46. A King's Oaths

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Standing by the back porch of Skark's Alpine lodge, Loki let the bitter wind roar over him and through him. It pulled at the knots in his hair and tore the heat off his bones, which was almost soothing.

Ever since he had arrived on Midgard, his days had been filled with frenetic activity or travel. Back on Sakaar, he had feasted on the grand mania of the place — a madhouse where the patients revolted and lived in a state of perpetual celebration. And the Sanctuary, stuck between Thanos and his miserable children, who clung onto a barely habitable chunk of asteroid, had merely been a madhouse of a different kind. Here, now that they had finished the bulk of the preparations, the uneasy quiet of anticipation ruled their days. Loki didn't care for this limbo. It left too much breadth for his thoughts to prosper and his mind was bursting with dangerous thoughts.

He had tried to re-focus, to occupy himself as others had done. Rogers had found the Stark's library collection. Romanoff was relentless in trying to talk her way into Loki's confidence and it was becoming more inventive. It became more difficult for Loki to foresee her traps, so it was easier to avoid her entirely. Thor was barely better. Loki would have ventured in the work room, where Stark had sequestered himself to tinker with his suits – the tactile act of hammering something to destruction did hold some appeal, but Loki couldn't deal with Stark's self-satisfied word vomit for more than five minutes at a time.

'Sir?' came an uncertain, almost-familiar voice. Loki turned to see Agent Antoinette Concannon at the top of the steps to the lodge's back door. 'You shouldn't wander too far by yourself.'

'I'm not by myself, am I? Nor am I wandering. I'm standing here, planted quite firmly to one spot,' Loki replied. He didn't know the exact setup, but SHIELD was supposed to be swarming the area with agents. He wouldn't have been surprised if half a dozen people had eyes on him at every moment.

Antoinette's eyes flickered to the tree-line behind Loki. 'Still, you should be inside,' she said and pulled a bundle of dark-coloured cloth out of the messenger bag slung off her left shoulder. 'And you should definitely have these with you.'

'Should I?' Loki said as he pulled the fabric aside and revealed the two knives he had left behind in San Francisco. 'Ah, indeed I should. Thank you for recovering these.'

'It's no problem. See you around, Loki.'

Loki waited until she had gone back inside, then examined the knives more closely. He had no reservations about using other weapons if he needed to, but he was fond of this pair. They were elven smith-work and had additional spells on them to fortify their edge and durability. Nothing seemed amiss. The leather handles sat perfectly in his hands; the blades reflected the wisp of the waxing moon without a single blemish to mar the reflection. With a melancholy smile Loki slid the knives into their allotted places on his person.

If it came to it, he could use one to cut Ebony Maw's throat and the other on his own. He had to be realistic about it. His mind was a ticking bomb, there needed to be a way to defuse it. The knives were one way out. The supplies he had pilfered from Stark's stash of dangerous chemicals in the work room was another. The booby trap in his mind was a third. But the more dangerous the situation was, the more precautions needed to be taken.

Contingencies upon contingencies. Well, there's only one thing left now.

Thor would hate him for it, Loki knew. He ran his fingers through his hair and winced as he caught a tangle of knots. Or he could still back out. All Loki had to do was call on Heimdall and bully him into dumping Loki somewhere obscure. He could also disappear into the wormholes between the worlds that the coming Convergence was tearing open further every day. He could even just hide on Midgard.

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