After the crowds had dispersed at the conclusion of the funeral, Loki had escorted his mother back to her chambers in the palace. The shock of the unexpected and tragic loss of her son had drained her both mentally and physically. Though she was not yet elderly she appeared weak and frail as if she had aged a millennium in just the single day since Thor had breathed his last. Loki sat at her bedside as she lay on her side, her hand in his.

"I've always known I could lose either of you or your father when you were called upon to face our enemies. If that had been his fate it would be easier to bear," Frigga said.

"Though it did not take place on a battlefield, it was an honorable death nonetheless," Loki reassured Frigga.

"He is in a better place, free from pain and sorrow, but I mourn the future that was stolen from him," Frigga said dolefully, Loki raising her hand to his lips.

"I swear to you, I will find who did this," he promised her as Frigga examined his face.

"Your father has told me he revealed to you the truth of your origin. We didn't want you to feel different. From the moment you were placed in my arms you have been my son."

"You must rest. Sleep now," Loki said, Frigga's eyes closing as he released her hand before rising to his feet, quietly exiting her bedchambers.

Where was his father? Loki questioned Odin's absence before another's absence came to mind as he traversed the corridor on his way to his own chambers. He had not seen nor heard from Verda the whole of the day. He had not noticed her in the crowd of mourners at the funeral, though it would have been easy to overlook her among so many. Although she had remained with him the evening before as he had finally allowed himself to express his grief, perhaps she had ultimately decided after his crude analogy to distance herself, his display of emotion only momentarily arousing her sympathy. But was that not what he had wanted? He wasn't at all sure what he wanted anymore.

She had rarely seen him at his worst, his darkest, the side of him that could be so callous and cold, hard and harsh. In truth, Loki was a man of deep feelings, vulnerable and sensitive, though only his mother had ever seemed cognizant of that fact. No one who did not feel so deeply would be capable of lashing out the way he had at his brother and others over the centuries. It was this dark aspect that he had nurtured over the years to shield him much like the solid exoskeleton of an insect protects its soft insides. He would hurt others or push them away before he was hurt by them. He would leave before he was left, betray before he was betrayed. However, Thor's death had jolted something within him.

He had not only sensed a shift in the universe but now one within himself. He was on the verge of having everything, or at least nearly everything he had desired, or had once believed he did….the throne, the power and respect that came with it, not just in Asgard but throughout the universe. He was now free of the shadow of his brother...or was he? Somehow Loki still sensed it hovering over him...or perhaps that shadow had been replaced with the burden of living up to Thor's confidence in him. Despite all he had previously wished for now being in his grasp, he did not find the taste so sweet as he had imagined. He felt the ponderous weight of it all. Why couldn't being a king be all flowers and parades, revels and glorious pomp and ceremonies and monuments and theater celebrating his greatness? He had paid little attention over his lifetime to the numerous and far less grand and more drudgerous responsibilities of kingship that rested heavily upon Odin's broad shoulders.

As Loki neared a T in the corridor he slowed, setting aside his thoughts as he believed he sensed a presence as the flames of the cauldrons lining and lighting his path sent flickering shadows dancing on the stone walls. He approached the intersection of the two corridors cautiously.

As he turned to the right into the corridor where his chambers were located, Sif lying in wait for him swung the mace in her hands, its heavy, metallic round head cutting through the air as Loki's image vanished. Sif spun on her heels without hesitating as Loki reappeared behind her.

"Are you mad-" Loki managed to exclaim before the mace struck him in the chest, knocking him across the corridor against the far wall.

Loki recovered just as Sif came at him once again. Loki produced his daggers, taking a battle ready stance, dodging another blow from the mace.

"Enough! Sif! Stop this!"

"You betrayed him! You brought them here!" Sif cried as she continued to pursue Loki down the corridor, swinging the mace, Loki skillfully dodging each potential blow from the weapon in her hands.

Her choice of weapon told Loki much. It was not one she usually wielded, though she had enough training and practice with it to be skilled. She must have believed to run Loki through with her sword too easy a death...or perhaps she believed he was unworthy to die in the same manner as Thor. She wanted to bludgeon him, to beat him to Valhalla...or Hel where she likely believed he would find himself after death, his soul wandering aimlessly and alone for the murder of his brother.

Loki was running out of options. He was preparing to launch one of his daggers in her direction, perhaps a wound to her arm would be enough to end her attack, though knowing Sif that was doubtful, before another thought crossed his mind.

Sif was preparing to strike another blow when Loki stopped his backwards momentum away from her. He stood before her, lowering both arms to his sides, dropping his daggers sending both of them clattering on the stone floor. Falling to his knees, he bowed his head. Sif looking down at him in confusion.

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"I yield to you, Lady Sif...if you truly believe I have my brother's blood on my hands I ask only that it be swift. If you're wrong, it will be you that will be the murderer having slain an innocent man and the only surviving son of your king."

Sif stood in shock and uncertainty. As she began to lower the mace, a female voice unfamiliar to her cried out from behind Loki farther down the corridor.

"Get away from him!" commanded Verda.

Sif was unexpectedly and violently thrown backwards by an invisible force, landing hard on the stone floor on her back, the mace flying from her hand. Loki quickly turned his head to see Verda approaching as she rushed to him, Loki retrieving his daggers and raising himself off his knees to stand. Sif, farther down the corridor recovered, rising to her feet.

"That wasn't necessary. I had the situation under control," Loki scolded.

"That's not what it looked like from where I was standing! You call that under control?! She was about to bash your head in!"

"Who is this?" Sif asked, approaching the two, confounded, Loki turning his back to her, placing himself between the two women, gripping Verda's shoulders.

"Go to my chambers. Wait for me there," he told her quietly.

"But what if-"

"Go," Loki said, Verda looking past Loki to Sif with animosity.

"If you harm him, I will kill you," Verda warned her.

"Good luck with that," Sif retorted.

"Go! Now!" Loki commanded Verda.

Verda glanced once more at Sif before turning and making her way back down the corridor. Loki had turned back to face Sif when around the same corner Loki had rounded just as Sif attacked shortly before, Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun appeared. All three looked to the mace lying nearby and then to Loki and Sif with apprehension.

"Is everything all right?" Fandral asked.

"I believe we've come to an understanding," Loki said, looking into Sif's eyes, she remaining silent staring back into his.

"Your father has summoned us to the throne room," Fandral said to Loki and Sif.

Loki broke his shared gaze with Sif to look over to Fandral, Sif doing the same. For Odin to call them together to meet at this late hour did not bode well.

Loki stepped past Sif, recovering the mace and returning it to her before they joined the others.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Lorelei…." the coppery haired woman heard her name as she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, a collar attached to her neck.

Lorelei sat up, looking around her cell, the lights having been turned down for the night. As she was of those few sentenced to spend the remainder of their natural life entombed in the dungeon, she had been allowed a few comforts. There was a desk and chair and writing utensils as well as a supply of paper along with another small table and a cushioned armchair. Books sat atop the smaller table, delivered to her from a list of approved reading material from which she made her selections. She had never been much into reading but there was little else to do to occupy her time over the last six centuries. She had even written a few novels of her own, though she was sure they would never see the light of day.

She was allowed an hour of exercise each day, transported shackled under heavy guard to a high walled courtyard where, supervised with what seemed an entire regiment of einherjar, she could move about and enjoy the fresh air and sunlight, though the shackles were not removed until she returned to her cell once again. It was an empty, bleak existence, more than enough to drive one mad, though many had already believed she was as there was no other explanation for the crimes of which she was guilty.

Lorelei spied her, standing off in a corner between two of the three forcefields that kept Lorelei contained. Lorelei knew she wasn't actually physically present, her form merely a mental projection.

"Verda," Lorelei said as she sat up, "I haven't seen you in months...or has it been years? I find it difficult to keep track locked away like an animal."

"I've been busy. I'm now a chambermaid in the palace," Verda said, smiling.

"So you clean toilets," Lorelei responded, "I see you've acquired new skills," Lorelei observed.

"Loki taught me. I've taught myself much as well. He said I have a natural talent," Verda explained proudly.

"I remember watching you pine over him from afar, too fearful to even say hello. It was pathetic, pitiful."

"I have done far more than say hello," Verda said, smiling slyly.

"Is that how you repay him for his tutelage?" Lorelei asked, "You don't honestly believe he will make you his queen."

"I care not for grand titles."

"So you say...until you realize one is within reach," Lorelei responded.

"If I do become queen I have no intention of convincing him to free you. You will die here."

"He would do better to take a bilge snipe as his queen."

"Goodnight, sister. May your dreams be as unpleasant as yourself," Verda said, her image fading out, leaving Lorelei alone once more in her darkened cell.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Loki, the Warriors Three, and Sif entered the throne room, making the long trek to the throne, Odin seated upon it. He stood as they approached, stepping down from it. Loki could sense from his father's demeanor that he was anxious and agitated on top of his sorrow. He appeared even wearier than he had earlier that day in the vault.

"I wish to speak to my son alone. I will rejoin you shortly," Odin said to those assembled, turning and starting toward a doorway that led into his study, Loki looking at the others, as baffled as they were, before following his father.

Entering his study, Odin strode to the middle of the room before he spun to face Loki.

"I have received word from Jotunheim. Laufey is dead," Odin said grimly.

"How?" Loki asked, aghast.

Jotuns like Asgardians had very long life spans. Laufey was not as aged as Odin. He should have had many more centuries ahead of him.

"He was taken unawares, murdered in his bedchamber in a similar manner as your brother," Odin informed Loki.

Loki looked at Odin astonished. Not that he cared what befell Laufey, or any frost giant for that matter. He'd be perfectly satisfied if they all were no more. He cared even less now, knowing that it was Laufey, his own biological father, who had abandoned him to die as an infant.

"Was this your doing?" Odin asked.

"No...of course not. I was with you and mother, my presence was witnessed by nearly everyone in Asgard," Loki said, glad that this time he had witnesses as the last thing he needed on top of Sif believing he had killed his brother was his father suspecting that he had assassinated the King of Jotunheim.

"You did not have another act in your stead?" Odin inquired.

"I swear to you on the soul of my brother in Valhalla."

It was imperative that his father believe him, especially this time when he actually spoke truth and was not simply attempting to avoid punishment for a prank gone wrong or some other infraction as he had as a child and even from time to time now as a young man. Odin reached out, resting his hand on Loki's shoulder.

"There is no need to invoke your brother's soul. I have spoken to Heimdall. He believes that you are the one most likely to succeed in uncovering the truth. Tomorrow you will go to Midgard, locate this Coulson, and learn from him what you can."

"I swore to mother I would find who is responsible for my brother's death. I make the same vow to you."