Scene 20, morning after
Breka plays with the exquisite sheets, glancing sideways at the prince.
"What is this to you, Loki? You and me?"
Loki leans over and kisses him with abandon.
"I want you, Breka. I need you."
Breka can barely look at Loki.
"You're number two in the line of succession to the throne of Asgard. You might very well rule this realm one day, and with it all the realms. I'm just a soldier. I'd be a grain of sand beneath your boots. Why would you need me?"
"So that I'm not this lonely all the time."
Breka stares at him, unable to process that confession. Loki is obviously just as shocked by his own honesty. After a second he shrugs it off.
"And besides, it's highly unlikely I'll ever sit on that throne."
"The all-father hasn't assigned a successor yet, has he?"
Loki snorts.
"No," he says, voice suddenly dripping with acid, "He hasn't. The race is still open. The second son still has a chance to prove himself worthy."
Breka physically recoils from Loki's bitterness. He takes a breath.
"If you were king—"
"I won't be. Nobody wants me on that throne."
Breka looks at him for a long moment.
"Humour me," he says.
Loki sighs.
"Fine. If I was king then what?"
"What would you do? What kind of place would Asgard be under King Loki?"
"The arts would thrive, everyone could be who they really are, and council meetings wouldn't last more than ten minutes."
Breka chuckles.
"Are they always that bad?"
"I need every ounce of self-restraint not to be constantly rolling my eyes."
Breka grins.
"I can so see that."
He turns serious after a moment. Leaning in for a kiss he murmurs:
"I really liked the part about everyone being themselves though."
Loki kisses him back.
"My brother is an idiot, and I don't think he'll make a good king any time soon, but I don't want this throne."
"I don't believe you."
"Why should I lie to you?"
"Maybe you're lying to yourself. About what you want. And maybe you don't know as much as you think about what the people of Asgard want."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Breka shrugs and gives Loki a long, slow kiss.
"Maybe you just don't know the right people."
"I don't get..."
Breka is kissing his way down Loki's chest.
"There are people who'd rather see you on the throne than Thor. Rather than Odin even."
Loki tenses.
"That's treason."
Breka looks up at him.
"What, since when is having an opinion a crime in this realm?"
He picks up where he left, trailing his tongue across Loki's stomach. The prince lets his head fall back and closes his eyes.
"No more talk of politics in this bed", he murmurs, and Breka is happy to comply.
Scene 21
Uta looks at her son.
"So what do you think?"
Breka squirms.
"I think that I'm highly uncomfortable, mother. He trusts me. We shouldn't be talking about him."
"So just tell me yes or no. Are we doing the right thing in endorsing Loki? Will his rule bring peace through diplomacy instead of the battles we'd get under a king Thor?"
Breka shakes his head.
"I'm not sure. I honestly don't know."
"Do you need more time? Do you know how much time we have?"
Breka shakes his head again.
"I think Odin doesn't know himself."
"Well that sounds like we do have some time. Just find out what you can. Then tell me what you think. And get the horse's hair when you get a chance, just in case. I already did my part. The queen hasn't noticed that the magnifying crystal is missing. And Leif says he's ready."
Scene 22
Breka is alone in his quarters, debating what to do. He decides that it can't hurt to do the easy part. Just in case. He goes to the stables, and nobody pays attention to him. He's there often, so nobody is suspicious, but the closer he gets to the right box the more nervous he becomes. He takes a deep breath. This is Prince Thor's horse after all. But there's nobody close by. Breka pulls his knife from his sleeve.
Back at his quarters he hides the strand of hair he cut from the mane of Thor's horse and closes his eyes. Are we doing the right thing? Am I doing the right thing? He takes the hair out of its hiding place again. He doesn't want it here. The idea of Loki being in the same room as the thing that might kill his brother is unbearable. Breka takes it to his mother's house. She just nods and kisses his cheek.
"I'll pass it on to Leif together with the magnifier."
She walks over to her cupboard and takes a pale crystal from it.
"It's going to amplify Leif's power at least tenfold. Do you want to take a look?"
"No!"
Breka takes a breath.
"No. I don't. Mother I'm still not sure..."
Uta puts the horse's hair away and comes back to him.
"I am. From here on out you have no part in this. Your conscience is clear. As far as I'm concerned you can end it with the prince."
"What? No!"
"Unless you want to be with him when he steps up to the throne," she says with a smile.
"That's not the point! He'd have to take a wife anyway. But that's not… I like him, mother! I really like him."
Uta looks at her son with affection.
"I see. So don't end it. Stay with him and be happy. I just recommend no political talks from now on."
Breka lies awake in his quarters, unable to come to a conclusion. He doesn't want this thing with Loki to end. How would he even explain…
Breka pulls back from Loki's kiss, and the prince looks at him quizzically.
"You're not in the mood, huh?"
Breka straightens and forces a smile.
"No it's fine."
Loki shakes his head.
"Breka, you don't owe me anything."
"You're my prince!"
"Not here. Nothing is going to happen if you tell me no."
Breka takes a deep breath.
"What if I told you we can't go on?"
Loki stares at him for a moment.
"I'd ask what I did wrong. Is there anything I can do differently? Do you need me to be more discreet?"
"You did nothing wrong. I'm just uncomfortable with you—being who you are."
Loki doesn't say anything for a long moment. Eventually he says:
"I see," and turns away, walking out of Breka's life.
Breka wakes up with his chest aching. The idea of losing Loki is causing him physical pain. He takes a breath. Decision made then. He'll stay with his prince, throne or no throne.
Scene 23, a few nights later, Loki's quarters
"My prince," Breka says with adoration.
"Don't call me that. Not when we're alone."
"Why not? It's a way to express my respect, and my loyalty. And besides, it says that you're mine."
Loki stares at him, and then he starts to laugh.
"That is a good point."
He kisses Breka and is still grinning when they part.
"All right then, keep calling me that."
"I mean it. You're mine. I'm yours. I belong to you."
After that they stay silent for a long time, but Breka senses that something is wrong. When Loki doesn't say anything Breka finally asks:
"What is it?"
"It's nothing. I'm fine," Loki says with a bit too much cheer.
"Don't lie to me. Please. There's no need. Is it something I did?"
"What? No, it's nothing to do with you."
"Then what?"
Loki goes very still. Breka gives him a gentle kiss.
"Please," he breathes.
"It doesn't make any sense."
"What? What doesn't?"
Loki closes his eyes. Breka kisses his temple.
"Please," he says again, even more softly. Eyes still closed Loki says:
"Sometimes I get scared."
"What do you mean?"
"Halfway through a council meeting, or a banquet, or a fight with my father, or listening to Thor being a fool, or even alone in my quarters, I get scared. All of a sudden, out of the blue."
"Scared of what?"
"Scared of falling. Scared of dying. Scared that something horrible is about to happen. Scared that someone might tear the mask off my face and expose my true colours."
"What do you mean your true colours?"
"I don't know! I told you it didn't make any sense."
He heaves a sigh.
"Maybe I'm just losing my mind. Like—last night I dreamed of my father. He was getting closer and closer and suddenly his face was distorted with hate, and fear, and disgust, and I couldn't for the life of me remember what I'd done wrong. I woke up in cold sweat, scared to death."
"King Odin is a hard man. I imagine he's not the most... approachable father."
Breka gently traces Loki's jawline.
"Do you think a healer might be able to help you? I'm not sure if they can do anything about pains of the soul, but maybe—do you want me to talk to Leif?"
"I don't need a healer. The person who can heal my soul is right here with me."
Breka smiles at him, unsure what to say. Loki reaches out and locks eyes with him.
"Like fog clearing away when the sun comes out. That's how I feel when you smile at me."
"You're so poetic tonight."
Loki briefly glances at an open journal on his desk. Breka follows his gaze.
"Wait did you prepare that? You wrote it down earlier and now you've quoted it?"
Loki averts his eyes.
"Are you blushing?! I don't think anyone has ever seen Loki Odinson blush—and lived to tell."
"Stop it."
Breka lifts Loki's chin.
"Look at me."
Loki still avoids the eye contact.
"Hey, please."
When Loki finally lifts his eyes Breka is blown away by the depth of Loki's emotions. He's open and vulnerable and completely raw, and Breka pulls him into a tight hug.
"I'm sorry," Breka murmurs. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."
After a while Loki relaxes into the embrace.
"It's fine. And you were right. I did write about you."
"Can I hear it? If I promise not to be an idiot about it, would you read it to me?"
Scene 24, Frigga's quarters
"What can I do for you, my son?"
"Tell me about memory spells."
Frigga blinks once.
"I don't think there's anything I could teach you that you don't already know."
"I don't mean how to perform them. I mean how to detect them."
Frigga pours herself a cup of wine, gesturing to Loki, but he shakes his head. Frigga takes a sip.
"Have I never taught you that? There's always a trace. A loose thread that unravels if you know where to look."
"Yes, I remember. You told me that if there's nothing to be found, it means that the person's memory is clear. Untempered with."
"Correct."
"Or maybe it just means the sorcerer who tries to detect it isn't as powerful as the one who installed it."
Frigga averts her eyes for a moment. Then she straightens.
"Why are you asking?"
Loki heaves a sigh.
"I'm not sure. I get these—conditions. Sometimes. As if the fabric of reality is tearing apart."
He pauses.
"Sorry. Overly dramatic?"
"A little."
Frigga smiles at her younger son with affection.
"Tell me."
And Loki does. He tells his mother about the creeping fear he sometimes feels out of nowhere, the disorientation, the feeling of being lost. The queen listens to him, trying to comfort him as best she can, and in the end she pulls him into a hug that he clings to a lot longer than she expected.