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descent into darkness -i-

"… If I watch long enough, will I become just like them?..."

Loki has always known that he is the more mischievous of Odin's sons, the one whom uses tricks and sorcery to deceive, rather than honor and strength to fight. He's always known that he picks his battles for fun, and fights them dirty, that he —

He watches the blessed water swirl and shape itself beneath the guidance of his hand, stares blankly at the snake as it dances, entrances, before — it lunges for his throat, and he merely breathes, freezing the cobra in mid-jump.

It shatters like glass.

He lets his hand fall back to the stone armrest, and lets the frost seep into his bones, even as the rivers of Múspellsheimr race through his veins. The bitter taste of ash on his tongue will not leave his mouth, and darkness permeates the very air he breathes.

Indeed, he knows why this is so, and cannot stop thinking about what he has done, whom he has killed, how badly he has failed…

"Loki!"

Light floods the room, and the shadows clawing at his mind are kept at bay by the presence of his brother coming towards him, but — he spares Thor nary a glance. He has no right to seek solace in his brother, no right to let him hold him and just cry, no right — to anything he once had, before.

It is, after all, his fault — and his alone! — that Algrim is dead.

Thor smiles, perhaps, as fondly as Loki remembers the man — no, still a boy — always had when he had found his younger brother hiding from Asgard's eyes. Loki knows that those times have long since passed, but —

He wants it back, all of it — all the happiness and innocence and naiveté they'd both possessed, before Thor had chosen to travel to Jötunheimr for the Sword of Elderstahd, before his brother had murdered those Frost Giants, before the eldest son of Odin had understood enough to chase after that wench Sif, before — back when everything had been close and safe with Thor, back when he had mattered.

"You've been hiding in this temple long enough," he says, and Loki knows what Thor is doing, has known from the moment Loki had been left behind with Father, with nothing but the wounded and the ashes and the nothingness to keep him company as he had let himself go.

He grounds the flinch beneath his skin, and stares resolutely away from his brother. He knows that Thor has every right, every entitlement, every justification to hold him in contempt, and yet the man insists on keeping up the charade of their close ties.

"I'm not hiding," Loki remarks, though he is, but, — "I like it here."

And he does, he does, hedoeshedoeshedoes — but. That's not why he is here, nor why Thor visits. His brother may not be very perceptive, but even Thor understands things like pain and guilt and remorse, — even if he'd rather be blind and run away from those suffering under such emotions.

Despite this, the fact that Thor has come looking for Loki, — even as he shrouds himself within the Enchantress's Tower of Seid, hiding from the Nine Realms, — it isn't very surprising. After all, Thor loves his little brother, even if he may not show it.

But. Loki has broken those ties, and — perhaps even broken his brother, as well. Moreover, he has finally, finally taken a life away, and — he can't ever let Thor know that he doesn't regret it, he doesn't, — but.

"I know you lament your actions, but you did what you thought was right to save us."

He can't get the screams or the flames or the sheer guilt weighing him down out of his mind, and — the fire of Surtr burns, hot and angry and hungry for battle, desperate and thirsting for blood, and — Loki feels as if the spirit of Surtr, himself, has taken residence in his hands, and wishes desperately for his magic to be free of the taint.

The darkness he had felt…

Loki feels his lips moving as he forms the words, and his ears hear the steady lilt and tense quiet of his voice as he tells him, "No, I sought vengeance." He sees him smiling indulgently, about to say — before his brother can twist the words and change his mind, Loki continues, "Thor, I am convinced that, in Algrim's place, I would have acted no differently."

It's harsher, more inflected, and — only he can hear the subtle nuances in his tone, the whispered power that Amora had taught him so very long ago — or so it seemed to him, as the days passed in a rush of ice and snow and strength singing through the winds.

He never wants any of it to have been real, because he is afraid — so very afraid — and he can never, ever tell Thor, lest he leave him even further behind. He'd seen the confusion and betrayal in his father's eyes, and knew that even he had recognized him for the monster he truly was.

The Dark Elf had not been the only one, and Loki felt the urge to laugh and cry and relish in the hypocrisy of only a week before. He felt the air around him react to his mood, saw the subtle shift of pandemonium, and —

Loki quashed everything back down to his core, kept his face blank and his muscles taut, and his glare hardened. The anger was directed at himself, his own inability to control his emotions, and — and perhaps even at Thor, for leaving him there, for starting that war in order to keep Surtr's sword, for — for ever wanting to be a man and choosing the quest that had ultimately left everything Loki had known about himself in ruin.

"Who of us knows what we're capable of when family is threatened?"

He knew. He knew what he was capable of, given the chance, knew what he could do if he ever lost control like that again, knew that he was far too attached to ever become a great sorcerer, knew that his mischief and indulgence in his older brother's whims would lead to ruin.

The wench had said as much, that he wasn't doing Thor any favors. Oh, how right she had been.

"Hopefully, we'll never again be faced with such choices."

Oh, but we will, Brother. And then what are we to do?

"I am going to see Father." Loki senses the hesitance in the pause, the unsurety of how he stands in the eyes of his brother.

Loki ignores him as best he can.

"… Will you join me?"

The hope is tangible, but that is because Loki can read the crystals of frost in front of him. Thor is simply extending a hand of courtesy, — a requirement, he's sure, of being the heir to the Throne. Loki knows that Thor does not care for him, not anymore, and —

He still answers, because he could never refuse his elder brother, and he's not sure what could happen if he ever chose not to.

"I will."

It's a lie, one of the few he will ever tell, but it leaves a foul poison on his lips, and he amends the statement. "… Later," he promises, — a half-truth that he's twisted out of a sentimental desire to see Thor at ease.

He receives no answer, and Loki refrains himself from looking up to watch Thor as he sighs, turns around, and walks away, out the door he came in from.

The shadows snake their tendrils back towards where he sits, and he listens as the echoing footsteps become quieter and quieter, strong boots clapping against the stone floor, — the ice, — the snow, — before being lost to the blizzard outside his glass castle walls.

Loki shifts, and lets the beginnings of his unshed tears drip, drip, drip, and concentrates on his magic, his sorcery, — his trickery. His eyes burn and his heart aches and he feels nauseous with the strings of power — no, guilt — as they merge with his thoughts.

It's all he has left, now.