No beta, all mistakes are mine.
In the final days of the Ice War, a child is born. He is the son of a king.
He is small, very small and weak-looking in large blue hands. He will die, the mother thinks, and she turns her head in premature grief. He is too frail, the father says, and his lips purse in disappointment.
They leave him to die on holy grounds, for he is the son of a king and his blood deserves that much.
They do not name him.
Out of the two sons of Odin, Thor is the first to display a manifestation of seiðr.
They are both young, have barely begun to train with real blades in the place of wooden weapons. And it is important to know that the King's first born was not born with the prowess in battle he is famed for. Like all men, he had to learn, and through his apprenticeship live both success and failure.
Failure leads to repetition, repetition breeds frustration, and frustration leads to a practice target being burned by a burst of lightning as the still young Thor rages at his inability to perform the moves in proper form.
Everyone recoils, the weapon master jumping in front of his charges to protect them from any harm. But there is nothing there save for a thoroughly confused First Prince, and so Tyr laughs.
"Clearly, our King and Queen were wise in naming you Thor," he states, "for you shall indeed protect through thunder."
Thor beams, recognizing a compliment and filled with relief that he will not be punished for such destruction. He moves on quickly though, for he is a young child with little consideration for anything other than heroes and battles. His name is Thor, and that is all there is to it.
His brother, on the other hand, frowns and ponders.
All would agree that the second prince is an inquisitive little thing, always asking hows, and whys, and never fully satisfied until every question has received an answer and his interlocutor has no more knowledge to give. His desire for knowledge is well matched with his ability to find interest in any subject, and the nobles of the court have long since gotten used to being asked about the most peculiar things.
So when her son comes up to her and asks about the meaning behind Thor's name, Frigga is hardly surprised.
"I named Thor after the great hero Þórfreðr, whose name means both thunder and protection," she says with a smile. "I thought it fitting, for his cries were loud as the storm when he was born, and as a prince he is bound to protect his people."
Loki listens, fascinated, and leans in eagerly. "And me, Mother, where does my name come from?"
She caresses his hair. "Your father chose it, little one." Loki smiles at the knowledge as she continues. "He told me it would be your name, and looking upon you I found that it could be no other."
"But what does it mean?"
"Nothing that I know, little one." She chuckles fondly at his disappointed pout. "Now, my dearest love, it is no cause for sadness. You are Loki, my child, and Loki you will be. Whatever meaning that name will take will be the one you have granted it. Is that not a pleasing thought?"
It is not, Loki thinks morosely. Being named after a hero and thunder sounds very mighty indeed, much to impress those his age with. His brother is lucky, he thinks, but Loki will never tell him that.
He will not give up so easily, he resolves even as he reassures his mother. So that very same afternoon, he rushes to the library and asks the servant who works there a book featuring all the names there are and all the meanings they have.
The servant gives him a book with most Aesir names with some of their meanings without batting an eye, because again, the second prince does have some strange interests at time.
Eagerly, Loki settles down and starts reading. Slowly, his smile falls and a frown takes its place, before his mouth falls open in a mix of deception and shock.
"Loki" is indeed a meaningless name, the closest he can come to any source is a clumsy and bastardly combination of two words.
ᛁ, Isa, the rune for ice.
Lok, the name, which means "the end".
Loki, who ends all in ice.
He shuts the book abruptly and leaves the library stomping. He is almost running away, away from knowledge he looked for but never wanted.
And perhaps any other child would have willfully forgotten any displeasing information, but Loki is Loki and he cannot let go of any slight, not even one given by ink on a page.
If Thor is well-named, if Thor will protect, then does that mean that Loki will destroy? Or perhaps there had been no thought behind his name, just empty sounds with neither thought nor blessing attached?
He doesn't know which is worse.
Time passes, he grows and changes, and so do his monikers.
Silvertongue, a gift from his Mother when he had been on the cusp of adolescence. "Still so young, and so well spoken," she would compliment. At that age, he would talk circles around his tutors and the palace's servants, caught red handed in mischief and still trying to persuade them that he had done no wrong, sometimes even with success. It amused his Mother even as she punished him, he could tell. It was written in the corners of her mouth and the wrinkles around her eyes.
Liesmith, a scorn from everyone else, when he had been older. When others had gone to fight and shout and kill, and he had chosen to slither and whisper and humiliate instead. After he had discovered in himself so great a talent for deceit that it would have been a crime not to put it to use.
Prince, as well, from the beginning.
Prince Loki.
Prince Thor.
These are not the same.
Prince Thor is reverence, wonder, admiration. Strength and honor and worthiness, tied with golden hair and draped in red. Silver on the armor if not the tongue.
Prince Loki is conceding, respect to the title and the place of birth. Cunning and lies and trickery, with sharp eyes and darkness all over. Gold on the armour makes a poor substitute for where it is otherwise lacking.
Loki can only ever be who he is, and he prides himself in his mind and his words. He has the pride, but not the glory, for to be glorious one has to be Thor.
They are both Princes.
But some days he finds he wishes he were not Loki.
He is a brother. Whatever that means.
Some days, it is tenderness and affection, teasing and grins and forgiveness for the sake of blood.
Others it is harsh words, mocking sneers, cruel deeds that will be brushed aside because blood will demand forgiveness, even if it is given in all reluctance and leaves the mouth like foul poison.
Thor is a brother to, so in all fairness, it is probably the same for him.
But Loki is Loki, and fairness has nothing to do with him.
It has nothing to do with anything.
Everything is so very unfair, is it not?
Thor will be made King, even though he is not ready, even though he adopts his duty like jewelry, to be shown and flaunted when all my admire him for bearing it, then put it aside when it proves inconvenient, when he would do as he pleases without such cumbersome ornaments.
(If Loki does the same, well, it isn't as if he is the crown Prince.)
Thor will be made King, even if he is foolish and rash, brutish and arrogant, even if Loki is smarter and more cunning and would be a much better ruler. Thor has nothing to his claim apart from his age, and it isn't fair.
But fairness has nothing to do with it.
Loki is not petty, he merely wishes to balance the scales.
(He has always been a very good liar, even to himself.)
Loki has his victory, but satisfaction is not in his nature.
So he pushes, he implies, and Thor dances to his tune with more grace than he ever has to the music of the court.
They leave for Jotunheim, they confront the King of an enemy realm, expecting that he give them the information they seek for no better reason than that they demand it.
When put that way, it really isn't that surprising that it all ends in a battle.
Unlike the others, when Loki came to Jotunheim he hadn't expected to learn anything.
But between ice and spells, he learns that truth is sometimes only skin deep.
(Also, events are not quite turning out according to plan, but that really isn't his main concern anymore.)
It is almost funny, if you think about it.
That he has spent so much time trying to define who he is, only to discover that he should have been looking at what.
Frost Giant. Runt. Beast monster traitor liarevilthingwhathidesunderthebedthenightmareofchildren
Laufeyson.
The name clings to him, seeps into his veins, and he can feel the taint sluggishly making its way through his blood, infecting his heart even as it has always been there, and the bile that rises to his throat almost tastes like dirty ice and bitter truths.
Laufeyson.
Father - Odin - Father speaks of purpose, of plans, of peace, and what does the man who name him want from him? Who called him Odinson even when he was not, called him son although he could only have ever been a relic, a stolen disgrace standing amid a vault of stolen treasures.
And what purpose for that relic?
Loki.
Who ends the world in ice.
Perhaps there is salvation in that after all?
His Father lays weakened from the Odinsleep, the Casket stands there mocking, but it is Winter made tangible, Ice and Death forges into a weapon that has been used against one world and will be used against another.
Loki will end it, will end them all, will destroy that realm with that terrible Ice.
And then the King will know, will see that Loki can fulfill what his names (Loki, Odinson) demand of him, will do what was always wanted of him.
(In the back of his mind, he hopes that a useful tool will not be discarded once its purpose is over.)
"And you're death came by the hands of the son of Odin."
If all goes well, if the Norns have ever looked kindly upon him at all, maybe those words will no longer taste like a lie.
"I am not your brother, I never was."
For the first time in his life, a truth.
"No, Loki."
Oh…
Of course.
The Void takes it all away.
No air to speak his own name. No one around to say it instead.
No light to see deceitful skin.
Nothing surrounding him, crushing him, seeping into him until he to becomes part of that nothing, a collection of atoms falling through empty space with nothing but the echo of pain and rage to propel it forward.
From afar, maybe, he could be confused with a falling star.
But he, who is this nothingness that burns, knows that he is nothing more than a fallen never-been-prince.
The Void takes all of that away. It is a merciful torture.
The Void took it all away, and Thanos gives nothing back.
Instead, he forces new names on him. "Little god", "foundling", "frost-beast".
"Son", once, and it had sent Loki in a howling sob, a despairing fury. Amusing to the Titan, but not the reaction he had planned for, and thus he never did it again.
But whatever he is called, whatever name he gets, it is all devoid of anything but scorn and disdain, familiar in some ways but oh so different, because those echoes of the past come from a time when Loki believed he could be anything but inferior.
So no, Thanos doesn't give him meaning.
But he does give him purpose.
He will be King.
He will be King.
If nothing else, he will be King.
If nothing else, he will have a title he has made for himself, claimed by blood instead of forced through lies. He has the army for it, the spear for it, and if there is no throne to sit upon then he will have one forged
He will be King, and if the world burns for it then at least it will not have ended in ice.
What kind of a man would put his name for all to see in his city's sky?
(The kind of man Loki wishes he really were.)
The mortal is infuriating. An irritant, an arrogant fool who comes to threaten a god with more power than he could ever hope to possess.
Infuriating, but intriguing.
He walks with pride, talks with nonchalance, with the ease of a man who knows what he must do and who he is.
An Avenger, apparently.
(Ridiculous says the quirk of the god's eyebrows ; the man's shrug agrees, and for a moment it is a joke between them.)
The name of their team is ll-chosen, Loki thinks, for whatever vengeance they may claim can only spring from their defeat.
Stark knows this, wears the title with pride and bravado, states it as a promise.
Yet here is a man who believes he will win.
He will win because he is one of Midgard's mightiest heroes, and Loki is ever the monster and the villain and the blood of Laufey and what could he ever be but the one who loses?
The thought summons a new wave of rage within him, one that increases tenfold when his attempt to seize Stark's mind fails. (Fails fails fails because he is always the one who will fail)
Throwing him out of the window also fails to kill him.
He learns the name of a man named Phil.
He doesn't know who that is.
The green beast smashes him into the floor.
What a miserable day.
He lost, he knows he lost, but if there is one thing Loki is it is a liar, and so he will pretend not to be on the verge of breaking down once more.
"If it is all the same to you, I'll have that drink now."
(Stark's lips quirk into a smirk. At the very least, Loki can appreciate that they have the same sense of humor.)
They muzzle him, leave him to rot in a cage as preparation are made.
Loki sits in this forceful silence, tongue pressed down by the metal in his mouth.
If the Liesmith can tell no lies, if the Silvertongue cannot shape words, if he is no Prince and certainly no King, then what does that make of him?
In this very moment, Loki is nothing, barely a man, a failure of a beast, and no one acknowledges him.
Not even as they drag him away to bring him back.
Not even Thor, who only looks upon him with shame and disappointment (he looks so much like his Father), says nothing as he twists the container that will bring him home, and Loki back to Asgard.
No one, not even Stark who so delight in his nicknames.
No one calls him anything.
And Loki, who is feeling too numb to cry or rage, well…
He thinks it may be greatest kindness he could have asked for.
There is a time for porn, and a time for fluff. A time for angst, and a time pseudo-philosophical pretentiousness.
This fic will have three chapters, not of equal length. This one will probably end up being the shortest, and not so coincidentally barely has any Frostiron in it. In that sense, you could almost consider it a prologue.