2 | 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 ▹ LOKI LAUFEYSON

x. the question

A M O R A

Do you love him?

The words echoed in Amora's mind as she fidgeted with the hem on her long dress, waiting for Theoric to meet her outside of one of the palace entrances. Tonight, the king was holding a banquet to celebrate the repair of the Bifrost. It was an amazing step towards peace in the chaotic galaxy and called for an equally magnificent celebration.

But Amora's thoughts kept her from enjoying the joy and merriment. Loki's question—and her lack of a suitable answer—made her mind spin and throat tighten. A sickening feeling threatened to overwhelm her.

How could she not be able to answer? How could she not say no? Amora hated how she failed to proclaim such feelings for Theoric; she was going to marry him, after all.

All reason said that she should be completely overtaken with the man. He was handsome, charming, brave: what any other Asgardian woman would dream of as a husband. Long before the engagement was announced, people would say how perfect they would be together. He was a smart choice.

Amora wrinkled her nose at those words. A smart choice?

How could she use such a word—such objectivity—when pondering love and marriage? How could she solely use her brain on a matter of the heart?

With a heavy sigh, Amora leaned back against a column. She had hoped that thinking things over would create answers, not more questions.

"Excuse me, my lady," Theoric's overly formal voice caught her attention, "Where is your date? How could a man allow his woman to remain alone on a night such as this?"

She chuckled and shrugged. "Late."

"Well," he dramatically offered his arm, "allow me to escort you."

Amora rested her hand in the crook of his arm and the two entered one of the many grand ballrooms holding merry celebrators.

Theoric was quick to draw her towards the dancing couples and they were quickly lost among the moving pairs.

Occasionally, one of the men dancing nearby would see him and they would exchange words, craning their necks as they passed. Amora smiled but offered little else to the minor conversations. While she could form conversations once she was well acquainted with someone, Theoric absolutely glowed while with others.

No one could deny his charms; he was pleasant, genuine, and charismatic. Any thought or emotion was clearly displayed on his face; his words were true and steadfast. He was a safe choice.

Amora jumped when a buzz pierced through her confused thoughts. She looked to the source: a bracelet assigned to healers and designed to alert them when a patient is in need. A small, pulsing light emitted from it. Frowning, she drew away from Theoric and quickly walked towards the door.

Once she was out of the crowds, Amora pressed her finger over the light and a small hologram appeared. A pair of footsteps drew her gaze up to see Theoric approach with a look of concern. However, when his eyes travelled down to the display, his jaw tensed.

Amora looked back down at the hologram and grimaced. It was Loki.

His picture stared back at her, but the information at her wrist stole her attention from Theoric's thoughts.

Something was wrong. Loki's heart rate was extremely high and his brain was producing vast amounts of adrenaline, cortisol, and glutamate. He was afraid.

Her feet were already moving away as she gave Theoric an apologetic look. "I have to take care of this."

He pressed his lips into a thin lip, but nodded silently.

Turning Amora started into a jog, hurrying to the dungeons. The guards straightened to attention as she rushed past.

"Something is wrong. Be ready to come quickly if I call for you," she said over her shoulder.

Adrenaline flooded her own system as she ran down the hall; her mind raced to prepare for what she was about to face.

Has someone broken into his cell? Is he being attacked?

When Amora reached the cell, she stopped. The lights were off, casting the room into shadows. As she peered into the darkness, she strained to listen for any sound of a struggle, but the only noise that filled her ears was that of her own heart pounding.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the dark cell. She stepped cautiously through the shadows until the faint shape of Loki's bed came into view.

His form writhed about, twisting in the strewn blankets. A choked cry met Amora's ears and propelled her feet to his side. She could finally see his face properly and the sight broke her heart.

Loki's eyes were squeezed shut, but beneath his eyelids, they darted rapidly. Tears came relentlessly and stained his cheeks. His face was drawn severely and his jaw clenched tight, only opening for the occasional cry.

Amora settled carefully beside his moving form. Slowly, she lowered her hand onto his forehead.

With a sharp gasp, she jerked back as though she had been burned. A single tear fell from her eye at the brief assault on her senses.

She only saw glimpses: a dark, endless expanse of stars, cold stone, and looming form of a purple giant. Thanos. However, what most disturbed her was the pain and the noise.

For that instant, searing pain that coursed through her entire body. The burning sensation started in her back and spread like a fiery disease until her mind felt as though it would split. The sound of Thanos laughing filled the air, but that sound was overtaken by a raw screaming.

When Loki's jolting movements nearly pushed her off of the bed, Amora came out of her horror. She glanced around the room; everything was still and silent, except for Loki.

It would be unwise to wake him in this state; that would likely do more harm than good. But she could not simply leave him to the mercy of his own mind. Not when the only clear thought that she heard from him was, Let me die.

Leaning closer, she brought both of her hands to his head, cradling it carefully despite his jerks. Closing her eyes, she flooded his mind with magic, forcing an overwhelming sense of peace to dispel the fear.

As his breathing slowed and his movements stilled, Amora paused. She had given him thoughts of calm and peace, but it was his own mind that manifested that into a dream. The darkness and screaming faded into light and...laughter. Amora started to draw out of his dream until the sound became clearer.

It was her voice. The shadows of his unconscious took a familiar form before her sight. Amora found herself in the palace library, specifically on a sofa that the two sorcerers had often occupied.

She turned and saw herself sitting at the other end with her legs tucked beneath her and a book cradled in her hands. A smile graced her image's features, making her eyes crinkle and shoulders bounce gently as she shook her head.

"Shut up, mischief," she said, but the amusement was evident.

Amora quickly drew out of Loki's mind, feeling intrusive for seeing such a thing. She sat in the dark, staring blankly at the white wall. The images from Loki's mind were burned into her mind.

Loki shifted slightly in his sleep, but did not wake. As she looked down at his sleeping form, Amora knew one certainty: if Theoric was the safe choice, Loki was the dangerous choice.

* * *