Hey, this is a newer version! I decided I would continue this, so I went back and edited this a bit so it would fit my current writing style more :) Plus, I'd like to think I'm better at writing now than I was 2 years ago XD
There's not many changes, but hope you enjoy all the same!
Chapter 1
As soon as they'd arrived in Asgard he'd been stripped of his powers and thrown in a cell. Unable to perform magic he couldn't remove the shackles chaining him to the wall and did not even have the pleasure of goading the guards with some well chosen words. Instead he was forced to wait in silence.
No matter. Loki was used to silence – it helped him think – and unlike Thor he was quite adept at keeping still and waiting. Well, he would wait. Someone would come for him soon.
Just as he knew it would, the doors unlocked and a guard entered.
"The king requests your presence," the guard announced, unlocking the chains.
'Requests? More like demands.' Loki rolled his eyes. He may not be able to speak, but he was more than capable of conveying his thoughts.
"You are to come with me," the guard continued. He seemed to expect Loki to follow willingly, as he didn't even bother to look at him. Interesting; he'd turn his back on Loki, the God of Mischief and Deceit, who even without magic was perfectly adept at killing a man? Odin must have found some new pets.
Intrigued now, Loki followed this new guard out of the cell.
He absentmindedly took in the stone walls, so different from the usual gold interior of the palace; then again, prisoners did not need luxury. However, they were nowhere near the prison cells as far as he was aware… It appeared as if this was all especially for him.
'I'm flattered.'
Soon, they came to a door. The guard stepped away and gestured; it appeared Loki would be entering alone.
'Well, thank you very much for the assistance, my friend,' Loki chuckled to himself. He glanced around the room, eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of the surgical instruments on the table – he did not like the look of that scalpel.
A single stone chair stood in the middle on the room, covered by chains. Clearly Loki was expected to sit in it. Well, why not? Imagine the look on the Allfather's face when he sees that his precious relic complied willingly.
The Trickster sat in the chair like it were a throne, and barely blinked as chains slinked across his arms, chest and legs. Looking up he caught sight of an unwelcome figure. Hate and rage boiled in him, bubbling to the surface unexpectedly. If he were free he-
'No!' he attempted to calm himself. This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to remain cool and placid, sneering and indifferent; he'd trained himself to hide all this. He couldn't afford to show weakness, especially facing the man who had lied to him his whole life, abandoning him in that one moment of need. That pathetic excuse for a king who was now looking down at him, unblinkingly and filled with disappointment, the look that had been present that time when...
Loki bit his tongue and maintained a calm expression – after all he had trained himself to do so, keep his emotions in check. Inside however he felt that if it were not for the metal muzzle, he would have spat in his father's face.
"Loki." Loki simply stared at the wall, refusing to further acknowledge him. Sooner this was over, the better.
"You can't do this!" Loki's head jerked as metal slammed against metal and Thor stormed in. "You can't do this!" he repeated, voice thundering.
"I can and I will," Odin replied simply, still not taking his eyes off Loki. However Loki was eyeing Thor. What was this about? What had the Allfather declared?
Thor glanced at Loki and his expression slackened, his voice trembling.
"I am so sorry brother,"
'Sorry for what?!' Loki wanted to scream. What were they referring to?
One of the healers of the palace appeared, fumbling with the instruments on the table. Loki realized too late what was happening.
He looked into his father's eyes as his mouthguard was removed. Flexing his jaw for what he knew may be the last for a very long while, he said, "I hate you, father,"
Sharp pain pierced his skin. He jumped but was restrained by the shackles. Having always had magic to dull the pain, he'd long since forgotten that feel, making this unbearable. However, he clenched his fists and remained as still as possible, knowing that movement would only make it worse. His eyes watered as he glared at his adopted father, willing all the pain and hatred to be projected to him.
Finally when he couldn't stand it any longer he squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling down his cheeks.
Thor finally crumbled, the urge to help his little brother overcoming him. He rushed forwards to comfort Loki, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Disgusted at this act of compassion, Loki shook off his hand and glared. 'I don't need your help,' he snarled, or at least tried to. Blood oozed from his wounds again, dripping down and joining the pool already formed.
Thor looked like he might argue, yet decided against this and backed away – he didn't need to cause his brother further pain than what he was already suffering. 'The fool does have a brain,' Loki thought through the haze.
Finally, it was over. The chains undone. Gingerly he felt the metal addition to his skin; it felt rough and sticky, as the blood continued to flow.
Without waiting for invitation or permission, Loki stood and left, refusing to look at either his father or brother – no, refusing to look at either Odin nor Thor.
His feet carried him to what had been his room before his fall into the vortex. He was surprised that it had remained untouched. Approaching the sink, he splashed cold water over his face, watching the blood spiralling down the sink.
He looked at his reflection. Silver zigzags crossed his lips, sealing them shut. Stitch by stitch.
He slammed his fist against the mirror.
This wasn't fair! When the Almighty Thor does something wrong, all that happens is he's sent to Midgard – Midgard – out of all the realms, the only one insignificant enough that the residents don't even know of the existence of other realms. So what if he didn't have his stupid hammer, it's not as if 'a man who fell through a hole in the sky' would be in danger when humans didn't even believe that possible! And he, the God of Mischief, what happens when he does something as simple as conquering Earth? It's not as if he put two races at war. But noo, suddenly he's done something unforgivable, and the punishment must be no magic and no voice; after all it's not as if they've just stripped him of his entire being. Oh no, of course not. Totally just. Must be the whole Frost Giant thing.
He gripped the sink, knuckles white. Well, this shouldn't be too awful, and it wouldn't last forever. At least, it better not, or he would kill them.
"Brother?"
He spun around to find Thor standing in the doorway, unsure whether or not he should enter. Lost in his thoughts, Loki hadn't even noticed him; Hel help him, the day Thor learnt to be quiet would be the day everything fell to Chaos.
Loki gave an indifferent snort and pushed past him, making it clear that he was unwanted. Last thing he needed now was some clumsy oaf trying to be helpful.
"Brother, please. I'm sorry. I did not know. If I had I would never have brought you back here." Thor's voice cracked with remorse and sincerity, and Loki realized he was actually crying. He didn't need to see this; he didn't want to. This show of compassion was disgusting. He'd much rather his brother hated him than pity him. He pointed at the door. Even without words the meaning was clear: "Get out. Now."
Thor gave him a final look of regret and, knowing that nothing he said would be of any use, left, shutting the door behind him.
For the next few minutes Loki found himself still staring at the door, a slight frown on his face. Maybe-
No. He turned away from the door. It didn't matter, he didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore; he knew what he had to do. Crossing the room, Loki fumbled through his possession – if everything was still the same, if his room truly had remained untouched, then-
Yes. It's still here. Loki smiled – a smile made jagged by the wires. They will pay for what they've done to him. Pay, preferably, with their lives.
