The King in Green
~ Vain
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. All canon characters are the property of the Disney Company, Marvel Comics, and Marvel Studios.
Summary: Loki, God of Stories, the king of everything and nothing, sits alone on his throne, bound by his own free will and guarding eternity until the end of time. And he's okay with that. Mobius and Sylvie are safe. The TVA is safe. Thor is safe. It's worth it. It's his only source of comfort in the emptiness of his timeless realm.
But not everyone is okay with that.
The present haunts the God of Thunder with dark visions of timelines fractured and his brother bound in gold-green chains as universes turn to ash around him. The past haunts the Goddess of Mischief-opportunities lost, debts unpaid, words unspoken. The future haunts an aging Analyst out of work, out of place, and out of time. Time itself haunts the Witch and the Sorcerer, even as the reality of families found, sacrifice, and obligation bind them fast to their disparate purposes. And still the war comes.
The Ouroboros must be completed: everything that begins ends again. And from heroes, gods, villains, and Conquerors, King Slayers are born.
Relationships: Loki Laufeyson/Mobius M. Mobius, Loki Laufeyson/Sylvie Laufeydottir, Loki Laufeyson/Loki Laufeyson, Wanda Maximoff/Vision, Victor Timely/Rovanna Renslayer, Kang the Conqueror/Rovanna Renslayer, Loki Laufeyson/Miss Minutes (one-sided), Loki Laufeyson/Miss Minutes (one-sided)
Characters: Loki Laufeyson (variant L1130), Loki Laufeyson (Marvel 616), Sylvie Laufeydottir, Mobius M. Mobius, Verity Willis, Ouroboros, Victor Timely, Thor Odinson, Hunter B-15, Casey, Brad Wolfe | Hunter X-5, Hunter D-90, Ravonna Lexus Renslayer, He Who Remains, Dr. Stephen Strange, Wanda Maximoff, Judge Gamble, Brunnhilde | Valkyrie, Love | Gorr's Daughter.
Additional Tags: Time Shenanigans, Lovecraftian Shenanigans, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Not Beta Read, Angst, Horror, Family. Please check the trigger warnings posted in each chapter if you are sensitive to such things.
Chapter Summary: Mobius copes. Sylvie does not. Yggdrasil speaks to the One Who Speaks to the Tree.
Author's Note: You don't need to be familiar with the comics for this story. I will do my best to explain anything that specifically references events in the comics within the course of the plot. I will also answer any questions left in reviews without spoiling anything, so don't fret too much if comic stuff is mentioned; it will be explained.
The Portfolios that keep getting mentioned are a D&D term that refers to everything that fall under a deity's purview in the game. The Lokis' and Thor's powersets and the responsibilities that come with them are important to this story and will be further elaborated upon as things unfold. I'm just using the term for easy and consistent shorthand since I don't think Marvel has a comparable word that's regularly used.
Chapter Two: Spaces
They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themself in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small;
Therewithall sweetly did me kiss
And softly said, "Dear heart, how like you this?"
It was no dream: I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also, to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served
I would fain know what she hath deserved.
― Sir Thomas Wyatt, They Flee From Me
Ohio (United States of America), Earth-199269 [Branched Timeline] - December 2023 AD
Mobis hated light pollution. It would only get progressively worse as time passed and, if he remembered correctly, it played a significant role in the Environmental Collapse of the Eastern U.S in 2103. That would be less than 80 years from now. His boys might still be alive. He hoped they were still alive. He hoped they weren't. The Collapse was . . . bad.
Mobius also hated knowing the fucking future.
They should be in bed now, pretending to sleep. Mischievous scamps, the both of them. And their dear old Dad, Don was likely sitting on his couch, relaxing and trying to recharge to get ready for another busy day of wrangling two tweens and selling cutting-edge personal water crafts.
Meanwhile, good old Mobius was sitting in a camp chair in a darkened football field eighty miles away with a beer, staring at the purple sky. His breath misted in the air above him, condensing in the cool December night. The air smelled of winter, even if the ground hadn't yet frozen. 2023. Too warm with a too bright sky. And all he could think of were dead timelines and emerald branches stretching up towards infinity.
He should get up and head back to the motel. It was cold out. He had work tomorrow. At his deadend job. (He also hated work.) He had responsibilities. (No, he didn't.) He wanted to make a life on the timeline work.
(No. He didn't.)
With Loki doing . . . whatever he was doing . . . the kidnapped TVA workers' timelines had been restored. Loki's hadn't been. Neither had Sylvie's. B-15 had entrusted him with a TemPad when he left and he and Sylvie had checked, following some odd hunch that the goddess had. His timeline had been their last stop. Somehow, all the TVA workers' timelines had just popped back into existence. O.B. had speculated something about failsafes and the Loom that he hadn't fully understood, but the mechanism wasn't important to him. The end result, though . . . All of the workers' timelines had been restored in their entirety. Mobius wasn't sure if it was an error or if He Who Remains' apparently perverse sense of humor had won the day, but that included the original Mobius of this timeline.
Don.
He had once been a Don.
The name tasted wrong on his tongue.
Bitter.
And so he had his life back. Yay. But he could only observe from the other side of the looking glass. He could only look-never touch. It was a familiar feeling.
Mobius looked down at the grass at his feet, just next to the 50 yard line. There was patch of disturbed earth there: evidence of his own personal miracle. Two weeks ago, the first time he'd sat in this field in a vain attempt to find some sort of peace, a flower had bloomed. It had little yellow petals hiding amongst vicious-looking leaves, like secrets peeking out from behind armor. It was native to the eastern US, but in Iceland they called it Loki's Purse. Mobius had carefully uprooted it and replanted it in a red Solo cup at his motel. It was, against all odds, thriving.
Illogically, he wanted to be angry about that. But he couldn't summon the energy for it. Mostly, he felt numb. This impossible plant that shouldn't exist had been stolen. Repotted. It was trapped in a plastic cup in a dim corner with only northern sunlight and he constantly forgot to water or it alternately drowned the poor thing. But it clung on as fiercely as its maker. Its roots dug down deep, exploited every cranny of their cage, and its leaves stretched as high as they could to snatch every bit of sunlight available. It thrived in his poorly lit room, bright yellow blossoms demanding the attention of anyone who happened to glance its way. It was beautiful and a slim comfort these day, but he couldn't help but wonder if it would have been better of if he'd just left the flower where it belonged.
Of course, he might be overthinking this. It was just a plant, after all.
A small hole had been left in the football field-a vacant space that was the only evidence of his crime. It was a dark blot against the struggling grass that stubbornly tried to defy the approaching winter. It was a high school football field and the season was over. No one would bother with repairs or re-sodding until spring. Some faceless maintenance person would likely assume that the damage was due to a game, if they thought of it at all. No one would know of his impossible flower and the God who grew it. Or the halting prayer that had inspired it.
It had been foolish. Not quite a confession, but . . .
"I just . . . I miss you, buddy. I never told you . . . I should have said . . . I just thought we'd have more time, you know? I don't know if you can even hear me out there wherever you are, but I miss you. That's all."
Loki had heard him though, and sent him a small sign. Whether or not he had understood the man's stumbling words . . . Well, did it even matter? But he still had the flower. The promise that Loki was listening-that he wasn't really gone, just . . . gone in every practical way. Weaving timelines together forever to save them all.
He should be happy about it. It was a hell of a lot of growth for a Loki. For his Loki. Empathy was not the strong suit of any Loki variant. But he just wanted him back.
Fuck the timelines. Fuck the TVA. Fuck He Who Remains. Fuck it all.
But then he thought of his boys. He thought of his life on the timeline and his blissfully ignorant variant, happily selling jet skis and raising teenagers.
He thought of the boy in France, eating candy from the future. That child's timeline had been pruned and he'd either died in terror in Alioth's jaws or while watching his reality disintegrate around him. And now that would never happen again. People were free. His sons would grow up with the actual option to be anything and anyone they wanted. They were free. And it had cost so little. Just the willing sacrifice of one demigod.
It was a small price.
But, to Mobius, it was everything.
In the dead of the night, he was glad that his other self still existed on the timeline. What good was he to them? A head full of millennia of genocides. Shredded timelines. Lost opportunities. By any measure, he was a war criminal by way of complicity and his only takeaway from his eons in the TVA was a lifetime of nightmares, the terror of inevitable futures, and a broken heart. What could he be to them if he had to suddenly step in and be the father that they currently knew? He wasn't that person anymore and they would see through him in a heartbeat.
So he couldn't settle down. He wouldn't.
There was still so much to atone for. So much to heal.
He wanted to hate the TVA, but he couldn't do that either. He definitely hated what it had been. What it had made him. But Loki . . . He was building something beautiful. Even if he wasn't present in the flesh, he had become the beating heart of the TVA and all that it stood for. The new TVA didn't prune the innocent; it grew freedom and possibility. It didn't limit people or timelines; it fostered choices. It didn't impose rigid order; it embraced chaos as a natural part of life. The new TVA was a reflection of the best in Loki. It was everything that he had needed in his life and never received. And the new TVA was filled with life.
The changes had started almost immediately as the Tree unfurled before they eyes, hiding the golden Throne and its occupant from sight, branches and roots stretching out gloriously into the free cosmos, as if the timelines had been desperately awaiting that exact opportunity.
The change had begun in B-15's soft, quiet gasp as the emerald light of the Tree had flooded the observation deck. The tears in her eyes. "That's him? It's . . . beautiful."
It had begun in Casey's confusion and betrayal. His hurt. His indignant comprehension of what Loki had sacrificed. What they had all just lost. "He's coming back, right? He's going to fix the timelines and come back? . . . Right?"
It was in Victor and O.B.'s astonished admiration as they realized what the Tree was and what Loki had done. Was still doing. The two had immediately started to get readings and run through simulations on the computers, increasingly astounded as they monitored the temporal energy flow that sustained the TVA. "It s-s-solves e-e-e-very equation." "It's . . . Perfect."
It had begun when the stress had vanished from Sylvia's shoulders and the hollowness that had disappeared from her eyes, only to be replaced by a quiet, bitter mourning. "You . . . complete clown. Just had to show us all up."
But Mobius had had no great realization or acceptance. He couldn't. All he could think of was Loki's small, sad smile at them all just before he had descended the stairs and changed everything. The way his shoulders had risen and fallen, as though taking a deep breath, as he'd grasped the timelines in his hands. The way his back had bowed, as if under a great weight, as he trudged up the invisible stairs to the end of time, strands of eternity trailing obediently (almost eagerly) in his wake. The momentary pause before he sat on the Throne. Like it was a decision. Like it had hurt.
No. Mobius couldn't stay in the TVA. He couldn't embrace that change. Not yet.
Not when he still couldn't bear to think of Loki alone for all of eternity.
Sylvie had taken him there immediately using her stolen TemPad. She knew how to get to the end of time. They would get him back. Or at least ensure that he wasn't alone.
But the Citadel that Loki had described was gone. There was no study. No castle.
Nothing of He Who Remains.
Instead there was only the great, vast truck of the Tree, impossibly grown as if it had always been there. Established. Ancient. Glowing and healthy and literally singing with power. And floating in front of that emerald trunk of woven time was a single, simple, golden door. It was closed and locked and it would not yield for them, no matter what they tried. And they had tried with varying levels of swearing, aggression, threats, and finally pleas. But there was only silence and the singing of the seidr of the Tree.
And so they had left. They had returned to the TVA and they tried to rebuild, a Loki-shaped ache in the space where he used to be.
Selfishness wasn't a front-line response for Mobius, but he couldn't shake it now.
Was it worth it?
His boys had a future now. Everyone had a future now.
The TVA was safe and doing the right thing.
The timelines were healthy and growing.
And Loki . . . He had finally achieved his glorious purpose.
For Mobius. For Sylvie.
For everyone.
Mobius was a Loki expert. He knew every moment on the Sacred Timeline that was needed to shape Loki into the demigod-the sacrifice-that He Who Remains had demanded. Natural empathy may not have been inherently ingrained in Lokis, but self-destruction and self-sacrifice were. And he couldn't shake the feeling that it had happened all over again. Second verse the same as the first.
Something about all of this felt wrong. Like they were all in some kind of loop-one that was so much bigger than his eyes could see.
Was he just being selfish?
Maybe.
Seeing only what he wanted to see?
It was certainly possible.
But Mobius was a damned good Analyst. And his hunches were usually right.
And this . . . This felt wrong.
"I'm not good at praying." His voice sounded loud in the stillness. "I don't even know if you're always listening, or just sometimes . . . But I hope you're doing alright. I'm . . . not. Not really." He looked up suddenly at the purple, starless sky above him. "I tried it, Lokes. I really did. But life on the timeline . . . I don't think it's for me. And I can't go back to the TVA just yet. Not when I'm still looking for you around every corner. You're so . . . close there and I can't-"
The Analyst broke off and dropped his chin to the chest, taking a deep breath to try to settle himself. He rubbed his eyes, ignoring the moisture there. "Maybe that's why I keep coming here. Trying to get a better miracle, maybe. Trying to find you. But I can't." A great sigh shuddered through him and his eyes stung even more fiercely. He wiped his face again before burying his head in his hands. "I hate this. I get it, man; I do. But I hate it. And I don't know what to do, but this ain't it, buddy."
Mobius took another deep breath, steady this time, and sat up to look back up to the too-bright sky. "Thank you. For listening to me. For at least giving us all choices. So I'm gonna use mine. I think . . . I'll go look. See the timelines. The universe. See if it was all worth it. And if I find some choices for you out there . . . some options . . . then you better still be listening. Because I'm not giving up on yet, man." He nodded to the silent sky, feeling sure and resolute for the first time in . . . For the first time since a pair of Lokis had upended his life. "Yeah. I'm not giving up on you, Loki. Never have. Never will."
The man stood and his shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, as he closed his eyes and he nodded one final time. A promise, even if it didn't come with petals. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his TemPad. Miss Minutes' avatar welcomed him back with a broad, familiar smile.
Enough time had passed. It was time to start living again.
County Mayo (Ireland), Earth-199839 [Branched Timeline] - May 1932 AD
Sylvie was more than passingly familiar with the stages of grief. She knew that there were five of them and she knew that they sucked.
She had seen hundred, if not thousands, of people go through them. Anger. Depression. Whatever else there was. She had likely even gone through them herself once, when her whole world had been ripped away from her with a single TVA time charge. So, she was a little surprised when all she felt after leaving the TVA was . . . relief.
She was relieved. Loki had sacrificed everything to tend to the Tree and all she could feel was relief.
The TVA had been in a panic when Loki destroyed the Loom and replaced it with his own body. In the moments immediately after the Tree had bloomed, Victor and O.B. had been stunned speechless and Mobius had dropped to his knees with the shock of it all. But before that . . . When disaster had seemed so certain, Loki had known just what to do. Don't think about it. He had simply turned and walked down those stairs like he'd been preparing for the moment for centuries. Don't think about it. And she'd panicked. She-Sylvie-the sole survivor of a million apocalypses-had panicked. There was no way to open the door once he'd sealed it closed with a code he shouldn't have known. It seemed like he shouldn't have known a lot of things during those last chaotic moments. Don't think about it. And then he was gone, throne attained, the day saved.
They all had a chance to make their own choices now, for better or worse.
And Loki had made his. Don't think about it.
And she was relieved. She was.
She was relieved and she was okay.
Please don't think about it.
The aftermath was fuzzy and wrapped in a strange, unaccountable exhaustion. Despite somehow feeling like she'd not slept in centuries, she'd tied up all of his loose ends for him. Well, not for him. No. Of course not. She'd . . . she'd just been helping. Mobius had been like a dead man for what felt like days. Staying had been the right thing to do, that was all. ("It's harder to stay.") She had made sure that Loki's precious TVA would survive. She's skimmed the timelines and seen them intact. And finally, she had seen Mobius off to his branched timeline.
But the goddess knew he wouldn't stay. His family was safe and well taken care of by . . . By, well, him. Eventually, he'd probably return to the TVA-he had the air of a lifer, however shellshocked he might currently be-but he had to find his own way. And he could now. Using the TemPad B-15 had given him, he could go make a life anywhere or anywhen he wanted. But she had a feeling he'd go back to the Tree. It was in the twitch of his fingers, as though trying to reach for someone who wasn't there. It was in the set of his mouth. The sadness in his eyes. Mobius M. Mobius only had one real home, and it wasn't in Ohio. Not anymore.
She wished him the best. It was fortunate that she did not suffer from a similar affliction. Loki was-Don't think about it.- . . . special. He had been, at the end of the day, the superior Loki. Just like he wanted. Don't think about it. He'd gotten his throne. Just like he wanted. Don't think about it.
Happy ending. Full marks all around.
Bully for him.
She was proud of him.
Don't think about it.
And Sylvie was okay. Better than okay, in fact.
She still had the master TemPad, but the idea of returning to her life in 1982 right now felt . . . wrong somehow. Like she'd be an imposter in her own life.
And if looking at the records she had once mused about sharing with someone else, or being in the parking lot that still seemed to echo with another's voice, or looking up from her register when the door opened, waiting (always waiting) for someone to come in and smile at her and finally see her like he had once upon a time in the Void ...
Before he'd betrayed her.
(Before she'd betrayed him.)
... if it hurt ...
Don't think about it.
Sylvie was doing okay now.
She could see the cosmos. Travel to other realms. Other worlds. She'd always wanted to explore the Kree Empire. Visit Knowhere. Maybe get a cat or two. Or a Flerken. The point was, she had options. And she was going to experience every single one of them to the fullest.
And if the space at her left side felt a little colder where someone else should have been sitting . . . Well, she was just being plain stupid. There was no point in turning oneself inside out for a company man over one stolen (perfect) kiss.
Yes, Sylvie Laufeydottir was doing okay and preparing to shuffle off the Terran coil and embark on her next great adventure. She'd rest up. Recover. (From what?) She could return the Golden Arches anytime she wanted. Literally any time. The next few centuries would be for her and her alone.
And so she sat patiently, comfortable on the sparse grass that covered the cliffs of Downpatrick, and listened to the sea. It was a novel thing, to be in need of nothing. To be awaiting nothing. No work. No TVA. No (one) troubles. Nothing but the murmur of the sea and the quiet night sky in the darkened countryside of a land steeped in old magic. This was how she wanted to remember Earth. Beautiful. Peaceful.
Free.
The blanket she had struggled to conjure wasn't very cuddly-it was practically a tablecloth, really-but she wrapped it around herself with a stubbornness borne of centuries of making her own way. She liked the color. And if it seemed to smell faintly of leather and Aesir steel and apples . . . Well, that was just dumb. She was fine.
Above her, the Milky Way was poured out across the sky like a road to eternity. She thought she could see branches there, standing strong and impervious against the cosmic winds that would challenge them. She didn't need to grieve anything. Here, under the stars, everything was okay in the darkness.
The goddess exhaled slowly and closed her eyes and let the time pass.
"I need to know what you've forgotten." The voice startled her badly and Sylvie jumped, eyes flying open as her heart pounded in abrupt alarm.
In front of her was an impossible sight: a woman(?) covered in a cloak, hunched in the darkness, stood a bare foot in front of her. It shouldn't have been possible for a mortal to sneak up on her like that. Yet, there the crone was, a dark shadow pressed up against the night.
Green seidr sparked and surged as her machete appeared in her hand. But it was too little far, far too late. A flare of brightness blinded the enchantress, even as she lunged forward. A gentle hand covered her face, fingers closing her eyes and supple leather covered her nose and mouth, muffling her cry.
Time slowed and for a wild, completely unreasonable moment, she thought of the brother she hadn't seen in thousands of years. And she wanted to go home.
Sylvie gasped as she suddenly found herself shunted back into her own mind. Enchantment. Into her own memories.
Asgard.
Her mother.
Her father.
The TVA.
Running.
Fighting.
Living in death for a thousand lifetimes.
And then-
And then . . .
"I'm a hedonist!"
"You're a clown!"
"I'm not leaving you."
"We're the same."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"But I'm not you."
And then . . .
Loki smiles at her softly. Sadly. And he sweetly kisses her-gently-just once as reality ends.
But that had never happened.
She didn't recognize these memories . . .
Loki slumping in exhaustion as reality unwinds around him in spaghetti threads. "Again."
Sylvie and Mobius pressing Loki against a wall in O.B.'s lab, Mobius almost frantic in his anxiety. "What the shit do you think you're doing, Loki?" Herself, indignant in her fear, as her instincts scream that something is wrongwrongwrong- "What aren't you telling us?" Her hand gripping the edge of his rolled up sleeve opposite Mobius, as if they can pin him here, as if they can stop him from-
Loki standing beside her as the Loom explodes, only to seamlessly disappear with a tired sigh as the end comes. "Again." A wave of light.
She had never lived this.
Mobius, pressing against Loki as though he can anchor him to the TVA observation deck through will alone, his face hidden in the god's chest as Loki stares forward tiredly. Impassively. "Still not fast enough." Loki vanishes, oblivious to Mobius's small sound of loss. The Loom explodes.
Her own back now pressing tightly to Mobius as she leans on him for some kind (any kind) of support, lost for words, as Loki moves through O.B.'s workshop with impossible familiarity and the speed of a god, engineering the Throughput Multiplier amidst a constant stream of one-sided chatter. Victor, Casey, and O.B. stare on in astonishment. This is wrong. Mobius vibrates behind her, his voice quiet in her ear. Frightened. "Something is wrong."
Loki sitting at a bar-her bar, even though she'd never taken him there (but she'd wanted to so, so much if he'd just asked...)-expression lost and eyes empty as he stares at a full shot of bourbon, even as his words cut her like a dagger. Still the TVA. Always the fucking TVA. Never her. Never just Sylvie. I'm right HERE. Instead she throws back her own shot, her words just as sharp as his as she carelessly shrugs: "You see? We're both selfish." Watches just long enough to see him bleed before she turns and leaves. They would be fine. They would all be fine. This is how things are supposed to be. And she . . . She doesn't need him to ask. She doesn't need anybody. Especially not him.
This had never happened.
Loki neatly snapping Hunter X-05's neck in one smooth motion as he moves past the rapidly-dying mortal-"Stop slowing me down, Bradley."-and continues towards a terrified Victor Timely. Renslayer's still body lies lifeless on the floor, a familiar dagger protruding from her chest, as Miss Minutes watches the chaos with visible glee. "Hurry, now. We've only a few more lessons to go."
Loki, sitting calmly on the floor of the observation deck, eating a piece of radium-green pie while B-15 and Casey desperately try to talk to him. "I'm sitting this one out, thanks." The Loom explodes.
Loki-now back in the the wood-paneled conference room-holding her hand in his left and Mobius's hand in his right, looking too still and too resigned as the evacuation order rattles endlessly through the TVA's loudspeakers. "Loki, we gotta-" But he tugs Mobius back easily. "Just. . . . Let me have this for a moment, alright?" He sounds so very tired. "Just for a moment . . ." And she can only shrug when the mortal's gaze catches her own, more alarmed by this behavior than their literally looming destruction. She should be calling bullshit on this. She should- Loki's fingers are trembling faintly as they grip hers. She tightens her grasp. Mobius leans in, his free arm coming up to wrap around Loki's back. "Sure, buddy. We gotcha. Whatever you need." She presses in close, breathing in the scent of the other god and unintentionally basking in Mobius's greater warmth. "We're here," she promises, desperately pressing his fingers. Unsure why she feels so terrified for him. "We're with you." Loki chuckles wetly. The world vanishes in white.
None of this had happened.
Loki, somehow almost ripping to pieces in front of her before he miraculously stops himself. "Get in the truck."
Loki, freezing time with a wave of his hand. "I've learned to control my time slipping."
Loki, exasperated and dodging her blade as if he's done so a thousand time before. "-I'll have to kill you. Yes, I know."
Loki, holding her close as reality unspools around them and a tear rolls down her cheek. "Whatever you're doing . . . Just stop." "I want you to be okay. You're going to be okay."
Sylvie ripped her mind away from the impossible memories, but it was far too late. The floodgates had been opened and the deluge came, drowning her senses and stealing her breath. Of the mystery woman, she was insensible. She could't see. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't THINK for the chaos unfurling in her skull. Had she been mortal, she would have been driven insane. As a goddess, she could only fall to her knees and ride out the storm.
And know.
And understand.
And mourn.
Alone on a cliff in the old world, Sylvie Laufeydottir burst into ugly, hysterical tears as she relived an endless, looping millennia in her mind. Again. And again. And again.
She wasn't okay.
She wasn't okay.
And she never would be again.
Asgard-199999 [Sacred Timeline] - June 2011 AD
Odin stood at the edge of the shattered Bifrost and stared out into the Void. It would take centuries to restore the Rainbow Bridge, but that wasn't what held the ancient god's attention. With Gungar in his hands and the wisdom of mighty Yggdrasil at his disposal, he had no need to Heimdall's counsel to see the realms. The Gatekeeper may have been linked to Yggdrasil, but Odin Spoke for Yggdrasil. It hid few secrets from him when he sought them out.
In distant Helheim, his eldest child-his brilliant, deadly Hela-raged and plotted, ever awaiting her time. Her vengeance. It would come, but not now. Not yet. Closer still in Vanaheim, his golden, eldest son-the mighty Thor-seethed, angry and resentful as he dispatched the Marauders that plagued that realm. The Thunderer had turned his grief to anger and preoccupation with his mortal maiden. That too would have its time and then it would pass, as all such things must.
And of his youngest child, his fierce and clever Loki . . . There was only silence and darkness in the space where he should have been.
No matter how he much he whispered to Yggdrasil, or how Frigga scried, or how Heimdall searched, Loki seemed lost. Perhaps forever.
Except that his Portfolio remained intact. Had his youngest truly expired, his godhead would have returned to the World Tree from whence it had come and Odin would have known. And so Loki must surely live somewhere. Somehow. But-remembering the madness, the despair and desperation he'd last seen in the child's eyes-the thought brought the Allfather no happiness. Loki had never been particularly gifted with good luck, except for that which he made himself. And there was no kindness in the Void.
He feared for what Loki would be when he returned. And he dreaded what he, as King, would have to do in response.
A gentle hand touched his back and Odin closed his eye at the welcome touch of his Queen.
"It has been a year," Frigga murmured from behind him.
"Yes. And still only silence."
"Yet you still hold out hope."
Odin opened his eye and turned to his wife. "Of a sort." He watched her closely, staring into the kind eyes he had loved for so very long. It was those eyes that had first captured his heart when he's first seen the fierce shield-maid of Vanaheim and he drew on that memory now for strength. "What have you seen, Allmother?"
She looked away, gaze turning to the Void. "I fear my grief clouds my sight. Of our Loki, I see only darkness and pain. I fear that he suffers."
"And will suffer still more when he returns to us," the king sighed.
Frigga cast her husband a flat look, just short of reproach. "We did him a disservice and it injured him greatly."
"Perhaps. But, young though he may be, Loki is now a man grown. And a prince besides," he reminded her implacably. "His pain does not justify his actions on Midgard or Jotunheim and he will have to answer for them."
Frigga sighed, closing her eyes in pain at the familiar argument. "Odin, please . . ."
The Aesir king tilted his head slightly, as though to see her more clearly. "Is this the queen who comes to me, or the mother?"
"It is the woman who fell in love with a conquerer's kindness." Those stunning blue eyes turned back to him, unafraid, and he saw only strength and wisdom there. "The woman who took from your bloody embrace a tiny Jotun babe who could not take their eyes from you and who would take comfort in no one else's arms for the first months of their life. I know that you will do as you must, but remember that child who so adored you and stilled only at your touch. And remember the war-bride whose heart you won all over again in that child's love."
"Then speak, Frigga Freyrdottir, that a foolish old man who has lost much might better learn to listen to your good wisdom."
The queen paused, weighing her words carefully. "Rule as a king must," she advised after a long moment. "But always love as a father should."
"Hmph." Odin turned away to look out into the rolling wilds of the space surrounding Asgard. "A hard task with headstrong young idiots who test my patience so."
"And would you have another Hela?" His eye narrowed and he looked sharply back to his wife-that was dangerous ground-but Frigga continued unbowed. "Loki's heart has ever been prone to dark moods and melancholy. His path may be harsh and thorny, but he will find his way. Though it may not be as we would have him go."
"And you have seen this?" he demanded flatly. He would not have another Hela if it could be helped. Losing his firstborn had pierced his heart with a wound that would never heal. But Hela had become precisely what he'd fashioned her to be. How could he have made such a terrible mistake twice?
"No." Gentle fingers rose to softly brush the Allfather's aged cheek, soothing some of his hurt in their wake. "Consider it a sort of hope."
He scoffed. "A mother's?"
"The Allmother's," the queen rebutted cooly with all the grace befitting of her station.
Odin smiled slightly, sadly, and opened his mouth to reply, but then his eye widened and his lips parted in surprise as the World Tree trembled.
As the World Tree swelled.
As the World Tree grew, branches rising, curling, unfolding, stretching far out into the Cosmos, gilt with familiar green and guided by a gentle hand.
"Oh . . ."
And somewhere-not in these realms, but somewhere (somewhen?)-far away, one Portfolio was shed for something far greater.
Momentarily stunned, Odin One-Eye, the One Who Speaks for the Tree, gazed past the space and time between them in wonder. And horror. Oh, Loki . . . You foolish child. What have you done?
"Husband?!" The alarm in Frigga's voice broke the Allfather's concentration, pulling his attention from Yggdrasil, and he realized that he was swaying and leaning heavily on the Queen. "Odin, what ails you? Shall I call for Eir?"
"No." He forced himself upright and stable again, despite still feeling shaken to the core, and let out a slow breath as he gently patted Frigga's grasping hands. "All is well, beloved." A thorny path indeed. "I think you may be right." Almost against his will, his gaze turned back to the empty Void below the Bifrost and the silence where their child was not.
That may or may not have been their Loki, but it was a Loki. And that was a kind of promise in and of itself.
Frigga leaned against him. Worry lingered in her voice, but her warm embrace grounded him. "And is that the Allfather's judgement, sire?"
"No." He looked away from the endless void to the spiraling heavens above where the branches of Yggdrasil embraced the cosmos. "'Tis a prayer. From a father to his child."
Alive and radiant with power, the Tree rejoiced.