Loki lay across his bed, staring at the bright ceiling and mindlessly shredding his sheets into strips. He heard guards passing by his cell without so much as a pause to look at him anymore – he supposed the novelty of guarding the imprisoned man they had formerly had to serve had worn off. It had been almost a year, after all.

Almost a year...

He dwelt on the thought for a moment. It must be summer by now, the spring blossoms around Asgard and in the palace courtyard having shed off the trees like snowflakes long ago, hard, unripe fruits taking their place.

Where was I a year ago? Ah, yes... Midgard.

It had honestly been some time since he thought of the Avengers, or Thanos, or his short adventure with SHIELD. Lyanne floated to his consciousness, but it stung less and less as the year had passed and he could now think of her with a bare minimum of pain. Once he had come to terms with never seeing her again, it had become much easier to accept the loss. His mother had tried to keep him up to date on her and Heimdall's search for the girl, but she noticed with sadness that he had stopped asking, so she had stopped volunteering information.

Whatever will be, will be, right my love? he thought, laughing a little.

The remembrance of her motto brought him more comfort than thoughts of the woman herself these days. Pushing the memories of her aside with practiced ease, he focused once more on the present and realized with some wonder that he had distractedly torn apart all of his sheets. He stood from the bed to check out his unintentional handiwork, trying to decide what to do now. He sat back down after a minute and began to weave them into a long, thick braid. He had been at it for a couple hours before his mother's image announced itself, the first time she had visited in quite some time.

"Mother," he said, acknowledging her without turning around.
"Loki," she greeted, her figure walking around to see what he was working on.

She froze as she absorbed exactly what it was he was making.

"My son," she practically whispered. "What are you doing?"

Loki finally looked up at her.

"Occupying my mind," he said with a laugh.
"You're not... you're not planning to use that, are you?" she asked in horror.
"Use it?" he asked incredulously.

Then it dawned on him – he was basically making a rope, and Frigga assumed he was going to hang himself. He glanced back up at her like a scolded child, somewhat lost. He tossed the braid away in sudden anger and stood before her.

"I am not so weak, mother," he snapped.

Frigga relaxed in relief.

"I shall have them bring you new bedding," she said, her image sitting down in one of the chairs by the small table. "And something else to occupy your time."

She and Loki spent nearly an hour together in his cell, Frigga doing the majority of the talking, mostly about petty matters and rumors that flew around Asgard like invisible birds. Loki kept glancing at the rope he had made, muttering acknowledgments and comments in response to his mother when it was appropriate. Eventually her image stood to take leave and he said goodbye with a false smile on his face. Frigga still showed some concern, but smiled back and promised to return in a week.

When her figure had left, Loki glanced about him, saw no one watching him, and walked over slowly to the thick braid he had made from his bedsheets. He bent over cautiously to pick it up, hesitant, as though fearful it would burn him. He lifted the rope and returned to sit on his bare bed, twisting the object in his hands, examining it.

If I had truly wanted to end myself, I would merely have thrown my body into the barriers of my cell, he thought, suddenly becoming angry. How dare she think me so weak?

He sat for a minute, pondering.

Still, he thought, eternity is an awfully long time.

He looked at the rope again, then at the dangerous magical barriers surrounding him. He breathed slowly, in and out, thoughtful and serene.

No, he finally decided. I am no coward.

He stood proudly and tossed the braid into the magically electrified wall, turning it to cinders in an instant and throwing out his chest defiantly.

I am Loki, of Asgard, and one day revenge shall be mine.