Loki blinked and scanned the figure in front of him once more, taking in the details of her new appearance and committing them to memory. She certainly was not what he had expected, but he couldn't decide if he was impressed or disappointed in what he saw.
"You are my mother." Loki repeated Leiknyrr's words back to her, his expression shifting from disbelief to sardonic amusement. "You certainly have a funny idea of family reunions."
Leiknyrr's lips curled into a smirk, red eyes piercing his own gaze relentlessly. "Yes, well, I don't tend to enjoy the company of those who attempt to bring my people to an end."
She walked across the cell and sat down in front of Loki, crossing her legs and placing her hands on her knees.
Withdrawing further into Thor's cape, Loki looked her over and opted for a subject change instead of a reply. "You wear a crown and robes. Laufey did not."
Leiknyrr snorted and shook her head, the lone ruby set in her circlet casting rainbows on the walls. "Laufey cared more for the physical role of being king. He didn't like the meetings and pleasantries and attire."
Loki nodded sharply, turning his head to stare at the wall, hands shifting his runic stone from place to place in the hopes of spreading its warmth. I have so many questions, and yet, I have an equal amount of reasons why I do not want to ask them. His eyes narrowed at the thought, fingers curling around the edge of the cape once more. I do not need answers. I am neither Asgardian nor Jotun. I refuse to be.
Something in the back of his mind told him that such a decision was not his to make—that his genes and his past were things he couldn't change no matter how much he wanted to—but he didn't care. He wanted nothing to do with her, just as he wanted nothing to do with Laufey or Odin or—
Frigga.
"What do you want?" Loki turned to look at Leiknyrr once more, eyes blazing with a renewed hatred. "I do not want you here, and you have made it quite clear that you do not want me. You had your laughs, you killed your boredom, and you told me who you are. What else needs to be done before you will leave me be?"
"I didn't think you'd be so eager." Her lips curled into a smile, but her eyes went cold. "We both know how you feel about the last time I left you."
It was like a knife going into him, but Loki refused to give her any kind of response. His expression had no more life than the stone floor beneath him, and his eyes were glazed with some mixture of disinterest and fatigue that kept his rage well-hidden.
Then, slowly, his lips started to turn upward. His indifference melted away, and the hatred was buried deeper still, emerald eyes set with a cool, almost cruel amusement. He wet his lips and began to speak, his tongue aiding him in more ways than one as he engaged his so-called mother in a battle of wits.
"I suppose you're right. I should enjoy your company a little while longer." Loki sat up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders with the same regal air Leiknyrr had. "How do you fare in your negotiations with Asgard?"
"You're here, aren't you?" The superior smile never quite left her lips, her composure a smooth blend of professional and mischievous. "We fare well. Then again, it was us who threatened to wage war, so take that for what you will."
Loki chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Odin certainly dislikes war. Unless, of course, it's on his own terms. Then it's another story entirely." His heart pounded on the inside of his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins as the game began to escalate.
It was cordial and civilized on the surface, but Loki knew better. Leiknyrr wasn't relaxed and neither was he. It was a fight—a verbal dance—both of them trying to push each other's buttons while protecting their own. She brought up his past, so he brought up the war. She smiled at him, and he laughed at her. It would continue and grow and change until one of them broke.
It seems I got at least some of my silver tongue from her.
Leiknyrr nodded her head and heaved a sigh that was more irritated than anything. "Indeed. War is a tricky game to play, but it's certainly doable if one has the wit. I'm sure you already know this, but your father is—"
"He's not my father."
"—not exactly renowned for his cunning. He's intelligent enough, and his experience certainly gives him an abundance of practical wisdom, but as far as his people skills are concerned, he is quite dull." Leiknyrr was undeterred by Loki's interruption, and the words flowed freely from her mouth as though he hadn't said anything at all.
"You should tell him that's something he and Laufey had in common, just to ruffle his feathers." Loki paused, following himself with a quick and unnecessary explanation, each word falling with pointed precision. "Or at least, I assume that's how Laufey was. It was painfully easy to play with his ego and lure him into Asgard, and once he was there, his guard was so far down it took less than ten seconds to slaughter him. I can only attribute that behavior to excessive stupidity."
"Laufey had an odd condition of the brain where he was painfully aware of the sorrow war brought to his people, but his temper and lust for power often overrode his responsibility as a king." Leiknyrr paused and looked at the ceiling, pursing her lips. "Hmm. I suppose that could be considered another trait they shared." Her eyes flickered back down, meeting Loki's unwaveringly. "Regardless, you are correct in your assessment of my late husband; we are in this mess because of Laufey's bullheadedness and lack of foresight alike."
Loki lifted his brow, expressing surprise. "You do not seem to have many kind words for your late husband. What inspired you to marry him if you detested him so?" He liked where the conversation was going. She didn't attack, and she left her back exposed to him, giving him the upper hand.
"Betrothal, of course." Leiknyrr lifted a hand, making a fleeting gesture toward the ceiling. "I don't know how you arrange things in Asgard, but here, all royal marriages are arranged by the preceding king and queen. Due to my noble bloodline, access to education, and aptitude for weaponry and war tactics, I was chosen to rule Jotunheim at the right hand of Laufey, who was crown prince at the time."
Brow crinkling, Loki cocked his head to the side and leaned in. "You don't seem like the type to settle for such an arrangement. Why didn't you refuse?" He already had an idea, but he wanted a chance to subtly question her strength.
"I didn't much care." Leiknyrr shrugged her shoulders, a thoughtful expression that was likely false crossing her face. "I was his first wife, but as time went on, he obtained other women with which to occupy himself, and I was left to my own devices. By accepting my role and biding my time, I gained access to all of Jotunheim's wealth, knowledge, history, secret affairs, and so on and so forth." Smirking, she put the nail in the coffin. "Seeing as I'm now the sole ruler of this realm, I would say things worked out rather well for me."
Loki didn't miss a beat. "Oh, but surely it must have been hard on you. Living your entire life in the background of something you desperately wanted, watching as Laufey ran from woman to woman and knowing there was nothing special about you; knowing the only reason you finally got what you wanted was because someone died and not because you earned or deserved it." His voice grew darker with every word until he no longer tried to hide the loathing, meeting her eyes without a trace of fear or remorse in his own.
But Leiknyrr only smiled. "You would know something about that, wouldn't you? Only you still didn't get what you wanted, even though many people did die." She laughed, cold and bitter and cruel. "What does that make you, my dear boy?"
Blindsided.
Chest tightening, Loki stared her down, trying and failing to come up with a reply that was equally damaging. She opened the door on purpose. She drew me into her territory—information about herself and her home—and then she stabbed me in the back. Clever. Unfortunately, it was just as painful as it was impressive, and as the seconds continued to pass, he knew he had to accept defeat.
Loki chuckled softly and shook his head, smiling bitterly at the ground between them. "You are a worthy opponent, Queen Leiknyrr. I quite enjoyed our game."
When Loki looked up, she was smiling back at him, crystalline teeth shining against her dark blue skin. Her eyes sparkled with a winsome innocence that made him sick to his stomach, and yet, there was no lack of sincerity in her tone when she replied.
"As did I." Rising to her feet, Leiknyrr reached into the folds of her cloak and began searching for something. "I think I shall visit you again, Loki. Perhaps, at that time, we can discuss your origins at length."
Loki didn't actually process what she had said, but he replied nonetheless. "Perhaps we can."
Leiknyrr withdrew a muted silver ring and leaned down, extending it toward him in silence.
Loki leaned forward slightly, giving it a thorough examination before looking up at her with heavy suspicion in his eyes.
"It is yours," she explained. "It marks you as an heir to the throne of Jotunheim and a member of the royal family."
Leiknyrr reached out and grabbed Loki's right hand, pulling it toward herself and slipping the band onto his ring finger. It was a few sizes too big at first, but then it adjusted to a perfect fit, hugging his finger as though it had always been there.
Leiknyrr laughed softly. "It knows you."
"It…?" Loki startled, watching as a deep sapphire began to spread over his fingers and hand. His head snapped up, teeth bared, rage bursting in his chest, vision blurring from the rush of adrenaline. "Remove it! Now!"
Leiknyrr straightened up and arched a brow, offering a wicked, self-satisfied smile. "Are you certain? That ring is a reminder to my people of who you are by birthright. It may cause them to think twice about their treatment of you."
Looking down at the ring again, at the blue skin of his hands and arms and legs, Loki almost refused. Then he looked at the bruises on his stomach, his skinned knees, and his bloody sleeve. He hated it—he hated everything about it, and he hated her—but he was only on his first day and already feeling overwhelmed.
"Can I remove it?" he hissed, clenching a fist around the ring as if he thought he could somehow break it and pretend it was an accident.
"It will be difficult without magic. Rings for the royal family are enchanted, made in such a way that they cannot be lost in battle." Leiknyrr turned and started to walk away, her hand dancing over her shoulder in a gesture that somewhat resembled a wave. "However, if you sit down and focus all your thoughts and energy on getting it off, the ring will listen to you."
Loki crossed his arms over his chest and fell back against the wall with a quiet thump. You baffle me, Queen Leiknyrr. You come to beat and humiliate me, but when you leave, I have a rune to keep me warm and a ring to ward off some of those who would do me harm. He watched as she left the cell and carefully locked the door, his knuckles turning white as he contemplated the questions he would ask if and when the time came. Why did you leave me? If you do harbor care in your heart for my wellbeing, why did you leave me? How could you leave me?
Leiknyrr moved down the corridor, emerald folds sweeping out behind her as she strode, that familiar, regal countenance squaring her shoulders and keeping her chin up. She carried herself like Loki did—or he carried himself like she did—and the realization sent another dose of anger into his bloodstream.
Why did you leave me? If we're so similar, why wasn't I good enough? Loki looked down at the stone grasped in his hand, his lips parting, pulse pounding against his ears. You are my mother, you weren't supposed to leave. If my birthright really is to be a prince of Jotunheim, how could you cast me out? How could you—
Loki raised his head, inhaling with the intent to speak but falling silent when he realized the hall was empty.
Sighing softly, Loki cupped his hands and stared at the stone and ring he possessed. How bittersweet a reminder of what he did and did not want to be. Both objects were tied to magic, which was a part of himself he desperately wanted to regain, but the ring on his finger was directly tied to his heritage, which was a part of himself he desperately wanted to destroy.
"Don't look so glum. Blue suits you much better than white."
Loki cast the guard a brief, halfhearted glare.
Raghnall laughed in response, leaning against the door to the cell. "You get so bent out of shape about us. Why is that?"
"You're monsters." Clenching his fists again, Loki curled in on himself. He clutched the cape that had offered so much comfort over the past twenty-four hours, pressing his cheek against the soft fabric. "If I had my way, you'd all be dead."
Raghnall only grinned wider. "I think we already established that, but… I'm confused about something." He tapped his chin and glanced up at the ceiling, his tone somewhere between mocking and feigned bewilderment. "If Jotuns are monsters, and you're a Jotun, doesn't that make you a monster, too?"
Loki glared at him wordlessly, refusing to dignify the question with an answer.
"Huh." Raghnall fiddled with the lock for a moment and let himself into the cell. He shut the door behind him and crossed the floor, sitting down next to Loki with a soft grunt. "Is that the problem, then?"
"Is what the problem?"
"You were raised as a hero, only to find out you're really a monster." Raghnall held up his hands a foot or so away from each other. "You thought you were here, but you were actually over here, and you think if you get rid of this—" he dropped one of his hands, "—then you'll have to be grafted back into this." He wiggled the fingers of his remaining hand, poking Loki's shoulder when he didn't respond.
Loki growled and looked up, his face revealing equal amounts fatigue and anger. Raghnall returned the stare with a hint of a smile still lingering on his lips. After a few moments of silence, Loki let out a sigh of defeat and leaned his head back against the wall.
"Everyone on Asgard thinks ill of Jotuns. When Thor and I were young, he often talked about his future plans to get rid of every last one. I wanted to do the same, if only because I thought it might finally give me some leverage with which I could escape Thor's shadow." Loki shook his head and closed his eyes, laughing bitterly. "Odin couldn't be bothered to intervene, even though he certainly knew if I ever learned the truth about myself, such beliefs would be damaging."
Raghnall remained silent, waiting to see if Loki was done before offering some words of his own. "When you were young, you formed your beliefs based on what you were exposed to and what you were told was true. But you're not a child anymore, Loki. I think it's about time you started figuring out what is and isn't true on your own." He smiled softly. "And you're certainly in a good position to do it."
Loki dropped his gaze and then brought it up again, trying not to think about the fact that his physical attributes mirrored Raghnall's. He swallowed, opening his mouth to speak but closing it shortly thereafter.
Several seconds passed in silence, and then Raghnall clapped him on the shoulder and stood up, walking away and leaving Loki to his thoughts.
What truth have I seen here that I was unaware of before? I suppose I didn't know my mother's name or face, but there's hardly anything to be gained from that information, and it isn't as if I didn't know she was Queen of Jotunheim. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, watching the band turn, a single emerald passing his gaze every other rotation and catching the light as it went. I knelt on ice, I got punched in the stomach, I met some children… Well, I suppose that was something new. I never thought of frostlings… or Jotuniri… as normal children.
Not that he could say they had been normal exactly, but it certainly wasn't the sort of abnormality he expected to see. They were orphaned and homeless and living with the threat of war hanging over their heads, so they were bound to be a little unusual, but Asgardian children had suffered similar things and responded in similar ways. Not to mention, the current situation of the Jotuniri was Loki's fault. But I am also a frost giant. Wouldn't this be an example of one heartless beast turning against another? It sounded familiar, but it didn't sit well with him, and he was starting to develop an idea as to why.
"You were raised as a hero, only to find out you're really a monster."
He was raised as a hero. That much was certainly true. For as long as he could remember, he was considered to be a prince and a hero simply because he was a son of Odin. Thor's shadow loomed over him constantly, but it wasn't as if he was looked upon with disdain or hatred or disgust. He was mischievous, and he would sometimes overhear the servants talking about what an unruly child he was, but no one had ever treated him as though he were less than Asgardian.
Not until the incident in the vault, anyway.
When Loki learned of his true nature, he suddenly felt as though everyone were against him; like they had known all along and had been talking about him behind his back for centuries. It wasn't just the fact he was a Jotun that upset him—it was the slimy, degrading feelings that came with it.
But I wasn't different. Not right away, at least, and yet… Loki curled and uncurled his fingers, examining the risen lines on his hands. I felt different. I saw things differently. If I were raised on Jotunheim, I wouldn't have had that problem unless… unless I went to Asgard.
Was that it, then? Was that the truth he was supposed to see? That the only difference between Asgardians and Jotuns was the very knowledge of them being two different races? It seemed like that was the case. Raghnall saw Loki's situation as a chance to observe the Jotuns as a people instead of monsters—to view them through their own eyes, both literally and metaphorically, and understand their perspective.
But did Loki believe it?
Standing up, Loki moved over to the pallet he used as a bed and laid down on his side, a blanket beneath him and the cape overtop with the warm rune stone clutched to his chest. I don't know what to think. He closed his eyes, drawing his legs in closer to his body with a soft sigh. I don't know. I don't even know if I want to know.
Because it would be so easy to continue on the path he had started paving for himself. To let hatred and fury and whatever preconceived notions he had about the truth take him over and rule his mind, let it fuel his lust for destruction and drive him until he finally felt his thirst for revenge satisfied. Thor, Odin, Jotunheim, Midgard, Asgard—they could all burn, and he wouldn't feel a single shred of remorse, only delight and fulfillment.
It would be so easy… but it would just be another lie. Everything Loki was raised to believe turned out to be a lie, and it was that fact that brought on the desolate rage and craving for revenge. Would it be wise to trade one lie for another in the pursuit of happiness? Would it even be successful?
"Raghnall, will you wake me when Thor arrives?"
A quiet hum came from the cell bars. "I will."
Trying hard to push the thoughts from his mind, Loki focused on the task of sleeping, chanting various spells in his mind until he was lulled into a deep, much-needed slumber.
Boots struck the cold, stone floor one after the other, each following and surpassing its twin before falling behind again. Eyes darted one way and then the next in search of their target, anxiety flickering through the shades of blue. His heart pounded relentlessly in his chest, his body shivered from the cold, and he was hyperaware of everything around him.
Because Thor knew he could very well be walking into a trap—it would be quite the advantage for Jotunheim to have both Asgardian princes in custody—but he had to have a little faith in the fear his father had instilled. Hopefully, it held well enough to protect not only Thor but Loki as well.
Hopefully.
Thor rounded the corner and continued running down the hall, thoughts still racing. I wonder if I should have brought some food. I don't know what they're feeding him, if they're feeding him at all, but most everything I can think of would freeze here. I should have asked the Captain of America. I will ask him next time to send along food that will keep in this weather, and I may need to obtain some sort of safe or chest where Loki can keep his food protected. Something with a strong lock. Oh, but they could steal his key. Perhaps the Man of Iron can create one of his eye-reading lights.
Thor turned another sharp corner and spied Loki's cell down the hall, picking up speed. He barely stopped before he hit the gate, frantic hands grasping at the locks and bolts.
"Easy there, Odinson. He's not going anywhere."
Thor cast the guard a brief glare and threw the door open, rushing across the cell and dropping to the floor beside his brother. "Loki! Loki, are you alright? Can you hear me?" Thor reached out and grabbed Loki's shoulders, recoiling almost immediately when his hands were burned.
"Thor, you buffoon, what are you doing?"
Thor barely heard what had been said, though somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that Loki was not dead. That was wonderful, but the pain in his hands was very distracting, and he found himself unable to do anything but stare, dumbfounded, at the blackened flesh.
"Raghnall, be careful, he might not let you near him."
"He'll have to ice up, then, 'cause that has to be treated."
Thor looked up from his hands and saw the guard from outside crouched next to him. "You, ah…" He shook his head and turned to Loki, his primary concern being that of the scarlet eyes staring back at him. "Loki, you are… you are a Jotun."
Loki rolled his eyes—his solid red, marble eyes—and moved a little closer, using his blanket to nudge Thor toward the guard. "Yes, we established this several years ago. Give Raghnall your hands."
Thor tensed at the suggestion, glancing at the guard—Raghnall, apparently—and then back at Loki. I will let a Jotun touch me when Helheim has flowers in bloom. That was his instinctive response, but Thor had been working very hard at not letting his instincts control everything he did.
Think, then speak. Think, then speak. Think, then speak. "I simply meant… you are not usually… blue." Thor looked down at his hands again and then extended them toward Raghnall, trying and no doubt failing to conceal his discomfort.
Raghnall didn't seem bothered by the disconcertion, and he took Thor's hands in his gently. Blue light shone from the places where their skin met, and it was soon joined by tendrils of soft, orange light that wrapped around Thor's hands.
I don't recognize this magic… but my hands are feeling better already. Thor glanced at Loki, keeping his hands still but attempting to make conversation with the person he actually wanted his attention to be on.
"So, how did you come to be blue?" Thor tilted his head to the side slightly. "That… is an odd sentence. It sounds like I am speaking of your mood."
Loki smiled briefly, faintly, and then held his hand out between them. "Queen Leiknyrr gave me a ring—my ring, apparently—and it causes my body to… take on my true appearance." He fiddled with the metal as he continued. "She said it might inspire caution in those who would do me harm."
"But Loki, how could you—?" Thor watched Loki's nervous hands, remembering what Tony had told him about the tic as Dr. Banner's words echoed in his mind.
"Loki is going to find out who he is, and that person might not be who you want him to be. But this isn't about what you want, it's about what Loki needs."
Thor understood that, and he had been trying hard to watch his words and his temper, to pay attention to Loki's body language and habits during the rare occasions when they saw each other. It just wasn't easy to do when his little brother was… accepting his Jotun heritage.
Embracing Jotunheim and all that came with it meant leaving Asgard and… well, it meant leaving Thor.
"Loki, that is… uh, that is very interesting!" That wasn't really a lie. "You said the ring is yours. Was it made for you specifically? Or is it something passed down from generation to generation? Do all Jotuns have rings like this, or is it a mark of nobility?"
Leaning back slightly, Loki stared at him, shoulders tense and fingers frozen on the ring mid-turn. "It was made for me specifically." He spoke slowly, watching Thor with wary eyes. "It is enchanted so it cannot fall off, and it adjusts its size to fit my finger. It's… fascinating, really."
Thor nodded. "Then it must be important, which means the queen is most likely correct. Something that specific is sure to make the Frost Giants think twice before harming you." He smiled again. "This is good, Loki. Don't you think so?"
Once again, Loki hesitated before answering, not that Thor blamed him. "Yes, I think… it isn't as serious as I thought it would be." He paused for a moment and then cleared his throat, gesturing as he spoke. "How are your hands?"
Thor looked down, pursing his lips slightly. "They do not hurt anymore, but I do not know what that means."
Raghnall removed his hands as Thor finished his sentence, the colored lights fading away. "You're fine. I took the cold out, just like you would take the heat out of a burn."
Thor wiggled his fingers slightly, flexing his hands and then balling them into fists. "Thank you." He glanced up in time to catch the two-fingered salute, and then the guard left them alone.
"Well, are you going to show me what you brought?"
Thor frowned. "What I…?" He blinked a few times, trying to figure out what Loki meant. "Oh! Oh!" He reached back, grabbing the bag he had slung over his shoulder and completely forgotten about, rambling through an explanation as he pulled it free. "I forgot I had it with me. I must have gotten distracted, I—I was a tad worried, so it must have slipped my mind."
From the doorway came a snort, the guard offering his two cents. "Just a tad."
All he received was a glare, and then Thor's attention was back on Loki. "These are some things from Midgard." He unzipped the bag and started to hand the contents over, naming them as he went. "This is a letter from the Captain, and this is a letter from Dr. Banner. There are some Midgardian books, a pillow, and a box of locks."
Loki blinked, taking the last item into his arms. "Beg pardon?"
"It is a lock box—a box that you can lock with a key. From what I understand, you are to put important things into it, lock it, and then it will keep your important things safe. Dr. Banner suggested you use it to keep anyone from getting your books or letters." Thor got the key and opened the box, revealing a large orange package with a note that claimed Tony was its giver. "I… do not know what that is."
Loki poked it, frowning at the odd noise. "It is like the plastic they wrap around candy bars."
"Indeed, but this is not a candy bar." Thor pointed to the object. "See? It is in the shape of a bag, and it has no corners." He looked up and watched Loki's face for a moment, smiling as the trickster contemplated his surprise gift. "You are welcome to open it, if you want."
Shaking his head slowly, Loki pulled away from the box and looked at the things sitting in his lap, brow still creased in confusion. "No… I shall put it off for the time being."
Thor nodded and closed the case again, locking it and setting it on the floor beside Loki's bed. "Keep the key in a safe place, if you can." He dropped the key into Loki's palm and then rested his hands in his lap once more. "You can look through your things, if you like. We don't have to talk."
Even if Thor really, really, really, really wanted to.
Really.
"No, we can talk." Loki put down the book he had been glancing over and set everything else by the pillow and the lock box. "If I look at them now, I won't have anything to keep me occupied later."
Thor nodded, offering another warm smile. "I… suppose there's no point in asking how you've been but… how have you been?"
Loki shrugged his shoulders, eyes dark and glassy, not at all like they had been when Thor first arrived. "As I said, it isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Yet." Sighing heavily, he let his head fall back against the bricks. "Still dreadful, though. Cold, dark, and full of people who want to kill me."
Thor gave a weak smile. "Yes, I thought you might say something like that." He dropped his gaze, knowing what he needed to talk about but having no desire whatsoever to breech the topic. "What… have you learned about Jotunheim?" He wet his lips, keeping his composure as relaxed as he could. "That is, your heritage and past and culture. I—that is what I meant."
Loki gave him the third suspicious stare of the evening. "I have learned much. You'll have to be more specific if you wa—"
"All of it."
Pause.
"All of it?" Loki parroted, blinking slowly.
Thor nodded enthusiastically. "All of it. I want to hear about everything you've learned."
No, he didn't. He wanted to tell Loki to ignore his surroundings because he was Asgardian, he was Thor's brother, he was a son of Odin, and he needed to come home. But it wasn't about what Thor wanted, it was about what Loki needed. Thor had to remember that. For both of their sakes.
"I… well, I've learned a few different things." Loki paused, resting his hands on his knees and glancing upward for a few moments before wading into the proposed conversation. "I met some Jotuniri. Five of them, actually, they came by earlier today."
Thor frowned, cocking his head to the side. "Jotun…iri…?"
"Frostlings," Loki explained, casting a quick glance at the door to his cell. "However, they find that term offensive, and the proper term is Jotuniri."
Nodding slowly, Thor repeated the word under his breath. "Jotuniri… alright, so there were five of them, and they came down this morning."
Loki confirmed the accuracy with a quick nod. "Yes. Two of them were orphans, one was homeless, and the other two were housing the homeless child. None of them had ever seen an Asgardian before, and at the time I didn't look like this. They were fascinated, to say the least."
Thor chuckled, covering his mouth when the other glowered at him. "I am sorry, Loki, but when I imagine you with five little ones hanging from your person, I cannot help myself." While he did stop laughing, the grin remained on his features for a little while longer. "Were the two orphans without homes as well? Perhaps I could bring them some things when I come to visit tomorrow."
For a moment, Loki didn't say anything. His hands came together, fingers massaging and rubbing each other, toes curling and uncurling against the floor. "They probably won't come back," he said after a while. "Bjolan was the oldest boy and one of the orphans, and he only wanted to see me because he knew I was the one who attacked Jotunheim and killed his parents."
Thor watched a plethora of expressions travel across his brother's face, very aware of the conflict going on in Loki's mind. "You… have done some terrible things, yes, but you did them with a mindset that was given to you by people you trusted. It makes sense that—"
Loki's laughter interrupted him. "I mistakenly trusted them, and at the time of the attack, I trusted them no more. I find it amusing, though, that you, of all people, would try to justify my actions."
"I was not justifying them, simply explaining them," the thunderer defended, eyebrows knitting together slightly. "I still do not approve of what you've done, Brother, but I—"
"I'm not your brother!"
Thor was stung by the words, but he only offered a quiet apology and then continued. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I still do not approve of what you've done, Loki, but I have been trying to understand why you did it. I am trying to, as they say on Midgard, walk a mile in your shoes."
Loki blinked, his face twisted with confusion. "What?"
"They say it to describe experiencing life through another's eyes."
"Tch." Snorting, Loki shook his head. "That's ridiculous. Putting on someone's shoes doesn't change anything about how you understand the world. It is a pointless and illogical metaphor."
Thor smiled slightly, trying to decide whether or not to point out that Loki was changing the subject. "I agree with you, but it makes sense to the Midgardians, so I go along with it." Pausing, Thor watched his brother's face, eyes running over the risen lines and varying shades of blue. "Does it bother you, Loki?"
There was a long silence as they stared at each other, Loki refusing to answer and Thor refusing to back down or ask again. Thor knew he didn't need to explain himself, for his question was obvious, and he was certain of the answer just from watching his brother's face.
"It does, doesn't it?" Thor reached out to touch Loki's arm before remembering he couldn't because of the very thing they were discussing. "Loki, if—"
"What is wrong with you?"
The question caught Thor off guard, and it took him a few moments to answer, his head slowly turning from side to side. "I… do not understand."
Red eyes narrowed into slits, Loki's teeth showing as he leaned forward and hissed his explanation, fingers clawing into the sheet beneath him. "You and this—this level-headedness. Your talking, your temperament, the way you haven't been throwing your foolish ideas in my face at every given turn, the way you gave me space on Midgard when I know you wanted nothing more than to kick down my door and throttle me while dragging me back to Asgard so I can be your pet brother again. Do you understand that, Odinson?"
Thor swallowed, nodding his head. "Yes, I do. I have been behaving very abnormally, I know… but there is nothing wrong with me. In fact, I—I think I might be getting things right for the first time in quite a while. After receiving some advice, I have been trying to see things from your point of view…" Taking a deep breath, Thor steadied his voice and continued, fingers curling around his knees as he spoke. "Loki, you were raised for—for over a thousand years to believe something with all of your heart that wasn't true. Learning about those lies hurt you, and I… I only cared about my own feelings toward the situation. It was selfish... and I am sorry."
Loki didn't say a word, his jaw clenched and body stiff, though Thor couldn't tell whether it was anger or fear or something else entirely. Loki was shaking, his eyes moist and glassy, leaving Thor with the feeling that he had done something horribly wrong.
"I… I know an apology cannot fix what I've done, but Loki, I am trying. I swear, I am doing everything I can to repair some of the damage I have caused. I know I can never make it up to you, but maybe I can make some of it right again. Maybe—"
"Leave, Thor." Loki clenched his teeth, shaking harder, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Thor startled, the words sending physical pain through his chest and stomach. "But I—"
"Leave!"
Loki's scream echoed down the hall, and Thor quickly jumped to his feet. He still didn't know what he had done, but it was very obvious that his first instinct was correct—whatever it was, it was very, very wrong.
Don't make me leave when you sit there with tears in your eyes. Let me comfort you, please, you are my little brother no matter what, let me be there for you. I'll find a way to make things better, I promise, just please let me hold you. Please…
Turning toward the door, Thor started to walk, pausing at the bars and speaking softly. "I'm sorry, Loki. Should I not return tomorrow?"
Silence filled the prison, and Thor's heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Loki wasn't even talking to him, it seemed, and he didn't know when he would get clearance for someone else to visit.
Sighing, Thor opened the door and stepped out, beginning the long journey down the hall.
"Every day?"
Thor halted, not turning around for fear Loki would think he was gloating. "Every day." His heart felt but an ounce lighter, and it was with slow and heavy footfalls that he made his way out of the prison, his own eyes burning with unshed tears of remorse and frustration.
Brother, please… please, please, please…
He didn't know what else to think.
Please…
Loki watched Thor leave through a veil of tears, cursing himself for his inability to dry his eyes on command. He wasn't sad, he wasn't hurt, he wasn't even upset—he was angry, and yet, the angrier he got, the more his eyes watered.
He's lying to me. Just like Odin, just like Frigga, just like Queen Leiknyrr, just like the Avengers. He realized he can't get to me by shouting the same thing over and over, so he's trying a new tactic. It all has the same end result. It's not different, not really.
Swinging his arm out, Loki threw his fist against the wall and relished in the pain that spread though his bones. It was different. It was different because Thor couldn't lie to Loki. He was honest to a fault, and when pitted against Loki's sharp tongue and skill for the woven word, there was simply no way the god of thunder could pull a fast one on the god of lies.
It was impossible.
Slender fingers curled through greasy, black locks and pulled on the tangled strands, his knees drawing closer to his chest as his forehead came down on the bony knobs. I have to get a grip. I have to get a grip. Raising his head, Loki searched desperately for something to occupy his mind with, finding the two unread letters almost immediately and snatching them up without a moment of hesitation.
He practically tore the first one open, not bothering to see who it was from. Don't think, don't think, don't think. Running a hand through his hair, he reclaimed the letter in both hands and started to read, stopping every now and then to dab at his eyes and clear his vision.
Dear Loki,
I'm not sure if I should tell you this or not because it's kind of embarrassing, but I took breakfast to your room this morning… only to find that you weren't there. Let it never be said that you were not missed.
Clint said he saw Brianna today, and she asked about you. He told her you were on vacation, and when she asked where, he said the North Pole. I think that was his attempt at a joke, but I'm not sure whether or not you'll find it funny… I hope you do. I bet you need a few laughs right now.
Tony and I started remodeling your room, but when we took in the full amount of the damage, we decided it was a project we weren't sure we could have done in time. It's not like we can call in a construction crew to work on it, and with our day jobs and missions, it would have been a little more than we can swallow. So, we're moving you up onto one of the higher floors, and we're transferring all of your things up there. You'll have a better view of the city, which was Jarvis' idea. He says you spend a lot of time looking out the window.
Thor has already started talking to Queen Leiknyrr about allowing Bruce and I to come visit. You probably already guessed, but he's been taking turns moping around like a kicked puppy and pacing the floors in—
Loki shut the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope, inhaling deeply and slowly in an attempt to keep the anxiety in his stomach at a controllable level. Still trying to deny the problem at hand, he moved on to Bruce's letter and opened it, unfolding the paper and reading the contents with a slew of thoughts clawing at the back of his mind.
Dear Loki,
I asked Thor to get some books on Jotunheim for me from Asgard. It's taking me a while to decipher the language, but I'm trying to get a better handle on how your situation is going to be dealt with and what the limits will be. I really don't think you need to worry about anyone trying to kill you (doing so would essentially be starting a war with Asgard, which is exactly what these negotiations are supposed to avoid) and from what I've discovered so far, there is actually a set time where the prisons are open to civilians. I'm not sure if that applies to you, but you should try and ask around if you can. It's supposed to be a way to allow families to care for their loved ones who have been imprisoned, although I imagine many Jotuns are using this against you. Still, if you could find out when the 'safe' time is, maybe it could offer you some peace of mind…
I sent along a couple books I think you'll like. Read them, if you can, and try and use them as a way to relax. This might sound strange to you, but human bodies are weakened by stress. If you don't find some way to unwind, your body will get weaker and weaker, even if no one is doing anything to it. It's hard to just forget about stress, but for the sake of your health, please try. Also, drink as much water as you have access to. I think you already learned this the hard way, but water is very important. I can't underline that enough.
Lastly, I know Thor is going to be spending a lot of time with you over the next thirty days, since he'll have the most access to you. I've been talking to Thor about the way he handles interactions with you, so if you really need a break from his presence, just tell him so. He's actually been doing really well at—
Loki closed that one too, placing them both in the lockbox with the orange things and then picking up the books that had been left for him. Macbeth was one, To Kill a Mockingbird was another, and the last was called Slaughterhouse V.
They all sounded interesting, and yet Loki found himself unable to read more than a page of any of them. He would start to read and then find himself overwhelmed with unwelcome thoughts and feelings, which would cause him to lose his place. He would then start over only to find the same thing happened the next time around.
To top it all off, his eyes were still wet.
"Loki, I think you need to lie down."
Snarling, Loki looked up from his books and sent a sharp glare toward his ever-present, ever-nosy personal prison guard. "What business of yours is this?"
Raghnall only arched an eyebrow, sighing in the same way a parent might sigh at an irrationally emotional toddler. Standing up, he opened the door to the cell and let himself in, closing and locking it in his usual manner before joining Loki on the floor.
"Thinking out loud can really help get your head on straight. Why don't you give it a shot?" Raghnall suggested, pulling out his knife and a piece of wood to partake in his favorite hobby.
Loki snorted and barked out a bitter laugh, dropping his head to his knees again. "That is a wonderful idea. Please, allow me to reveal my all of my private thoughts to you, a complete stranger and ally to my enemies. Brilliant!"
Raghnall didn't look up from his work, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Who better? I know nothing almost nothing about you, and even less about the people you've got on your mind. I'm a stranger. I have no opinions. I'm just a set of ears that you'll probably never see again after the next twenty-nine days are over. I might be a Jotun, but I wouldn't have been placed in charge of you if Queen Leiknyrr thought I had any personal vendetta against you."
Loki turned his head slowly, staring at the wall for a minute or two before folding his arms over his knees and burying his face in the fabric of his sleeves. He really was going to drive himself over the edge if he kept teetering on the brink of an internalized meltdown. Raghnall had never proven himself to be an enemy, and the guard had helped him to sort out at least some of his thoughts earlier that very day.
"…I don't know what to believe, I suppose." Loki didn't lift his head, not wanting to acknowledge that he was actually speaking to another living being. "All my life I was told one thing, and then everything suddenly changed, and I thought I was getting used to those new concepts, and now… everything is changing again, and I'm not entirely sure it really changed the first time." Fingers curled through the cloth over his arms, feet twisting on the stone floor as he struggled to keep his nervousness under control. "When I tried to destroy Jotunheim, Thor came to stop me. I—when we were young, he would brag about how he intended to hunt down and kill every last Jotun, and just like that he was telling me I was wrong for fulfilling those very words. I thought that was his change. I thought Midgard made him soft and sentimental, but now… now it seems as though he's changed again, and I don't even know if what happened to him the first time was genuine or just an act or…"
Shudders racked his body, his voice thick with emotions he did not want. "I don't know what to think. I don't know—about Jotunheim, about this ring, about this form, about my mother. The Captain—a human, someone I enjoy the company of—sent me a letter, and in it he told me of a young girl who inquired about my absence. When I first met her, I thought she was just as pathetic as the rest of the human race, but she revealed herself to be much stronger and more resilient than I realized. So, then, am I to change my opinions on the Jotuniri, too? On Bjolan and Klaufi and Lini? And if I do, what does that mean for my opinion of Jotunheim as a whole, of myself and this—this skin that I can't get rid of no matter how hard I try?"
He curled in on himself even tighter, his feet no longer twisting for lack of room to move, and his body no longer shaking for the tension in his frame. "Even as a child, I never trusted easily. Those I did trust, I still didn't reveal myself to fully for fear they would look down on me or I would lose their—their pride and affection. Father—" a sob escaped him, and he cursed himself for it, digging his fingernails into the skin of his arms, "—and Thor I trusted, but I felt so inferior that I never wanted either of them to know what I was thinking. I wanted them to believe I was just as strong and unshakable as they were, and they never showed me any weakness, so I felt I had no right to do otherwise to them."
He was rambling now. Loki was rambling and tears were soaking his shirt. His forearms were bleeding, his head was pounding, his nose was running, his face was hot, and he would be skinned half alive if he could make any of it stop.
"It's not even that important, though, you know, it's not even that relevant because they weren't my real family, so it wouldn't have mattered what I did or didn't tell them. I was never, ever a son of Odin, and nothing I did was ever going to change that, because I was a son of Laufey by blood regardless of what my actions were or who I believed myself to be. I was a son of Leiknyrr and Laufey, and they decided to make the best move in the history of child-rearing and leave me on a frozen rock to die!"
Somehow his head had been lifted during the mayhem, and he was now shouting toward the bars of his cell, one hand coming up to grab a fistful of his hair. His other hand came up to cover his mouth and nose, lungs burning as he held his breath in a last-ditch effort to stop himself before he derailed completely.
Raghnall reached out and picked up the pillow Thor had brought, handing it to Loki and waving his hand toward the other end of the cell. In an instant, the bars were gone and replaced with a stone wall just like the ones that surrounded them on every other side, and Raghnall resumed his whittling once more.
"Like I said, you should lie down."
Loki stared at the pillow for a second or two and then slowly lowered his face into it, his hands behind the pillow, the whole mess resting atop his knees. Fingers curled through the fabric as he let himself breathe again, the presence of oxygen causing fresh tears to spring up and burn through his sinuses.
And that was when the floodgates opened.
All of the anger, all of the hatred, all of the fear, all of the desperation, all of the confusion, all of the loneliness, anxiety, doubt, hurt, sadness, rage, distrust, bitterness, jealousy, inferiority, weakness, humiliation—all of the brokenness. It all came rushing out in a single, hoarse, crackling, ear-splitting scream.
The scream gave way to sobbing and wailing and screams of smaller size and weaker volume. It dissolved into curses and threats and an onslaught of uncensored thoughts coming from the very core of every emotion the god of lies had ever experienced. It rose and it fell, it grew and it shrank, it bounced off of the walls, it hurt his ears and made them ring, it made him want to start from the beginning and break all over again.
Then it started to fade. Slowly, almost unnoticeably at first, it started to give way to the fatigue and exhaustion that racked his body, that conquered him in every sense of the word. Then he found he had no more tears left, and the cries turned hard and dry, rubbing his throat raw and sending shards of glass into his lungs with every rasping inhale. Finally, even his voice failed him, and the last of the cries fell away, leaving him curled up on his side, clutching a pillow, and shaking in absolute silence.
And Raghnall didn't say a word. He sat, and he whittled, and he kept the wall up. Loki stared at that wall, stared at it long and hard, wondering if it was real or if there was a group of spectators beyond it that had seen the whole thing; that had watched him shatter into a million pieces on the floor.
Then Loki realized… he didn't care.
He grasped the pillow just as tightly as before, and he pulled the cape and the blanket around his body, curling up into the smallest ball he could possibly make of himself. Then he closed his eyes, too drained to make any coherent thought other than the one he found looping at the forefront of his mind unceasingly.
I want to go home.
He had no idea where home was.
I want to go home.
He didn't know if he even had one.
I want to go home.
But he really, really wanted to go there.
I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home, I want…
