This is a post movie ficlet, inspired by the Bastion song, "Mother, I'm Here (Zulf's Theme)." It's a beautiful, melancholy song that seems fitting to what I imagine Loki is feeling when Thor drags him back to Asgard. Definitely give it (and pretty much all the other songs in the game) a listen!
Mother, I'm Here
The muzzle's bit was coppery on his tongue, an unpleasant tang of metal and magic. Loki had long since suppressed the urge to talk, worrying the offending metal left his teeth throbbing and his cheeks rubbed raw. The damn thing chafed, which was probably the point, and his jaw ached with fatigue. There'd be no silver tongued sweet-talking to get out of this one, not that he really had much to say to the man walking beside him.
As for Thor, the thunder god was uncharacteristically quiet. Well, his behavior was more like moping, really. The blonde had finally begun to realize that his brother (not-brother) was a lost cause, and that the halcyon days of their childhood were nothing more than a fabricated fairytale. Loki could have told him that—had told him that, in fact— but the fool had refused to listen.
Thor trudged ahead of him, head bowed and steps slow. One hand rested on Mjolnir, the other loosely held Loki's chains. The trickster had not seen the thunder god in such a mood for many years, but then, they'd grown apart long before Loki had left. It was the stance of a reluctant executioner, and perhaps rightly so. Odin would punish his wayward charge severely, if not outright kill him, depending on the high god's temper. No honeyed words could sway his heart, no entreaty by Thor would mitigate the All Father's wrath. Loki pitied the younger Asgardian, really. Thor mourned for many things, emotions and memories Loki had long ago buried or abandoned. Ah well. Everyone had to grow up and get his fantasies shattered at one point or another. Loki had always known he would be the cause of Thor's grief.
An unseen crack in the fractured bridge turned his ankle, and Loki stumbled forward. He spun to regain his balance, but his movements were sluggish, and the motion sent a twinge of pain from his calves up through his spine. He was still stiff from the thrashing that green abomination of a human had given him, and the bindings Thor had placed on him had all but stopped his healing powers. To suffer further injury on the road ahead could have him limping back home. Wouldn't that be a sight for Odin and the assembled Asgardian host?
A firm hand caught his elbow and righted him, a comforting wall of support that kept him from harm. Thor said nothing, looking (if possible) even more depressed and guilty as he helped Loki regain his balance. The trickster snorted, although no sound escaped, and the movement barely shifted the muzzle. He longed to quip something to goad the sadness off Thor's face. He was the god of mischief, god of chaos, god of evil. He needed no pity, certainly not from a soft-hearted fool like Thor.
Instead, he shrugged off Thor's grip on his elbow and deliberately strode forward, head held high. Let it be said that he went to his fate unafraid and unaided. It might very well be the path to his doom, but it would be a path he tread willingly. Behind him, Thor sighed, no doubt reading his thoughts, or at least recognizing the rigid angle of his brother's posture. The steady step of boots started up once more as they fell back into their quiet walk.
Loki stumbled from time to time as his fetters snagged on debris. When this happened, Thor made no move to help him, waiting silently as Loki righted himself through his own volition. He did not even look at the magician, in fact looked everywhere but at his prisoner, and Loki understood the gesture for what it was: an opportunity to regain some semblance of his dignity before proceeding. However, this grew tiresome as well: the thunder god did not start walking again until Loki grew impatient, and the pace was always slower than before. Preserving his little brother's pride, pretending not to notice his mistakes. Of course, how many centuries of practice did he have, doing such simple, loving things for an ungrateful sibling?
Still, as the walls of the city loomed before them, Loki found his resolve wavering. He refused to bend his brow in fear or shame, but this was not the homecoming he had hoped for. Contrary to Thor's belief, he'd always planned to return to Asgard one day. But as a king, emboldened and flushed with glorious victories abroad, not shackled and guided ahead like some worthless chattel. Still, the familiar sights they passed were mercifully dark, everyone long since in bed. The streets were deserted, and it was only the quiet hush of sleeping souls that mitigated the emptiness in a seemingly abandoned town.
He felt some relief at that. Bad enough to be brought to the palace and forced to kneel in front of Odin. With most in bed, there would be few to see his shame, few to witness his punishment, few to look on him with pity or disdain. Loki risked a glance behind him, certain the blonde had planned it that way. Thor was not a man of many words, and when he spoke it was with blunt, almost brutal honesty. His actions were what showed his true character, perhaps to a fault. Coddling his younger sibling through their combined punishments, even when they were the direct result of the trickster's actions. Especially when Loki was at fault.
They passed through the palace's tall gates at a steadfast pace, Thor's grim frown deterring any who might attempt to hail them. Thor took the lead, nodding to guards and signaling for entry. To their credit, the guards did not outright stare, but Loki could feel their eyes upon him as he passed. Let them look. He was once their king, and no matter Odin's punishment, even if he was stripped of power and left to wallow for a hundred years in some dank cell, he was still a prince. No one could take that from him, not the mortals, not Odin, not Thor. He fixed an expression of cool distain on those few who dared look at him directly, and even the most valiant warriors quailed under his gaze. The two left the main entryway and made their way to the royal chambers, walking through the courtyard to the private gardens of the royal family where the two of them had played together so many years ago.
Loki allowed himself a quiet breath to take in the familiar scents of summer in Asgard. So much had changed outside of these walls and within himself, it was a small relief to see that some things withstood the trials of time. His chest ached as he looked at the once-welcoming walls of the palace. They were the same tall, elegant structures, but without sunlight to warm their cold edges, the moonlight gave them a steely glint. Many of the windows were dark, the occupants sleeping or on duty. How many times had he and Thor used conditions such as these to slip away and wreak havoc in the night? It was literally lifetimes ago, however, and the blonde's chamber windows were dark. By reflex, Loki glanced up to the balcony where he once kept his own chambers and skidded to an abrupt halt.
There was a single candle, shining like a star in the dark face of the walls; a lantern, set high and burning brightly in what had once been his bedroom window. His heart clenched, and he was ashamed to admit at how much that simple gesture stung. Not even a Midgardian year had passed and they'd already given his room to someone else. He'd always known in his heart that Thor had lied, that no one had mourned his loss. Here was the proof of their true feelings. Perhaps they mourned him as one mourns the loss of a pretty trinket, expensive and cherished for its rarity, but easy enough to replace. Probably some pampered pet, he thought bitterly. A new dog to replace the puny mongrel they'd kept before. He felt rather than saw Thor shift beside him.
"Mother," said Thor, and Loki turned to truly look at the thunder god for the first time since they'd left Midgard. Thor smiled up at the window, and Loki was astonished to see the raw emotion playing across the blonde's face. Thor actually had tears in his eyes. Then he beamed at Loki, startling the younger man further. "When you—when you left, Mother never gave up hope that you would return. She sets a candle in your window each night, hoping you'd see it. She says it's a good luck charm, a beacon to guide you back to us. And she was right. You're home now, Brother."
Loki let out a small sigh and shifted his gaze back up at the flickering light. It would be Frigga, a gentle and kind woman who played the foil to Odin's unforgiving anger. Frigga, who had raised him as her own; Frigga, who'd soothed away his tears when he'd fallen or was sad; Frigga, who'd always delighted in his magic, and who would laugh at his stories. Frigga, the woman he had called Mother for over a millennia.
"Come, Brother," Thor said, gently, interrupting Loki's thoughts. Thor smiled at him, and Loki felt some of the coldness seep out of his heart. So there were two fools who still clung to the hope of his redemption. So be it. Who was he to dissuade them of their folly? Odin would set them straight soon enough, and in the end they would see him for the monster he truly was.
The private chambers of Thor's parents were silent, the heavy wooden doors shut tight against the dark night. A dread settled in Loki's gut as they opened, spilling torchlight into the garden. He mentally steeled his nerves, forcing the dread to harden into cold, calculating resolve. He could not afford another momentary lapse into sentiment, not if he was to meet his fate as an equal to Odin. That's what he was. He was a god, not some wayward child who'd been dragged home by the ear to be scolded by an angry parent. Let Odin do his worst, he would find in his "wayward son" an adversary equal in anger, if not in strength.
He was so intent on shoring up his determination that he almost missed the turn, and Thor had to steer him aside.
"No, not yet," said Thor, a small smile on his lips. "That will come soon enough, and she deserves to see you before Father starts to rage." At that statement, Loki attempted to stop dead in his tracks, unwilling to move towards Frigga's private study. Thor, however, would have none of that. He gripped Loki by the shoulders and bodily heaved his younger brother into the room, shutting the door behind them with a solid click. The handmaiden on guard jumped to attention at the sight of them, and though she smiled in recognition at Thor, the smile fell from her face as she noticed his companion, and the grip on her stave tightened. He refused to meet her gaze, however, instead watching the door that separated the queen's suite from the king's. Thor walked over to rest a giant hand upon her shoulder.
"Please fetch my Mother," he said. "I have business with her that cannot wait until morning." The handmaiden bowed and was up the stairs in an instant, leaving Thor to return to Loki's side. The thunder god reached up and gently turned his brother's face away from the door. Then he grasped the muzzle, unhooking the buckles and letting the piece fall free.
"What do you think you're doing?" hissed Loki as soon as his mouth was free, snarling as his brother tucked the device away. The trickster's lips were raw and chapped; when he ran his tongue over them, he tasted blood. "How dare you-"
"Thor?" A woman's voice interrupted them, and Loki stopped mid-sentence, shrinking back as though physically struck. Frigga stepped through the doorway, her handmaiden in tow. The queen drew her wrap closer as she approached, although she dismissed the hovering attendant with a wave. Frigga looked up at Thor with a worried frown.
"Is something amiss in Midgard? Are you well?" she asked, putting a hand to her son's cheek. Her thumbs traced the slight bruises on his face, gingerly passing over the cuts that still healed. "You seem very tired, my son." A swift pause. Then, quieter, "Has there been news of—"
"Mother," Thor interrupted, taking her hand in both of his. He planted a kiss on her forehead, and drew her to his chest in a hug. "We're home." He stepped aside, removing the temporary screen that had been shielding Loki from his mother's sight. Frigga gasped, one hand rising to her mouth as the other clutched at her heart.
"Loki," she breathed. Loki flinched and turned his head. He knew that he could not give her what she wanted; the fool she'd called son had long ago been destroyed. What little of that carefree creature remained after Odin's cruelty was summarily snuffed out when he met Thanos. She, at least, had already mourned the loss of that child. There was no reason to make her suffer through that loss again.
Thor, however, refused to let this greeting pass. He gruffly nudged his brother forward when he saw the trickster would not move. Loki stumbled, head bowed, although he glared at Thor through the curtain of his hair. He could hold his head high in court, curse those who would punish him, Odin and the others be damned. But this private audience to the woman's suffering was a sight he would not—could not— endure.
Warm hands cupped his cheeks, and Frigga gently tilted his head up to meet her gaze. She kissed his forehead, studied his face. Her eyes lingered on the cuts and bruises, and she frowned at the length of his hair. But her eyes held tears, and she let out a sigh choked with joy, gathering him into her arms. She shook against him as she wept silently, and he closed his eyes, unmoving.
"My son, my dear, sweet boy. You've come back to me. You've come home." She pulled back and kissed him on both cheeks, then wrapped an arm around his head to kiss his brow once more. With the other, she motioned to Thor, who allowed himself to be crushed into the embrace. Frigga held them close, laughing through her tears as she kissed them both once more on the crowns of their heads, a gesture she had done so many times when they were young. "My sons," she said over and over. "My sons are home again."
Surprisingly, it was Thor who first squirmed out of the embrace, although he stayed close beside them. He turned to his brother, still nestled into the crook of his mother's arm.
"Loki," said Thor, gripping the younger man's shoulder. "Have you nothing to say? Speak, brother."
For once, the liesmith was at a loss for words. He wanted to lash out at them, berate them for their folly, their hopes, their delusions. He was not the weak creature they had once known; his loss of family, with its trust and its love and all of its lies had tempered his spirit, made him stronger, more powerful. He wanted to mock them, remind them that softness is what had gotten them into this mess, and that their foolish joy at this return would do nothing to abate whatever fate Odin had in store. Their folly would not impede the king's judgment, and their tears would not make Loki kneel and ask for forgiveness from the All Father. He had survived a year in a place worse than Hel without them, and had come out stronger than ever, unburdened with the weight of familial love and duty.
But his wits had been addled by muscle fatigue and sheer exhaustion. The heady physical and emotional turmoil of the last month had stripped him of most of his physical and mental energy. His heart ached; he did not want to miss this woman, he did not want to let her think that he was her son, for who could willingly love the monster he'd become? He did not want to admit that he was bone-achingly weary, and that he was tempted to bury his face in her shoulder to seek comfort, the way he had as a child.
He was a god, a king of gods! He needed no pity, wanted them to see that he was still strong, still smart, still – no. He was not strong. Thor and his friends had driven that point home well enough. He was smart, yes, but his plans had been foiled, and if he survived the fury of Odin, he still had Thanos and the Chitari and plenty of angry Midgardians to deal with. Clearly that scheme had not gone as well as he had hoped. And yet, these two held him close, forgave if not forgot, and welcomed him back with open arms. In the end, they were all he had left. His brother (not-brother) and his mother (Frigga). How could he have come so far, achieved so much, and still have nothing to show for it? How was it that he had returned with less than what he originally had?
Then he remembered the candle in the window, his window. A welcoming beacon to light his way home, set aloft by a goddess gifted with foresight and compassion. In the end, perhaps he had been doomed to return, but not until he'd lost everything, including his pride. If nothing else, he could do this one small thing for the woman who held him close. He could forfeit this bit of dignity for her, to acknowledge all that she had done for him so very long ago.
He took a deep breath, sighed, and shifted his position in front of her. Head bowed he kneeled in front of the woman before him.
"Mother, I'm here. I'm home."