Prologue
Wavering silence, bitter nightmares with voiceless screams and calling from those whom I never knew. I wonder often as I wake where this recurring image comes from, for I have never met any one of these entities of my mind.
Once they approach, they never disappear.
And endless loop, a fading echo in the depths of my mind, where I used to slip away when those around me caused me strife.
A strip of red churning with black, a darkness not only creeping into my mind, but my body, my blood.
Hysteria is rising.
Yet this feels more than some simple tag, some little sickness of the mind.
It feels like possession.
Am I being possessed by the voices I hear in the waking world, as well as the sleeping?
Or is it something more? Something bigger? Something so big that these images are only a test before my mind falters and I become nothing but a sorrowful creature, ripped to shreds by some unknown… thing?
I wake with a start, panic riddling through me. I look around the vast corners of my living quarters, willing the bleary shapes to some-how make some sort of sense to me. I blink, once, twice, thrice, and, though blurriness still tints the edges of my vision, I can make out in the dark the sparse amount of adornments that are littered around my room. I move, the sweet feeling of the fabric of my bed wrapping light tendrils around my body, telling me to return to sleep.
But as much as I'd like to, I know I can-not. I can-not slip once more into unconsciousness because if I do, I am sure to sink into the madness of my dream world. I slide out of my bed and, with a slight flick of my wrist, make the bed-sheets return to the way they were before I allowed myself the briefest of rests. I drop my robe as I approach the vast closet and use my finger to make the article of clothing float –as if weightlessly- behind me. I open the big, ornate doors marking my closet and find a simple dark green undershirt and black pants and quickly slip them on. My dressing robe goes down a gap in my wall, sending it to some servant who cleans it.
After I dress in the simple clothes, I begin pulling on my true clothing, adorned with many different dark straps holding naught but holsters for whatever I so believe shall belong there. A golden -necklace of sorts- sits on my collarbone, crafted so that it would never fall, no matter how much I should jump or jostle it, as if the piece would be forever attached to my shirt and under, my skin.
I pull on my boots after I have made sure my overcoat is properly on, tightening them where the buckles would have loosened from the last time I had worn them. I know I should not be wearing my full attire, seeing as though no-one would be awake at this hour, yet it provided me with more protection than my simple robe, which harboured nothing beneath it but my trousers. I make sure my hair is not in disarray with a hand, pleased at only having to fix small parts. Never would one of the crown princes of Asgard leave his quarters unprepared for any such ambush from an insomniac other.
And I supposed I was one crown prince, though not truly. It never felt right for me on the throne; to look down at so many others and harbour the power to control them was not the… rightest thing in my mind. Not that I didn't want that, because I did. However, as I look at those who pass me by, I briefly wonder if they are truly my people. I wonder, day in and out, and I find that these thoughts are preposterous. What else could I be, if not Asgardian? Surely not a Frost Giant. Surely not a Midgardian. Surely not…
I shake my head as I try to prove myself right inside of my own mind, then close the doors to my wardrobe and head towards the ones near my bed. I take a long, forlorn look at my bed, wishing I could sleep and escape the nightmares. I leave my quarters, knowing I can-not. Lightly I shut the doors, despite knowing Thor can sleep through anything, and that Odin can-not bring himself to care of some simple door closing, especially not the door to the rooms of his youngest son. His weakest son.
His son that was not born with muscles and the ability to hold the mighty hammer Mjølnir, but born tall and lanky, wielding only magickal weapons and having the power of sorcery so strong, Odin wouldn't be able to handle it on his best day. I know I should have been more eager to know of my powers, yet I felt that Thor, with his arrogance and brashness, Thor with his brawn and ability to smash through whatever was thrown at him was the favoured son. And with those thoughts, I feel jealousy writhe gently in the lining of my stomach, a serpent of wicked evils ready to sink it's fangs into anything it saw.
And bite it does.
As the jealousy wells up, hatred follows in its wake.
A hatred so dark, my eyes begin hazing with red, rage filling my insides with a fire I never knew I possessed. Waves of magick roll from my body, and I bite my lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood. Now is not the time for me to throw some "magickal fit", as Thor put it. I will myself calm and continue forward, my light footsteps sounding loud in this empty hallway. I wonder what I'll do until everyone else wakes, wonder how the day will go.
No doubt it would be boring, as always, listening to the incessant ramblings of my brother as he weaves tales about adventures long-since past their telling date, or about his eagerness to destroy some-thing, some-where. I could never quite understand how he got to be so idiotic now. Before he seemed to show intelligence, but only now he shows his willingness to be that brave child, the one who laps at the feet of his father, waiting for the next command.
I wonder if I will be getting any-thing besides boring little missions, being a messenger or aiding those in need in some petty battle I could easily win with my eyes closed. As I near the end of the hall-way, I am greeted with soft murmurs, which, considering the hour is extremely rare.
And as I enter the dining hall, I know I am in some sort of trouble. Neither Odin nor Thor are to be seen, and I feel a deep, uneasy feeling spark inside me, sending cold rushes licking through my veins. Angry eyes regard me as I step closer, and I can feel mine involuntarily widen, as if I allow my body to control itself. I attempt to regain control, to pull myself back, to just stop walking towards the angry-looking mob but I find I am unable to. I curse my disobedient body, and only when I do so do I finally halt.
"Loki," one came forth, golden tinted eyes trained on me.
I calm myself internally and externally before I reply. "Yes?"
"You're up early," the other says icily, regarding me with a suspicious stare.
But of course, he suspects I will prank him. As does everyone. Come to think of it, I muse, a smile etching itself into the corners of my mouth, I should do exactly that later on. "Might you take into consideration that I am always awake at this hour?" I ask, an eyebrow rising as if to emphasise my query.
This takes the other Asgardian aback, and he frowns. "Are you, truly?"
"Is this honestly going to be 'interrogate the prince' hour? Because if so, might I be allowed to obtain a bite to eat? I am truly famished." I walk past the angry crowd and grab myself a slice of fluffy alabaster bread, then nibble softly at the crust before getting to the centre, the centre that seems to melt on my tongue the moment it hits the muscle.
The golden-eyed Asgardian growls softly, and I allow myself to laugh at the show of what appears to be animalistic anger. "Is there something I must aid you in, my friend? Or are you going to continue to attempt to stare holes through me as I indulge myself?" I ask, finishing off the slice of bread in my hands. I reach down to grab another, letting my thumbs lightly track against the bread's soft contours before taking a bite out of it as I did with its other.
"We have come to deliver upon you a punishment rightful for one of your stature."
"Punishment rightful for my stature you say? And what, pray tell, might that be?" I bite, taking the bait. I can't allow them to see how fearful I am, so carefree is naturally my second choice.
Unfortunately, they see right through that.
The group advances towards me, eyes blazing with rage. "For everything you've done to wrong the citizens of Asgard, Loki."
I let the soft bread slip from my fingertips, my face contorting in a quiet rage.
In fact, it seems to merge with the feelings I'd had before seeing these people, and I feeel my fingers curl into fists. "And who exactly is going to punish me? You?" I laugh, a bitter sound that scratches its way up my throat. I am angry, impossibly angry now, and it shows. My hands begin to glow as magick envelops them. My eyes are glowing now, too, a deep emerald that is hazed by faint touches of black that only seem to make me look angrier. "Advance, then. Deliver upon me the punishment you feel I deserve. Do so and remind yourself that you are naught but an underling to me. Easily replaceable." My words drip with venom, but I am far beyond caring now.
And advance the group does. However, before I can even flick my wrist, something clamps down, hard and cold onto my wrist. The magick diminishes, fading away to only a wisp around my right hand. Likewise has occurred to the other, and I realise with a sick dread that these are Odincuffs, created to dull magick, almost wipe it from inside the wielder's body altogether.
I hiss in annoyance and clasp both of my hands together before rearing to the side and use blunt force to knock back several of the Asgardians surrounding me. The few that still stand hold my arms behind my back, and I writhe, as if I were some small, weak little creature attempting futilely to escape from something I know I can-not.
A question echoes in my mind, pulsing with curiosity like it wants to burst forth from my lips. I almost allow myself to speak it aloud before I am hefted up and carried towards an exit. It is my turn to growl, and that I do, knocking away a few of my persecutors with my feet as I do so. Bindings are shackled around my ankles now, and I howl with frustration. But with sickening dread I realise they are carrying me to the Bifrost.
"Do you not realise I will regain my magickal abilities once you drop me onto whichever realm?" I ask through gritted teeth as I squirm some more. The golden eyed individual grunts out what seems to be a chortle.
"Not unless you lose your memory in the process. And for that, Heimdall has humbly agreed to help."
My heart sinks, and dread sends icy fingers sliding down my spine. Even Heimdall? I ask myself, a whisper in my own mind as we near the Bifrost. I am cast unceremoniously to the ground by those who hefted my wriggling body through the golden city of Asgard.
"Greetings, little prince." Heimdall says, his voice softer than his demeanour and his outward appearance.
Fear has gutted me once more.
I know now that I can-not escape. I manage a wry smile as he nears me. "Who knew you had this sort of power, gatekeeper." And then my smile temporarily shifts as my face becomes a mask of worry. "Do Odin and Thor know…?"
"No, nor should they." He kneels before me and gives my side an awkward pat before standing and lowering his mighty sword into the Bifrost's keyhole. The ones who brought me here stand outside of the Bifrost, so they can-not hear what the gatekeeper says to me. "I shall wipe none of your memories, young prince, though the force of the impact should clear your mind of the ability to use magick. This is for your own good, prince."
He pushes his blade deeper into the keyhole, and I am sent down the fast beam of light to some realm. My destination is still unknown to me, but I refuse to care. My screams of anger tinged with fear echo throughout the whole duration. Dread suddenly slides through me, as though ice has been injected in my veins as I notice that the beam of light cuts off halfway through, and I am free falling at an impossible speed towards the ground. My screams of anger become those of fear and are cut off by the loud thud my body makes as it hits the soil of my landing spot. A few sickening crunches make me flinch as my vision blurs.
I can taste the blood as it flows past my teeth and onto the ground beneath my broken body. I can briefly sense something approaching me.
I close my eyes, a light source making me see red. Voices surround me, yet I am losing consciousness too fast to attempt to understand their words. Something touches me. Pain is everywhere.
And then, there is only darkness.
New story, having fun with the POV change. Hope you all enjoy this as much as I did, writing it! Mwaaah~