Chapter Text
As far as dying was concerned - Loki thought absently, as he lay bleeding in the dirt, his ears filled with the sound of his own blood slowly dripping into the dirt - it would have been a noble death.
Long after Jane had finally managed to drag Thor away from his prone form, Loki continued to stay still and in deep deliberation of whether or not it was worth the effort to open his eyes ever again. There were many who would have considered it a blessing to die knowing that they were redeemed of their sins – if not by any higher judge – then at least in the eyes of their closest kin. Thor had certainly made it seem like that was the case and had even wanted to extend that goodwill further by telling Odin of his martyrdom. It made Loki believe that his name would live on in songs, even if it meant that the bards were forced to get little creative while composing verses of his previous actions; surely ‘multiple attempts of treason by a bastard’ didn’t rhyme well with ‘the beloved second son of the nation’.
Still, Loki was under no illusion that Thor wouldn’t insist on making sure that the writing of those damned sonnets actually took place, even if they were to be filled with half-truths and sentimental exaggerations. That image momentarily made him even more in favor of dying right then and there, if only to see such beautiful lies released into the universe. Now that would be the eulogy he deserved, as well as one he might even appreciate.
But he feared – no, he knew that the irony of it would be lost on everyone else who wasn’t proud to carry such titles as he. Should he decide to stay there until his heart finally grew weary in its fight against the inevitable, he would be brought back to Asgard – not in chains this time, but on a pair of stretchers made of the finest silk – and hailed as a reformed sinner; and Odin in his great wisdom would immortalize his name in the stars next to Frigga’s, where it would live forever on, permanently out of reach of any future shade he himself could cast over it by simply continuing his existence.
With that precise fate in mind, Loki slowly opened his eyes, if only to marvel at the vast expanse of universe that opened above him for the very last time –
- and then he breathed in deep, filling his lungs with the planet’s dry air that tasted of ash and sulfur. Next, he proceeded to sit up, and was nearly knocked down again by the pain that shot through his left side, where the spear had actually pierced his flesh, if not as fatally as he had made it seem in the eyes of his oblivious audience. It hurt even a great deal more to summon his remaining powers to heal the wound in question and in the end he wasn’t entirely pleased with the result. But at least it put him out of the immediate danger of bleeding out, and he could start his slow limping back to the place where the vessel they had travelled there lay on its side in the sand and search shelter there for the time being.
As he sat there, shielded from both the flying sand and the icy wind, Loki realized that during the previous mental coin toss which had decided his fate, there had been one fatal error in his logic, and that was the assumption that Thor would actually succeed in saving the Nine Realms from whatever chaos Malekith had in store for them (Loki had to admit that he was little hazy on the details of that particular scheme – in his opinion, if one wanted to resume his people’s status as a master race, plunging the whole universe into darkness wasn’t the way to do it). Likewise, the fact that the Aether was now inside Malekith’s body rather than Jane’s wasn’t as much an advantage as it was the worst possible scenario imaginable, although Loki was sure that Thor in all his foolish affection towards the mortal certainly didn’t see it like that. He found himself hoping that victory was still achievable despite that particular error, if only for the sake of his reputation; if the whole creation was to succumb to eternal darkness due to one human’s safety, then he would do right by keeling over right now despite any earlier promises, only because he had played a part in it.
But although the shadows grew longer as hours passed, the night itself didn’t seem unnaturally dark. During his exile Loki had fallen beyond the scope of Yggdrasil’s guarded branches and he had witnessed first-handed the forgotten corners of the universe, places where darkness had been so all-encompassing that it had taken away both his breath and his name, robbing him even of his magic. Needless to say, it had not been one of his proudest moments, more so because that had been the manner in which the Chitauri patrol had found him, crawling on all fours like an animal on some poor excuse of a planet, with his mind set ablaze by both the dark and the howling silence. Back then he had been blinded by the night that knew no end – no wonder it had felt like the Tesseract had given him a new set of eyes, since staring at it had been like gazing at the light of the stars for the very first time; even mortals knew that such sight had driven men to madness long before his brief attempt to rule Midgard.
So he knew what true darkness was, intimately, and whatever the grey dullness around him was, it certainly wasn’t the end of all things. It left him to believe that, against all odds, Thor had once again managed to save the day.
As the first light of dawn broke through the stormy whirlpool of clouds above and he still found the world to be as it always was, Loki decided to head home.
Seeing that he had none, and that he was a wanted man in more than one Realm, he picked the lesser of many evils.
With great effort, he righted the vessel and started his journey back to Asgard.
*
His homecoming was rather anticlimactic, as well as lacking in any fanfare. During the flight he had disguised himself as one of the guards, but eventually decided to drop the act as he reached the palace, knowing that Odin would see straight through any possible tricks he might be able to conjure in his current weakened state.
As he limped through the battleworn halls some of the soldiers looked at his blood-soaked armor in confusion, clearly unsure whether they were to arrest him or to help him; Loki got the impression that they were more inclined to believe the blood spattered on him originated from some unfortunate bystander rather than from his own veins. Yet none of them tried to stop him and he reached the throne room without objection, continuing his journey through the hall and stepping carefully around the crater left by the bigger ship.
During his walk he had been aware of the lone figure sitting above all else, but had carefully maintained from redirecting his gaze from the floor ahead. Only when he finally stood at the foot of the throne itself, this time happily free of any shackles, he lifted his eyes to meet Odin’s stare.
To his disappointment he found it to be quite lacking in surprise. The All-Father merely gazed at him with his scar-pieced brow cocked, regarding him steadily.
“So,” Odin mused, finally deeming the silence worth breaking. “You’re alive, then.” His tone was indecipherable. “My sources told me that you perished in the battle.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Loki answered, as wryly as he could manage. “I take it that Thor has saved the Realms?”
Odin nodded. “He is yet to return, but he sent word from Midgard that Malekith is dead and the Aether is secured.”
He was clearly immensely pleased on both accounts. Loki felt the corner of his eye give an involuntary twitch; not for the first time, and what hardly seemed like the last, he questioned his reasons to return to the land of the living.
He didn’t get the chance to dwell on that particular thought for long, because in the next minute Odin’s expression was darkening as it settled on that grim scowl Loki was much more accustomed to dealing with. “Thor undoubtedly has his reasons to linger, but at the moment I’m more interested in yours, given that you have decided to return.” With one cold eye, he measured Loki’s torn form and clearly drew his own conclusions from it. Judging by his unchangeable expression and the great sigh he heaved, that opinion wasn’t in his favor. “Why are you here, Loki? Did you come to crow at the state of what used to be your home, to laugh while Asgard lies in ruins?”
Somewhere beneath Loki’s skin his magic hissed like a riled snake, but he could tell that his heart wasn’t truly in it. Still, to gain some time to compose himself, he averted his eyes and focused on the view of the city below that opened on his right, courtesy of the massive hole that had been blown into the wall. Standing there amidst of all the rubble and dust, he suddenly found the whole argument and everything related to tiresome. It was, in the lack of a more eloquent expression – simply pointless. No sooner than the thought itself had occurred to him, he already knew not to waste any breath in making it known. It was beyond Odin’s supposedly all-seeing scope to comprehend that like those very walls, certain patterns in behavior could be erased by violent interference.
“Why would I find it amusing, when the defeat is mine to share?” Loki replied, his tone flat. “I came for some of Mother’s belongings. If you’re to throw me back in my cell, then allow me the courtesy to bring her books with me. The spells on those pages will be of little use to me there, but at least I have something to pass the time with.”
The smirk Odin gave him could hardly be called a smile. “Lie to me all you want, but don’t take me for a fool: we both know that those books would be anything but harmless in your hands.” But then he was already continuing by waving his hand in dismissal, saying, “Go on then, take whatever of hers you like and then be on your way. It isn’t as if there is a single soul in Asgard who finds those words worth reading.”
This permission gave Loki a pause, and even made him discard the obvious and ancient-old remark on how useless the whole of Asgard found his particular skillset. “You’re not locking me up?” he asked, astonished.
“It seems to me that whenever someone attempts to yank the chain around your neck, you only pull harder against it,” Odin told him. “You have proven time and time again that you lie and cheat as easily as you breathe. I doubt whether there is a cell in whole creation that can contain such venom, and given the current state of our prisons, I find myself reluctant to even try.”
And there it was, the familiar verbal knife that found its target more accurately than any of the real ones he had ever thrown. Loki allowed himself the briefest of smiles, even if it was for the sake of his own foolishness.
“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head accordingly, “for proving me wrong, because for a second there, I actually thought that the great All-Father was capable of such thing as mercy.” His next sneer was sharp enough to left the corners of his mouth aching. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I might actually believe that I am of your flesh and blood after all.”
Without waiting for an answer, Loki turned on his heel and left the hall.
*
Asgard after battle wasn’t something Loki had not witnessed before, but this was the first occasion during his lifetime when the enemy had managed to infiltrate their line of defense and cause such havoc to the city itself – if, of course, one left out of count that time when Loki himself had brought the Jotuns to the palace.
Between that and the moment he had suggested an alternative route to that monster from the confines of his cell, his motivations couldn’t have been different. After all, the first decision to butcher his kin had been a deliberate one; the second was not.
For once true to his word, Loki had come to the Queen’s Chambers in search of books, but found himself transfixed on the spot of dried blood on the floor near the balcony.
Since the earlier argument, a great silence had fallen between them. Under the speeding vessel, Svartalfheim’s endless desolation spread as far as eye could see, a graveyard of crumpled cities and destroyed ships. Loki pretended to watch them as they glided past, but from the corner of his eye he spied as Thor attempted to shield Jane from the elements by covering her with yet another cloth - a gesture that was rendered morbid since her resemblance to someone already beyond this world was made uncanny for it. Loki, with his hand tightening involuntarily around the vessel’s control, was surely fit for rowing a boat to Hel, but Thor still refused to see the truth.
“How did she die?” Loki finally asked, when he couldn’t bear the silence no more. In the face on Thor’s confusion, he clarified, “Mother, I mean. The guard only told me what he deemed was necessary for me to know.”
Thor spared Jane yet another brief glance before giving his answer. “Fighting,” he said. “She died fighting. Thanks to her, Jane is still with us.”
“And is it a trade you consider fair?” Loki wanted to know. “Her life in exchange for this mortal’s?”
There was hardly any true venom in his voice, but Thor looked wounded nevertheless. “It is not in my nature to weigh the value of the lives of those dearest to me,” he remarked, unfamiliar bitterness dripping from his words like tar. “I leave such things to you, brother.”
Guilt, Loki thought, was such a strange little thing. For a long time he had believed it to be something that the universe had taken away from him as he fell through its fabrication, along with certain aspects of his sanity. But here it was, staring right back at him from those bloodstained cobbles.
Without really meaning to, Loki found himself kneeling beside the spot. Slowly, he pressed his palms flat against the floor, finding it still a little warm from the light that was now beginning to disappear beyond the distant horizon. He closed his eyes, in the same manner he closed his ears from any noise except the one that could be heard within the stone itself. And then, for a long stretch of time, he simply lost himself in the sound of its voice, that hidden wailing that seemed to serve no other purpose but to mourn with him. The enemy’s siege had torn asunder the ancient spells and enchantments once embedded to every rock of the palace, and what little had been spared by the annihilation was now beginning to evaporate as well, the stone sensing its loss and weeping for it.
Asgard may not have trusted in magic, but it was there, the city’s vast expanse of streets like a network of veins and in the middle its beating heart - the palace itself. The blood Loki found pumping through it all was the blood that had been spilled here, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, it was the same blood that coursed in his veins as well; the gift of sorcery that was willingly shared; a mother’s heart opened to him without obligation. This living thing beneath his fingertips, overflown with magic – this was Frigga’s legacy.
Loki stayed there on his knees until the light had disappeared from the sky and the city was cast in starlight. Then, as he finally rose to his feet, he wiped his eyes and returned the books he had removed back to their proper places.
Next, he arranged the room to his liking, thinking that if he were to stay for a while, he might as well make himself comfortable.
*
The Asgardians took to him staying with as much warmth as Loki had anticipated, which was to say: none whatsoever. During the following week, on those occasions he ventured outside of his new rooms, he was met with disbelieving stares and outright anger. The locals hated him with such vigor that Loki instantly decided to keep to himself how he found it much more refreshing than that carefully veiled mockery they had regarded him with in his youth.
Whereas it was a known throughout Asgard that Heimdall had eyes that saw everything and no word went unheard past the All-Father’s ears, the whispers regarding the Queen’s certain gifts had always been few in number. As a child, Loki remembered one particular night, long after they were both supposed to be soundly asleep, when he had sneaked into Thor’s room through the adjoining door from his own quarters, only to share with him the most impossible bit of gossip he had heard while eavesdropping the conversation between servants: that their mother held the rare gift of foresight.
He also remembered just as vividly how Thor had then bursted into laughter, loud enough to wake the matron sleeping on her post outside the door, and how his disbelief had been so complete that he had kept giggling throughout the woman’s scolding. Naturally Loki had never actually admitted that he could have been wrong to believe such a thing and even went as far as approached Frigga the next day with the question already there on the tip of his tongue. But then, just as he opened his mouth to speak, the memory of Thor’s mockery had flashed before his eyes and his laughter filled his ears; and so Loki had held his tongue, and kept the guessing to himself.
If Frigga knew the true reason for his strange behavior and that such talk even existed around the palace in the first place, she certainly never mentioned it. Loki could see her reasoning; to most Asgardians she was first and foremost a Queen associated with grace and light, and such dark things as fortunetelling and other tricks of fate were best left to the Norns.
At the time hardly anyone outside the immediate royal family had even been aware that she knew sorcery in the first place. Loki remembered being glad to a point of smugness as she had called it ‘their little secret’, basking in the knowledge that the two of them had something no one else was to be part of. But as he grew older that blessing became a double-edged blade, when other people grew suspicious in the face of his unexplainable powers that seemed to have no logical origin. Frigga had stepped forth then, making her skills known at least to some degree, but at that time it was already too late – in the eyes of the public, Thor was the sun-kissed prince, born with hands that were meant to yield a sword, while Loki moved silently like an ill whisper from shadow to shadow, speaking and knowing things that no one had any right to know, unless there were dark acts of magic involved.
(As it was then and ever since, Loki had no need to defend himself. But if he had, he would have argued how it was actually their own big mouths that had made their (rather mundane, really) businesses known, and not his keenness to resort to spells over revealing them.)
But now, as he spent his days mending the city’s defenses, fixing enchantments and redirecting energy fields, Loki couldn’t help but to wonder if he was only playing his part in some form of a long con designed by his late mother. He wouldn’t put it past her, knowing fully well that her wicked sense of humor was sadly among the things many had liked to polish off when remembering her, only because it didn’t suit whatever image of immaculate royalty the Asgardians had constructed of her in their narrow minds.
Of course, there was always the possibility that it wasn’t actually him that Frigga had stringed along, but the entity of Asgard; that it was her private idea of a joke to take the thing that was both the laughing stock of the locals as well as the stuff of their nightmares, and make it essential to the continued well-being of the city. Whether that thing was magic or Loki himself, or if there was any difference between the two in the first place, that he couldn’t say.
As of now, Loki’s days were spent in pursuit of the crossing points of the invisible net that ran beneath the stone. Frigga may have been the one to teach him sorcery in the first place, but Loki knew that any attempt of his to produce the same exact end-result would lead in failure. Each person’s magic manifested uniquely; a fingerprint of the soul, his mother had called it, before she knew better than to teach her younger son things that would only serve to alienate him further from others. For Frigga, her magic was a way to knit things together, but for Loki, it had always been something that set him apart from others. For if he was good at something that was widely considered bad, then what did that make him? Years before learning that he was a monster also by birth, Loki had already discovered the shadow that resided in his heart.
To him, his magic acted as a skeleton key. At its most basic, it got him through locked doors and traps or provided the necessary tools to solve a puzzle. He preferred tricks and cons, but what else were illusions than elaborate ways to get into the guarded minds of people, or a way to unlock their hearts’ desires. Locks were many in nature, but as it happens, there were only so many keys in the world.
Never had Frigga failed to praise his cleverness, but at times Loki had caught her eye before she managed to school her features into a smile and he had seen the gnawing doubt reflected there. Her fear was quite understandable: she had, after all, taught him so that one day he could help her protect Asgard, and had then witnessed him pulling living snakes out of his pockets instead. Odin may have been the one to bring the sorry creature home, but maybe at times Frigga had blamed herself for raising a viper in her bosom, nursing the very snake that would grow to destroy the worlds.
All in all, Loki knew his task had less to do with rebuilding than actually starting over. He was forced to figure out what Frigga had done and then find his own way to achieve the same. Simple in theory, but much harder in practice as it turned out. He had always felt comfortable in various shapes, but when harnessed to serve such purposes as protect and bind, his magic found these new tasks alien. It was like taming a wild horse into a beast of burden, and Loki had but the weight of the debt he owed her to use as a bridle.
On the fifth day he was once again lying on the floor of some hallway with his ear pressed against the stone, when the ground began to tremble like he was about to be stomped over by a herd of bilchsteim on a rampage. He kept his eyes closed as he waited for the pounding to draw closer, finally halting at his side.
“Did you really think that you could deceive us with this scheme?”
With a long-suffering sight, Loki opened his eyes, finding his vision filled with four pairs of boots. “And what scheme may that be, I wonder?”
“The only reason why you are repairing those enchantments is because you want to bend them to your will,” Sif hissed. Next to her, the Warriors Three nodded in unison. “You replace them with your own, so that when the time comes, you can command them as you wish.”
Loki had to give them credit, if not for originality, then at least for the quick pace they had arrived to such a conclusion. He had estimated that it would take them at least a week to do so. Ever since Odin had forbidden them from mentioning his survival to Thor, they had grown even more suspicious, ready to jump to all and any excuse to have him imprisoned once more.
In the face of such promising development of wits, it was a pity that he was planning no such thing. For once in his life Loki decided to tell them the truth, if only because he found it to be the most elaborated lie there was.
He gathered himself up from the floor and dusted off his clothing, before leveling them all with a fixed stare. “The very soul of my mother lives inside these stones,” he said. “You see, it is all that I have left of her, and finishing this task is the only way I can ask for her forgiveness.”
His statement was met with conflicting responses: while Hogun’s stare merely swayed from menacing to greatly annoyed, Fandral at least was now sifting his weight uncomfortable from one foot to another. Volstagg simply appeared as dim-witted as ever.
Only Sif’s expression stayed unchangeable, her distrust apparent. “Give us one good reason why we should believe a word you say.”
Loki simply spread out his hands in surrender. “By all means, take your concerns up with our King. Unless -” he guessed gleefully “- you already did, and he dismissed them.”
Based on the row on unhappy faces, he could easily say he had been right.
Eventually, it was Volstagg who grumbled, “We all know that the All-Father hasn’t been himself since Asgard lost its Queen.”
“Really?” Loki placed a hand over his heart, implicating shock. “Are you sure it’s wise to make such accusations?” he stage-whispered. “And in the company of a well-known criminal, no less.”
On cue, a loud caw could be heard from the ceiling above, as either Huginn or Munin chose that exact moment to make their presence known. As it pierced the air, Volstagg jumped with a force that nearly landed him out of his skin, but sadly it only made him stomp on Hogun’s toes.
Sif wisely seemed to decide that it was time for a tactical retreat. “We have our eye on you,” she stated, and then leaded her band of merry idiots away, Hogun still glaring daggers at Volstagg.
Long after the sound of their retreating footsteps and the groaning of the seams of Volstagg’s leather tunic had disappeared from his ears, Loki stayed in thought, turning over in his head what he had just heard. Although it was clear to everyone (even to his comrades in arms) that the man was an obese imbecile in possession of the same amount of intelligence as a single flee, Volstagg’s somewhat casual remark had spoken volumes, and Loki couldn’t help but to smile at the irony of it: the seeds of revolution, sown without him even having anything to do with it. All that was needed of him was to give it the tiniest of nudges – a little belittling there, some words of encouragement elsewhere - and before Odin even knew it, he would have a nationwide mutiny in his hands.
It was an easy victory to be had – even a little too easy, Loki thought somewhat bitterly, as his gaze gravitated towards the ceiling above, from where he knew the eyes of his guardians tracked him even then, ever watchful. Even though they were almost at his level in making themselves unnoticeable, Loki was aware that Huginn and Muninn had been following him from day one, no doubt reporting his movements back to Odin. At the first sign of any trouble Loki would be accused of it, and Odin would find it his great pleasure to either cast him out more or even get rid of him for good – after all, according to the All-Father’s own words, death and destruction followed wherever Loki went, as it was in his nature to cause them.
Under the circumstances it must have been most unnerving to Odin to be given the same exact report at the end of each day: that that no-good imposter of a son of his continued to do the same thing as he had done since day one, without showing any signs of setting things aflame or sneaking enemy forces inside their gates. “Loki Liesmith speaks to the stone, my liege,” Huginn would croak; “He rests upon the rocks even as others prepare for bed,” Muninn could confirm. And every time after such report Odin would send them out again to spy him, and they would always return with the same news.
And so it would go on, Loki decided, running his fingers absently along the long tapestry that decorated the halls leading to the Queen’s chambers – because Odin continued to expect the worst from him, and at this point, choosing not to deliver would be the greatest surprise of them all.
*
He had been back in Asgard for a week and Thor gone the same amount of days, when Loki first found himself spying on him.
Whereas it was clear that Heimdall would never share his secrets with him, he now had other methods in his disposal. And so, using the enchanted fountain in the Queen’s chambers, Loki learned of Thor’s life in Midgard. It didn’t take him long to see how once again, if by some cosmic joke, their lives seemed to mirror one another: here they were, strangers in lands they had promised to protect for reasons of their own, only to be rewarded for their trouble by the clear distrust of the locals.
But that was where the similarities ended: whereas Loki had but ghosts at his side, Thor was surrounded by his new comrades. Watching him interact with them, Loki had to stop and wonder whether they would have welcomed him with such open arms only some years back. The banishment, the Chitauri War – undeniably, it was Loki’s crimes that had made his brother worthy of their affection. Thor was who he was today because he had had Loki act as his adversary. It was a thought as maddening as it was jealous; that this way, an essential part of Thor belonged - and would always do so - to Loki.
But by that same logic, a part of him also belonged to someone else now. Loki watched as Thor was preparing to return to Asgard and be yet again forced to leave behind the woman on whose behalf he had been ready to trade the universe. As the date of his return drew closer, the lines on his face grew deeper and the light in his blue eyes went dimmer, and Loki had known, then, exactly what sort of fate Thor had chosen for himself.
“You saw the lengths in which he was ready to go for her sake,” he told Odin, without lifting his eyes from the book he had spread open on his lap. “You know what he’s coming here to tell you.”
It was the first time the two of them had spoken since that day in the throne room. Today, Odin had sought him out as he had been sitting in one of the palace’s many gardens, reading. Loki made no pretense that it was a mere coincidence, the timing that brought them together again, nor did it come as any sort of surprise that once Odin had found a topic worth the effort of reaching out to him, it was naturally about Thor.
Odin didn’t give his answer right away. Despite Loki not actually watching him, he could feel a wave of strong displeasure radiating from him, and it made him smirk despite himself. There were few things he and the All-Father agreed on, but their opinion about mortals and their insignificance was definitely one of them.
“Thor is free to do as he pleases,” Odin finally said. Loki considered it a rather elegant way of admitting that he had, in fact, been wrong about something. “It is a right he has fully earned.”
Unlike you, Loki deciphered the unfinished ending of that particular sentence. He scoffed, setting aside his book and finally meeting Odin’s stare head-on. “I thought his actions earned him the kinghood of Asgard. I mean, what is even the point of you wanting to give him all those lessons in virtue and kicking me aside from the line to the throne, if he isn’t even going to sit on it?”
“Would you prefer it if I forced it on him, then?” Odin snapped. After a moment’s disgruntled glaring, he went on to lament, more to himself than to Loki’s profit, “The gods truly are testing me; to have one son who doesn’t want the throne, and another who wants it too much. Is this to be my legacy?”
Loki was now forced to wonder if Odin truly was so blind that he couldn’t see the irony of the situation or if this woeful yammering of his was to be taken as yet another imaginative method of torture. In some ways it was nearly comic; he should have known that after all the effort he had put in revealing the many weaknesses in Thor’s character, it only took him falling for a mere mortal to render him obscene in Odin’s eyes. Loki himself had, after all, tried – and then failed – to wipe his own entire race out of existence as a proof of his loyalty to Asgard and only gotten thrown to the abyss for it. In light of that and now his reaction to Thor’s nearing decision, it seemed safe to assume that radical acts of love weren’t to the All-Father’s liking.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, old man, but if you think that what either of us wants still holds any sort of priority to Thor, then you are to be gravelly disappointed.”
Loki had intended to utter the words like an insult, but was surprised to discover how forlorn his own voice sounded to his ears. He had killed and had himself been killed in Thor’s name – what else was there left to give?
Still, he couldn’t help but to wonder how it would feel, witnessing Thor’s disappointment first-hand. It was clear that Odin would never give him his blessing to leave, so if Loki wished to see him scolded, this was his chance.
But was it truly something he craved?
Under Odin’s scrutiny, he quickly directed his eyes back to the book he had been reading, if only to give himself a moment to compose into words the dangerous idea that had just wormed its way into his head. He knew there was a saying in Midgard how curiosity got the cat killed, but that warning certainly hadn’t stopped him before.
Striving for as neutral tone as he could muster, Loki went on to suggest, “If you don’t wish to speak to him, then let me do so on your behalf. You can even let your winged spies testify the whole ordeal.”
Odin actually let out a low chuckle. “And what would I benefit from such an arrangement?” he inquired, almost intrigued. “What would you?”
For a painstaking moment, Loki’s mind was pierced by the memory of a warm palm resting against his cheek, while the stench of blood hang heavy in the air. He shook his head and the image dissolved, leaving in its wake only a dull ache. “I believe we both have things we want to say to Thor, but are… indisposed to say in person.”
For all his lies in that moment of not-dying, the same thing was true now than it had been then: he wasn’t doing this for Odin.
But like the fool he was, the All-Father eventually agreed.
*
When Thor finally arrived, Loki found it a blessing to be able to look at him behind his disguise of Odin. Thus free of his own tangled myriad of emotions, he spoke the All-Father’s words and borrowed his expressions, and when Thor – true to his word – gave news of his heroic death, said nothing of it; he didn’t need a script to know Odin’s feelings about his pitiful attempt to make amends.
But then, as Thor predictively moved on to express his own wish to leave, things quickly fell off course. Loki had crafted this charade to see if it would bring him satisfaction to see Thor kneeling so humbly at his feet - but now that he had it, it nearly made his skin crawl.
In a burst of righteous anger Loki suddenly wanted to give the trick away, if only to scold his brother for taking knee in the first place. Who was he to quiver at the All-Father’s feet after defeating Malekith? And if he truly found that insignificant, then what about more personal matters; surely Thor knew how lowly Odin thought of Jane, so why care for his opinion?
Thor had already risen to his feet and turned to go, his great shoulders hunched in weary defeat, when Loki felt something inside him give. Before he knew it, he was putting strange words into Odin’s mouth, expressing pride for a son capable of following his heart over mindless obedience. It was a speech that had its roots in the secret wishes of his childhood, but it was only while speaking when he understood that he had no one left to comfort. Neither him nor Thor were those boys anymore, so desperately looking for their father’s approval. They had both spent time in exile and during that time had grown out of Odin’s shadow. Now Thor was every inch the king he was meant to be and even more so, after coming to the realization that to rule would be his downfall. Of course he would rather live his life as a good man, than be a king brought low by his sense of duty.
Even now he wasn’t really asking Odin for his permission to leave, but rather granting him the rare opportunity to see reason by allowing it.
When Loki had first plotted against Thor, he had done it in the hopes that others would see what had been painfully clear in his eyes: that his brother wasn’t ready to be a king. But now, Loki found that he could no longer hate him based on his crass or stupidity, and that the only reason left for him to despise Thor was his continuous ability to transcend humility. The day he turned his back on the throne was paradoxically the moment his brother was finally worthy of it even in Loki’s ever-so critical eyes.
He still remembered the moment he had hovered over the ruined edge of the Bridge, Thor’s crestfallen expression only a little above his, and then seeing that same look on Thor’s face only seven days ago when he had held Loki’s broken body in his arms. Loki might not have died on that day, but perhaps some part – that mad, twisted thing that had crawled back from the abyss – had indeed perished. Now there would be a moment forever frozen in time where Thor had looked him in the eyes and seen the brother he thought he had lost for good. Loki may have been born a monster, but even he wasn’t up to robbing that memory from him, as it now was the only valuable thing in his disposal to offer.
Unlike Odin, who would not allow it, Loki could let Thor go. He could stay dead for him, if that would bring him peace.
I’ll let you be rid of me, he thought – and this time, it was not an act born out of spite, but a kindness.