staff and examined it. "But p-p-please," the king entreated. "Spare Asgard, my wife and child," Odin begged. He pointed back to Queen Frigga who still stood with her back pressed against the wall. She was sobbing for her husband and her kingdom, but she managed to stand tall and hold her head high. Loki felt himself relax, perhaps this whole matter wasn't entirely his fault. Perhaps this had happened because of Thor's rash actions of going and attacking Jotun him after the Frost Giants had snuck into Asgard. Surely, Laufey had wanted vengeance on Asgard and Thor. Odin would do anything to keep harm from coming to Thor. Even give up Gungnir. Loki was flabbergasted and impressed by the love that a king could exhibit not only for his people but for his family. Maybe the fact that Laufey had attacked was Thor's, but it was his fault that Thor had gone in the first place being that he'd let the Frost Giants into the realm. He had to do something. He couldn't let the all-father sacrifice their entire kingdom to these monsters. Perhaps he could put his silver tongue to use. Perhaps Laufey could be appeased Maybe he could serve as a diplomat for them. He'd negotiate something. He'd talk the army down. He'd work some type of magic that would unfreeze the people that had been frozen. He'd do something...he would. Then Odin would see... and all of Asgard would see...see that he could be a hero and he could be a king...just like Thor.

"Oh don't worry, oh, King of Asgard, I intend to do whatever I want with you," the cold voice breathed its icy words down Odin's neck. Loki beheld as ice blue hands gripped Odin by his partially gray hair. He grabbed him by the hair and dragged him toward his guards. The Frost Giants clapped the king in irons.

"ODIN!" Frigga squealed as she watched the Jotuns man handle her husband. For the first time, she rushed away from the wall. She came over to Laufey with her fist flying in every direction. "You heartless wretches!" she cried as she landed a punch to Laufey's back. Laufey didn't seem to be phased by the assault. He turned around and grabbed Queen Frigga by the forearm.

Loki heard himself scream out, "Let her go!" But still his body wasn't manifested and no one seemed to respond to the sound of his voice. He was forced to behold Laufey roughly push the queen of Asgard to the floor. He became enraged. How dare they. Diplomacy was out the window. He would rip Laufey limb from limb. Without even the slightest shrug, Laufey turned to his guards and took the Casket of 1000 Winters into his cold hands and spun around on his heels and froze the queen. "NOOOO!" Loki hollered at the top of his lungs.

"Frigga!" King Odin exclaimed as he saw his beautiful wife turned to ice. He wriggled and struggled in the chains to get to her, but he faced a terrible head lopping and fell over immediately.

With the queen frozen solid and king tied in chains, Laufey proceeded to march to the back of the room toward the wall where Frigga had been standing. He felt around and eventually found a trap door. The door flung open and crouching n what could only be considered a small cabinet there was a young blonde child. "Thor?" Loki muttered. He was shocked. The was a child. No more than a toddler. He was weeping and curled in the fetal position with his knees pressed against his chest.

Cobalt hands and black fingernails reached out and grabbed the little prince and dragged him from his hiding place. Thor kicked and fought and screamed, but he was so little and defenseless. "Lemme go, lemme go, lemme go," the son of Odin cried as he felt Laufey;s cruel hands on his tiny arms. "Mama! Papa!" Thor yelled in horror as he beheld the grim fate of his parents. "No! No! NO!" He wailed. He pulled away from Laufey'sgrip.. He rushed toward the icy form of his mother.

"Please!" Odin cried he flopped like a fish on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back. His head was bleeding from the temples. "He's just a child," Odin whispered. But the king was so weak that his consciousness soon faded. "You don't have to do this," the king croaked, his voice shaking. "You could simply take him as a slave," the king of Asgard offered.

"Silence!" One of the Frost Giant warriors barked. He took the effort to strike the king on the head. Odin fainted.

"PAPA!" Thor screamed in horror as he saw his father fall. "NO! No!" The young prince cried. Laufey waved a heavy, icy hand and dismissed his soldiers. They obeyed their king and dragged Odin's limp body out of his bedroom. Thor was left alone with just Laufey. He scrambled toward Frigga's frozen form of his mother. He clung to the ice sculpture of the queen. Her face was frozen in place in anguish and distress. Thor's little hands reached up to stroke the Queen's icy cheeks. "Mama? Mama!" He wept seeing as though the queen would not wake. Laufey crept closer. Thor ran around the room desperate to get away from the invader. The king of the Jotuns stomped his foot and soon the floor to the bedchamber was covered in a thick sheet of ice. Thor could no longer run from his enemy. He slipped and slid across the ice. Fall constantly. until he fell against the wall. There, the son of Odin sat, back pressed against the corner as Laufey drew near. The child trembled and Laufey's hand formed a large icicle in it. Laufey grabbed Thor by the shoulder with his other hand and raised the ice dagger over Thor's head. Thor's big blue eyes watered. In Thor's eyes, Loki could see the face of the Frost Giant reflected in Thor's eyes, but it wasn't Laufey's face he saw it was his. "Brother, please!" Thor whimpered.

"THOR! NOOO!" King Loki yelled in his sleep as he watched a boy's blood splatter against the wall.

Loki woke up and sat up like a lightning bolt. He was drenched in sweat from head to toe. His black mane plastered his face. His eyes wide. He was shaking like a leaf. He felt like he was on fire. His whole He burned from inside out. He clawed at his chest like some flea bitten mongrel. He felt as if he would melt. The fires only increased raging from the inside out. He saw flames leaping from the fireplace and lapping at the bed. The bedchamber was a sauna and he could no longer endure the sweltering heat! He tossed the covers off of him. He fell out the bed and scrambled out of the bedchamber of the king and queen of Asgard. His hands groped in the darkness feeling along the wall until he found the door. Loki stumbled into the hallway still unable to breathe. He tottered down the corridor until he found his own room. His sweaty, pale hand shook and faltered and he slid down the door and wept.

A/N: Well there it is! Now if you've made it this far. If you've been reading this story from the beginning you deserve to leave a review. You deserve to let me know what you think. Love it, hate it don't be afraid to say it. is over! You Made it! Give yourself a round of applause. We are getting so close to the end I can almost taste it. I hope you are feeling as excited as I am for the conclusion of this tale. . Honestly, I only predict about 4 or 5 more chapters. I really hope to have this story finished by the time Thor Ragnarok hits theaters. Now if you've made it this far. If you've been reading this story from the beginning you deserve to leave a review. You deserve to let me know what you think. Love it, hate it don't be afraid to say it.