2 | 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 ▹ LOKI LAUFEYSON

xxxvii. the lost

A M O R A

Amora moved in a daze. Stray strands of her hair hung loosely around her face, where she had never bothered to put it back up.

She only looked blankly at any healer that tried to tell her to rest. There were too many injured that needed treatment for her to sit still. And if she stopped moving, she would just be left to wallow in her own thoughts and emotions. She did not want to be alone with them.

Eventually, she reached a lull tending to patients. Slumping down on the remnants of some crushed steps, she propped her elbows on her knees and stared at the cracked stone in front of her. How could this have happened? She had heard the whispers of how the Dark Elves had appeared out of nowhere. How could they stop it from happening again?

Amora looked down at her arms. During moments between patients, she had washed them countless times, but the dust and dirt lingering in the air always managed to cling to her. She could still imagine the way the crimson tendrils had marked her skin as power had flown through her veins. The way that the Aether both cleared her vision and tainted it at the same time.

It was something that Loki would certainly be interested in hearing.

Her head shot up.

Loki.

She had not seen him since before the siege. Did he get caught in the prison break? Did he know about Frigga?

As she rushed through the halls, she could not help but wonder if she would find Loki in his cell. A prison break would be the perfect cover to escape. He was too smart to allow such an opportunity to pass.

The halls of the prisons were full of body milling around. Soldiers oversaw as prisoners were led back into what cells were left undamaged. A few soldiers carried out bodies that were still ashen and smoldering, and Amora sent a silent prayer up to Valhalla for them.

Spotting a familiar head of blond hair, Amora called, "Fandral."

He turned and his grim face lightened for a moment upon seeing his friend before turning back to the work he was overseeing. "We're working on an index of what prisoners are left and any that are missing. So far, most have been accounted for and are being returned to their cells. There were some injured, but most were minor injuries, and they have been treated."

Amora nodded, feeling a small twinge of guilt at not being here to do her own job. "Has Loki been accounted for?"

"He's still in his cell," Fandral hesitated, "A guard came earlier to tell him about the queen."

He rested a hand on her arm and softly said, "I'm so sorry."

Amora tried to ignore the slight tremor in his voice at the end of the sentence. She tried to ignore the stinging in her eyes, too.

"Thank you," she managed before starting down the hall.

Reaching Loki's cell, she found him facing away from the intact golden barrier, staring at the white wall with his hands clasped behind his back.

Just the sight of him—even an illusion—made whatever hold she had on her emotions fail. Not because it was Loki, but because it was Frigga's son.

All she could think of was the two of them sitting in front of Frigga as she read to them about ancient Asgardian tales, as she taught them about magic and spells, as she trained them in combat, as she glanced coyly between the pair.

She stepped through the barrier as her vision began to blur with tears, but the illusion was already melting away.

Her steps faltered at the sight before her.

The furniture was scattered about the room in pieces, books were strewn across the floor, and Loki sat slumped against the wall. His normally sleek hair was the most disheveled Amora had ever seen, his eyes were bloodshot, and something—whether it was blood or the remnants of the now shattered fruit bowl, Amora did not know—stained the bottom of his foot.

He did not move; he did not speak. His face was blank, but he looked up at her with lost eyes.

Amora choked out a sob. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head, "I should have been the one to tell you."

The sobs began to wrack her whole body as it seemed to move on its own accord to join him on the floor. Amora did not even realize that Loki had wrapped an arm around her until she found herself crying into his chest. Finally, after waiting all evening, the tears flowed freely.

She did not know how long they sat there together, but eventually the quiet sobs that shook her subsided to the barest shake in her breathing. Her fingers stiffly released the material of Loki's shirt that had been caught in her grip.

"My last words to her were unkind," Loki spoke quietly, his voice hoarse and ragged.

Amora squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into his chest. She had been unhappy with Frigga before the siege, but at least their last words were nothing that she regretted. She could imagine how the regret was eating Loki alive. 

"How did it happen?" he asked after a moment, his voice stronger now.

Amora waited before answering; part of her wanted to pretend that she did not hear his question. "It was that beast. The Kurse." She felt Loki stiffen, but continued. "Malekith came searching for Jane. Frigga told me to protect the mortal and went to face him alone."

She choked out the last word, turning her head up to look at Loki; he would not even look at her.

"I'm sorry, Loki." His distant gaze focused on her at her words. "I-I should not have let her go out alone."

Loki shook his head slowly. "No." He looked away, and when he spoke again, his voice was bitter. "I told it how to get to the palace."

Amora straightened and shifted to face him. "That hardly makes it your fault."

He scoffed. "And you think not being there to save her makes it your fault? If that is the case, then I am no better. While the both of you were out there--in danger--I was sitting in here, useless."

There was nothing Amora could bring herself to say. How could she console Loki while she herself was inconsolable?

"What if it had been you, too?" Loki spoke in such a low whisper that Amora almost missed it.

Pressing her lips together, Amora could only lean back into his chest, unable to give an answer. Loki drew her closer, his hold almost uncomfortably tight.

Amora had nearly fallen asleep—the use of the Aether had drained her—when she heard a voice calling her name.

She turned and pressed a kiss on Loki's cheek before standing, trying to ignore the way he mournfully watched her move away.

With the flick of a hand, an illusion covered the destroyed room with the image of its usual appearance.

Amora stepped out of the cell just as Fandral neared. "What is it?" she asked, unsettled by the grim look on the man's face.

"Lorelei has escaped."

* * *