A/N This idea has been annoying me since I saw the film so here it is :) This is my first story for this fandom so any feedback at all would be greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"I didn't do it for him."
I did it for her.
Loki couldn't help but wonder if this was what it had been like for Frigga. Thor had never given him an answer to his question and therefore he could not determine whether his mother's passing had been swift or whether she'd been subject to the same agony he experienced now; a burning throb that pulsed from his chest and the sickening sensation of his own blood slipping through his hands. He hoped it had been the former. For all his bravado when it came to disowning the family who'd raised him, Loki had never truly figured out how to stop loving Frigga.
Nor she him, it would seem. She had continued to be his mother where Odin had failed as a father and, even now, he shuddered at the knowledge that his final words to her had suggested otherwise.
Frigga had been perceptive. She must have known the truth.
Somehow that didn't make him feel any better.
The moments following the news of her death remained a blur to him. Loki vaguely remembered a surge of energy that had rocked the entire cell and then… nothing. When he'd woken he'd been curled in a heap on a blood-stained floor, surrounded by shattered furniture and torn pages, and there'd been a sensation of wetness on his face that he'd furiously swiped away.
An illusion of calm had been easy enough to conjure and yet maintaining such a lie while his world crumbled around him had taken more effort than he would have liked. It had almost been a relief when Thor requested no more tricks.
Everything Loki had done since his brother's summons had been for her. Helping Thor escape Asgard, tricking the dark elves, protecting his brother's Midgardian pet – it had all been for Frigga. The monster that had killed her was gone now, obliterated by his own weapon, and somehow Loki's own fatal wound seemed to pale in importance to the knowledge that it was over. Vengeance had been dealt.
And if he'd ended up saving his brother from being pummelled to death as a result, well, that had been purely incidental. A mere consequence that ensured Thor would continue being his foolish self for at least one more day.
And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, Loki hoped his mother would be proud of his final act.
I did it for me.
On the mostly silent trek across the dead plains of Svartalfheim, Loki had had time to consider what would become of him, should they miraculously succeed on their mission. Regardless of how he envisioned his future the outcome was always grim; he would once again be confined to his cell or killed by Thor on the false grounds of betrayal or, worse still, discovered by Thanos and dragged back to the Chitauri to be punished as they saw fit.
Such a fate was not a favourable one. Their threats concerning his failure had ranged from having his head displayed on a spike to having his skin peeled strip by strip while Thor was forced to watch. While he would normally admire their flair, such prospects seemed infinitely less amusing when they directly concerned him.
Either way, his future did not seem to be much of a future at all, and there had been a brief moment during their act where he had considered betrayal after all. All he would have to do was drop the illusion, use Thor's confusion as a means to disarm him and hand over the mortal woman to Malekith. It should have been simple.
And yet, he hadn't gone down that route. The temptation had been undeniable but even he was not foolish enough to believe that it would work, and he had no desire to ally himself with those who had murdered his mother. His rage burned too fiercely for that.
So he'd gone along with the plan; he'd fought and shielded the girl from harm and when he saw that the accursed beast was overwhelming his brother he'd taken the opportunity to impale it with a stolen blade. Perhaps such an act would merit a reward. After all, he had avenged his mother and saved Asgard's beloved prince. That could hardly go unnoticed, even if he was despised as a traitor.
And then he'd experienced the sensation of a blade tearing his flesh and such childish hopes had vanished as instantly as they'd formed. He barely had time to plant the grenade before he was thrown carelessly aside, and by that point all notions of any future had all but faded away.
Thor's face soon loomed above Loki and strong arms held him close but that hardly mattered now. Frantic apologies were spilling from his mouth – he was powerless to stop them – and his chest shuddered with pain, but it was not long before a sense of comfort washed over him. His future was gone, the ones he'd envisioned at least, however, that did not seem so terrible now. Those had been dark, unbearable paths anyway, unbefitting of a man such as he. Death was an end, a state in which his enemies could not hurt him and his friends - those that remained – could not be hurt by him. Such a fate was not ideal but he'd take it.
Perhaps his supposed selfless act had been more selfish than he'd initially intended. And yet, despite Thor's pleas and assurances, he found it difficult to care as he slipped away.
I did it for you.
Mere hours ago, Loki had been certain that he despised Thor. His golden 'brother' whom everyone adored blindly, who had abandoned him in his cell until he had use of him, who had been unable to save the only person he truly loved. Such hatred had been a comfort; a raging fire flowing through veins of frost, and it had been so, so easy to accept that he felt so little for the man who had once meant the world to him.
He could almost have believed that Thor felt the same. His absence following the trial and the steely determination in his eyes as he vowed to kill Loki upon betrayal certainly suggested a mutual hatred. It had been thrilling to ruthlessly exploit this new side of Thor, to quip and bicker and irritate the golden prince in every way he knew how as they set off on their suicide mission.
The angrier Thor got, the easier it became to convince himself that their broken bonds were irreparable. That Loki was finally free of chaotic notions such as love, that he could cleanse himself of all guilt when he recalled his past attempts on his brother's life, that his teasing on the journey here had been manipulative and not at all reminiscent of their lost past.
Loki had almost fooled himself.
However, as talented a liar as he may have been, he could not deceive himself forever. He tried to glimpse some of that delicious coldness in Thor's gaze as he lay dying in his arms but there was none there to see. Only fear and hopelessness and love, and gods, that hurt more than any wound ever could.
The world around him was fading away to nothingness but Loki took no notice; instead, his mind settled on a distant past. He recalled the golden prince laughing joyfully as his baby brother took his first, uneasy steps. The many bruises he'd received from training and Thor's firm hand clapping his back, promising he'd improve with practice. Delicate magic weaving in and out of his fingers like silk before forming a small, flickering flame in his hands, and the way his mother glowed with pride at the sight.
The day Odin had promised that they'd both been born to be kings and how he'd allowed himself to believe it, if only for a moment.
The day he'd veiled his friends in smoke and led them out of Nornheim alive, not bothering to wait for the thanks he would not receive.
The moment before everything he'd ever known had been crushed, where he had assured Thor that he would always love him.
Loki wished so terribly that such a sentiment could have been proven wrong, but there was no point.
He loved Thor. He'd never quite figured out how to stop loving him.
And that was the very worst thing of all.