Loki

The throne room of Asgard buzzed with tension.

Loki inhaled silently, trying to fill his lungs to soothe the oncoming headache.

Thor, the glorious new King of Asgard, sat on his gilded throne, his presence commanding even in moments of stillness.

Loki once thought that Thor would be an incompetent fool on the throne. That he would founder and wreak havoc with his temper. He was glad to say—even if he would never admit it—that Thor was an effective leader. His once-wild exuberance had cooled over the years, leaving a more deliberate, resolute king instead of an overarching and foolhardy prince.

Still, Loki thought, there's always room for improvement.

Thor retained an irritating habit of tapping Mjolnir's handle against the throne's armrest when lost in thought. The clink of the metal against the throne felt like the ominous ticking of a clock.

Before Thor stood the Warrior Three, their faces shadowed with concern.

Sif was nowhere to be found.

Loki leaned casually against a marble pillar, arms folded, his emerald-green robes a stark contrast to the golden opulence around him.

He was starting to get sick of gold. Gold rooms. Gold plates. Gold armour. Gold, well, everything.

He didn't bother to wear the ceremonial robes of the royal advisors. Bright red garments with gold accents and a ridiculous hat that looked like a misshapen pumpkin—no chance, it would look ghastly against his skin anyway.

And if there was one thing Loki prided himself on—other than his skills in sorcery and manipulation—it was his good looks. He had to be egocentric about something.

The advisors stood to the side They may not like him but he had the skills needed to aid his family.

His little network of spies was littered throughout the Nine Realms, bringing him snippets of information that the royal advisers tried to keep away from him.

It was exhausting honestly.

His actions may be heinous—according to whoever likes to gossip—but he had worked hard to redeem himself.

The throne would always be a temptation but Loki liked to think himself above it all.

One of the advisors whispered into the ear of another, disapproval clear in their eyes. If Thor was weaker or if Frigga was out of the picture—they would've happily advocated for his imprisonment.

Loki smirks at them, betraying his amusement at the unfolding discussion.

"The rebels of Alfheim grow bolder," Volstagg rumbled, his voice as deep as a mountain's heart. "They've begun raiding Asgardian supply lines. It cannot stand, my king."

"They dare to defy us openly?" Thor's voice was calm, but the grip on Mjolnir tightened.

Loki glanced between them, secretly bewildered. Álfheim had always been their ally. Though they were not as strong as Asgard, he knew they were formidable opponents in battle.

He spent a portion of his youth there, learning sorcery from their library. It was...close to him.

"Well...'Defy' might be putting it lightly," Fandral added, his usual charm replaced by a rare seriousness. "The Light Elves have openly declared their support. It's the rebel leader, this... Drunir, speaks of uniting the scattered realms under his banner. He claims Asgard no longer holds the strength it once did. He—well, I won't repeat it—but he said a few unsavoury things about the royal family."

Loki's eyebrow arched.

He stepped away from his puller where he was perched. "How original. Another would-be ruler who fancies himself the saviour of the realms." He pushed off the pillar, strolling toward the group. "Tell me, has Drunir promised freedom from our 'tyranny'? A golden age of peace, perhaps? Or simply chaos for its own sake?"

Thor shot him a warning look. "Loki."

Loki spread his hands innocently. "I merely point out the predictable nature of rebellion. It's the same story every time. Though I'll admit, this Drunir shows promise if he's managed to unsettle even Volstagg."

Volstagg bristled but said nothing.

Thor turned his attention to Hogun, the most taciturn of the group. "What say you?"

Hogun's voice was low and deliberate. "Drunir is dangerous. He's no ordinary rebel. He poses a significant threat."

Thor nodded, a shadow passing over his face. "We cannot allow this rebellion to grow. If Alfheim falls entirely under his control, the Light Elves will be powerless. We cannot allow an ally to fall."

Loki deliberated over his words. Alfheim wouldn't fall so easily. The Light Elves were staunch isolationist but their alliance with Asgard was important.

Not to mention, his mother visited every century to see her sisters there.

Before any of them could remark, a messenger entered the hall, bowing low. Loki flashed the messenger an irritated look.

"We are in the middle of—"

Thor held up his hand. "Proceed."

"My king, a message." The messenger said, kneeling at the foot of the stairs as he held out the scroll to Thor. "It is urgent."

Thor's face softened, though the shift was barely perceptible. He took the scroll and read it quickly, his expression tightening. Loki noticed the change immediately—and he knew. The Warrior Three exchanged uneasy glances.

"Bad news, brother?" Loki asked quietly, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Even if Thor brushed off the news with a smile he could see the fear and sorrow in his eyes.

Thor stood, Mjolnir dangling at his side. "It is Jane." He whispered. His voice was quiet, but the weight of those words hung in the air.

Loki tilted his head. "You'll go to her, then."

He glanced at the throne. "But what about the—"

"I'll handle it," Loki said.

"Brother, I cannot."

"You will. As much as she annoys me—She needs you." He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now go. Now, act like a king and make a graceful exit."

"Are you certain?"

"Mother is capable. Now go, before I toss you out myself."

"Yes, of course," Thor said without hesitation. He turned to his companions. "Prepare to form a council of war. Loki will brief you on further orders."

Loki blinked innocently. "Oh, will I?"

Thor's gaze hardened. "Yes. You're the one most skilled in finding out the motives of those who seek to undermine us. Use that clever tongue for something useful."

Before Loki could reply, Thor strode past him, his cape billowing. The hall fell silent as the door closed behind him.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Fandral broke the silence, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, Loki, enlighten us. What pearls of wisdom will you share?"

Loki smirked, retaking his place against the pillar. "Wisdom should never be shared. However, orders on behalf of our king can be."

Hogun shot him an irritated look. "The point, your highness."

"If Drunir truly seeks to unite the realms, he will strike again—and soon. The question is where."

"You're suggesting we wait?" Volstagg asked, incredulous.

"I'm suggesting we watch," Loki corrected. "Drunir's confidence will be his undoing. Let him make his move, and when he does, we'll have the upper hand."

Hogun frowned. "A dangerous game."

"Life is a dangerous game," Loki replied, shrugging. "One of you will have to stay in Alfheim for a bit. I nominate Fandrall."

"Now wait just a minute—"

The door to the throne room opened abruptly, and Sif entered, her armour gleaming, her light blue eyes alight with urgency. She didn't hesitate or bow before addressing the room. There was blood smeared on her cheek but it made her more emboldened.

"I bring news," she said. She paused, her eyes on the empty throne. "Where is Th—I mean His Majesty?"

Loki waved his fingers in the other. "Occupied. Now...what news, Lady Sif."

Sif has always been respectful of the royal family—Loki being the clear exception.

"The dwarves of Nidavellir have offered their alliance. They're willing to support Asgard with steel from their forges."

"An alliance with the dwarves could turn the tide," Fandral said, nodding thoughtfully. "We're in desperate need of weapons. There's not a decent blacksmith left anymore and I can't cut down enemies with a dull blade."

"And what do they want in return?" Loki asked, his tone sceptical. "The dwarves are not known for their charity."

"They request assurances," Sif said, her gaze steady. "A formal pact, no matter the outcome of the rebellion."

Loki nearly rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. They want one of Odin's treasures from the vault."

Volstagg stroked his beard. "A fair trade."

Loki hummed thoughtfully. "Fairness is seldom the true currency of such bargains. But it's a start."

Sif turned to him. "You doubt them?"

"I doubt everyone," Loki replied smoothly. "It's what keeps me alive."

Sif's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

"We'll bring this to Thor," Fandral said.

"As you can see Thor is otherwise occupied," Loki reminded them. "For now, we plan. Carefully. This alliance with the dwarves may give us the leverage we need—but only if Drunir doesn't see it coming."

"I'm not going," Fandrall said.

Loki smirked. "You'd let our king down? I'm quite surprised."

His face darkened. He took one threatening step forward but Sif put her hand out, stopping him. "I'll go. I'm familiar with Alfheim. We wouldn't want Fandrall to break his nails."

Loki resisted the urge to laugh when he saw Fandrall's face go red.

"Sif, I will not stand for this."

"You need to have a spine in order to stand." She shot back. "Now, what are my orders?"

"It surprised me that you'll take orders from me."

Sif raised a well-groomed eyebrow, regarding him with less disgust than usual. "I'm not following your orders. I'm carrying out Asgard's will."

The room fell into a tense silence as they began strategizing.

Loki's mind, however, drifted briefly to his brother. Thor had left to tend to that mortal woman—Jane Foster. Once, he may have mocked him. But now, as he stood among warriors and schemers, he couldn't help but wonder if Thor's connection to Jane was a strength rather than a weakness.

It kept him sane and tethered.

Maya had once been his source of comfort and strength. Her soft touches, her gentle gaze when no one was staring, her indomitable will.

His hand drifted to his chest where his dagger was hidden away. It pressed against his skin, the cold chill of the blade reminding him of the ache in his heart.

He should get rid of it. Toss it into the dwarves' ancient forges and be done with it. To strip away the metal and gems, to ensure that their relationship returned to the ashes.

And yet...he couldn't help but hesitate.

Mortals were fragile despite what Thor argued. They could die so easily whether it be from disease or old age or even no reason at all. It could be as simple as an infected wound or their own mind turning against them.

No, he thought as he watched Sif and the Warrior Three leave the throne room,
Not yet—one day, but not now.