The rain ran in streams off the pale green and silver scales of the wolf sized reptilian creature as it circled the motionless raven haired man lying supine in the mud on the shore of a large lake. Metallic debris and what appeared to be gravel floated on the surface of the water due to its high salinity. Mountains loomed on the far side of the lake in the distance, their peaks obscured by thick, ashen gray clouds. It was obvious from the mud coating the front of the man’s scorched and tattered leather tunic and pants, the trail in the muck leading from the lake to his location, that he had laboriously pulled himself from the water on his belly before collapsing and rolling onto his back.
The reptile flicked its long forked tongue over the throat of the unconscious man. Drawing in its tongue it opened its jaws, exposing rows of razor sharp teeth.
A shrill whistle sounded, the creature raising its head and turning it in the direction of the sound before an arrow sliced through the rain, piercing the creature’s eye, it falling dead onto its side. A figure approached slinging a bow onto their back, their body and visage concealed by a hooded dark butternut cloak, raindrops beading on the fabric’s surface.
Kneeling beside the man, the cloaked figure examined him, placing their hand on his chest, noting the scorched leather tunic and the angry reddish-purple discoloration of burnt patches on the exposed skin of his face, neck and hands. The cloaked figure moved their hand from the man’s torso, resting their palm on his forehead for a few moments before withdrawing it, remaining still for a short time before reaching under their cloak, producing a dagger.
The cloaked figure held the weapon over the man's throat, hesitating, before returning it to its sheath, reaching into a leather drawstring bag attached to their waist, retrieving a vial containing an emerald green liquid. Flicking the stopper off with their thumb, they held it in their right hand as they slid their left under the injured man's shoulders, raising him slightly as he emitted a weak, pained groan.
“Mother…?” the man spoke in an almost inaudible, raspy voice.
“Drink,” the figure in the cloak said in a low, husky feminine tone as she placed the vial to the man’s lips.
The man feebly opened his mouth just enough for the contents to pass into it, struggling to swallow, coughing anemically. Gently lowering the man and withdrawing her arm, the cloaked figure stood, staring down at him before walking around him and retrieving her arrow from the deceased reptile and moving off, leaving him lying in the mud.
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Loki’s eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry as the rain washed over his eyeballs. The agonizing pain assaulting every nerve ending from the punishing cold of space and later the searing heat as he entered the planet’s atmosphere had subsided to a dull ache. He had shielded himself as much as he could manage with his magic as well as what he had gathered around him using it, debris from the Statesman and remnants of space rock, to form a sort of protective cocoon. Gathering his strength he rolled himself slowly onto his side, blinking the water away, noticing the dead reptile. He watched as raindrops bounced off the surface of the scaly carcass and ran down its side, his brain fogged, his memory fuzzy,
Finally Loki raised himself to a seated position, holding out his hands, the burned patches having faded to a pink discoloration, looking down at his palms before raising them to his throat. Slowly lowering them, he examined his surroundings. As he shakily rose to his feet, the soles of his boots slipped on the muddy ground sending him sprawling. He lay prone for a moment before making a second attempt, this time succeeding in remaining upright, and took a stumbling step forward as he followed the footprints in the mud, grass, and vegetation where the cloaked figure’s boots had trod.
Loki had no conception of how long it had been since his arrival. He could barely remember his own name, his memory of the events that had brought him there hazy, though snippets of his recent past flashed in his consciousness as he continued tracking the cloaked figure’s path over an open valley devoid of any sign of civilization. Loki turned his head to look over his shoulder at the mountains and the lake which now appeared quite far in the distance. He had needed to stop and rest several times during the trek. It was moments like this he wished he wielded Mjolnir to fly as his brother once did.
A scene flashed before his mind’s eye, the broken remnants of Mjolnir falling to the ground followed by another…his brother, Thor, bound, screaming in agony as he was tortured by the Mad Titan.
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“Alright! Stop!” Loki cried aloud as he came to a halt, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, collapsing to his knees as rain continued to fall, “Stop….stop…” Loki pleaded as he gripped his head between his hands.
“You really are the worst, brother,” Thor’s voice echoed within his mind.
“I am…I really am,” Loki said aloud, “I’m sorry, brother…Mother...Father...I'm sorry...for everything…all of it,” Loki sobbed, his tears mixing with the raindrops running down his face, his body shaking from the intensity of his sorrow and the chill of the air.
Gathering himself, Loki struggled to his feet once again, staggering as he continued his journey, sighting smoke lazily rising into the sky in the distance.
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Loki was on the cusp of keeling over as he finally reached what appeared to be a homestead consisting of a sod cabin with a thatched roof and stone chimney. Yards away stood a crude shelter constructed of chinked logs surrounded by a rail fence within which sheep-like animals covered in tan wooly coats huddled out of the rain. A handful of goats chewed at the vegetation around the cabin, identical to their counterparts on Earth, or Midgard, the name by which Asgardians knew the planet, but for double sets of horns, a smaller set positioned forward of the larger sprouting from their heads. They appeared unfazed by the rain or Loki's presence as he made his way to the open door of the cabin.
“Hello?” Loki managed to croak. Loki put his hand out against the door frame to prop himself up, both the door and frame constructed of rough hewn wood, as he glanced around the interior. The walls were paneled with boards over the sod. Hanging from one wall, an old clock ticked, its pendulum swinging rhythmically. In the far corner sat a loom strung with wool thread. A rope bed just wide and long enough for one topped with a pallet was situated along the wall.
The one room of the cabin was lit by the fire in the fireplace along with an oil lamp fueled by animal fat sitting on a wooden table in the middle of the room upon which had also been placed a clay mug and a large wooden bowl, steam rising from it. Soaked by the rain, cold and hungry, water dripping from his drenched locks, unable to muster even the miniscule amount of extra energy necessary to use his magic to dry himself, Loki staggered into the cabin enticed by the warmth from the fire and the smell of the stew.
“Eat,” the same husky, female voice said.
Loki turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the entrance from which the voice seemed to have originated but could see no one, unsure if he was hallucinating.
Loki would never have trusted food offered by a stranger in the past but his thoughts disjointed, his judgment skewed, more famished than he could recall ever having been in his almost millennium and a half of life, he dragged himself to the stool at the end of the table, collapsing heavily upon it. Taking hold of the mug and drinking from it he found it contained ale. Grabbing the spoon carved from animal horn, he devoured the contents of the bowl before picking up the mug once more and draining it.
His thirst and hunger sated, he stared silently into the fire in the hearth directly opposite him on the far side of the cabin, entranced by the flickering flames and the popping and crackling of the burning wood. He was reminded of the flaming cauldrons in the palace in Asgard as his eyelids grew heavy, his mind and body shutting down from exhaustion before falling like the trunk of a felled tree from the side of the stool onto the stone floor.
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As Loki regained a semblance of consciousness, he opened his eyes, blinking away the blurriness, to view Frigga seated at his side, mopping his forehead with a cool, damp woven cloth. He shivered uncontrollably as if he were suffering the cold of Jotunheim, though sweat beaded on his forehead and soaked the neckline of the long night shirt made from a fabric akin to linen he now wore as he lay upon the pallet of the rope bed.
Frigga placed the cloth over the edge of a pail of water on the floor near the stool in which she sat, lifting a mug from beside it. As she had done on the shore, she slid an arm under Loki’s shoulders, supporting him in an inclined position as she held the mug to his lips. After he had swallowed a few sips, she gently lowered him back onto the pallet.
”Mother…forgive me...I didn’t know…I didn't know...you...you were everything to me...”
“I know,” Frigga replied softly as she sat the mug onto the floor and wet the cloth in the pail, wringing it out before returning it to Loki’s brow.
“How….how is it you're here?” Loki asked, confused, “I failed again...it didn't work...I’m dead…this…this is Valhalla...?”
“No…a fever...an effect of the elixir. It will pass,” Frigga replied.
“You told me...a true king admits his faults...Thor is dead…Father…Heimdall…so many others…because of me…”
“No one would have survived had you not returned. Your brother lives.”
“How? Thanos…the ship…” Loki asked, bewildered.
“You must rest.”
“Please…” Loki fearfully begged, reaching out and grasping Frigga’s wrist as she withdrew the cloth, "Don’t…don’t leave me. You won’t leave me?”
“No,” Frigga answered, Loki releasing her wrist, relieved.
“I love you…” Loki said, his voice fading out as he closed his eyes, his body relaxing as he slipped back into slumber.
Frigga returned the cloth to the edge of the pail and rose from the stool beside the bed. Reaching under her cloak, she wrapped her hand around the hilt of the dagger in its sheath as she stood over Loki, staring down at him with a blank expression before releasing her grip on it.
“Where would I go?” Frigga asked in a low voice.
Turning she made her way to the door, taking a bow and quiver of arrows from a peg on the wall beside it and opened it, stepping out into the rain which had slowed to a drizzle, closing it behind her.