The High Priest of Loki
In a tower in Odin's palace on Asgard, in a room carved from obsidian and surrounded by volcanic ash, Loki is imprisoned.
The slick black rock, like oil solidified, contains all of Loki's godly power. The line of ash keeps him from leaving, and keeps others from entering the room. It is a well-kept secret, now that Midgardians have stopped believing, that no being of Asgard can cross such a barrier. The Allfather assures the Nine Realms that Loki can no longer cause any harm.
Even now, Odin, Thor, and all the rest are blinded by their own lies.
No matter how much they might wish, how many years Loki has lived as one of them, he is not. He is other. Jötunn.
Frost Giant.
His Asgardian magics are gone, but nothing in his prison keeps his skin from turning blue. Nothing can stop him from breathing a film of ice onto the wall, and polishing it until it is as bright as a mirror.
Nothing prevents him from crossing the line of volcanic ash, but Loki stays in his black pit of a cell.
He doesn't know why. He doesn't want to know why.
The God of Lies can decieve even himself.
He polishes his mirror of ice, and tells it to show him Midgard. He is allowed no books or papers in his cell, so watching Midgardians scramble about their short, pointless lives has become his only entertainment.
Perhaps not pointless, he thinks, making his mirror show him Tony Stark with a wave of one ice covered hand. Perhaps it is the brevity of their existence which gives them purpose, and we, the undying, are the ones forever without meaning.
He watches Tony Stark often. It baffles him, how such a small creature can be so large. Tony Stark is a genius, is darkness, is a liar and inventor, is a mortal man with an iron heart that glows the same color as Loki's true skin. He is hot flesh and cold center, and if this were an earlier age, when Loki still thought himself an Asgardian and still frolicked through the realms in Thor's shadow, Tony Stark would be entirely Loki's. He would pray at Loki's feet, and when Loki deigned to appear, he would let all know that Stark was his high priest, a mortal born in Loki's image.
Stark is laughing, at some sort of press conference with his fellow Avengers around him. He wears sunglasses and a smirk, and Loki strokes a finger over the image of Stark's face and thinks mine.
-l-
"Brother."
Thor stands at the edge of Loki's cell, held back by the line of volcanic ash.
Loki gathers his magic, letting his skin grow cold and turn blue, feeling himself grow taller. His eyes flood a bloody red, scales of frost forming patterns on his cheeks. His black hair remains.
He turns his head. "How many times must I tell you that we are not brothers?" His breath creates a white fog in the air, painting the words between them.
Thor flinches away. How can he not? Loki is all they have both been taught to despise, the lowest, vilest monster. He looks like Laufey. He has gazed upon his true face long enough to know that.
Loki releases his spell, and his Asgardian glamour returns. Even now, the spell Odin placed on him to disguise his true nature is strong enough that it always reasserts itself when Loki isn't actively trying to disrupt it.
"We are brothers still," Thor says stubbornly, though he still doesn't look at Loki.
Loki remains silent.
Thor sighs, and when he looks up, there is a pain in his eyes that Loki would have sought to soothe, once. "We are to have guests from Midgard. A show of good faith between our peoples. There will be a feast, and a hunt, and some of them wish to speak with you."
Loki's lips twitch, but otherwise his face remains blank. "You cannot lie to the God of Lies, even with the truth. It will be as you say, Thor, but it is not only good faith that the Midgardians seek. They also wish to see the monster in his cage." Loki inclines his head, letting his hair fall across his face like a raven's wing. "That is their true purpose. And so here I sit."
"You are not a monster, brother."
Loki laughs, his mirth like daggers that rebound on the walls, striking him as well as Thor.
-l-
Loki keeps especially close watch on his Midgardian from that point forward. If Midgardians were truly being welcomed into the halls of Asgard, surely Tony Stark must be among them. He is the Man of Iron, after all.
Somewhere along the way, Loki forgets why he is watching, that he is waiting for the Bifrost to open. He gets lost in the depth of Tony Stark's mind, in the cut of his silver tongue, in the nights of screams and nightmares, in the triumphs and losses of this man who lives life like a god.
Some nights, he musters all his strength and slides into his Tony's dreams. His presence always seems to trigger a violent nightmare, which Loki soothes, or not, depending on his mood. Some days he considers appearing to his Tony in a mirror, just to see what the mortal will do.
But it would be unwise to reveal the powers still left to him, so he does not.
And then the day comes when Loki's Midgardian – more his than Thor's precious Jane will ever belong to Thor – puts on his magnificent armor, and joins Thor's other shield mates in looking up at the sky.
The Bifrost comes down to claim them.
-l-
The first Midgardian that comes to stare at Loki is a small man with a small mind, wearing a pitiful suit. Politician, his face screams. His eyes are large and white in his face. His voice holds a quiver.
Loki will not speak to him. He is an unworthy acolyte.
-l-
The next who looks upon his cage is far more worthy.
"Natasha Romanov," Loki says, turning to run his eyes over the woman. She wears her black uniform, her red hair like a flame. Her eyes are like a wolf's, and Loki is reminded of his son, Fenrir. "My my, this is just like old times," he goes on. And he smiles, because Natasha is his too, just as much as Tony is. Perhaps even more so, for she is the only mortal to have ever tricked him at his own game.
But Natasha will not speak to him, more's the pity. She just watches him with her wolf eyes, a spider poised in its web. Loki has no doubt that when Ragnarok comes, she will survive, even as the world burns around her.
When she leaves, her footsteps echo long after she is gone.
-l-
At last, just when Loki is beginning to think he is going to have to find some way to influence events, his Tony makes an appearance.
"Wow, you look like shit," Tony Stark says glibly.
Loki looks down at his simple black linen tunic, a wry smile twisting his lips. Rising, he approaches the entrance of his cell, until it is only the line of volcanic ash that separates him from his most favorite mortal. "You must forgive me, Man of Iron. If I had known you were coming, I would have put more effort into my appearance. You yourself are looking well."
Tony raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? I've been working out, good diet, cutting down on my alien invasions, all that. It's done wonders."
"Has it?" Loki tilts his head, allowing his gaze to drift down his Tony's body, lingering on the triangle of silken shirt that is revealed by the cut of Tony's well-tailored suit coat. Beneath that fabric glows Tony's mechanical heart.
Loki wonders if it would be cold to the touch.
"Do you know," Loki asks, before Tony can start speaking again, "what the Greeks called Thor?"
"I'm going to go with… nothing, since you guys are supposed to be the Viking gods? God Vikings?"
Loki closes his eyes, the better to soak up his Tony's voice. It is the one thing that has been missing, in the images of ice. His fingers twitch, and it's only at the last moment that he reminds himself not to reach across the volcanic ash, to lay his hand over Tony's chest.
"The Norse were the ones to record our tales most accurately. But we have had other names. The Greeks called Thor Ares. The God of War." Opening his eyes, he looks into Tony's, wishing the obsidian didn't prevent him from reading the surface of Tony's thoughts. "Thor has spilled more Midgardian blood in his travels than I can ever hope to match, and yet he is hailed a hero simply because your race is too short lived to remember his deeds."
"Yeah, well," Tony narrows his eyes, cocking his head as he regards Loki, "he didn't get caught on camera waving a glow stick around and forcing people to kneel, so…"
Loki shrugs one shoulder, speaking softly in the hope of luring Tony closer. "I was foolish, I admit. Half out of my mind after my fall through the stars, I was arrogant enough to believe myself in control when I was not. It was my plan, I make no excuse for that. But my actions were not entirely my own. You know of what I speak. The Tesseract. It has a will. It was using me just as I was using it."
"Why?" Tony asks, a thread of steel weaving through his harsh whisper.
Loki tells the truth.
"Because when I attempted to stop my brother, the God of Thunder, the God of War from destroying all of us, when I tried to keep him from bringing ruin down on us all, he took everything from me. Everything. My home, my family, my power, my wife – all were lost to me." He rips his glamour away, the air cooling as his true appearance comes forth. "Loki Odinson is no more. The monstrous son of Laufey is all that is left."
Stark gasps, a muscle in his jaw jumping. He rocks back on his heels, and then leans forward again, eyes rapidly tracking over Loki's face. Loki wills him to step over the line of volcanic ash, so that he might touch his Tony without revealing that his prison cannot truly hold him.
But Tony does not cross.
"Which one were you?" Tony asks after a long pause.
Loki blinks, his glamour sliding back into place. "What?"
"The Greek gods," Tony says. "Which one were you?"
Loki smiles from ear to ear. "Hermes."
Stark nods. "God of Messengers and Thieves."
"Inventors too," Loki adds, looking Tony straight in the eye. The mortal flinches, and Loki lifts a hand, ghosting his fingertips over Tony's cheek in his customary gesture, careful not to reach across the line of ash.
Tony jerks back. "No."
Loki smiles wider still. "You know it to be true. You are mine."