Chapter Text
It doesn’t make any sense, of course, but it does make as much sense as anything else that’s happened lately.
The sensation of being pushed out of the Citadel had been jarring, but it was nothing compared to being thrown right back into his timeline, bound and gagged and ready to be dragged back to Asgard for punishment. And it was perhaps a good thing — though only in hindsight — that Loki was bound and gagged, given the way that he had panicked as soon as he landed back in Stark Tower. Screaming and throwing himself against his captors in a frantic attempt to get back to Sylvie.
He knows from what Thor told him later that they had had to sedate him to get him back to Asgard. And they had obviously assumed that his reaction had been the result of his failed coup, but that isn’t the truth of it at all, of course.
Because, as Loki lays on the narrow cot in his rather extravagant prison cell within the palace dungeons, all he can think about is her.
Gods, the expression on her face just before she’d pressed her lips to his — so much pain and desperation manifested in her delicate features. An entire lifetime of it, in fact. And all he had wanted to do was make it go away, even at the expense of his own goals and ambitions.
It’s a new feeling, and it’s one that he doesn’t entirely hate.
Of course, she had pushed him away — sent him away — and yet all he can bring himself to feel for her is devastating worry, and an overwhelming sense of affection. He hadn’t been overstating it in the least when he had told her that he understood exactly what she was feeling — understood the rage and betrayal bubbling at the surface — and he still does, now. She’d set out to accomplish something, and he feels a keen sense of pride at the fact that she had actually done it, even if he still isn’t entirely sure that he agrees with her.
And being here now only makes it all clearer. He remembers being so filled with anger and distrust at his family who had kept so much from him, and at his own sense of powerlessness. He hadn’t really wanted to rule anything — he can see that so clearly, now — but had chafed at the sense of being cast out and made second-best within his own family. At always being mistrusted. Always alone, even when surrounded by others.
He certainly understands her, at the very least. He knows exactly how Sylvie feels, and he knows exactly the type of validation that she had been looking for.
And he can only hope that she’s alright, now, as he stares up at the ceiling of his cell.
As much as he does understand exactly what Sylvie did and why she did it, Loki only wishes that he’d been sent anywhere but here.
It does makes sense, strictly speaking — she had somehow sent him right back to the place and the moment of his own nexus event. Sent back to his own timeline, in essence. The problem, of course, is that he doesn’t quite belong here, even if he does belong here, perfectly.
However, this is also one of the only places in the universe — other than the TVA, of course — that he can imagine would be able to keep him immobilized. Entirely helpless. The cell had been specially designed to hold him — both physically and magically — and it’s quite effective, he’s loathe to admit. He can only imagine how this would have grated at him before, but now, when his only goal is to find Sylvie and ensure her safety?
It’s practically torture.
The voice that startles him out of his thoughts is not entirely unwelcome, however.
“Loki?” Frigga calls out softly, and Loki snaps his head to the side where it still lays on his pillow so that he can meet his mother’s eyes. It simultaneously feels like only days since he last saw her, and also a lifetime, and also like he had made peace with never seeing her again.
It’s a complicated collection of feelings.
However, even given everything else that’s going on now, Loki has to admit that her presence is not at all an unwelcome one.
“Mother,” he murmurs, and he pushes himself up to a seated position on the cot so that he can see her more clearly.
She only raises her eyebrows at him curiously. “I’ll admit that I didn’t expect this sort of reaction from you. I thought that you’d be rather angry at me.”
And that is fair, of course. Loki imagines that, had the situation been different — had it been what it should have been, according to the proper flow of time — he would have been quite livid to be trapped down here while Thor was celebrated and fawned upon.
And he isn’t really sure how much he should reveal, even now. If he tells her exactly what he’s been through, then she might help him. But also, it seems like quite a lot to expect someone to just accept, even if this person is one of the most powerful sorceresses in the Nine Realms, as well as his mother.
Best to stick to something close enough to the truth, for now. “Let’s just say that when your choices are lined up in front of you, your missteps become rather apparent.”
Frigga purses her lips. “And have you had some clarity on the decisions that brought you to this cell, now?”
It’s such an understatement that it almost makes Loki laugh out loud. He probably would have, if he had been in better humour.
“One could say that I have had my life flash before my eyes.”
She comes closer to the cell barrier now, and Loki stands up from the cot to meet her on the other side of the transparent wall.
“And I’m assuming that you did not like the life that you saw?” she asks. She’s frowning, and has a somewhat pensive expression on her face.
“Not as much as the one that I was offered as an alternative,” he responds.
She frowns. “Well, what’s to stop you from choosing that life, instead?”
The entire universe, apparently, he thinks, a little bitterly.
Instead, he just shrugs and gestures around him. “I’m not sure if the offer still stands, even if I was able to take it.”
He can tell that his mother is unimpressed with his vague responses, but he’s not sure if he’s willing to offer more. Not yet, at least. “Well, it looks like you’ll have plenty of time to consider it,” she says, before turning on her heel and taking a few steps towards the staircase. She stops, though, and turns, and he sees something soften in the way that she’s looking at him. “I’ll have some of the books from your rooms sent down here.”
He can’t help the way that the corners of his mouth curl up into a little smile at that. “Thank you, Mother.” He pauses, and considers his next words for only a second before he gives voice to them. “I love you. I don’t say that enough.”
The shock on Frigga’s face would almost be comical, given literally any other circumstance. He clearly doesn’t say it enough.
“And I love you, my son.”
His mother clearly must love him, because the books that has sent down to the dungeons are not only great in number but also in variety.
Some of them are also rather sexually explicit, which makes him flush at the very idea of his mother finding these books within his bookshelves and including them in the box that she sends down to him, but he can’t deny that he’s grateful for those, too. The great works of literature and the books on seidrcraft are interesting and do hold his attention, but the pulpy romance novels also help to pass the time in different ways once his brain can take no more of the more heavy reading.
(And if he does find himself with his hand wrapped around his cock under the covers at night, then that also helps to pass the time, too.)
Mostly, though, he varies back and forth between being so bored out of his skull that he can barely cope with it all, and nearly frantic about Sylvie’s safety. It doesn’t seem right there he’s in here with all of the pornography that he could ever possibly read, as well as three meals a day that he knows are much more luxurious than what would be afforded to a normal prisoner, while Sylvie is off somewhere in a vast and expanding multiverse.
He does not even pause to consider the alternative.
And he knows that she’s a survivor, of course. She’s been doing this all since she was a child — alone and scared and having only herself to rely on — and he has no real reason to think that she can’t handle whatever is coming her way, now. But still, he cares for her, and he can’t stand not knowing what she’s dealing with. Did she even make it out of the citadel? He assumes that she had killed He Who Remains, but what happened after that? Maybe she has been flung to some area of some timeline, just as he had been.
It’s ridiculous.
He’s never worried about another person like this in the thousand years that he’s been alive, and now that he does, there’s absolutely nothing that he can do about it.
He sighs and picks up one of his books — well-worn and a bit sticky at one corner, which, disgusting — and settles in for yet another long night.
Loki doesn’t know how long he’s been in the palace’s dungeons — has no way to track time, really, given the lack of light and the fact that he’s started sleeping as a way to occupy the hours — but it has to have been at least a couple weeks by the time that Thor makes his way down to visit.
And Loki knows that he must not look his best, given the amount of time that he’s spent laying flat on his back on the narrow cot, but it still makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest when Thor’s eyebrows raise when he first catches sight of Loki. He sits up on the cot and attempts to tame his disheveled hair with his fingers.
“Thor,” Loki says, and he’s even more horrified at the way that his voice sounds in the silence of his cell. Dry and hoarse from lack of use — really, more of a croak than anything else. He clears his throat and then tries again. “Thor. To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence down here in the dungeons.”
The snark does seem to reassure Thor, if anything, and he rolls his eyes. “You know as well as I do that you got yourself into this mess. “You tried to take over Midgard, almost caused a war between Asgard and Jotunheim...”
That was really more his thing, Loki thinks a bit bitterly, but he merely nods his head as Thor continues to list his grievances against the Nine Realms.
“Yes, quite an impressive resume,” he finally acknowledges, once Thor is finally done speaking, which only makes Thor roll his eyes again.
“Anyway,” Thor says with a little sigh. “It seems that, despite your list of crimes, you’re about to be given a reprieve.”
And that certainly gets Loki’s attention. “A reprieve?”
“You’ve finally managed to capture the attention that you’ve so-obviously been looking for.”
Loki frowns. “From whom?”
“Your own people, apparently. We know that Laufey wasn’t interested in raising you, but now that he’s gone, what’s left of Jotunheim is interested in the miscreant who attempted to conquer three realms.” Thor pauses, and he raises his eyebrows incredulously, as if he can’t even believe what he’s about to say. “You’re to be wed to Laufey’s daughter.”
Loki sputters; he can’t even believe what he’s hearing. ”Wed?”
“Jotunheim is falling apart right now, Loki, since you killed Laufey. There have been some uprisings and attempts at claiming the throne, but the council seems to believe that Laufey’s heir has the best chance of bringing some stability to the realm, even if it’s just as a figurehead.” Thor pauses and shakes his head in disbelief. “Particularly as both a prince of Asgard, and a Jotun yourself. Anyway, the council requested it and Odin agreed. Our father has been looking to secure some sort of peace with the Jötnar for some time, and he sees this as his opportunity.” Thor shrugs. “The negotiations were rather brief. I think that Father is just glad to have someone else take responsibility for you.”
But the whole thing makes absolutely no sense, in any way, shape, or form. “Laufey’s daughter,” Loki says, considering, before he suddenly feels his eyebrows rise up nearly to his hairline. “...is my sister.” He frowns.
This does make Thor laugh — long and uproariously. “That’s what I said!” He snorts. “Lucky for you, she’s only his daughter in inheritance, not in blood. They don’t so much go for keeping the bloodline pure on Jotunheim, compared to some of the more backwater parts of the realm.” He wipes the tears of mirth away from his eyes.
Unsurprisingly, that is not a relief in the least to Loki. If Laufey had chosen her as his heir, then she must be some barbarous and intimidating Frost Giant. He feels a shiver go up his spine. Not exactly who I imagined spending my wedding night with…
Loki squares his shoulders, however, and straightens his spine. No sense in letting Thor see his unease with the entire situation, though he knows that any variation of himself would likely react in the same way. “And if I refuse?” He allows an air of scorn and arrogance to infuse his tone.
This just makes Thor laugh harder, however. “Father said that you’d say that. He says that it’s your choice — you can either agree to marry this Jotun princess, or you can spend the rest of your days in this dungeon.”
And it shocks Loki that this is actually something that he considers, for at least a moment. He imagines that the old version of himself probably would have jumped at the opportunity for a marriage that came with a great deal of power, even if he would have blanched at the idea of wedding and bedding a monster. Not actually a monster. One of your own kind, his brain helpfully supplies, which actually isn’t as helpful as one would have thought.
Anyway, even if the old Loki would have thrilled at the chance at a throne, even by marriage, that isn’t who he is now. And he and Sylvie hadn’t gotten nearly close enough to even consider the possibility of real feelings, let along becoming husband and wife, but he still can’t stop his mind from veering in that direction, now. He cares for her and he’s attracted to her, and he wants nothing more than to be as close to her as he can possibly be. It’s a strange feeling, but one that he welcomes, even given the way that it all has turned out.
For the very first time, he wants something real, as terrifying at that idea may be.
Still, he can’t be of any use to Sylvie if he’s trapped in this cell; the last few weeks have proven that quite thoroughly. He wants to find her, and he wants to help her, and he wants to prove — both to her, as well as to himself — that he can be trusted, this time. Can be trusted with her plans, and with her physical safety, and even with her heart, if she decides that that is something that she wants to try out.
So Loki just shrugs at his brother, aiming for nonchalant, though he knows that he can’t hide the peevish scowl that overtakes his face. If anything, that only sells the entire thing more effectively.
“Well, I guess that it’s time for me to meet my future bride, then.”
The entire thing happens much more quickly than Loki was expecting, however.
He doesn’t know what he was expecting — but it seems that his father is determined to push the marriage forward as quickly as possible. Before he can do something else stupid, or before the Jötnar come to their senses, Odin is probably thinking. No matter what they’re expecting from him, however, Loki has no intention of fucking the entire thing up.
There’s a first time for everything…
But really, once he’d made his decision that everything he needs to do is contingent on getting himself freed from this cell, he finds himself strangely at peace with it all. The irony of the fact that he’s using a marriage as his means to find and protect another woman doesn’t escape his scrutiny, of course, but he can’t really worry about that right now, either. He has no idea what Sylvie wants from him, and even if all he manages to do is ease her struggles just a little, with no help of gaining any bit of forgiveness or companionship from her, then that’s enough for him.
It only takes a few minutes after Thor’s departure from the dungeons before a series of servants descends upon him. And, that is a bit much. Is she already in the palace waiting for him? Are they doing this today? But none of them are able to answer anything but the most cursory of questions, and so Loki just sighs in resignation as he’s bathed and dressed as if he’s a hog being led to his slaughter.
He has to admit that that feels good, too, however. He’d been able to use magic to keep himself at at least a base level of hygiene while in the dungeons, but there is no substitute for a good bath and he takes much longer than is strictly necessary to soak himself in the tub of hot scented water.
The clothing that is brought to him is quite fine, too, he has to admit. His parents must be trying to make a good impression on the Jötnar — gold threaded finery, and soft Asgardian leather, and armour that has been polished until it gleams. It’s even a step nicer than the things that he’d normally choose for himself, and that’s saying something.
When he’s finally dressed, and hair dried and combed, that’s when his mother suddenly appears. Not that he’d expected anything less.
“You look like you’re feeling better,” she says, and he catches the approving note in her tone.
Loki shrugs. “Nothing like several weeks of captivity, before being told that you’re about to become a giant’s husband to put everything else in your life into perspective.” He tries not to sound quite as bitter as he’s feeling, but he knows that he doesn’t entirely succeed.
Still, Frigga seems entirely unruffled. “Your brother said that you barely put up any fight at all.”
“Would it have made any difference?”
“None at all. But the fact that you recognized it so quickly must mean that you’re finally growing up.”
Loki sighs. There was a time when he actually thought that being royalty meant that he had all of the pleasures of the world available to him. If it seems like he’s grown up, it only means that he’s finally accepted that the range of choices afforded to him are narrow and always under the thumb of someone else.
Still, there are worse ways to live, he thinks, and he remembers the faraway look in Sylvie’s eyes as she had described her own childhood. The worst part, though, is that he isn’t even sure if Sylvie would choose this — comfort over free will — even if she was given the choice, now.
It’s a confusing thought, for certain.
Loki meets his mothers eyes now, and he sees them soften as she looks at him. “It’ll all be alright, my son,” she says, and her lips quirk up into an amused smile. “I met the Jotun princess this morning and she’s quite pretty. In fact, I think you’ll like her.”
He can feel his eyes widen as a wave of curiosity washes over him, entirely outside of his control.
“Thor said that she was Laufey’s daughter in inheritance, so I assumed she would be some hulking warrior princess…”
“Oh, I didn’t say that she wasn’t a warrior, as well. Stay on her good side — I think she’d take your head off for any slight or offence. But that doesn’t mean that she’s not also attractive.” Frigga smirks at him.
The look on her face makes Loki’s cheeks flush a deep red; he has no idea how his mother still manages to make him feel like he’s twelve years old sometimes. “Well, we all know that there is more to a marriage than looks,” Loki says, though he knows that it’s more of an attempt to regain his footing than any actual objection. And his mother clearly knows him much too well, because her smirk only grows larger.
“Of course there is. But I’ve seen the men and women that you choose to take to your bed, and they all have one thing in common, and it’s not suitability for marriage.”
Well, that’s it. Nothing left to do but melt into the ornate tile floors.
Loki sighs, and he buries his face in his hands, running his fingers through his recently-combed hair. His mother tuts at him and pulls one hand away from his face disapprovingly.
“Come on, then. It’s almost time for you to meet your future wife,” Frigga says, her voice admonishing.
That does make Loki’s head snap up in alarm. “Am I to be married today?” Loki asks incredulously.
“Not today, but the princess is waiting for you right now. We’ll arrange the marriage as soon as possible — probably by the end of the week, as your father and the council are quite eager to have the entire thing done.”
His mother is staring at him expectantly, and really there is nothing else to be done now, of course. He’s made his own marriage bed, and he’s going to be expected to lie in it.
The walk to the great hall is nearly excruciating.
And what makes is even worse is that Loki can’t seem to figure out how exactly he’s even gotten here. Mobius had shown him his destiny in this timeline, of course, and he knows how it goes. Dark Elves invade Asgard, he kills his mother, he kills his father, and then Ragnarok happens, followed by his own swift end. Not a particularly illustrious few years, of course, but at least he knew what was coming.
Nowhere in his entire file had there been mention of an arranged Jotun marriage. It just makes no sense. And if Sylvie had indeed freed the timelines, then anything is theoretically possible, but this is one of the last things that he could ever have expected.
Married to a Frost Giant, through an agreement between Asgard and Jotunheim, to a woman who is technically his sister, if only through title and not blood. Completely bizarre.
When he and Frigga arrive at the Great Hall, however, the cavernous space is much more empty than Loki would have expected. Just his father and his brother, and a few advisors and guards milling about aimlessly, as if they’re waiting for whatever it is that comes next. His father’s face is grim and serious, but Thor grins good-naturedly at Loki before coming over to slap him on the back.
“Chin up, brother,” Thor says, his voice booming in the near-silent hall. “They’re finally making an honest man out of you.” His eyes are sparkling with amusement in a way that sets Loki’s teeth on edge.
Loki simply scowls back at him in return. “I suspect that you’ve met her as well, then?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
But Thor shakes his head in response. “Not yet. I’m quite eager to meet your bride. Not as eager as I’m sure that you must be, though!” He laughs loudly, once again.
And Thor is one thing to deal with right now, but Odin is quite another. He nods at Loki once, terse.
Okay, then. Probably better that way, anyway.
But now they’re all milling about just as aimlessly as the guards are, but without even the pretence of having business to attend to. It’s enough to make Loki jumpy, even in itself, without even the extra weight that comes with the knowledge that he’s about the meet the woman that he is to marry.
“Where is everyone, then?” Loki asks, after another impossibly long moment. “I assume that there’s a whole court full of Jötnar here…” The very idea of it sets his teeth on edge; he might be Jotun himself, but he’s a long way from being comfortable around a whole crowd of them, especially after what he tried to do to Jotunheim…
He’s surprised, though, when Odin just shakes his head. “The council was here earlier to negotiate the terms of the marriage, but they returned to Jotunheim to attend to an urgent matter. The princess has a small retinue of guards and attendants, but you’ll meet the rest of the council once you and the princess return to Jotunheim.” He sounds uncertain even as he’s saying it, though, and something about his tone sets Loki ill at ease.
The whole thing is just so strange.
He’s about to make some snarky remark inquiring on the whereabouts of the princess, when his attention is suddenly caught by the opening of the door at the other end of the hall. For a long moment, though, nothing happens — until suddenly Loki realizes that he only thinks that nothing is happening because he’s looking too high above the ground.
Because there, striding confidently through the door to the royal palace’s Great Hall is a petite figure, dressed entirely in black armour and with a fierce expression upon her lovely face.
Loki’s mouth drops and the name escapes his lips as barely a whisper before he can stop it.
”Sylvie?”