This is kind of just a preview; starting where Thor left off. Let me know what you think!
As you can probably guess, I own nothing.
Darkness.
That was the only thing Loki could remember seeing in what felt like centuries.
Perhaps it had been centuries… Or even millennia… For all he knew, time could have turned backwards, in this…space; this fathomless, empty field of black.
If only… he thought longingly, some lesser part of him pleading to the Norns to let him go back, to make everything right again.
"I could've done it, Father!"
He had been so close. So maddeningly, frustratingly close to having it all—to proving to Mother that he could handle the burden of being King in Thor and Odin's absence; showing the people (In particular, Sif and the Three) that he could make just as good a ruler—if not a better one—as their favorite golden Odinson; and taking his aforementioned saint of a brother down a few pegs, while he was at it.
Proving to Father that he was just as good a candidate for the crown, and the throne…
"I could've done it!"
That his being slighter and more adept at sorcery and diplomacy than battle didn't belie his own strengths… That he was worthy…
"For you!"
All he had wanted was to be seen! To be given a chance to just once have something that was entirely his, and for no one to question his right to that. For everyone to stop comparing him to Thor, and wishing it was Thor on the throne and Thor in Odin's place while he slept. Gods, had it occurred to no one that maybe HE wanted to be the hero for once? To be respected and shown affection and praise, instead of being treated with caution and ill-concealed scorn for his alternative lifestyle?
Showered with admiration, instead of mockery and contempt…
"For all of us…"
It wasn't as though he had done any lasting harm in his part in Thor's banishment; Hel, that hadn't even been a part of the plan. He had only meant to delay his rule long enough for him to grow into the responsibility—damn it, he wasn't ready! But any attempt to convince his Fath-…to convince Odin—not to mention the rest of the court and council—would've fallen on deaf ears. They'd have merely thought him jealous and power-hungry and sneaky, and turned him away. So, naturally, he had had to disrupt the coronation. It was the only solution; the only surefire way to protect Asgard and the other Realms under her protection from his fool of a brother until Thor was mature enough to take on such an important duty.
The trip to Jotunheim, however, had most certainly not been his idea.
Looking back, he really ought to have foreseen Thor's reaction to the Frost Giants' presence in Asgard—and in the palace, no less. He should have known that the first thing the lunk would do would involve planning a retaliatory charge; going in, Mjolnir swinging, and knocking heads till he was blue in the face, leaving trivial matters like "looking for answers" for later. It was all Thor ever thought of, war. All he ever cared about was fighting and sparring and boasting about that blasted, thrice-cursed hammer…
And Sif and the other warriors had (after a bit of coaxing, of course) trailed after his heels like obedient little pups the whole way. Never mind the fact that it was forbidden—not to mention rash, irresponsible, and just plain stupid—to venture into the icy Realm, whatever the reason. Never mind that they could have been, and very nearly were, killed.
No, they were all happy to tag along in the end, because Thor had them convinced that it would all be fine, perfectly safe. They would go in, get what information they were after, and then return home, and the Allfather need never have known.
Honestly, it was a miracle they had all survived; Thor, especially.
His punishment had been fitting, though admittedly the news of it had come as a bit of a shock to all involved in the fool's errand that was their little field trip. Exile had never been previously considered by anyone (even Loki) as a possible form of discipline for the thunderstruck godling. Everyone had believed, known with absolute conviction, that Thor was the favored of the two young princes, particularly by the King. The pair of them, Thor and his father, were so strikingly alike—more so than Odin and Loki had ever been, without any doubt.
I suppose the great mystery of why has been solved now, though, hasn't it? The bitterness at the very thought curled around him in the darkness like a shroud, threatening to smother him…
Jotunheim, he knew now, had been the beginning of the end; of him… of everything…
"No, Loki…"
It was a lie.
Everything he knew—all they'd ever told him—was a lie.
He wasn't Odin's son; he wasn't Thor's brother; he wasn't a prince of Asgard; in fact, he wasn't of Asgard, at all.
He was a beast. The abandoned, unwanted whelp of a monster discarded and left alone, in the cold and the ice, because he had been born too small…too weak. Stolen from his reluctant home to be used like a tool in a greater game of fragile peace between the kings of two worlds ravaged by war, and death. Just a pawn in an old man's game; and in the end, even that purpose fell to the wayside, and he became a neglected second son to a liar and a thief. Nothing more.
Just a useless Jotun runt… The truth of it was enough to crush him even further into oblivion...
Not missed by his true kin.
"Kill him."
Not respected, even by his brother…
"Some men do battle, others just do tricks."
Taunted by his so-called friends...
"What happened? Silver tongue turn to lead"
Never trusted…
"Do you think you can deceive me?"
Never heard…
"Know you place, brother."
Never noticed…
"I could've done it!"
Never ENOUGH!
"No, Loki…"
There had been nothing left for him anymore.
And then…he was falling.
He fell forever.
The Void welcomed his into its embrace, folding around him, blinding him and deafening him to every light; to any sound.
Silence…and darkness.
And nothing.
Nothing at all…
Now, perhaps…
Death seemed inevitable, and blissfully silent.
Yes, his mental voice sighed, for despite—or rather due to—the circumstances, he felt strangely content.
At last…
…He would know peace.