A/N: Hi fanfic readers. I'm new to the Thor world. Initially, this was supposed to be a fun little short story for my sister's own amusement but I thought I'd venture out and give it a shot by posting it. Forgive as I'm learning these characters and its mythos; I'm bound to get something wrong and if so, I'll do my best to rectify it. Please leave a review. Thanks
A quick note that I do not profit from Marvel Comics or productions and this is a work of fiction. Also, this story is AU and will be jumping timelines so events I make reference to in my story won't transpire exactly as they have been chronicled in the film or comics. Thanks!
Untamed Love: Loki, The Dark Prince
Boredom.
He stood with his arms folded across his chest, his boots shoulder length apart listening to the charges of the feeble so-called citizens of his father's world.
He was summoned to high court by Odin, the bearded, snowy haired, eye-patched ruler of Asgard to whom he bore absolutely no resemblance whatsoever…the father of the famed and much feared Thor: The God of Thunder.
His brother.
The God of Mischief, as he was so fondly referred by a questionable subset of the citizenry gave a petulant snort.
The blond buffoon would be nothing without that common tool of carpentry by his side. It's possible he even sleeps with the bloody thing having named it, he thought. Probably slips it underneath his pillow at night to ward off the—
"Prey, tell us what is so amusing to you, my Son?"
The booming address jolting him from his reverie Loki flinched, his arms going to his sides, his emerald gaze locking with the King's probing blue ones.
"Nothing."
Sitting on his throne atop the steps of his dais, Odin smirked.
At least, Loki assumed it was a smirk.
"Nothing, you say?"
Standing by his side the Queen drew nearer, placing a hand atop the back of Odin's throne, her brow furrowed.
Confused, the younger man knit his brow. "Yes," he replied, "Nothing." He shrugged. "Well…there's nothing of significance in these lies to make sport of, anyway."
"Then you are nothing but a degenerate!" the elder man growled in anger leaning forward, his hand on the armrest, a foot stepping onto the dais. "How could you stand before me and callously dismiss the claims of these present?" His gaze narrowed. "You have masqueraded as your elder brother to gain their trust only to rob them of their precious corrodite!" he snarled in accusation.
Looking bored, Loki held his father's gaze. "I needed a setting for my signet ring, Father," he brushed off. "I simply asked my brother to petition the village for its foraging," he explained. "I was quite prepared to pay them whatever they asked. What fault is it of mine that Thor blew the whole arrangement—"
"Don't you lie to me, boy!" Odin barked, this time rising from his throne. "Posing as your brother only to steal from the villagers…a common thief?" he pondered. "You are better than this."
Shaking his head, his wary expression fell. "What have you become?"
With a deep sigh, the younger man rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. "I am whatever you raised me to be, Father," he stated, his voice monotone. "Nothing more."
Someone gasped, the court heretofore silent during the proceedings.
"Is that so?" the King mused, his head cocked to the side. "Then tell me this: what aspirations do you hold for my kingdom?"
Cocking his head, he blinked. "I'm sorry. I don't understand the question," he sassed.
"You damn well understand what I'm alluding to, boy," he retorted.
At that, Loki calmly unfolded an arm and studied his manicure, his mother Frigga training a concerned gaze upon his pale, delicate features. Folding them again he lifted a passive gaze to his father, their eyes meeting.
"I suppose your notion of a free and peaceful Asgard is to annihilate every mortal, god, and goddess that threatens your reign, pillage their resources, and upon installation of a vassal use me as Enforcer," he stated. "So, my so called aspirations align with yours, dear Father."
More gasps followed by low and nervous rumblings, the courtesans in attendance shocked and outraged by the young man's insolence.
Odin smiled, the chamber hushing silent in response.
Regaining his composure the King slowly sunk to his chair. Leaning back his gaze fixed on the young man on whom he had placed such lofty hopes so long ago.
"If you believe that, then you quite possibly are beyond my reach, Son."
Frigga drew a sharp intake of breath.
Loki glared at him.
"Remove him from my sight!" the King bellowed to the Guardsmen. "Let him mull over what he has done to his own people within the bowels of my holding cells until he emerges contrite," he commanded with a wave of a hand.
"Seriously?" his son mumbled under his breath.
With another roll of the eyes, Loki's arms fell to his sides before lifting his wrists in routine anticipation, the guards approaching, the chatter rising in decibels. They affixed him with iron shackles and turned to lead him out of his father's presence, the young god unfazed and accustomed to this treatment.
They marched him out of the Palace's ornate center court, its black marbled floors occupied by hundreds of witnesses looking on in judgement of the wayward younger son of the Mighty Odin: King of the Norse Gods as he was revered.
The security entourage passed the massive gold pillars making their way to the back double doors, Loki strolling calmly as if taking a walk on a summer's day admiring the garden peonies.
He was no stranger to controversy.
Standing at 6 foot 3, his long legs covered the distance in easy, smooth strides seemingly without a care. Smirking, he glanced at the beautiful courtiers who simply eyed him with suspicion and fear, he winking in their direction, their reactions mixed to his amusement.
As he walked, his thick ebony locks slicked and combed back cascaded in waves past his broad shoulders swaying slightly with his slow, confident gait.
He wore his usual court apparel; a long gold trimmed emerald duster, the princely collar high and formal ending just below his ears. His black double breasted vest hugged his lithe muscular frame, his black trousers concealing well-developed thighs and calf muscles ending in heavy black boots fitted with gold shin plates.
Reaching the heavy doors they slowly opened, Loki taking the moment to offer a deep and dramatic sigh, his valuable time wasted with this gratuitous display of power his father so often indulged in.
Licking his lips and bored as hell, he blinked as something in his peripheral caught his attention. Whipping his head right, his emerald gaze locked with her cinnamon ones.
A stranger. A woman.
A beautiful woman.
He knit his brow.
Her skin of rich cocoa she studied him, her probing cinnamon gaze cutting through the mass of disgusted and judgmental stares and penetrating his perplexed emerald ones.
She wore a silver headdress, her blonde locks thick and long. Her full lips—
"Move it!" a shove from the guard shook him back to reality causing him to stumble over the threshold losing sight of the fragile and ethereal being. He guffawed in disgust.
"Amateurs," he spat.
They led him through the atrium and down to the lower levels where his new, glassed-in solitary home of uncertain duration awaited him.