Warning: Crazy spoilers for Thor: The Dark World.
This is not a fandom I normally dabble in, but after seeing the new Thor this weekend I left the theater with a burning desire to know what exactly had transpired between Loki and Odin. This is my take on how that all went down while Thor was busy dimension hopping on Earth.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Thor or the Marvel Universe. That belongs to Marvel, or Disney, or Joss Whedon or a whole list of other people who are not me.
For him, slipping into another's skin was as easy as changing his coat. He wore appearances like garments and cast them aside when they were no longer needed. It was not an unpleasant feeling at all. In fact, the change was rather exhilarating. In the hours spent in that accursed cell he had found himself wondering if it wouldn't be so bad to assume a new form for good. No one would be able to see through it and he knew it.
But no, that was too much like running and hiding and he refused to do either. There was too much pride tied up in his actions now to slip into the shadows like a coward.
In truth, the metal shard that pierced him missed his heart by a good few inches. The wound was anything but fatal. One look at his brother's face, however, and he knew he could make Thor believe that it was. The decision was made almost without conscious thought. Whatever they had become to each other in the last few hours it at least involved a modicum of trust. New York was forgotten and Thor was once again ready to accept his word at face value, never double checking or second guessing.
Sometimes he wished he could be so innocent of heart. Alas, fate had other plans for him.
He gasped for breath, something that was not altogether an act as his right lung had in fact been shredded by the puncture wound. He could already feel it beginning to knit itself back together, however, and knew he was in no real danger. One hand groped for his brother's shoulder and he felt Thor lift him gently, almost cradling him. The gasps paused in genuine surprise. There were tears in his brother's eyes and he was pleading-pleading-with him not to die.
His resolve almost crumbled right then and there-almost but not quite. They were brothers, yes, in spirit if not in blood, but they each had very different goals in this life. These goals had clashed before, on Earth, but perhaps it need not be so. Perhaps there was a way to get what they each wanted and stay out of each other's way. It was a theory he planned to test, and doing so would be far less complicated if Thor believed him dead and gone.
Unbidden, the look in Thor's blue eyes brought grief to stab at his heart like a fresh wound. He knew grief and knew how cruel this trick would be, especially on the heels of Lady Frigga's death. His will was stronger, however, and he focused his gaze on a point over Thor's shoulder instead, unable to bear the look on his face any longer. All it took was a little timing: slow his breathing and let his gaze un-focus. And that was it. Loki was no more.
Thor remained by his side as the seconds ticked by. Loki held himself perfectly still, even when wetness dripped onto his arm, soaking into the fabric of his sleeve. Thor made no noise, but the tears fell all the same.
It was the human woman who finally broke them apart, coming forward to put a comforting hand on Thor's shoulder. Thor shuddered and then gently lowered Loki back to the dusty earth. In that moment, when his brothers' touch left him and he turned his back to walk away with that human girl, Loki hated her with everything he was.
The wind washed dust over him as he lay, not daring to move for a full fifteen minutes after his brother left him. He blinked the grime from his eyes and shifted his head only slightly to make sure he was well and truly alone. Only when his solitude was assured did he finally stir, shifting to sit up. His torso was sore, but the wound had already closed and offered no further threat. He stood slowly and surveyed the barren landscape.
Truthfully he had had no grand scheme in mind, but one sprang to his mind all the same. It was often that way with him. He was not so much a plotter as he was one who simply thought of things, wonderful things and when he least expected them. That was what made him such a brilliant strategist, after all. For if he had not considered a move until just this moment, his opponents usually had not either.
The move he chose was less grand than some of his other plans. Instead it was rather personal and one that he might not have considered had the last hours not rattled him so. Mother's concern and death, Thor's obvious sorrow and guilt at thinking him dead as well-there was one more person to see before he made any further decisions about the direction his wretched life would take from here. He slipped into the skin of a guard as easily as breathing and started back towards their stolen boat.
The return journey was longer than he would have liked and left him too much time to think. It was not an affliction he was accustomed to: thinking too much. Even growing up, he was always more bookish while Thor was more of a brute and so had spent hours upon hours on his own sometimes reading but most often thinking. He was comfortable in his own head space, maybe even more comfortable than in the outside world. Now, misgivings plagued him as he sailed. What was he hoping to accomplish with this? Why torment himself when he must already know the answer to the question he was traveling towards? What was the point of going back? He was free! He should go and never look back.
But he couldn't. He had to be sure. There was no way around it. By the time he reached the palace at Asguard he was determined to see this through, to know once and for all where Odin's heart lay. If Thor could fight him not once but twice, name him traitor and betrayer, and yet still shed tears at his death than surely Odin could as well.
His stolen form approached the golden throne with confidence he didn't feel, but Loki was used to putting on a show and fulfilled the role easily. The throne itself was much reduced thanks to one of the Dark Elves' gravity grenades. Odin stood on the cracked steps. Somehow, even made older by grief and standing upon ruin, he was still imposing as ever. Loki was awed despite himself.
"We found a body," he said, slowly and clearly. He left the message at that, but the eyes of his mask confirmed the rest: sorrow and regret.
"Loki," Odin said quietly and closed his good eye. Loki waited, watching the old man carefully. He felt like a child again, desperate for this man's approval, for his love. It was maddening, but he held himself still.
"Perhaps that is for the best," Odin said with a heavy sigh and Loki's control slipped for a moment, the guard's eyes opening wide before smoothing back into polite concern. Odin didn't seem to notice the change. "I had such hopes for him once. I truly believed he could overcome what he was, that he could achieve greatness." The guard's hand tightened on his ceremonial weapon. Odin tilted his head, turning his good eye towards the damaged ceiling.
"I have never been so wrong in all my life."
Something in him shattered.
The guard flickered and was gone, replaced by Loki and his dagger. He flew up the steps, his feet hardly even touching them, and fell upon the man he called Father. Odin, caught completely by surprise, never even raised his staff.
The dagger found a home in Odin's unprotected flesh, plunging into the place where neck and shoulder meet. The old man opened his mouth but only a harsh gurgling came out. Blood sprayed past the blade in spurts that washed Loki's hand in thick red and dyed the man's snow white hair ghastly crimson.
Odin managed a jerky turn and his good eye locked with Loki's, wide with shock where Loki's were narrowed with boiling rage. They shared this gaze, father and son, murderer and victim, for an infinity. Then Odin stumbled forward, clumsily coming to rest against his adopted son. Loki released the dagger and raised his arms to support him automatically. He held Odin in this mockery of an embrace until the blood lessened to a trickle and then ceased flowing altogether.
Loki's arms relaxed and Odin's body slide sideways. He let it fall from his grasp and crumple on the steps, rolling lack a sack of flour. He was breathing heavily and for some time all he could do was stand on the steps and stare at Odin's lifeless body. Eventually, his dark gaze shifted to the staff, which had fallen from Odin's numb fingers when the life left him. Bending his long limbs, Loki reached for it with a hand still sticky with blood. The sacred, polished wood was smooth to the touch and he could feel the hum of power in the weapon, sending a tingling warmth shooting all up his arm.
When he straightened it was no longer Loki who stood on the steps, bedraggled and half coated in blood, with too much white rimming his dark eyes. Rather, it was the regal and solid form of Odin that stood atop the damaged golden steps once more. Just as before, just as always, Loki had made no conscious decision to take this form. It was simply right.
He glanced down at the body and now there was disdain in that one good eye, a grimace of disgust pulling at his ancient face. The staff rose and pointed and with a terrible crack of energy-a sound like worlds breaking-living light shot out and the body was suddenly aflame. He watched it burn, blackening and collapsing within the immortal flames. When he spoke, though it was Odin's lips that moved it was Loki's regal voice that filled the still air.
"That will have to do for your pyre, Father. It is the least I can do for all you have given me."