I spent my life cast as my brother's shadow. No matter how much I tried to become someone that they would be proud of, I was never seen as more than the black sheep, the youngest. The only one who saw me as anything more was the man who I despised above all. The one who took all of the glory that was rightfully mine. We'd fight together, him and I, but when the days were over, he was the one they would reward. Oh sure, my mother would give me a smile amongst the cheers they called for him.

When we were younger, my father told us that we were both meant for the crown, but one of us would earn it. I would go to the libraries and study my heart out, slowly getting better with my magic, while he would go out with his friends and woo the girls that were already fawning over him.

I allow myself a smile that turns demented as I lift the glass to my lips. Tomorrow I shall matter. Tomorrow, when they walk into my chambers to wake me, they shall see what years of loneliness have made me turn to, what they brought me to. And that golden haired boy… he shall finally understand how it feels to lose something you care about.

I tip the glass and feel the cold liquid seep down my throat and begin to run throughout my veins. Just as the darkness begins to draw me into her embrace, I hear my voice utter the name of the only one I regret leaving behind.

"Thor…I'm so sorry…"

My dear brother,

Throughout my years, you have kept me strong. You were there, even when they insist you leave me. Even as I write this, I know you shall never know how much you mean to me, and I'm afraid that you may never know. You are my brother and my friend, and I shall always love you. Never believe that this decision of mine was your fault. I shall be seeing you again in Valhalla.

Sincerely,

Loki

Thor sat on the throne of Asgard years later, staring over the empty room. After Loki's death, he'd refused to take the title of Allfather, but Odin had passed not longer after and the position had been forced upon him, seeing as there we no other heirs suited for the throne. Subconsciously, his hand drifted towards his chest and he heard the soft crinkle of paper from between his chest plate and under-shirt.

He had been the first to find his brother lying on his bed after returning from a quest with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, and that image had yet to stop haunting him from behind his eyelids. Frigga had insisted they move Thor's bedchambers, but for a reason unknown to himself, he had refused to even allow them to throw out the bed sheets. They still sat folded in a dresser he had dedicated to Loki's belongings and the gifts that he'd given to Thor during their childhood. Every so often, the thunderer would take them out and hold the top sheet to his face and inhale, and every time he was met by the sweet familiar smell that brought both a smile to his face and pain to his heart.

I shall be seeing you again in Valhalla.

The words echoed through his mind as if Loki had spoken rather than written them to him. Tears clouded his vision, but the corners of his mouth turned upward. It wouldn't be long now.

The day after, when the Lady Sif arose from her slumber and went to check on her king and friend, she found him still sitting his throne, eyes blank and skin pale with death, but upon his mouth she saw a smile and knew that he was finally home.