Prologue : Tell me a Story

"So ? How do I look like ?"

Thor doesn't answer right away. He observes every details of this new mask Loki seems so proud of. And like all those which hid away from his gaze the green eyes of his brother, Thor hates this mask with all his might.

"You look like Loki."

Thor always answers this way. This is a lie. That face covered with painted metal has nothing to do with his brother. But he can't think of answering anything else. He would like to tell him that this mask is even more hideous than the last one, that he doesn't understand why Loki persists in hiding his face behind those heaps of scrap, nails and leather, that he is awful with that on. But he doesn't want to pain Loki. Or make him angry. Thor is able to see him just because Loki accepts it. He doesn't want to lose this privilege just like his Father and his Mother did. Just like all the people of Asgard did.

"You always say that" Loki whispers.

Even his very voice is deformed by that cursed mask. Thor dreams of ripping it from Loki's face and throwing it in the hearth of the fireplace.

"Because there is nothing else to say."

Slowly, the mask nods thoughtfully. Thor knows that Loki knows. But neither of them will change their stance. Loki turns his back on him and heads toward the large window that ornaments the end of his room. He sets down on it a gloved hand and lets his head rest on the pane. A sharp noise is produced when the metal and the glass collide, and that makes a shiver of rage runs along Thor's spine. Thor stays where he is, sited on the end of Loki's bed. The stifled voice of his brother resonates again through the metal.

"Tell me a story, Thor. Tell me again of the news of Yggdrasil and of the Worlds."

And Thor does tell him. Just like every time. He recounts for him the news of the Kingdom, the new gossips, his last adventures with the Warriors Three, his last achievements, what he saw during his travels in the other Worlds. He describes him the landscapes, the trees, the flowers, the weeds, the creatures. He even tries to describe the smells, the flavours, his feelings and those of his comrades. He details him Sif's smile, her grace, her strength. He talks about the words and the new decrees taken by Odin, remembers him the gentleness of Frigga. He tells Loki everything, without leaving out anything, without concealing anything from him.

Loki doesn't turn over but he does listen silently, intently. He is far, so far from here. Thor can't see that, but his eyes are wide open and shed bitter tears while he looks, through Thor's tales, the sceneries of Alfaheim, Midgard or Nidavellir. But when Thor hasn't anything left to recount, Loki is back in his chambers so richly decorated that it hurts his eyes and makes him nauseous. He is no fool. He never was. He is in a cage, a golden cage that he made build himself and from which he never will be able to escape.

And so Loki cries again and he hates. But Thor doesn't see it. That's why Thor loathes that mask, and all its predecessors. Because he can't see when Loki suffers, expect when he tells him so. But Loki never shown his weaknesses willingly, and will never do so. So Thor can't know when his brother is in need of help and he never knows if he brings him enough comfort or in time. That abject mask of iron doesn't allow it. One day, he will break the bolt and cut the leather thongs that hold the mask on the face of his brother and he will free him. He swears it.

But alas, that day has not come yet.