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[b]| A S G A R D |[/b]

"Now, you will lay down your weapons or... frankly, my lady, we shall send you all back to the [b]Hel[/b] from whence you came."

The army of the dead stood between the warriors of Asgard and the heroes of Olympus. Hela had walked into a trap. She was intelligent, she had to understand that there was no [i]good[/i] outcome for her in this. The best course of action now was to yield and submit to Asgard. Still, standing within reach of the Lady of Hel, this had to be counted among the bravest things that Loki had ever undertaken. If she would not be swayed from this course of war, their fighting would still result in needless bloodletting and death. Least of all possibly his own, for he was neither armored nor armed for the fighting. And still he stood his ground, standing on the line drawn in the snow, with the message that said to her army [i]this far, and no farther.[/i]

Were she Aesir, she would kill him where he stood and march gladly into the waiting arms of death. With horns blowing and poets to sing the praises of the fools and the fools who followed them.

But Hela was not Aesir.

Still, were he honest -- which, he would admit, was truly the [b]best policy[/b] and yet, by simple process of elimination, dishonesty was then the [i]second best policy[/i] -- but if he [i]were[/i] honest, then Loki would admit that in the moments between breaths, he said a prayer. To whom did gods pray? Loki did not know. Still, even without knowing to whom he was offering a prayer, he did so anyway. Because he wanted to believe that reason could still triumph. That intelligent, reasoned beings could be reasonable and not resolve their objections through the art of war.

War was unforgiving, indiscriminate, and had nothing to do with truth or lie... but to the victor went the spoils. And, if that were true, then reason was madness for it was a futile pursuit in a world where might made right. Loki was more interested in the [b]saving[/b] of lives than the taking of them. For what was the life lost? Glory? Honor? Vengeance? With all regard for his father -- for Odin -- Loki would not be that king of Asgard. If there existed the option to avoid war, then that option must be the one he championed.

He hadn't been honest before. Not even to himself. Loki knew to whom he had prayed.

He prayed to Odin.

And, for just a moment, he thought that Odin might have answered. Looking down at the young king, the Lady of Hel lowered her sword so that it pointed to the ground. "I..." the goddess began, as her mouth began to form the shape of the next word. He knew what she was about to say. The word 'yield' was already written across her face.

[b]"HOLD!"[/b]

Hela stopped mid-sentence, jerking her head up as Loki turned to see Balder the Brave riding through the army of Asgardian warriors astride a white horse. Balder, who had abdicated the throne and then gone in search of Thor. Returning now, in Loki's moment of triumph, the victory a bloodless war, without Thor. And with brandished sword. Still, despite the evidence, in spite of his own conscious, Loki found himself uttering aloud, "What is he doing?"

[b]"Men of Asgard, hear me!"[/b] Balder shouted, circling in front of the Asgardian warriors before raising his sword and turning toward the column of Greeks. "Champions of Olympus, lend me your ears. I am Balder, firstborn of Asgard and rightful king of all Asgard!"

[i]...and rightful king of all Asgard.[/i] The words ran through the boy-king as through he had just been impaled upon the sword that Balder the Fool was waving. He should have been relieved. He had never wanted the throne. He didn't belong on the throne. And, yet, never had Loki known fear as he did now. Fear as to what Balder would do with the throne of Asgard. Because he knew. He knew the answer. The invasion of Jotunheim, the completion of the task that Odin had abandoned: the genocide of the frost giants. Only, Balder would not be satisfied by that glory. He would set all nine realms ablaze if he could be king of the ashes.

"The Lands of Hel have risen up arms against Asgard. Will you let this slight be forgiven?" Balder shouted, turning back toward the Asgardians as he worked to stir their bloodlust. 

And the Asgardians answered, [b][i]"No!"[/i][/b]

"Will you let yourselves be led by this virginal [i]boy[/i] who does not even carry a blade?"

As the roar of the crowd sent a tremor through the air, Hela raised her sword. The army of the dead braced itself for the charge, as Balder again turned toward the Greeks. "Olympians, did you come for a fight!?" As the Olympian gods added their shouts to the roar, Balder pointed his blade at the Lady of Hel and roared, [b]"FOR ODIN!"[/b]

The Asgardians blew their horns. The Greeks raised their spears. And then the two armies collided with the legion of the dead with such a thunder as Loki had never experienced before. The ground shook as though the earth itself was moved by the advance of the two great armies, and when they met in combat the combined force unleashed a terror unlike any witnessed by any mortal eye. Beta Ray Bill's hammer send bodies and pieces of bodies flying through the air, while Ares' blade cut down whole columns of men as though he were reaping stalks of wheat. And, in the midst, was the giant Lady of Hel, her massive form and blade hewing Asgardian and Olympian alike until the sky rained with the blood of the fallen.

And there stood Loki. King. Son of Odin. First of his name. Standing on the field of glorious battle, hearing the horns of his brothers and beholding the banners of Olympus, his mouth agape in horror at the massacre taking shape. Tears formed behind his eyes, falling as he saw the first Asgardian felled. And, in that death, he saw the whole of his reign as king of Asgard. And he knew. He knew in that instant that he had failed.

He had failed them all.

"Damn him," the boy muttered, as he raised his tearful eyes to try and glimpse upon the blood splattered Blader the Brave. "Damn us all," the youth affirmed darkly.

[i]"My lord!"[/i]

The sound of her voice made his heart stop. As the color drained from his face, Loki realized that Sif had followed him out onto the battlefield. And following Sif had been...

Grabbing her king roughly by the shoulders, Leah used the weight of her body to shove the boy out of the way of the spearman's thrust. The shaft of the dead warrior instead running through her body, as Loki could only look on in horror.

[b]"NO!"[/b]

There is no scream of rage, but as all of his sorrow and hatred combined in that single moment, the boy held his hand out toward the dead spearman who now stood over the crumpled form of Leah and wished that the man did not exist. It was a whim. It was a child's anger. But, for one with Loki's power, such thoughts were, themselves, weapons. The spearman briefly glowed with a greenish light before his body broke apart, burning from the inside out with witchfire as it dissolved into ash.

Sinking to his knees, the boy-king of Asgard held a handmaiden in his arms and realized... he didn't have the power to save her. He didn't know what to do to save her. He only knew to hold her, wishing for one moment longer as he witnessed her life passing between his fingers and watched her fade away.

Leah was dead.

His subjects were dying.

Balder the Brave, he who would be the [i]rightful[/i] king of Asgard was getting his earnest wish. To set his throne upon bodies strewn across the battlefield. And, like all [i]good[/i] kings, it mattered little whose bodies littered the ground they were so long as Balder emerged the victor. For to the victor went the spoils. Might made right. That was the [i]Asgardian[/i] way.

And, still, something inside of him whispered and said [b]no[/b]. This could not be Asgard's future. That voice found shape as the boy rose to his feet and locked a spiteful gaze upon Balder -- upon he who Loki was destined to kill -- and he shouted, "Brother, please, [b]end this[/b]!"

Dispatching his opponent, the black-haired Aesir prince stormed through the army of the dead until he stood over the small boy-who-would-be-king. And Blader answered, "Take heart, young giant, this was your idea."

The comment stunned the boy for a moment, as Balder's free hand wrapped around the boy's shoulder, drawing the youth in close as he bent a knee. As Balder pulled him near, Loki felt a cold sensation as the breath seemed to suddenly leave his body. Gasping in an attempt to catch his breath, Loki's vision blurred out of focus and he heard Balder's voice.

And the voice said, "The All-Mother sends her regards."

Grabbing onto Balder's arm to steady himself, the boy blinked to clear his vision and then realized that the hilt of Balder's sword was jutting out of his midsection. Looking up at his brother in confusion, Loki shuddered -- in his breathless state, unable to scream -- as Balder stepped back and pulled the sword from out of the boy's body, spilling his blood out onto the snow as the young king dropped back to his knees.

As he looked down at his own blood, the boy saw a dead magpie lying in the snow. Glancing up, the boy's mind wrestled to make sense out of events, as he witnessed Sif standing beside Balder.

And then Loki realized, that wasn't Sif.
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"Ikol?" the boy asked, because he'd been uncertain at first. But, somehow, it made sense. Perhaps the blood loss, but he was certain with a second look at her. Which left only one question remaining: "Why?"

The darked hair avatar of his former self merely looked down on him as if he were a street urchin as she answered, "I did say, [b]I am Loki[/b], who you must not trust."

And so it would appear. He had been out Loki'd by Loki. Perhaps there was no dispute in that. Who better than Loki to un-do the work of Loki?

As his body began to surrender to its wounds, the boy crumpled to the ground. He had not realized until just then where he had been standing when he'd been felled. He was facing [i]her.[/i] The color had drained from Leah's face. Her lips had turned blue as the warmth left her body like the blood spreading in rivets through the snow packed around her corpse. Even in death, she was still the most beautiful thing that he had ever laid eyes upon. In his lifetime, he had loved her. And had never told her that. Still, it was a lucky thing, the conscious of the king who lay in a deathbed of earth and snow, a fickle thing, the last whimsy, the last conscious thought of life, that he would die within sight of her.

And so passed Loki, son of Odin, King of Asgard.