Disclaimer: I own neither Marvel's The Avengers nor any of its respective characters. This was written for fun and to improve my own writing skills.
Character(s): Loki, Thor
Rating: T (character death)
Prompt: None
Word Count: 3,588
Setting: Asgard
Suggested Song: - (couldn't decide on one, any suggestions?)
Notes: Firstly, my sincerest apologies for the wait on Unbroken. I hit a roadblock in what I wanted it to do and I went back to school last month and have been insanely busy. I have a few days off next week and will endeavor to get it finished! Now, this story. Essentially, this came around because I've read too many stories where Loki has ended up the good guy and they just got boring. So I wrote this. Please be warned that this is a bit more graphic than the ones I've done lately and that there is major character death. This was my study in dialogue and I'm quite proud of it, to be quite honest. Enjoy and I promise, Unbroken is coming soon!
He is brought back to Asgard, put on trial, deemed guilty of all his numerous crimes. Yet, to his great surprise, the decision is made not to execute him, but merely to lock him up. And so he is chained underground, deep in the shadowy chasms of Asgard's deepest dungeon, promised to never see the light of day again so long as Odin Allfather sits the throne. Muzzled, shackled, chained like a disobedient dog, he sits in the darkness, fed once every three days, given clothing when needed, but allowed no words. They let him bathe twice a week, on the same day that he is given food. He sees no one, has no real way of counting time, and speaks to no one.
If Loki Silvertongue was not insane before, he is now.
None of the servants ordered to deal with him ever speak to him. He does not bother to waste his silvered articulations on them either. He hears no voice for months – or is it years? He is no longer certain. The days pass slowly, creeping along as his brilliant mind is offered no stimulation, no puzzles or problems to solve. He can feel himself stagnating. It is not a feeling he enjoys. He needs – craves – conversation. To weave his deadly words and whispers into the ears of those too naïve – or simply too stupid – to know better than to listen. And oh he loathes it; this desolate silence rakes at his ears and tears at him until it's all he can do not to give in to the trickling madness that teases his mind.
He begins to accept that he will die in this decrepit dungeon.
Loki does not expect this. Soldiers enter his chambers (he has taken to calling the dungeon room this in his mind) and free him from the chains. Behind them follows Thor, golden, resplendent Thor. He is clad in the regalia of a king and above the muzzle that prevents him from speaking, green eyes narrow poisonously. There is little need for Thor to inform him of what must have happened; the evidence is stained across his body like blood on a weapon. His eyes are dull and weary, his shoulders droop with exhaustion; his armor sits ill on his frame, hastily thrown on. A sudden thing, then, a swift ceremony. His mouth is grinning before the muzzle is even removed, dropping in front of him where he kneels, too weak to stand on his own.
"My King." The God of Lies attempts to purr this, his voice emerging from his mouth in a terrible rasp.
It is gratifying, nonetheless, to see Thor's brilliant blue eyes slide sideways, clearly uncomfortable at the title that had been promised as his since before either of them had even been born. The God of Thunder clears his throat in a manner that is clearly a stall for time and Loki waits, patient as a serpent, grinning his maniacal grin. After a beat, the new King speaks. "Come, Brother. You've been down here long enough."
And Loki – because Loki is brilliant and cunning and smart enough to realize this is the chance he wished for all along – softens his smile into some more acceptable in the face of his newly crowned 'brother.' With effort and help from the guards, he rises, sweeping into a shaky bow. "My thanks to you, my King. It is a most welcome respite." The words are rough, grating from the time it has been since he has last spoken, but still coated in silver as always. Escorted by the guards and helped by Thor, the Silvertongue is led from one prison, into another. He knows why Thor needs him, because Thor will always need him – an adviser, a guide, a friend, someone to help him along because no matter how much training Thor has, the golden son will always need his shadow.
He never does find out how long he'd spent in the cavernous dungeon. It matters very little to him, one way or another. He is out now, as free as one such as he (monster, trickster, liar) could ever be. The people fear him; it is a tangible taste on his tongue every time he walks past one of them. He has a seat now, just beside his not-brother, slightly lower, but on the same tier. From there he can purr silken words into Thor's ear, giving advice to help the kingdom. And why he ever wanted this pathetic seat of gold and metal, he cannot begin to fathom because his not-brother's shoulders dip and sway with the weight that lies upon them; Loki enjoys his position of power behind the scenes. Skulking in the shadows, sending out his spies, gathering information to tell Thor. It works well for one whose words serve him so well.
He keeps himself armed at all times, whether by his magics or by his blades. They slip into his hands at the slightest sign of tension because an adviser should be willing to give their life for their lord, yes? Loki knows this, uses this to his extreme advantage. Four months into his little venture as Thor's right hand, a Jotun assassin attempts to slay them both, sent by the new King of Jotunheim because they never got their recompense for the slights Loki caused to them. He is slain by Loki's own hand, a blade in the centre of his forehead ensuring that one more Frost Giant is culled by the Asgardians, taught to fear them from birth. And oh they praise him, pat his back, clasp his shoulder, but the look in their eyes continues to sew seeds of abhorrence in his heart: monster.
But it is Thor's praise that burns him worst. Golden, beloved Thor, who can do no wrong, praising his not-brother for slaying one of his own kind. It turns Loki's stomach to smile into those blue, blue eyes and bow his head in quiet acceptance of the words.
It is not time yet, he tells himself. Not time yet at all.
"But Loki, surely you must have some idea." (Desperate, pleading.)
"Oh I do, dear King. I do. The question is, will you listen to me?" (Amusement, combined with condescension so veiled that the other cannot hear it.)
"You know that I will!" (Surprise, slight anger)
"Oh?" (A black brow rises, mild curiosity.) "Withdraw your forces. Let this be but a warning to them. Allow them the chance to see what will happen should you decide not to be so merciful." (Lofty arrogance carefully disguised as subservience.)
(A pause.) "If you believe that to be wise, then, brother." (Hesitation.)
"I do. Show them your mercy, my King, and they will adore you for it." (Something he knows all too well.)
Two years. Two years he has served this pathetic, child-king who cannot make a decision other than on the battlefield without first scurrying like a mouse to his adviser. Two years he has retired to his chambers each night and had to remind himself why this would be worth it in the end. Two years he has culled his natural need for mischief and instead acted as befitting a former Prince and Adviser of the Throne of Asgard. And it sickens him how easy it is to fall into banter with his not-brother, how his heart twinges at each reminder that once upon a time, they got along great together. They were reminders that the Silvertongue would have preferred not to have been given.
Wars come. Wars go. Peace, too, comes and goes. Loki comes to realize that life has a cycle to it that he has never before considered; for a time, the beings of the Realms can get along with one another. And then, because it is the nature of things to fall apart when all is going well, the beings of the Realms decide to war and kill and maim one another. He sees this, realizes it for the use that it can be, and turns his devious, terrible plans to this cycle.
And it works! He had scarcely dared to even begin to hope that it would but his wildest dreams are surpassed at how well it goes. Thor is gullible and stupid and sees threats where they are none (wonder where he got that from) and so he follows Loki's words like they are the one guiding light in all the universes.
"Vanaheim plots against us, my King." Loki murmurs in the dead of night when it is quiet and the throne room is still. "They have fought us in the past. My sources tell me their King would fight us again. He seeks the wealth and riches Asgard keeps within her."
And so war is declared on Vanaheim. It drags on and on, because Asgard and Vanaheim are so closely matched. Loki almost loses count of the number of years it takes to bring the Vanir to their knees and to force them to submit to the sheer might that is Asgard. In the end, it is he who gives the speech that essentially hands over the rights of the throne of Vanaheim to Asgard.
"The Vanir fought bravely, as did they millennia ago when first we Aesir and the Vanir clashed against one another. But against the might of the valiant Thor, there is no winning." The conclusion of his speech – which lasted a good ten minutes, what they deserve for letting the Silvertongue give it – is blunt and powerful; a warning to the other realms. A warning; and a call to arms.
Let them come, Loki thinks, smiling behind Thor's back as the King sits his throne and the Adviser lurks in the shadows.
"They suspect you plot against me, brother." (Caution, hesitation, a need to be reassured that lies are being poured into his ears by someone other than the famed Liesmith.)
"My lord, I would never." (Deferential, dripping with respect, no trace of sarcasm to be found.)
"There are those who would have me believe differently, Loki." (Still cautious, but gaining the tone of a king.)
(A pout.) "My brother, you wound me." (Careful usage of words.) "I learned my lesson long ago what happens when one plots against you." (Mild amusement, enough to be teasing, but an undercurrent of seriousness as well.)
(A long pause. He fears.) "I should not listen to such hearsay. You've not led me astray yet." (Returned confidence in his only true confidant.)
"And I never will." (A lie woven so smoothly that the dolt will not catch it until far too late.)
Loki knows he has served his not-brother for two decades now. It feels both shorter and longer than that. If Thor suspects that not all is well in the House of Thor, then he does not show it. But the Trickster knows better; Thor trusts him far too much than to ever doubt his beloved younger sibling. Loki enjoys twisting this to his advantage.
Things are not going well on Midgard. He learns that the Director of SHIELD has been killed, along with his little sidekick, the woman, and that the new Director would use the power of the agency to try that which Loki himself failed at. It amuses him and for a time he is tempted to sit back and watch this mortal try his hand at world domination before remembering that his plans involve Midgard being under Asgardian control. So he pours his honeyed voice into Thor's ear again, cajoling, convincing.
"Attack them, my King. The Midgardians do not have the strength to repel your forces. They will be better under your hand." His whisper is as sleek as silk as he knows his brother watches from the golden throne, seeing the horrors Midgard and its subjects are facing.
"The Avengers, Loki, will handle it." Thor's voice drips with confidence, he even leans back in the throne to show how relaxed he truly is.
Loki has an answer for that as well. "It's been decades, my King. The Avengers are old, some of them probably dead. That is, if they are even still around. The humans need you. They need Asgard's strength to protect them. We both know this new threat of SHIELD is not the only threat out there. Bring them under Asgardian command. We have people to spare to rule them."
"You, for example, brother? Would you take up their governments?" Thor's voice is curious, open; he sees no other use for this question than merely a question. Loki knows it is a test.
"My place is ever at your side, my lord." His voice is an obedient whisper, nearly a plead because no, he doesn't want to be separated from Thor because that would send all his plans crashing down around his head. Thor accepts it as it is and war is declared on SHIELD of Midgard.
"You damnable liar!" (Roared, in his face, furious, Mjolnir raised and ready to strike.)
(Cowering, half-feigned, half-serious fear.) "I have spoken no lies to you, my King! I had no idea what would happen!"
"Midgard burns because of you, Loki, do not dare spin your tales of innocence to me!" (Still roared, none of its fury lost.)
"My King, I swear to you, I had no idea." (Pleading, the feigned fear beginning to flee him, replaced by true fear.)
"Liar!" (A blow, the sound of flesh on flesh hard in the silence.) "Do not tell me you had no idea they would fight back! Do not tell me you did not foresee them fighting against us and not SHIELD!"
"My King, what does it matter? You won, Midgard is under Asgardian rule, they answer to you!" (Softer, still pleading, laced with a molten anger far beneath for the slap.)
"It was not an honourable win." (Deadpan, monotonous, all the more terrifying because Thor doesn't do that.)
He is beaten for that slip up and resolves as his back heals to never make such a foolish mistake ever again. He had known that it was possible the humans would strike back, as they had at him but had not believed they would be so desperate as to attempt the same thing twice. There had been no Iron Man this time to deflect the nuke. He'd not been there, but he'd seen and helped to heal the wounds from it and he knew that most of the East Coast was in flames. The needless loss of life sickens even him because he murders when he has to, not because he can. Loki Silvertongue derives no pleasure from mindless slaughter.
Thor does not speak to him for three weeks.
Thor's decision regarding Earth surprises Loki. Instead of putting an Asgardian there to serve as a King or or Emperor or some other form of leader, he instead allows the Midgardians to keep their governments and instead only instills a few of his own people to act as counsel. It disgusts and angers Loki, though the God of Lies says nothing about it. The King's trust in him has slipped and the Silvertongue knows that he must work carefully and skillfully to win it back.
Luckily for Loki, the opportunity is all but handed to him on a golden platter when Surtur of Muspelheim decides that the time is ripe to make an attempt on Asgard. Thor needs little encouragement to lunge into battle against this long-time enemy but it requires the touch of a Frost Giant to bring the demon of fire down. For the first time in long decades, the two not-brothers join together and battle as one, matched perfectly, using their combined, formidable strength to destroy Surtur once and for all. The fire demon falls to the might of Asgard and Muspelheim quietly surrenders when Loki softly convinces Thor that this attack had to be more than just Surtur's doing.
Muspelheim falls under the command of Asgard, joining Vanaheim and Midgard as well. Loki Silvertongue finds reason to smile again.
"They have always been our enemy, my King. They will always remain our enemy." (Convincing again, firm in his convictions.)
"We have been at peace with them since your…incident, Loki, I would not break that peace so eagerly." (Cautious but listening, unable to fight ages of prejudice.)
(A scoff.) "Peace? Against the Frost Giants? My King, there are whispers of them thinking to invade us. They think Asgard weak, her armies stretched too thinly. They think to invade and take back their Casket and leave Asgard in ruins!" (Righteous anger.)
(A very long pause.) "How do you know this?"
"My spies are everywhere, my King. They bring me news over all the realms." (Gentle this time, still cajoling.)
"You are certain of this, Loki?" (Guarded trust.)
(The Silvertongue gets no change to answer.)
"My King!" (An interruption, a distraction…a tragedy.)
The Jotuns strike at a time that is as terrible as it is perfect. Somehow the Bifrost is activated and the Frost Giants slay the Watcher Heimdall before a cry for help can be given. Asgard's warriors battle a legion of the monsters on the Rainbow Bridge itself. Carmine Aesir blood mingles with black-blue Jotun blood, staining the glittering surface of the Bridge. The onslaught is terrible, many soldiers are lost, but all of the Jotun are slain. After it is done, Asgard grieves for her lost Gatekeeper, who had stood to guard the Bridge for millennia past counting. Loki grieves out on the outside, rejoices on the inside because his plans are nearing their fruition and it will take just a few more carefully placed words to make certain that what needs to happen comes to happen.
As it transpires, it takes very little persuading on his end.
"I would see them ended, Loki!" Thor's voice is a growl that drips with the sorrow for a lost friend and comrade.
Loki keeps his head lowered, feigning grief perfectly. "Then end them. You have the means to do so." A hand rises, points out toward the rebuilt Observatory (and he wonders when they did that).
Bright blue eyes follow his hand to the window where Loki points, then harden with resolve. "Yes. Come, brother. Let us do as you sought to do so long ago, and destroy their race." Thor turns away, scarlet cape sweeping in the wind and Loki Silvertongue does not bother to hide his smile.
No one questions them as they ride down together to the Observatory, for Thor is king and Loki is adviser and no one dares to think to question them. The Observatory is empty and forsaken, quiet without its master. They leave the horses well back, so they are in no danger and Thor slips the sword in to activate the Bifrost. Its guttural roar fills their ears and Loki's eyes glitter with a wild madness. Thor, too intent on his revenge for the death of his friend, does not see this. The sorcerer spins his magic and ice covers the links within the flooring, sealing them so that the Bridge will roar out its terrible noise until all of Jotunheim is consumed.
"We need to be out of here. It is unstable and could collapse." Loki's voice is soft, barely audible over the roar of the Bifrost but Thor hears and obeys in silence, walking out onto the Bridge. The Trickster waits until they are out of the Observatory before making his move.
Two daggers are thrown, each one striking one of Thor's hands. The Thunder God gives a startled cry, whirling to face the oncoming storm that is his not-brother. Loki strikes hard and fast, using his speed to give him the advantage. Thor is off-guard and too stricken with grief to truly fight back and it is almost too easy for Loki to knock him off his feet and pin him to the bridge. The elder stares up at the younger, amazed by how easily Loki had bested him.
"Brother, why?"
"Why?" Loki gives a soft laugh, wicked and dripping with all the malice he had held back in the past decades. "Because it pleases me. I have given you everything, Thor. Surtur, dead by your hand and mine. The Vanir forever under your command, nevermore to be a threat. The Midgardians safe under your rule. The race of monsters that have haunted our doorsteps and nightmares for years destroyed."
He quiets, shifting slightly so that he can press his blade more firmly against his not-brother's throat. "I have handed you the realms on a golden platter, brother." The knife slices at the same time as his magic attacks Thor's, ripping into where the essence of their immortality which is fed by Idunn's apples lies and rending it apart. Blood spurts as Thor utters a terrible screaming wail of pain, more from the tearing of his immortality than the slow-fatal wound on his throat. Loki's hands and visage are coated in his not-brother's blood, soaked with it and he utters a high, wild laugh.
He leans in to where Thor is slowly dying, blood erupting from his rent jugular with each rasped breath. Loki whispers, soft and malicious into his ear, "And now I take it back." And that terrible laugh continues to escape as Thor dies in a pool of his own blood.
Because this isn't mischief, Loki Silvertongue thinks. This is mayhem and chaos and he was born for chaos.
End.