Cellmates

Epilogue

Loki would never see time the same again. When one has lived to be as old as he, the passing days were hardly worth noticing when there would be thousands more before the weight of even one made itself known. Or so it was, before his life was reduced to a mortal woman who had given him reason to count not only the days, but the minutes as well.

He moved down the stairs, the glamour of the palace fading with every step he took into the Asgardian underworld, into the dungeons. The illustrious city was built atop its ancient beginnings, which had become the dark and haunting prison he'd come to know far too well. It was quiet down here now. Nothing but long rows of stark white, empty cells. Their putrid yellow barriers cast an eerie light across the old stone, turning his pale skin a similar tone. His gaze swept down the line, before ultimately ending up on his own. And then hers.

All of the furniture was gone, removed in their absence days before. And every surface had been cleaned top to bottom, no longer tainted by the horrors that had transpired within them. He stepped up to the glass and this time the barrier parted, admitting him into her vacant cell.

Its walls withheld a foreboding quality, even with every trace of the trauma washed away. But as he walked the room's perimeter, the stench was still clear to him. He knew with easy accuracy where the guard's blood had stained the glass, where it had pooled on the floor and trailed outside the cell. A vengeful mark he'd been happy to leave. His hand lingered against the glass as he walked, its magic humming against his hand, this time without sinister intent. It seemed almost apologetic the way it behaved now, the barrier parting around his hand like oil avoiding water.

He stared at the tiles of the floor, devoid of the artwork that had accumulated through her two-month captivity. But with a single touch of his sei∂r, the ink resurfaced and he could finally admire her drawings up close. There were animals beautifully rendered, words like poetry, scenes of places he didn't know, people he didn't recognize – hundreds of doodles cataloged in his mind before they vanished again. He wandered to where the bed had been, lingering only a moment on her abuse before recalling every event afterward that ultimately brought them together. She had softened his cruelty and in doing so, gave him new purpose – something worth fighting for – a need to comfort and protect. And the love he somehow received in return gave him hope he'd thought long lost and forgotten.

His mind brought to life again so many memories down here. Some more painful than others, but still he watched as he and Naomi grew closer, one torturous event leading into the next. He heard her laugh. Saw her cry. Felt her pain. But more than anything he found the path that every touch and promise had paved toward a future he'd only imagined. One he intended, whole-heartedly, to see through.

His mind followed their own tragic tale, until the moment they escaped, removed from one Hel to face another before finding a small moment of solace – one night that would live with him forever. To dwell on it, would bring an oh so telling smile to his face no matter how awful things seemed. But equally so, it was a painful reminder of what he was without. Naomi. His mortal. He missed her. After spending every day in her company for months, every day that passed without her was like a notch upon his heart. And everyday, without fail, his subconscious whispered its worries again and again. But not long after her departure, he'd made fuel of them, for the fire – the drive – to see them whole again.

But until then, he took comfort in the unending joy he'd seen in her as her family embraced her – people she'd assumed had long given up on her. And to see her pain so easily wiped away, to see her happy, had his eyes burning anew and a persistently genuine smile curling across his mouth before he could stop it.

Aimlessly roaming the cell, he spotted something out of place – at the edge of the cell, camouflaged by the stone and fortunately missed in the cleanup. Her pen. Her odd little weapon. A small piece of her left behind. It was only a piece of hand crafted metal, now scratched and bloodied and drained of its ink, but he turned it over in his hand, admiring it simply because it was hers. Perhaps, a souvenir of sorts. But more than anything, a reminder of the promise he'd made. We will be together, my love, however, whatever it takes.

With a flourish of his hand, he stashed the trinket away, content in its presence that she was there. And if he closed his eyes, let his mind seek her out, he could see her at home on Midgard, peaceful and safe among her family and awaiting his return. And as he caught her smile, he thought nothing of the trials that had led him here or the final terms that held them apart, instead only looking ahead to the moment he would see her again.