This isn't going to be as good as the first chapter, btw. Feel free to leave at any point and imagine up your own ending. But thanks for reading, if you did read this. It means quite a lot to me, that somebody would spend some time looking into my imagination. That's all.

A battle raged on around Loki, and the cries of dying warriors echoed in the air. He could smell burning as flames tore into the sky above around him. Then the illusion faded, and Loki was once again alone in his cell. It was becoming harder to tell between reality and illusion created by his fevered mind, and he kept wondering whether he was dead or not. Maybe it would have been better if he had died. If he had never been born at all. He twisted, and became aware of stuffing, lying on the floor around him, and a big hole in the chaise. Loki frowned: he didn't remember doing that. Neither did he remember anyone other than Frigga coming into his cell, but the wound on his foot had been dressed. And his picture was gone. He felt a little flame of sadness ignite in his chest, then something snuffed it out. He was tired… so tired. He barely noticed the tears that wet his parched lips.

"Please…" he whispered to himself. "Why can't you let me out?" A silence replied, harsh and uncaring, and Loki slammed a fist into the floor of the cell. "Let me out!" He suddenly remembered that there were other cells, guards outside. "I need to see Thor!" he cried, peering desperately through the wall. It was harder to see through than earlier, and he could only just see indistinct, armoured figures moving about. Then one of them moved towards the wall- a cloaked figure, face shrouded in darkness. As the figure approached, there was a blur too fast for Loki to properly register with his burning eyes, then something clattered on the floor of his cell. The figure turned and left, flitting between the guards practically unseen. Loki pulled himself towards the strange item, one leg lying limply behind him. When he reached it, he hesitantly picked it up. A bone. His veins pulsed with flames, and he hurled it across the room, where it clunked against the ground.

"Do you think I am a dog?!" he cried, outraged. "I am a king…a ki-" His voice faded. He wasn't a king. He was just a frost giant, pretending to be a king. He was no better than a child. He hit the wall again, pressing his wrist into the glass-like material. Veins of gold rippled through the wall, burning his wrist. But this was nothing. This was not pain. This-

"Argh!" he cried, pulling his wrist away and clutching it to him. Gingerly, he pulled back his sleeve. The flesh was red and raw, burning and bleeding. He began to tremble, shivers wracking his whole body. What was wrong with him? He could feel his brain freezing as his spine shuddered. The lights were shutting down, and he was swimming in blood. He was drowning… Thor. Where was Thor?

"Thor, I'm s-s-sorry. Forgive me, b-brother." Then it all went black.