A/N: Chronologically, this is a prequel to "Drowning" and "Restored", but it's really meant to be read after "Restored." Whether you decide to read it first or last, though, check out the other two stories as well! And if you're in the mood for something lighter, take a look at the companion piece "Of The Feline Persuasion" which follows Jane and Loki as they adjust to owning a cat.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own anything having to do with Marvel Comics or any of its creations. I can only appreciate the characters they've given us to work with.
Fallen
"This is where the spiral catches you – this is where it starts."
Loki could hear it – the sounds of war.
The call to arms, the clashing of swords and ice, the battle cries. They stirred the very air around him. The fierce pounding of the drums had never made his blood sing with the rage of battle as it did Thor's, but it never failed to set his heart racing. There was something about it… the mixture of adrenaline and solemnity that came when facing potential death couldn't be denied. He used to think it was the Æsir in him that responded to its cries; now, he often wondered if it was just the monster.
From their cold, dark world, the frost giants had come. In the wake of the All-Father's death – and how their triumphant squalling had reached him even across the paths of space and time – they'd followed Thor and what remained of the Asgardian army to the Realm Eternal, accompanied by the unnatural chill of Jotunheim.
So it was in Asgard that they fought; for years they waged war. Even now, their conquering shouts and the howls of their winter hounds rent the air as they tirelessly sought him. Because they did… they came for him. Led by a new queen, the frost giants came to seek justice for his attempted annihilation of their people.
His people.
No, not his people.
Because he didn't belong anywhere.
Born a Jotun and raised an Asgardian, he belonged in the nothingness between the two. The place where the misfits, the rejected, the scraps were thrown.
(Because I'm the monster parents tell their children about at night.)
The splash of blood that was Thor's cape caught his attention before the slamming of the door. There was a brief glimpse to the hallway beyond his prison where Asgardians rushed to and fro, but then the sound of the closing door was reverberating throughout the room and Loki turned to focus on the man that stalked down the hallway towards him.
"I take it the battle goes less than favorably."
The scores of gashes in Thor's armor, not to mention the variety of wounds dispersed across his skin, spoke loudly to the state of the war beyond the prison walls, and as he drew closer, the way he slightly favored his left leg didn't escape Loki's notice. When no more than a few feet separated them, Thor finally halted. He appeared so tired, weary and beaten down; the visage was so unlike the enthusiastic, battle-hungry warrior he'd known for so long. The war had been raging for almost three years now, which wasn't long to an Æsir but took its toll on the participants nevertheless.
"Even the great fires of the Realm Eternal cannot withstand the ice of Jotunheim for much longer. They continue to push us back into the heart of the city. I fear what will happen if they manage to take back the Casket."
But they both knew what would happen.
The realm would be decimated until Loki was found and taken captive.
"The frost giants demand your blood." Thor rubbed a hand over his face, hiding the exhaustion that lined his features. "I have never been as skilled as you in the matters of politics, brother. As King of Asgard, I would have had you by my side as an advisor to weather the more tedious aspects of ruling."
Loki fought a scornful look and clasped his hands behind his back. Yes, the lumbering oaf had always acted on a situation with his fist before his mind. And while he'd returned from Midgard a different man, it made him no less wise to handling certain affairs that came with ruling a kingdom. Battles of war were one thing; battles of the courts were another. The All-Father had continued to handle the throne even in the midst of war, but with his recent demise, the burden now lay entirely upon Thor.
"I have made attempts at negotiating, but Skadi refuses to settle for anything less than you."
"And are you here to finally acquiesce to their demands?"
He was prepared to face his punishment, had made peace with it at the first stirrings of war. That was not to say that he enjoyed the idea of what the frost giants had in store for him. Everyone had heard stories of their favored methods of torture, of the venomous serpents that resided in the depths of Jotunheim. Loki had no doubt what pain would befall him should they take him.
Thor's hand fell away from his face in surprise. "No." As if that weren't even an option. "Although the majority of the people insist that I surrender you to them. They question why Asgard continues to harbor and protect one that would have seen the end of another realm."
"They are right to question it." Loki stepped forward, sneer overtaking him. "What use is there in keeping me here? Why not fulfill the desires of your subjects and turn me over into the hands of those that demand vengeance? As the King of Asgard, you are bound to protect your people. Why do you sacrifice many for the sake of one despised, fallen prince?"
"Because you are my brother."
(I'm not your brother.)
He growled the words out around gritted teeth. "I am not your brother."
(I never was.)
"And I am not your enemy." Thor's knuckles paled under the force with which he held Mjölnir, a stark contrast to his low, insistent tone. "There is more to being my brother than a mere bond of blood. We have thousands of years' worth of moments that prove companionship. We were raised together, played together, fought together. How can you cast that aside so easily?"
"Because I am not the son of Odin but the son of a monster."
"If you are a monster, it is only within your own mind. I know the truth of you, brother."
Loki's hands fisted at his sides, nails digging crescent moons into his palms. "Know me?" The hold on his control was tenuous; his hands shook with the struggle. "You presume to know me?"
"I do know you."
"You see only what you wish to see. And what you strive to consider of me is in vain; a futile, childish notion that ceased being the truth long ago." He stepped forward, closing the space between them until only the enchanted wall of his prison and one step on either side separated them, lip curling. "You think I regret what I've done? You think I feel remorse in the dead of the night? Blind belief in the goodness of another is a wasted effort when all other evidence points to the contrary."
Narrowed, green eyes flicked between wide, blue ones. And he sought the flash of pain, tried to find the wound in the cobalt depths – because he was the Silver-Tongue, and even when he lacked control over all other aspects of his life, he still held power over words and the ability to string them into phrases that offended and injured and stung – but the only thing he could see was Thor's shoulders rise and fall as he breathed in deeply, held the air in his lungs for a moment, and then exhaled heavily.
"And yet you claim to know me. Tell me something, Odinson…" Bitterness burned at him, tangled with the blood slipping through his veins, and it felt as real and tangible as the air in his lungs. "If you were so perceptive, why did you not suspect the truth of my nature before it was so glaringly revealed to you? Why did you not see the deception before the result? For one that claims to know me so well, you fell subject to the lies so readily."
He paused. There was anger alongside the bitterness as well, even if it was strangely muted. He grasped it, nevertheless, held onto it as he injected as much disdain as possible into his last words.
"It is because you know nothing. You are a fool, always have been… and I am not your brother."
To his credit, Thor – the man who had always been so easy to read, the man who wore his heart on his sleeve for all the worlds to see – didn't even appear to be taken aback by the biting statements. Instead, he merely held Loki's glare, blinking slowly, expression hovering somewhere between accepting and discerning, which only succeeded in fanning the flame of bitterness that much more.
For a long moment, they remained at their impasse.
Then, Thor turned away.
He walked the length of the glass wall, staring unseeingly down the long hallway of the dungeon, not focusing on anything in particular. Loki, however, remained motionless except for his eyes that followed Thor's progression. When he was just over halfway, he stopped. His head turned slightly, eyes trained on the ground, face in profile, and his words were uncharacteristically quiet as they crept over his shoulder.
"Do you remember the time we had to retrieve my hammer from the giants?" When the question was met with nothing but silence, Thor turned away once more. "They demanded an exchange – Freya for Mjölnir. I can recall Freya's anger to this day and her refusal to cooperate despite the fact we had no intension of bartering. It would have been… easier had she agreed to aid us."
Loki now faced Thor's back, although he couldn't remember when exactly he'd moved. "Easier, perhaps… but far less amusing."
"You would find amusement at my expense?" It could have been a despairing question, but when Thor fully turned, Loki caught the playful gleam in his eyes.
"How could I not? It is not often that one gets to witness the crown prince in a dress."
"In my defense, it was the only way without Freya's assistance."
And Loki felt the corners of his mouth quirk of their own accord at the memory – Thor in a gown disguised as the goddess, the two of them appealing to the giants, Thor playing the part of a maiden who only wished to see the mighty hammer. "It is a testament to the idiocy of the giants that you were able to fool them. Truly, you looked nothing like her; not to mention you nearly gave us away with your reckless declarations. She would never have said such things."
"I have never been able to weave a web of lies as masterfully as you, brother."
"No…" His lips straightened, a certain seriousness returning to his stance. "Lying never suited you."
"And consideration never suited you." Thor's expression sobered as well before he offered a nostalgic smile. "But you often showed it all the same."
Their interactions were a never-ending dance, expressions constantly shifting in response to another, countenance always changing to parry a prior move. There was a constant push and pull between the two of them, always had been. And he couldn't help but think of magnetic fields and the way they opposed each other when too much alike even as they constantly sought to draw close together.
"You told me once that you only wanted to be my equal. It is funny to think that I often thought the same of you."
Which was not at all what he expected to hear. Thor was the bright and shining first born son of Odin, beloved by the entire realm. The inequality that existed between them was never – could never be – tilted in Loki's favor. Not when he was… him. Second born, second best, second loved.
"I know you refuse to believe it, but our parents loved us equally."
And Loki's mind was insisting, swearing, demanding, asserting, screaming…
(No matter how much you claim to love me.)
(No more than another stolen relic.)
Even as another hidden part of him whispered…
(Tell me.)
"Although, it may not have always appeared to be so. But then, we were always so divided in our talents. As much as I reminisced with Father on acts of war, I could never share that same closeness with Mother. You held her heart, you and your affinity for knowledge and magic. I often found myself envious of you."
Loki exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"One day you will believe me." Thor leaned down to set Mjölnir on the floor, then moved towards him, stopping directly before him once more. "One day you will cease to dwell on what you are and instead focus on who you are."
And as their eyes met through the golden haze of glass, he felt… he felt…
The icy wind of Jotunheim on his face when he discovered the truth of himself and the smooth arch of the throne beneath him as he took his place there for the first time and the blinding white of the room as he focused on Thor's darkened eyes and the sharp edge of the rainbow bridge scraping his arm as he fell and the piercing gaze of the gatekeeper when he opened the pathway to allow the frost giants access…
And there were a thousand other things from then and now…
And then he felt things from before…
The crisp parchment beneath his fingers as he studied the secrets of magic and the shriek of steel meeting steel in his arms when the All-Father taught him the ways of battle and the sharp edges of grass brushing his legs as he chased a young Thor across an endless sea of green and the soft fabric of Frigga's dress on his back as he leaned against her legs and listened to her humming while she weaved a tapestry…
And it was all so different, the then and the now and the before… it was impossible for the boy wearing the carefree smile as he ran across a field to be the man wearing a sneer as he challenged a god of thunder to fight him. But they were. He thought about how simple it was before; he thought about how complicated it was now. And he felt…
He felt…
Loki felt so… so…
Tired.
Exhausted. Weary. Bedraggled.
Like he could simply lie down and sleep for hours or days or years or centuries. Caught up in the game, surpassed by the deception, a spider tangled in its own web of lies. And Loki wondered if it was possible for the God of Lies to fool even himself.
"Why are you here, Thor?"
There was a brief pause. "I am sending you to Midgard." And he sounded as tired as Loki felt.
"Impossible. The Bi-Frost is destroyed, the pathways have been ruined. There is only one other method of escape, but you do not know the ways of dark magic."
"I am not a master of magic by any means, but Father taught me just enough for this." He arched an eyebrow, clearly questioning the God of Thunder's abilities. Thor may have excelled at a great many things, but magic had never been one of them. "I am sending you to Jane Foster." The name was familiar; the woman that had so altered Thor all those years ago in only a few days. "She is too kind to deny you aid."
"What makes you think I would require aid among mortals?"
"You will be alone, brother. And with the paths destroyed, there will be nowhere for you to go."
They were reparable; he knew it. "I will repair the paths."
At his determined tone, Thor chuckled. "Of that, I've no doubt. If anyone could do so, it would be you." They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Thor was the first one to look away.
Their eye contact broken, he watched as the God of Thunder stepped back and placed his fingertips together in such a way that there was no doubt as to what he was preparing to do. And as Loki realized that the All-Father had indeed revealed how to manipulate the shadowed edges of magic, his mind simultaneously whirled and faltered and the only thing he could manage was…
"Why?"
Thor glanced up at him. It was such a vague question… he'd meant to expound on it. But after spending countless years together, the man before him seemed to see through the ambiguousness and know what he meant. And a part of Loki realized that perhaps Thor did know him better than he thought.
A tiny, almost sad smile pulled at the edges of Thor's mouth. "Because your time of refuge here is ending. Soon, either the Jotuns will breach our defenses and take you or the people of Asgard will not heed my commands and give you up themselves."
"But…" It wasn't good enough. There was more than that. "Why?"
"Because everyone is deserving of a second chance."
Sentiment. It burned at him, pulled his brows together in a frown of concentration, made him lean forward slightly onto the balls of his feet as he inquired, insisted, for the third time. "Why?"
The sad smile turned genuine, warm and bright and open and…
"Because you are my brother."
Then, Thor's eyes closed in concentration. As he began to speak the ancient words, Loki felt the stirrings of magic drift through the air, and, oh, the feeling of magic… the sensations, something that he hadn't felt so much as once during his imprisonment, now flitted over the surface of his skin like a lover's touch. And at the familiar feeling, the lilting words with their delicate pattern, the rising and falling inflection, he well near closed his eyes as well if only to drown in the memory of what had so defined him.
It was in that moment – Thor still focused intently on the workings of dark magic and Loki reveling in the beginnings of its touch – that she appeared. As wild as the winds from the cold land she originated from and elegantly fierce with her long, patterned limbs and sharp face, she slipped down the passage unbeknownst to either of them. And by the time Loki caught sight of the shadow amidst the shadows, it was too late. Before he could move, before he could call out a warning, before he could even breathe, she'd crossed the last bit of space to slide a dark dagger into the soft space between Thor's ribs.
The words of magic were cut off in a surprised intake of breath.
Blue eyes met green ones.
The only sound was of air rattling and wheezing through a punctured lung.
One heart fumbled while the other raced.
And he knew that Skadi's smile – that teeth-baring, malicious, wicked sneer of triumph – would haunt his dreams for years to come.
There was something obscuring his senses. Blood rushed in his ears, moisture blurred his sight. His fingers felt numb, but that could have just been the enchantment on the cell blocking the magic – his magic, not dark magic – that twisted through his body, spurred to life by the sight of the hilt extending from Thor's torso.
Then Skadi fixed Loki with a grin, the red eyes of his people – no, not his people – cutting through him. The energy, the anger, the rage pulsing through him was so real and powerful that he shook. He cursed the enchanted barrier that separated them, and although it wasn't the first time he'd done so, it was the first time he'd done so for unselfish reasons. Because he wanted to claw the red eyes from her face, he wanted to forgo magic and feel the soft flesh of her belly part beneath his daggers.
But while Loki was consumed by thoughts of blood and death, Thor, ever the warrior, saw the opportunity. Taking advantage of Skadi's distraction in her silent celebration, he twisted. The end of the dagger was ripped from her hand, bringing her attention back to the situation, but it was too late. In mid-turn, Thor pulled out a hidden blade of his own and plunged it into her chest one, two, three times before swiping it across her throat.
Time seemed too fast and too slow. Too fast as he watched Skadi stumble back, life pulsing from the wounds; too slow as he watched Thor pull the dagger from his side, caught a glimpse of the darkened blade.
"Thor, release me!" His voice seemed strangely detached, strangely pleading. "Release me; I can heal you."
Thor, however, stood motionless. Blood coated his hand, was splattered across his chest plate, spread at his side. The blade that had killed Skadi fell and clattered against the stone floor, but neither of them moved, Loki staring hard at Thor who stared at the dagger – Skadi's dagger – that remained in his hand. Light glinted red and black on the blade when he turned it.
"Jormungandr."
Thor's utterance was quiet, but Loki heard it nevertheless.
And they both knew what it meant.
The wound in his side was small, but the great snake's venom pulsing through his veins was unstoppable. Not even magic could heal it. Within moments – seconds, minutes at most – Thor would be dead.
"Thor." His head lifted, eyes briefly meeting Loki's before closing and brought his fingertips together once more. It was when he began to recite the words, when Loki felt the plateaued magic surge again that he cried out. "Cease this, Thor! Don't be a fool!"
(Is it madness?)
"You do not have the strength!"
(Is it?)
"Free me!"
(Is it?)
Pausing once again, Thor opened his eyes. He was speaking, saying something about finding Jane and him being safe with her and taking care of her… but it was so difficult to focus – he couldn't think – what with the way the God of Thunder offered that small smile and Loki's stomach clenched without warning at the sight.
It was the kind of smile that spoke volumes. Of years upon decades upon centuries upon millennia of shared memories. Of hiding from instructors as they darted through the palace and sitting by the fireside during explorations of other realms and sparring in the training fields and bantering about the women that had graced their bed the night before. Of resolution, resolve, and reconciliation. Of forgiveness.
Forgiveness… in spite of all that had transpired between them… in spite of his past.
Or maybe it was because of it.
Thor continued to explain where he would find Jane, but all Loki could focus on was the crimson stain blooming across his chest. But then their eyes met. And in that moment he knew… he would hear thunder and think of him; he would hear storms and remember.
There were a few more words – Loki felt the magic curl around him, through him – and then it pulled. His stomach roiled as he resisted. Stumbling forward, he threw a hand against the glass wall. Was it only to brace himself to keep from falling or did he truly feel that the fingers that blocked his view of Thor's body could also touch him in some way? He could no longer be sure because everything was so very, very wrong.
Eyes locked.
Breaths harsh.
And the memory of climbing trees, running through fields, telling stories, stormy nights, sunlight and moonlight, wind and rain, and adventures and playing and fighting and growing and helping and laughing, laughing, laughing…
"Live well, brother."
There was another tug, stronger this time, the force of it making him flinch. Through the pain, he looked desperately to Thor once more who smiled calmly, resignedly, back…
(Brother, please.)
… and then the dungeons and Skadi and Thor and Asgard were gone, replaced by a plethora of vibrant lights.
He fell.
It felt like forever.
The dark magic sent him through the threads of space where time disobeyed laws and refused to flow naturally, and he was no longer able to tell whether the fall took eons or only seconds. But as he passed through the Void, he caught glimpses of countless worlds.
There were realms that had yet to be discovered and places unknown. He saw a land where disfigured creatures rose from the depths of the planet to prey on those that lived above and another where waterfalls rose instead of fell and the people had to take care not to fall into the sky. Still another showed a world of water that contained only a single island where time stood still.
There were also infinite possibilities, each one the result of a different choice that could have been made. He saw a universe in which he had never been rescued from that cold temple in Jotunheim. There was one in which Thor ascended to the throne on his coronation day, jealousy never tainting their bond, and another in which the Destroyer slaughtered Thor and his allies in that barren, dusty town.
He saw a universe in which he conquered Midgard with an alien army and a glowing scepter.
(Who controls the would-be-king?)
(I am a king.)
He saw a universe in which he failed and a dark shadow obscured the sky as it came for him.
(You think you know pain?)
(He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.)
He saw a universe in which he fell into the grey ashes of an abandoned world with a hole through his chest.
(I wish I could trust you.)
(I didn't do it for him.)
Voices he'd heard but never heard, words he'd said but never said, and places he'd seen but never seen rebounded through his consciousness until he could no longer tell what was real and what was false. Had he acquired the throne of Asgard or had he acquired a throne in Midgard? Had he made a deal with a frost giant king or had he made a deal with a titan that courted death? Had he watched a blade pierce Thor's chest or had he watched a blade extend from his own?
Where was the truth within the lies?
Or was there any truth at all?
(I who was and should be king.)
(It is my birthright.)
And yet…
(I never wanted the throne.)
Suddenly, the hands of magic gripped him anew and pulled him through a seam in the Void. There was the familiar rush of cosmos, the sensation of not being able to breathe. He was falling… falling… falling… through a sea of stars and space and air and then… nothing; nothing except the pain of the impact, the mossy undergrowth of Midgard, and the knowledge that he was alone.
Nothing.
Alone.
Silence.
And in the silence he finally found the truth.
(Never doubt that I love you.)
Bits of earth pushed under his nails as he ground his hands into the dirt, gouging deep tracks. The fresh scent of plants was all he could inhale, which was wrong because it smelled of life when Thor – the god, the king, the brother – was dead. And he felt so empty inside because there was nothing in him… so he stayed that way for what felt like forever until, without warning, there was something.
That's when he heard the exhale.
That's when he saw her.
"Jane Foster."
Continued in "Drowning"