"You had her tricks, but I had her trust!"
"Trust? Was that last expression…trust? While you let her die?"
"What good were you in your cell?"
"Who put me there? Who put me there!"
There was a war and the dust of space, all the little shining stars and their tears of glimmering sand, settled on the corpses and ashes of the fallen side. Midgard, though swathed in flames, stood as it ever did and went on. Pathetically. The cuffs on his wrists chafed, but the muzzle latched onto his face let not a word of discontent slip past. What was it the man of iron would have said…?
Ah. Busted.
He saluted the All-Father with a cynical smirk.
"Do you not truly feel the gravity of your crimes? Wherever you go there is war, ruin and death!"
"I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent God, just like you."
He'd always believed himself to be a shadow. He'd always been the dark space, wedged just between his brother and mother. Both golden and glowing and fair. Him? He was a smudge. From who did he descend with hair as his? With such a pallid complexion as his? He'd always wondered, always doubted.
"Am I cursed?"
The indigo soaking into his skin, snaking up his arms told him so.
"Am I cursed?"
"No."
No? What was this, then?
"What am I?" A monster from the nightmares of his childhood. The creatures he and Thor abhorred. If not cursed, then what?
"My son."
And they called him the God of Lies.
He fell rather hard. It didn't exactly hurt. He lost grip, gravity twisting around him like a deep water pressure. Then nothing, just a night speckled with crystal ships and wine-colored nebulas. They glowed like starlight, but the things inside them were anything but celestial. At first he'd said no. It was easy, he wanted nothing with them.
It started to become a little harder after the second month under the serpent, dark tendrils of sickness clotting under the skin of his back. The slop of mind-filth began to cloud behind his eyes, and then it was a simple matter of world domination. It became even simpler when the World Eater reached out and cradled his thoughts, comforted them and soothed the ache in his head and chest.
"What is it?"
"Power, Doctor. If we figure out how to tap it, maybe unlimited power."
The first smile in ages and he stroked a finger down the doctor's neck, looking back through the mirror.
"Well, I guess that's worth a look."
Then it was flipped, and all the sand began to sift down someplace else. He was alone, a crevice struck him down the middle. He held his helm and nearly choked. "Damn me. Damn you all."
He smiled, wide and terrible. "No. Mischief is a small thing, a toy I've well used and discarded. This isn't mischief. This is mayhem. Just watch."
There were flames and moths that carried away the light, fluttering wings that batted away stale air and cobwebs. A bridge broken in half, fallen chips of history like dropped puzzle pieces clattering to the bottom of someplace dark and dusty. There were several of him—one was a woman, she cupped the cheek of the child and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He grew and spoke to a magpie when no one was looking, until the magpie told him too much and he had to swallow it. He grew again, and all he saw was the crevice, a schism between what he was supposed to be and what he thought he was.
His daughter handed him a pen of bone and he pricked his wrist. When enough blood swelled, he crossed out the elegant script of his name from her book and left. There might have been a goodbye, but they weren't really ones for sentiment.
And then he stood near the end of the broken bridge. A vast something was coming for him and he knew it was for the best. He turned his head, the blond and burly form of Thor stood just a ways away.
"I'm sorry, brother."
He jerked, the dream curling itself away from his wakeful mind. There was a chill in his bones, not unlike the kind that came from humid days, but it was odd that it made him shiver. It was a sick feeling, an unease that trembled in his stomach. That a nightmare could give him such a sensation made him feel foolish.
He sat up from his pillow, leaning back on his hands and running a hand through his hair. He took a breath, but it did nothing to dislodge the feeling and the thought of sleep made him itch. Sweeping his feet from out of the furs, he stood and loosely tied the pants that'd been lazily tossed on the nearby ottoman.
Jotenheim was always under a sort of darkness, and any day was only a half day to most other places. Still, as he was its king, it was a simple thing to realize it was early morning. He'd only slept but a few hours.
He leaned against the archway leading to the windowed balcony, the snow outside set in a gentle drift that quietly blanketed everything. He considered sitting in the dipped lounge of pillows and furs that lay on the floor in front of him, but felt rooted to his place. He played with a lock of his hair, a distant consideration to get it trimmed circling around the thoughts still concerning what woke him.
"Am I cursed?"
He brought his hand to his face, narrowing his eyes at the rich indigo of his skin. It was getting harder to remember the beginning, the part where he sat in an Asgardian prison and felt as if the world was falling through his fingers. And the rest? Something with a bird…a woman with dark hair handing him a something, smiling as though sharing a secret.
He tugged his hair. How surreal it had all been, as though a memory he'd simply misplaced. The room around him felt distant, and in a fit of dizziness he leaned harder against the wall, gripping it to anchor himself. For a moment he wondered if this was a dream as well.
"Loki?"
"I'm sorry, brother."
He calmed, though he did not yet want to let go. What if he fell and woke up someplace different?
"Are you well?" A hand clasped him on the shoulder, turning him to Thor's concerned face. "You look faint."
"I am fine," he assured, letting go of the wall and laying his hand over Thor's.
"Was it another dream?" he asked. He raised his other hand to cup Loki's cheek, his thumb rubbing sleep from under his eye. "They've been plaguing you as of late."
Loki made a face before asking, "And how would you know that?"
"I was listening to you and Eir," he answered, unabashed.
"You mean eavesdropping," Loki muttered dryly.
"I was concerned. You haven't been yourself lately. What did you dream of?" He took Loki's hand. "Was it of your father's passing?"
"No," he sighed. "He no longer lingers in my dreams, though I sometimes miss his presence in them."
"Come." Thor pulled him towards the lounge and sat with a strange bulky grace that Loki supposed came from a mix of simply being Æsir as well as a warrior. He sat beside him, and they watched the snow through the windows for a breath before Thor continued. "Tell me what's been worrying you. I know in places of magic I am of little help, but perhaps speaking of these…visions will help."
"They aren't visions." He smiled a bit when Thor pulled a covering over their legs, as if the cold bothered him. He paused for a moment, wondering how long he could wait before Thor spoke up in impatience. He looked so vastly uncomfortable attempting to endure that Loki had to grin.
"It is a struggle for you, is it not? To wait?"
The Asgardian's look of concern only grew. "I only worry. Should I not?"
"No, you shouldn't." He shook his head. "They're not visions. At least, not of what's to come."
"Of the past then?"
"Nor that. It was almost as if I'd stepped through a mirror, where all was the same but vastly reversed. Distorted, perhaps. I was in a place where my skin looked as yours does, and we were brothers…of a sort."
The larger man snorted. "No wonder you are so disturbed."
"I said of a sort. But that is not what—." He paused again, this time in surprise. Thor wound his arm around his waist, pulling him closer so that he leaned against his chest.
"Yes?" he prompted.
"You can never stand still, can you?"
"As you can never finish something within this century. Now, continue."
Unsurprised and yet still ruffled, Loki leaned back and recounted his thoughts. "We were brothers, and like I said we were of a sort. I was so angry with you, livid—I couldn't stand even the mention of your name. It was jealousy…and hurt. The Bifröst was destroyed…we were fighting. I fell. There were living stars and a man who courted death, a serpent whose venom pierced me more than any blade, and pain. So much pain, a cycle of it, and…"
"Damn me. Damn you all."
"Loki…" Thor wiped away a tear before he'd even realized he was crying.
"It's nothing but a fairytale, some strange nightmare probably from that fortune your mother read for me last we visited."
"Perhaps you should speak with her of it next we go. She knows so much of all, this," he gestured with a hand.
"Perhaps."
"I can at least tell you that we are not brothers," he continued, grasping Loki's chin and bringing his face to look at him. "And I can also tell you that these dreams are only dreams, and unless you're angry with me for something I do not know then all is well." He pushed his forehead against Loki's. "At least, for now. Hella knows when the marauders on Vanaheim will clash again with Hreidmar again. I do not wish to leave here too soon..."
He continued to speak, but Loki had drifted. He thought of the bone and the blood, and his daughter's smile.
But he had no children, and he had never been to Niffleheim.
"And you tease me for not paying attention."
Loki shifted, pulling away. "I chide you when you drift from important conversations. You were chattering."
"I do not chatter," he replied, following him and moving closer, "and besides, I asked you a question."
"Which was?" he snapped, leaning back on his hands as Thor leaned over him.
"I asked what would you have me do so that you could feel at ease at times like these?"
"Nothing," he murmured.
"Nothing?"
"No, I—," and then he was muffled as Thor fell on him. "What are you doing? You are such a child—," and was once again interrupted, with a kiss.
"I may not aid you in visions and magic," he said, pulling away. "But do not tell me I can do nothing to comfort you. It pains me, you know."
"And it pains me when you lie about on top of me, now get off!"
Thor laughed and rolled over, and they lay there watching the snow.
"In this dream, what were you?"
"Hm?" Loki twisted his head to look at him.
"The god of. If you were Æsir, what were you god of?"
"Lies, I think."
"You should feel comforted to know, then, because you are terrible at lying"
"I'm rather skilled at it, actually. You just never know when I'm telling the truth."
Thor scoffed but said nothing in return.
The God of Lies, perhaps. The god of other things it seemed as well. But here he was god of nothing, a thought that both calmed and bothered him. What was a king compared to a god? He looked to Thor, already sleeping again.
Maybe for the best. He began to doze as well.