Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The last time she saw him (as she had known him), he was walking away. 

“He’s giving us a chance.”

That’s what she’d said as she saw Loki disappear into the gaping wound he had torn in time; ragged and ready to heal over the moment he was through, sealing him off for all eternity — alone. 

The next time she saw him, she couldn’t really say who or what he was any more. 

“You shouldn’t have come – whoever you are,” he had said, voice devoid of emotion. Only the hint of sadness in his eyes brought to mind the man she once knew.  

She had drawn closer, fighting her way through the bramble-like timelines that surrounded him. 

“Loki, it’s me — Sylvie.”

At her words. Loki’s eyes had flared brightly with green light. Then he slowly mouthed her name, “Syl-vie, Sylvie… Yes, I remember.”

A single fat tear had emerged from his eye just then, tracing the contours of his face as it fell. It left a wide wet trail that glimmered in the light of his magic.

Foolishly, she had allowed it germinate a seed of hope within her. An image burst from the soil of her mind — a single drop becoming a deluge of recognition. A flood of joyful tears diverted with a press her lips. 

But he continued, “She was a fair maiden, standing in an orchard — in a song I once knew, or a dream I once had. She waited.”

Hope withering, she remembered lifting a hand to his cheek. Small tendrils of time had worked their way over his body, even partially covering his face. 

“Ok Loki, try to focus. Do you remember who she was waiting for? Does it ring any bells at all?”

He looked at her, but his eyes didn’t seem to see her, “I think… I think it was someone who loved her very much. Someone.”

Why couldn’t he have said that before?

Why couldn’t she? 

“Loki, I’m right here, right now,” she pleaded.

Loki furrowed his brows in confusion, “Am I… here now?”

After that she had spent some time with him, his awareness seeming to come and go, he never really remembered her.

So she set back out to see the world he allowed to exist, checking in on him from time to time. Every time she’d gone back he seemed to lose a little more of himself. Sometimes he would answer her questions, sometimes he didn’t seem to know she was there… 

A chance? A chance to do what, was the question she asked herself now.  

“Ah-choo!”

Sylvie couldn’t stop herself from sneezing as she lifted an intricately decorated ceramic cup, filled to the brim with fermented milk, to her nostrils. 

She made a face, “Ugh, I forgot how pungent this is.” 

The monk who had handed her the drink, brought one of his two fingers to the front of his mouthless face in a gesture that indicated amusement. 

She smiled, lifting the cup up in front of her to signal her thanks. 

“Down the hatch, please,” the monk signed, before slithering away on the serpentine tail that served as his legs. 

Sylvie had come to Lemista to gather her thoughts after the last time she’d gone to see Loki. The temple she was currently seated in was familiar to her. In about 30 years it and the local area would be destroyed by a meteorite. She had taken shelter in the apocalypse on more than one occasion, but it was much more enjoyable spending time there when she knew it was going to stick around for more than a few days. 

The Lem lacked both speech and mouths (at least ones that she could see). Some of the monks skilled in the mystic arts were able to communicate telepathically, others could communicate with outsiders in sign language. She didn’t really know how they’d normally communicate between themselves. 

Tipping back the cup, greyish white liquid touched her lips. The small sip was enough to send a burning sensation throughout her sinuses. She coughed as the opaque liquid hit her throat, but soon it began filling her insides with a soothing warmth that made the initial assault on her senses more than worth the trouble. 

The alcove she was sitting in provided a measure of privacy. Similar alcoves were set at intervals along both sides of the main hallway. She sat cross legged on a pillow on the pleasantly warm soapstone floor. 

The temple of the Mourners was open to all who had lost, and would lose. Sylvie had lost her fair share, but for her it was mostly a nice place to relax (or so she told herself).

For a moment she let her hand trace over the depressions in the luxuriously soft stone of the floor beside her — worn into smooth patterns by thousands of hands seeking to tactilely soothe their grief. 

Set in the wall to her right, a small fountain produced the pleasant sound of trickling water, on the left hung a tall brass bell. Flicking a finger against it, she let the sound resonate through her body. Relaxation didn’t come naturally to her; she’d had too many years on the run (tightly wound and ready to strike) to lose the habit so easily. At least she was making an effort. 

Sooner than expected, a voice echoed inside her mind.

“You’ve returned.” 

A Lem, wrapped in white robes, slithered to the front of her alcove and crossed her arms over her heart. 

“I’m pleased to see you, Sylvie,” she bowed, “perhaps less pleased for the reason you’ve come? Is it still the loss of your universe that you mourn?”

“Nice to see you as well, Sh'Bleen,” Sylvie replied, placing her hands over her heart to match the sorceress’ greeting. “Not as much now that I’ve had a chance to build something more in its place. I do appreciate your hospitality though.” 

“You will always be welcome to it, so long as this temple remains.” 

Sylvie cringed, biting her lip, “Yeah, about that. I feel I should tell you, there’s an asteroid headed your way. In a few decades this temple and the surrounding area will be at the bottom of a crater.” 

Sh’Bleen’s face was unreadable. 

“Are you quite certain?” 

Sylvie nodded sadly. She didn’t know if it was the right thing to tell people about their destruction or not. The most it would do is create a new branch of the timeline. One she might like better, but the old one was still there unchanging. Another branch for Loki to hold. 

Sh’Bleen winked at her, apparently taking the information in stride, “In that case we shall have to mourn this place as well. I think I shall intend to be elsewhere when the time comes, though.”  

Sylvie breathed a small sigh of relief, “You already knew about that didn’t you?” 

“It had come to my attention,” Sh’Bleen nodded, eyes smiling. 

Sh’Bleen had told Sylvie some among their order could sense the coming of death. It was the Mourner’s sworn duty to seek out and commemorate lives lost, not only of mortals, gods and celestial beings, but civilizations, planets, and stars as well. 

The sorceress had been stunned to learn that whole timelines could die. And now she was determined to find some way of helping Sylvie honour the home she only vaguely remembered. It really seemed more important to Sh’Bleen than it did to Sylvie herself; things died, you moved on. Sylvie didn’t know how long it would take to unlearn that lesson. 

Sh’Bleen coiled her tail in until she had lowered herself down to Sylvie’s level, and held out her hands. 

Sylvie made a face, but placed her hands on Sh’Bleen’s. “You know I’m used to being the one rummaging around in other people’s thoughts.” 

“I can only sense your feelings — perhaps an image or impression. Far short of your abilities, but enough to serve our purposes,” she flicked her fin-like ears, showing her amusement, “I don’t bite.” 

Sylvie blushed a bit at the mouthless sorceress’ joke, and closed her eyes, “And I promise I won’t,” she replied with a short laugh. 

The process was very unlike enchantment, Sh’Bleen wasn’t trying to control her. Rather it felt as if Sh’Bleen’s consciousness was momentarily painting the waters of her mind. Drops of colour (red, orange and gold) rested in patterns on the rippling surface then streamed down in a swirl before dissipating as the sorceress completed her spell.  

“Interesting.” Sh’Bleen remarked. 

Sylvie furrowed her brow skeptically, “Is that good?” 

Sh’Bleen took her hands from Sylvie and waved them in the air, forming a rune filled orange ring. It spun around an axis about a foot wide before growing smaller and spinning faster to disappear into the palm of her hand. 

“I sense that you mourn more than a timeline, or rather, something more specific than that.” 

Sh’Bleen’s eyes met her own and she felt her stomach twist at the horrible truth in those words. 

“I think this may help you.” Sh’Bleen held out her hand. 

Sylvie carefully lifted up a newly conjured pendant on a delicate silver chain out of the sorceress’ palm. Taking in a shaky breath, she let it out slowly as she studied the exquisite piece of jewelry. 

“It’s certainly beautiful, I’m not sure that-“ 

She stopped short as she turned the pendant over and saw the symbol engraved on it. A circle, with a half circle on top (like a head with two horns), and a narrow triangle behind it (like a dagger). 

She swallowed nervously, “So this means… ” she sighed, “can you tell me, if I’m just mourning a possibility or a person?” 

Sh’Bleen shook her head, “I sense a loss in you but it’s somehow uncertain. If the person is outside of this universe it’s unlikely I could sense it myself, but the fear is there. And this image came to me very clearly. What do you think?” 

Sylvie wiped a treacherous tear out of her eye (even though it was pretty pointless to try to hide her grief from someone who’d just seen it first hand). 

“Ah… the one I’m worried about. I mean, he’s kinda holding all of reality together. So if we’re still here, he must be fine, right?” 

Sh’Bleen nodded sympathetically, “But he’s not the same, perhaps?” 

She pursed her lips, “No, not the same. I can’t talk to him anymore. He doesn’t even understand that I’m there.” 

Sh’Bleen hooked her hands together in front of her in a gesture of condolence, “That is a loss indeed. It is a custom among Asgardians of this universe to take a lock of their loved ones hair in remembrance. Perhaps this will help you do something similar.” 

She placed a hand over the pendant in Sylvie’s flattened palm. A burst of orange magic shone out between their fingers and she withdrew her hand again. 

Examining the pendant, Sylvie found that the solid piece of jewelry was now split into two halves with a hinge holding them together. She opened the (now) locket. There was nothing inside, but it was large enough to store a coiled lock of hair.

She shifted uncomfortably on the cushion she was sitting on. Loki wasn’t actually dead, it’d feel weird to cut off a lock of his hair and take it with her when he was still breathing. Especially when he couldn’t talk to her or understand what she was doing. 

But the symbol on the locket was a nice way to remember who he used to be. She clutched the pendant in her fist and held it to her heart, “I appreciate it.” 

“Are there any family or friends of your loved one who may need to mourn as well?” Sh’Bleen inquired. 

Sylvie smiled sadly, “Friends, yes, they already know what’s going on, but family? His timeline was destroyed, same as mine.” 

“Both of your situations are exceptional. There is always the option of close enough.” 

Sylvie nodded tentatively, “I’ll think about it.” 

Sh’Bleen smiled with her eyes and rose to her full height, “Be well, Laufey’s daughter. Return as often as you wish.” 

“Thank you.” She smiled as Sh’Bleen slithered off to talk to the person in the next alcove. 

Running a thumb over the pendant she threw the chain around her neck and tucked it into the front of her shirt. Then she hit the bell next to her again, attempting to meditate. But the sound of the bell no longer soothed her and the trickling water now just made her want to pee. 

Time to move on. 

Scratching the back of her head (which suddenly felt unbearably itchy), she took out the circular tempad of He-Who-Remains and thought about her next destination. 

Her mind flitted between a nice beach in Spain 1998 and a fireworks display on the Kree homeworld. 

She finally settled on the former, stood up in the alcove and flicked the tempad to open a timedoor in front of her and step through. 

What she found upon her arrival, however, was not sand, surf and happy beach goers, but the green tangle at the end of time. 

“Argh! Why does this keep happening?” She complained to no one in particular. 

She knew the answer, though. The tempad of He-Who-Remains didn’t take coordinates, it took you where you wanted to go (or the place you were thinking of at the very least). 

She dropped her face into her hands. She hadn’t been gone that long (though that hardly meant very much at the end of time). She wanted to see Loki again, but she also wasn’t looking forward to seeing how much more of him she’d lost since she’d been away. 

Guess I’m here now. 

She pushed the thick wall of branches aside as she moved towards the throne, until she could see the majestic horns of his crown, and then his face.

Loki didn’t move. His skin was barely visible through the vein-like covering of tiny branches running across his face and body. Timelines even grew into, and emerged out of, his gaping mouth. But his (seemingly) sightless eyes still glowed bright green with unceasing magic. 

“Talk about shit plans,” she choked out bitterly as tears formed in her eyes. 

She brought a hand near his mouth, hoping at least for the warmth of his breath to reassure her. 

But this time there was nothing. No breath, no rise and fall of his chest, only the light of his magic remained to tell her some part of him was still alive. 

She swallowed down a sob, then had a terrifying thought; if he died, everything would die with him. 

She didn’t know what or how he had learned to do what he did, but if he couldn’t hold time together for much longer, it could only fall to her to take his place.

Placing her fingers to his temple in a tiny patch of timeline free skin she began her enchantment, finding she could easily enter his mind. 

A flood of memories assaulted her — power beyond her comprehension — knowledge of the past, present and future, how it all worked and how to sustain it indefinitely. It’d take her centuries to understand it all. 

It was all too much, but still not enough, because his memories were gone — lost or buried under the crush of godhood. 

Loki was gone. 

She withdrew her hand from his temple, tasting salt from the tears that had found their way to the corner of her mouth. At least she knew what remained could sustain itself; reality was safe for now. 

Stumbling backward, she tripped into a tangle of branches that had formed a sort of makeshift hammock. 

And sat…

And cried…

And voiced her displeasure with his chosen solution in as many different colourful words as she could think of — though, clown, stupid, and idiot came up frequently.

Then cried some more…

When at last it seemed she had cried herself out, she called Sh’Bleen’s words to mind. 

“I guess it can’t hurt,” she said, trying to reassure herself. 

Anxiously, she unsheathed her sword and approached the throne, hands shaking. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady herself, then leaned closer. With a curled pinky finger she gently fished a long lock of hair out from among the delicate strands of time (tangled over his head and around his crown). She ran her fingers down it a couple times, feeling its softness, and then cut the lock off with her sharpened blade.  

“There, didn’t hurt at all,” she choked out, wiping her nose with the back of her sword hand. 

Taking the hair, she coiled it around a finger, and carefully placed it in the locket. 

Step one, complete. On to step two. 

“I’ll take this to your brother,” she said, gazing into his glowing eyes, “The closest one I can find at least.” 

Chapter Text

New Asgard on the ‘Sacred Timeline’ wasn’t quite what Sylvie had expected. It was becoming less of a fishing village and more of a giant tourist trap, tacky souvenir shops and all. 

Making a dubious face at her reflection in a mirror outside one such shop, Sylvie considered the cheap plastic helmet she’d plucked off a shelf outside to try on. It was an open crown style with cheek guards and large horns. It didn’t look that bad on her, really, but the cheap gold paint didn't do it justice, already flaking off in a few spots. 

She took them off and placed them back on the rack. 

“They suit you.”

The compliment came from the shop attendant now standing in the doorway; an Asgardian woman with waist length hair braided in the traditional style, which contrasted with her much less traditional jeans and t-shirt. 

“Thanks, kinda miss my own though,” Sylvie laughed.

“Are you from Asgard?” The woman questioned her with obvious interest. 

The question took a minute to sink in as Sylvie had just noticed (much to her amusement) that the woman’s T-shirt had a green logo that read ‘Team Loki’. 

Must have come to the right place.

Returning her attention to the woman’s question (not bothering to get into timeline specifics for the moment), she gave a truthful but vague response. 

“I was, a long long time ago.” 

“Well then, welcome home. If you're looking for something a little more authentic we've got the good stuff in the back.” 

“Thanks, but I’m actually looking for Thor, is he around?” 

The woman rubbed her chin, “Hard to say. I haven’t heard from him lately. And he’s usually pretty easy to hear for any number of reasons. You might check the ice cream shop just down the street, though. His daughter drags him there at least three times a week.”

Sylvie turned her head to survey the road ahead, “I’ll do that, thanks.” 

The woman waved to her as she headed off, “Happy to help. And be sure to check back next week, gummy bilgesnipe are half off.” 

The ice cream shop wasn’t difficult to find, the large cone on the roof being an easy landmark to follow. It was the off season for tourism so there wasn’t a large line outside like there normally would have been. 

What was outside, however, was a phenomenon that immediately piqued Sylvie’s curiosity. Every potential customer that approached the shop seemed to be participating in the same bizarre ritual.

Firstly, a person would walk to the front of the store and stare up at the sign in bewilderment. 

Next, their face would contort into a variety of opposing expressions as if they just couldn’t find the appropriate response. 

Inevitably, a happy customer or two would emerge with a handful of irresistible looking treats, the hesitant visitor would look around guiltily, and slink into the shop to sate their craving. 

Lastly, they’d emerge a few minutes later, much more relaxed, to tempt the next uncertain visitor. 

And soon, Sylvie found herself doing that very same thing. Hands on her hips, dumbfounded expression as she stared up at the sign — a large waffle cone filled with ice cream held in the clutches of the Infinity Gauntlet. Using the instrument of doom for half the universe as a restaurant theme was certainly a choice. 

“Infinity Cones? That’s…” 

“In poor taste? Tell me about it,” Valkyrie agreed, as she made her way out the door and saw Sylvie’s befuddled expression. 

Behind her, Carol Danvers followed closely with a waffle cone in one hand (matching the one Val was holding except for the colour of the soft serve). 

“It may be in poor taste, but the taste is pretty good,” she joked, attempting to mimic a certain rock based life form. 

Val laughed at her less than successful impression, “Now that is exactly what Korg sounds like — nailed it, completely.” 

Carol breathed on her fingernails, shining them sarcastically on the front of her Soundgarden T-Shirt, “It’s a talent.” 

“I guess I’ve seen worse,” Sylvie considered, “and you are?” 

With an unshakable air of confidence, Val pointed at her comfortable looking oversized hoodie, “King. So I guess you can blame me for the name. Even though it was definitely not my idea.” 

“I still can’t believe you let that go ahead,” Carol commented, taking a bite of her Chunks of Chitari Chocolate Crunch. She frowned slightly, then motioned for Val to let her try a bite of her Great Headless Grape. 

“Yeah, that one kinda slipped by me. Live ‘n learn. Meik got a little slap happy with the 50 year permits,” Val replied with a shrug while wordlessly swapping cones with Carol (who hummed in approval after tasting the purple coloured swirl). 

Just then, a huge blond man (six foot plus and built like a brick shithouse), swaggered out of the shop. He had a triple scoop of Ant-Man’s Drunk Ants (really rum raisin) in one hand, a large hammer in the other, and a small girl trailing behind him with a kid size cone. 

“Well, sometimes you just have to laugh so you don’t cry,” he remarked. “Personally, I only come here because Love just loves this ice cream so much.” He grinned adoringly at the girl beside him.

Love shrugged (throwing him under the bus with typical kid honesty), “Ice cream is ice cream, Uncle Thor. I mostly only like vanilla anyway.” 

Sylvie’s ears perked up when she heard Thor’s name, though the hammer he had slung over his shoulder was a bit of a giveaway.  

She was about to introduce herself when a realization hit her. Could she really tell Thor that his brother had survived in another place and time and had (sort of) died yet again. She hadn’t examined the possible consequences of what she was about to do, (consequences were a thing she was still learning to deal with). 

Would Thor resent her for dumping this information on him? Did she have a right to burden him with more grief just because she didn’t want to be in this alone?

The thoughts prompted a wave of nervousness to rise inside her, that she fought to tamp down. 

On the other hand, a part of Loki was more alive than ever. Alive in everything, watching over them all. Thor deserved to know what his Loki had been capable of, and what a version of his brother had done. 

Guess it’s too late to back out now. 

She folded her arms and schooled her face into her best casual smile, “Uh, Thor. Just the god I was looking for.”

Thor gave her a self deprecating chuckle, “Well, I don’t blame you. Have a planet that needs saving? Want an autograph? If you’re here for the Fortnite tournament you can sign up just down the street, ask for Noobmaster69.” 

Afraid of losing the battle with her emotions, she pursed her lips and dropped her chin. Speaking softly, she looked everywhere but his eyes, picking at her nails to calm herself, “Ah, actually, I’m kinda here to talk to you about your brother—

Her eyes landed on the dark lock of hair Thor wore braided into his own, and she had to choke her next word.

—Loki.” 

Thor shifted uncomfortably, tightening and loosening his grip on Mjolnir, as he bit down on his lip. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he broke into a rambling apology, “Oh, ah yes. I am… very, very sorry for whatever, ah… trouble he caused you. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately from your perspective, he’s dead.” 

Thor's assumption turned up the corners of Sylvie’s mouth slightly (cheeky bastard in every universe). She sighed, “I know. Your Loki… and mine.” 

Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them; an unspoken sorrow. 

“Yours? So you were…” Thor asked, intrigued but obviously very puzzled. 

Sylvie cast her eyes to the sky, as if the right words to say might show themselves in the heavens. 

Nothing presented itself. 

“Um, it’ll take a bit to explain.” 

Thor smiled patiently, “I’ve got time.” 

And with that Love marched back into the questionably named ice cream shop, emerged with a ridiculously large sundae (with every topping imaginable), took Sylvie by the hand and led her to a table nearby. 

She ate up every word Sylvie managed to string together about her alternate ‘Uncle Loki’ with wide eyed enthusiasm, even as she helped Sylvie eat up the sundae (which was much too large for one person). 

Thor mostly listened, blinking tears out of his eyes now and then. 

Sylvie found after a few minutes that she stopped searching for the right words, or trying to put things in the right light, or to protect her identity. She let everything spill out — who she was, where she’d come from, what Loki had done — in the presence of these strangers who welcomed her as family without even knowing who she was. The bond they shared with Loki was enough. 

Sylvie was most surprised by Love. She had never even met this timeline’s Loki, but he obviously loomed large in her imagination. 

As evening approached, Thor suggested a walk, having a destination in mind, though he didn’t say it out loud. 

Val opted to go with them. She and Carol had been seated nearby, chatting and laughing as they consumed their desserts. 

When Val got up to leave with them, Sylvie didn’t miss the look that passed between her and Carol. The playful smirk on Carol’s face, a squeeze of their hands, the brush of their intertwined fingers reluctant to part. 

It didn’t seem so long ago that she and Loki had lived in eternal moments like that. The first life of a new relationship poking its head out of warming ground, hoping against hope that winter would give way to the blossoming of spring. 

What Sylvie wouldn’t do to have those moments back, now that she understood how precious and fleeting they could be. 

The short walk took them out of the village into open fields of lush green grass and finally to a memorial stone. 

Loki’s memorial stone. 

To her surprise, rather than stand around with bowed heads, Thor sat down in the thick grass next to the stone, with Love quickly settling into a spot beside him. 

Sylvie and Val sat down a short distance away on a small hill, while Thor began a long and rather mischievous story, with Love hanging on his every word. 

“She can’t get enough of Thor’s stories about Uncle Loki,” Val said quietly, watching Thor’s exaggerated hand gestures to emphasize an action-filled moment.

Sylvie nodded, “Looks like Thor enjoys telling them.” 

Val huffed out a laugh, “Yeah. Loki mighta been a pain, but he was one lovable shit.” 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Sylvie said with a laugh. 

Val rubbed her arm thoughtfully, “He-ah… made me confront some memories I’d been keeping buried — in the middle of a fight, mind you, so certainly wasn’t tryin’ to do me any favours.” 

Sylvie quirked an eyebrow, “Do I have to ask who won that fight?” 

Val shrugged, “He was the one who was chained up at the end of it, but to this day, I’m still not sure.”

“Win by losing. Seems like it’s a Loki thing in every universe,” Sylvie mused. 

“I didn’t really know him long, but he certainly knew how to make an impression. I really don’t know if any of us would have survived if he hadn’t gone up against Thanos. Mind you he kinda got us into the situation in the first place. Are you really sure your Loki’s gone? For good?” 

Sylvie ran her thumb over the locket she held in her hand. “I don’t know, it’d almost be easier if I was.” 

Val nodded, falling into an understanding silence. She gazed out over the grass covered hills that led to the ocean beyond, and let her eyes dance among the clouds. 

“I almost think I can see her sometimes,” Val said wistfully, “galloping through the clouds, at one with her horse, calling out for all of us to fall into formation. I lost her so long ago, you’d think I’d have forgotten by now.” 

Sylvie swallowed, “Do you want to?” 

Val thought back to her time on Sakaar — the nights (and days) spent staring at the bottom of numbing bottle after numbing bottle. 

“Not anymore,” she said simply. 

Then abruptly changing the subject, she slapped her hands together, “Hey, if you need a place to stay for a while, this might be as good a place as any. Your Loki and ours weren’t exactly the same, but only a few years off, really. Couldn’t hurt to have some family around while you figure this stuff out.” 

“Family? Been a long time since I had anything like that.”

“Thor and Love could always use some help on their missions. Might keep your mind occupied,” Val suggested. 

Sylvie nodded tentatively, “I guess it couldn’t hurt to stick around for a while.” 

“Auntie Sylvie!” Love said, running over (Thor having finished his last tale for the night). 

Sylvie raised an eyebrow, “It’s Auntie now is it?” 

Thor gave her a sly grin, “Of course, you’re my brother’s true love, how could you not be.” 

“I don’t remember saying anything about that,” she replied evasively. 

Thor smiled knowingly, “You didn’t have to.” 

“She can stay with us, can’t she Uncle Thor?” Love pleaded. 

“Of course, if she wishes. I’m sure you’ll have no shortage of offers, though. If you do decide to stay with Meik, you’re going to want to watch where you step in the middle of the night.”

“I guess I wouldn’t want to disappoint my niece now would I?” Sylvie grinned, surprised by the sudden wave of emotions that word prompted. 

Her response seemed to meet Love’s approval, and they all set off back to town as dusk was just beginning to paint the sky. 

Sylvie should have been watching where she was walking. The rock wasn’t small, but also not much bigger than the proverbial bread box humans enjoyed comparing things to. Not that she’d ever seen such a thing. 

To make matters worse she was pretty sure she’d looked straight at it several times as she walked across the otherwise empty field. 

That didn’t stop her from getting her toe caught on the edge of it and nearly falling on her face (fortunately it only ended in a minor stumble preserving most of her pride). 

She muttered to herself, “Stupid rock.”

It was as if it had come out of nowhere, got in her way, knocked her off her feet…

Foiled her plans. 

Signalling for the others to go on ahead after assuring them she was fine, she sat down in the grass. This one annoyingly mischievous rock had given her an idea. 

She’d always carried a dagger on her, though not like the ones Loki chose to wield. This one wasn’t an elegant fine tipped blade forged for a prince. It was a short blade (wide at the hilt) with more than a few chips along the edge. She’d used it more as a tool than for battle. It was for opening cans and cutting lengths of rope. Sometimes for picking the dirt out of her fingernails or even etching her name in the wall of some bunker she’d taken shelter in, knowing it wouldn’t survive the apocalypse for anyone to remember her. 

Now, she used it to cut a small X in the turf in front of the rock. Just enough to peel it back a bit at the corners, cut through a thick mat of roots and dig a shallow hole in the dirt. 

She’d never want to part with all of the precious strands she’d shorn from Loki’s head, but somehow it seemed right that a part of him should find a home here, among the closest thing to his family. Perhaps a more healthy version of it than the one he left behind.

The locket clicked open easily in her hand. She carefully unwound the lock of hair and divided it in two. One half, she rewound and placed back in the locket, closing it securely again. 

The other she wound around the blade of her dagger, close to the tip, and set it blade down in the bottom of the hole, so that the handle would remain above the ground. It (and the rock) would mark the place in the field, as Loki had marked a place in her heart. 

She filled the space around the dagger with dirt and packed it in tightly as a cool breeze worked its way over the rolling hills from the ocean. 

Content with her handiwork she sat with the wind in her face to watch the sunset — in her long life she’d seen many — pinks and reds shining through cottony clouds. They were pretty but she’d never really thought about them much beyond that. 

Tonight her eyes deceived her.

Either that or the sky was filled with lies. 

A lone bolt of lightning cracked out of the bottom of a towering storm cloud in the distance, but it wasn’t what made her question her eyesight.

Faintly, a single thread of green seemed to work it’s way around the edges of the sky. As if a reality itself was cracking open at the seams, allowing the magic at the centre of it all to bleed its green light into the warm hues of the setting sun. 

“Beautiful lies,” she sighed, allowing herself the indulgence of taking it as a sign of Loki’s approval. 

She waited until the sun dipped below the horizon, then stood up and walked towards her new home. 

Chapter Text

A burst of green and a loud scream concussed the morning air. The force was such that it left a perfect circle of bent grass around the source of it like a miniature crop circle of frustration.

Of all the places to plant a tree!

Sylvie had returned to visit the makeshift memorial she had dug for Loki after a few days spent settling in with Thor and Love.

So far their ‘Missions’ had mainly consisted of drawing Hello Kitty pictures with Love and eating pancakes. After the amount of excitement Sylvie had had in her life to this point, it was a nice change of pace.

The sight that had disturbed her tranquillity on this dew-covered morning (and provoked the magical outburst that probably woke up the near side of town at the very least), was a sapling about three feet tall.

Normally, she wouldn’t be disturbed by the sight of a small tree, except that this one had been planted smack dab in the centre of the X she had sliced in the turf a few days prior. Its stick-like trunk was now pushing the dagger slightly to one side.

She dug her fingernails into her palms.

Couldn’t people dig their own holes? Was a dagger in the ground the Asgardian sign for ‘Plant a tree right there?’ It was a wide open empty field that could use a bunch of trees in any number of locations. Why did they pick this spot, Loki’s spot?

Muttering a stream of profanities under her breath, her eyes were drawn up to the sky by the loud call of a raven as it flew overhead. Ravens were still favoured as messengers among the Asgardians, but this one’s message to her was likely only a coincidence.

She found it helpful nonetheless.

As her gaze returned to the earth following the bird's flight path, she spied a large Kronan pushing a cart on the far side of the field — and didn’t it just happen to be filled with young trees.

“Aha!” She declared to herself (still fuming), and broke into a run without really thinking about what she was going to do when she got there.

Halfway across the field she slowed into a jog trying to let her boiling anger cool to a controlled simmer.

I’ll just ask a couple of very polite questions. I’m not mad, it was clearly an accident. I’ve probably committed some kind of Asgardian faux-pax or something.

Closing in, she saw the Kronan stop, pick a shovel off his cart and begin to dig a hole.

He has a perfectly good shovel, and he’s frickin’ massive! You’d think he wouldn’t need little ol’ me to loosen the dirt for him!

Growling as she closed in, the Kronan she was about to give a piece of her mind to was…

Nowhere to be seen.

Instead, in his place was a large brown cow, wearing a bell and (very suspiciously) holding a shovel in its mouth.

She stopped short and stared at it for a second.

The cow stared back.

It tried to moo to emphasize the fact that it was indeed a cow, but due to the shovel in its mouth it only managed an ooo.

Sylvie took in a deep calming breath while digging her fingers into her temples. “That’s a cute disguise you’ve got there, but I know you’re not a cow.”

The cow spit the shovel on the ground, then began shimmering into yet another shape. When the shimmering stopped a tall goateed man with grey at his temples and an extravagant red cape was standing in its place.

“Can’t the Sorcerer Supreme plant trees in Norway in peace,” he said with a withering sigh.

Sylvie looked him over. She knew enough about this universe to know this looked like Doctor Stephen Strange. She also knew in this universe he was not the Sorcerer Supreme. She narrowed her eyes at him, “I thought Wong was Sorcerer Supreme?”

‘Stephen’ waved his hand dismissively, “A technicality.”

Sylvie nodded sceptically, “In that case shouldn’t you have something better to be doing?”

He awkwardly picked at his fingernails, “Saving the planet is saving the planet… and I’ve got some community service to work off for, uh… unpaid parking tickets…” He muttered under his breath, “And some minor identity theft.” He then picked up the shovel, stuck it in the ground and leaned his elbow on the handle, “No big deal really.”

Sylvie sucked on her teeth in annoyance. It was time to put an end to this pointless charade. “Ok look, all this shapeshifting? Very impressive. But I know a trickster when I see one. You don’t want to tell me who you really are? Fine by me. Just don’t plant any more trees by that rock over there.”

‘Stephen’ squinted across the empty field, shading his eyes with his hand, “Is there something special about that rock?”

“You could say that, yes.”

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Now if you were to plant the rest of these trees, then you could make sure none of them were planted near the special rock, couldn’t you?”

Sylvie sighed, “I suppose that’s true, but…”

‘Stephen’ slapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly, “Wonderful! It’s agreed. You plant the trees and I’ll catch up on some valuable hammock time. Oh, and contact my probation officer when you’re done, just tell them ‘Runa’ was working too hard planting trees to call.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing that,” she stated bluntly, folding her arms.

‘Stephen’ looked around shiftily, “No? What if I do… this!” He abruptly changed into an elderly looking elf woman who immediately turned tail and ran haphazardly towards the ocean while waving her hands in the air and laughing out, “Your job now!”

Sylvie shook her head, wondering if the elf had a habit of trying to pawn her work off on people and if anyone was ever fooled into it.

(She also wondered if Loki had ever spent any amount of time in Alfheim, and if he did it certainly would explain a lot)

Not planning to be the fool on this particular day, she examined the cart instead. If the elf had planted the tree, it was one of a kind. The sapling planted by the dagger had the broad flat leaves of a deciduous tree, but the ones in the cart were all evergreens (as were all the saplings planted along the narrow dirt path the elf had been following).

She left the cart as she found it. Runa would figure out eventually she hadn't suckered her into doing her work for her, and come back to finish planting, hopefully far away from Loki’s memorial rock.

Making her way back to it, she sat down in the grass. The dagger didn’t appear to have been shifted much, just enough for the trunk of the young tree to sneak by. Given a calmer moment to think about it, it didn’t really look like someone had dug a fresh hole to plant it.

Trees usually didn’t grow that fast though and she had buried a lock of hair not a seed.

One thing that had stood out to her when she searched Loki’s mind for familiar memories was the unyielding image of a tree — mighty Yggdrasil, the shape of all time.

She looked up at the sky, “Did you do this?” She asked, not really expecting an answer. Taking one of the seven or so leaves on the tiny tree between two fingers, she traced the shape. Tree identification hadn't been something she had ever had the luxury to study, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it were an ash.

It was enough. “Ok, message received. I know you had to do what you did. Your family can look at this tree and remember the one you created for all of us. I still don’t have to like it.”

She sat by the tree for a time, imagining she could feel Loki watching over her, soothing her still aching heart. As the sun rose higher in the sky, casting its warmth on her face, she realised she was supposed to be leaving with Thor and Love on a mission of some sort, and she should probably stop feeling sorry for herself and get moving.

Before she left, she fished around in the large front pocket of her sweater. One of Love’s errant art supplies, a green oil pastel, had been staining the inside of her pocket since she’d picked it up off the carpet that morning.

Now she was glad she’d forgotten to put it back in the box. On the rock beside the small tree, she used it to write — Loki’s Tree Do Not Touch! (please)

The please was an afterthought, remembering she would catch more flies with honey than turpentine.

Also, she didn’t have room for — or I’ll rearrange your face — on the rock. She hoped Loki would be proud of her newfound social skills.

She stopped herself. Would have been proud? Past-tense, present tense, dead, alive. Both thoughts caused their own kind of pain. The two ideas kept see-sawing in her mind, up and down, up and down.

She put the pastel back in her pocket and began walking back to town.

In a way, Loki was growing his own memorial here, marking his own empty grave. Sooner or later she was going to have to find a balance because neither was true, and yet they both were.

By the time she made it to New Asgard’s main hall (where King Valkyrie had asked them to meet her that morning), Thor and Love were already there.

King Val walked into the room wearing a sharp business suit at around the same time Sylvie did. She wasted no time. “Ok, great you’re all here. I’ve got a meeting with the Prime Minister of Finland in about ten minutes — pretty sure he’s a Skrull, so probably got dressed up for nothing — but I’ll make this quick anyway. Thor, you know that planet that pawned off…I mean rewarded you those screaming goats after you ‘Saved’ their temple from those bird people.”

Thor cringed, rubbing the back of his head, “Ah yes, how could I forget.”

He turned to Sylvie to explain, “Don’t believe Korg’s version of that story. I am perfectly aware we ran into a few hiccups during that mission. And I apologised profusely for knocking down their temple. It was a miscalculation, I wasn’t in a good headspace at the time. And I’ve grown very fond of Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder, taking care of them was the least it could do.”

Val listened to Thor with a bemused smirk. That particular tale had become a popular request among New Asgardians, though she knew Thor wished he could forget the whole thing. She felt a bit sorry for him, so she cut him off to give him some good news, “I guess they were more grateful than they let on, because they’d like your help again. Apparently, they need to move a whole herd of those goats through a mountain pass that’s home to a family of dragons.”

Upon hearing this Thor perked up a bit, “And they need the God of Thunder to protect them. Very well, Love and I should have no difficulty. Not now that we have Auntie Sylvie to back us up.”

Sylvie chuckled, “I appreciate the vote of confidence. Can’t say I’ve had much experience with dragon slaying but I’ll try anything once.”

“Great!” Val declared, “I’ll forward the details to your ship. Better get going. The goats are on the move!”

They boarded Thor’s ship not long after leaving Town Hall. Sylvie had changed back into her armour and strapped on her machete, ready for battle. Love was equally prepared, with Thor’s massive axe slung over her tiny shoulder.

“Are we gonna slay a dragon like in the stories?” Love asked Thor with a great deal of excitement.

Thor, who sat in the pilot’s seat scrolling through the details on one of the monitors in front of him, shook his head, “Ah… not so much. It says the dragons are an endangered species, so it’s very important we don’t kill them, or harm them in any way.”

Love let the head of the axe fall off of her shoulder and clank on the metal floor in disappointment. “What are we supposed to do if a dragon tries to eat the goats?”

Thor scrolled down further, “Um… so the dragons don’t actually eat the goats per say. But the young ones do like to lick them.”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow, “So the goats are like catnip for dragons then? I assume this causes problems for the goats?”

Thor shook his head as he looked over the details, “Ah, less problems for the goats and more everyone else. Apparently whatever it is in the goats’ fur that the dragons like, also gives them horrible indigestion… creating a lot of unpleasantness for anyone downwind… or in their flight path,” he took a deep breath, “You see—“

“I think we got it,” Sylvie said, stopping him before he got too far into details of what it was like having dragons instead of seagulls flying over your village, “Screaming goats and gassy dragons. Sounds wonderful.”

Thor chuckled and scrunched up his face, “Doesn’t it though? Anyway, all we need to do is pick the baby dragons up and put them back in their cave if they get too close. Oh and don’t wake the mother.”

“Baby dragons! I bet they're so cute,” Love squealed.

Thor smiled at her affectionately, “Undoubtedly, and only slightly bigger than a large dog, so they shouldn’t give us much difficulty.”

Thor's assessment of the situation was essentially correct. The goats were easy going and surprisingly quiet. Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder were definitely the loudest of the bunch; they screamed periodically from a ledge on the other side of the valley. Thor had left them there to prevent their screams from reaching the sleeping mother dragon, tucked snuggly in her cave on the other side of the valley — they hoped.

The herd of goats was loosely packed, walking slowly down the path in the centre of the valley. At various times about a third of them would stop to munch on a tuft of grass or an interesting looking flower, not at all concerned with the unpleasantness their meandering might cause the villages nearby.

Love insisted on doing most of the work, with Thor and Sylvie ready to lend a hand when the dragons got too numerous for her to handle.

“This is so much fun!” Love giggled. She held a gawky looking dragon that was loudy cooing, not seeming at all bothered to have been picked up by the small child with the strength of a god.

She carried it easily. The dragon's head bobbing as she walked along. Drawing near to the cave, she set the dragon down. “Stay!” She declared, giving the dragon a chastising finger.

It cooed at her once. Licked a long tongue over its snout and turned its attention to the goats again.

For their part the goats seemed completely unthreatened by the presence of the dragons. Continuing their placid grazing with barely a glance at the obsessed creatures.

Thor chuckled, “These dragons are very determined, one wouldn’t think a goat would be that tasty. At least on the outside.”

Sylvie smirked, “Why don’t you try it and see?”

“Ha!” He jovially slapped a hand on her shoulder. “It’s good to have you along, Sylvie. You remind me so much of my brother.”

She rolled her eyes, but let out a small laugh anyway. He wasn’t completely wrong.

Thor smiled in return, then sadly gazed out over the valley.

Sylvie knew what he was thinking about, “You know there are many many versions of Loki out there. Travelling around, I’ve met more than a few.”

“Happy ones I hope?”

She nodded, “Some were — yeah, there were a few.”

And some were. That much was true.

“They can’t replace the ones we’ve lost though, can they?” Thor suggested, as if sensing her thoughts.

“No,” she laughed, “not that I didn’t try a couple times.”

“Ah, good. Then there are a few stories to be told?” Thor winked at her.

She smiled mischievously, “A few. Maybe you’ll get to hear a couple if you crack open a big enough barrel of mead when we get back to New Asgard.”

“In that case, there’s a barrel with your name on it,” Thor huffed out a laugh then sighed, “I only wish I had been a better brother to him. May he rest in Valhalla. Father always told us we were both meant to be kings. If I weren’t so pig headed I might have seen earlier that he was always the right choice to rule.” He nudged Sylvie playfully in the arm with his fist, “If only he had the right encouragement.”

“I don’t know how much I encouraged him. I thought he wanted a throne,” she bowed her head, “I didn’t trust him. I guess I didn’t know how… and then. I could’ve-“

She raised her hands and slapped them down on her knees in frustration, still not having any answers to the questions she had asked herself so many times.

Thor smiled sadly, “Regrets are far too many, second chances far too few. With my brother, I squandered more than my fair share of chances.”

Absent-mindedly picking a wildflower that was growing beside her, Sylvie busied her hands by plunking the leaves and petals off, staining her fingers yellow with pollen. “You’d think the God of Time could have as many chances as he wanted.”

Thor set a large comforting hand on her shoulder. “From what you’ve told me, he gave chances to all.”

“He did,” she said simply, pursing her lips.

Spotting a small dragon slinking through the long grass, Thor called out to Love, “Watch out for that one, it’s sneaking back over.”

“I’ll get it,” Sylvie assured him.

She rose to her feet, and broke into a run through the grass. It didn’t take long for her to close the distance between herself and the misguided creature.

Her hand made contact with the tip of its tail just in time to prevent an unsuspecting goat from getting a tongue bath.

“Gotcha!”

The dragon stopped, eyes glowing bright green with Sylvie’s enchantment. She turned the newly enchanted dragon around and made it walk back the way it came.

“You’re going back to your mother now. And you're gonna tell all your brothers and sisters that goats taste terrible.”

She chuckled and glanced back at the goat, “Right?” she joked, then did a double take.

For an instant — just an instant, but one that seemed to stretch on forever — it appeared as though the goat’s horns had changed. In place of the bone coloured corkscrews she expected, massive black horns swept forth from its brow. Reflecting the bright sun like satin and veined in gold.

Loki’s horns.

Just for an instant.

She stood there, stunned, until the goat approached and nipped at her cape in search of a partially eaten energy bar she’d tucked into an inner pocket. Its horns now matched those of all the other goats — of course it did.

She shook herself out of the daydream — must be seeing things.

She was about to give the goat a pat on the head and send it on its way, but it knocked her to the ground with a quick nudge of its snout and chomped down on her ankle.

“Hey! Stupid goat!” She reached inside her cape for the energy bar and ripped it open. Intending to throw it and get the large animal away from her, she froze as a very clear image entered her mind.

It was as if she were a tear emerging from the corner of an eternal eye. Sliding down over smooth skin, emerald light shone through her. She fell down, sinking into time itself, swirling across countless ages, seeing civilizations rise and fall — seaking, searching, lost.

Sylvie blinked her eyes, coming back to reality. The goat had already consumed the energy bar and was busy thanking her (or apologizing for the nip) by licking her face.

She didn’t have time to ponder the meaning of her vision. She scrambled to the side when she realized the dragon she’d enchanted had slipped out of her hold while she was distracted. It chittered happily as it got in a solid lick of a nearby goat before she caught it by an underdeveloped wing and brought it under her control once more.

“Home now,” she said gently, giving the dragon a pat as she sent it on its way, “I hope it takes more than one lick to give you a tummy ache.”

Suddenly, all the goats turned their heads in unison as a familiar scream echoed through the valley.

“Hwuaaaaaaygh!!”

Toothgnasher galloped headlong through the herd of much more placid goats, with Toothgrinder following close behind.

“Thor!” Sylvie called over, cupping her hands around her mouth. “I thought you were going to leave them over there. They’ll wake up momma with all this screaming.”

Thor called back, “It seems they had other ideas. You needn't worry about the mother though, she’s already awake.”

He groaned as he struggled to push the enormous dragon back into her cave. Her front legs clawed at the ground resisting his efforts and her giant wings flapped in his face. Stretching her neck out as far as it would go, she tried with all her might to get her extended tongue on the nearest goat.

Thor strained against the determined dragon, “You’d think… ungh. You’d have learned your lesson by now… nnngh. What kind of example are you setting… mmmph… for your children.”

“Need help Uncle Thor?” Love asked as she skipped merrily along, bouncing another small dragon in her arms and away from the line of goats.

“I’m fine,” Thor choked out, pushing a clawed front foot out of his face, “just focus on the young ones.”

Unfortunately, with the mother awake all the babies decided it was time to make a run for it, and the trio soon found themselves hopelessly outnumbered.

Love abandoned her playful skipping and started leaping across the field, grabbing dragon after dragon, depositing them at the mouth of the cave, then leaping back for another.

Sylvie guided the dragon she currently had enchanted to the cave and released it as she ran across the field. She had a thing for enchanting large creatures, and now seemed the perfect time to put her skills to good use.

Sylvie placed herself in the path of the mother dragon as she strained against the Thunder God (who was now pushing up a roll of turf as he resisted the dragon’s forward motion).

“Thor! Help Love! I got the big one!”

“What? Ungh, are you sure?”

“Very! Just go!”

“Argh… if you say so.” Thor gave the dragon a good shove then stepped out of its path.

Sylvie was soon staring down the throat of the large beast as it barreled towards her.

The line of ever unhelpful goats, deciding that this was a spectacle worth their attention, had stopped their procession through the valley and stood gawking stupidly at the dragons clambering towards them.

Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder, trying to be useful, roamed amongst the herd. The sight of the dragons proved too interesting, however, and the goats stubbornly refused to get moving despite their screams of encouragement.

The mother dragon bore down on Sylvie. Timing her movements perfectly, Sylvie ducked as the creature ran over her. She raised up a hand to let her fingers graze its scaly belly and entered its mind.

The dragon was centuries old, but not very bright. It wasn’t difficult to find a memory to grab hold of and stop the large beast in her tracks. That was the easy part; simply putting the dragon back in her cave wasn’t going to be very helpful.

However, if she could convince her that she and her family would all be better off leaving the goats alone, she just might solve this problem once and for all.

She sifted through the dragon’s memories until she found one that just might do the trick. The dragon had a long history of goat licking and whole generations of villagers had suffered from the resulting gastric distress. Sylvie hoped if she could bring that memory to the forefront, then make sure the dragon remembered exactly what caused it, the dragon would teach her little ones to stay away.

Teasing out that one memory from the dragon’s mind, she let it play out again and again as she combined it with the memory of the goats to strengthen the negative association. Then she simply released it and hoped for the best.

As the green light left its eyes the dragon snorted, shook its head. She stumbled one way then the other, almost falling on her side, then she stuck her head straight up in the air, took a good look at the line of goats and chirped out a peculiar call that echoed through the valley.

The little ones let out various chirps and howls of disappointment, but they obeyed for the most part.

“Look Uncle Thor, the babies are all going home,” Love remarked.

Thor pointed to a dragon still closing in on the goats. “Except that one! Get it Love. Always one trouble maker in every bunch.”

Sylvie chuckled internally at the affection in Thor’s voice, very obviously being reminded of his brother. His relationship with Loki was complicated, she knew. She didn’t remember her own brother that much. She surely hadn’t had enough time to cause him as much trouble, but she hoped she’d earned his affection at the very least.

The dragon was quick but Love was quicker. She grabbed the mischief maker by the tail and carried it back home.

The little scamp would likely try again, but how dull would life be without a bit of chaos now and then. 

Their mission complete, they were thanked by a grateful governor who offered to replace their very loud goats with two quiet ones. Thor declined, having grown far too fond of the spirited pair. They were far more suited to his adventuring lifestyle anyway.

Sylvie helped settle Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder back on their ship. She grabbed a handful of dried corn and held it under Toothgrinder’s snout.

As the goat licked the corn from her hand, she squeezed her eyes shut. Feeling like someone had thrown cold water in her face, the vision of Loki’s lonely tear returned. Stomach churning as it spun her through vortices of light, dripping down through ages, forsaking the awe of celestial faces, seeking, searching, coming to rest — home.

She had to grab hold of the goats neck to prevent herself from falling to the floor as her balance was thrown off. Toothgrinder snorted as it took her weight.

She stumbled to the cabin, visibly shaken.

“Are you alright, Auntie Sylvie?” Love asked, concerned, as Sylvie buckled herself into her seat.

“Yeah, must be a bit of space sickness or something.” Sylvie said, trying to reassure her.

Thor narrowed his eyes, grabbing a glass of water from a side compartment and handing it to Sylvie. “You must have quite the case, considering we’re still on the ground.”

Sylvie took a sip and cleared her throat. “Must be,” she said with a sad upturn of her lips.

Thor knew there was more to her unease than a preemptive case of motion sickness, but didn’t press her.

“Alright, I’ll try not to hit too many bumps on the flight home. Buckle up Love, off we go.”

As they lifted off, Sylvie rested her head back until the sick feeling settle down and all that remained was a light buzzing sensation on her skin, and a quiet ringing in her ears. 

Under the sounds of the engines and the screams of the goats, her mind tricked her again. The static in her ears became a pattern, became a word, became a voice — Sylvie — repeated like a soft beat on a drum.

Not willing to examine it too closely for the moment she just let it guide her into a restful sleep. If it was a lie then it was a pleasant one, she’d had enough of unhappy truths. 

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first time Sylvie had travelled in space. From time to time she had stowed away on one doomed ship or another: trapped in the gravity well of a black hole, or about to be caught in the shock wave of a supernova, or swallowed by a giant space whale.

But she was usually stuck in a cargo hold, or spent the whole time trying to steal rations from the galley while the crew ran around in a panic.

Travelling on Thor’s ship, she was able to relax and see the sights, taking in the incredible vastness of space.

The stars streaked by her window — tiny pin holes of light that had turned to white daggers before her eyes as they had accelerated into the blackness. That Loki was holding all of this (and more) between his delicate fingers still barely seemed real.

After they arrived in New Asgard they spent the evening gathered round a bonfire. Korg regaled those assembled with tales of past heroism, occasionally inviting the three of them to add in some of the events of their last mission.

Sylvie sat on the ground with a very tired Love curled up in her lap. On a log to her right, Val and Carol sat side by side, and to her left Thor was attempting to get comfortable in a reclining lawn chair he’d brought with him. Others sat beyond them, circling the fire in the chill of the evening.

A burst of sparks rose up through the air as Korg threw a fresh log on the fire, ending his second tale of the night. He sat down with a bow to a round of applause.

With a final hard clap, King Val called over to Sylvie, “Korg tells a Hel of a story, just don’t count on half of it being true. Keep that in mind when yours gets added into the mix.”

Korg responded jovially from the other side of the fire, “Not to worry, any embellishment is purely for entertainment purposes.”

Thor deadpanned in agreement, “You’ve certainly not spared anyone’s pride thus far.” He grumbled, adjusting the squeaky aluminum chair he sat on as it rocked side to side on the uneven ground. The cheap piece of furniture was strained to its limits holding the massive god aloft.

“Wouldn’t want to leave out any of the important bits,” Korg responded with a pleased chuckle.

“Or the embarrassing ones,” Val quipped. She plucked a large marshmallow out of the open bag beside her and lobbed it over the fire to Korg, who caught it easily and skewered it with a sharpened stick he’d picked up off the ground.

“Those are usually the most entertaining,” Carol said with a wry grin. She blew the flame off of the marshmallow she’d been roasting and nudged Val in the arm. “Are you not even going to try this?”

Val gave her a look, “I am very much questioning your cooking skills right now,” she replied.

“Trust me,” Carol assured her. She tentatively pinched the crispy exterior, testing the temperature, then pulled the charred skin off the gooey inside.

“I’ve heard that before,” Val said, eyeing the blackened husk.

Carol wasn’t deterred. She held the overcooked confection up to Val’s face. “It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

Val gave in with a shrug. Opening her mouth, she let Carol place the sticky burnt marshmallow on her tongue. Then, as she withdrew her fingers, Carol lightly brushed them over Val’s lips. “See, not bad, right?” Carol grinned.

With a glint in her eye, Val licked her lips clean, “When you put it like that, who am I to argue?”

Sylvie smiled over at the two of them. Except for a stolen moment in the void, she and Loki had never had the chance to just sit together and be. If she ever had the opportunity to find love again she knew she planned to make it a priority.

Speaking of Love, Sylvie realized the girl had fallen asleep in her lap (which was surprising considering all the muttering and squeaking Thor was doing). She moved Love into a less awkward position and wondered why Thor didn’t just sit on the ground if the chair was so uncomfortable.

He finally adjusted the chair to his liking, breathed out a pleased sigh, then cracked open a can of beer — that promptly foamed half of its contents all over his hand.
“You know Loki always told a good story,” he mused wistfully as he shook the beer foam off into the patchy grass beside him.

Sylvie brushed some hair away from Love’s face, before looking over. Thor always seemed to have Loki’s name on the tip of his tongue. And he had a knack for bringing him up whenever Loki drifted into her thoughts, almost as if he had read her mind.

If she had wanted to forget she’d certainly come to the wrong place.

“Yeah… I can imagine,” she replied as lightly as possible, “he did love to hear the sound of his own voice.” She tried not to think about the last time she’d heard that voice.

“That he did,” Thor chuckled, taking a short sip from his can, “he hated bonfires though. Anytime we had a bonfire on Asgard the smoke would follow him around. He’d get up and move — cursing the Norns — and the smoke would move in his direction again. Ah… good times.”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at the sly look on Thor’s face, “Of course you didn’t have anything to do with that did you?”

Thor laughed out loud. Then leaned over and held up his hand, creating a tiny electrical charge on the tips of his fingers to produce a small burst of air. “I had to shift the smoke away from me, didn’t I? Could I help it if he always chose to sit in the wrong location?”

“It sounds like he learned some of his tricks from his older brother,” Sylvie suggested with a smirk.

“Ah, I can’t deny I taught him a few things,” Thor grinned. Then leaned back his chair, choking back a swell of emotion, “I certainly learned a lot from him.”

Sylvie was working on a suitable response when she felt a small tickle (as if a bug had landed in her ear). She swatted at it, trying not to jostle Love too much, but whatever it was, it wasn’t deterred by the swish of her hand. For a split second she thought she almost caught it out of the corner of her eye. A blur beside her face, the shape of a moth lit by the flame but with the persistent buzzing of an angry bee.

She flailed her arm out wider, trying to shoo the bizarre insect away.

She was certain she would hit it (she had excellent aim), but her hand passed right through as though it wasn’t even there; instead, her hand made contact with one of the aluminum legs of Thor’s lawn chair. This was the proverbial straw that broke the discount patio-chair’s back, and the legs gave out under Thor’s godly weight. He crashed to the ground in a pile of twisted metal and plastic.

“Havin’ furniture difficulties over there?” Korg quipped.

Thor blew the hair out of his face, “No, it’s nicer down here anyway.”

“Sorry about that,” Sylvie apologized, shaking away a sting of pain in her hand from when it had made contact with the chair, “I thought I saw… something. Must be seeing things.”

Thor picked himself out of what was left of his lawn chair, kicked it to the side, and settled in on the ground beside her. “You needn’t worry about your eyesight,” he declared, “now that I’ve openly admitted to being the cause of his bonfire misery — if Loki has any kind of power over these timelines and any whiff of him remains — he’ll find a way to get back at me for that.”

Sylvie huffed out a short laugh, which seemed like the proper response to Thor’s suggestion except that he had stated it without a trace of levity.

He smiled at her knowingly and turned his gaze back to the fire.

Sylvie marvelled at how Thor saw his brother so easily and everywhere — he’d come to that conclusion without a second thought.

Her experiences could just be a hopeful trick of her mind, but Loki’s life force was sunk into everything now. She shouldn’t discount the possibility he could be communicating with them in some way just because finding out he wasn’t would be too painful. Or that even if he was, she still had no idea what it meant or how to feel about it.

She closed her eyes for a few minutes as they, and the others around the fire, settled into a peaceful silence, listening to the crackles and popping of burning wood.

One of the Asgardians seated on the far side brought out a flute and began to play a quiet melody. It drifted through the night air with tales of victorious battles, devastating loss and the hope of new birth seeming to hang from every haunting note.

Carol slid to the ground. Resting her back against the log, she stretched her feet towards the fire to warm her toes. Then, enchanted by the tune, Val followed her, sitting down on the ground beside her.

The song slowed to sadness and their hands entwined, seeking comfort as the memories of their lost loves seemed to dance in the flame.

As song lifted joy into the air, they shared a lingering kiss, their action mirrored in a few of the other couples scattered around the fire.

By the time the song came to an end, there wasn’t an eye bereft of tears or a heart ungrateful for the new chance they’d all been given in their new home.

Even Sylvie, closed off as she was, allowed a tear to slip past her defences; it wouldn’t be noticed in the dark, and she was in the company of so many that would seem to understand.

As the evening drew on and the music picked up, Thor took Love into his arms. He and Sylvie walked back to their house in the moonlight, Love happily resting her chin on Thor's massive shoulder, not even cracking open an eye.

They walked mostly in silence, primarily to avoid waking up the sleeping Love. But they were also still hanging in a bubble of melancholy peace that neither wanted to break too soon.

Sylvie was amazed at how much she’d come to feel at home with them in such a short amount of time — like she’d found the family she’d never thought she’d have, even if it had only been a few weeks. She was used to dealing with things alone — and she wasn’t discounting the fact that she could be completely out of her gourd — but she felt the need to talk to someone about what she was seeing. Thor seemed like he might be all too willing to dive into the deep end with her (maybe a little too eager), but she’d never experienced anything like this before, and she really didn’t want to deal with it alone anymore.

She just hoped she didn’t end up hurting him in the process.

The next day, Sylvie took a walk with Thor to Loki’s memorial site after dropping Love off at school.

She had intended to show Thor the sapling and explain the bizarre events she’d experienced after she’d buried a lock of Loki’s hair (and then hope he didn’t laugh her right out of New Asgard).

But as soon as they got close enough to see across the field (and before she got a chance to explain anything), Sylvie realized something was different. The empty field was no longer quite so empty. The tiny sapling was gone and a large ash tree, at least thirty feet tall, stood in its place.

“What the Hel!,” she exclaimed, rushing a few paces ahead.

Thor quickly looked around, “What?,” he said, slightly alarmed, “Is there a bee or something?” He swatted at the air just to be on the safe side.

She turned back in disbelief, “No, that.” She said, pointing to the object of her consternation. “The tree! Look at it! It’s huge!”

Thor gave her a polite side eye and scratched his chin, “Hmm, yes, Love and I have spent many a pleasant afternoon relaxing underneath its branches. I’d hardly call it huge though. More of a medium size tree, I’d say.”

Sylvie ran her hand down her face, “Thor, that tree wasn’t there last week,” she reconsidered, “I mean it was, but it was small… really small.”

Thor led her closer, trying to reassure her that he didn’t see anything unusual, “Surely not, it’s been that size ever since New Asgard was here — which wasn’t all that long in fairness — but I doubt it’s grown much in that time. It’s a bit hard to miss, growing out here all by itself.”

Sylvie blinked in confusion as she tried to make sense of what Thor was telling her. So far her attempt to reassure herself that she wasn’t in fact seeing things, wasn’t going very well, but she followed along behind him anyway.

They walked close enough to stand in the shade of the tree’s branches. Thor gestured up and down the trunk, “See, just a regular size tree with a nice bit of shade. Now, you said there was something you wanted to talk about?”

She took a deep breath. “Listen, this gonna sound str-“ she cut herself off as she nearly repeated a phrase tied to some very unpleasant memories. Memories of Loki’s arrival at the restaurant she had worked at. Memories of his senseless rambling. Memories of agreeing all too quickly with his suggestion that she wouldn’t want to see him.

She waved her hand in front of her face to distract him from the crack of sorrow in her voice, “Ah… I mean, weird but… I planted… no, I buried a lock of Loki’s hair, right here.”

“In front of the tree?” Thor suggested.

Sylvie shook her head, “No, not in front. Right where the tree is now. Under it… but before the tree was there.” She said, wincing at her muddled explanation. She was surprised by how flustered she was getting.

Thor looked at her quizzically trying to piece together what she was getting at, “Ah… oh yes! That is a lovely sentiment. One advantage of being able to time travel I suppose. So you went back in time before the tree was here?”

“Uh… not exactly,” she replied, then turned to look Thor in the eyes. Might as well just lay all her cards down, what’s the worst that could happen. “Ok look, I planted Loki’s hair and a tree grew, is basically what I’m trying to say.”

Thor stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Now I’m no expert in sylvan matters, but I’d just like to point out that normally trees tend to grow from seeds — not hair.”

Sylvie gave him a slight sigh of exasperation, though she supposed his reaction could have been worse, “Yeah, I’m aware of that Thor, thanks.”

He chuckled, “Just trying to make light of a confounding situation. Even so it’s not the strangest thing I’ve encountered in my days,” he said, shielding his eyes from a ray of morning sunlight that snuck through the thick crown of leaves.

She rubbed the side of her neck, relieved that Thor wasn’t questioning her sanity. “Me neither now that I think about it. The strangest part for me is why are our memories of the tree different? The first time you brought me to this field it was empty. Tell me how that makes sense?”

Thor threw his hands up with a confidence she wished she could find somewhere within herself. “It makes perfect sense; you planted Loki’s hair here, then this must be Loki’s tree. Of course it’s going to be as mischievous as he is.”

Thor moved to escape the bright ray of sunshine that had landed uncomfortably in his eyes. He wasn’t successful, however, as the rising sun shortly hit the leaves at a new angle and he was blinded once again.

“As you can see,” he remarked, turning his back to the sun.

Sylvie hadn’t noticed Thor’s sunshine difficulties, she was busy rolling the word — is — silently around on her tongue.

“Did I say something wrong?” Thor asked.

Sylvie blinked out of her daydream, “No, it’s just…”

Closing her eyes just then, as if by instinct, a breeze rustled the leaves above them. She felt a large hand on her arm, steadying the sway of her body as she lost her balance for a second. Behind her eyelids, a flurry of phantom images flickered like ghostly fireflies, beckoning her nearer to the tree.

She remembered shaking off Thor’s hand, she didn’t remember moving her feet, but she found herself leaning against the tree-trunk, palm splayed flat against the smooth bark.

“Sylvie?”

Thor's voice came from behind, the sound muffled, almost as if she were underwater. She sensed rather than saw the world around her waver, shimmer like heat waves off of hot pavement. The flickering behind her eyelids grew ever more chaotic, like thousands of flying insects bouncing against the glass of her soul, flowing down her arm — wanting out.

And again there was the image of teardrops falling through time, wearing away at the soul of the crier, drop by drop, like eons of flowing water forming patterns in soft rock.

Suddenly, a dagger-like pain shot through her hand. The flurry of images seemed to pass out of her and into the tree, and for a moment it felt as though the branches above her inhaled a deep living breath through thousands of shivering leaves.

Then the sharp sound of splitting wood cracked loudly through the air.

The tree vibrated under her hand, as if it were made of metal and a giant had struck it like a gong. It sent tingles up her arm, and every hair stood up on the back of her neck.

She stood there panting as the air calmed around her, her mind seemingly frozen.

After a few seconds more she opened her eyes and tried to comprehend what had just happened.

Where her hand had rested on the tree, there was now a gash about a foot long, the bark peeling away from the edges. The fresh wood beneath was wet with sap. It beaded up from the newly exposed surface, feeling tacky under her fingertips.

She looked up and saw that a large flock of tiny birds had somehow landed among the branches unnoticed. Strangely, they hadn’t been disturbed by the commotion a few seconds before. Not the motion nor the loud sound.

Clapping her hands sharply, they scattered in all directions, as if suddenly remembering their instincts.

“Sylvie, are you alright?” A familiar voice called from behind.

She turned her head.

Thor stood solidly behind her, hands resting on her shoulders, though she hadn’t noticed before, she was so spellbound by the tree.

“Mmm,” she groaned, pressing her hand firmly into her forehead, trying to rub away the disorientation, “I think so.” She placed one of her hands on his to steady herself.

“It appears you’ve had a bit of a dizzy spell. Perhaps we should get you something to eat?” Thor suggested, concerned enough to leave his hands on her shoulders until she turned to look at him incredulously, slipping out of his grasp.

“It was more than a dizzy spell. Didn’t you see what happened?”

Thor narrowed his eyes, straightening his back as he regarded her carefully, “I think so. You appeared to lose your balance. I tried to help you but you shook me off and stumbled towards the tree. Then you placed your hand on this peculiar wound in the trunk, seeming distressed about something. Then I asked if you were alright. What did you experience?”

She swallowed, still feeling shaken, “I- ah, there were all these images, behind my eyes like a swarm. They wanted into the tree, like it’s their home or something. Then the bark split, right where my hand was. The noise it made was echoing everywhere. You didn’t hear that?”

Thor shook her head, “I’m afraid not. I heard you clap to scare that flock of birds away, but nothing before that.”

She realized something just then, “Wait, you said this, um… wound in the tree, was already here?”

“Yes, I’ve never really seen anything like it. One of the reasons I remember this tree so well. Usually trees will heal themselves over or start to weather and rot with a gash like that. This one stays fresh as the day it was split open.”

Sylvie tentatively touched her finger to the bare wood again, lifting a bead of sticky sap on to her finger. She tested it between her finger and thumb, real as anything. “How can you remember something that hadn’t happened yet?” She half asked Thor, half asked the universe (maybe even the god who was holding it aloft).

Thor scratched the back of his head, “I would think you’d have more insight into the mysteries of time than I do. Perhaps some of your TVA friends would know more?”

Sylvie was grateful that Thor wasn’t leaping to the conclusion she was simply seeing things — though maybe in a way that would be easier to deal with.

She shrugged, “They were really Loki’s friends, but maybe.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling well though?” Thor asked, placing a hand on her upper arm and looking her over, making sure she was steady on her feet and not showing any sign of ill health.

She smiled at his concern, “Yes, I’m alright. Thank you.”

Thor took his hand from her arm to cross his own. “Good — you know, sometimes it’s best just to take these kinds of things in stride. The answers will present themselves eventually, or not. Until then I know what my instincts tell me. I’ve lost my brother so many times and he always finds a way to come back. I can’t count him out now when this great giant sign is standing before us, playing the same mischievous games he always did.”

Sylvie sighed internally, Thor was consistent, she’d give him that. But then he hadn’t seen what she had at the end of time.

She slumped down to the ground, leaning her back against the trunk, “I wish I could believe that, Thor, I really do. But I've been in Loki’s head. He can’t play these games, not consciously; his mind doesn’t work that way anymore. He doesn’t know us the way he used to. What’s left of him is like… “ she stammered as she fought to express what she’d seen in Loki’s mind, and the visions in her head, “a-a force of nature or something. A literal part of the multiverse.”

Thor crouched down beside her and smiled patiently, “Well if it’s all the same to you, I suppose I’ll have to believe it for the both of us.” He added with a touch of mirth, “I even had to add a question mark to the tattoo of Loki’s name on my back. And that’s not coming off so I’m stuck with the hope, however small it may be.”

Sylvie wiped the tears that she had failed to contain out of her eyes. “Ok, fair enough. And yeah, thanks. I guess I’m just so used to being able to move on. When I finally had someone I… um, connected with. And then lost them almost immediately. Ah…what I’m trying to say is, I didn’t know how to love someone before, and I really don’t know how to do whatever the Hel this is.”

“Understandable. My brother has always been difficult to love. But when he does love you, he lets you know it, usually to his own detriment. He’s always needed someone to knock some sense into him.” An impish twinkle appeared in his eyes, “Let me give him a reminder to behave himself.”

Thor stood abruptly and called loudly up to the heavens, hands cupped over his mouth, “Loki! Stop playing these games — you're upsetting your wife!”

Sylvie couldn’t help laughing in spite of herself. “Thor!” She chided, as her cheeks took on a rosy glow.

He beamed down at her, “Ah see, you blush as if he might have heard me,” he said slyly.

She wrinkled her nose at his teasing, “Ok, maybe you got me — just a teensy bit.”

Thor chuckled and crouched down again, his face turning wistful. “Do you see this?” He said, lifting a thin braid up from his hair so she could see it clearly, dark strands woven into the gold. “I cut this lock of hair from Loki’s head when I lost him to the Dark Elves… which was not long after he fell into a black hole… as well as several incidents when we were younger — he’s always had a flair for the dramatic.” He clasped his hand together, resting his elbows on his knees. “Anyway — this time, I truly thought he was gone, so I made sure to carry it with me wherever I went. Turns out I was mistaken. Again. He had actually deposed our Father in my absence and was secretly ruling Asgard in his stead.”

He turned his head away,, “But then Thanos…” He paused as his voice failed him, looking off into the distance, trying to hide the tears that welled up all too readily at the thought of the last time he’d seen his brother alive.

Sylvie felt a knot form in her stomach. She’d only known Loki for a brief time. Thor had been with him almost his entire life, it was hard to imagine that loss. “Thor, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s alright. It’s just… like I said, I’ve lost him too many times. I have to believe in the possibility that he’ll show up again one day. For my own sanity if nothing else.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, but she reached out, took his large hand and squeezed it.

Thor smiled at the offered comfort. He’d been around her long enough now to know such things weren’t easy for her. He squeezed her hand back in thanks and then settled down on the ground, reclining on one elbow.

“So, what now?” Sylvie asked.

Thor patted his stomach with the hand he had draped across it. “Well, if we’re not needed here for the moment, I could use some breakfast. I’m famished.”

Sylvie raised her eyebrows in disbelief, “You’ve got to be kidding. You just had five eggs, three sausages and a whole litre of orange juice.”

“You must be thinking of yesterday?” He questioned. “This morning we woke late and had to rush Love to school, remember? We skipped breakfast.”

She put her hand to her mouth, her stomach still felt a bit over full from the amount of food Thor had piled onto her plate. There was no way she’d skipped breakfast. “I distinctly remember eating this morning.” She stood up, and scanned the horizon looking for more differences but unhelpfully, nothing stood out. “Things are changing. It’s not just this tree. Just after that loud sound, there was a massive flock of birds that just… appeared out of thin air.”

Thor stood up and brushed a couple sticks away that had clung onto his clothes, “Not to doubt you, but I very clearly remember that large flock of birds landing in the branches above us only moments ago.”

Dropping her shoulders, she sighed, “What does any of this mean?”

Thor replied softly, “I don’t know but you have us to help you now. And perhaps you’ll find more friends at the TVA than you think.”

She pursed her lips and gave a couple tentative nods in agreement, grateful (and a bit overwhelmed) to have his support. “Maybe you're right. I guess it can’t really hurt to ask.”

Thor patted her on the shoulder and gave her a nod of approval before breaking into a comforting story of friendship (and difficult brothers). 

She leaned against the tree, listening. 

After a moment, she realized her mistake; her shirt had caught the edge of the sticky exposed wood.

She pulled away, refocusing on Thor as she picked at the tacky residue left behind. It wasn't the best place to relax if she didn't want to ruin her clothes.

Despite this (before she realized what she was doing), she had her hand pressed back against the trunk, absentmindedly stroking the bark with her thumb (landing away from the section oozing sap this time).

She tried not to think too closely about why she did it, or how oddly comforting it was, or why it even needed any serious thought at all as Thor wound down his tale, "So you see, if you and my brother are anything alike, you just might find you have more friends than you think you do," he encouraged, coming to the point of his story.

Admittedly, she had only been partially listing, but she appreciated the effort. Though she still wasn’t sure about asking the TVA for help — she didn’t even like to think about that place.

But Loki’s closest friend had also called her his favourite at one point. Maybe it was time to see what he was up to.

Sadly, she’d also have to deliver the bad news.

Chapter Text

Mobius M. Mobius, Analyst, variant, father of two boys, Loki expert. I guess it was inevitable I’d wind up here.

“That’s it, let it out, you’ve been through a lot.” Mobius rubbed the back of a scruffy bearded Loki variant who was bent over sobbing into his hands.

The couch they were seated on was well worn brown leather, one of the best the void could offer. All the Lokis had taken to competing with each other to see who could find him the best stuff and win the coveted title of Mobius’ favourite.

In reality, he told every one of them they were his favourite, but since they all believed the others were lying, he got away with it very nicely.

Some of the things they brought him he’d used to make a comfortable little room for himself and some to set up an office in a side passage they’d dug off from the main room of the bowling alley bunker.

He wasn’t a psychologist by trade, but Lokis were his specialty and he’d helped one Loki change his spots; it couldn’t hurt to help a few more reach their full potential.

The bearded Loki left with a grateful bear hug a few minutes later and Mobius flopped down on the couch just in time for a familiar orange door to appear a few feet away.

When Mobius saw who stepped through, he leapt to his feet, “Sylvie!” He exclaimed, “didn’t expect to see you here!”

Sylvie regarded Mobius’ outstretched arms with the lingering uncertainty of one who was used to keeping her emotions on a short leash. But she relented after a second, bringing him in for a hug. “I really didn’t expect to find you here either.”

Mobius smiled, “Well, I’m glad you came.”

“I take it you don’t get many visitors these days?” Sylvie asked.

“Actually I do, it’s just that most of them are Lokis, you know how it is.”

“Of all the places you could choose…“ she said, with a dubious glance around the room.

Mobius chuckled, “Why here? Yeah, I know, not the nicest spot to retire. Well I travelled around a bit, checked in on my kids, and their kids, in a few different timelines. Never found a place I fit in though. I guess I just know too much. And with Loki gone…”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t mean gone. I just meant—“

He stopped as Sylvie placed a hand on his arm. He saw her pursed lips and it was enough for him to tense up; something was wrong.

She nodded sadly at Mobius’ unspoken assumption. “No Mobius, you’re right,” her voice caught in her throat, “he’s… gone. The Loki we knew isn’t there anymore.”

That was the plain truth of it. The tree was a perplexing riddle she didn’t understand. What it was or what it would become (if anything) was a complete mystery wrapped up in the remains of Loki’s life force somehow. It was far from a substitute for the place Loki had taken in their lives.

Mobius’ face twisted in confusion, “What do you mean he’s not there? He’s keeping everything from turning into spaghetti. The timelines are fine.”

Sylvie sighed, rubbing her forehead, “His body is there, his magic is there, whatever it is that’s pouring life into the multiverse is there, but… it’s not him anymore. His memories, his individuality, his consciousness, what made him him, is gone.”

Mobius stammered and turned away, feeling like bargaining with the universe, “But… we were gonna get him out… the TVA… we were gonna find a solution.” He held his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling, “Dammit! What was I doing messin’ around here! I should have been out there finding a better way.” He flopped down on the couch again, dropping his face into his hands, like the Loki variant a few minutes before.

“I know,” Sylvie said quietly, now second guessing her decision to come here, “did you happen to have any thoughts on how to do that?”

After a minute of tearful silence Mobius sniffed, “No, I guess not.”

“Me neither,” she said, sitting down beside him. She understood all too well the helplessness and guilt he was experiencing now.

They spent a good hour sharing their grief, reminiscing about their time together. Sylvie told him all about her new life in New Asgard, and then warily about the mystery of Loki’s tree.

As with Thor, she was hesitant to play with Mobius’ emotions. She’d just showed up and told him his friend was basically dead, only to immediately dump her own (quite possibly delusional) hope right in his lap.

But Mobius didn’t need to be told twice, he took it and ran with it. He jumped up, “Ha! I knew it! Lokis survive.”

“Mobius, I don’t know what any of this means yet. It could just be my mind playing tricks on me,” she said, trying to dampen his enthusiasm.

Mobius made it clear he didn’t share her reservations, he grinned from ear to ear, “Come on! Think about it. We all got pruned together. You two survived a giant cloud monster. Loki learned to control time and hold the entire multiverse for you. You don’t think he’d find some way to stick around?”

“Wait, Mobius, I really didn’t mean to get your hopes up this much, I really don’t know what any of this means.”

Unable to contain his excitement, Mobius started pacing the room, “Well, that’s why you came to see me right? So it’s our turn to help him. I’m an Analyst, I figure stuff out. We just need to look at all the clues and find out what Loki’s tryin’ to tell us.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, “Maybe.” She just hoped he wouldn’t hate her too much if reality hit them both in the face.

Mobius walked towards the door and motioned for her to follow. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the gang. It’s almost lunch time and the alligator makes a mean void-turkey sandwich.”

They walked out into a short hallway that had been supported with old metal road signs, and were stopped by the youngest looking Loki variant she’d met in the void, even if he had probably been there the longest and was more or less the generally accepted ruler on account of him having killed Thor (and having some uncommon good sense) — not that his throne wasn’t constantly being contested by one faction or another. When Kid Loki saw Sylvie, his eyes grew wide. He gave her a nod of respect, before gravely turning to Mobius urgently, “The other faction is waiting outside for the weekly truce.”

Mobius nodded, “Alright, let me greet them alone this time. We don’t need the weekly brawl getting kicked off right away.”

The Alligator at the Kid’s feet growled. He translated for Mobius, “He says he’ll be nearby if you need backup. And so will I,” he said crossing his arms, “those Lokis can’t be trusted.”

Mobius shrugged off their concerns, “Yeah, but we’re workin’ on it. I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

Moibius quickly introduced Sylvie to the Lokis hanging around in the former bowling alley as they passed through. Apparently they’d been told the story of her and Loki’s exploits many times and she received a round of applause that made her blush a bit. It was a lot more attention than she was used to.

One Loki in particular caught her eye since he was the spitting image of her Loki. He was introduced to her (with a hint of sarcasm) as President Loki. He gave her a hauty nod but paid her no special attention.

They then proceeded to the ramp that led outside. Sylvie and Kid Loki stayed at the bottom, while Mobius climbed the ladder.

Mobius turned the hand-wheel above his head and attempted to push open the heavy hatch. It had been his idea to meet their visitors alone but he hadn’t considered that this bunker had been built by Lokis, and since they were usually some variety of Giant or Asgardian or such, they didn’t consider whether their doorway would be easily accessible for a human middle-aged analyst.

Fortunately, upon seeing the hatch unlocked and the few times it cracked open an inch or so, only for it to fall closed again, he received help from above and found himself looking up at the grinning face of a certain overly boastful Loki.

Mobius smiled warmly, “Thanks for the help! Nearly broke my arm opening that hatch,” he exaggerated.

“Mobius!” Boastful greeted him with equal warmth, “Do these wretched Lokis have you doing all their dirty work for them?”

Mobius gestured dismissively, “Ha, no, this was my own stupid idea. Don’t worry though, plenty more where that came from.”

“Ah, I shall have to lend you some of my ideas — all brilliant, I assure you.” Boastful responded — boastfully of course.

Mobius waved him in and climbed down the ladder, “I’d appreciate that. We need all the help we can get in the void.”

Boastful climbed down after him, “Do you really think this alliance is a good idea? The last one only lasted fifteen minutes.”

“Lokis don’t need to be fighting each other, we’ve got a much bigger problem out there called Alioth. Just give it another shot,” Mobius told him.

Boastful grinned, “For you Mobius, anything. If only the other Lokis appreciated you like I do.”

“It’d certainly make things a lot easier,” he agreed with a chuckle.

Boastful gave a wary nod to the growling alligator as assorted Lokis from his faction descended the ladder behind him.

Kid Loki called out from the bottom of the ramp, warning everyone to be on their best behaviour, “Loki truce starts now! Make room!” This prompted a lot of muttering and shifting, and no shortage of dirty looks.

One Loki didn’t budge. The would-be president sat on a slightly tattered loveseat (which nicely matched his slightly tattered suit jacket). He still wore the ‘Vote Loki’ button he’d been pruned with — perhaps in the hope that it would win him the dilapidated throne by the far wall one day (now that his presidential hopes had been squashed), but it hadn’t helped so far.

Arms crossed with his missing hand hid in an armpit and long legs splayed wide to take up as much of the loveseat as possible, he glowered at the newcomers from his humble perch; he’d claimed a prime spot and wasn’t about to share without a fight.

A few of Boastful’s lackeys glanced at him and slunk by to find a seat elsewhere. Boastful himself, however, did not. “Care to make room?” He asked politely, though with an intentional dash of smug.

“I don’t care to, no,” President Loki replied, returning the dash of smug with a whole heap of it.

“We’re supposed to be trying to get along, “Boastful reminded him through clenched teeth.

The President shrugged, “You can get along somewhere else, I won’t stop you.”

The back and forth continued for a bit longer than was comfortable and things in the room started to get tense.

Kid Loki sighed over at Mobius, “Maybe I can offer Boastful the throne to sit on as a courtesy. Temporarily of course.”

Mobius shook his head, “Naw, don’t want to open that can of worms. Besides, I think there’s something else going on here. Let me try something.”

Mobius walked behind the contested loveseat and leaned down to whisper into President Loki’s ear. Sylvie watched the familiar face grow uncertain, then momentarily flash with a softness she had once seen in her Loki’s eyes, before he set his jaw again.

He glared at Boastful with a mountain of contempt, but slid over anyway, gesturing at the empty space, “In the interest of fostering good will — and to make Mobius happy — I’ll allow it.”

Boastful folded his arms petulantly, “Maybe I don’t want it now.”

Mobius motioned for Boastful to cut it out. He quickly got the hint and sheepishly squeezed in beside his chastised counterpart. They jostled and elbowed each other in annoyance until they had both claimed enough of the seat and settled down.

Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief.

Since the other Lokis were slightly more agreeable than their quarreling leaders, the rest managed to find a space for themselves without too many squabbles, allowing Mobius to sit down on a crate next to Sylvie. At this point, the Kid signalled time for lunch, and they all began the important work of filling their faces.

After taking a bite of a tasty looking sandwich (given to her by a Loki with handlebars for horns), she leaned over to Mobius and subtly directed his attention to the President with a tilt of her head, “What did you say to him?” She asked.

Mobius tapped his nose and muttered, “I just told him that if you play too hard-to-get, you'll never get caught.”

Sylvie stifled a laugh at the variants’ adolescent behaviour. She almost wished Mobius had given her that advice while there was still time, though there wasn’t much point in thinking about that now.

Just then a smoky portal opened up in the middle of the room, drawing everyone’s attention. Through it stepped the last Loki Sylvie had ever expected to see again. The horns he wore on his head were slightly singed and his garishly yellow cape looked a bit worse for wear, but it was him — the powerful elder sorcerer who had conjured a life sized illusion of Asgard to distract Alioth and (seemingly) die in the process.

He walked across the room to a beanbag chair near Sylvie and Mobius that had seen better days and flopped down on it without fanfare.

Sylvie was shocked (though in hindsight she really shouldn’t have been), “It’s you! How in the hel did you survive!”

“Sylvie?” He exclaimed with a wide grin, “I could say the same about you, but Lokis survive after all,” he said with a chuckle. “Mobius has told us all about your exploits at the end of time — truly astonishing. My story is far less interesting and I’m sure no one here wants to hear it again.” He waved his hand dismissively.

There was a low mutter of agreement from all the Lokis in the room.

Sylvie (much to everyone’s dismay) tentatively raised her hand, “I wouldn’t mind hearing it, you saved my life after all.”

Mobius leaned over to her and cautioned, “You really don’t want to go there.”

The elder nodded thoughtfully (ignoring the naysayers), “Well, if you insist.” He slapped his hands down on his knees and popped out of his chair.

“Here we go again,” Mobius cringed under his breath.

The elder stood up proudly. Chin lifted, he began a dramatic retelling of his harrowing (and unnecessarily off putting) tale of survival against all odds.

“As I stared into the glowing maw of the great billowing beast, I made peace with my — perhaps only somewhat — untimely demise. Much to my surprise, instead of burning away into nothingness, I remained. It was then I discovered that Alioth was much more substantial than its cloud-like appearance would suggest — it’s true nature existing in another dimension. It was this dimension that I was pulled into the second I entered its mouth. Finding myself deposited…”

Everyone groaned as the elder Loki’s descriptions took a meal-ruining turn, some pulled hoods and cloaks up over their heads as if that might help them evade the details to come.

“…I came to rest at last top of the remains of a Gnarlian bugbear and was forced to survive for thirty-seven days on…”

“This is usually the part where I’m put off my lunch,” Mobius muttered to Sylvie, “he tells this story every chance he gets and it gets worse every time.”

Sylvie snickered, “At least he tells it well.”

“Too well,” Mobius groaned.

“…and a jar of pickles that had dropped in after me, which fortunately made an otherwise unpalatable meal tolerable, if just barely…”

A disgruntled Loki in the crowd threw a criticising turkey wing at the elder, but instead of halting his graphic tale, he simply plucked it out of the air, took a bite, and continued without missing a beat.

“…when it seemed at last, I would find myself painfully digested, I managed to take shelter inside the hollow casing of a giant Xandarian coconut, which allowed me to survive the perilous journey through…”

Sylvie scrunched up her nose, “He really knows how to paint a vivid picture.”

Mobius winced in agreement, “Just be glad he’s not using illusions today. I did not need to see what the inside of an Alioth looks like.”

“… fortunately this took less time than expected, and I was unceremoniously deposited not far from this very bunker. I survived — again,” the elder Loki said with an exasperated sigh and taking a deep bow.

Sylvie clapped her approval (the others did not). “I guess Loki’s plan to stab Alioth to death wasn’t quite as stupid as it sounded,” she suggested.

“Only marginally so,” the elder Loki replied, flopping down dramatically on the beanbag chair behind him.

He then paused before tearing into the turkey wing in his hand. “But his determination was inspiring to say the least. I surely wouldn’t have thought to face Alioth if not for his show of bravery in the face of unbeatable odds. It doesn’t surprise me that he chose to sacrifice himself as he did.”

A lump caught in Sylvie’s throat as the elder Loki stood up again. Grabbing a cup of wine that had just been passed to him, he raised it up in toast.

“To the God of Mischief!”

“To the God of Time!”

“To the God of Stories!” He declared. Each was sounded back to him in the hearty response of the crowd.

“Stories?” Sylvie whispered to Mobius, wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye.

“Yeah,” Mobius said softly, “seemed appropriate. Since he’s kinda looking out for everyone’s stories now.”

“Makes sense,” she sniffed, then took a swig of wine to push away the thought of Loki all alone at the end of time. As much as it pained her, she knew it was better that the part of Loki that would have suffered endlessly under those circumstances was gone now. At least he was at peace.

When she looked up from her mug she realized the elder’s attention had returned to her (as well as everyone else’s).

“Now Sylvie, since you are the spark that has lit the fire of all these events, would you honour us with your story?”

“Oh, um… I’m not sure I…” she replied. Not sure where to begin, or whether she could keep her emotions in check in front of this rough looking bunch.

“A few short words, is all I ask. It would mean so much to me,” the elder Loki encouraged.

She took a deep breath, “Um… alright.”

The first few words were stilted, factual. Capture by the TVA, running for her life, living in apocalypses. She intended to get to the point as quickly as possible so she could sit down and get everyone’s attention off of her. But as she came to the part of her story that Loki had insistently dropped himself into, the curious faces of the Lokis, hanging on her every word, encouraged her to reveal more.

The emotions that she’d wanted to keep hidden, poured out unexpectedly, not from herself, but from many of the faces in front of her. Bearded Loki was the first to tear up, followed by Bicycle Loki and a Loki hiding his tears under large sunglasses and more.

By the time she got to the part where she’d visited Loki at the end of time, now feeling safe in shared sadness, she couldn’t hold back from adding how he’d slowly slipped away from her.

It wasn’t something she liked to think about, but she did think about it whether she liked to or not, and somehow this moment just seemed like the right place to get it out — fully, in detail, she let every grief-filled moment slip from her mouth. Even ones she had kept from Thor and Mobius previously, out of a hope to spare them.

She sat down at the end, with a tear stained face and a strange sense of relief. She glanced over at Mobius who had been similarly moved. “Sorry you had to go through that,” he said, “at least he wasn’t alone in the end.”

She shook her head, “I should have stayed longer, I shouldn’t have left him.”

“You know that’s not what he wanted for you. He made his choice so you could live, so everyone could,” Mobius assured her. 

With pursed lips, she nodded her thanks and wiped the tears off of her face with the back of her hand. Still, she knew the guilt wouldn’t be chased away so easily. 

After everyone had regained enough of their composure, Kid Loki and the elder Loki offered their thanks and raised their drinks to Sylvie in turn, then bid everyone to eat.

Two Lokis, however, appeared unaffected by Sylvie’s tale. They still sat side by side, scowling at each other suspiciously, not a tear in sight.

Boastful licked his fingers off with a smug grin. He’d managed to claim three more inches of the love seat from President Loki and he was quite pleased with himself.

But suddenly, when he reached down to grasp the handle of his golden hammer (intending to lift it into the air as he boasted of his tiny conquest), the smug grin melted off his face.

“Sylvie!” Boastful called out. He stared into her in a way that spoke of deep recognition. “Sylvie,” he repeated, “I have a gift for you.”

She was slightly taken aback, Boastful hadn’t paid her much attention since he’d arrived, he was far too preoccupied in the pointless feud he was having with his couch mate. “A gift?” She questioned, a bit dubiously.

Boastful stood and crossed the room with a strange kind of reverence to stand in front of her. He laid the head of his golden hammer in the palm of one hand and offered it to her as he spoke, “This hammer I made with my own two hands. I have carried it since I forged it in my youth. But it speaks your name — Sylvie. It wants to be with you.”

“It speaks my name?” She raised her eyebrows in astonishment as she examine the weapon in her hands.

“Yes,” he said, “and now that you’re here, everything has become clear.”

He turned his back to her and strode into the centre of the room, throwing his hands out, “Let us put an end to this foolishness and misery — these constant squabbles, this endless bickering!”

President Loki crossed his legs and leaned back nonchalantly, “And why should we trust you all of a sudden? Mobius told us nearly the same thing last week and it wasn’t an hour before you’d betrayed us again.”

“My eyes have been opened at last! We should not be afraid to speak our true feelings out loud,” Boastful declared.

President Loki stood up in a huff, “And just what feelings are those?” He held his mouth in a sneer.

Boastful approached him, returning his glare in kind, but offset somewhat with a glint of delight, “Feelings of all the times you,” he paused dramatically, “betrayed me,” he added more lightly, “so…. expertly.”

President Loki crooked his head to the side — this was high praise from a variant that usually only boasted about himself. He took another step forward, “I have to say your betrayals always have a certain… flare, I’ve come to appreciate.”

Boastful moved closer, “Just think of all the glorious betrayals we could perpetrate… together.”

President Loki nodded slightly, considering, “Perhaps… it would be beneficial to us both.” He stepped forward until he was only a foot away from Boastful. Their eyes met, their faces see-sawed back and forth between open contempt and something else they were very obviously terrified of.

The tension in the room rose to a boiling point once more. Lokis from each faction gripped their weapons tightly, ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.

This standoff lasted a few more seconds, until finally, one Loki (or possibly one Mobius) called out, “Just kiss already!”

Both of their eyes grew wide as they realized the jig was up; they weren’t fooling anyone else so they might as well stop fooling each other. They crossed the distance together and their lips met. Boastful leaned his more slender variant over backwards, cradling him in his arms.

The onlookers reacted with cheers and hoots, one yeah baby, and quite a few sighs of relief.

At Sylvie’s side, Kid Loki muttered, “Finally. Maybe now we can actually get a truce to last for more than an afternoon.”

Mobius grinned, “I wouldn’t count on it, but it’s a start. He looked down at the hammer Sylvie now held in her hand, “I guess we’re lucky you came along.”

She turned the hammer over in her hand, still dazed by what had just happened. “One more mystery,” she sighed.

Mobius shook his head, he wasn’t surprised Boastful and President Loki had resolved their differences, it was a long time coming, but he’d never expected the braggart to give up his prized hammer.

“I think it’s time to show me this tree of yours.” He told her, then turned to the Kid, “You think you can manage here for a bit while I help Sylvie out?”

The alligator growled at his feet. “We can handle it,” Kid Loki agreed, “I’ll tell them you expect everyone to be on their best behaviour while you’re gone.”

Mobius chuckled, “I’m flattered you think that will help.”

Kid Loki crossed his arms, “If it doesn’t, I’ll tell them you might not come back.”

Mobius sighed, “Ok… but wait ‘til I’m gone,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t think I’d have the heart to tell them that.”

Sylvie snickered, “I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t believe you anyway. Not with your soft spot for Lokis and terrible lying ability.”

Mobius feigned offence, “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve put one over on more than a few people in my time — more than one Loki among them. I got a soft spot for Sylvies too, so they're just gonna have to deal with it and wait ‘til I get back!”

Sylvie blushed a bit at that, grateful to have his support.

“Alright," he said, “let's go see what Loki’s tryin’ to tell us.”

Chapter Text

The whole situation was surreal.

That was the feeling that struck Sylvie as she sat at the breakfast table in Thor’s comfortable kitchen after arriving back in New Asgard the night before.

It wasn’t the tree that made her feel that way, though.

As she looked around, Love was shoving the last bite of a blueberry muffin into her mouth, while Thor attempted to comb a stubborn knot out of her hair. Mobius sat across the table with a notebook and a cup of coffee, asking her question after question about the tree, what she’d seen (or thought she’d seen), everything that had transpired after she’d said her final goodbye to Loki at the end of time.

She realised every question she answered, every crazy incredible thing that had happened to her, was actually more typical in her life of running across timelines than what she was doing now – having a simple meal with people she considered friends (even family), and who were willing to take time out of their lives to help her.

Mobius clicked his pen a couple times as he looked over what they had so far. “I want to talk about these goats. You said you saw one that looked like it had the horns from Loki’s crown, is that right?”

“I would have liked to have seen that,” Thor cut in before Sylvie had a chance to answer, “pity we were busy with the dragons at the time.” He took a hair elastic off of his wrist and began braiding Love’s hair as she sat at the table.

Sylvie chewed on her lip, “I don’t think you could have seen it,” she explained, “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t actually there, it just looked like that for a second. The goat did bite me though,” she added with a touch of sarcasm, “I’m pretty sure that part was real.”

“Ah, see?” Thor said, taking the elastic out of his mouth and twisting it around the end of the braid in Love’s hair, “that’s just like him! Loki has bitten me on numerous occasions; more than once when he was a goat.”

“Alright, I’m writing all this down,” Mobius said with a chuckle that was obviously directed at a fond memory of his own, though he didn’t share it just then. “Loki really has a thing for goats doesn’t he?”

“He had a great affinity for things with horns,” Thor agreed, wiggling his fingers at his forehead to mimic them.

“Ok, next,” Mobius continued, “strange insects. Any thoughts on that?”

Thor scratched his chin, “Loki wasn’t a fan of them, generally. Though, he did make use of them for mischief on occasion.”

“Like the time he covered Mjolnir in honey and it got all covered in fire ants,” Love said with a grin.

Thor nodded, “Yes. It took me forever to get rid of the little menaces. Good times,” he laughed. “I’ve always said, If there are tricks about, we can be sure that Loki’s near. The mangled lawn chair by the front door can attest to that.”

Sylvie laughed to herself as she remembered Thor landing on his ass in the dirt. Blaming Loki for that incident still seemed like wishful thinking to her, but she was trying not to dwell on her doubts.

She tapped her finger on the side of her plate. “If Loki didn’t like one bug, he definitely wouldn’t have liked the thousands that seemed to fly out of me and into that tree. It felt like I picked up an infestation of interdimensional hornets that were trying to get home again.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Mobius mumbled over his last bite. He swallowed, then went on. “What if you did pick something up? You had that vision (let’s call it) with the goat. Maybe that started something. Then you come back to the tree and whatever it was is drawn into it.”

“That’s a lot of somethings, Mobius,” she sighed.

“I know. Trust me, we’ll figure this out. Can I see that hammer again?” he asked.

Moving aside the butter dish in the middle of the table, Sylvie held her clenched first over the newly empty section of tablecloth and before anyone could say hammer-time, it appeared in her hand.

She set it down, handle up, where Mobius and Thor could get a good look at it. By this time Love had already bounded out of the room to answer the doorbell, so she didn’t get a look until she returned with Carol Danvers in tow.

“Carol’s gonna walk me to sparring practice now, ok Uncle Thor?” Love asked.

“Of course, Love. Take the opportunity while Carol’s still in town, she has a lot to teach you,” Thor said, welcoming Carol with a grin and tossing a blueberry muffin her way.

Easily catching it in one hand, Carol leaned in the doorway, “I’ve heard most of Korg’s stories by now, I’m pretty sure I could learn a lot from her too. But I’m not leaving for a while yet, so there’s time.”

“Ahhh,” Thor sang, his face lighting up with an extremely premature matrimonial enthusiasm.

Carol raised a hand to spare him a taste of his foot. “Before you say anything, there are no royal wedding bells on the way.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest it,” Thor assured her, evasively.

“Right,” she rolled her eyes, “I know you Asgardians are all agog at the idea of having a queen again, but Val and I are just having fun,” she held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers to make her point, “so don’t expect to see any rings on this finger anytime soon. Do you guys even do rings here?” she asked.

“We could,” Thor suggested, “even so, it's still nice that you’re going to be around for a while.”

“Thanks,” Carol said, an amused smirk curling at the edge of her mouth before her eyes were drawn towards the unusual golden object at the centre of the breakfast table. “Love, did you give Mjolnir a makeover again?”

Love shook her head, “Nope, that’s Auntie Sylvie’s hammer.”

“It was given to me,” Sylvie corrected, “by a different Loki, in the void at the end of time.”

Didn’t that make it hers? It felt more like she was only keeping it safe for the moment. She certainly wasn’t planning on using it in battle anytime soon (or ever).

“It’s a beauty,” Thor said, eyeing the golden embellishments on the hammer’s sides. “Lokis have a flair for the dramatic no matter which universe they come from it seems.”

Sylvie glanced over at Mobius, the both of them knew all too well how true that was. But their shared moment of amusement had them missing Thor’s very unpleasant mistake.

Without giving a thought to the wisdom of the action — which to be fair, why would he — Thor wrapped his fingers around the hammer's handle, planning to lift it to give Carol a better view.

This failed spectacularly, as Carol could no longer see the hammer at all after it had flown out of the room at high speed, carrying a wailing Thor along with it.

A loud bang informed them of the moment he crashed his way through the front door and his diminishing hollars told them how far and how fast the hammer was dragging him as it propelled itself across the skies of New Asgard.

They all looked at each other in astonishment for a fraction of a second before scrambling out the door after him.

Naturally, Thor was the first to arrive at their ultimate destination (if not counting the hammer which of course arrived a hammer’s length before he did).

Sylvie and Carol arrived close behind as Carol had picked up Sylvie and lifted her into the sky to give chase to the Thor coloured streak across the heavens.

Even though they got there second, they got the first look of the area, since Thor had flown past Loki’s tree and plowed, hammer first, into the earth.

As the pair settled down to the ground, Thor was busy working the top half of his body out of the soil. They each gave him a hand once he no longer needed them to push himself up, and were both gracious enough not to laugh (too loudly) as Thor wiggled his butt to and fro during the extraction process.

Thor wouldn’t have noticed anyway, since by the time he was back on his feet he was too busy spitting dirt out of his mouth.

“So,” he began, after attempting to clear the dirt out of the back of his throat with a couple forceful coughs, “did we know the hammer could fly?” He picked a large twig out of his hair and flicked it to the ground.

“No, but we do now,” Sylvie cringed, “I’m guessing you hit the tree?”

Thor shook his head, “Only one of the large branches,” then rubbed his mouth, “with my face.”

Carol winced in sympathy, “Too bad the hammer didn’t have a better sense of direction.”

Thor sighed, “Oh, I’m pretty sure it knew exactly where it was going.”

Sylvie picked up a couple of the twigs that Thor had knocked off the tree, then looked up in surprise.

The tree had bloomed.

Its flowers were an otherworldly bright white that shone with flecks of gold in the sunlight. Insects of many kinds: bees, butterflies, moths and more, flitted between them in a flurry of activity.

Since it was the first time she had seen the tree in that state, it took her breath away. But for Carol and Thor, it soon became obvious, they never expected anything different.

Carol took note of Sylvie awe struck face and placed an arm on her shoulder, “Never really gets old does it?” she said with a wistful sigh, “I couldn't believe it the first time I came here. Flowers that never fall, insects that fly around it in winter and summer, day and night. I’ve been to so many planets in this galaxy, and I’ve never seen anything like it.

Out of the corner of her eye Sylvie caught a glint of sunlight and threw her gaze to the hand Carol had placed on her shoulder. The light had reflected off of a simple silver ring she wore on the third finger;the previously empty finger Carol had very pointedly called everyone’s attention to moments before.

“How long have you had that ring?” Sylvie asked, as an uncanny feeling settled over her. The confused expression Carol gave her in response, didn’t help soften it.

“It’s a promise ring from Val,” Carol said, confusion shifting to concern, “are you feeling alright? I just showed it to you a minute ago.”

Sylvie ran her hand down her face, but didn’t get a chance to reply before her attention was drawn away by the appearance of Love, Mobius, and Groot, running towards them.

“Wait for us!” Love called out from across the field. She was running at a good clip and coming up on them fast.

Surprisingly, Mobius was following close behind – also at a good clip – but that was only because he had been scooped up by Groot (bridal style) after he’d passed out and drove the undersized bicycle he had been attempting to ride into a hedge.

Love took a large flying leap and landed a few feet from Thor with Groot lumbering (as only lumber can) quickly after.

“Cute,” Carol mused as she took in the sight of the middle-aged analyst cradled gently in Groot’s arms.

“Mobius was gonna try riding my bike here, but then he passed out,” Love explained, “good thing Groot was walking by.”

“Quite fortunate,” Thor agreed with a smile.

“I am Groot,” Groot said to Mobius (who seemed to be growing discontent with his current position).

“I’m fine now, you can put me down,” Mobius sighed, thanking his lucky stars he hadn’t skipped out on learning Groot’s language as part of his TVA training. “I promise,” Mobius assured him, “I’m ok, I just got a bit dizzy is all.”

“Your eyes were closed and your mouth was hanging open,” Love countered, twisting her own face to demonstrate how out of it Mobius had appeared when Groot came to his rescue.

“When did that happen?” Carol asked.

“Just a minute or so after Uncle Thor flew off with that hammer,” Love told her.

Groot set Mobius down gently, keeping a doting hand nearby until Mobius shooed him away. Love then took Groot by a large branch like hand and pointed up at the tree, “See Groot? Isn't it amazing?”

“I AM groot.”

“Only nice?” Mobius questioned as he fixed the shoe that had nearly fallen off during all the jostling he’d endured as Groot carried him across the field, “Tough crowd. You must have some amazing trees where you’re from.”

Crossing his arms, Groot gave a single affirmative nod. Clearly it was going to take more than some pretty flowers and weird bugs to impress the flora colossus.

Thor (who was very much still covered in dirt) coughed to get their attention. “I’m alright, thanks for asking.”

“Sorry,” Mobius chuckled, “at least it looks like you’re still in one piece. Where’s the hammer now?”

“It’s lodged about five feet in the ground, over there,” Thor said, brushing dirt off of his arms, “I’ll get it.”

“No!” they all yelled in unison.

“I don’t think you should try to touch that thing again, do you?” Carol cautioned him.

Thor stroked his beard, “I see your point.”

Sylvie took a deep breath, “I should get it.” She walked to the edge of the freshly upturned earth. The edges of the hole Thor had made had collapsed, but it was easy enough to push through. She sent out her magic, tendrils of telekinesis, using them to brush away the loose dirt until she had a clear path to grab the handle with her mind.

She tugged gently and the hammer emerged from the earth — flying into her grasp as if Mjolnir itself had returned to Thor’s waiting hand.

“Nicely done,” Thor complimented her.

“Thanks,” she smirked, a bit pleased with herself. “I can see why you enjoy that.”

“It is quite satisfying,” Thor chuckled.

She smiled at him and placed the hammer safety back into her pocket dimension.

Or she tried to do that, since no sooner had it vanished from her hand – into the carefully folded space she used to hide her valuables away from the three dimensional world – that it reemerged again in the other.

“What the?” she exclaimed.

She tried hiding it again.

It came back again.

“I don’t think it’s done with you yet,” Thor told her.

“I guess not, hey!” Sylvie yelled as she was abruptly yanked to the side.

“Just let go!” Carol said, envisioning a repeat of Thor’s journey.

“I can’t!” Sylvie complained as she was pulled another couple feet.

“Yes, I found the same,” Thor agreed, jogging along to keep up with her. “It was as if Loki himself had glued my hand to its handle. Which he has done before by the way, I didn’t just come up with that out of thin air.”

“It looks like it wants you over by the tree,” Mobius called out (since she’s gotten farther away from him by now).

“You think?” Sylvie replied over her shoulder, as she held the handle with both hands, her arms straining against the hammer’s insistent pull.

“Maybe you should stop fighting it? Thor suggested, still keeping pace with her, “once an idea gets into Loki’s head it’d be easier to milk a bilge-snipe than change his mind.”

“What if reality changes again?” Sylvie worried. It had already changed since breakfast.

“It doesn’t look like you have much choice,” Carol said, coming up on her other side.

And she didn’t. Before she knew it she was standing square in front of the tree, right in front of the gash in the trunk. It appeared to have gotten wider, and it steadily leaked sap in small drops, which ran down over the bark below.

Boastful’s golden hammer was quiet now, seeming content to rest in her hand. Thor and Carol watched carefully from a few feet away, while the others hung back at a distance.

“Ok, we’re here,” Sylvie whispered, “what do I do now?”

Since nothing more happened, she glanced over at Thor and Carol. They quickly discerned her need for privacy and walked back to join the others.

Sylvie took a deep breath, “Let’s just say, for now…that Thor’s right. That you are in there somehow. Boastful said you talked to him,” she pleaded softly, her voice cracking as tears ran down her face, “can you say something to me?”

Her mind flew back to all the words Loki had spoken to her, his song on the train, his horrible metaphors, his amazement with her, and their disagreements. Louder than all that, though, had been the words he spoke silently with his eyes. Words that she had not been able (or willing) to hear at the time.

Sylvie, I love you.

If only he had said those words out loud — if only some part of him could say them now.

She held the head of the hammer up in front of her and waited, almost allowing herself to believe she could hear Loki’s voice rustling out of the leaves to say her name.

But there was nothing.

“You brought me here,” she said, more loudly, “can’t you at least say something? Please!”

Again, she was met with silence. In frustration she let her grip loosen, the weight of the hammer tipped forward and it connected with the bare wood of the tree, making a soft thump.

And then the world around her – stopped.

She let go of the hammer, but it didn’t fall, didn’t even budge. It stayed stuck to the tree where it had planted itself.

“Sylvie!”

She turned around. It was Mobius. The analyst had his nose stuck down in his tempad even as he scurried over in excitement. He nearly tripped a couple times in the process but it didn’t seem to deter him at all. “Look at this!” he said, pointing to where the others still stood.

Every one of them was still as a statue. They didn’t move, didn’t even seem to be breathing. But upon closer inspection she noticed that subtle details would shift ever so often.

The zipper on Thor’s hoodie was sometimes zipped and sometimes not. Sometimes he wasn’t wearing it at all.

Love’s hair was up in braids, and then loose, and then pulled back in a ponytail.

Carol’s jean jacket would be replaced by a Skid Row T-shirt, then her Captain Marvel uniform and back.

Groot changed most of all. Sometimes he’d be taller and sometimes shorter. At one point he even sported an attractive shock of flowery hair (which looked quite good on him).

“Mobius, what’s happening?” Sylvie said, hoping he would have some kind of answer.

Mobius showed her the tempad. “There are nexus events happening, one after the other on the same timeline, no branches! Not one!”

Sylvie shook her head, “That can’t happen. If something changes the timeline it branches, unless it happens inside an apocalypse. Changing the past creates a new future, it doesn’t alter the existing one.”

Mobius shrugged, “It does now. And that’s not all I don’t think. Here,” he opened a timedoor and beckoned her through, “I have a hunch.”

They re-emerged in the same general place they had been standing. The tree was there, fully in bloom, though in the dead of night and lit by a full moon. In the distance, the lights that should have come from New Asgard were conspicuously absent.

“This is about fifteen years before the founding of New Asgard,” Mobius explained. “As you can see…”

“It's the same,” Sylvie said, completing his thought and looking around. Their friends weren’t there. Neither was the debris from Thor’s unconventional pruning job, nor the hole he’d made when he’d landed.

The hammer wasn’t there either, at least not entirely. Together they inspected the place where Boastful’s golden hammer was (or rather would be) lodged. There was a small indentation in the wood where it had made contact. Liquid gold bled out of the nothingness and was drawn inside it, as the tree were sucking it up through a straw.

Mobius whistled in fascination, “If I had to guess, I’d say that hammer is very eager to merge with this tree.”

“Just like the bugs did,” Sylvie stated. They had at least been incorporeal (or delusional). Without a question, this was very very real. 

Mobius nodded, now more sure of himself and opened another timedoor. “Let’s see how far back this goes.”

Sylvie shivered when she stepped out. This time there was no field. They found themselves within a cavern of pure ice. The noon sun filtered down to them with some difficulty, but there was enough light to see what was around them. As well as enough to behold the glory of the tree's crown, locked in solid ice above.

It seemed the hammer (still far in the future) progressed in its work as more gold pooled in the crack. The flowers had now fallen and in their place, thick clusters of seed pods hung, seemingly painted with gold and shimmering in the dim sunlight that refracted its way past them.

“We’re under a glacier,” Mobius explained. “This is around ten thousand years before we left, during the last ice age.”

“When I planted this tree, I didn't just change the future, did I?” Sylvie asked as she gazed at the spectacle above. 

“No,” Mobius agreed, “it changed things in both directions. The tree is acting like it’s not part of the timeline.”

“And it doesn’t affect us because we’re not from this timeline?” she suggested. 

Mobius scratched his head, “Either that or our tempads protected us. I don’t really know.”

Sylvie took a deep breath before voicing her next thought. “It’s connected to him, isn’t it? Tethered to him out in eternity somehow.”

“That’s what I'm thinking. Loki’s outside of time so the tree is too. I bet we could go back before the Earth was even here and watch it orbit the Sun in open space, exposed roots and all,” Mobius said as he dared to dip his finger tentatively in the pool of gold that flowed out of nowhere. He shot her a wry smile, “We should probably skip that part.”

“Yeah.” Sylvie nodded, “so when Thor — or I guess, the hammer with Thor attached to it —crashed into that branch up there,” she pointed at the large jagged remains of a snapped off branch, about ten centimetres wide, “the tree started flowering.”

“It changed the tree across all reality,” Mobius agreed, “and the changes in the tree, alters the events on the timeline. The more the tree changes the more reality changes. It’s like a giant feedback loop.”

“That’s quite impressive for a hammer,” Sylvie said.

“That hammer is more than just a hammer. It has to be connected to Loki somehow,” Mobius stated, “And right now, about ten thousand years in the future, it’s trying its darndest to pour every drop of itself into this tree.”

The phrases, right now, didn’t immediately seem to go with ten thousand years in the future, but both she and Mobius had spent more time outside of it then confined to it. It made sense. And he was right. If there were one being who could exist out of time and inside it at once it would be the one who was holding it all together.

“So it is him... doing all of this?” Sylvie asked. It was more a question to the universe itself than the analyst beside her. She wanted to believe it now. Wanted to know that Loki was still alive, still knew her, still trying to reach out. 

A sad smile tugged at the edge of Mobius’ face. He found a place to sit on one of the large exposed roots that had risen out of the ground as the tree grew larger.

“It’s nice here isn’t it?” he said, “for an ice age at least. It’s not that cold here really. There’s enough oxygen. The light shines though so we can see everything. Almost as if someone hollowed it out just for us.”

Sylvie nodded in agreement, it did look like that. But Mobius’ sudden change in demeanor had her stomach twisting in knots. There was something else. She swallowed a sick feeling — there had been too many disappointments in her life to not recognize when she was about to get some bad news.

Mobius began cautiously, “Now, it’s just a theory, but you know better than anyone that you and Loki are connected. And I think from what we’ve seen that Loki’s involved in some way."

She waited as he took the deep breath of someone about to pluck the last petal of hope away from an already withering soul.

He continued, "but…”

But…

“…everything that’s happened has been because of an action that you’ve taken. You chose to bury Loki’s hair, you had the visions. The tree changed when you touched it. The hammer said your name. Now, maybe, Loki is trying to communicate with you through all this. Maybe he’s trying to reach you in the only way that he can…”

Against her will, a single tear slipped down her cheek as the thing she had been too afraid to consider made itself impossible to ignore. Reflexively, her magic reached out and threaded itself through the the delicate fabric of reality; now always soaked through with Loki's lifeforce. She knew what Mobius was going to say next. “Or it’s me,” her voice broke as she said it, “that I, unconsciously, tapped into Loki’s magic and caused all of this. My mind isn't playing tricks on me, it's playing tricks on everything."

Mobius stood up and walked over to her, “Hey, I didn’t mean that we should give up hope. Maybe it’s both of you doing this together, I don’t know. It’s just a possibility we need to consider.” He pointed a finger to the ice ceiling above, “And you have to admit, however it got here, that tree is pretty cool.”

“I suppose,” she curled a faint smile, “but if the tree is changing both the future and the past, what does that mean for the people living on this timeline? Will these changes stop once the hammer is merged with the tree?”

Mobius sighed, that was the million dollar question. “The tree is fairly remote, it probably won’t have that large of an effect on Earth history,” he said.

“But it could,” she countered. Even as they stood there the tree appeared to grow larger, though there was no visible disturbance in the ice dome above (that locked the top two thirds of the tree in frozen silence). The universe was adjusting itself around the tree, instead of the other way around. This wasn’t at all like creating a branched timeline – creating a new version of reality – this was taking a reality where people had lived and died and changing those lives, forever.

She had lost Loki to preserve the timelines, all the timelines. And now, maybe because of something she had done (in part or in full) she’d possibly endangered the place she’d chosen to call home. She thought of Thor, Love and the others back in the future, frozen in time as the small everyday choices they’d made were done and undone.

How long before one of those small choices became larger changes. Changes they couldn’t come back from? That she couldn’t fix.

“We should go back.”

Chapter Text

“Why did you take us to the middle of town?” Sylvie asked after she had stepped out of the orange timedoor with Mobius at her back.

“I didn’t try to,” Mobius replied, “the coordinates must be all messed up.” He rapidly pushed buttons on his tempad as he tried to figure out what went wrong.

“At least everyone’s moving again,” Sylvie remarked as several New Asgardians passed them by. Most of them were formally dressed, as if they were headed to an exclusive event of some kind.

“There you are!”

They turned to see Sif walking towards them in full armour. “What are you doing here? It’s nearly time,” she said.

“Time for what?” they both replied.

“The royal wedding,” Sif explained, her expression indicating she thought they must have had too much to drink the night before and had forgotten something fairly obvious. “Thor sent me to look for you. They’ll only wait so long.”

Sif didn’t appear to be in the mood for long explanations, so they followed her, trying to match her quickened pace along the road to the edge of town.

“It’s all so different, Mobius,” Sylvie whispered as they walked through the now unfamiliar streets.

“I’ll have to take your word for it, Groot didn’t exactly slow down to let me see the sights,” Mobius said, looking around.

The simplicity and comfort evoked by the rustic building style of the New Asgardians was still firmly in place. But there was a noticeable difference. Their houses and shops were more uniform, almost organic, and many were trimmed in green and gold. The original town (built by the survivors of the Statesman transport ship after its escape from a doomed Asgard and a devastating run-in with Thanos) had been built with the practicality and creativity of a people struggling to find a new home and identify in a strange land. It was clear this town had found that identity before laying the first foundation.

Mobius slowed down a bit to inhale a new aroma (which got him an irritated glance back from Sif). The offensively named ice cream shop, ‘Infinity Cones’, was gone, replaced with a grillhouse that wafted the pleasant smell of long smoked meat through the air. In a show that at least their sense of humour hadn’t changed, it was saddled with the even more questionable ‘Battle of New Pork’.

“I think we should try this place after we find out what’s going on with this wedding thing,” Mobius suggested, walking faster again.

“I think we have bigger problems to worry about than eating,” Sylvie told him.

“No, you’re right, I just think better on a full stomach is all. And breakfast kinda got interrupt-ted Wow!” he exclaimed as they rounded a corner and got a clear view of their most likely destination. “It’s huge!”

“People say that a lot,” remarked Sif with a wry smile, “wherever Loki is, I’m sure it pleases him to no end.”

Off in the distance, far beyond the edge of town, a massive tree dominated the skyline. Towering over everything (certainly all the buildings in New Asgard which mostly didn’t rise above two stories), it reached to the heavens.

Loki’s tree.

Sylvie didn’t know whether to gasp at the sight, or chuckle with Sif at Mobius’ accidental innuendo. There was no missing it now, the people of New Asgard couldn’t help but be affected by its overpowering presence. It was also clear that they had made the connection between Loki and the tree long before she had arrived with her tale of his sacrifice at the end of time. From the colour scheme to the stylised horns worked into delicate patterns in wood and stone, Loki’s mark was everywhere. This was the work of years, not the few short weeks since she’d come to live here.

“How did they know the tree and Loki were connected?” Sylvie mused, without quite realising she’d said it out loud.

Sif chuckled softly as if Sylvie had said something incredibly funny. “Thor told me you might ask strange questions, it’s better to see for yourself I think. But none have had any cause to doubt that this is Loki’s tree once they’ve seen it for themselves,” Sif assured them.

The edge of town, which normally ended in the large empty field, was no longer empty, but instead filled with thick forest. Two helmeted guards stood at the edge of it and ushered them down the single road heading in. The canopy above nearly blocked out the light. Small creatures darted to and fro as they passed and every once in a while the trees would crack and groan.

“Where did all these trees come from?” Sylvie asked, almost not expecting the hurried Sif to answer.

“Planet X,” Sif replied as if that would explain everything.

“This is no forest,” Mobius said, listening intently to the deep sounds above. “I’m having a little trouble with the dialect, but these are all Groot’s people.”

“Yes, they’ve been visiting this place for thousands of years, I’m told. They were here when King Valkyrie and the other survivors arrived,” Sif told them.

“I wonder what Groot thinks about Loki’s tree now,” Mobius chuckled, “it’s a whole tourist destination for flora colossi.”

“It was Groot who first told Thor about Loki’s tree when he journeyed with him to forge the axe Stormbreaker,” Sif informed them. “Do you truly remember none of this?”

Mobius sighed and carefully kicked aside a small branch that had fallen onto the path, “To be honest, we don’t even know who’s getting married.”

Stopping abruptly, Sif turned to face them (which forced them to stop to avoid running into her). “I did say it was the royal wedding, did I not?”

“Right, so King Valkyrie then? And Carol?” Mobius asked.

Sif nodded.

“It didn’t seem like they were anywhere close to marriage when we left,” Sylvie said before being startled by a tree bending down to place a flower in her hair. There was a hushed chatter of ‘I am Groot’ around them. Though she didn’t know the language, the tone (and the fact that they also placed flowers on Mobius in various places) told her they were dissatisfied with her and Mobius’ wedding attire and were trying to remedy the situation.

Sif looked on in amusement as two of the tree people squabbled over whether the flowers looked better in Mobius’ hair or around his neck. “Many couples grow close very quickly after they come here,” she explained, “there’s something about it that makes people want to find someone to cling to, I think. Though it hasn’t worked for me yet,” she shrugged.

“Ok, ok,” Mobius said finally, after tolerating a few more seconds of fashion advice from Groot’s relatives, “I’m not the one getting married.”

“The majority of New Asgard will be in attendance,” Sif told him with a smile, “perhaps you’ll have more luck than I’ve had, but we should be on our way.”

The clearing that surrounded the base of Loki’s tree was just large enough for most of the attendee's to find a seat or place to stand, though if there had been need of extra room they could simply have asked the tree people to move back a few feet.

It was truly shocking how large Loki’s tree had grown, towering over everything and shading a good portion of the area around it. At its base stood a golden statue of Loki in full Asgardian armour, larger than life (though still overwhelmingly dwarfed by the tree) with horns curved to the sky.

Seemingly at odds with its attire, its face looked down with a calm benevolence and its arms were flung wide as if to embrace all who stood in the clearing before the tree. You are welcome here, it seemed to proclaim.

“Who built the statue?” Sylvie asked, almost expecting to hear it had appeared out of thin air.

“Thor had it commissioned,” Sif replied, “he can answer more of your questions after the ceremony, they’ve been waiting long enough as it is.”

“Sylvie! Mobius!” Love called out from the side, “come with me!” She ran over to grab each of them by the hand then partially led (partially dragged) them to the front of the crowd where some seats had been saved.

In front of the statue, Thor stood in full regalia. By his side, King Valkyrie appeared uncharacteristically nervous in a smart Midgardian suit, shifting her weight from foot to foot as Thor gave them a nod of recognition and prepared to speak.

He raised his hand, “Now that we’re all here, it is my great pleasure to get this show on the road. King Valkyrie,” he said, grinning widely, “your Queen.”

Mobius turned his head towards the central aisle, expecting a procession, but instead the bride appeared from above. Carol Danvers (Captain Marvel) bathed in light, descended from the canopy of the tree. Coming to rest beside them, she gently took both of Val’s hands in her own.

Sylvie noticed immediately that Carol had chosen to wear Valkyrie's white armour for the occasion. Knowing the tragedy that had befallen Valkyrie's lost love in their futile battle with Hela so many centuries ago, she could imagine what it would mean to both of them.

Thor did most of the talking, while Val and Carol gazed into each other's eyes. His speech was short and to the point – which suited the couple quite well – but still incredibly moving.

At one point, Sylvie found herself biting the inside of her lip to stop the tears from falling. It was silly of course, since there was no shortage of misty eyes around her. It was a wedding after all. Not that the place they were standing in now needed any help in provoking that kind of reaction. It was almost as if joy and sadness and everything in between drifted down from the leaves high above.

Still she held them in. If she started crying now she wasn’t sure if she could stop and they still had to find out how much the timeline had changed. Life in New Asgard appeared to be peaceful and happy, but she knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving.

As the ceremony came to an end with the couple’s first wedded kiss, Thor asked the crowd to give a shout for their new Queen. King Valkyrie then  climbed onto the back of her flying horse with Queen Carol settling in behind her, and the pair rose to the heavens.

“Alright, everyone,” Thor called out over the applause, “reception in the town square. We expect all of you to come ready to par-tay!”

The crowd cheered and began melting into the woods to make their way back to town. Thor waited at the front. Sylvie and Mobius approached him after the crowd had died down

“Sylvie, Mobius, I’m glad you could make it,” Thor said, “it wouldn't have been the same without you. When you disappeared so suddenly I wasn’t sure where you had gone or if you’d make it back in time for the wedding.”

“Ok, now here’s the thing,” Sylvie said, holding a hand to her temple as if that would help her wrap her head around the whole confusing mess. “When we left, there was no wedding. All these tree people weren't here, New Asgard was completely different, Loki’s tree was a whole lot smaller and you were covered in dirt."

“It’s strange isn’t it?” Thor agreed, "I don't remember any of that, but at the same time, I do. The memories I have of you and Mobius, don’t seem to fit with everything else. I wish I could explain it.”

“It sounds like you’re remembering pieces of the old timeline before it was changed,” Mobius suggested, “like a double exposure in a photograph where one image appears as a phantom inside the other. At least your memories of us. Or maybe more precisely…”

“Me,” Sylvie said, “because I’m the cause. Because I wouldn’t want you to forget about me.” She dug her nails into her palms and tilted her head up to the statue's face.

Thor nodded his understanding, “Since I can’t remember us discussing this statue, I assume you haven’t seen it before?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t. Sif told me you had it built when you first arrived. But how did you know? How did you know the tree was connected to him before I got here."

Inhaling, as if to temper his words around a sensitive subject, Thor smiled, “Let me show you.”

Thor led them around the end of the decorative wall that backed the statue, walking slowly and carefully, with a reverence that said, this is a sacred place. There were about four feet between the back of the wall and the trunk of the tree (which was by then more than fifteen feet wide).

The gash in the trunk that the hammer had been so eager to push itself into, was much larger now. Sylvie stopped when she got close enough to see a portion of what had emerged from it. Thor turned to see her haunted face, fully expecting her reaction. “This is why we put the wall here, and the statue. When I first arrived in New Asgard and saw this," he sighed, "even with Groot’s people protecting it, well… It seems like a private thing, doesn’t it?”

Thor and Mobius hung back, to let Sylvie grow closer to the thing that had shaken her so fully. It was another statue of sorts — Loki in wood, his upper half at least. If there had been a rest of him it would have been hidden inside the tree. It looked for all the world like it had been carved by the hands of a renaissance artist, the muscles of his naked torso seemed like they would twitch and move at any moment. The curls lying against his downcast face so detailed one would think they could blow in the wind. His left arm was curled into his chest, the other was held out from his body, resting on the edge of the bark; long fingers held loose and limp.

It was a perfect representation of him. Of the tragedy of his life. And perhaps more truthfully, her own pain.

She let her fingers float to those of the statue, so much like they had been in life that she half expected them to slide into her grasp as had happened so often and so freely between them before the disagreement that had torn them apart.

It wasn’t hard to see what had become of Boastful’s golden hammer, the trunk of the tree was speckled all over with its gold. The wooden form of Loki, however, did not bear any trace of it, only the plain wood of the tree. The one exception to this, was the path of a single tear that left a trail of pure gold down his face.

It seemed significant. Just like her vision, except this tear of gold would never fall from the edge of his jaw where it remained frozen as a tiny drop of precious metal. 

The statue’s eyes were cracked open, staring down at the ground in a sadness that tore at Sylvie’s heart. Everything about it was an open wound — raw and bleeding. It was obvious why Thor had felt the need, if not to hide it, but to at least protect it from casual eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” Mobius said, approaching.

“It is,” Sylvie sniffed. “Is this it,” she asked, “is this what everything has been about?”

“I don’t know,” Mobius admitted, “we’d have to wait and see what happens next. If anything does.”

Sylvie shook her head, “I don’t think we can afford to wait. Enough has changed already.”

Thor stepped forward, “Sylvie, you mustn’t give up hope. Look at what Loki’s tree has done for us, for New Asgard. Look at Val and Carol. They came here often. They said it changed their perspective, to let love thrive while it could.”

“So, it’s been a good thing,” Mobius suggested.

“So far,” Sylvie countered. At that moment she realized she hadn’t seen Love in a while. Her heart dropped into her stomach — Love had come to live with Thor in New Asgard through a remarkable chain of events. If one of those events were changed…

“Where’s Love?” Sylvie called out in a panic as she scanned the trees for any sign of her.

“I’m here Aunt Sylvie!”

From high above one of the Flora Collosi who surrounded Loki’s tree bent down to deposit the girl with the power of a god on the ground.

“I was just watching Val and Carol fly over New Asgard,” Love explained, running into Sylvie’s arms as if knowing it was exactly the gesture she needed just then. Sylvie poured all her affection into that hug as her mind churned with what she needed to do next.

Thor didn’t miss the finality in her gesture. “Love,” he said as Sylvie reluctantly let go of her. “Why don’t you go ahead, we’ll catch up.”

“Alright Uncle Thor,” Love said and started back along the road to town.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Thor drew himself up. “I’ve seen that look far too many times in my life. It usually comes just before I lose a friend to an overdeveloped sense of heroism.”

Sylvie huffed out a self-deprecating laugh, “Don’t worry, I’m not sacrificing myself if that’s what you're worried about. But I know I have to leave. If I stay on the timeline – any timeline – this could keep happening,” Sylvie said. “It’s too dangerous for me to stay here.”

“The Void isn’t the nicest place around, but the company isn’t too bad,” Mobius smiled. “Are you sure though?”

She shrugged, “It's the only idea I have.”

With his heart in his throat, Thor placed a hand on her shoulder, “At least say you’ll allow us to visit you from time to time. Then perhaps, if you learn more, you could come back some day.”

She gave him a sad nod, knowing that day might never come and let Thor’s hand slip from her shoulder as she approached the wooden form of Loki. A memory frozen in time. He looked so beautiful, so life-like. She let her finger trace the smooth line of gold then ran down his cheek, then let her lips find the cool mouth of the statue, not caring that her friends were watching.

One last goodbye.

Behind her, she heard Mobius open a timedoor, but by the time she had turned to follow him it was gone.

Thor was gone too, as were all the Flora Collosi from Planet X that had formed the forest around them, exposing the empty grassland again. From high above she heard a raven’s call and when she looked back at the tree her face twisted in horror; the beautiful form of Loki that she had kissed only seconds before, had nearly rotted away.

The tree was dying.

Its leaves rapidly turned brown and fell to the ground. The trunk shrivelled and split as moss overtook it before her eyes. Branches cracked and crashed down around her.

Looking around, New Asgard no longer hung in the distance — why would anyone want to build a town near an eternal spectacle of death?

Had she willed this? If she had she didn’t want to see it. This tree, this memory of Loki had been a terrible mistake, but the last thing she wanted was to watch that memory die all over again.

She screamed out in frustration. Then she propelled her fist forward – despair in her grip – to make a shallow indent in the spongy wood. It was so damp and rotten by now that her hand easily pushed into its surface.

If it was dying anyway, maybe she could help it. Maybe if the tree were gone everything would go back to normal (and she could finally put her destructive hope to rest).

She pushed her hand in again, then pulled it out, bringing a handful of dusty wood along with it. She tossed it to the ground and dug in again.

It was soothing in a way. She could tear down this monument to her grief, bit by bit. Maybe it would take her pain away with it and she could finally move on.

Resistance met her other hand, as she slid it in next. Then, in a moment of shock and disgust, she pulled it back quickly, thinking she’d touched a creature that had burrowed its way inside and made a nest. But when no growl or squeak of protest followed, she pulled more of the wood away to get a better look.

What she found inside was impossible. Inexplicable. And she was fairly certain would confirm she was entirely delusional.

But there it was.

A hand.

A real, lifelike hand.

And not just any hand. A hand with lovely thin fingers, draped with as much vulnerability and ache as the hand of Loki’s statue.

It really couldn’t be true. She was dreaming, she was hallucinating, she was held in some prison of the mind.

The contact was brief, the barest touch, but she had to involve more than just her deceitful eyes in this incredible occurrence.

Warm.

A touch to long fingers and they were warm. She savored the feel of it as her shy graze over smooth skin ended.

The next touch was more certain – and wasn’t initiated by her. In a burst of debris and rot, the hand lunged out, gripping hers, spraying a cloud of splinters and dust out with it. It held her tightly by the arm, not letting go.

Above, the towering tree had lost its integrity at last. It creaked and snapped. The damage to its trunk was too severe to hold its weight any longer. It toppled down on her, the hand locking her in place.

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them again she was face down in grass damp with the morning dew. In front of her face was a dagger, set point down in the earth.

Her dagger.

Lifting her head, she glanced around. The buildings of New Asgard in the distance reassured her that reality had returned to what it should be. What it had been when she’d first arrived.

Had it all been a dream?

She let out a long slow exhale and allowed herself to believe it; her friends, her family, her new home, were all safe. Loki was still gone, but she needed to accept that. And with this second chance at a new beginning she was determined, more than ever, to do just that.

She shifted up to her elbows, preparing to stand and all but run back to town in relief, when she felt the sole of her boot gently brush against something behind her.

In the blink of an eye she was on her feet, standing over that something.

It was all a dream – and she was still in it – because this could not be real.

Laying in the grass – wet and naked like a freshly birthed foal – was the long body of a man. He was curled up on his side, covered in a clear shiny substance that matted down his long black hair and stuck it to the side of his face. His breathing shuddered and wheezed with the uncertainty of lungs new to the world.

Loki.

Taking one step, then two, Sylvie fell to knees from shaking legs. Her senses were clear. The wet grass was cold against her body. Its dampness soaked through her pant legs. The breeze toyed with her hair and brought the smell of the sea (not far off) to her nostrils – so unlike a dream.

And yet a dream it must be.

Because Loki could not be here. He was at the end of time, a husk of his former self – perhaps not truly dead but not like anything she would consider alive.

So no – Loki couldn’t be laying limply in the grass before her. His chest couldn’t be rising and falling with growing strength. He couldn’t be cracking his eyes open. And he certainly couldn’t be saying what he said next with wide open eyes and a warm smile.

“Sylvie,” he sighed brightly, “I love you.”

Chapter Text

The feel of cool damp grass on her hand. The smell of ozone on the breeze. The dew seeping into her pant legs. Everything felt in focus and so very real, not at all like a dream.

And Loki was still there.

He’d spoken, he’d looked at her, and then he’d laid his head back down and closed his eyes. Completely still, except the rise and fall of his steady breathing.

Alive.

It would be easy for her to remain transfixed on this subtle motion, the endless pattern of inhale/exhale. She shook off the temptation and looked him over; he was covered in a thick shiny substance. Transparent for the most part. Tentatively, she tried to wake him.

“Loki.”

He didn’t stir.

She swallowed, “I’d feel a lot better if you’d wake up again,” she said, reaching out and pinching an aggravating lock of sticky hair away from his shoulder.

“What is this stuff?” She mused to herself, since Loki didn’t seem aware of her at the moment.

Bringing her hand close to her face, the residue on her fingers filled her nose with the scent of freshly cut wood and was incredibly sticky. She could tell it was going to be a real pain to get off of him (or her for that matter). It didn’t take a giant leap to guess it was sap from the tree. The tree that had now never existed and yet had left behind proof that it had.

She took a deep breath. “Ok,” she rambled to herself, “as far as I can tell, you’re covered in sap. Grew in a tree, covered in sap – makes sense – kind of.”

With her already sap coated fingertips, she briefly touched his shoulder. He didn’t react. She could imagine that being regrown in a tree would make a person pretty tired, but she wanted to see him awake again and her worry was beginning to outweigh her patience.

“Loki,” she called in the kind of hushed yell one would use to wake someone while still not wanting to startle them too much.

When that didn’t work she decided to fall back on the most effective tool at her disposal. Pressing her fingertips into the goo at his temple, she tried to get as close to bare skin as possible, then sent out her magic, attempting to enter his mind.

To her surprise the green light that she sent to her fingertips bounced off of the thin film still separating them and ricocheted back at her, leaving her feeling like she’d gotten an unpleasant nose full of water.

“Ugh,” she coughed several times, then holding her fingers up in front of her face, she tested her magic again. But it scattered at her fingertips, falling in tiny sparks in the grass around her.

“Magic blocking sap? Wonderful.”

This could create some problems. She quickly tried to remove as much of the substance from her hand as possible by rubbing vigorously in the wet grass and then at her pants. She tried to bring her magic into her hand again and when she saw the familiar glow she breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t permanent.

“So…” she began, thinking some small talk might calm her nerves (and possibly coax him into waking more gently), “that was a pretty neat trick you did – with the tree and all. It’s ah… nice to see you again,” her eyes flicked absentmindedly down his body, “and more of you again,” she blurted out, a bit embarrassed since she’d often dreamed of seeing him like this (though perhaps less sticky). But this was definitely not the appropriate time for those thoughts.

“Sorry,” she apologized.

Dead to the world, he didn’t appear phased at all.

She went on, “You know when that tree sprang up, I-I really didn’t know what to think. I gotta say this is pretty much the last thing I thought would happen. That I’d get you back this way. If you are back,” she sniffed back a wave of doubt that threatened to break through, “are you back?” she whispered.

“Sylvie, keep it together,” she mumbled to herself. At that moment she noticed a hair stuck over his mouth and felt an impulse to move it away; it bothered her, almost as if it was her own mouth. She reached out her hand.

It was then that his eyes opened wide, in a single quick motion. It left her startled speechless and staring into their clear blues. They scanned over her body, starting at the hand she had tentatively reached out towards him. Then following her arm up to her shoulder. The down her body to her knees hidden in the scruffy grass.

His breathing started to quicken with obvious fear. Then his mouth began to work with worry and his eyes climbed up her body again. When they found her face at last they stopped their frantic searching, then widened, as if he were trying to drink in every drop of light reflected from her face.

“Sylvie,” he said, voice cracking with recognition,“you’re here.” His lips turned up in a smile.

Had he forgotten what he’d said to her only moments ago? She couldn’t really blame him for that, what with everything he’d been through. But at least he was awake now and she could get some answers to the roughly ten million questions she had.

The first question being most important.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“You’re amazing,” he said, his voice full of awe, but leaving her question unanswered.

“Um… thank you,” she replied, taken aback, “but I think we need to get you some help.” Her eyes impulsively flicked down his body again, “and some clothes,” she chuckled.

“I love you,” he replied easily, to nothing she had said.

The words stole her breath. There it was again. The unspoken, unfathomable, impossible truth that lay between them. The words that could possibly have built a bridge over the chasm that had formed between them at the end of time, if either had had the courage to come out and say it.

Or perhaps (at the time) it wouldn’t have, and it was best it had remained unspoken and untarnished.

She should probably say it back. It was true after all. The pain of losing him, the time she’d spent in New Asgard, and the way he was looking at her now — wavering between wide eyed wonder, desperate need, and pure adoration — made it abundantly clear.

“I-I love you too.” The words felt foreign on her lips and brought a warm blush to her face. She quickly changed the subject to escape the vulnerable feeling. “Can you sit up?”

His forehead knitted together, but he didn’t move a muscle. His head remained draped to the side in the grass, partially covering one eye.

Why didn’t he lift it to see her better? An unpleasant thought gnawed at her stomach.

“Loki, can you move your toes for me?” she asked, a quiver in her throat.

“You’re amazing,” he said, again, not seeming aware of the reason for her question or the anxiousness in her voice. His toes remained disturbingly still.

She needed help, now.

Wishing she’d picked up a cheap cell phone plan, she scanned the sky above her – where was a raven when you needed one? She thought about using her time device to portal to town, but the thought of moving out of this universe, even if only temporarily, stopped her. She didn’t want to exit this timeline, even briefly, if it would take her away from him.

“Look,” she told him in as reassuring a voice as she could manage, “I need to find Thor.” If you can’t walk I’ll need some help carrying you back to town. Are you cold? I’ll give you my sweater to cover up a bit alright?”

Standing up she pulled the thick hoodie over her head.

When her face emerged from the soft fabric, she startled.

“Oh shit!”

Loki was standing in front of her. Apparently, able to move very well (and very quickly).

Taking a step back she placed a hand to her chest as she caught her breath. She knew Loki could move fast when he wanted to (wanted to being the key word there). But considering he’d just been laying on the ground like a limp noodle, she hadn’t expected him to pop up like that.

At least she knew he could move and that she wouldn’t need to leave him lying in the cold grass all alone.

“Ok, so you can stand. That’s… good.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he exclaimed. She couldn’t believe he was here either, but it was unsettling that he didn’t seem to be responding to her.

“That feeling is very mutual,” she sighed, “um, here.” She held the sweater out for him. “I realize it’s a bit small for you, but you could just wrap it around your waist.”

He looked at it with mild curiosity, but didn’t take it. Then his eyes landed on her face again and he smiled.

It was clear by now that he didn’t understand her (or not entirely). But if he was going to walk into town with her, she still wanted him to put something on.

She held the arms of the sweater up and motioned what she intended to do.

“I’m going to tie this around you, alright? Can you lift your arms up for me,” she asked, hoping to get his arms out of the way to avoid getting more of the sap on her.

Apparently this was a bit too optimistic. “Sylvie,” he replied, beaming at her and not lifting his arms.

She lifted her arms, trying to get him to copy her, “See, like this, I don’t want to get covered in that sticky shit you’ve got all over you.”

Lips curling down, he whimpered a bit. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Which almost seemed like an actual response. It was something. “You’re not going to hurt me,” she assured him (well, she didn’t think so, anyway). “It’ll just make it easier.” She lifted her arms a few more times, trying to get him to understand. He followed her hands with his eyes but his arms didn’t budge. So she decided she’d have to be a little more direct and reached out to gently tug on his wrist in encouragement.

Finally, after looking in warmth and astonishment on her fingers making contact with his wrist he lifted his arm up — all the way up — pointing straight to the sky like a telephone pole.

“O-kay…” she tugged on his other arm.

In the same overcompensating manner, he obliged.

For a second she had to bite her lip to keep herself from bursting into laughter, because he looked utterly ridiculous standing there, stark naked, covered in sap, hands stretched to the heavens. It didn’t help that his left side was plastered with a large amount of grass that he’d pulled up from the ground in addition to some dirt from an anthill — and a few of its inhabitants.

She put the back of her hand to her mouth and turned away, not able to hold it back and longer. Before long she had fallen to the ground. The situation probably wasn’t that funny, and she was still incredibly worried about what was wrong with him. But he was there — and he knew who she was (even if he didn’t know anything else). The tension she hadn’t realized she had carried with her ever since she’d said goodbye to him at the end of time, was released with her laughter. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed that.

“It’s cold,” he said, randomly, still hanging his arms straight up in the air, seemingly immune to Sylvie’s hysterics.

Wiping her eyes as she tried to get a hold of herself, she replied, “Yeah, that’s why I’m trying to put this sweater on you.” Well, one of the reasons. “Let’s try this again.”

She took the sweater and draped it around his waist so that it would hang down in the front, then tied the arms in the back as best she could (while trying to pick up as little of the magic dampening sap as possible.)

Through all this he waited patiently, moving as she asked him with a gentle tug or push, but still not seeming to understand what she was doing or why. And when she moved behind him he kept wanting to turn to see her again, which had made tying the arms together and avoiding the sap much more difficult.

With the sweater secured at last, she folded her arms and surveyed her handiwork, “There, your ass is still out but it’s better than the alternative, I suppose.”

Some part of her was still hoping for a comment from him. Such as do you like what you see? Or some innuendo along with a cheeky smirk. Not that they’d ever flirted so directly, that part had happened mostly in her head.

But he just smiled.

Unfortunately, her hands hadn’t escaped picking up a lot of the sticky substance. She bent down to wipe it off in the grass again. She was going to have to learn to stop taking her eyes off of him, because in those few seconds all her sticky efforts had been in vain. The sweater was no longer wrapped around his waist. Instead he hugged it to his chest, inhaling its scent with a look of pure bliss on his face.

“Sylvie,” he said, tearing up a bit.

Sylvie rubbed the bridge of her nose (with the back of a knuckle to avoid getting sap on her face). “Yes, my sweater. But we still need to cover you up. And it doesn’t look like the sap will let me dress you with magic.”

She tested the magic at her fingertips, rubbing them firmly to remove more of the sap. Then took a mental inventory of her pocket dimension. “I have to have a blanket or something in here somewhere,” she muttered to herself.

Loki tilted his head to the side, “Not a tablecloth,” he said.

“Actually a tablecloth would be more than helpful right now,” she replied, not expecting anything else. But then he twisted his hand in the air. A thin green blanket appeared, trimmed in gold and wrapping around her shoulders. She took the edge between her fingers, it was the blanket from the void (or one similar). A swell of emotion caught in her throat. She swallowed it down as she looked back at his glistening eyes, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he beamed.

She huffed a laugh, thinking back to the way she teased him in the void, he clearly remembered that if nothing else. “I don’t suppose you can conjure yourself an outfit?”

He tilted his head to the side again, still not seeming to understand, but then he surprised her and spoke.

“I’ll conjure you an outfit for every day of the week, if you’ll let me.”

As he said this her sap stained clothing disappeared, replaced in the same flowing green that Loki had conjured for himself on the way to the end of time. But it was fashioned more like her own armour, except the leather and gold breastplate had been replaced with twisted fabric cording. “Maybe one day I’ll have the courage,” he added as if unaware of what he’d just done, a wistful look in his eye.

“Um,” she choked back the emotion in her throat, because it wasn’t what she had asked him to do just then, but she had asked him for a new outfit in the void. She knew she wouldn’t likely get an answer to her next question, but she dared to ask anyway. “Is that what you were thinking? When I asked you that question in the void?”

“Sylvie,” he smiled, but said nothing else.

Sylvie sniffed back a tear and took hold of the tablecloth-like blanket. “Alright, new plan.” Since he was still hugging her sweater to his chest, it was easier to get the blanket around him and knotted at one hip.

“There, hopefully that’s on there tight enough that you’ll leave it alone.”

She then opened a time door. At least it would make the trip back to town shorter. “We just need to step through here,” she motioned to him, “easy as pie.”

It was not easy. It was in fact very difficult — perhaps even impossible. Though considering her and Loki’s history with pies and conversations in the sickly green room in which they resided, difficult as pie could be a very apt expression. The sap which had blocked her magic (but not his), now prevented the parts of her that were smeared with the stuff from moving through the orange door. While her new outfit seemed resistant to the sap when she’d tied the blanket around him, her hands (and parts of her hair) had still picked up their fair share.

Loki had disposed of her sap covered clothes, so it stood to reason he could overcome the problem with his magic. But if he could, he didn't seem to have any desire to do so. He passively stood and allowed her to nudge him forward, but his limbs wouldn’t pass through the door any better than hers had.

Rats!

They were stuck walking. And so with Loki’s hand stuck to hers, she gently led him along the path back to town.

Their journey was slow. They stopped often. Sometimes Loki would pause and lay down in the grass again. Whenever a breeze would pick up and rustle her hair, he’d inevitably untie the knot of the blanket around his waist and attempt to wrap it around her. Which meant she had to tie it back around him. Hopefully she would be able to keep him covered long enough to find Thor so they could get him a garment with less sentimental value, before he flashed the whole town several times over.

He didn’t say much, but what he did say had her sniffing back tears.

“You’re amazing.”

“You go, I go.”

“Are you ok?”

He also said he loved her several more times, which she tried to repeat back, but he still didn’t give any indication he understood. For the most part it seemed as though he was merely replaying memories mixed in with a few flickers of genuine awareness.

At one point Sylvie figured out that if she walked far enough away from him, he’d find one way or another to catch up, either by running full tilt after her or teleporting directly to her location. But he appeared so upset to have been left each time she tried it, she quickly abandoned the idea.

A journey which would normally take fifteen minutes or less lasted well over an hour, but eventually, in the distance, Sylvie’s eyes landed on the large wooden sign that defined the boundary of New Asgard.