Loki's hands hovered his father's limp form in horror, not daring to touch yet yearning to help. "Guards!" he screamed, heart in his throat. Despite the anger still swirling in his gut at the revelation only moments before, he didn't hate his father… no, not his father. He didn't hate Odin, still, after all he'd hidden from him all those years. "Guards, please, help!"
The Einherjar rushed in, and surrounded the Allfather, using their spears as a makeshift stretcher to pick him up, and carry him from the vault. Loki stood behind, hands wringing anxiously as they bore him away.
He needed to be alright. He had to be alright.
If he wasn't, Loki didn't know what he was going to do. Thor was gone, and Father (Odin raised him, doesn't that make him his father?) couldn't follow suit. Loki was alone, save Mother. Hastily, he ran back to his room, and curled like small child under the quilts.
It was too much to handle, in just one day. Thor not being coronated, which was strangely almost as bad as the crowning being successful. Thor's being banished, and, already, Loki's heart ached from loneliness. The discovery of his true heritage, and the lies, all the lies behind the truth. And now Odin had fallen into his Sleep.
Clutching the teddy bear he would never admit that he still slept with, Loki curled on himself, and broke down in tears.
But a moment later, he found himself standing in the throne room, donned in a red cape, with white fur trimmings. A servant was kneeling before him, Gungnir the spear outstretched in his hands. "The king is dead." He informed Loki. "Long live the king."
Long live the king. Loki was the heir, now that Thor had been disowned. He turned around in shocked befuddlement to see the people, all the people cheering for him.
Long live the king.
Long live the king.
Long live the king.
The chant echoed around the room, around Loki's ears, until Loki could no longer find any meaning from the phrase. Seating himself on the throne, he gazed out over his kingdom.
The king is dead.
Odin, Father, the only one who could provide him answers, the reason Loki got up in the morning, the man he would do anything to please, was gone. Gone forever.
The weight of the kingdom was heavy upon Loki's shoulders. The decisions, the pressure of the people was already muddling his brain. As he opened court for the first time, he felt a little part of him die, deep within, as the long, long, long line of subjects appeared to ask his aid on the trivial matters of the country.
Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, the guards noticed his weariness, and closed the hearings for the day. But, then, there was always the funeral feast to plan, the trainings to attend to, the Einherjar to survey…
By the end of the day, Loki was exhausted, and wearily trudged through the halls towards his familiar bedroom. "Where are you going, my son?"
Loki looked up to see his mother standing behind him with open arms.
"Mother." He breathed with a smile of relief, and made to rush into her embrace, but just before he touched her, she pulled back, away from him.
"A king must not show weakness, Loki." She gently chided.
"But, Mother, I'm so tired." He pleaded. "I just need a hug, please."
"Did you ever see Odin stumbling into his mummy's arms at the end of a day? How will you be able to protect the realm if you can't even hold yourself up after a single day at court?"
Loki considered this, and, while it pained him, he had to admit she was right. "You're right, as always." He forced a laugh. "I was just going to bed."
"But your room isn't that way." Frigga tilted her head with a soft smile. "You're the king. You must sleep in the king's chambers, yes?"
The king.
Loki was already so tired of hearing that title thrust upon him. Besides, he'd never been able to sleep anywhere but his own room. It didn't feel safe, and on all the hunting excursions, Loki was always the most exhausted when they returned home, for he would spend every night, unable to sleep.
Then again… he was the king.
Wasn't this what he had always wanted?
No, not exactly. He had only wanted the throne because he wanted to be chosen for it. To be told that, for once, he was good enough for something; better than Thor, even. The thought of his brother sent a pang of loneliness through Loki's chest.
Miserably, he crawled under the covers, and as his eyes squeezed shut, he realized something. He didn't want to be king. He never had.
The next morning, he found himself sitting on the throne, struggling to pay attention to the stupid, stupid troubles of Njall the blacksmith, who was mad at his brother. Couldn't they just realize that family, their brothers, was more important than the petty troubles? Loki knew this better than everyone, or so it seemed.
Suddenly, he was aware that the blacksmith had ceased his yammering at long last, and was staring at him with wide fearful eyes.
What could be the matter? In confusion, Loki glanced down at his hands, only to find they were that hideous shade of blue.
Frost Giant.
Monster.
On the throne of Asgard.
Unfit.
Unworthy.
Loki's scarlet eyes widened as the realization. Odin, all his life, had not been protecting the throne from Loki. He'd been protecting Loki from the throne. Until the Asgardians viewed the Jotnar in a vaguely positive light, Loki, sitting on the throne, wasn't safe.
The people could never have a Jotun on the throne of Asgard. Not Odin. Their eyes were blazing in fury at the horror that was him, their weapons drawn, as they advanced upon him with bloodlust on their face.
Loki leapt to his feet and fled. He was no match for Asgard's finest warriors, and they all knew it. His only hope was if he could run from them. As he tore through the halls, heart pounding frantically in terror, because he didn't want to die, he ran face-first into… his mother.
"Oh Mother…" He gasped. "Hide me!"
"But you're the king." Frigga smirked. "Why would I hide you from your own people?"
"They want to kill me, Mother!" Loki screamed, clutching her arm in terror. "Please!"
The Queen gasped in pain, and pulled away from his grip, gazing down at her blackened, frozen forearm. "How could you?" She hissed.
"I… I didn't know…" Loki gulped, and backed away, half in horror, and half to protect her. From himself.
"I took you into my home, and you hurt me?" She wailed, tears streaming down her face. "I gave you every kindness, and this is how you repay me?"
He shook his head insistently, the roaring in his ears drowning out the sounds of the approaching angry mob. "Mother, I…"
A searing pain shot through his heart, and he stared down at his front to see the end of a bloodied sword protruding from his chest.
They'd run him through.
He awoke with a frantic scream, drenched in sweat, the blankets kicked off the bed.
It was alright.
He was alive.
He wasn't impaled.
He was safe. Safe in his bed.
With a relieved sigh, he collapsed backwards onto his pillows, his eyelids fluttering shut.
Still, the image of the horror-stricken look on his subjects' face was seared into his memory, and danced before his eyes, as he stared into the darkness. "He wasn't protecting the throne…" Loki whispered into the darkness. "He was protecting me."
His mother always assured him that everything his father did, he did for his benefit, but it hadn't really sunk in until that moment.
Even the secrecy, even the pain the revelation had caused him, it was to save his life.
Clutching his stuffed bear to his chest, he retrieved his covers from the floor, and curled up beneath them again, a deep peace settling into every crevice of his body. The Allfather wasn't dead. He was loved, he was treasured, despite the appearances.
As he drifted off for the second time, a tiny smile played on his lips.
Well that was darker than I expected.
TheOnlyHuman.