The stars are like small stitches in the jet black night sky that streches like a huge blanket over Asgard. Like small gaps in the coat which covers the world the young prince knows. And behind which must lie another.
Much more radiant than this one. Lastly it is able to shine through the tiny prickholes down to the ground of Asgard.
So much brighter than the splendid, monumental Asgard with its pretty rooms and blossoming gardens. With its golden walls and the glinting battlements.
Behind the nightcoatblanket there must be a world in which everything is made out of light. The gardens, the walls, the battlements. Maybe even the beings living there.
Loki closes his eyes and tries to visualize it.
Creatures of light. With fine golden hair spun out of the first rays of dawn. With skin gentle and gleaming like the sea in the moonlight and eyes so bright that you can not look straight into them without being blinded. At least if you have no lighteyes yourself.
They move gracefully, almost as if they were flying. Maybe they are. Their voices are so pure and clear – barely more than a summer breeze – yet still mighty and vibrant at the same time. But the most beautiful thing is their laugher. It sounds as if you have captured the feeling of cool water on sun-warmed skin and transformed it into a sound.
Their world is as pure as if it was newly born. Untouched. Happy.
There is no sadness and no anger.
No fear.
And no indignity.
A smile twitches at the corners of Loki's mouth while he is imagining these things. This land nobody is speaking about even though it is beautiful.
Why not?
Because everybody who dares to think about it will immediately be seized with longing for this world and will never find happiness in their lives anymore because they will never stop contemplating about it. About the beings out of light and their radiating home.
So beautiful so one could die for.
The smile stays on Loki's face when he opens his eyes. But it changes. Because there lies no city of light ahead. No laughter like silver bells that echoes through the clear night. And the stars seem as far away as ever.
His lips continue smiling but his eyes get sad.
The garden that lies in the moonlight is not more than a failed attempt to copy the beauty of the realm of light. The walls at his back look like a building made by a clumsy giant who created a town out of undressed rock fragments.
And Loki is glad that there is nobody prowling around outside their house at that nocturnal time and that he's on his own. Because he senses that the sight of a being that has so little in common with the light creatures is something he simply couldn't bear at the moment.
His eyes fasten on the stars again and he feels as if his heart would pull him up there. It pulls and drags in his chest and only his stupid body stops it from rising in the air and crawling through one of the holes in the sky ceiling.
Loki runs. Runs back into the castle and upstairs. So fast that he gets winded, but it doesn't matter to him. Maybe his heart is able to fly away by now.
Away from Asgard.
Away from this life where nobody understands him.
He wants to be like the light creatures. His heart calls this desire to him with every beat. Fast, excited, hopeful. Although he knows deep inside that that's only an idle wish. A ridiculous idea. A fantasy which he likes to cling to again and again.
Especially when he's not able to stand reality any more.
Arriving at the top of the stairs his pulse is rapid and his breath flows erratic and swiftly over his lips. Loki pauses for a moment, then, with some effort, his slim hands push up the trapdoor above his head. With a dull pawing sound it thuds on the stone floor and he hoists his body up through the resulting opening.
Some of the Aesir would spend a fortune for the view that is offered to him from this point.
It's an exclusive view. Reserved only for the members of the royal family.
Loki would keep the day Odin brought his two sons up here for the first time, up to the highest tower of the castle, to show them the whole kingdom in its prideful glory forever in his memory.
Not because the sight had made his breath hitch.
Not for the tears in his eyes because the sight of the silent city at his feet had been so damn beautiful.
But because Odin had only looked at Thor when he said that the future king of Asgard would rule over all this some day.
Only Thor.
As always.
Now Loki doesn't spare a glance for the sleeping city. It doesn't bother him.
Asgard isn't the world he wants to see.
Not anymore.
Back then, when Odin showed him all this, it was his greatest wish to be the king of Asgard someday and to call all that he can see from here his own. But those days are long gone.
He doesn't want Asgard any more. Neither the throne nor the land nor all the Aesir who would be at his command as loyal henchmen. It sickens him.
He wants something else. He wants to run away. Far away.
To the end of all known worlds and further. Till he will find the realm of light behind the nightskyblanket. So far away that nobody will ever find him.
Nobody.
Except Thor perhaps.
The thought of his brother hurts while Loki's gaze rests on the stars that haven't moved one bit closer. Longingly he stretches out his fingers as if he could reach them if he tries hard enough. As if he could stick his fingers through the little stitches they are depicting. And then become very small and slip behind. Into the world of light.
But his hands stay empty and only the cool night breeze strokes them gently as if it wants to apologize for not fulfilling his wish.
To disappear.
And if Loki is honest with himself he knows that it wouldn't work anyway. That he can not simply disappear although everything feels so wrong in Asgard and he is longing for another world so deeply that it hurts.
His sentimental heart doesn't let him go because in this case it would have to miss Thor, too. And it can not. Simply can not despite he tries to persuade it to himself.
And what makes the whole thing even more complicate is the fact that Loki knows that Thor would also miss him if he was away.
He would become angry and yell. He would smash everything into small pieces and nobody would have the courage to come close to him.
But what makes it even worse: Thor would cry.
A crying Thor is basically the strangest and most oppressive thing Loki can imagine. Thor doesn't cry. Never. Never ever. No way.
After all he's a god and the future king of Asgard at that. Sometimes Thor laughs at Loki when he has tears in his eyes. Since Loki is tender and sensitive and will never be as unrelenting and rigid as his brother.
And yet he's sure that Thor would cry if he was away.
Because of this Loki hasn't left until now. Because it would whirl his whole world if Thor cries. Since strangely and despite all the things Thor appeals to Loki he is still the centre of his small universe.
How foolish and naive he is to cling his ridiculous little heart to his brother who harms him again and again. Humbles him. Mortifies him. Who backs him repeatedly only to attract him at the next moment so firm to his chest that it nearly hurts.
Hurts with happiness.
Slowly Loki approaches the battlements that spring appear in front of him. He hikes up between two of them, tries not to look down. Only up to the stars.
His fingers find only little hold but he still continues the climbing until he squats atop.
He stands up cautious. His head yells at him that he will fall and his heart races, but he can see only the stitches through which it is possible to catch a glimpse at the light world.
Again he stretches his arms against them, wants to feel them. Wants to know weather he can grab through them. But the stars only smirk at the young prince and won't let him come closer.
Loki closes his eyes and desires with all his might to be far away. No. Not only far. That's not enough.
He wishes to have a whole new life.
Not being himself anymore.
The dark-haired whisp of a boy who doesn't seem to belong here. And who is much too sensitive and thin-skinned for a world as Asgard. Who is not a warrior and not a fighter although they ask him to be one. Who likes debating more than fighting. Who takes discussing over acting.
Who prefers to play hide and seek not chasey.
He spreads his arms to the sides and feels the head spinning height where he stands in every joint. It may be only a small move necessary and he would fall. Deeper and deeper until the wind would tear at his clothes and the ground would close up on him.
With his eyes closed he gropes along the battlements. Nearly somnambulistic he places one step in front of the other along the yawning edge. How it would feel to fall? Would he just tremble because of the oncoming impact? Or would he maybe enjoy it? A morbid thought. Even so not that devious.
Free fall. That's how this weightless tumbling is called.
Whether you feel really free during falling? Totally free? Not like the feeling when you are allowed to play outside the walls of the palace over the day while there is a squad of soldiers watching every of your steps.
That's not freedom. It's only a moving of captivity. A run area for the prince. A golden fence.
But true, veritable freedom. In falling. Do you have to try it, to know if it's working? Do you just have to do it? And if not are you not forever a coward?
Have you lost the greatest moment of your life then? Absolute freedom? Would it be this what he would regret not to have done when he will be old?
Would that feeling cancel out the death which would inevitable follow?
But maybe he wouldn't even die. Maybe a gust of the wind would catch him and let him slip to the ground on gentle arms. Because he's a prince and Odin would surely never approve that he commits suicide. Because it is something shabby.. At least in the understanding of the Aesir. Some more Loki will never be able to understand.
What's wrong with ending a life that's not right and never will be? What's wrong with the will to be free?
He doesn't call it suicide.
He calls it free death.
That sounds nearly romantic and he must say the words to feel the syllables on his tongue. To taste them. They feel like something you can do when you're not able to fit into the life somebody imposed on you. He hasn't chosen to be how he is. Why should he bear it silently?
To be free. Is that to much to ask for?
Hesitantly Loki's foot is groping for the edge of the parapet on which he stands. His mouth is dry, his hands are trembling. What if this is the moment where it should happen? What if this mild night while Asgard is sleeping at his feet offers the moment that should change everything? And even if it should only be a short sense of pleasure he will never have to accuse himself of being a coward.
He will never accuse himself of everything. Because he will be dead. Stonedead. Forever.
Loki breathes deep in and out during he's sliding his toes over the brink.
Only a small step.
"Loki", rings a alarmed voice behind him out and by a snatch he loses his balance. For the split of a second guesses that he will fall. And just in that second he decides that this is not what he wants to do. That he doesn't want to die, but rather live. Because free death is only another phrase for running away.
And he doesn't want to run away. Even less when nobody can run after him to bring him back.
Strong arms embrace his slim waist from behind and pull him down from his socle. Only just. Not a moment to soon.
Warm rushed breath greets his face when somebody reverses him rude and stares him in the eyes.
No not somebody.
Certainly not somebody.
The smile on Loki's lips tries to hide his jar but his angles shiver.
"Thor", he says quietly and tries to bow his head in shame but the blue eyes pin him down. The fear in them soaks him and gets through to his core. They make him feel guilty and a leave delight at the same time. In a strange sort of manner. He loves when Thor worries about him. Because than he knows that Thor conceives more for him than he normally shows.
"Don't do that again", says the blond giant now with a snarl. "Do you understand Loki? Never! Again!" He grabs his younger brother at his shoulders and shakes him so tightly that Loki's head spins from one side to the other. Black strands swirl though the air.
"I wanted only to look at the stars", he replies and recognizes once more how tenuous and childlike his voice sounds compared to Thor's. And he hates and loves his brother for having everything that will forever be refused for Loki. "I really thought that I could touch them."
"The stars", Thor grumbles harshly but even appeased. "You're a dreamer, Loki. Nobody can touch the stars."
For one moment there is silence and Loki thinks of the light creatures behind the skycoat. And that Thor shines nearly as bright as them in this night.
"May be you can", he mumbles dreamy and reaches out for the golden hair of his brother. Pensively he takes a strand between his fingers and has a long close look at it. Suddenly he feels unendingly weary.
With a suppressed gape he lowers his head to Thor's shoulder and his warmth covers him like a salvaging blanket. Thor looks baffled down on his brother but his angriness is already subsided and finally he gently strokes some black hair out of the sleepy eyes.
"Come on, we go to bed", he says quietly, almost softly despite of his thunder voice.
When Loki doesn't budge but rather huddles closer up to him Thor sighs acquiescent and twines his arms around his brother. He lifts him up as if he has no weight.
Loki's eyes are closed and on his lips lies a smile that ever looks sad anyway even in sleep.
His hand wanders upwards Thor's chest and the fingers bury deep into the fair hair of the young prince. He mumbles faintly to himself and his lids flicker but he doesn't wake up.
With a last glaze into the nightly sky and an uncomprehending shake of the head Thor turns the back on the tower and takes up the way back down the stairs. He still tries to feel a little bit angry with Loki but when he whispers his name asleep Thor has to smile. And he cradles the younger one even tighter while his fast throbbing heart gradually slows down.
As long as he can keep Loki from doing fooleries everything is alright.
Because he's terrified by the thought that one day his brother could not be there anymore. That may not happen.
Because he would miss him. And how he would.
He would become angry and yell. He would smash everything into small pieces and nobody would have the courage to come close to him.
But what makes it even worse: He would cry.
And that is what he fears most. He doesn't want to cry. And even less when Loki wouldn't be there to comfort him. To show him what to do to stop all this. All the tears.
No. Loki may not go. Never. Never ever. No way.
Inspiration was the song "Ready to fall" by Rise against.
Translated from german - special thanks to Milda and Amelie!
My original story is published here: fanfiktion .de - Kinofilme - Thor - "Ready to fall"