Chapter Text
How had it come to this? Only hours ago Loki had promised Sylvie he wouldn’t betray her, that he wouldn’t let her down.
Now, they could not trust each other.
Now, he was the one in her way, pleading with her to listen to the very man who had destroyed her life and the lives of countless others. The man who thought himself a god with the right to take away everyone’s free will in the name of stifling order.
Sylvie glanced beyond Loki at He Who Remains. A feral need surged through her. He Who Remains would die by her hand.
“Sylvie, wait.” Loki put out a hand as if the meager gesture could calm the storm within her. “Wait,” he implored. But there was no reason to wait, there was nothing left to think about.
Sylvie took a step forward and swung her sword to force Loki out of the way, but he blocked it with his own blade. He then struck at her, one blow after another, putting her on the defense. She dodged and parried his attacks, until managing an offensive strike that forced him to turn until they had switched places. She pushed him back with several unrelenting blows.
For a split second Loki left himself open, and Sylvie took advantage. She spun and kicked him hard, then she immediately followed with a burst of magic that knocked Loki into the bookshelf against the far wall, and his weapon from his hand. He crashed to the floor with a groan, and Sylvie turned away, her attention back on He Who Remains.
She didn’t make it far before a chair came flying in her direction, no doubt controlled by Loki. She threw up a burst of magic in defense, sending the chair away from her, but the impact knocked her to the ground.
Sylvie jumped to her feet and made for He Who Remains, but Loki ran up beside her. She slashed at him, and he materialized his weapon just in time to block her. They locked eyes and she hesitated, fighting to ignore the stricken way he looked at her.
It was Loki who ended the short lull in fighting, nearly knocking her sword from her hand. Sylvie adjusted her grip and advanced on him with renewed ferocity. She grabbed his wrist with her free hand and pinned him against the desk.
Loki grabbed her wrist in return and surged up against her, forcing her back with his sword on hers. “Sylvie, Sylvie,” he pleaded in a whisper, her name like a prayer on his lips.
She growled and pulled away to strike again, but he mirrored her movements and forced her further back. “Maybe he’s lying,” Loki raised his voice in desperation. “Maybe he’s not. The cost of getting this wrong is too great.”
“Fine. Do it,” she dared, seething with rage as she forcibly positioned his blade against her throat. “Kill me, take your throne.”
A desperate, broken “no” passed from Loki’s lips. Sylvie hated the way it slipped past her defenses and clawed at her heart.
She took advantage of Loki’s vulnerability and kicked him hard in the chest. Their swords clashed once and then Sylvie switched tactics, trying to knock Loki off his feet. He jumped and rolled out of the way of her attack, and Sylvie realized she had a straight shot at He Who Remains.
He had to die no matter the cost. Nothing Loki said would change her mind.
Leaning into the fury surging through her veins, Sylvie seized the moment of opportunity and charged. Loki ran, trying to intercept her, but she knocked him away with a blast of magic and launched herself towards He Who Remains. She swung her blade back in preparation to strike, envisioning it connecting with his neck. She brought it down—
No!
Her heart stopped as the blade landed with a hard thud on Loki’s shoulder as he materialized in front of her. Panic seized through her when she couldn’t fully stop her momentum and the sharpened edge rebounded up and cut a little into his neck as he advanced on her.
“Sylvie, stop.” It was a command and a plea at the same time.
Sylvie jerked back in shock, but her hands were frozen on the hilt of her weapon.
“Stop,” he repeated and Sylvie heard his sword clang to the ground. He put his hands up in surrender, without a care to the fact he was bleeding because of her.
She took gasping breaths of air as she tried to process what had almost happened.
Why did you do that? She thought, furious and overwhelmingly mortified. Why didn’t you protect yourself? I could have killed you! She didn’t say any of that, but she did manage to move her blade down and to the outside of his shirt collar. A small part of her wanted to completely drop her sword just as he had done, but her defensive instincts were screaming at her.
The one person she thought she could trust was asking her to turn away from the one thing she’s wanted for over a thousand years, her very reason for living. Why couldn’t he see this was the only solution?
“Stop,” he said again, reaching for her. “Stop,” he practically whispered, gently placing his hands on her upper arms, as if determined to hold her despite the distance between them, as if he didn’t feel her blade against his neck.
Tears flooded Sylvie’s eyes and she sniffled, fighting back a sob. No matter the cost? She was lying to herself. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt Loki, not even to kill He Who Remains.
“I’ve been where you are,” Loki started earnestly, tenderly. “I’ve felt what you feel. Don’t ask me how I know,” he added, his eyes gleaming with tears of his own. Sylvie bit down on another sob, trapping it in her throat. Why did he have this effect on her?
“All I know is I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want a throne. I just…” Tears slid down Loki’s face. Sylvie tried to cling to the voice telling her not to trust him, but it was fading away, overpowered by a flurry of memories that chipped at the walls of her heart.
The way they looked at each other on Lamentis-1, the suffocating terror she felt when he was pruned before her eyes, how her heart had fluttered when he nudged her shoulder with his under the tablecloth, the warm, unfamiliar sensation of being cared for that she felt when Loki risked his life to distract Alioth for her, the feel of his hand in hers when they enchanted the monster together.
“I just want you to be okay,” Loki said, stunning Sylvie and breaking her heart. She felt her walls crumble to dust, and it took everything she had to hold on to her resolve.
She needed a way to see her plan through to the end and keep Loki safe. The TemPad at the end of the desk appeared in her mind’s eye.
But first, couldn’t she steal a brief moment in time? Just a moment, to tell Loki—
Sylvie didn’t know what to say. But she could show Loki how she felt about him.
With a sigh of surrender, she dropped her blade and closed the distance between them.
Sylvie pressed her lips to Loki’s with fervor, trying to convey the yearning and affection she couldn’t articulate, all the gratitude she had for him truly seeing her and caring for her in a way she hadn’t imagined possible.
Their lips parted briefly only to meet again as Loki gently pulled her closer to him. Sylvie leaned into the kiss, trying to sear into her memory the taste of him, the intoxicating sensation of being so close to him, being held by him—
Stop, she told herself, reluctantly pulling away to end the kiss, even as part of her screamed to continue giving into the desire burning through her, to find a way for this stolen moment to never end. Her gaze shifted from where her hand rested on his chest to his lips before she finally looked up at him. You have to let him go now. You can’t let him stop you from completing your mission, not even if…
Whatever she felt, whatever he felt, it wasn’t enough to free the timeline, it wasn’t enough to absolve her from her need for vengeance.
Sylvie had to save Loki from herself. There was only one thing to do, she thought, calling He Who Remains’ unique TemPad into her right hand with a slight pull of magic.
Sylvie tried to sound cold and firm as she countered Loki’s heartfelt words with her own, simple and to the point; “but I’m not you.” She wanted to be okay, but she couldn’t be okay until He Who Remains was dead.
If Loki heard her, if he understood her, he didn’t show it. He was looking at her with astonishment, awe, and a deep longing that pierced through her, filling her with guilt as her thumb ran across the smooth surface of the TemPad. In her mind, she asked for a time door to the TVA, right behind where Loki stood.
Loki took a step towards her, maybe to kiss her again or hold her as if that could make her okay. She wished it could.
But Sylvie would never know what he intended. She couldn’t let the moment last any longer. She pushed her feelings deep down and pushed Loki through the time door with a burst of magic.
She heard the start of his grunt of shock before he vanished, out of her reach. It triggered a pang of guilt that nearly grabbed hold of her, a self-loathing voice asking how could you? But she dismissed it, telling herself that Loki was safe. He would find Mobius and B-15 and he would be okay. Eventually, at least. She had a mission to complete, and this way he wouldn’t have to bear the burden of whatever happened next.
This was her choice, her decision.
Her glorious purpose.
“Incredible,” He Who Remains said in a soft voice, as if surprised, maybe even impressed. That irked Sylvie, how undaunted he sounded.
She turned to him, materialized her sword back into her hand and struck it against his desk. He Who Remains flinched, and that compelled Sylvie forward. Wanting to see him cower further, she flung the desk out of the way with a forceful wave of magic. Yet he responded with amusement, with laughter that pricked at her, fueling her fury.
Why wasn’t he afraid?
“Aren’t you gonna beg for your life?” She taunted, wanting him to feel the same terror she had lived with her whole life on the run, wanting him to plead for mercy like she imagined all the countless variants did before they were pruned and fed to Alioth under the orders of He Who Remains.
“Um, could, could.” He laughed again, and Sylvie had heard enough. She would prefer he fought back, but she decided his reaction, or lack thereof was just another attempt at manipulation. Nothing could stop her now.
He deserves this, she thought, and she ran her sword through his heart. Her eyes stayed on his, searching for any shimmer of fear, of admitted defeat.
Instead, he smiled at her. “See you soon,” he whispered with a wink, then had the audacity to laugh again as the life in his eyes faded away before he finally slumped in the chair.
Sylvie let go of her weapon and stepped back, unsettled and confused.
It was over. Her mission was complete.
Yet all she felt was an overwhelming emptiness.
Where was the relief, the freedom from all the pain and suffering that stalked her every waking day and haunted her in every nightmare?
Backing away from the lifeless body of He Who Remains, Sylvie stumbled a few steps before collapsing to the floor. The sob long trapped in her throat tore free and tears streamed down her face.
The timeline splintered and fractured into infinite branches beyond the windows of the citadel. The multiverse was free. Every living being now had free will, because of Sylvie.
And Loki, she amended, her soul aching at the thought of him. She never would’ve made it this far without him.
He should be here with her, at the end of it all. For a brief, beautiful moment in time, that’s how she thought it could be. That for once in her life, maybe, just maybe she wouldn’t be alone.
What about you, what will you do when this is all over? He had asked her.
I don’t know, she had said. She still didn’t. She had never thought beyond this moment.
I don’t know either. Maybe… maybe we could figure it out together, he had replied, looking at her in a way she had never expected anyone to look at her. Like he would stay by her side forever if only she would let him.
Instead, she had sent him away against his will. She tried not to think of how he would look at her now. She had pushed him through the door so she wouldn’t accidentally hurt him if he kept getting in her way. But she had hurt him after all.
He had hurt her too, she thought angrily, grasping for anything that could make her feel a little better. But she felt worse with every passing minute. Dread slithered through her as she waited for something to happen.
What if Loki was right? What if He Who Remains’ variants were going to take over and everything would be worse than before? Sylvie imagined hundreds, thousands of his variants swarming the citadel, venturing out into the shiny new timelines and destroying everything, everyone. Taking away the very freedom Sylvie had won for them.
She shivered and hugged her legs to her chest. But what else could she have done? Spent the rest of her days ordering the pruning of countless lives and feeding them to Alioth? She couldn’t have lived with herself, not even with Loki by her side. And she couldn’t imagine Loki being happy either, not when it would’ve been their responsibility to destroy the lives of innocent little girls, infinite Lokis trying to better themselves, and entire realities just because they could lead to another variant of He Who Remains.
Sylvie lifted her head to look up at his dead body. Blood flowed down his tunic into a pool of red on the ground.
He hadn’t vanished in a puff of magic or faded away. He was just a man. A man who had offered her and Loki two shit options. His solution to the suffering caused by his other variants was… to cause suffering and eliminate free will to boot.
Why couldn’t Loki see that?
The whole thing had been a trap. There was no way she and Loki could truly defeat him, unless… unless they thought of a different solution altogether. An alternative option that defeated He Who Remains and his variants while preserving free will.
Or maybe Loki had understood that all along.
All I’m suggesting is we just take a minute to think about it.
He hadn’t exactly insisted they take He Who Remains’ deal, but Loki was stopping Sylvie from killing him all the same.
But if she had taken that minute, if she had waited a moment to think of a different way—
Maybe, maybe, could’ve, should’ve… it didn’t matter anymore. It was done. He Who Remains had to die. Everyone finally had free will, including Sylvie herself.
So why didn’t she feel free?
Why didn’t she feel even a little better? Why did everything hurt more than before?
Sylvie let out a raw, guttural scream. An uncontrolled wave of magic burst from within her, exploding out in every direction like a tidal wave. The bones of the citadel ached and groaned, books flew off their shelves, and every window shattered into a million sharp pieces that fell like rain all around Sylvie as she wept.
Loki’s gentle voice, unbidden, echoed in her mind. Did the, uh, scream make you feel better?
“No, it didn’t,” she whispered to herself. Not this time.