A/N: Hello! I clearly have not been on here in a long time... If anyone wants to check out my superfamily fic, I'll be updating it... Sometime before the end of December. Sorry, I've just been kinda busy. Anyways, as soon as I got out of the theater when I saw The Dark World, I instantly had this scene planned out in my head. Its super short, but I hope y'all enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel nor the cover of this work of fiction.
Clandestine: n. characterized by, done in or executed with secrecy or concealment; privately or with superstition.
Thank the Norns the walls were thick enough to muffle sound.
Furniture lay scattered across the room; a treacherous labyrinth. Crimson liquid stained the floor—was it dripping from that goblet or from his injured foot? He slumped against the wall, his eyes focusing on the column across from him. How he wished Odin could see him now—Asgard's silver prince; the wayward son. Silvertongue, Liesmith, Trickster…
Loki of Asgard.
No, not of Asgard.
Of Jotunheim.
Loki of Jotunheim.
"If it wasn't for Frigga, you would be dead."
Frigga.
Mother.
Even with her last breath, she still protected them.
Even in death, she protected her family.
But what did it matter now? The one person who wasn't convinced he was a monster was dead. Odin could do as he wished with him now. Why keep him alive any longer? The dull creatures surrounding him didn't bat an eye at Asgard's fallen prince, now an extraordinary criminal. He was merely another prize in the dungeons, condemned to a comfortable sentence inside a padded cell.
"You're not my mother."
Frigga had not died protecting the ward; she died protecting her family. Her real family. Loki should have been grateful—the woman that had reared him had been generous enough to care for him, comfort him, chase the nightmares away and make him feel wanted…
That woman had been kind enough to love him despite knowing what he really was.
And he renounced her.
The walls were thick enough and his magic strong enough to deceive. Choked sobs and screams of anger cloaked beneath a paper-thin veil of gold and haughtiness. The silver prince was a wreck—plummeting quickly from grace; flying too close to the sun with his silver wings.
Hell, he wasn't even allowed out of his cell to attend the funeral.
Frigga had not only been Queen of Asgard. She had not died a warrior's death in vain—she was a warrior, a goddess.
But above all, she had been a mother.
His mother.
A/N: Awh, Loki. The poor baby stepped on a Lego. So what did y'all think? Leave comments. It makes me happy.