Chapter 35:
"You seek me, Mad Titan? You seek me, then, I wait for you. I wait for you to find me, here, and we will end this, you and I. We will end this at last."
He waits…
He waits for how long, he does not know.
But he waits, and he knows.
He knows his thoughts have been sent, and received.
And he waits for their response.
He waits what seems forever.
And he nearly is unprepared for the sound of the ugly and deep laughter, filling his mind, breaking through his thoughts with brutal force and vicious mocking.
Nearly loses his own focus at the awful familiarity of it, at the swell of unwanted emotions it dredges, which he had near convinced himself he felt no more.
Pain, and worry.
Loneliness…
Fear…
He shoves it down, evens himself, steadies himself with steel and fire and all the thousands of years of his warrior life, eyes closed as he listens.
He has been bred to fight.
And he will.
By the Norns, he will.
"Little Princeling." Thanos says. "There you are."
Loki breaths deep, releasing it slow.
"Here I am." He replies smoothly.
Laughter again, and Loki has to fight the feeling of nausea it stirs within him.
"So brave, little Prince. Letting me see you like this." He says. "Or rather perhaps foolish. You never have shown wisdom, for all you great wit and intelligence."
"You will come Thanos. And we shall then see who is a fool." Loki answers, sharp and quick.
Again, the Titan laughs.
"Indeed. You boast courage, runt, but I can sense the fear in you. You are so very afraid of me still."
Loki does not bother to deny it. Thanos is in his mind, and he will know it for a lie.
He counters instead.
"And you shall fear me, Titan, when you make the mistake of revealing yourself. You court Death. I will show you the true meaning of what Death is."
"You dare to presume any true knowledge of my Mistress?" Thanos asks, anger seeping into his words.
Loki smiles.
"The presumption is your own Thanos. I am the bringer of Death. I am her harbinger. You merely an infatuated follower. I who leads her to her ultimate desire, while you offer her petty and worthless trinkets as proof of your devotion."
Loki can feel his heart hammering sickeningly in his chest, the thick smothering of terror which consumes him at daring… daring to speak to a creature who once had shown him a level of pain he had never thought possible.
His mouth is dry with it.
He does not care.
"You dare speak to me in such an impudent tongue?" Thanos growls inside his head.
Loki pushes on, undeterred.
"I am not the boy you glimpsed in your dissection of my mind Thanos." He replies. "I am no longer that helpless and ignorant child you made me feel as, nor will you ever make me feel as again."
"Oh, but you are Princeling. You are." Thanos bellows and laughs.
And suddenly Loki's vision is filled with memory, vivid and clear and treacherous.
Suddenly, he is one hundred and twelve years old again.
Suddenly, he is a child, wandering across an open field, hands outstretched, feeling the rye as it brushes against his fingertips.
There is a soft and warm breeze, pressing against his cheeks, pleasant.
And he smiles, laughs in delight.
He cannot remember exactly how his feet led him to this place. Only knows it is a place he has not yet discovered within Asgard's vast expanse, and excitement bubbles in his chest at the prospect of exploring and learning new things here, seeing new things.
Even Thor does not know of this place, Loki is sure, and he grows more excited still at the thought of getting to show his older brother something for once.
Thor will be proud of him, he thinks, for being adventurous.
… He hopes Thor will be proud of him.
He goes on for a while, moving through the tall blades, eyes moving and gliding over everything around him.
It is quiet here, he notices. Only the sound of the wind to accompany his soft footsteps and softer breath.
A while longer, and he realizes he doesn't quite know which direction is which.
Doesn't quite remember from which direction he came.
And he recognizes his predicament as something uncomfortably close to being lost.
But he's not lost, and he will not panic.
He will not.
Because he knows if he panics, he'll never find his way back to the palace, and then it will be just as last time something like this happened.
He feels his cheeks flush at the memory. How he'd ended up curled on the ground, sobbing like a baby until he'd exhausted himself into unconsciousness. How when he'd woken, he'd been back in his bed, Mother by his side, running her fingers through his hair and singing softly to him.
He'd found out from her that it had been Heimdall who had seen him, had sent a party of palace workers to gather him and bring him back.
Word of it had spread to some of the other children who spent time in the palace, and they had teased him mercilessly over it for several weeks following.
But Loki tries not to think of it now. He tries desperately to push down the fear curling in his belly as he glances around, heart sinking as his eyes are met with nothing but the same stretch of golden rye in each direction, and he doesn't know where he is.
And it is as the fear begins to blossom into panic, he hears the sound of voices, rowdy and clambering. Voices not quite so young as his, not adolescent, but not quite fully matured either, and his heart seizes in his chest, dropping like a stone and leaving him at once dizzy and sick.
He turns, eyes catching and locking on the group of boys, three of them, some few hundred paces from where he stands. They look to be about Thor's age, but he has never lain eyes on them before, and he realizes at once that they are not nobles, but commoners from within the city, perhaps from the outskirts, given their disheveled and worn attire.
They haven't seen him yet, he doesn't think, laughing amongst one another, shoving and hitting, as boys that age often do.
Loki feels himself shrink down at the sight.
The other children who roam the palace know Loki is weaker than them, and they know too how he dislikes rough play for it. It is why they make it a tradition, pulling him into such activity, even when he protests. Bat him around until an adult wanders by or Thor comes and rescues him.
But there are no adults around now…
No Thor…
And these boys are commoners. Rougher and cruder than the children he normally contends with.
He swallows thickly, feeling himself begin to tremble, just slightly, and he hates himself for it.
Maybe they'll recognize him, he thinks. Maybe they'll realize who he is and help him find his way back to the palace.
He allows himself to hope for only the briefest of moments before logic sets in and crushes it.
Even if they do, Loki is not well received no matter where in the city he goes.
It is because he is small, he knows, and unskilled as yet in the ways of battle, and because he prefers scholarly pursuits of studying and reading and has shown great potential already in the wielding of his magic that he is derided and disliked.
He is not as a Prince of the Realm should be.
He knows this.
But he cannot help it.
He cannot help the way he is…
Don't they understand that if he could be some way else, he would be? He would, but he cannot, and…
Tears spring unwanted to his eyes at the thought, and without thinking, he brings his hand up, wiping the back of it against his face, trying to clear his vision.
He thinks to hide then, to lower himself in the rye and wait until the boys pass.
He'll find his way out of this field on his own after that.
He's sure he can, if he just tries.
He just has to try…
But he doesn't get the chance, and he nearly swallows his tongue as he hears one of the boys call out, clear and loud…
"Ho! Who goes there?"
Loki freezes, his mouth suddenly going dry, and he is paralyzed to the spot, unable to respond, to move, to do anything as the boys come jogging towards him.
Loki stares up at them, his arms inadvertently coming up around himself, crossing over his thin chest.
He tries to think of Thor, of how Thor would act in this situation.
Thor never shows any fear. Thor never hesitates to pull his rank and stand his ground.
Loki thinks now that's what he should do, even though his knees feel weak and his throat is tight and he's still shaking.
He hopes they don't notice.
The largest boy, the obvious leader, glares down at him, face twisted in confusion.
"Eh, who are you, lil' runt?" He asks, accent thick and unrefined.
Definitely from around the city's outskirts then.
Loki swallows painfully.
Be like Thor, be like Thor, be like Thor… he repeats to himself like a mantra.
He lifts his chin up, straightening his posture.
He suddenly wishes he had worn more formal garb than the simple silk tunic and leather trousers he sports now. But he hadn't told anyone he was venturing outside the palace grounds, and he hadn't wanted them to know. If he'd come back with his best clothes soiled, they would have.
"I am Prince Loki Odinson." He says, stiffly, trying desperately to keep his voice level and calm.
The boy stares at him incredulously, face pulling in suspicion a long moment before, abruptly, one of the boys behind him explodes into laughter.
"You aren't any Prince." He said. "He isn't any Prince." He looked around at his companions. "Look at 'em. He's too small. Scrawny 'lil scrape of nothin', he is."
Inexplicably, Loki feels a rush of anger at the words, and without thinking, he shouts back…
"I am so a Prince! I am the son of Odin, brother of Thor, and… and I command you to… to take me back to the palace!"
The oldest boy again starts.
"No, I… I do believe he's tellin' the truth." He begins, smiling meanly. "I seen the Royal family once, in the city. The littlest one, Prince Loki, he was taggin' behind, holding the Crown Prince's hand. I remember him now. I remember you now, 'lil runt."
The third boy now…
"You lost, little Prince?"
Loki swallows, feeling by the moment more and more uneasy.
He's getting a terrible feeling off of these boys, and he's all alone out here…
Silently, he curses himself for his slip, and his mind works frantically, trying to think of a way out of it now.
"I…" he starts, clumsily. "I am not lost. I have merely… m-merely taken a wrong turn and am now headed back the way I…"
"Listen to how he talks!" The second boy cuts him off, grinning. "Oh, he's definitely from the palace then, eh?"
The first boy suddenly reaches out, jabbing a thick and dirtied finger against Loki's chest, pushing him back slightly.
"This here's our field, runt." He says. "You may be special and whatnot back there, but here, wemake the rules, and we says you're trespassin' where you ain't wanted."
"Loki? Ain't you the one everyone hates?" The second boy asks. "Everyone says you make the All-Father ashamed 'cause you're so weak and scrawny. I sees what they mean now."
The rage returns to Loki, tenfold, his thin, small face screwing up, hands balling to fists.
He begins to shake harder.
"That is not true!" He shouts.
The boy only laughs.
"Sure it is." He says. "Look at you! You know what else they says? That Odin wishes you'd never been born. That's what they says. That it would've saved the whole Royal lot of 'em the humiliation of having to drag around a worthless runt like you if you'd just died when you were a baby. Shoulda' died when you were born. Thing like you wouldn't make it if you wasn't so pampered and privileged."
And now Loki can no longer contain it.
He loses control, tears forming and welling thick and blinding in his eyes.
It isn't true.
It isn't, it isn't, it isn't!
Father loves him! And Mother too! And Thor! He knows they do. He knows it!
He knows…
"LIAR!" He cries, and without thought, hurls himself at the boy, arms flailing, striking out.
He wants to hurt.
He wants to hurt and make the boy shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!
He makes it two steps before he's knocked back violently by a blow to the face, crashing hard and unforgiving against his back.
And the world spins.
Pain exploding through his face, up through his temples as his eyes momentarily roll back in his head, and he forgets where he is.
He's reminded quickly enough as he feels hands burying in the material of his tunic, yanking him up, and the familiar taste of copper fills his mouth, sliding down his throat, making him nauseous.
His lids flutter, his vision blurring and doubling, then blinded by the high sun.
Blocked out an instant later as the face of the group's leader comes into view, sneering down at Loki with clear, unhidden disdain.
"That was a mistake, 'lil runt." He says, vicious.
Loki reaches up reflexively, small hands gripping round the boys wrists, trying to tug his hold free.
"Let me up." He commands, trying to make his voice steady.
Be like Thor, he thinks desperately. Be like Thor.
"H… how dare you… you place your hands upon a s-son… a son of Odin…"
But his voice is small, and weak, and even to his own ears, it sounds not convincing at all.
The boy's mouth twists in disgust.
"You think just because you are who you are, you can order us about? This here isn't the palace, and there ain't no one here to protect you now."
There is a glint of something terrible in the boys eyes then; something that makes Loki's heart seize in his chest and then begin beating rapidly and painful underneath his ribcage.
Something worse than the cruelty of the children at the palace who taunt him and beat him up sometimes.
Loki struggles.
He struggles madly.
Because he knows now, he knows he's in trouble.
He's in very real trouble.
And he has to get away.
He has to, oh gods, they're going to…
"Get his boots off." The boy says, and at once, he's caught Loki's wrists in his hands, and he's pinning them to the ground above his head, laying across him and squashing his attempts to break free.
Loki feels someone tugging at the boots on his feet, and seemingly of its own volition, a scream tears from his throat, loud and piercing and shrill.
He's scared.
He's so, so scared.
The boy holding him just laughs.
"Don't struggle, 'lil runt. You'll only make it worse for yourself."
But if Loki hears him, he doesn't listen, and he continues thrashing, trying in a frenzied panic to pull his arms loose, to get away.
He has to get away!
"Now this'll only hurt a little." The boy shouts over Loki's now broken and strangled protests.
Loki's mind erupts in horror then, as he feels other hands take hold of his ankles, pinning his legs down hard.
He screams again, bucking up, trying to break free.
But he can't.
He isn't strong enough.
Isn't strong enough!
The boy holds him down like it's nothing.
And as he tries again to rip out of his hold, all he's rewarded with this time is a swift fist to the face, hardened knuckles scraping across his nose and mouth, everything exploding into white and humming noise.
He falls limp, and in that moment, his wrists are released.
But he can't move.
He can't do anything.
Can't do anything as his tunic is pulled up and over his head, and there's the hot, midday air, oppressive against his bare skin.
Why can't he move?
Why can't he move?
Oh gods, please…
His mind races, searching, thinking…
There is a spell…
An incantation he can speak which will teleport him away from here.
He knows this.
He's read it, studied it in books.
Oh, but gods, he cannot think of the words now!
He cannot remember.
Why can he not remember?
But it matters naught anyway.
There is the sound of tearing cloth, and at once, a thick wad of material is being shoved in to his mouth, between his teeth.
Gagging him…
And then his wrists are being bound the same with what remains of the article, tight and hard.
"I hear this one meddles about in magic and such." One of them says. "Best not to let him get any spells or whatnot off."
And he's being turned over suddenly, flipped onto his stomach and pressed down.
Held down.
And he can't move…
Can't move…
Can't get away…
And then there is pain.
So much pain…
Boots sinking into his sides, fists and heels across his back and neck and crown. The sound of bones breaking filling his ears.
Everything fading but drowning, suffocating pain.
Loki screams.
But no one hears him…
"NO!"
Loki's voice rises and echo's and surrounds, eyes snapping open, glowing green fury as a wave of pure, explosive energy rips off him, concussing violently outward, rippling, tearing through the air of space, a sonic boom following in its wake.
The air crackles and sparks and unsettles, electric green waves playing over long, pale fingers, rising up all over the rest of him, hair blowing and whipping in this maelstrom of his own rage.
"YOU WILL NOT FILL MY MIND WITH VISIONS OF DAYS PAST AND EXPECT MY DESOLATION! YOU WILL COME TO ME THANOS, AND I WILL BE YOUR END! YOU WILL COME TO ME, OR I WILL FIND YOU IF YOU ARE TOO COWARDLY, AND YOU SHALL FEEL THE FULL WRATH OF MY HATRED!"
There comes no reply.
Only the dead silence, filled with the violence of uncontained, relentless magic.
Loki's face twists in viciousness.
"YOU WILL KNOW FEAR THANOS!" He rages. "YOU WILL KNOW WHAT IT IS THAT IS FEAR WHEN I COME, AND YOU FEEL MY HAND REACH THROUGH AND CRUSH YOUR BEATING HEART BENEATH MY HAND. YOU WILL KNOW FEAR, TITAN, WHEN YOU LOOK INTO THE EYES OF THE GOD OF CHAOS, AND YOU UNDERSTAND THEN WHO IT IS THAT IS THE TRUE LOVER OF DEATH!"
And in a whirl of wind and light and blinding energy, he is gone, stepping through the pathways, between the branches of the great tree, to those spaces beyond.
Into the darkness of those spaces beyond.
Blackness and darkness of the void…
/
AN: So just a couple more chapters after this one guys.
About the flashback that Thanos ignites in Loki's mind, I figure those boys who attacked him were punished, since certainly Heimdall would have seen it. How they were punished I leave to your vivid imaginations.
Hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think.