Note: Contains maybe-spoilers from TDW. Written in haste and without much thought. Republished from AO3.

prince loki regrets

(small pieces of grief)

Always perceptive about everyone but yourself.

Frigga's last words churn unpleasantly in his stomach. Dismissing the messenger with a curt nod, Loki snaps the book shut and schools his face into vacuity. He summons the icy calm that embraces his veins. Loki has taught himself well; it comes almost effortlessly now.

But it doesn't diminish the ulceration of anger (the ache) expanding within his chest.

—

"I knew you would return to us."

—

Loki surveys the cosmos unfold before his very eyes. The view is almost equivalent to the one that Hlidskjalf gives—gave him. He would sit on the observatory's roof for countless hours, charting out the runes of the stars. From there, everything in Asgard is reduced into near triviality. Sometimes, Frigga will sit with him and if his patience afforded it, Thor would join them, his clear eyes wide in wonder…

"Loki?"

The familiarity of his mother's voice makes him wince. An unnamed warmth overcomes Loki as Frigga's apparition floats over him, hand outstretched, reaching—

He pushes her away, upsetting the spectre and dispelling it into mere smoke. Is the severance of bonds, the dismissal of a lifetime lie, as easy as this?

I'm sorry. Now just isn't a good time.

Never again.

—

Are you a liar too?

"We are your family, Loki."

Liar. The word rots at the tip of his tongue, knife-sharp, filling his mouth like an ugly aftertaste.

But the queen hears it all the same. She smiles a sad smile and Loki nearly falters with shame. But he is not apologetic, not anymore, so he smiles until it hurts.

—

"Be strong."

—

I didn't mean to.

Once upon a time, Loki almost causes his brother's death.

"It's alright, Loki."

Frigga takes his hand in hers, and Loki is struck with the easiness, the simplicity of the gesture. This is the most natural thing in the world, the forgiveness of someone who loves unconditionally. His face crumples into tears, shoulders shaking. Loki grasps his mother hand tightly.

I am sorry.

—

The quiet now has Frigga's voice, does not befit his white prison because it sounds an awful lot like disappointment. Regret. It whispers to him gently: Go ahead, scream all you want.

It won't bring her back.

And Loki does. He screams until his rage tastes like blood in his throat.

—

"You are my son."