Archive of Our Own

i.

he has never taken much stock of death. even when the monster stalks at him, beating him down, demanding the precious, precious gem in his collection, taneleer tivan does not fear death, because his kind doesn’t die.

 it is only with mild surprise, that he opens his eyes, surveys his surroundings, and concludes he is not on knowhere anymore. the world around him is barren, empty fields of frost splayed before him, as far as the eye can see. so, finally, death has come for him, and it is empty.

“do not be so presumptuous,” a voice behind him says, tinged with mild amusement, and taneleer whirls around quickly. the man before him is handsome, a finely chiseled pale face, and dark green eyes, and he wears silks of green and gold.

“i know you,” he says quietly. “you are loki. of asgard, the god of lies. tell me, young one, did thanos come for you too?”

loki tilts his head to the side, bird like.

“not of asgard,” he corrects. “asgard is no more. tell me, collector… did you preserve anything from it, in your museum?”

“some,” he says vaguely. a battle helm that once belonged to the allfather, a lovely necklace that lady frigga granted him in exchange for some books, a golden apple… he wonders if any of them survived the fires. maybe it is all for the better that he is dead now – his collection, all but destroyed…

“i imagine you are anxious to return to your house of oddities,” says loki.

“does it matter? i suppose i am quite dead. i am not like many of my siblings… i have not… made deals to preserve my eternal life. that is quite alright now. is this it, then? the afterlife?” 

loki laughs. it’s a soft sound, not entirely mocking. taneleer does not like it. he does not like being mocked, and especially when he doesn’t understand the joke.  

“this is an afterlife,” the lying god says smiling. “though i suppose, for you… it’s merely a brief stop along the way. i can’t allow you to remain here. i owe it as a favor to someone who is very dear to me, to preserve you.”

there is a brief softening of his eyes when he says that, but the collector can’t think of anyone who would mourn him enough. not anyone who would know this young god, who is as dead as taneleer anyway.

“i suppose i should have corrected you, on your arrival,” loki says. “but you must forgive me – i need my amusements. i was of mischief and lies, after all.” 

“but not anymore?” taneleer asks quietly, and it’s beginning to dawn on him, at last. well. odin’s lot always enjoyed keeping it in the family.

 loki gestures regally, and a portal opens to a bright shimmering world taneleer knows well. a place far from thanos’ reach, where he will be safe. where he can recover. maybe he can build his collection anew there, with his brother’s help.

“tell en dwi that i am sorry i had to leave, that i miss him dearly, that i will not be able to see him again,” loki says, quietly. there is a world of agony in his eyes, but his face is serene, and he is smiling with painted golden lips.

someone dear to me. this is it then. oh en, dwi, he always had a penchant for the oddest of lovers.

taneleer steps through the portal, and stumbles on the hard floor of en dwi’s throne room.

“tan? oh my, tan!” en dwi, ever the gracious dictator, dismisses all from the room, and kneels by his brother, helping him up.

“i wish you’d, uh, told me you were visiting?” he smiles brightly. “did something happen?”

oh, bless the eternally oblivious fool. in his high castle, he rarely concerns himself with the goings on of the outer universe.

“you know how you’re banished from the realm of the dead?” taneleer asks instead of answering.

“oh yeah, yeah, i know,” en dwi helps him up, and taneleer follows him to a table piled with drinks, still unsteady on his feet after being killed, and returned to life. “you aren’t, uh, worried about me, are you? because i assure you, the rebellion was just a small… small little thing that isn’t even a problem anymore…”

“the rebellion? the –“ tan shakes his head. if someone was stupid enough to challenge an elder of the universe, that’s on them, “no, no, that’s not what i’m talking about.”

“hmm?” en dwi raises a painted eyebrow, and waits for his brother to continue speaking. 

“there’s a new … a new ruler, i suppose. of the dead. and he sent me to you.”

“tan, you died?” the humor leaves en dwi, replaced by shock and horror, and beneath that, a soft, simmering rage that tanaleer knows well.

“yes, yes, but i’m quite alright now. he sent me to you.”

“who did?”

“the god of lies. loki. he said to tell you that he’s sorry for leaving, and he misses you, and he regrets that he won’t see you again.”

en dwi lets out a sound. a soft, pained sound. then he smiles, brilliant as the sun when it was young. “how, uh, how sweet of him. how lovely. lovely loki! returning my brother to me from the dead! i really… i really, surely know how to choose my lovers, huh?”

Chapter Management

ii.

“this isn’t love.”

she falls, and she falls, and she falls, and she hopes he is wrong. she hopes he is wrong and does not love her. she hopes the truth is enough. whatever twisted thing it is that has brewed in his heart, it is not love, it is not mercy, it is not kindness-

she lands with a thud on soft grassy ground. the sky looms overhead in a pearlescent grey, rolling warm clouds chasing each other like lazy sheep. this is not the cold barren land of vormir.

it is cold, yes, and it is barren, but… different. she is alone.

she stands up straight, and her body complies. that’s how she knows she is dead. her corpse is still crushed on the stones of vormir. but in this strange lonely place, gamora stands alone.

she had always thought, in death, that she would be reunited with her people. that maybe, she would find her mother there. it was not a conscious thought. she never really gave it much attention, didn’t let it grow into her heart. death would happen when it happened, and even when it seemed most likely, she never concerned herself with the particularities of the after. except now. now she is alone, in this strange and quiet place that seems to have had all the color drained of it.

she isn’t sure in which direction to walk. the rolling soft hills all seem the same in every direction. a smattering of washed out red and white here and there, but nothing else.

“you’re right. it wasn’t love. but he doesn’t know that.”

the voice is low and melodious. kind. she turns around but there is no one behind her. she turns back to where she was originally facing, and watches the figure manifest gracefully.

on her home planet, the one that thanos ravaged with his mercy, there had been temples, and although her mother could never afford to give any donations, she would often bring gamora to touch the feet of the statue of the goddex protector of mothers.

the goddex stands before her now, long dark hair framing a beautiful pale face, her shape lovely and universally feminine, clad in a shimmering golden dress, a green cape draped over pale oval shoulders.

in those first terrifying months in thanos’ kindness, she had hoped that all of her mother’s prayers would come true. but she knows better now.

“loki,” she whispers, but she can’t quite bring herself to venom. the mad god of mischief and lies, who had done thanos’ bidding. he does not seem so mad now.

“yes.” the woman says simply.

“you were the goddex who protected mothers, did you know?” she asks quietly.

“i haven’t been that for a long time,” says loki. her arms are crossed loosely in front of her flat belly. the statue at the temple had been full, heavily pregnant.

“oh my planet you were. my mother believed in you.”

loki closes her eyes briefly. her lids are painted an iridescent green.

“then i am sorry,” she says. “by that time… i had lost all my children. i was unfit to be mother to anyone, let alone a protector.”

“you couldn’t even save yourself from thanos,” gamora agrees, not cruelly, but not kindly either.

loki reaches a graceful hand, and wraps it around her throat thoughtfully, her expression faraway and pensieve.

“you couldn’t either,” she remarks casually, shaking herself out of her trance.

“and what now?” gamora asks finally. she wonders if, like her, loki is merely here in death. if this is some other, cruel realm, where all of those killed in thanos’ pursuit of the stones, and his mad dream will gather.

 loki shrugs gracefully, and her cloak ripples.

“i suppose now we wait,” she says at last. “this is the land of death, and it may seem empty now, but it will be full again soon. i can feel it. and when it fills, i will be ready for all my new children. to welcome them. i will be a mother again. and a queen.”

she rests her hand on her belly again. her rings are many, and they are colorful and lovely against the grey backdrop of their surroundings.

“what about me?”

“you? i don’t know. you may do whatever you want here,” loki says. “it’s quite odd, really, having you around, of all people. i would have hoped you might go to the other place. much more fit for someone like you… but i suppose i value the company anyway.”

“the other place?” she frowns at him. why must immortal beings always speak in such endless riddles?

“valhalla. the home of the glorious dead. i could have gone there myself,” loki says pensively, “since i died fighting. but i am tired of sitting at odin’s side, toasting to the realm eternal. i want to rule.”

she clenches her hand into a fist, and fire flares around the white skin, stretched over pale knuckles.

“i am of fire. and lies. and mischief, and chaos,” loki says.

she gestures to the empty air around them, and in front of gamora, a house of mud, like the house of her childhood, rises from the ground, and takes shape, a welcomingly red flap for a door. “and now i am of death,” the goddex continues. “and you are one of mine. and here you can have anything you want. be anything you want.”

“you are not my mother,” gamora says. she’s had enough of self-proclaimed parents for a lifetime.

“no,” loki agrees amiably. “but i am your queen. our little kingdom of one for now. but he will succeed. and then it will not be so lonely here anymore.”

“your brother is looking for you,” she says, biting back her disgust. he sounds excited for it. like he wants those people to die. it’s hard to be ruler of ashes, after all.

the woman’s beautiful face contracts with something. a shadow of grief.

“i will never see my brother again,” she says quietly. “i never hope to. not here, at least. for even if he dies, thor is destined for the golden halls of valhalla.”

“is ruling worth it?” gamora asks. it seems that’s her job now, checking the privilege of hungry monsters. loki studies her in silence.

“i’ll get back to you on that,” she says finally, and then fades away in a shimmer of gold.

Chapter Management

iii.

the child is afraid. 

loki has a keen sense of children’s fear. he abhors it, and so when the afraid child materializes in his domain, he feels the terror keenly as though it were his own. 
his realm is quickly growing populated, and where once he could not be in so many places at once, his power over the fabric of the place make it easy to greet them each individually.

he child is hunched over and crying, babbling incoherently “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry,” his voice sweet and lilting.

loki approaches silently, and kneels beside him in the tall grey grass. he settles a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and makes shushing noises.

“mr. stark?” the child asks hopefully, lifting his tear streaked face, his eyes wide and naïve like loki’s never were, and when recognition flashes into them, he flinches away.

“i’m afraid not,” says loki mildly. “but he isn’t here, if that’s comforting.

“where is here?” asks the child, looking around. he’s got the same restless fidgety energy about him that stark did. when did that man have time to sire a child in between all the minor catastrophes, loki wonders.

“nifelheim,” loki says plainly. with children, often, the simple truth works best. “the kingdom of the dead,” he adds.

the child looks grievously stricken, tears sliding down his face unabashed.

loki draws him into his arms, the motion easy and familiar, as he once soothed his own children, as frigga once soothed him. stark’s child heaves great sobs of pain and terror.

they oughtn’t die so young, loki thinks. he misses motherhood but not enough to summon them to him. he doesn’t want these children, who fall to dust and raise with the sunflowers in his kingdom, unware wails piercing the air—

stark’s child clings to him weakly.

“can you tell him?” the boy asks. “can you tell him it wasn’t his fault?”

the memory is so loud in his thoughts that loki can’t help but oversee and if something happens to you - i feel like that’s on me.

he rubs circles on the boy’s back carefully. “i can’t. i am unable to meddle in the affairs of the living.”

peter lets out a noise – somewhere between a whine and a protest, but doesn’t argue. he allows himself to be consoled.

loki aches.

Chapter Management

iv.

The look of absolute betrayal on Tony’s face is imprinted on Stephen’s eyelids.

“Why would you do that?” he asks over and over again, so heartbroken every time, as if Stephen has robbed him of something precious – the promise of a swift death, and a legacy as a hero, maybe.

He awakens in a land of grey skies and grey grass, and he knows it. The Eye has shown it to him. His journey has always ended here, in the land of Death. Loki strides across the field in the same crisp black suit he’d worn when Stephen trapped in him that loop in New York.

“Losing to Thanos, huh?” Loki asks sympathetically. “Nasty business, that. But we fought bravely.”

Stephen is a clever man. He’s read the Norse myths. He knows who Loki is, even though he wears no crown.

“There’s others here now,” Loki says mildly. “You can find them. Spend some time.”

He makes a vague gesture. “The child is quite distraught.”

“The – “

“The spiderling.”

Stephen nods, comprehension downing on him. He wishes that a victory in the future wouldn’t cost Tony everything in his present.

“We fought bravely,” he feels hollow. His hands don’t ache. His fingers are still, unshaking.

Loki’s smile is small and grim. “The sun will shine on us again,” he says. It sounds like a memory.

v.

“i should have known it would be you,” thanos says.

iron-grey skies roll, illuminated by a cold, motherless sunset.  loki, of asgard, of jotunheim, of wherever the hel he claims this time – stands before him. he is the only bright thing in the scenery, as though he’s leeched all the color out of the landscape to color the finery of his regalia.

thanos had only ever seen him in battle armor, but now loki is dressed in fine gold and green silk, a fur cloak draped over his slender shoulders, and he lounges on a throne of carved marble, alone.

“i did warn you,” loki says mildly, running a hand over his throat subconsciously. “you will never be a god.”

“neither will you,” thanos says, poised for defiance. he will not be – mocked by a creature who isn’t even worth to lick his boots. “jotun.” he puts venom in the word, though truthfully, he cares very little.

loki does not bristle or move. his face is serene and peaceful. thanos remembers the expression. it shone through in his eyes when he was given occasion to kill in thanos’ name. it occurs to him now that loki simply delights in cruelty.

“i have always been a god,” loki says. “you might have known, had you paid attention to the cultures of the worlds you destroyed. the mothers you slaughtered prayed to me, and in my madness, i did not listen.”

his voice is heavy for what might have passed for regret.

“i am not mad anymore,” he adds. he stands up, draws himself to his full height. he will always be a runt – even before, he barely reached thanos’ chest, but he looks taller now, fuller. “and when your little one prayed to me… this time, i heard.”

his smile is cruel. finally, it occurs to thanos to be afraid.

1. (+1)

en dwi is only mildly concerned when half the population of sakaar disappears overnight. naturally, his banishment from the realm of death means he cannot follow, so he focuses on the half that is still within his power, and by the time he’s just straightened things out quite nicely, they’ve returned again.

he chalks it up to his ever present good luck. someone somewhere is looking out for him, and if he thinks of that someone’s green eyes before he sleeps at night, well – that’s no one’s business but his own.

in another thousand yesrs or so, loki of assguard will be nothing but another fond and distant memory in a sea of sweet-voiced, sweet-faced lovers.

he has a new champion in his games, though no one will quite match up to the hulk, and he has a new and lovely pet in his bed. he may have gotten a little carried away, hand tightening over his pretty pale throat. unlike his green-and-gold godling, this new toy was a lot more fragile.

so when his eyes fly open after en dwi had already called for clean-up… well.

“t-the … the god of death says...” his pet whispers, eyes drowned with horror, “he says that – “

en dwi smiles. he knew his darling one wouldn’t leave him alone forever.

and as before, he courts his beloved with gifts.

and loki keeps them. forever.