Chapter Text
The cell is small, made with the same specifications as the first one he had been placed in. Minor changes, maybe, but in the grand scheme of things it was as unlikely to hold him as the hulk tank had been when he descended with the Chitauri.
Loki sits quietly.
“You have brought this upon yourself.” Thor tells him. And then he leaves.
-
He had been taken, gagged and bound, dragged back through the eyes of the court.
The Allfather could have ended him, destroyed him, wiped him clean.
He calls him Odinson. Prince of Asgard.
Thor’s eyes widen, but he holds his tongue.
Frigga is a brilliant actress, for she stands with calmness that he knows she does not feel.
He does not look at Sif and the Warriors Three. They do not matter (though he supposed he was surprised they had managed silence this long).
They lock him in the depths after trial, hidden in darkness where no one has to see him before his sentence is carried out. He is gone the next morning.
It becomes the way of things. He is caught (out of necessity, accident, design) and locked away in the dark. Their precautions to keep him contained are sub-par, laughable, on both Asgard and Midgard. He stays long enough to make them think it might work before walking out as though any attempt they have made is a joke.
He has been long since in control and in his rightful mind (or depending on who you ask, as close to one as he ever had before), he had come back to himself after the incident with Banner’s other half, and has long since lost interest in ruling or conquering. He had never really wanted either of these things.
But he keeps going back.
Loki keeps going after the Avengers because of the perverse pleasure he gets from the fact that they have no idea.
Until they do.