A/N: Inspired by Emily Bronte's "Ah! Why, Because the Dazzling Sun"
Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored my earth to joy
Have you departed, every one,
And left a desert sky?
.
When Loki is dead and Thor is hurtling towards Nidavellir which something less a plan and more a death-wish, he remembers every question he never asked aloud.
Why do you hate me? Why didn't you trust me?
And in Norway, when Odin faded gold—Did you love him? Did you love anyone?
He can almost hear his brother's laughter, glancing like a parried blade. Ah, brother. Didn't I?
Question for question. Brother for brother.
He does not know, exactly, if a thousand years, as mortals count them, gave Loki any understanding of what mortals count as love.
After all, Loki was Loki.
But he did his best for Thor.
.
Thought followed thought—star followed star—
.
Blood, sweat, and tears. With these three, mortals built their cities. With these, they wept and laughed stories into being. Asgard hears their prayers, even the prayers that are meant to fly elsewhere.
But can we answer them? He asked this, as a boy, skin glowing bright in the glow of the bridge, and Odin shook his head.
It is not our duty.
Thor was never much one for duty. He sees that now. Sees that quicksilver and mischief, all told, tried much harder to earn the throne neither of them truly understood.
.
Why did the morning rise to break
So great, so pure a spell,
And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek
Where your cool radiance fell?
.
He offered a prayer for his father on Sakaar, and Loki joined it. Loki had a mocking voice; it was just the way he sounded. But his eyes, sometimes, looked gravest when he was twisting the worst of lies.
Carrying lies seemed like a heavy burden to Thor, who told the truth at the moment it first occurred to him. Perhaps that was why his brother always had to fall.
He told Loki to stay on Sakaar. Loki had a different idea, but Thor didn't think of it again until afterwards.
Loki wanted them both to stay.
Ah, brother, Thor thinks. You fool. The strange rabbit captain is pretending not to watch him, kind enough, even, to pretend not to see the tears that dampen Thor's beard. He does not shake them away; this is how the mortals love.
Blood will come later.
.
Blood-red he rose, and arrow-straight,
His fierce beams struck my brow;
The soul of Nature sprang elate,
But mine sank sad and low!
.
I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose…
I, Loki…Odinson…
Thor closes his eyes. Before them, he imagines his brother's form, shimmering at the edges. Not quite there.
Imagines a stone tossed, or a small dagger. Imagines it being swallowed up by Loki's magic.
Not real, not real.
Odinson.
You loved him. He thinks of Odin, of a sea breeze and all the hollowness of Loki's rare silences. You loved Father. I shouldn't have ever asked.
You didn't. If he tries very hard, these few moments away Nidavellir and the doom that may or may not await him, he can hear Loki's mocking voice. Not so mocking now. Not real.
I shall avenge you.
Earth's mightiest hero, yes? I'm honored.
Loki…come back.
"Loki, huh?" And Thor stirs, realizing that he has spoken aloud and now the rabbit speaks to him, its wizened little face carefully grim.
"Brother."
"Ah. I'll go back to tinkering now."
"Good, good," Thor assures him. He does not mean to impose. A moment of reflection is proper for both of them, as they ready themselves to end the world, or save it. He cannot bring his brother to the forefront of his mind again, not even a shade or gleam.
He closes his eyes anyway, and offers the prayer for the glorious dead alone.
.
O Stars and Dreams and Gentle Night;
O Night and Stars return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn—