This Grace Upon My Brow
Two guards half-dragged, half-walked the god of mischief through the palace corridors and left him standing shakily before his brother. They were in Thor's room, Loki noticed, the curtains drawn, every light subdued.
The god of thunder was in full battle armor, as though some terrible war were waged in the next hall, only awaiting the golden prince's arrival. In contrast, Loki was in tatters. His dark leather trousers were mostly intact, except from the knees down; his tunic was all but gone, shreds of bloodied cobwebs stubbornly clung to him even so long after their usefulness had run out.
Thor didn't move, his body like an unwavering tree in front of Loki; too close for comfort but the trickster didn't dare step back.
It was his eyes. His eyes that unnerved Loki, that made him want to cringe back and suffer the guards who had never heard the word 'gentle' in their lives. There was a storm in those eyes, but it never showed, never peeked its terrible head like that monster he'd once imagined round that darkened bend. It didn't suit him; but at the same time, it did. It was no longer his once-beloved brother before him, but something else...
Only a moment later Loki saw the thunder god for what he was: a king. Wrath boiled beneath and hardened his face as a mask- something Loki was sure Thor was incapable of.
Can this be my brother?
He couldn't hold his gaze any longer, Loki lowered his head. He suddenly realized he was frightened. Frightened of someone in all his long years he'd never thought he could fear. But in this moment he couldn't feel more fear than if it was the All-Father himself stood before him.
He was too close, so close. I don't like this. Loki wanted to step back, but he didn't dare.
A hand on his shoulder made him flinch, but he knew what it meant before it even touched him.
Kneel.
So he did. He felt a small gust of wind near, as though Thor had made a gesture. The door closed behind him like an ominous gate closing.
Loki kept his gaze down, his head low. He couldn't take that face- those eyes. They weren't his brother's eyes; he couldn't see them. He couldn't.
It was too dark now, too dark in this room even as orange candlelight flickered nearby. The familiar blue of his brother's armor looked almost black now, something as unnatural as the face he never wore.
Loki felt a shiver run down him, from the top of his head to the toes of his bare feet. It wasn't cold in here. The dungeons, they were cold. Too cold even for a Jotun monster. And when the guards came, followed by the beatings, he added pain to the cold, dripping as if his blood were melted ice for all the heat that spread across his aching body. It was almost everyday that they came; were they the same guards? Loki never cared to look. All he knew was that it hurt, and that he deserved it.
Now a hand was lightly on the top of his head, palm nearly on his forehead. And as though he could hear or feel his brother's thoughts through that hand, he suddenly realized why he was here, and for all the resolve and defiance that he'd mustered in those dark days in the dungeon with the merciless guards, he couldn't find even a shred of it right now. He knew it down to his bones, and he dreaded what was to come next.
Thor was going to punish him.
The god of mischief lowered his chin to his chest and sat back on his heels, suddenly tired. He tried to lie to himself, to say that it would be nothing, just another punishment, but it wasn't. The unyielding mask of his brother still scraped at the edges of his memory, etched there like runes that could never be erased. Those eyes... But even the god of lies wasn't that good a liar; not even to himself.
No... Please don't...
Those perfect childhood memories- even if they were made perfect while he fell through the darkest abyss and collected them like treasures to hold close -would be snatched away like some beautiful light that didn't dare show itself in the long wastes of Jotunheim.
Next, he wanted to speak. But before the thoughts even formed his words filled his mouth like ashes and he was afraid he'd choke on them if he tried to let them out. No. He couldn't speak. He didn't need a muzzle to hold him back, what use was there in words that died before they even lived?
Loki felt one tear fall. He didn't want his brother to punish him, not him, not Thor. Please don't do this, he begged, but his tongue was still dead.
He sat up straighter, kneeling more properly; he was determined to look Thor in the eye, to use a different skill to convey his words. But his eyes betrayed him as well, he couldn't even lift his head enough to look at Thor's chest much less his face. I don't want to see that face, no...
Another tear fell, from the other eye.
Loki's hands were unbound and he didn't know why. He hadn't questioned it before. Suddenly he had to do something, he couldn't stand the silence and the darkness and the agonizing wait. His head was too warm and he felt like his body was floating and sinking at the same time; he couldn't stay here, he'd topple over and then where would he be? Pathetic on the floor, no... So he did the only thing he could: he brought up both arms and leaned on Thor, both hands on each of his brother's thighs. I can't fall. He grasped at the cloth and to his surprise Thor did nothing to stop his pathetic display. Instead he stood as a statue, unmovable like the hardest cliff stood against such unrelenting waves.
The trickster god felt his own breath shorten, gasps in and out.
Why doesn't he begin? Why does he torment me with this wait? Perhaps that's a part of it, then. Forcing him to wait, to consider, to think and know what terrible thing might come and devour him.
His memories trembled at the threat before him, afraid that they'd be scattered to the winds and lost- so lost like before, when he fell. It was so far he fell, he didn't remember if there had ever been an end.
Thor's adamant legs beneath his shaking hands somehow anchored him, though, and he didn't know why. If his once-beloved brother was to be torn away from him, he thought, then he'd hold tight this one last chance at feeling something that wasn't hatred beneath his fingers. Nevermind that it wasn't affection, and was barely neutrality, it wasn't yet hate, so he'd take it.
He leaned on Thor and hung his head; the lingering silence stretched on for far too long and he'd fall again unless-
The door behind him swung open, however quietly. Loki couldn't move, he couldn't let go of this cold statue before him that was about to be taken away. But who was this newcomer? Perhaps they were meant to aid the thunder god in his punishment?
Loki heard something soft tap the floor behind him, like leather on stone.
Thor didn't order Loki to move, and Loki wasn't about to even if he could. Suddenly a sharp crack and stinging sensation rippled across his back. He cried out in surprise, but clamped down on his tongue to be silent. A moment passed, the legs before him still didn't move; adamant, strong, silent.
Another strike of the whip hit Loki and he cried out again. He couldn't help it, he was already too hurt when he was brought here and adding injuries to injuries was unbearable. But he did bear it, I must.
Another snap of the leather sent his mind reeling, but he never let go- couldn't let go of his only anchor-
Another.
Then another.
A tear fell, and then another.
The crack of the wicked weapon hit him again and Loki felt blood in his mouth, he had bit his tongue too hard. But the appendage was too precious to him so he resigned himself to scream when it hurt too much- and now it hurt too much every time.
Without his permission his head leaned forward as his cheek rested on the outside of Thor's thigh. The whip hit him again, the burning sensation reaching even his feet. He screamed and whimpered. He couldn't stay on his knees so he crumpled a little and sat down, holding for all his worth to his brother's legs.
I won't fall; he won't let me.
It hit him again, and again, then again. Tears streamed down his face and he wasn't sure if he was screaming anymore. The legs still didn't move, even when Loki jerked and flinched. They were as solid as the earth beneath him, if they were suddenly gone, would he fall through the abyss again?
Another strike.
Loki was holding on to one leg now, arms wrapped around as though his entire world would slip away as sand held in frozen fingers.
Please don't let me fall, don't let me fall.
Through the haze filling his mind he recalled the previous days, weeks, months? The guards that entered his cell, that came so often he no longer fought them. He had held his head high, though, even as he screamed at the pain. They hadn't broken him and now he wondered why. He thought he had been strong, had been such a brave little runt but it wasn't true, he knew that now. What else could they have done? His mind had- even then -filled with the possibilities. The truth was there were so many other things they could have done than just beat him. They kicked and gouged and spit, but even with their, no doubt, limited imaginations they could have filled that cell with unending screams and cold nightmares. But they hadn't. They had just beat him. Should he be grateful?
Loki fell to the floor, but he was still holding onto a leg. He waited for the next strike, for fire to be added to fire... but it never came. He wanted to lift his head, to look, but he couldn't move. He wanted to scream for all the pain that coursed through every fiber of his being but the pathetic sound that escaped only showed that he was crying. Sobbing, wailing. The pain wasn't too much but his heart was beating too fast and he felt his head stuffed full of too many questions he didn't have the answers to.
Your brother doesn't love you, said one voice. Yes he does, said another. Why else would the guards be so merciful?
Loki's arms were now wrapped around one of Thor's boots, his chin touching the floor, his cheek against the side of the solid shoe.
Were the guards merciful, though? asked the first voice. Or do you only imagine worse things... You've always had too much of an imagination for your own good.
No, said the second. Even now... even with this whipping... he shows mercy. It was true, Loki was sure now. The guard- or whomever had done the deed -had seemed to avoid placing the earlier strikes atop one another. Loki had been whipped before, several times as punishment over the years, in fact, and crueller guards had always struck in the same spots more than once. Of course, toward the end, no matter the punisher's intentions, it was nearly impossible to avoid hitting the same areas, but the start of it all was telling.
Or is it? said the first voice. Or perhaps this particular guard was being merciful, it does not mean Thor is responsible for-
Loki drowned out the words with a loud sob. His head hurt and his back burned and he wished he could go back to his cell- even if he had to endure another beating. It was too confusing out here, too loud and too crowded, with voices that spoke in his head when he didn't want them to and-
A soft hand was suddenly on his head. Loki's mind went blank. Then: Thor cares, Thor cares, Thor cares. It repeated in his mind, like a loop he couldn't break even with all the weapons in the universe bearing down on him. The trickster didn't let the first voice come back then, he clung tightly to the still unmoving boot, afraid that unexpected hand might disappear if he let go.
The hand didn't move, it only touched, ever so lightly upon his hair.
Please, please don't let me go, don't let me fall, I can't fall again I can't I can't I don't like it down there.
So the god of mischief held tightly to his only anchor, the steady rock within his storm, this adamant, unmovable being that had come down here for him, that was ever-bright as he was ever-dark.
Don't let me fall...
A/N: This one-shot came out of nowhere...
So for once I didn't put an a/n at the beginning, I hope it didn't catch people off-guard when there was some violence in this story. It was originally rated M but I changed it to T after some consideration (and some people's advice ;D). I really didn't want to put any warnings at the beginning, though, as I felt it would be better if the reader only knows what Loki does at any given moment.
I'll go ahead and say that Loki is an unreliable narrator in this fic. The truth is, if one is inclined to pessimism, one can assume that Loki is only imagining all the 'mercy' being given to him. There's purposely no dialogue because Thor's point of view is intentionally hidden. It could be just as likely that Thor has lost all patience with his brother and that the punishments are only going to get worse from here on out. Even the hand on Loki's head at the end can be seen as pity- or even contempt -rather than true caring. Neither answer is wrong. Personally, I'm an optimist so I choose to think that Thor is being kind and telling the guard(s) to hold back. ;3
What do you guys think? Is the glass half-full or half-empty? Is Thor shirking his duty by showing mercy to a prisoner and traitor? Or is he just getting started with the punishments? I'd love to hear your comments!