A/N: I was just listening to the Switchfoot song 'Don't Be There' and heard these lyrics and came up with an idea for how Loki went mad when he fell from the bridge at the end of Thor... anyway, drabble-esque.


You are stardust – shattered and scattered and beautifully broken. The remains of something that once burned bright but now vanished into the dark.

You wonder:

Is this how it feels to die? – Because it's awfully – painfully – just like living.

Living. Can you even call it that? Your whole life, you've been a ghost; a shadow behind your brother, who has always been a light even at his worst.

Perhaps you were driven to this. Perhaps this is the only possible outcome of centuries – millennia – of jealousy. Of being overlooked and sneered at. Of being judged for being born.

You are

The Lesser Prince.

The Liar.

The Thief.

The Coward.

All look to Thor, even when his stupidity and reckless foolishness might have gotten them all killed. They think him good because he is mighty. They think him great because he is strong. They think him a king because he is a warrior.

They want him because he is golden and beautiful and represents what they all want – handsomeness and strength and courage.

They don't understand that these are not the things that make a worthy ruler – there is no sense of judgement or patience or peace, only selfish want and wild rides in the night and battles and war and blood.

That is not a king, but a butcher.

So… you are in the right. You would have made a better king. You were only following in your Father's footsteps – wiping out enemies before they rise. Patiently waiting for the chance to strike.

But Odin saw only his own flaws in you – only hated himself and what he instilled in you: cut them down because we are above them, we are better, superior in every way. You were born to be King.

It's his fault. He helped you climb the stairs of a Tower of Hope and then pushed you down with his disappointment. It was all a lie anyway. He stole your kingdom from you. He stole you from your kingdom.

It's hard to breathe now – do you even have a body to breathe with anymore? You are in so much pain, but it's not sharp – a dull aching in every part of you, where anything happy that might once have resided is being ripped out of you, slowly as you fall. It's all tethered to your father and brother – who are family no more – and your hope that they would accept you, but they don't.

It hurts. It hurts so much – you see yourself, or something like yourself, in the reflection of the void – do voids have reflections? – you look mad and scared and utterly alone – wide green eyes and sunken cheeks, mouth open in shock because you still can't believe that it was all a lie – your father is not your father, your brother is not your brother and your mother…

No. It was not all a lie. The sidelong glances – those were real. The sneers and jeers – those were real. Loki's not a true warrior – that was real.

He's jealous of his brother.

Thor's a better man than he.

He only won through cheats and trickery.

He is a thief and a liar – do not trust him, never trust him, never be his friend because his friendship will never be true. Lies, lies, all of it, lies.

Is this madness? It might be so… but what is madness but a mind open to the truth?

You are unloved, so who have you to lose?

You are untrusted, so who have you to fool?

You are unworthy, so what have you gain by playing by their rules?

You'll make your own kingdom, since they have stolen yours from you.

You'll make your own army, since no one will follow you.

You'll become what they believe you to be – a liar and a coward and a thief and a villain and jealous and weak and wild and unworthy and bitter and nasty and vicious and cruel and pitiful and KING.

You were born to be a king after all, and only one of you will rule…

...

… You are stardust – shattered and scattered and beautifully broken.