A/N: Just a little oneshot thing about Thor and Loki. Strictly brotherly love, no kind-of-incest here. Sort-of spoilers for Avengers if you squint really hard. Can be seen as a follow-up to my other Thor fic, but you don't need to read that one to get this one. Inspired by 'Echo' by Jason Walker.
Oh, and prizes for anyone who can guess who Luka is.
Hope you enjoy!
Listen, listen
I would take a whisper if
That's all you have to give
Jason Walker, 'Echo'
Thor has always loved listening to Loki's voice.
Strangely for a second child, Loki was always the one who fetched a dusty old tome from the Great Library, clutching it carefully to his chest under his green shirt, and settled cross-legged in front of Thor, who curled wide-eyed against the headboard of the bed. In this one respect, the older brother was in awe of the younger.
They were meant to take it in turns to pick the story, but Thor usually insisted that it was his turn tonight, and Loki usually gave in, his sparkling eyes making it obvious that he knew Thor was wrong and he was only consenting to humour him. Besides, they chose mostly the same things - gripping tales of knights and dragons, swords and serpents, kings and queens. Loki would prop the book up across his knees and gently lift the beautiful embossed cover, sometimes pausing to blow a layer of dust from the first page before he began.
"Once upon a time..."
And then Thor would be off, transported from the dark, cosy bedroom to far-off lands, battling terrible monsters alongside the heroes of the stories, and always, always rescuing the fair maiden at the end. Loki never took centre-stage in these little fantasies; he'd stand on the sidelines, popping up to offer advice every now and then, his silver tongue flickering like the candlelight.
He described Odin's snow-white steed, Sleipnir, so well that Thor almost heard its eight hooves clipping on the wooden floor as it galloped around the room. It is only later, when he reads the stories for himself, that he realises the truth. At first he thinks he might be mistaken; maybe he picked up the wrong volume. But no, there is the title, in flowing gold script, impossible to miss. This is the same tale that Loki read to him that day when Volstagg hit him with a wooden practice sword and he was feeling especially grumpy. And yet, it is completely different - the story is bland and tasteless on his tongue, not bursting with flavour and colour as he remembers.
At first he wonders if he has maybe overestimated Loki's gift. Memories are often faulty; perhaps he has (as on so many occasions) overlooked his brother's mistakes and only remembers the good bits. But this idea is shattered one dusty summer evening when he stops outside Luka's door on his way to his own room.
A silvery smooth voice is flowing out of the crack between the wall and the door, darting in and out of his ears like a tiny bird. Once inside him, it pauses for a moment before patting down his ribcage and curling itself tightly around his heart, bringing up that feeling of awe that he has not thought about in a long time.
He can't help pushing the door open further and treading as silently as he can into Luka's room, wincing as a floorboard creaks beneath his weight. Luckily, both child and prince are so engrossed in the story that they do not so much as look up.
It is just as Thor remembered: Loki, sitting cross-legged on the bedspread, a huge book balanced across his knees, his heavy armour and cloak abandoned in favour of a more casual green shirt and dark trousers. Luka is safely cocooned in a nest of bedclothes, thumb hooked firmly in mouth, eyes wide with wonder as he listens to the tale. It is not one that Thor recognises from his childhood, but then again, maybe someone has written a new book since then. It is only when he actually begins to hear the words that he realises what, or rather who, the story is about.
"... And then Thor threw his great hammer, Mjölnir, and it flew in a wide arc, smashing into every single one of the Jötunns. Shards of ice sprayed everywhere, and in the midst of all that carnage stood King Laufey, the most feared of all the Frost Giants. He stood twice as tall as a grown man, his skin blue as cold and his eyes like the glowing red of his cousins, the Fire Giants. Laufey looked at the courageous god standing before him, completely unafraid, and was filled with a murderous rage, all the way down to his frosty toes, because it maddened him that anyone would dare to defy him. He charged at Thor, roaring like a great bear, and Thor went to meet him, Mjölnir flashing in the icelight as he drew it back behind his head and struck Laufey a crushing blow that killed him instantly."
There is a pause, and Thor thinks about speaking up, when, "Uncle Loki?"
"Yes, Luka?"
"How did Thor Odinson defeat King Laufey if he was a Frost Giant?"
"He did it because he was the bravest and strongest warrior of Asgard, and although Laufey was bigger than Thor, he was no match for the power of Mjölnir."
"Alright," Luka says, a wide yawn splitting the word in two. Loki chuckles and leans in to ruffle his nephew's soft red-brown hair.
"Come on then, little man. Time to sleep." Luka obediently settles down, drawing the covers up to his chin. Loki slides off the bed and carefully tucks him in, bending down to press a gentle kiss to the boy's forehead before heading to the door. He pauses as he reaches for the handle, and clicks his fingers, green sparks dancing at the tips. The flickering candle extinguishes itself immediately, and Luka giggles sleepily; like his father, he finds magic endlessly fascinating. Loki smiles and turns to go, and Thor dares to believe for a moment that he has not been spotted. But no - one long finger crooks in his direction, indicating to him to follow. Thor obliges, trying to prevent himself from dragging his feet like a child.
Once they are safely outside in the torchlit corridor, Loki looks at Thor and raises an eyebrow.
Thor squirms under his gaze, his thick fingers twisting around each other. He hates that Loki doesn't even have to say anything to make him feel guilty.
"I - I just wanted to..."
The eyebrow climbs higher, almost colliding with Loki's hair.
"...listen," Thor finishes lamely, his eyes dropping to his boots.
And then Loki does something entirely unexpected. He begins to laugh.
Thor's head shoots up to stare at his brother, who is clutching his sides, howling with mirth. "Wha... What?"
Loki stops just long enough to pant out, "Did - did you really think I'd be angry with you?"
Yes. "No!" It's a good job his beard is covering part of his face; he can feel his skin flushing with embarrassment.
Of course, like always, Loki sees right through him, a grin curling at the corner of his mouth as he tries to keep a straight face.
"I do not mind, brother. If you want to join us, you are most welcome. I know Luka would be overjoyed if his other uncle listened to his bedtime story as well."
As soon as he says that, Thor is filled with a warm sensation, like when someone pours hot chocolate into a mug. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the words to express his gratitude.
"It's alright, Thor. You don't have to say anything. You always did have trouble expressing yourself." And with a smile and a wink, Loki goes, leaving Thor still speechless in his wake.
XXX
The next night, Thor hovers before his wardrobe, wondering what to wear. His ceremonial armour is impressive, of course, and he knows Luka likes it too. But Loki will probably be dressed casually, and to be honest, the armour is heavy and cumbersome. He opts instead for a loose red shirt and black trousers, leaving his feet bare.
He pads down the corridors of the palace, tiptoeing past his parents' chambers and those of Frey and Anna. When he gently pushes the door open, Loki and Luka are already in their places, the former poised to open the book.
"Uncle Thor!" Luka's soft grey-blue eyes light up, and a wide smile breaks like the dawn across his face. Thor cannot help but grin back as he sits down on the bed and settles himself comfortably beside his nephew, who climbs up onto his lap. They both look expectantly at Loki, who chuckles quietly.
"I am glad you came, brother," he murmurs, almost to himself, before flicking open the first page of the story. "Once upon a time..."
As Loki reads, Thor feels Luka falling asleep in his arms, his narrow chest slowly rising and falling. His own eyelids become heavier and heavier, the sound of his brother's voice lulling him to sleep, until his head droops backwards to the headboard, and his own breathing slows down. He spirals down into the welcome embrace of sleep just as Loki is reading the last sentence.
XXX
The last word drops off Loki's tongue and lingers in the air, twinkling like an earthbound moon. He carefully closes the book and sets it on the bedside table, smiling fondly at his brother and nephew. They are cuddled up to each other, Thor's arms wrapped snugly around Luka's small body, sleeping soundly. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in mock-disapproval, before rising and tucking the covers around them. Thor stirs and mumbles something, but does not wake.
Loki extinguishes the candle and gazes once more at the two people he loves most dearly in the world. "Good night, little men," he calls softly, and slips away, as silent as a shadow.
XXX
Thor has always loved listening to Loki's voice.
But now Loki cannot talk, not even to offer some snide remark. And it burns Thor, it physically hurts him, to see his brother (for, despite everything, they are still brothers) deprived of his silver tongue. He looks so frail, so vulnerable, the bruise-like smudges underneath his eyes contrasting starkly with his too-pale skin. Thor wishes that Odin would lift the enchantment, just for a second, so that Loki could hold him in his arms and tell him that everything was going to be alright.
Thor would take one quiet, silvery stream of a whisper if that was all Loki had to give.
A/N: Please read and review! By the way, I'm using 'nephew' as meaning 'son of your cousin', because that was too long to say and I think in some cultures they mean the same thing.
To the small number of people awaiting the next chapter of 'Will You Follow?': I am so, so sorry, my dear ones. I promise you that I will get straight down to writing it when I have the time. My words appear to have all up and left me. But you won't have to wait much longer, I swear. Until then – adios, mes amigos!