Diclaimer: I do not own Thor, or Marvel.
Chapter 5: Recollections
Loki remembered one summer he spent with his family by the sea.
It was when he was very young, Asgard was prospering and peaceful, and his father felt safe enough to leave the capital in the hands of his trusted advisors, and take his wife and two young sons to a smaller sea-side palace that had belonged to the royal family for generations.
Loki had hated those months by the sea. It had been beautiful, but he had hated every moment of it. Even on vacation his father had been busy writing and talking with diplomats and emissaries. His mother had been busy as well. She had spent almost every summer when she was a child by the sea, and was catching up with all of her childhood friends.
Thor loved the sea. He spent every minute out playing in the water or in the sand with the other children. Thor was very suited to the climate; indeed he seemed to thrive on it.
Loki, not so much. His idea of a perfect trip to the sea was quite different. Perhaps a sea with rocky beaches and cliffs, more to the north. Where it was dark and cold and the sky constantly threatened a storm. Or, perhaps a trip to the mountains during the winter, when everything was covered in snow and he could spend the whole day working inside at his magic or his books.
As it was he became very sick his first day at the sea. The heat made him nauseous and the sun burned his skin. His mother told him it was sun poisoning and that he needed to stay indoors for a while until he felt better, and then only go outside in moderation. He couldn't remember ever being that sick. It hurt him to touch anything. But eventually he got tired of staying indoors while he heard the other children playing outside. Also, he resented being told what to do, which was what ultimately brought him back outside. Going back outdoors made him feel even more ill, but it was like a compulsion with him.
The only thing he enjoyed about the ocean was the sand; it fascinated him. It was so soft and bright; he loved picking it up and watching it fall through his pale fingers. He wondered how many grains of sand there were, and he attempted to count every grain. He spent hours everyday separating each grain he had counted, one by one, and placing them in little colored glass bottles that he had found in the attic. When he had enough bottles, he was going to pour them all out into a pile, measure the dimensions, and with that measurement use it to find out how many grains there were in the entire beach.
They left before he could finish. He still got sick however when he thought about those long hours he spent in the heat counting each grain. How long, mind numbing, and tedious it had been, not to mention the headaches that had resulted from it.
That boredom was nothing to his life now. He spent every waking hour staring at the wall of his cell, at the ceiling, and at his own frightening reflection when he dared to look in the reflective glass. He had been a man of action. Always reading, learning new magic, riding or practicing his fighting and archery with Thor and his friends. He had taken for-granted the freedom he had had. Not a care in the world, and all the time and energy in the universe at his disposal. He remembered how sometimes he would wake up and in the spur of a moment saddle his horse and ride into the forest or the mountains for a few days all to himself. He had found many an interesting thing; a hidden waterfall that sprinkled into a hot spring, the top of a hill covered with bright red flowers and a single oak tree with branches perfect for lounging on.
He remembered the large library in the palace that he had spent so much of his time in, and the secret basement underneath that he had spent even more of his time in to practice his magic, and then the darker magic that he had known his parents would not approve of.
There was so much that he missed about his old life.
And remembering the startled face of the girl who put on his chains when she had woken up on the floor made him miss the opposite sex. Women were something he had not had the time to think about for so long now, but before his life had become so complicated, he had enjoyed the occasional midnight excursion with attractive members of Asgardian society. It had often been infuriating, his attempts to seduce the opposite sex, because they all so plainly wanted his attractive older brother. But many less-ambitious women just wanted to be loved by a prince, even if it was the pale, menacing one. And he hadn't minded, young prince that he was. Well, he had but it hadn't stopped him from climbing in and then out of their windows at night when he was invited.
Until he saw Sif for the first time with older eyes. She had spent a year apprenticing to a renowned warrior in a distant city, and when she came back he had found her much changed. He had grown up with her and played with her as a child, but it wasn't until they were both older that he looked at her once and couldn't look away. Sif was smart, beautiful, witty, and strong. The more he noticed her the more virtues he found she had. It was the first and only time he had ever been in love. He knew if he married her she would be a perfect princess, poised and smart enough to never bring shame upon the royal family, and he didn't believe he would ever be unhappy if he could wake up to her every morning and know she was his.
The trouble was, that like almost everything in his life, his brother had the upper hand, because Sif only had eyes for Thor.
When he realized this he disguised his love for her with malice, and her dislike for Loki grew to such an extent that she wouldn't stay in the same room with him unless Thor were in it, too.
"He thinks of you like a brother, you know. Not even a sister. I heard him say once that you were too masculine to ever be a wife or a mother. Not that he thinks about you that way." He had whispered in her ear during a feast, both of their eyes on the Golden Prince who was standing up to give a toast.
"Well at least he thinks of me like a brother. You don't seem like you are really his brother at all. You're weak, cowardly, and bitter." She had retorted, but he saw in her eyes that his words had hurt her.
When she had begged him to bring his banished brother back from Earth, that was when his love had turned to hate. She would follow that idiot to Jotunheim to start a war, but she wouldn't follow him as the rightful king. Well, she could follow Thor to Earth and die with him there for all he cared. He wondered what she was doing now, right this minute. Probably still making mooneyes at Thor. Well the joke was on her, because as far as he knew his brother was still smitten with that Midgardian scientist, Jane Foster. He couldn't decide what was worse, the thought of his brother marrying Sif, or the thought of Thor marrying a human.
…..
A month passed before she came in to chain him again.
He didn't speak to her this time, nor she to him, but for the first time he watched her. Really watched her.
He noticed that her braided bun was slightly more frizzy than usual and her boots were a little muddier than normal, perhaps the result of rain.
Her dark blue dress was nice, expensive enough that she probably belonged to one of Asgard's wealthier families, but practical enough that she probably worked in it.
She was slower than most people, he observed from her measured and quiet movements, although her mind was sharp.
When she realized one of the links was broken on the chains between his collar and his handcuffs, she didn't hesitate to take a different one out of the loser chains around his feet and replace it.
He discovered that she drew her eyebrows together when she worked.
He discovered that she enjoyed working.
He discovered that from the ink on her hands, which stained his own when she would gently reach out and hold one while putting on his handcuffs, she spent a lot of time writing.
He discovered that she blushed easily, which happened mostly when she caught him looking at her.
He discovered that he enjoyed looking at her.