Summary: Loki reflects on the unfairness of life before finally making a fateful decision.
Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to Paramount Pictures, Marvel Entertainment & Marvel Studios (godsdamnit !) - though my gut tells me Loki, bless him, may well have his own ideas about that and will probably do what he wants anyway … No copyright infringement is intended.

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Loki's pov:

"No, Loki."

Ever since I was a small child, I've been all too familiar with those two words and of late it's a phrase I've come to genuinely despise. A phrase, no matter how it's used, that always leaves me deeply crushed and totally bereft. And if truth be told, those feelings sicken me.

It didn't matter what I did, somehow those two words were constantly aimed at me, hitting their mark as unerringly as an arrow directly strikes a bulls-eye.

When I was young, I'd always been consumed by a burning curiosity to learn and discover things. Things that often weren't appropriate for a child to witness or take interest in. Naturally, at that age I couldn't help being inquisitive and more often than not, thanks to my mischievousness, I'd end up in trouble. Trouble that was frequently followed by a heavy sigh, a disappointed frown and a reproachful cry of "No, Loki ..."

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The older I got, avid curiosity transformed into an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and a mind everyone told me that was far too sharp for its own good. By then, I couldn't help being aware of how different I was. Well, how could I not fail to be ? Not when I was treated so differently - although at the time, I never understood why - to my older brother … the oh-so perfect, universally adored Thor.

Thor. Odin's firstborn and Asgard's heir. Beloved by all. Lauded for his golden perfection and his love of battle, questing and feasting. His good humour, fun-loving nature, dogged persistence and loyalty. Qualities which blinded the Asgardian populace to his faults … of which there were many. Thor's impetuosity. His obstinacy. His ignorance and a streak of arrogance a mile wide. The lack of tact and restraint and worst of all ? His fiery, hair-trigger temper. All of which highlighted his immaturity, if only people weren't too shallow to perceive it.

Whereas I ? I was constantly shunned or mocked. Forever ridiculed for being devoted to my studies and ceaseless lust for learning and treated with absolute contempt for my lack of interest in the art of warfare and weapons training. Taunted for preferring peace over bloodshed.

I was also slighted for my appearance. For not fitting into the Asgardian ideal of perfection, simply because I lacked the golden hair, blue eyes and muscular stature befitting the Odinson line. Despised for being slighter and leaner than their strapping Golden Prince. Damned for being pale of skin, green-eyed and raven-locked. For being different through no fault of my own.

Thanks to my appearance and preference for peace and learning, others were quick to avoid me. I grew up with insinuations whispered indiscreetly behind my back. Ones I couldn't help but overhear ... as I was meant to. Snide comments referring to me as "The Dark Prince," the "Strange One" or "The One with the Evil Eye." Claims that I "wasn't normal in the head" or that it "wasn't natural for a boy to prefer books over the rough 'n' tumble of the training ring."

The more I was shunned, the more isolated and lonely I became. The "friends" my poor, unsuspecting mother believed I had, were never mine. They were Thor's. And once out of mother's earshot they made no pretence of hiding how they truly felt about me. I was barely tolerated and that was only due to the fact that Thor was my brother. They despised and only put up with me for his sake and his alone. And for a youngster who longed to fit in and have friends of his own, that truly hurt. It didn't help that they and Thor were older. That they often claimed that I was a nuisance for tagging along. That I held them back. That they didn't want my company. And all too often I'd hear one of them vehemently insist, "No Loki … Go away … We don't want you …"

Hurt, despair and bewilderment had me seeking solace in the library. Books quickly became my constant and beloved companions. And during those long, solitary hours in the library and my chambers, I discovered I had a particular talent for magic. Crafting spells, transportation and shape-shifting came as naturally as breathing to me. Magic caught my interest, captivated my imagination and claimed my heart. It served as a fine distraction from loneliness and more than made up for the lack of any friends. It enthralled and amused me greatly, swiftly replacing the brother who'd eagerly forsaken me for his outspoken, boorish companions. And although I shrugged it off and pretended not to care, I couldn't help but miss my brother's company … even if his immature behaviour often drove me to distraction.

As my magical skills grew and I excelled in my studies, my reputation in the Aesir's eyes plummeted further into darkness. I gained more disparaging titles. None which were complimentary. Trickster. Lie-Smith. Silver Tongue. And those weren't the worst ones. No, once it became common knowledge that my skills lay in magic, something which had been deemed as women's craft since the dawn of time, I was vilified.

They called me ergi behind my back and on some occasions to my face. And worst of all, that I was nithing. It hurt to the quick, but I'd become extremely adept at masking my true feelings, rapidly earning myself a reputation of being a cold, heartless, unfeeling bastard. No matter what I did or how I reacted, I could never win. Show no emotion … I was damned as callous and unemotional. To show any ? Well, that was treated with immediate suspicion followed by an accusation of faking it. In the end, I deemed it best to do nothing and that's when the numbness finally began to take root within my heart and soul.

By then, I'd come to recognize that I was treated differently to my brother. He was always praised for trivialities he'd accomplished – more often than not with help from myself or his friends - and constantly fawned over. I, meanwhile, always had to strive for the most meagre of attention. To fight for the tiniest scrap of affection. And even then, that never lasted long, as Thor would always unfailingly find a way to draw our parents' attention back to him, leaving me to fade away into the shadows as he basked in the limelight.

As a child, I'd always believed – and in hindsight I can now see how naïve I'd been – that parents should never favour one child over another. That all siblings should be treated in the same manner. Fairly, kindly and with a great deal of love and affection. Looking back, it clearly wasn't the case with Thor and I. Thor was the Golden Child. The one who never had to earn anything. The one who had everything handed to him on a silver platter. But I … I was the one constantly pushed into the shadows. Always ignored or forgotten. Only noticed when I played pranks to gain the All-Father's and Mother's attention. Only remembered when punishment was due, after yet another brutally cold, scathing tirade which began with the dreaded phrase, "No, Loki …"

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Then, years later, came that ill-fated expedition to Jotunheim. A quest Thor had been most insistent to undertake and which only highlighted his immaturity and rash behaviour to those who weren't too blinkered to see it. Namely, me.

Naturally, I'd pointed out on numerous occasions the folly of this venture. But as always my concerns were scorned and I was met with yet more spiteful comments denouncing my cowardice and lack of loyalty to Asgard. It was while we were in Jotunheim, my indiscreet, tactless oaf of a brother almost brought a war upon us. And the unenviable task of peacemaker somehow fell upon my reluctant shoulders.

My first attempt to calm an agitated Thor resulted with him snarling "know your place, brother." Barbed words thoughtlessly aimed and designed to slight and wound. And to this day, I still wonder how I held my tongue and remained at his side, instead of simply vanishing and leaving him to sort out his mess for once. But I didn't. I stayed. But not for his sake, but for our mother's as I knew she'd be heartbroken if he were harmed in any way.

Eventually, using my diplomatic skills, I managed to diffuse the situation and we were about to leave unscathed, when a frost giant made a disparaging remark which offended Thor. Before we knew it, we were in the thick of a violent skirmish … all thanks to Thor's inability to control his temper.

The conclusion to this shambolic quest was this: Volstagg got badly burnt and right in the thick of it all, I was grabbed by a Frost Giant and made a shocking discovery. Instead of ending up with severe burns, my skin when it came into contact with the Jotun's turned blue. At first, I was stunned. But as the blue gradually faded away, I was suddenly struck by a horrific thought … one which frightened me to the core and left me hurt and bewildered beyond belief. I wasn't Aesir. I couldn't possibly be an Aesir. I was of Jotun blood and Asgard's worst enemy. A monster. One that was deeply reviled.

After that revelation, I was never the same again. The numbness within me grew. Everything I'd been led to believe had been one great big, elaborate lie. My whole life was a lie. Had been built on deception. Asgard's resident Lie-Smith had been lied to … The deceiver deceived … All I'd been raised to believe as the truth was false. And like a fragile house of cards it quickly fell apart. I was left bereft, hurt, humiliated and betrayed … and consumed by an overwhelming rage and a lust for revenge.

Following our return from Jotunheim, instead of having his knuckles gently rapped and advised "not to do it again," I was mildly surprized when Odin angrily banished Thor, without his power and Mjolnir, to Midgard to learn some humility and repent his actions. When I say surprized, I was actually gobsmacked. I'd never dreamt Odin would treat his beloved spawn so harshly as usually, he let Thor get away with murder.

Following Thor's expulsion, everything became blurred. Events intertwined. Beginning with further confirmation that I was a Jotun. The day I found myself in the vaults holding the Casket of Ancient Winters, with my skin turned blue once more. That day Loki Odinson's trust was lost forever. That day Loki Odinson's heart shrivelled and died. That day I became a lost soul and no longer considered myself an Odinson.

It was also the same day the All-Father found me, claimed by my true heritage and guise, cradling the casket. Betrayed. Broken … and bewildered. And instead of providing reassurance or any explanation, the deceitful, old goat fell into another convenient – for him at least – Odin-sleep and I was left with no one to turn to. No one to provide me with the answers I sought. The explanations I craved so badly.

Shock turned to denial. Denial became bitterness which evolved into anger once more … and that anger slowly but surely unfolded into madness. Madness which possessed me. It began to dictate my thoughts, my actions. Led me to behave in a way I probably would never have considered had I been in my right mind. The gentle, peace-loving, mischievous Loki was no more and in his place a cold, callous monster. One who desired nothing more than revenge upon all who'd wronged or slighted him.

Once Odin fell into slumber and with his oaf of a son exiled, the task of ruling Asgard fell upon me. And I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of the situation … A Jotun finally on Asgard's throne. Not that I ever desired it for an instant, not when all I'd truly wanted was to be seen and treated as an equal. To be accepted. Nothing more, nothing less. No one appeared to be aware that a frost giant held the power of the realm in his hands. And I meant to wield it like an iron glove. I would rule in my own fashion. My weapons would be my wits, my intelligence, diplomacy and patience. Not a sword, axe or Norns forbid, a damned hammer ! And I would rule without bloodshed, if only to make a point that it was possible to do so.

Naturally, Thor's fawning, whining lapdogs blamed me for his banishment, even though the blustering fool had no one to blame for his fate other than himself. Then again, I suppose I really shouldn't have been surprized or hurt by their suspicions, considering how those three blundering idiots and that mewling bint had always viewed and treated me with hostility and barely concealed contempt from the day we'd first met. Predictably, they demanded that I overturn Odin's decision to exile their precious oaf. And being such a devoted, obedient son, I declined, stating I could never go against the All-Father's wishes. As expected, they didn't take kindly to my response and going by the disgusted expressions on their faces, particularly Sif's, I knew they'd betray me and attempt to retrieve Thor.

But in order to prevent that, I had to stop Thor from returning to claim his throne. His inheritance. I paid a brief, thank Norns, visit to Midgard to see him. And the sight of him as a broken, despondent caged beast was a great source of amusement I must confess. It was only eclipsed when he broke down in tears when I told him Odin had passed on, that Frigga did not wish to see him and that I was unable to go against Odin's last decree as king and reverse Thor's punishment. The pleasure I felt seeing his heartbreak, after I told him that this would be the last time we'd see each other, was overwhelmingly gratifying and I returned to Asgard in much lighter spirits !

Things rapidly went downhill after that. Having been responsible for the frost giants' earlier, unsuccessful raid to retrieve their casket, I made a deal with Laufey. I would allow the Jotun passage to Asgard once more to kill Odin and return the casket to them, providing they returned home in peace afterwards. On my way to meet Laufey at the portal, I thought it only prudent to put the Bifrost's guardian out of commission … I froze Heimdall before sending the Destroyer to Midgard to kill Thor.

Once the Jotun entered through the portal, Laufey headed for the All-Father's chamber. But his chance to spill Odin's blood never came to pass. I killed Laufey in a final, pathetic attempt to win Odin's approval.

Then that damned traitor Heimdall, ruined all my plans. He helped Odin's beloved spawn return. Thor fought the Jotun before making his unwanted presence felt at the Bifrost portal at the exact moment I was about to annihilate Jotunheim. Naturally, the blundering oaf had to interfere. Just had to whine, to throw his weight around and anger me with his "holier-than-thou" attitude. It led to the inevitable. We fought. Well, I fought with everything I possessed, the idiot meanwhile, for all his pontificating about how wrong my actions were, held back … which only intensified my rage towards him, his deceitful, neglectful family and all of Asgard.

Eventually, the wretch got the better of me. I began to tire. Got distracted. And that's when the bastard cheated. He immobilized me with that damned hammer of his and began to destroy the portal, shattering the Bifrost in the process and with it, all of my plans … all of my hard work.

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That's what led to the position I find myself now. Dangling precariously from my staff over the void. Only it's not really my staff. It's Gungnir. And I'm not the only one clinging to it, like grim death.

No, that damned oaf just had to ruin everything. Just had to play the hero once more. Just had to save his poor, misguided, weak sibling yet again. He simply had to interfere. To show how brilliant and selfless he was by leaping after his black-hearted, wicked, selfish runt of a "brother" … Something I neither wanted or asked of him. And I resented him for it. Deeply.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed Thor's leg and began to carefully drag him back from the edge of the Bifrost. Looking up, I wasn't surprized to see Odin reaching for his precious firstborn. It was so predictable. After all what was I ? A worthless nithing. An untrustworthy liar. And a deceitful Jotun. Hardly worth saving considering I wasn't of his bloodline in the first place …

Yet somehow, and to my great dismay and self-loathing – call it conditioning or the inability to completely relinquish my past – I found myself pleading with Odin. Confessing everything I'd done had been for him. For his approval and forgiveness … his respect and love.

But as I met the All-Father's solitary blue eye, I knew I had none of those things. I would never receive any of them. His gaze was cold, unwavering and without feeling. I was nothing to him and the two words which he deigned to speak to me only confirmed that.

"No, Loki."

After that, I was lost. I lost the will and inclination to fight as I had nothing further to live for. No kith nor kin. No love or respect. And most of all, no hope. That was the last straw. The one thing which finally broke me. The loss of hope. It left me completely numb.

Well, if that was what Odin and his precious Aesir wished, who was I to deny it ? After all, I was a mere Jotun. One who was unworthy, deemed to be of no consequence and completely lacking in honour. What would it matter if I gave in ? If I gave up and yielded ? To them, I was nothing and I wouldn't be missed. I'd been unwanted from the very beginning. Not needed nor loved and … and I can no longer live with that knowledge. Knowing I'm an unwanted foundling, forever despised or ignored by all of Asgard.

No, if that's what the Golden Realm and its "perfect" inhabitants longed for, then that's what they'd get. Call it a selfless parting gift from their much maligned and loathed God of Mischief. A sacrifice on my part … Something they'd regard as a blessing of sorts. A dream come true …

All my life I've endured the phrase "No, Loki," in many different contexts. In hindsight, it now made my decision so much easier. I owed the Aesir and my so-called "family" nothing. And nothing is what I'd leave them with.

It's always been "No, Loki. Don't do that, Loki." "No, Loki, we don't want you with us, Loki. We hate you," or "No, Loki … know your place, brother." And finally, just "No, Loki."

Well, I feel numb. If I'm honest, I'm sick and tired of it all. Weary of the way I've always been treated. Fed up of being treated like an ant to be crushed beneath an Aesir boot. Sick to death of being expected to conform to the ideals of others. And forced to be someone I'm not. Of being burdened by a not-so-glorious purpose of being the Odinsons' unwanted spare and never heir …

Like I said, never let it be said that Loki No-One's-Son does not keep his word. I may be a liar, a trickster and of dubious morals, but when given, my word is my bond. And this is a vow I've every intention of keeping. A promise that I will fulfil.

They want "No Loki," well, once I carry out this final task there will be "no Loki." Loki will no longer exist. Will cease to be …

As I look up, I meet the oaf's guileless blue gaze for the last time and to my dismay, I feel a single tear slide down my cheek. A tear of regret for what never was. What never could be. And a tear of relief, as I can almost taste freedom. Can almost feel it within my grasp. And somehow, my heart feels lighter … almost content.

I suddenly notice a growing awareness in my brother's eyes. The horror as he finally realizes what I'm about to do. Those painfully honest blue orbs plead with me. Beg me not to give in. Implore that I ignore the one thing which I so desperately crave. Something I long for which, after all these years of torment and suffering, is my right to claim. And a claim I'll not be denied.

My freedom.

I can barely hear Thor's anguished cry of "No, Loki …" over the deafening roar of white noise in my head. But it's too late. Far too late to back down. Ignoring him, I inhale deeply and steeling myself for what I'm about to do, I make peace with myself and ...

I let go.

Finis