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Title: His Eurydice
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Thor
Rating: R
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing: Thor/Loki
Warnings: AU, character death, incest, slash
Disclaimer: I do not own Thor and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: There is nothing Loki would not do for his brother, even if it means risking his soul.
AN: I meant to finish this and post it aaaaaaaaages ago, but then I got a job and the flu simultaneously and god was that fun. But yes. There's just an epilogue left to go.
Loki came back to himself in a world of red and grey. Mist swirled about him, obscuring his vision and wrapping around his limbs in cold tendrils. Niflheim was a realm of shadows and ruin; a fitting place for the spirits of the inglorious dead that it drew to itself. From all over the Nine Realms, the souls of those who died without honour travelled through the winding branches of Yggdrasil to this place, where they wept and moaned in under the not-light of a dying sun.
This was a place unworthy of his brother. Thor was golden, shining, and valiant; he was meant for a warrior's death and the halls of Valhalla rather than the accident that had befallen him.
He walked slowly through the twilight. The sun had expanded to fill the horizon with its burning red glow, but there was very little light or heat that came from it. At least, there was little that Loki could notice in his current state. His feet made no noise as he passed; he was nothing more than a spirit, for now. The living could not come here. He had had to allow himself to die so that he could bring his brother back to life. Around him, the dark, fractured forms of buildings loomed. Who had built them, Loki didn't know – a civilisation that had died out before time began, if one that had existed at all – but they reminded him faintly of the crumbling buildings of Jotunheim, all fading glory and broken power.
He shuddered at the reminder of Jotunheim. Everything had gone wrong there. Yes, he'd encouraged Thor to go – to prove to their father that he wasn't ready for kingship – but what had happened there had been beyond even the worst of his expectations.
And what had happened after…
He kept moving, spreading out his senses for any sign of his brother. The sooner he found Thor, the better. The longer he remained out of his body the harder it would be to find his way back to it. He knew from his research that many who had attempted this rite had succumbed to the pull Niflheim had on their souls and had not succeeded in their goals. Loki was determined not to be one of them.
As he went on, he adjusted to what he was seeing. Mist transformed from a single entity to the souls of many – Mortals, Jotun, Elves, and Vanir – all of them weeping for their lost lives. They were trapped in misery here. For them there were no feasts, nor fair valkyries to sing of their victories for they had no victories.
This was a wasteland world, where wasted souls resided. A realm of nothing.
…
He heard her first. Her footsteps pattered across the broken stones that paved her ruined city. Niflheim was not entirely uninhabited; there was one who could live here, amongst the shadows and shades.
He had met Hela twice before. The first time, when he had been a child, he had spent staring at her in fascination for she had been different from any he had seen before. The second time, he had been a youth, and she had followed him – skipped in his shadow as he went about his business, laughing girlishly. Thor had teased him after that, claiming him the future King of Niflheim.
He slowed his pace. He should have known that Hela would find him.
He did not have to wait long before she emerged. She was small and dainty, an eternal child, and the fleshly half of her body was lovely as a doll. He knelt before her, bowing his head in greeting, but saw as he did so that she was frowning at him.
"Loki," she greeted. Her voice rasped from her half-ruined throat. "You should not be here, Prince of Asgard."
Her words were rejection, but her hands reached for him regardless. She was lonely, he knew. He took them without flinching and pressed gentle kisses – insubstantial as smoke – to her knuckles, heedless of the exposed bones and tendons. He liked her well enough, and he knew that to proceed with his plan, he would have to gain her permission.
"You have come for him," she said.
Even if he had wished to lie, he would have been unable to. Her eyes, like Heimdall's, saw all.
"Are you going to stop me, my Lady?" he asked instead.
She shook her head slowly and freed her hands from his grasp only to cup his face gently. It was a gesture he had only ever received from his mother before, and it startled him with its gentleness.
"Who am I," she asked him, "to tell you what price you can or cannot pay for your love? There are enough who will do that for me. If you can find him, you may take him. I will not stop you." She released him, then, stepping back and allowing him to rise once more.
He opened his mouth to thank her, but she held up a hand to stop him.
"You understand, Loki of Asgard, that there is no returning from this. That should you succeed, your life and your soul shall no longer entirely be your own; that you will be bound to Thor until Ragnarok come and beyond even then."
He had known. He nodded, closing his eyes as he did so. Thor could banish him for this – he would be within his rights to do so – and they could live separate lives in different realms if they had to. But Thor's death would end Loki's life as well. Thor's injuries would draw his own blood. Thor's loves and passions would make his own blood heat with emotion. Thor's soul would be forever tangled and twisted about his own and never, ever, would they be truly separated again.
Thor's life was his life. That was the price of necromancy.
"Let us hope he is worthy of this," Hela murmured.
"He is," Loki replied. There was no doubt in his mind of that. If anything, it was Loki – Jotun runt that he was – who was unworthy.
For the first time, she smiled at him. The pity in it galled him. "Let us hope," she repeated.
She took her leave of him then, vanishing into the swirl of souls as if she were only a dream. He listened as the echoes of her footsteps faded. He thought for a moment that he heard her voice again, carried to him as if on a breeze.
"Let us hope."
…
He found Thor on the banks of a lake.
As he had walked, the ruined city had given way to first to fields and plains, then to a dark wood of dead, twisting trees. He had walked amongst their rotting branches, searching, ever searching each nook and cranny for all traces of Thor. He had found none, but Loki was not one to give up. His whole life had been a battle: for Odin's approval, for the respect of his teachers, for the love of his brother. Life on Asgard did not come naturally to him, and so he had had to fight for every scrap of praise. If he had given up, he would have mourned his way out of existence while still in childhood.
Loki was far stronger than he was given credit for.
The trees, eventually, had thinned and the mists that clung to them had parted enough for him to catch glimpses of a lake. It was huge, stretching for miles, and surrounded by the dead as everything else was. But here he felt his magic tingle, first with recognition and then with joy. His pace quickened automatically and soon he found himself running through the remaining trees, down to the waterside where sat his brother, staring out over the black waters.
He slowed as he approached, barely daring to believe it. Thor looked as he did on Asgard: armoured and strong. But he was muted, as all the dead were, in shades of grey.
Loki sat next to him on the pebbled shore and turned his gaze out over the water, wondering what it was Thor saw here.
Beside him, Thor sighed. "What is it you would have me say?" he asked.
It was good, so good to hear his voice again. Loki wanted to laugh with joy, but he held it back. He could not, though, stop the grin that spread wide over his features.
"I would have you say anything," he said, "if only to hear you speak once more."
Thor looked at him curiously. "And why would a Jotun wish to hear my voice?"
Loki froze. His wild grin fell from his lips, and he scrambled to the edge of the water. Smooth and dark as blood in the not-light of the dying sun, it reflected back to him the true appearance he hid from all – the appearance he had only known of for scant few days.
He was Jotun here. Thor did not look upon him and see his brother; he saw a monster he had been taught from birth to hate.
"I mean no offense," Thor said from behind him. "We are all equals here, are we not? Death unites us all. I simply wonder what pleasures you could possibly seek in my company."
Loki couldn't stop himself from laughing then. "It seemed you learned our father's lesson after all, Odinson," he said, turning away from the foul image in the water. It was merely a set-back. He would return Thor to life as he had sworn, and then would he live with the consequences. He thought he could live with anything except Thor being dead.
"Our father?"
Thor stood abruptly. He reached out and grasped Loki by the shoulders, studying him intently, taking in everything. The Asgardian clothes his spirit had retained, his hair, his features.
"Loki?"
His name on his brother's lips was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.
"Yes, brother. It is I."
Thor looked incredulous, but then misery – pure and heart-wrenching – rose on his face. His grip on Loki tightened unbearably, and he dragged Loki closer to him.
"No," he moaned. "No, no, no."
Loki swallowed. It felt so good to be embraced like this. He rested his forehead on Thor's armoured shoulder and lifted his hands to rest them on his waist."I am sorry," he said. "I know it is repulsive. If I could have come to you in any other form I would have, but Thor you must –"
"How did this happen, Loki?" Thor demanded of him.
"Father –" Loki began to explain, but was interrupted once more.
"Father killed you? But why? What could – no, there is nothing you could have done to deserve so cruel a fate."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Loki said drily, thinking briefly of his plan for Thor's coronation. He cleared his throat. "It would appear we have been talking of different things, brother mine. I am not dead. Not truly."
Thor pushed him away slightly to study his face once more. "I do not understand," he said.
"I came here to find you," Loki told him. He reached up and tangled his fingers in Thor's hair, drew his brother down to press their brows together. Every sense he had here was filled with Thor and nothing else. It would have been so easy to linger, he realised, to give up on life and remain by this lake for eternity. Surely, Niflheim would not be so bad if Thor was there by his side.
"I went to Midgard in search of you, and found you dead. I couldn't – I couldn't." He gripped onto Thor harder as the memory of his shattered form rose in his mind once more. "Oh Thor, I could not leave you like that. I couldn't live without knowing you lived also. I'm sorry, so sorry."
Thor said nothing, waiting for Loki to finish.
"There is magic, forbidden magic, that would bring you back. I had to try."
"You told me once that all magic had a price," Thor said quietly.
"I am willing to pay it," Loki said. "Do not argue with me on this, brother. I love you. There is no price that I would not pay."
Thor studied him closely once more. Then a smile broke out upon his lips. It was as though the sun had risen, in this shadowed realm, for in seeing it Loki felt sudden warmth rush through his very being. When Thor laughed, loud and booming, Loki basked in the sight his brother's joy.
"Come then, brother," Thor said. "Work your magics."
"As you wish."
…
Yggdrasil's branches pulsed with light around them. Without his body shielding him, Loki could feel its power more strongly. It flowed through him, whispered to him, whispered for him – carrying his tale through its branches to other realms where it would be written and taken as myth.
He held Thor's hand as he led them through the winding paths of the World Tree, leaving the grey wastes of Niflheim behind them. He did not look back. If he did, both he and Thor would be lost, for that was the way of such magic. Any sign of regret or indecision and all hope would be lost forever.
He could feel Thor's spirit growing steadily warmer where it brushed against his own. Not only that, but he could feel Thor's wonder at the sight of Yggdrasil spread out beneath them; his awe at Loki's sure steps; his pride.
Loki walked steadily onwards, leading his brother and leaving only a trail of joyous tears behind him.
…
He woke slowly to the feel of a heart beating beneath his fingers. It took a moment for him to register whose it was, and why it was important. Then his brain began to work once more and he sat bolt upright, eager to check on his brother. He regretted it in an instant. His body was stiff and aching, slow to respond, and he groaned in pain.
But the pain was worth it. Thor's eyelashes fluttered lightly against his cheeks before his eyes cracked open revealing familiar slivers of brightest blue. He blinked once, twice, and parted his lips to speak.
"Loki."
Loki had thought that his name on Thor's lips was beautiful before, but it was nothing compared to this. All he could feel was joy and relief and it bubbled up within his chest, releasing as mad laughter. Thor's voice was raspy from disuse, but it was glorious.
He leaned down over his brother and, wild with joy, pressed a kiss to his dry lips. "I told you," he said, "never to doubt that I love you."
"Never," Thor agreed.
Loki kissed him again. Thor didn't protest, so he did it again and again. He could feel Thor along the edges of his own being. He could feel his surprise and his happiness and his lust. Loki grinned and slid his hand down Thor's chest only to feel pain flare within him. He jerked back, wincing as he did so, and looked down.
The runes he had carved into Thor's chest were bleeding now. Thor's blood, smeared by Loki's fingers, was no longer entirely red. It was tainted with lines of green and black, tiny threads of Loki's magic that would be forever embedded in his being.
Slowly, Thor pushed himself up to study them himself. When he looked up at Loki again, the expression on his face was unreadable but the turmoil in his spirit was not. Fear. Thor was frightened of him, of what he had done.
His joy at his success faded, only to be replaced by guilt and a bone-deep sense of weariness. He should have known. He had known. He had known that Thor would turn him away for this, for who would not?
"I can feel you," Thor whispered. He raised a shaking hand to press it against his chest, further smearing his tainted blood. "I feel you as clearly as I do myself." He was frowning, and it was Loki's turn to feel fear.
"It is the price," Loki told him. "I am sorry, for what it is worth, that you have had to pay for this as well."
"Do not," Thor said, his words harsh. Loki flinched back. He felt a burst of anger that was not his own, followed swiftly by regret and sorrow. Thor reached out for him, and he let his brother wrap his fingers around his own. "Do not apologise, Loki," he said, far softer this time. "You have done more than anyone else could, or would. I am not angry, brother. I seek only to understand."
There was an age in Thor's eyes that hadn't been there before; a wisdom. His time in the realm of the dead had changed him, in a way. Loki took a deep breath and inched closer, slowly lowering himself back onto the bed by his brother's side. He positioned himself as he had before, with his head and his hand on his brother's broad chest and listened to his gentle breathing.
"You have heard the saying, that you take responsibility for the lives you save," he said after a while. "This works on the same principle. For this magic to work, your life must be more precious to me than my own."
"You could have died?" Thor asked. He could feel Thor's horror at the very idea that he may have been harmed. It warmed him inside and gave him the courage to go on.
"Technically, brother mine, I did. Temporary though it may have been." He sighed. "No matter. The cost of your life is that of my own. We are bound now, forever, and not even death shall sever the bond between our souls."
He felt nothing from his brother. He lifted his head and propped his chin on Thor's chest. "Are you angry with me?" he asked.
Thor's fingers brushed lightly against his lower back. "Angry?" he asked. "No, I – I am surprised, Loki, that you hold me so highly. I am afraid of what will become of us. We are brothers."
"Not truly," Loki replied. "You have seen what I truly am. A Jotun runt abandoned to die, then taken by Odin as a relic of war." He could not stop the bitterness that crept into his voice. He was angry still, for the lies Odin had spun throughout the centuries of Loki's life. "How could such a creature be worthy of being your brother?"
Thor's fingers pinched his hip hard enough to hurt. He dislodged Loki, then, rolling them so that Loki was on his back beneath him. Loki felt the ache in his own body as Thor moved. He was stiff and weakened and in no shape for a confrontation no matter how hard he seemed to be looking for one.
"You would call yourself unworthy?" Thor asked him. Anger filled his voice and flickered across Loki's senses. "You, who would risk death and ruin for my sake? Loki…" He leaned down and pressed their lips together in a tender kiss that Loki could not help but gasp into. "It is I who does not deserve you, brother."
…
The short walk to Loki's private bathroom exhausted both of them, and they slumped together against the tub as it filled, panting to regain their breath. Loki leaned his head against Thor's shoulder. He could feel the ache in his brother's muscles as keenly as his own; he could feel Thor's heartbeat thundering beneath his ribs, next his own, keeping perfect time. Even their panting breaths were synchronised.
He felt Thor's nose press into his hair and a gentle kiss – more a ragged brush of parted lips – was touched to his parting.
Thor's body had stiffened and wasted in death for far longer than Loki's. He was unused to being the more physically powerful one, and it showed when he had to haul Thor to his feet once more. It would pass eventually, he knew, and he was glad of that. Loki wasn't weak by any means, but Thor was always meant to be stronger.
In body, at least.
He helped his brother into the hot water and bliss erupted over his body in a way that made him fall to his knees and groan. He'd never liked hot baths, preferring his own lukewarm at most, though he'd never understood why until recently. His brother, however…
"Sometimes, I am envious…"
He winced as he dipped a hand into the bath, but ignored the pain in favour of scooping water up and over the broad expanse of Thor's shoulder. His brother caught his hand clumsily, splashing. His reflexes had suffered somewhat.
"Enough, Loki," he said. "You need not hurt yourself on my account."
"…But never doubt that I love you."
He leaned against the tub and pressed his forehead against Thor's damp shoulder. There was a rare smile on his face that he knew Thor could feel. He knew with a certainty that wasn't entirely his own that he would not be punished for this hubris – not by Thor, at any rate. His brother loved him, was grateful, and he did not doubt Loki's affections any more than he did his own.
…
He didn't know how long he knelt by Thor's side, but when the water was cool enough he rose unsteadily to his feet and joined his brother in the bath. He leaned back into his brother's embrace and let large hands slough blood and residual magic from his skin.
He was so tired that he barely noticed it at first, the faint stirrings of arousal in his belly. He moaned softly as Thor's hand dipped below the tepid water and brushed over the runes carved into his lower abdomen before carefully – tentatively – curving around his hardening cock. Thor was nervous, he could feel it in the fluttering of their heartbeat. He turned as far as he could in his brother's arms and pressed their lips together as best he could.
The nervousness faded, and only Thor remained.
It was all he'd ever wanted.
…
He knew better than to keep Thor in Asgard much longer. One stolen night was all he allowed them before he guided his brother back to Midgard through Yggdrasil's twisting branches. Their fingers laced together as they walked between the worlds.
He took Thor to a town not far from where he had died, and where Mjolnir still lay. Farewell stuck on his tongue, so he distracted himself by brushing invisible specks of lint from Thor's thin, mortal clothing. "Nervous, brother?" he asked, unable to stop himself.
"Not at all," Thor replied, and Loki knew that this time it was truth. "I am leaving Asgard in the safest of hands." To demonstrate his point, he captured Loki's hands with his own, stilling their movements in order to place gentle kisses to each long finger. "And when I return, you shall be made prince in truth as well as in name."
For a brief moment, Loki had no idea what Thor could possibly mean. But as he looked into the blue of his brother's eyes, he could see and feel nothing but sincerity and love and the tiniest twinge of doubt, as if Thor thought Loki would pull away from him. Then he understood.
"Thor," he breathed.
No one would understand; no one would even want to. They would whisper and point and hide their disgust behind false platitudes and smiles, but what Thor was offering… Loki didn't think he could ever turn him down. What did it matter that the entirety of the Nine Realms believed them to be brothers in blood?
He used Thor's grip on his hands to tug his brother closer and kissed him deeply. Why did anything matter when he would have Thor?
"You accept me, then?" Thor murmured, breathing his words against Loki's mouth between soft kisses.
Loki laughed softly. "You should know better by now, brother mine," he replied. "Never to doubt that I love you."
…
His return to Asgard went unmarked, much as his absence from it had been. He sat in the throne room for several hours after his arrival, fidgeting as he failed to get comfortable on Hlidskjalf. Gungnir, he quite liked, but he was not made for the throne of Asgard.
His place would be behind it, as his mother's was.
He went to visit her in his father's chambers and brought dinner for them both. For the first time in days, Loki felt hungry. Ravenous, actually. He'd always had a huge appetite, but eating had become unimportant upon his discovery of Thor's death.
But that was over now. Done. And Loki was half-starved for it.
He pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek before he sat, and presented her with her plate. It was relatively simple fare. A rich stew and fresh bread, with apples for desert. She thanked him, but her attentions soon returned to Odin as they always did when he slept.
"There has been no change?" Loki asked.
"None."
He hated the way that she looked then. So sad, the fine lines about her eyes so much deeper than they usually were, and the corners of her mouth turned down. But then he recalled his own appearance, not so long ago; smeared with Thor's blood, pale and shaking, eyes wide with horror and fear and unbearable loss. He passed her his last slice of apple, and she smiled at him faintly as she bit into golden flesh.
"One day," she told him, "you'll understand, Loki, just what it means to love someone so much."
"I hope so, mother," he whispered.
The truth withered on his tongue, and died.
…
He stayed at Odin's side even after his mother had retired to her chambers. She had been falling asleep where she'd sat, and he'd urged her to bed so that she could rest and so that he could…well, not do much. He'd taken her seat and folded his arms on the edge of Odin's bed, resting his chin on them so that he could study the All Father intently. He, like his mother, seemed so old all of a sudden.
Loki sighed.
He wanted to hate Odin. By all rights he should, but he couldn't bring himself to. Not anymore.
He traced his fingers over the energy barrier that separated Odin from the rest of the world. "They say you see everything when you sleep," he said. Certainly, when he had been a child, Odin had seemed omniscient. It had mostly been thanks to Hugin and Munin, he knew, but the few times he could remember the All Father falling into the Odinsleep he had always woken from it knowing exactly what everyone had been up to. If Loki had played tricks or embroiled Thor in childish mischief, Odin would know of it; if Thor had improved in his sparring or skipped out on his classes, Odin would know that too.
But how much was everything? Would he know what Loki had done? What he and Thor had become?
"We broke him, you and I," Loki whispered. "I brought dishonour and war upon the day that should have been his greatest triumph. You cast him out and shattered his body as well as his spirit. Between the two of us, Thor found ignoble death. But of the two of us, only I could fix him." He sighed. Even now he could feel Thor's spirit nestled against his own. His brother was being confused by something. Again.
"Do not hate him for that, All Father," he said. "Do not condemn Thor for what I have done even if he has accepted it."
Thor was too trusting, sometimes, but Loki couldn't bring himself to resent that fact. Not now.
He stretched out his hand before him and studied the runes on his wrist. They had scabbed over black and shimmering green, but they seemed to be healing well enough.
"Do not hate Thor, but know this, All Father: whatever punishments you seek to lay upon me for this, I will remain by his side always."
There was only silence in reply, but Loki was satisfied as he sat back in his chair. His hands fell to his lap and he absently tugged his sleeve down over his wrist once more. Though Odin still slept, he couldn't help but feel that he had been understood.
…
Thor returned triumphant two days later, with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif by his side. Loki had been in the throne room all morning. He'd taken a book and sat on the stairs rather than on Hlidskjalf itself – the throne of Asgard really was too uncomfortable for him. He felt Thor's arrival before any of his other senses recognised it. It gave him time to hide his book and snatch up Gungnir and make himself presentable before the doors swung open and Thor strode in, resplendent in his armour. His friends hurried in behind him, and Loki couldn't help but notice the dark expression on Lady Sif's face.
He resisted the urge to laugh at her.
Instead he made his way down from the dais. There was so much he could have said, but he settled instead for a simple "welcome home," as he held open his arms.
Thor laughed and reached for him, pulling him into his warm embrace. "Loki," he said. "You look well, brother." Gentle, calloused fingers brushed along Loki's cheekbone and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "Kingship suits you."
There was a stifled noise from behind him and Loki wondered if Sif had just bitten through her tongue.
"Not at all," he said. "I am not meant to be King of Asgard. That glory is ever yours, my brother."
Thor looked down at him seriously, and the temptation to lean up and kiss him was almost overwhelming. Loki licked his lips at the thought, and smiled when Thor's gaze followed the movement.
"What if I am not ready?" Thor asked quietly.
Loki felt a strange sense of unreality. His plan had been to get the All Father to see that Thor wasn't ready, and for all intents and purposes it had worked. He hadn't expected Thor to see it, though. It was oddly relieving. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to take over from Frigga yet, either.
"Then you aren't ready," he said. "The Odinsleep is a temporary thing. We weren't prepared this time, but mother believes the All Father will be awake again in a few days." He stepped back from Thor's hold and guided him up the steps to Hlidskjalf. "And I will be with you," he promised. "Always."
He wasn't only talking about kingship, either, and if the warmth he felt blossom in his chest was anything to go by then Thor knew it.
He passed Gungnir over to his brother, and as Thor sat upon the throne, Loki dropped to one knee before him and pressed his hand to his heart, bowing his head as he did so. He glanced up through his lashes and revelled in the sight of Thor's smile.
"Rise, brother," Thor said, and Loki obeyed. He stepped to the side and leaned against the throne's mighty arm, and for the first time in days, he truly felt as if all would be well.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Thor
Rating: R
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing: Thor/Loki
Warnings: AU, character death, incest, slash
Disclaimer: I do not own Thor and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: There is nothing Loki would not do for his brother, even if it means risking his soul.
AN: I meant to finish this and post it aaaaaaaaages ago, but then I got a job and the flu simultaneously and god was that fun. But yes. There's just an epilogue left to go.
Loki came back to himself in a world of red and grey. Mist swirled about him, obscuring his vision and wrapping around his limbs in cold tendrils. Niflheim was a realm of shadows and ruin; a fitting place for the spirits of the inglorious dead that it drew to itself. From all over the Nine Realms, the souls of those who died without honour travelled through the winding branches of Yggdrasil to this place, where they wept and moaned in under the not-light of a dying sun.
This was a place unworthy of his brother. Thor was golden, shining, and valiant; he was meant for a warrior's death and the halls of Valhalla rather than the accident that had befallen him.
He walked slowly through the twilight. The sun had expanded to fill the horizon with its burning red glow, but there was very little light or heat that came from it. At least, there was little that Loki could notice in his current state. His feet made no noise as he passed; he was nothing more than a spirit, for now. The living could not come here. He had had to allow himself to die so that he could bring his brother back to life. Around him, the dark, fractured forms of buildings loomed. Who had built them, Loki didn't know – a civilisation that had died out before time began, if one that had existed at all – but they reminded him faintly of the crumbling buildings of Jotunheim, all fading glory and broken power.
He shuddered at the reminder of Jotunheim. Everything had gone wrong there. Yes, he'd encouraged Thor to go – to prove to their father that he wasn't ready for kingship – but what had happened there had been beyond even the worst of his expectations.
And what had happened after…
He kept moving, spreading out his senses for any sign of his brother. The sooner he found Thor, the better. The longer he remained out of his body the harder it would be to find his way back to it. He knew from his research that many who had attempted this rite had succumbed to the pull Niflheim had on their souls and had not succeeded in their goals. Loki was determined not to be one of them.
As he went on, he adjusted to what he was seeing. Mist transformed from a single entity to the souls of many – Mortals, Jotun, Elves, and Vanir – all of them weeping for their lost lives. They were trapped in misery here. For them there were no feasts, nor fair valkyries to sing of their victories for they had no victories.
This was a wasteland world, where wasted souls resided. A realm of nothing.
…
He heard her first. Her footsteps pattered across the broken stones that paved her ruined city. Niflheim was not entirely uninhabited; there was one who could live here, amongst the shadows and shades.
He had met Hela twice before. The first time, when he had been a child, he had spent staring at her in fascination for she had been different from any he had seen before. The second time, he had been a youth, and she had followed him – skipped in his shadow as he went about his business, laughing girlishly. Thor had teased him after that, claiming him the future King of Niflheim.
He slowed his pace. He should have known that Hela would find him.
He did not have to wait long before she emerged. She was small and dainty, an eternal child, and the fleshly half of her body was lovely as a doll. He knelt before her, bowing his head in greeting, but saw as he did so that she was frowning at him.
"Loki," she greeted. Her voice rasped from her half-ruined throat. "You should not be here, Prince of Asgard."
Her words were rejection, but her hands reached for him regardless. She was lonely, he knew. He took them without flinching and pressed gentle kisses – insubstantial as smoke – to her knuckles, heedless of the exposed bones and tendons. He liked her well enough, and he knew that to proceed with his plan, he would have to gain her permission.
"You have come for him," she said.
Even if he had wished to lie, he would have been unable to. Her eyes, like Heimdall's, saw all.
"Are you going to stop me, my Lady?" he asked instead.
She shook her head slowly and freed her hands from his grasp only to cup his face gently. It was a gesture he had only ever received from his mother before, and it startled him with its gentleness.
"Who am I," she asked him, "to tell you what price you can or cannot pay for your love? There are enough who will do that for me. If you can find him, you may take him. I will not stop you." She released him, then, stepping back and allowing him to rise once more.
He opened his mouth to thank her, but she held up a hand to stop him.
"You understand, Loki of Asgard, that there is no returning from this. That should you succeed, your life and your soul shall no longer entirely be your own; that you will be bound to Thor until Ragnarok come and beyond even then."
He had known. He nodded, closing his eyes as he did so. Thor could banish him for this – he would be within his rights to do so – and they could live separate lives in different realms if they had to. But Thor's death would end Loki's life as well. Thor's injuries would draw his own blood. Thor's loves and passions would make his own blood heat with emotion. Thor's soul would be forever tangled and twisted about his own and never, ever, would they be truly separated again.
Thor's life was his life. That was the price of necromancy.
"Let us hope he is worthy of this," Hela murmured.
"He is," Loki replied. There was no doubt in his mind of that. If anything, it was Loki – Jotun runt that he was – who was unworthy.
For the first time, she smiled at him. The pity in it galled him. "Let us hope," she repeated.
She took her leave of him then, vanishing into the swirl of souls as if she were only a dream. He listened as the echoes of her footsteps faded. He thought for a moment that he heard her voice again, carried to him as if on a breeze.
"Let us hope."
…
He found Thor on the banks of a lake.
As he had walked, the ruined city had given way to first to fields and plains, then to a dark wood of dead, twisting trees. He had walked amongst their rotting branches, searching, ever searching each nook and cranny for all traces of Thor. He had found none, but Loki was not one to give up. His whole life had been a battle: for Odin's approval, for the respect of his teachers, for the love of his brother. Life on Asgard did not come naturally to him, and so he had had to fight for every scrap of praise. If he had given up, he would have mourned his way out of existence while still in childhood.
Loki was far stronger than he was given credit for.
The trees, eventually, had thinned and the mists that clung to them had parted enough for him to catch glimpses of a lake. It was huge, stretching for miles, and surrounded by the dead as everything else was. But here he felt his magic tingle, first with recognition and then with joy. His pace quickened automatically and soon he found himself running through the remaining trees, down to the waterside where sat his brother, staring out over the black waters.
He slowed as he approached, barely daring to believe it. Thor looked as he did on Asgard: armoured and strong. But he was muted, as all the dead were, in shades of grey.
Loki sat next to him on the pebbled shore and turned his gaze out over the water, wondering what it was Thor saw here.
Beside him, Thor sighed. "What is it you would have me say?" he asked.
It was good, so good to hear his voice again. Loki wanted to laugh with joy, but he held it back. He could not, though, stop the grin that spread wide over his features.
"I would have you say anything," he said, "if only to hear you speak once more."
Thor looked at him curiously. "And why would a Jotun wish to hear my voice?"
Loki froze. His wild grin fell from his lips, and he scrambled to the edge of the water. Smooth and dark as blood in the not-light of the dying sun, it reflected back to him the true appearance he hid from all – the appearance he had only known of for scant few days.
He was Jotun here. Thor did not look upon him and see his brother; he saw a monster he had been taught from birth to hate.
"I mean no offense," Thor said from behind him. "We are all equals here, are we not? Death unites us all. I simply wonder what pleasures you could possibly seek in my company."
Loki couldn't stop himself from laughing then. "It seemed you learned our father's lesson after all, Odinson," he said, turning away from the foul image in the water. It was merely a set-back. He would return Thor to life as he had sworn, and then would he live with the consequences. He thought he could live with anything except Thor being dead.
"Our father?"
Thor stood abruptly. He reached out and grasped Loki by the shoulders, studying him intently, taking in everything. The Asgardian clothes his spirit had retained, his hair, his features.
"Loki?"
His name on his brother's lips was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.
"Yes, brother. It is I."
Thor looked incredulous, but then misery – pure and heart-wrenching – rose on his face. His grip on Loki tightened unbearably, and he dragged Loki closer to him.
"No," he moaned. "No, no, no."
Loki swallowed. It felt so good to be embraced like this. He rested his forehead on Thor's armoured shoulder and lifted his hands to rest them on his waist."I am sorry," he said. "I know it is repulsive. If I could have come to you in any other form I would have, but Thor you must –"
"How did this happen, Loki?" Thor demanded of him.
"Father –" Loki began to explain, but was interrupted once more.
"Father killed you? But why? What could – no, there is nothing you could have done to deserve so cruel a fate."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Loki said drily, thinking briefly of his plan for Thor's coronation. He cleared his throat. "It would appear we have been talking of different things, brother mine. I am not dead. Not truly."
Thor pushed him away slightly to study his face once more. "I do not understand," he said.
"I came here to find you," Loki told him. He reached up and tangled his fingers in Thor's hair, drew his brother down to press their brows together. Every sense he had here was filled with Thor and nothing else. It would have been so easy to linger, he realised, to give up on life and remain by this lake for eternity. Surely, Niflheim would not be so bad if Thor was there by his side.
"I went to Midgard in search of you, and found you dead. I couldn't – I couldn't." He gripped onto Thor harder as the memory of his shattered form rose in his mind once more. "Oh Thor, I could not leave you like that. I couldn't live without knowing you lived also. I'm sorry, so sorry."
Thor said nothing, waiting for Loki to finish.
"There is magic, forbidden magic, that would bring you back. I had to try."
"You told me once that all magic had a price," Thor said quietly.
"I am willing to pay it," Loki said. "Do not argue with me on this, brother. I love you. There is no price that I would not pay."
Thor studied him closely once more. Then a smile broke out upon his lips. It was as though the sun had risen, in this shadowed realm, for in seeing it Loki felt sudden warmth rush through his very being. When Thor laughed, loud and booming, Loki basked in the sight his brother's joy.
"Come then, brother," Thor said. "Work your magics."
"As you wish."
…
Yggdrasil's branches pulsed with light around them. Without his body shielding him, Loki could feel its power more strongly. It flowed through him, whispered to him, whispered for him – carrying his tale through its branches to other realms where it would be written and taken as myth.
He held Thor's hand as he led them through the winding paths of the World Tree, leaving the grey wastes of Niflheim behind them. He did not look back. If he did, both he and Thor would be lost, for that was the way of such magic. Any sign of regret or indecision and all hope would be lost forever.
He could feel Thor's spirit growing steadily warmer where it brushed against his own. Not only that, but he could feel Thor's wonder at the sight of Yggdrasil spread out beneath them; his awe at Loki's sure steps; his pride.
Loki walked steadily onwards, leading his brother and leaving only a trail of joyous tears behind him.
…
He woke slowly to the feel of a heart beating beneath his fingers. It took a moment for him to register whose it was, and why it was important. Then his brain began to work once more and he sat bolt upright, eager to check on his brother. He regretted it in an instant. His body was stiff and aching, slow to respond, and he groaned in pain.
But the pain was worth it. Thor's eyelashes fluttered lightly against his cheeks before his eyes cracked open revealing familiar slivers of brightest blue. He blinked once, twice, and parted his lips to speak.
"Loki."
Loki had thought that his name on Thor's lips was beautiful before, but it was nothing compared to this. All he could feel was joy and relief and it bubbled up within his chest, releasing as mad laughter. Thor's voice was raspy from disuse, but it was glorious.
He leaned down over his brother and, wild with joy, pressed a kiss to his dry lips. "I told you," he said, "never to doubt that I love you."
"Never," Thor agreed.
Loki kissed him again. Thor didn't protest, so he did it again and again. He could feel Thor along the edges of his own being. He could feel his surprise and his happiness and his lust. Loki grinned and slid his hand down Thor's chest only to feel pain flare within him. He jerked back, wincing as he did so, and looked down.
The runes he had carved into Thor's chest were bleeding now. Thor's blood, smeared by Loki's fingers, was no longer entirely red. It was tainted with lines of green and black, tiny threads of Loki's magic that would be forever embedded in his being.
Slowly, Thor pushed himself up to study them himself. When he looked up at Loki again, the expression on his face was unreadable but the turmoil in his spirit was not. Fear. Thor was frightened of him, of what he had done.
His joy at his success faded, only to be replaced by guilt and a bone-deep sense of weariness. He should have known. He had known. He had known that Thor would turn him away for this, for who would not?
"I can feel you," Thor whispered. He raised a shaking hand to press it against his chest, further smearing his tainted blood. "I feel you as clearly as I do myself." He was frowning, and it was Loki's turn to feel fear.
"It is the price," Loki told him. "I am sorry, for what it is worth, that you have had to pay for this as well."
"Do not," Thor said, his words harsh. Loki flinched back. He felt a burst of anger that was not his own, followed swiftly by regret and sorrow. Thor reached out for him, and he let his brother wrap his fingers around his own. "Do not apologise, Loki," he said, far softer this time. "You have done more than anyone else could, or would. I am not angry, brother. I seek only to understand."
There was an age in Thor's eyes that hadn't been there before; a wisdom. His time in the realm of the dead had changed him, in a way. Loki took a deep breath and inched closer, slowly lowering himself back onto the bed by his brother's side. He positioned himself as he had before, with his head and his hand on his brother's broad chest and listened to his gentle breathing.
"You have heard the saying, that you take responsibility for the lives you save," he said after a while. "This works on the same principle. For this magic to work, your life must be more precious to me than my own."
"You could have died?" Thor asked. He could feel Thor's horror at the very idea that he may have been harmed. It warmed him inside and gave him the courage to go on.
"Technically, brother mine, I did. Temporary though it may have been." He sighed. "No matter. The cost of your life is that of my own. We are bound now, forever, and not even death shall sever the bond between our souls."
He felt nothing from his brother. He lifted his head and propped his chin on Thor's chest. "Are you angry with me?" he asked.
Thor's fingers brushed lightly against his lower back. "Angry?" he asked. "No, I – I am surprised, Loki, that you hold me so highly. I am afraid of what will become of us. We are brothers."
"Not truly," Loki replied. "You have seen what I truly am. A Jotun runt abandoned to die, then taken by Odin as a relic of war." He could not stop the bitterness that crept into his voice. He was angry still, for the lies Odin had spun throughout the centuries of Loki's life. "How could such a creature be worthy of being your brother?"
Thor's fingers pinched his hip hard enough to hurt. He dislodged Loki, then, rolling them so that Loki was on his back beneath him. Loki felt the ache in his own body as Thor moved. He was stiff and weakened and in no shape for a confrontation no matter how hard he seemed to be looking for one.
"You would call yourself unworthy?" Thor asked him. Anger filled his voice and flickered across Loki's senses. "You, who would risk death and ruin for my sake? Loki…" He leaned down and pressed their lips together in a tender kiss that Loki could not help but gasp into. "It is I who does not deserve you, brother."
…
The short walk to Loki's private bathroom exhausted both of them, and they slumped together against the tub as it filled, panting to regain their breath. Loki leaned his head against Thor's shoulder. He could feel the ache in his brother's muscles as keenly as his own; he could feel Thor's heartbeat thundering beneath his ribs, next his own, keeping perfect time. Even their panting breaths were synchronised.
He felt Thor's nose press into his hair and a gentle kiss – more a ragged brush of parted lips – was touched to his parting.
Thor's body had stiffened and wasted in death for far longer than Loki's. He was unused to being the more physically powerful one, and it showed when he had to haul Thor to his feet once more. It would pass eventually, he knew, and he was glad of that. Loki wasn't weak by any means, but Thor was always meant to be stronger.
In body, at least.
He helped his brother into the hot water and bliss erupted over his body in a way that made him fall to his knees and groan. He'd never liked hot baths, preferring his own lukewarm at most, though he'd never understood why until recently. His brother, however…
"Sometimes, I am envious…"
He winced as he dipped a hand into the bath, but ignored the pain in favour of scooping water up and over the broad expanse of Thor's shoulder. His brother caught his hand clumsily, splashing. His reflexes had suffered somewhat.
"Enough, Loki," he said. "You need not hurt yourself on my account."
"…But never doubt that I love you."
He leaned against the tub and pressed his forehead against Thor's damp shoulder. There was a rare smile on his face that he knew Thor could feel. He knew with a certainty that wasn't entirely his own that he would not be punished for this hubris – not by Thor, at any rate. His brother loved him, was grateful, and he did not doubt Loki's affections any more than he did his own.
…
He didn't know how long he knelt by Thor's side, but when the water was cool enough he rose unsteadily to his feet and joined his brother in the bath. He leaned back into his brother's embrace and let large hands slough blood and residual magic from his skin.
He was so tired that he barely noticed it at first, the faint stirrings of arousal in his belly. He moaned softly as Thor's hand dipped below the tepid water and brushed over the runes carved into his lower abdomen before carefully – tentatively – curving around his hardening cock. Thor was nervous, he could feel it in the fluttering of their heartbeat. He turned as far as he could in his brother's arms and pressed their lips together as best he could.
The nervousness faded, and only Thor remained.
It was all he'd ever wanted.
…
He knew better than to keep Thor in Asgard much longer. One stolen night was all he allowed them before he guided his brother back to Midgard through Yggdrasil's twisting branches. Their fingers laced together as they walked between the worlds.
He took Thor to a town not far from where he had died, and where Mjolnir still lay. Farewell stuck on his tongue, so he distracted himself by brushing invisible specks of lint from Thor's thin, mortal clothing. "Nervous, brother?" he asked, unable to stop himself.
"Not at all," Thor replied, and Loki knew that this time it was truth. "I am leaving Asgard in the safest of hands." To demonstrate his point, he captured Loki's hands with his own, stilling their movements in order to place gentle kisses to each long finger. "And when I return, you shall be made prince in truth as well as in name."
For a brief moment, Loki had no idea what Thor could possibly mean. But as he looked into the blue of his brother's eyes, he could see and feel nothing but sincerity and love and the tiniest twinge of doubt, as if Thor thought Loki would pull away from him. Then he understood.
"Thor," he breathed.
No one would understand; no one would even want to. They would whisper and point and hide their disgust behind false platitudes and smiles, but what Thor was offering… Loki didn't think he could ever turn him down. What did it matter that the entirety of the Nine Realms believed them to be brothers in blood?
He used Thor's grip on his hands to tug his brother closer and kissed him deeply. Why did anything matter when he would have Thor?
"You accept me, then?" Thor murmured, breathing his words against Loki's mouth between soft kisses.
Loki laughed softly. "You should know better by now, brother mine," he replied. "Never to doubt that I love you."
…
His return to Asgard went unmarked, much as his absence from it had been. He sat in the throne room for several hours after his arrival, fidgeting as he failed to get comfortable on Hlidskjalf. Gungnir, he quite liked, but he was not made for the throne of Asgard.
His place would be behind it, as his mother's was.
He went to visit her in his father's chambers and brought dinner for them both. For the first time in days, Loki felt hungry. Ravenous, actually. He'd always had a huge appetite, but eating had become unimportant upon his discovery of Thor's death.
But that was over now. Done. And Loki was half-starved for it.
He pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek before he sat, and presented her with her plate. It was relatively simple fare. A rich stew and fresh bread, with apples for desert. She thanked him, but her attentions soon returned to Odin as they always did when he slept.
"There has been no change?" Loki asked.
"None."
He hated the way that she looked then. So sad, the fine lines about her eyes so much deeper than they usually were, and the corners of her mouth turned down. But then he recalled his own appearance, not so long ago; smeared with Thor's blood, pale and shaking, eyes wide with horror and fear and unbearable loss. He passed her his last slice of apple, and she smiled at him faintly as she bit into golden flesh.
"One day," she told him, "you'll understand, Loki, just what it means to love someone so much."
"I hope so, mother," he whispered.
The truth withered on his tongue, and died.
…
He stayed at Odin's side even after his mother had retired to her chambers. She had been falling asleep where she'd sat, and he'd urged her to bed so that she could rest and so that he could…well, not do much. He'd taken her seat and folded his arms on the edge of Odin's bed, resting his chin on them so that he could study the All Father intently. He, like his mother, seemed so old all of a sudden.
Loki sighed.
He wanted to hate Odin. By all rights he should, but he couldn't bring himself to. Not anymore.
He traced his fingers over the energy barrier that separated Odin from the rest of the world. "They say you see everything when you sleep," he said. Certainly, when he had been a child, Odin had seemed omniscient. It had mostly been thanks to Hugin and Munin, he knew, but the few times he could remember the All Father falling into the Odinsleep he had always woken from it knowing exactly what everyone had been up to. If Loki had played tricks or embroiled Thor in childish mischief, Odin would know of it; if Thor had improved in his sparring or skipped out on his classes, Odin would know that too.
But how much was everything? Would he know what Loki had done? What he and Thor had become?
"We broke him, you and I," Loki whispered. "I brought dishonour and war upon the day that should have been his greatest triumph. You cast him out and shattered his body as well as his spirit. Between the two of us, Thor found ignoble death. But of the two of us, only I could fix him." He sighed. Even now he could feel Thor's spirit nestled against his own. His brother was being confused by something. Again.
"Do not hate him for that, All Father," he said. "Do not condemn Thor for what I have done even if he has accepted it."
Thor was too trusting, sometimes, but Loki couldn't bring himself to resent that fact. Not now.
He stretched out his hand before him and studied the runes on his wrist. They had scabbed over black and shimmering green, but they seemed to be healing well enough.
"Do not hate Thor, but know this, All Father: whatever punishments you seek to lay upon me for this, I will remain by his side always."
There was only silence in reply, but Loki was satisfied as he sat back in his chair. His hands fell to his lap and he absently tugged his sleeve down over his wrist once more. Though Odin still slept, he couldn't help but feel that he had been understood.
…
Thor returned triumphant two days later, with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif by his side. Loki had been in the throne room all morning. He'd taken a book and sat on the stairs rather than on Hlidskjalf itself – the throne of Asgard really was too uncomfortable for him. He felt Thor's arrival before any of his other senses recognised it. It gave him time to hide his book and snatch up Gungnir and make himself presentable before the doors swung open and Thor strode in, resplendent in his armour. His friends hurried in behind him, and Loki couldn't help but notice the dark expression on Lady Sif's face.
He resisted the urge to laugh at her.
Instead he made his way down from the dais. There was so much he could have said, but he settled instead for a simple "welcome home," as he held open his arms.
Thor laughed and reached for him, pulling him into his warm embrace. "Loki," he said. "You look well, brother." Gentle, calloused fingers brushed along Loki's cheekbone and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "Kingship suits you."
There was a stifled noise from behind him and Loki wondered if Sif had just bitten through her tongue.
"Not at all," he said. "I am not meant to be King of Asgard. That glory is ever yours, my brother."
Thor looked down at him seriously, and the temptation to lean up and kiss him was almost overwhelming. Loki licked his lips at the thought, and smiled when Thor's gaze followed the movement.
"What if I am not ready?" Thor asked quietly.
Loki felt a strange sense of unreality. His plan had been to get the All Father to see that Thor wasn't ready, and for all intents and purposes it had worked. He hadn't expected Thor to see it, though. It was oddly relieving. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to take over from Frigga yet, either.
"Then you aren't ready," he said. "The Odinsleep is a temporary thing. We weren't prepared this time, but mother believes the All Father will be awake again in a few days." He stepped back from Thor's hold and guided him up the steps to Hlidskjalf. "And I will be with you," he promised. "Always."
He wasn't only talking about kingship, either, and if the warmth he felt blossom in his chest was anything to go by then Thor knew it.
He passed Gungnir over to his brother, and as Thor sat upon the throne, Loki dropped to one knee before him and pressed his hand to his heart, bowing his head as he did so. He glanced up through his lashes and revelled in the sight of Thor's smile.
"Rise, brother," Thor said, and Loki obeyed. He stepped to the side and leaned against the throne's mighty arm, and for the first time in days, he truly felt as if all would be well.
