Warnings: this is a little graphic.
As I'm sure you're all aware by now, my beta irite is pretty much the best.
This is my first attempt at serious Loki. Also, I'm still pretty unclear exactly wtf is going on with the Chitauri/the Other/Thanos, so please be gentle.
This was meant to be a one-shot, then I thought it might have another chapter or two, then I decided that it was definitely a one-shot, and then I wrote a second chapter. So we'll see how this plays out.
I do not own The Avengers. Or Loki. I just wish I did.
Loki never wanted to be a king.
The whole thing with Thor's coronation and his subsequent exile had not been a bid for the throne. That had mostly been for Loki's amusement. He had intended to appeal to Odin for Thor's return after a couple of days, perhaps. He thought Thor could use the opportunity to learn some patience, some humility. After all, Thor was to be king, and a king who actively courted war was not the king that Asgard needed. For Loki did care about Asgard. He had to, certainly, as a member of the royal family, but his care went deeper than just that superficial concern. They were a good people, and they deserved a good king.
Loki knew he could not be that king. He knew he had no business ruling anyone. Ruling was, above all else, boring. Sure, the power would have been nice, but it came with so many conditions, so many strings attached, so many rules and responsibilities that he could do without. He'd rather spend his time reading, making mischief , and practicing his magic than dealing with the mundane concerns of a kingdom. The throne was a burden, a heavy one, one that Loki never intended to carry.
Yet life had taken a different direction. After their ill-fated march on Jötunheim, he had found out about his true parentage, and Loki's plans had changed. With Odin incapacitated, it was in his power to recall his brother. And he intended to, really, he had. But first, he had to prove to his 'father' that he was not a monster, that he could rule Asgard as capably as if he had been born Aesir and not Jötunn.
It did not occur to him that Odin had never suggested otherwise. Indeed, it was only Loki's own vicious self-doubt whispering those things in his ear.
But it drowned out all else.
Through attacking Jötunheim, attacking his own 'people,' he hoped to tear to shreds any lingering connection between him and those creatures. They were the monsters, and he would destroy them to protect Asgard.
But neither Thor nor Odin had seen things that way. And Loki, dangling over an abyss, had seen the disappointment in Odin's eyes, and he had understood then that if he had thought that this was the best way to win Odin's approval, he was sadly mistaken.
He was a monster, after all.
And he had no right to lay claim to any throne.
So he had let go of the staff, had let himself fall into oblivion, intending that to be his end.
It hadn't been, though he had come to wish it had.
He had awakened lying on hard, barren rock in some hard, barren place. It was a cold wasteland, lifeless and empty. He was completely alone.
Or so it had seemed.
The inhabitants of that place had not made themselves known immediately. For some long, immeasurable amount of time, Loki wandered the harsh landscape, bruised and aching, cold, hungry. There was little light to guide him, and the stars were foreign. After what felt like an eon or two, he had to concede that he did not know where he was. Or where he was going. Or where he had come from.
He laid down to rest in a semi-sheltered crevice and fell into a fitful sleep.
Some time later, he was awakened by a sharp kick to his ribs. He startled awake, more surprised than pained by the blow.
The creatures looking down at him were horrifying, like rotting reptilian-mechanical monsters.
And they were not especially friendly.
Nor were they big on talking. This was a problem, because Loki was. "Silvertongue," he was called, and for good reason. He could talk his way out of anything.
Usually. But not this.
He couldn't tell if they didn't understand him or if they just weren't listening. Or if they just didn't care about what he was saying.
Whichever it was, they led him in silence. They brought him before what he assumed was their leader, and yet Loki did not sense from him a particularly strong aura of power. It was as if someone else entirely was running the show, calling the shots, directing the actions of all of these creatures from afar.
Still, this particular creature, this 'Other,' seemed to be in charge, and he explained in great detail exactly what he wanted from Loki.
When he had finished, Loki laughed at him. "How foolish are you? Your plan will never work. And I do not want to be a king, especially of that wretched realm. My brother, for some reason, holds it quite dear. I will not rouse his ire so. Find another way to obtain this 'Tesseract;' I will not aid you."
The speed and ferocity with which the Chitauri (as he later learned they were called) set upon him at the Other's command was impressive. Loki fought back as well he could, but he was both already weakened and vastly outnumbered. He was soon overwhelmed and found himself bound and dangling from the ceiling of the cell that would become his home.
Loki did not want to be a king, but the Other did not particularly care what he wanted. He needed someone to send against Earth, someone who could bring that planet to its knees and keep it subjugated and shackled. He needed a leader, a king, and it would be Loki. The demigod had the kind of power they desired. It had been a truly fortuitous stroke of luck that had brought Loki exactly where he was needed.
So whether it was what he wanted or not, Loki would be a king.
And really, how hard could it be to 'convince' him?
At first, Loki set his will in stone. He was stubborn and would not bend, and he would not break.
That did not last.
The Chitauri would beat him until he was on the brink of unconsciousness, until the mere act of drawing breath brought nearly unbearable agony, until he was gagging on his own blood as it as it ran down his throat. Then they would release the bindings at his wrists that held him upright and let him collapse to the floor. There he would lie for some amount of time, trying to catalog his injuries and cursing both his terrible luck and his rapid healing. The first because it had brought him here, of all places, and the second because it meant that this torture could, in theory, stretch into infinity.
In between the torture sessions, the Chitauri's leader would come and see him. He would help Loki off the floor, help him onto the pile of debris that was serving as a bed. He would tsk over Loki's injuries, would belittle him for being so stubborn and so stupid. In the beginning, this incensed Loki, who swore vengeance upon these foul creatures. He knew he was too weak, too battered, to bring the justice that these monstrosities deserved, but he insisted that his brother and his father would see to it that every injury, every indignity done to Loki would be repaid tenfold.
Loki hated himself for those words, hated himself for needing those whom he had disappointed so gravely. He hated himself for being too weak to save himself.
But despite Loki's vehement insistence, neither Thor nor Odin did come to save him, and the Other seized upon that fact and exploited it without mercy.
And it was an effective strategy, because that was a major weakness in Loki's defenses.
Are they even searching for me? Loki wondered near the beginning of his ordeal, lying in a pool of blood and vomit. The blood was from the dozen or so fresh stab wounds littering his torso, the vomit from when the pain had become too much to bear and his body had rebelled against all his efforts at control.
When the Other came to visit a short time later, he carefully maneuvered around the mess on the floor and dragged Loki to his 'bed.' In a low, soothing tone, he assured the demigod, "Your brother does not even care enough to come for you. Why will you not stand against him?"
Loki's response was to spit a mouthful of blood into the monster's face.
But the insidious words began to burrow into Loki's very being, and as they worked their way in, they began to mold him into someone new, someone filled with anger and resentment, vengeance and hate.
Probably, Loki thought, several 'days' later, attempting to both pop his shoulder back into its socket and muffle the high-pitched whining, keening sound he was making while doing it, They are pleased that I am gone.
"They feel it is for the best that the Jötunn monster has left Asgard," the Other divulged when he next came to visit. "For that is all you are. A monster could not rule Asgard, but a monster is all that Earth deserves. Will you not lead our army and bring us the Tesseract?"
Loki wondered, not for the first time, how this creature knew so much about him, that he could stab so efficiently at his softest, most vulnerable spots.
But Loki still resisted, still refused to be the king that they wanted. It grew harder, with the passing of time, as his body grew weaker and pain became his constant companion.
After a while Loki began to wonder why he was resisting at all.
For all of Asgard has undoubtedly been celebrating in my absence, Loki decided as his captivity grew in length. They have hated me all along, after all.
"And they have mistreated you most grievously," the Other breathed into Loki's ear, his words disgustingly warm and wet on Loki's neck. "Do not forget that. Do not forget that they all saw the rightful king of Asgard dethroned and exiled!"
Loki could not deny the truth of it.
Once, though, before the end, Loki nearly broke free from the manipulation. It had taken him an unusually long time to figure out what was happening, but he forgave himself for his stupidity somewhat, because concentrating on anything but breathing through the pain had been, of late, generally impossible.
Still, his was furious when it finally clicked. "You truly think me so simple that I shall bend to your will so easily?" Loki had sneered at the Other, when the pieces had come together. "You will need to do better than this, I am afraid. I will not be toyed with. You cannot trick me into leading your army! Do you not know who I am?"
The repercussions for that outburst had been unpleasant enough that the Other had not needed to step up his manipulation game, though. Instead of being more persuasive, the Other opted to see if he could make Loki more open to his overtures. It was in this way that Loki found himself impaled in eight places by bayonets, trying not to look at the white of his ribs visible through the blood and flayed flesh of his chest, with four broken limbs and a shattered spine.
It was an effective tactic; Loki's sense of self-preservation had always been very well developed, and his survival instinct finally kicked in and overrode his abhorrence of doing these creatures' bidding. He decided that perhaps taking a stand against being toyed with was not in his best interests. Because, of course, until he regained feeling in his legs, he would not be taking a stand against anything.
It did not take the Other long, after that point. With his body spectacularly broken, and his will to fight against the indoctrination exhausted, building Loki into a weapon was laughably easy. The demigod was so pliable that convincing him that he had been mistreated, that he was hated, that everyone he had ever known wished him dead, and that it was Thor's beloved Earth that deserved his vengeance was a simple matter.
After all, Thor and Odin had not searched for Loki, and why would they have? They had dethroned him, and seen him thrown into an abyss. Clearly, they reviled him, and so why should he not seek his revenge on them? The Other and his Chitauri would give Loki the means, it would be so simple to take what he deserved.
All that the Other wanted was a king, someone strong and powerful enough to bring them the Tesseract. He only wanted to elevate Loki to the rank to which he was entitled, to the rank that had been stolen from him by the cruel manipulations of Thor and his 'father.' Would it not be wise to accept this generous offer?
The wounds on his chest barely closed, his bones barely knitted whole, legs shaking with the exhausting effort of remaining upright, Loki bowed his head in acquiescence.
When he was brought before the true leader of these creatures, the one who commanded even the Other, Loki took the offered staff with an unsteady hand. Through blood and pain he had been reforged; now, he said, he was ready to rule.
The blood caked into his hair and clothes betrayed the lie, but Loki had always been a liar.
Now he would be a king.
Please review, if you're so inclined. They bring meaning to my life as I toil through an endless barrage of otherwise meaningless tasks.