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During his first reign over Asgard, Loki explored little of the power that came with the position of the king.
But it was a brief reign. And his mind was clouded by too many emotions for him to actually think. Still clinging to lies and deceit; still hoping – pathetically, foolishly – to rise above the toy Odin picked up and kept. Long after it lost any value.
But this time, it was different.
He had time. Patience. And the best cover of all.
Death. A noble one at that.
He could still recall the strength of conviction in Thor’s voice as he declared Loki’s demise an honourable one.
To Loki, while in the guise of Thor’s own father, sitting on the very same throne Thor had turned his back on.
It was… well, it still made Loki grin when he recalled it.
Thor might have evolved into someone not ruled by his own volatile temper. Someone with foresight and patience and even cunningness, but he was still a sentimental fool as ever.
Still ruled by his heart. Heart which still held a place for Loki. Even when all evidence would suggest that to be somewhere between madness and idiocy.
Loki loathed to admit it, but the speech Thor delivered in the dungeons… it hit the mark. Wormed its way into Loki’s thoughts and made him wonder.
It still made him wonder. Despite what had happened on Svartalfheim, and Thor’s not in the least subtle display of love, regret and, if not forgiveness, then certainly acceptance.
It made Loki wonder. And seethe. Because it was not fear which he felt when contemplating a scenario in which Thor saw him as an enemy only.
Fear would be logical and sane reaction. For only a fool would think that having Thor Odinson as a mortal enemy is a trifling matter.
But there was nothing sane or logical in the feeling of loss.
And, no matter how Loki attempted to rationalize it, the very same could be said for what Loki had been doing lately.
Heimdall could see… well, almost everything.
But so could the one sitting on Hlidskjalf with Gungnir in hand.
It was one of the first things Loki had abused as he began his second reign.
A glimpse here, glimpse there… not too much, or too long. After all, no power came without a certain cost, and Heimdall was as annoyingly vigilant as ever. Just enough for Loki to keep an eye on all those who could prove to be difficult to handle in the future.
It worked.
Day by day, time passed, and Loki was still sitting on the throne of Asgard, shielded by the guise of Odin’s face, and none were the wiser.
It would be a lie to claim he felt not a small amount of pleasure in ordering about all those who loathed him, and doubted him, and thought him the lesser man compared to the Asgard’s Golden prince.
Asgard’s only prince.
Sif especially proved to be a very useful errand-girl.
And it made Loki feel almost giddy to once in a while test his own power against Heimdall’s.
Sometimes he could almost feel the Guardian’s eyes seeing beneath the mask. Sometimes he wished for an excuse to put an end to his life. And sometimes he had to grit his teeth and clench his hands into fists and simply breathe until the moment passed and he no longer ached with the desire to lash out, to light the fire to Asgard and watch it burn.
But this time was different. He was different. Stronger than his hate, stronger than anger. They fuelled him still, but not to the point of madness.
He was no longer a fool ruled by his pathetic sentiment. He had fallen through a tear in space; seen power he never could have even imagined before. He even tried seizing some for himself, but he was brought down low. Beaten, humiliated and then tossed aside – locked up and forgotten.
A mere year behind that infernal barrier and it seemed like centuries.
Centuries of helpless fury and boredom and despair and… yes, loneliness.
Only Frigga-
No. Loki knew the end of that path, and he had no particular desire to sink his nails further into that wound.
It was as close to satisfaction as Loki was likely to come – having the entire Asgard bow down to him, while he silently laughed to their faces.
Only… there was something missing.
Someone.
One head bowing low. One face looking up at him from beneath the dais of the throne.
Sometimes Loki caught himself searching for a glimpse of red between the endless gold of the palace. Or straining his ears to hear the familiar, booming voice echoing in the halls.
Thor.
Still and always Thor.
Loki was aware how fortunate Thor’s self-imposed exile was. How much more difficult – nigh impossible – this entire game would be were it any different.
After centuries of scorn, it seemed Norns have decided to favour him.
But what his logical mind knew, the other part of him loathed.
He wanted Thor here.
So he could command him.
So he could see just how far he could push him before something broke.
So he could place him in chains and keep him with Odin, far from anyone’s sight, to seethe as Loki seethed – helpless and powerless and Loki’s only.
So he could see him.
So he would not miss him.
It was like an itch, a dangerous, persistent itch, begging to be scratched.
Loki fought against it.
Made himself busy, kept his thoughts away from that wretched realm and his not-brother, gallivanting around among mortals, playing house with that woman.
It was a battle doomed from the start.
Loki broke down after a day of endless talks about taxes of all things.
He had forgotten about the not so glorious side of having the absolute power.
His word was needed in everything. No matter how unimportant, or uninteresting it was.
When the delegates finally went away – they had no idea how close they came to their demise; the last hour Loki managed to sit through only by imagining all the fun ways of flaying them alive – Loki was too agitated, too restless to deny himself that for what he had yearned for too long.
He locked himself up in the throne room, made sure he was safe from prying eyes, and, with a sigh of relief, searched for Thor.
He found him easily.
And it took Loki only a short glance to set his temper aflame, his teeth clicking soundly together.
Thor seemed content.
Walking around an apartment far, far too small for him as if he were born for it – smiling, relaxed, even joyous. Like he had no regrets or sorrows to haunt his thoughts, or plague his heart.
Loki inhaled harshly, his grip around Gungnir’s shaft tightening to the point of pain. He took yet another breath and forced himself to calm.
And why would Thor be anything but content? He was living the life he had chosen, even after being handed Asgard on a silver platter.
Because of Loki? As far as Thor was concerned, Loki had died honourably, redeeming himself in that final moment. If Thor mourned him, Loki was certain, he did so without guilt or anger, taking comfort in Loki’s last act of selfless sacrifice.
Loki wondered just how deep disappointment and betrayal would cut when Thor discovered the truth.
Just how terrifying his rage would be.
Could it finally be enough for Thor to act on the promise he had made in the dungeons.
But those were thoughts for another time.
Now Thor knew nothing of Loki’s little game.
Now he was too preoccupied with living a life unbefitting him, and even if he now seemed content, Loki wondered how long it would last.
Because it would not last. It could not last. Midgard was too small a realm for Thor. And all those he held dear… well, their lives were fleeting, a mere flicker of a candlelight – brief and fragile.
Thor was dressed in casual Midgardian wear which suited him perfectly, but could not hide the fact of his birth, his strength and power.
Loki could not decide which he loathed more – the former, or the latter.
Nor could he force himself to cease watching.
Even if there was nothing remotely interesting to be seen.
But that was never the point.
Loki did not seek entertainment nor information, he merely wished to see Thor.
But he did not wish to see the way Thor’s face lit up with joy, his lips curving into a smile as that woman appeared.
And he certainly did not wish to see the way Thor’s arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her easily off the ground.
If anything, that display finally made Loki break the spell.
But not before he saw Thor’s head dip low and bring their mouths together.
Annoyed and disgusted, with his chest inexplicably and uncomfortably tight, Loki swore never to repeat that particular idiocy.
He managed to last one week before doing it again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
By then, Loki ceased to bother with lies about how that time would finally be the last.
It became a ritual, a foolish indulgence on Loki’s part, but the need behind it was far stronger than Loki’s own will.
It was like looking into the past but through a twisted mirror – seeing Thor surrounded by people who matter to him, who he loves, the lines on his forehead smoothed by content.
It should not matter.
Thor’s joy should not twist and writhe inside Loki’s chest like a trapped beast.
Not when it was keeping Thor far away from Asgard, giving Loki that what he wanted… that what he deserved.
It should not matter. But it did.
And yet, despite everything, Loki kept on watching.
Even after that day when he was greeted by the sight of Thor’s naked back and Jane’s head thrown back as Thor mouthed at her neck.
The sight stole almost all air from Loki’s lungs, and what little remained burned inside his chest as Loki struggled to draw breath.
It took Loki decidedly too long to purge his thoughts of the images of muscles flexing underneath golden skin, as Thor rose to his feet, that woman’s legs wrapped firmly around his waist, and proceeded to stride toward their bedroom, not for a second stopping to lavish kisses down her neck.
By then Loki had managed to establish enough control over himself to break the damned spell.
And yet…Loki kept on watching, his mood growing fouler by the day. Along with a hollow ache concentrated beneath his breastbone.
Until the day he locked himself away in the throne room, as was his habit, his mood already shifting between concern, agitation and dread after the news about a reappearance of another Infinity Stone; Thanos’ name capturing Loki’s attention among the myriad of others, most unbeknown to him. Loki stored the names in the vault of his mind for future use. He was certain he would need the information.
It was not unexpected, to be reminded of the Titan and his quest, it was hardly to be expected that he would remain idle in the light of Loki’s defeat, but the news of yet another failure in obtaining the Stones, did not bode well for the future.
Not only Loki’s.
But that future was not here yet. Loki still had time prepare.
A disconcerting thought occurred to him then, as the images swirled in front of him, still unfocused. But he crushed that thought before it grew stronger.
Thor was not a solution to Loki’s troubles. If anything, he would be a complication. And not a minor one. They were not who they once were to each other. And the time when Loki could run to his big brother’s bed, and hope to find the protection and peace from the nightmares keeping him awake at night was long gone.
Thor was not his brother and what remained of his love for Loki would surely die when the truth came out.
Thor who was currently sleeping, sprawled on a couch far too small to contain his entire bulk. But even if Thor balanced precariously on the edge of falling off the couch, he still managed to sleep soundly.
The corners of Loki’s mouth shifted upwards slowly, a soft smile already playing on his lips before Loki caught himself and, gritting his teeth, pressed them into a tight line.
Surely, he was not quite as desperate to watch Thor sleep. He has seen that sight numerous times, and never had it been remotely entertaining – Thor slept like the dead. Always had-
But not this time, Loki noticed with a mixture of surprise and rising curiosity. His lashes were fluttering, as if Thor was fighting against something. But was he fighting against dreams or waking, Loki could not tell.
Only, that was not the truth, Loki realized with a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach. Loki could.
There was a spell he had learned a long time ago, but it demanded quite an amount of power. Far too much power for an insight into something as illusive and random as dreams.
Now Loki had power, enough of it to breeze through Thor’s dreams with ease, and undetected.
Loki swallowed, his heart rate increasing minutely.
Loki wanted to know, wanted it with disturbing intensity. But he also did not want to trespass into Thor’s sleeping mind, only to find that woman there. Thor loved her, they were lovers, Loki knew this, witnessed their shared smiles, kisses and touches. But it was one thing to see her claiming Thor’s undivided attention when he was awake, the possibility of seeing her lord over Thor’s unconscious mind, made Loki’s insides twist, bile rising in his throat.
With a low, exasperated growl, Loki broke the spell, rising to his feet urgently, a small, wistful smile on Thor’s face the last thing he saw.
Loki did not watch Thor for months after that.
He thought less of Thor, his attention focused on more important matters, but Loki did not try to convince himself it would last.
The next time he sought and found Thor, Loki was grateful for his weakness.
Because Thor was no longer playing his role in domestic bliss with that woman.
No, this Thor was more like the brother Loki remembered – ferocious, focused and unstoppable.
It was far more pleasant a sight.
Thor’s choice of company, on the other hand, not in the least.
Loki’s mood grew from amused to concerned in a span of moments.
They were searching for the scepter he so idiotically lost during the New York fiasco.
And once they locate it and retrieve it – and they would, Loki was certain of it, not only because of Thor’s seeming determination to overturn the entire Midgard if needed until he has it in his possession – they would be in possession of something very powerful.
Powerful and oh so very dangerous.
And coveted by a being whose power was surpassed only by his ruthlessness.
Loki did not bother anymore with trying to conceal his activities from Heimdall’s eyes. He had no doubt the Guardian’s eyes were never far from Thor.
He was correct in his assumption.
“You should trust your son more, my Lord.” Heimdall told him one day, his eyes not straying from whatever point in the universe caught and held his attention. “He knows his duty.”
Loki felt his blood boil at the remark. Before all this ended, he wowed, he would find a way to silence the damned hypocrite for good. But for now, Loki merely allowed himself a hint of a smile.
“Were it not so, I would not wait idly while they seek a weapon of such power. Given all that I know of human capacity for greed and their thirst for power.”
Heimdall said nothing, but Loki could feel the weight of his gaze long after he left the Observatory.
As Loki expected, Thor and his mortal pets did not disappoint.
The fight preceding the recovery of the sceptre was needlessly long and offered only passing entertainment, Loki’s attention perking up when those young and very, very interesting mortals joined the fight.
Loki felt almost giddy when the scepter was securely in the Avengers’ hands.
He even briefly entrained the idea of stealing the scepter from under their noses, but quickly discarding it.
Why would he risk exposing himself when soon he would have it in his hands?
When Thor would return to Asgard with it. No matter Thor’s self-imposed exile, Thor would not burden anyone with the retrieval of such a powerful object.
There was not a shadow of a doubt in Loki’s mind that that is to be the scepter’s fate, even before it was announced, the fleeting look of sadness on Thor’s face as he stared at the sceptre stirring something in the middle of Loki’s chest. A feeling Loki thought to be forgotten and buried along with all other lies he had believed in most of his life.
Much to his annoyance, Loki was not certain what made his breath hitch and his heart rate quicken with the rush of thrill and anticipation – the thought of having the sceptre once again in his grasp, or the fact of Thor’s return.
And then everything fell apart.
Loki was seething on the throne, ready to rip Stark to shreds for his idiocy, for his arrogance, for his audacity.
But it was a futile rage, and he could only watch as Stark’s creation turned on its creator, its rage and madness, its warped outlook of the world echoing with an alarming familiarity inside Loki’s mind.
It was frustrating – to sit idly and not be able to act.
Loki’s frustration grew as the Avengers proved incapable of stopping a mere machine, allowing that young witch to play with their minds. To take them apart with a simple illusion.
Even Thor could not fight her, ending on his knees – shaken and trembling, real dread in his eyes.
Loki could not decide what he wanted – to bestow the witch with the greatest of gifts, or remove her spine.
Mostly he wanted to know what it was that made Thor break so easily, so thoroughly.
As expected, Thor picked himself up – well, they all did, more or less – but there were shadows lingering in Thor’s eyes, uncertainty and fear and doubts, but, annoyingly steadfast as ever, Thor had chosen to search for answers, instead of licking his wounds with the rest of them.
Watching what came next was similar to watching a noose slowly tightening around his own neck, and being powerless to stop it.
Thor finding the Waters of Sight.
The creation of that… that thing.
The Infinity Stones reveal.
Loki nearly lost all semblance of composure when it lifted Mjölnir. Casually, carelessly, as if it were nothing, not an act which set Loki’s soul aflame with bitter envy.
An artificial construct was worthy of lifting Mjölnir, when Loki would gladly give away everything for one moment, one brief moment of being worthy.
Of being Thor’s equal.
When he gathered himself again, the final battle was already in progress.
Loki was not worried about its outcome.
He was painfully familiar with how efficient the Avengers were, and now they had two additional formidable members. More than enough to handle Stark’s mechanical creation.
So Loki watched, and watched, his chest becoming uncomfortably tight with each moment, his breathing turning shallow and uneven, and no matter how much he tried, he could not stop his fingers trembling.
But it was not concern.
Loki was not concerned about Thor.
Not when one small mistake, one moment of carelessness from any of the mortals, could spell Thor’s demise.
Not when the fool followed Stark’s plan and shattered entire town to pieces around himself.
Not even when Thor, along with the debris, had fallen unconscious into water.
Loki waited for the inevitable – Thor regaining consciousness, Mjölnir flying dutifully to him and carrying him to safety in a dramatic and ostentatious display of power.
Loki waited.
And waited.
And waited.
But he waited in vain.
Thor was not waking.
Loki grew deathly still.
Thor might be a force of nature, the most formidable warrior in all Nine Realms, but some laws applied to him as to any mere mortal.
Thor needed to breathe to remain alive.
Thor could not breathe currently.
Thor was going to die.
The thought barely formed inside Loki’s mind, and he was already on his feet, calling on more power than he had before, barely remembering to shield himself from Heimdall’s eyes as his form – his own once again – twisted and flickered.
The water was cold but Loki barely felt it as he dove after Thor’s unconscious body, panic and dread tightening around his heart like an iron vise.
The next few moments passed in a blur of movement and desperate panic, until Loki’s fingers finally closed around Thor’s wrist and he transported them to the dry land.
Dripping wet and shaking – from rage and dread alike – Loki went down on his knees next to Thor’s still body. He rolled Thor over onto his back, his palms flashing green against Thor’s chest, draining the water from Thor’s lungs.
There were dozens of scrapes and bruises across Thor’s body, his armour torn and battered. But that was nothing serious. Nothing Thor had not lived through many, many times; smiling that infuriating smug smile, arrogantly certain of his own immortality. Loki almost allowed himself to relax, his alarm slowly turning to a feeling of exasperation over his own foolish, sentimental, exaggerated reaction, but then he found a large, deep gash in Thor’s side, bleeding profusely, and his entire body stilled with renewed dread. Upon a closer inspection, Loki found a large piece of metal protruding from the tear in Thor’s armor; the sharp, jagged metal embedded deep into Thor’s flesh.
Loki swallowed, but the taste of bile remained in his mouth. With one sharp tug, Loki pulled the offending object out from Thor’s side, his palms wet and sticky where they were resting against Thor’s wound.
“You utter imbecile.” Loki muttered hotly, his eyes boring holes in Thor’s slack face. Loki had never been much interested in healing magic, learning mere basics. And were it not for the Gungnir’s power, channelling through Loki, Loki would not be able to do anything. A shudder wracked through Loki’s body at that thought, as sharp flare of pure terror burst within the hollow of his chest, leaving him gasping for breath.
“You damned fool.” Loki seethed once he found enough breath to so, his fingers still trembling, the rush of blood in his ears a deafening roar. “Are you so eager to die for them? For those pathetic creatures who are not worthy of breathing the same air as you?”
Loki ranted and cursed as he healed Thor and repaired his damaged armor, his fingers still shaking and heart still beating wildly, but the panic was slowly lessening its hold on Loki’s mind as the magic pouring from his hands knit Thor’s flesh together, healing him.
But Loki forgot something. Panicked and furious, and focused on healing Thor, Loki did not think past the moment, the truth of Thor’s annoying stubborn determination and resilience slipping his mind utterly.
It almost cost him.
Loki was not certain what drew his attention – a slight change in Thor’s breathing or a small twitch of his fingers – but when he looked up from Thor’s bloodied armor he was met with the sight of Thor’s eyes, resting on his face.
Loki’s face.
Loki drew in a harsh breath, his eyes went wide, and he froze.
A moment passed, then another, and another, but Loki could not draw his gaze away from Thor’s eyes – still unfocused, very much like in the moment between sleep and waking, but with an expression of pure, unbridled joy and tenderness glinting in their depths.
The moment lingered, Loki’s breath heavy in his throat, his thoughts reduced to a white noise. Nothing mattered anymore, entire universe blurred and shifted out of focus, only the look in Thor’s eyes remained real. Only the steady rise and fall of Thor’s chest mattered.
Thor blinked, his eyes slowly gaining focus, awareness seeping into the languid daze of his expression, but it was the soft, tentative brush of cold, wet fingers against Loki’s wrist which finally snapped Loki out of his daze, making him remember the reality.
Reality in which Loki was dead.
Reality in which Thor would cease looking at him with warmth and tenderness the moment his mind caught up with the rest of him.
Which, by the slight frown on Thor’s face, was seconds away from occurring.
Loki’s hand shot out, his fingers brushing against Thor’s temple. “Sleep.” Loki commanded. His fingers flared green and Thor’s face went slack instantly.
Loki sighed, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
He was not afraid Thor would remember him, and even if he did, he would think it a dream or an illusion. A mere figment of his mind.
Taking a deep breath, Loki opened his eyes, his gaze immediately flicking towards Thor’s face.
Thor appeared peaceful, his lips drawn into a small, wistful smile, looking very much like that time Loki spied on him in his Midgardian apartment.
When Loki almost choked on his desire to have a glimpse of his dreams.
A small, mirthless chuckle fell from Loki’s lips.
The last time they were together, with both of them in their true form, Loki had been the one lying on the ground, bleeding.
Dying.
As Thor would have were it not for Loki.
But now they were both alive, and very, very soon, the time for reckoning would come.
Saving Thor could prove a terrible mistake, but Loki did not feel even an ounce of regret.
His heart had yet to calm, and his fingers still twitched occasionally. A rather glaring proof of the true nature of his feeling concerning Thor’s potential demise for Loki to even think of lying to himself.
Loki’s hand moved, fingers gently brushing the hair from Thor’s temple, his eyes fixed on Thor’s sleeping face.
There were still two cuts remaining on Thor’s face. Loki knew Thor well enough to leave them. No matter how much Thor might have changed, he still cherished battle scars, wearing them with pride.
“Fool.” Loki whispered, fondly, foolishly, his hand cupping Thor’s jaw. Then, following a sudden, but unyielding impulse, Loki leaned down, his lips closing over Thor’s.
It was not a kiss, not truly, only a soft, fleeting brush of lips, but to Loki it felt branding hot, just another ring in the already long chains shackling him to Thor.
Thor’s lips were cold, wet and unresponsive, and they tasted like regret and missed chances.
They tasted like memories.
Loki straightened slowly, reluctantly, his heart twisting with dull ache, his thumb stroking Thor’s jaw slowly.
Thor slept soundly, unaware of what had transpired, looking untroubled and content. If Loki turned his head just so, and squinted, he could almost pretend they were still brothers, and he was foolish enough to allow Thor to corner him somewhere private and talk him into yet another pointless sojourn through a random wilderness in search of some unsuspecting beast.
It was a tempting notion. To pretend that last few years were no more than a truly awful dream. Far more tempting than Loki would have liked to admit.
But it was not so. And Loki had already lingered here too long.
Each moment he prolonged his stay, meant nothing but danger.
On more than one level.
With not a small amount of regret, Loki pulled his hand away from Thor’s face and rose to his feet.
Loki glanced at the clear sky, the corner of his mouth lifting.
He was not Thor, and he had no dominion over elemental forces, he could not make the sky turn from clear blue to leaden grey in a matter of heartbeats.
Loki did not have that kind of power, but he did not need it to know that there was a storm coming their way.
He could feel it in his bones, in his very soul. Storm the likes of which the Realms have never seen.
It was coming slowly but surely, and once it arrived…well, there would not be a soul safe from its destructive power.
Fortunately, Loki still had a trick or two up his sleeve.
Throwing a last glance at Thor’s sleeping face, Loki smiled.
“Farewell for now, Thor.” Loki whispered, his figure flickering briefly before morphing into Odin’s visage. “I look forward to seeing you again. Brother.”
With the echo of his softly spoken last word still lingering in the air, Loki disappeared.