The air in the cell was sickeningly stale. The familiar, pleasant scent of old leather bound books and the general clean fragrance that had once filled the small room were smothered by the revolting stench of blood and sweat. The air around Loki felt thick, as if every movement he made was met with resistance.
The trickster was staring through the translucent wall of his cell, his gaze superficially landing on the cell across the hall from his own, although his mind was anywhere but here. He was vaguely aware of the fresh blood coating the bottom of his left foot, and although he did not remember injuring the appendage it really wasn't all that surprising since the floor was dusted with shards of glass. His knuckles were cracked and scabbed over with dried blood. Every muscle in his body ached from the exertion of his power and the actual physical action of picking up pieces of furniture and hurling them at the walls.
He knew that he must look like a madman, and as he sat with his back against the wall he caught a glimpse of himself in a large shard of glass which confirmed his suspicions. He had spent the bulk of the previous night in a state of emotional turmoil. He had screamed until his lungs burned and his throat was raw. His eyes were red and raw from lack of sleep, and from the tears he would never admit to shedding.
He had gone through brief periods of grief throughout the last twenty-four hours but more than anything he had been filled with anger.
He had resented his "father" and "brother" for years for shoving him into the shadows while Thor basked in the limelight, but the events of the last two days had brought his anger level to an all-time high. The deep voice of the guard who had come to inform him of his mother's murder replayed over and over in his head. He had to admit that, for as much as he denied that Odin and Thor were his family, it had stung that they had sent a generic palace guard to deliver such devastating news, and hours after her funeral had ended at that.
The face of the monster that had freed the other inhabitants of the prison would be forever seared onto his mind. No one had said as much, but he knew in his heart that the monster had been the one who killed his mother. Every time he thought of its revolting mug he was filled with a renewed sense of rage. No matter how long it took he would avenge her death, even if it killed him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, his tired mind begging for a reprieve, but his anger would not allow it. Each time his eyelids slid shut he was haunted by memories and regrets, the only cure for which was the state of vehement denial that his waking mind was able to maintain.
The one time that he had managed to fall asleep he had dreamt that he was in the throne room. It was dark, the only light coming from the moon as it peaked in through the high windows scattered around the room. He took a step toward Odin's golden throne, each footstep echoing through the empty hall. He paused at the base of his adoptive father's seat, taking a moment to breathe in the cool night air and enjoy the silence, but it was in that moment that a whimper met his ears. He called out, but was only met with another pitiful moan.
He turned, scanning the space around him for the source of the noise, his green orbs landing on the figure of a woman in a patch of moonlight on the other side of the room. He walked slowly toward the fallen Aesir, the woman's red hair filled him with an overwhelming sense of dread and he picked up his pace as he realized that it could only be the body of his mother. As he approached his eyes were able to distinguish the form of a hooded figure standing over her body.
He was within a few feet of her body when he hit some sort of invisible wall that prevented him from getting any closer. He called out to her, banging his fists against the barrier like a child throwing a temper tantrum.
Mother!
He watched powerlessly as she looked up at him weakly, a soft smile finding her lips before the life left her eyes and her body collapsed limply into the pool of blood around her. He screamed for to wake up, feeling more and more like an inconsolable child by the minute.
His hysteria was finally interrupted by a cold, humorless laugh from the figure before him who had until now been facing away. He lunged forward, although he knew he could not get any closer, screaming obscenities and promises of pain to the murder before him.
The man turned to face him, a curved blood stained dagger gripped by pale, thin fingers. The man's long black hair hanging like a tattered curtain over his green eyes, and Loki stumbled backward as he was greeted by his own crazed gaze staring back at him.
He had awakened from the dream, his heart pounding and his face drenched in a cold sweat. As the panic slowly faded it was replaced by the familiar overwhelming feeling of guilt. It burned through his mind like a fire he had once accidently started in the palace library when he was nine, before he had known what was happening the entire history of Vanaheim was a pile of ashes at his feet.
The worst part was that it wasn't irrational guilt, it was all solidly based. He had told the monster which route to take to avoid capture. He would have never guessed that his actions would have put her in danger. Thor? Absolutely, the blonde oaf couldn't stay out of danger even if he tried. Odin? He dared only hope that the monster had been after her pseudo-father. But his mother? Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought he was endangering the warrior queen.
He opened his eyes once again, studying a book that was lying next to him on the floor. He picked it up tenderly as if it might disintegrate at the slightest touch. She had sent this book, along with a stack of others that were scattered about the room, just a couple of days ago, just before her last visit.
He took in a deep breath, remembering his harsh words when he had last spoken to her. If only he had known that those would be their final moments together, he would have…
The truth was he had no idea what he would have done, he was powerless to stop her death, but maybe he could have tried to warn her. Or perhaps he might have asked her to run an errand for him, anything to have put her somewhere else but her chambers when the attack happened.
He growled, slamming his fisted hand into the wall next to him. No, life was not that kind; he would not get a second chance to fix this. All he had left was his memory and the burden of reliving their last exchange over and over again…
Loki feigned interest in the newest set of prisoners being led to their cell, making a snide comment about his father as he watched the guards lead the group past, but he was brought back to the conversation by his mother's voice.
"The books I sent, do they not interest you?" She asked, disregarding his remark.
He turned back to face her, has hands still grasped behind his back, "Is that how I am to while away eternity? Reading?"
"I've done everything in my power to make you comfortable, Loki."
He smirked, bringing his hands forward and leaning and the table between them. The more he spoke the more his words dripped with sarcasm, "Have you? Does Odin share your concern? Does Thor? It must be so inconvenient, them asking after me day and night."
His mother held his gaze, chastising him with a tone that only a mother could master, "You know full well that it was your actions that brought you here."
"My actions?" He scoffed, "I was merely giving truth to the lie I've been fed my entire life, that I was born to be a king."
"A king? A true king admits his faults, what of the lives you took on earth?" She reasoned, her tone still that of a mother to her unruly child.
"A mere handful compared to the number Odin has taken himself," He replied, his voice rising in volume but still within the acceptable level.
Frigga sighed sadly, "Your father…".
This, this was too much for him to bear; he turned sharply unable to control his temper. "He's not my father!" He shouted, feeling the hatred he felt for the one-eyed man shining in his eyes.
She studied him for a moment before taking in a sharp deep breath and continuing softly, "Then am I not your mother?"
He heard himself gasp, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times before he could actually bring himself to speak the words. A small part of him wanted to assure her that she would always be his mother, that he did not hold her responsible for her husband's mistreatment, but the time for weakness had long since passed. "You're not."
"Hmm," She tutted, smiling at him sadly, "Always so perceptive, about everyone but yourself."
He closed his eyes for a second, shaking his head. He saw her out reached hands and for a moment he forgot himself. He reached out to touch her, in that moment he was nothing more than a scared child desperately reaching to hold his mother's hand. But as his hand met hers she began to fade away and he quickly adopted a mask of indifference, holding her gaze until her projection faded away.
He growled again, bringing a hand up rub his tired eyes, it wasn't until he felt moisture on the pads of his thumb and forefinger that he realized that he was crying again.
He wished with all of his heart, shriveled and black as coal as it had become, that he was not so stubborn. That he had not been so eager to defy Odin that he had ended up letting his final words to his mother be the act of denying her.
He thought again about what he would have said or done if he had known then that he would never see her again. So many things came to his mind, but he couldn't imagine himself saying them out loud no matter the circumstances. No, he had never been good at saying goodbye, and nothing he could do now would change the past.
He took a deep breath and sat up a bit straighter. He had never been good at goodbyes, but one thing he did excel at was rage. He had made a life these last few years of questing after vengeance, fueled only by pure hatred and a burning white hot rage that, at times, seemed to permeate his entire being. He would avenge her death, he would slay her killer, even if it killed him. He could wait as long as he had to, for once he set his mind to something he did not give up, however it seemed that the wait would not be long as he heard Thor's booming voice address the guard down the hall.
He felt a smirk contort his features as he listened to his adopted brother approach. He had lost Thor's trust long ago, but if his brother could ever have faith in anything related to him again, he would trust his rage.