I think every story is more or less defined by those chapters that were bitches to write.

This was definitely one of those chapters.

/

A full week had not yet passed when it happened.

Loki felt as if he was going thoroughly mad. The confinement to his chambers was excruciating in its monotonous routine and overwhelming quiet. Before the All-father had made his final departure, he had made it widely known that Loki was not to be allowed outside of his room. Every guard, every noble, even the shadow-like and ever quiet servants knew that if they ever saw the young prince anywhere but his room or the feasting hall, they would need to report it to the guards immediately. For the first time in his young life, Loki began to realize the full impact of what freedom truly was, and it was only after he'd lost it.

He was a prisoner in his own home.

Under ordinary circumstances, he might have counted the punishment as a blessing. Tucked away in the privacy of his chambers he could read for hours on end uninterrupted, while maintaining a valid excuse as to why he could not leave his study for some thrilling or unexpected adventure. But that was before Thor had disappeared, before father had indirectly accused him of causing his only brother serious harm, before his mother had become overseer of Asgard in Odin's absence and so rarely had sufficient time to come and visit him.

The isolation he had once craved was now a curse and it was driving him insane.

He did not want to be here. His brother was missing, it was entirely his fault, and yet he was not permitted to aid in the search in those cursed woods. Any information regarding the crown prince, if in fact there was any, seemed to be intentionally kept from him as the silence stretched for days and no one - not even Thor's insipid companions - came to visit. Every morning he awoke from a fitful slumber and wondered if today would be the day a guardsman would return to the palace, ashen and sorrowful, to report they had found Thor's body.

To report that his brother was dead.

The thought made him sick, sending his stomach into his throat. Numerous times throughout the day he would attempt to partake in a simple meal, the contents of which would quickly find their way back out when his mind spiraled out of control with horrid invented stories. Thor's body torn to shreds, Thor's head ripped clean off, Thor lying injured and dying somewhere unable to move...

Try as he might, he could not banish the horrors from his overactive mind.

He had to get out of his room.

He had to find his brother.

It was the reason he now currently stood in his washroom, splashing cold water over his face after his mother had come for a brief visit. She had told him that the original band of guards who had accompanied them were returning today and she would question them relentlessly for news, any news at all. She had left with the promise that she would come to him afterwards, as soon as she was able, and it had taken everything within him to not run after her with more desperate pleas on his lips. Instead he'd only smiled, compliant as usual, though it was nothing but an outward act. He was going to get out of the palace, and he was going to do it today. This inactivity was accomplishing nothing. His father was a fool, and he would not allow himself to think otherwise. He needed to return to the woods, find his brother, and return with him safe and hale.

And what if it is too late? his traitorous mind whispered. It's not, he countered, fiercely shaking his head. Focus!

Loki ran his fingers through his wet hair, barely managing to style it in his usual slicked-back look. His body was shaking with the anticipation of his escape, further encouraged by the desperation wound into every muscle. He hastily slipped on a green tunic and ran to get his boots, cursing endlessly under his breath. If father had just allowed him to go with him, if he had just listened to his explanation, if he had just allowed him to help he could have, he could have figured it out...!

Fury provided the needed distraction from his underlying panic as he threw together a few meager belongings into a satchel. By this point, the guards would be in counsel with the Queen and so provide him with an opening. Much as he hated it, he was going to utilize his cloaking spell - certain he'd now accomplished the necessary elements to hide himself from the Gatekeeper - and slip to the stables to take a horse. He had already memorized the pathway to Myrkviðr upon their first venture there. If he rode fast enough, he was certain he could make it back there in two days' time.

Assuming, of course, he wasn't caught first.

Muttering the spell quietly, he slipped between the spaces and nearly ran out of the room. His only, singular regret was the heartbreak this was going to cause his mother. He did not like to disobey her, but hiding him here was a mistake. He was the only one who had encountered the beast head on, he was the only one who knew what had happened. His mind would not be shrouded in confusion and pain this time, and so he would be able to retrace their steps, scour the woods, and seek out the monstrous beast who had his brother.

He was the only one who could find Thor. Of that he was certain.

He slipped down the corridors with ease, darting quickly by countless servants and guards along the way. Oh, but if only they knew their dark prince was running past them, right under their noses! What would they say? What would they think?

Coward, Thor's voice whispered in his mind. He pointedly ignored it. Gladly would he bear his brother's insults again, if only to know he was well.

Loki took a cursory glance around upon entering the stables. Outside of the occasional stable-boy or a wandering guard, there was no one really about this area this time of day. He made a beeline for the stables reserved for the guards' horses instead of the royal partition; father would have had the foresight to hide his own steed away, surely. No matter. Even at his young age, he was a skilled rider and could easily handle someone else's horse. The only possible downside was the animal itself; his own horse knew him well and was used to his voice and commands. He did not know if another would react properly, but he had to take the chance.

It was obvious that the majority of the animals here had just returned with their riders no more than an hour previous, but had already been properly fed and cared for. As the minutes stretched on as he searched for a fresh animal, his heart began to pound restlessly in his chest. His window of opportunity was small to begin with, but if Heimdall happened to notice that Loki had just disappeared, the entire palace would be on high alert in a minute's notice. No time, no time! his mind reminded him; jittery now, he headed towards the nearest horse, no longer caring which one it was. He had to get out of here. "Hey now," he mumbled, still invisible. The animal's head had shot up, an angry snort pushing steam through the air as it sensed his presence. "I will not harm you. Come now." A large hoof pounded the dirt in distress, and its eyes darted wildly around, trying to find the entity that went along with the disembodied voice. Loki reached out to touch the animal and it whinnied in panic, backing out of his reach. He grit his teeth, cursing again under his breath. Damn it all. He had no choice but to show himself to calm the animal. If it began to thrash about in fear the stable-hands would come running, and he would lose the already-dwindling chance he had for escape. With a fearful pinch in his gut, he waved away the spell and became visible once more.

The effect was instantaneous. The horse calmed as he reached out and stroked its neck, murmuring softly as he summoned a carrot into his hand. "There now. Not so scary, am I?" The horse whinnied in reply and Loki smiled, rewarding it with the carrot. He had long had this effect on creatures great and small. He was never entirely sure why, but he enjoyed it just the same. Sensing the animal's calm, he hastily snatched the saddle from the post on the wall and placed it atop the creature, murmuring softly all the while. His deft fingers flew and a nervous sweat broke out on his forehead. He had waited far too long already to recast the spell. Heimdall's gaze was not omnipresent, but he had the distinct feeling father had given special instruction to keep an eye on him. Not that such a command had mattered when he and Thor were in the woods. For the life of him, he could not figure out why Heimdall could not see him until his return to the camp...

"Hey! You there!"

Loki froze.

Rushed footsteps sounded behind him and he cursed, ducking beneath the stall's siding to shield himself. Damn it all! He'd known this would happen if he waited too long, damn it all!

"Do not move!" The unknown voice called out, closer now. Loki weighed his options carefully but with lightning speed as the footsteps approached. If he disappeared now, whoever had caught him would instantly alert the guards and Heimdall alike, thanks to the All-father's parting command. What chance had he of escape, especially without a horse? Such an action was foolhardy at best and utterly impossible at worst. He would never make it to Myrkviðr on foot. The only chance he had now would be to slip between the spaces and sneak back to his chambers, and try again later this evening. The thought had only just crossed his mind when a familiar face appeared over the top of the stall's doors.

It took him a moment to truly recognize the young sentry on the other side but once he did, the effect was simultaneous on both their parts. Loki's eyes widened as the man's face twisted into an ugly sneer and he yanked the door open with force. "You are not supposed to be out here," he spat, and Loki stood to his full height, taking a hesitant step backwards.

Cadby had never liked him, and though he could not have possibly been more than a century older than Thor, had been granted the task of training the youth in the art of hand-to-hand combat. Such a specified exercise far exceeded Loki's natural abilities, and the young man had grown increasingly impatient with his spastic endeavors.

Those feelings had only intensified after a particularly brutal training session in which Cadby had singled him out to spar. He'd been beaten, and beaten badly, and through the haze of his humiliated pain had somehow known it had been intentional. He was made to be an example for the rest of his age group, and they had grown haughty and proud that they were advancing so quickly while a prince of Asgard was not. Oh, the humiliation had been so fierce and unrelenting that he had simply cast the spell before giving the wisdom of the decision a second thought. When Cadby's sword had transformed into a vicious and writhing serpent, Loki had expected a laugh from the crowd and perhaps some sort of startled unhappiness on Cadby's part. Instead he'd been met with the man's horrified bellowing and ensuing panic, which had sent the youths into a hysterical uproar.

The sneer now pulling at his features was disturbingly reminiscent of the one he'd bore that day in the training rings after Loki had dissolved the spell. Tension bled into his frame and through the frantic static of his mind, Loki sought to appease him, uttering the first words that came to mind. "At ease, soldier." Yet it only served to make him angrier as he strode forward quickly, grabbing him roughly by the front of his shirt.

"I take orders only from my superiors and the All-father," he said, snidely. "And we were charged by the king to keep eyes on you, you little trickster, before we departed from the woods. I suppose it only fitting that the instant I return I find you trying to sneak off."

"Unhand me." Even Loki was surprised at the cool quality of his voice, measured and steady despite Cadby's towering size. They remained frozen in a terse stand-off, Loki still held firmly in his strong grip. "I said unhand me," he snapped, his voice rising slightly. "How dare you attack your prince." In response, his grip tightened and something terrifying flashed through his eyes. It was there and gone in a moment, but Loki recognized it for what it was.

The all too familiar, blazing flash of hatred.

"I don't think so," he said evenly. He cast a quick glance about himself, no doubt checking for witnesses, before his cold gaze settled back on the young prince. "We are long overdue for a little chat, my prince."

"Let. Me. Go." Loki shoved at his chest but Cadby simply pulled back, lifting him clear off the ground. In the next moment he dropped him unceremoniously to the hay below and the horse beside them whinnied again. Loki was back on his feet in a moment, eyes now narrowed to infuriated slits, trying his best to subdue the sudden tremor in his limbs.

Cadby was blocking his exit astutely, and Loki did not miss the way his hand hovered over the hilt of his still-sheathed sword.

"You will let me pass." Gods, but how he wanted to say it with the commanding tone his father and brother always used. Instead it came out cold and flat, almost bored-sounding, and he knew it was due to the first whispers of fear flitting through his mind. Cadby's posture was defensive, as if expecting an attack, and he could not comprehend this erratic behavior. He inhaled deeply and tried again. "Cadby, I will not ask you again to move. Those in higher rank have been subject to far worse punishments for lesser crimes than the passivity I am offering you, if you would but let me pass."

"Is that a silvertongued threat, little trickster?" His voice was low and even, and his hand moved away from his weapon. "Was it with such eloquence you lured your brother into the forest and murdered him?" The frozen dagger of shock punched him in the chest with a solid blow; it was melted shortly thereafter by the flaming blade of fury.

"How dare you accuse me of causing my brother harm!" he snapped. "Idiotic wretch! Get out of my way." He made to shove past the brute and nearly did so when the man's hand snapped out, shoving him back hard into the wall. A quiet oof escaped his lungs as Cadby snatched him by the shirt again, his own eyes now blazing.

"You may be able to fool the rest of the squadron, but I know what I saw with my own two eyes, you little brat. I saw the way you snapped at him on the way to Myrkviðr, and I saw him storm from your tent after your obnoxious little fight. Then lo and behold, the next day our prince mysteriously disappears and you return to the camp unharmed?" Cadby slammed him back against the wood, harder this time. "Wicked, awful lies! I saw through your act in a moment, just as I witnessed your juvenile jealousy. Did you really think you could roll around in the dirt and fool us all into thinking you had been attacked by an evasive beast?"

"Cowardly idiot!" Loki shouted, kicking uselessly. "You would dare to accuse me, the son of Odin and your prince? Do you -" His voice was cut off sharply by Cadby's hand, snapping sharply against his cheek. The brutality of it was enough to knock him to his knees, still caught in his death grip.

"Shut your mouth," he said in disgust. "You are no prince of mine, liar, murderer." Despite himself, tears sprang into his eyes and it became impossibly difficult to breathe.

"I was off to fetch my brother," he gulped, head still spinning from the blow. "I did not...did not do what you are -"

"Of course you didn't." The young man's voice took on a feigned tone of understanding, even as he shook the boy. "Of course you did not. Nor did you intentionally mislead our search party in the days following, taking us around in circles. Tell me, Loki, were you merciful? Did you draw it out or end his life swiftly? Or perhaps of more import, where did you leave his body?"

"Shut up!" Loki screamed, horror swelling and bursting in his blood like opened floodgates. "Shut up, shut up, my brother is not dead you foul -" For the second time, Cadby's fist connected with his face, this time smashing into his jaw. Loki's head snapped back and he crumpled downward just before another blow landed, this one in his upper stomach. The punch was expertly aimed, effectively knocking the wind out of him, and he crashed to his hands and knees unable to draw a breath.

Head spinning wildly now, he made one last attempt to inhale his useless lungs when a solid kick landed in his gut, knocking him to his back.

Loki gurgled, blood flowing swift from his nose and into his mouth and throat as Cadby's face appeared once more above him. "I'll see you get the punishment you deserve, my own welfare be damned. You are disgusting, and a disgrace to your father's name. What did you do to Thor?" His words barely registered through the fog of his pain. All he could think of was Thor. My brother, my brother, I'm sorry...

Unable to respond, Cadby took his silence as stubbornness.

In the back of his mind, he used the notion as an excuse to release his fury upon the second prince.

And it was not long after that he stood panting over the boy's barely-conscious body, his arms trembling by his sides and slick with blood, that he realized just what he had done.

But he did not report the incident to Duartr, nor to the Gatekeeper.

He went to bed instead, leaving the prince bloodied and alone in the horse stall.

The rumors ran rampant after that.

He could hear the whispers in the halls, the faint murmur of accusation against his back. Unlike Cadby, his dissenters were far more elusive when it came to their derision, but he knew of it just the same. His mother remained the sole person who tried to assuage his guilt under the principle of "it wasn't your fault," but it was a quickly-decreasing sentiment amongst everyone else.

Most, if not all, were thoroughly convinced he had killed Thor in the woods that day.

The days blurred into weeks. Loki told not a soul of the beating he had received at Cadby's hands; upon wakening in the stall he had simply slipped between the shadows, and back into his bedroom. Mother had been by to report the lack of progress the guards had made, and he had cast a glamour to hide his injuries from her. His silence was not only because of his embarrassment and willful pride, no; he cowered at the notion of disbelief, even when facing the loyalty of his mother. Everything he said these days was questioned, ridiculed, picked apart. It was not so difficult to believe that his concerns would be brushed off as another made-up tale to further his own cause.

The underlying mistrust towards him, which had been kept private and quiet before, had now erupted into full-blown accusation fueled by fury and hate. They needed someone to blame, and the mischievous, magic-using trickster - who also happened to be the last one to see the crown prince alive - was the perfect culprit. Try as he might, he could not even blame them for their shifted thoughts. The longer Thor's fate remained unknown, the worse it grew.

And the more he began to sink into himself.

He cried at night, when none could see him.

Nightmares found him, nightly now. He relived the moment of Thor's last cry, his bloodied head, over and over again until he would wake up muffling his own screams against his pillow. No reports came from the woods, and father did not return. Loki did not try escape again, and bore the suppressed stares and whispered taunts whenever he dared to venture into the halls.

He stopped doing even that, after awhile.

And within the confines of his private rooms, he felt as if he was going entirely mad. So he began to practice his magic, better hone the skills he foolishly thought he had mastered.

Magic did not permit itself to ever be fully learned, it seemed.

He read, he studied, he worried. His mind had rapidly become his own worst enemy and he sought every opportunity to distract it. Cloaking spells became more powerful illusions. Illusions became duplicates of his own image, and the copies transformed into the forms of others.

No one came to visit him and he accepted the solitude with a compliant heart.

For who had ever truly sought his company before this, save his own brother?

It was with these thoughts he found himself gazing despondently at the fire in his hearth, his hands outstretched and twisting over the dancing flames, a full month after Thor's disappearance. Images of soldiers battling mighty beasts arose from the blaze, faceless but complete in form and movement. In one breath their flickering forms were marching in perfect alignment; a wave of his hand and they were sparring with each other, orange flames clashing in the shape of swords. Oh, his little puppets. They were subject to his will, and they would not refuse his command. He stared unblinking at his useless creations, muttering unintelligible whispers to himself. One of the shapes in the fire suddenly took on a familiar stance, a long cape flowing in a nonexistent breeze, a sword raised high above his head. From the depths of the embers came another being, a gigantic and ugly monster with eyes smoldering with the fire that was already a part of it.

And yet they were nothing in comparison to the eyes that haunted his waking moments and tortured his sleepless nights.

"What are you," he whispered, the tips of his fingers going numb. He watched the scene play out in the fire before him, the memory forever etched in his brain and transposing itself into his own illusions. It was everything he did not want to dwell on, yet remained the obsession of his exhausted mind. Thor, Thor where in Hel did you go? But that it had been me instead...no one would have questioned your report, and none would have missed me...

"Loki? Hello?" Only his eyes moved upwards, towards the mantle above the fireplace. He swallowed thickly, rubbing his hands over his legs that he had tucked beneath him.

"My apologies mother," he said quietly. "You may enter." Frigga moved in slowly, a frown between her eyes. She had knocked thrice and asked for entry repeatedly before he had responded; she had never seen him so blank, so unable to react, so empty. He did not move as she entered his space, and she cast a worried glance at the tray of untouched foodstuffs sitting on the table by his bedside. Three different meals, she counted quickly; she could tell already that he hadn't eaten a single bite and her concern mounted tenfold.

"There is no need for apology, my son," she said, bending down beside him. His gaze was fixed solely on the fire and a desperate lance of alarm pierced her heart; his face was gaunt and sunken, his eyes rimmed with circles so dark one would at first think they were bruises, his clothing wrinkled and hanging off his body loosely. His mourning was palpable and guilt compiled threefold alongside the worry in her chest; was it her own grief that had so blinded her towards the state he was falling into?

"How do you fare mother?" he asked. His head turned towards her and she did her best to avoid the tears that so wanted to form. His eyes were glossy and sad, and what seemed permanently rimmed with red lines. Her son, her son, if she could but take this pain from him...!

"I am quite well," she managed. "I have missed conversing with you. Why do you not come to see me?"

"I am not allowed," he said blandly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Father forbade me from leaving my chambers, as you might recall."

"Yes, but none should stop you if you came to see me." She tucked a loose tendril of hair behind his ear and he didn't react. "He only wanted to keep you within the palace. You are not imprisoned, my son."

"Have we any news from Myrkviðr?" He deliberately ignored her last comment and she sighed, shaking her head.

"No. It has been two weeks since last I received any reports, but even then nothing new was shared." His dead eyes studied her face for a moment before he nodded and turned back to the fire.

"I see," is all he said.

"Will you come with me to the banquet hall?" she asked quietly, trying to keep the edge of desperation from her voice. "I should like your company for supper this evening."

"I am not feeling very well mother," he said blandly. She waited for more of an explanation but he said nothing else, just stared at the fire. Something like fear twisted uncomfortably in her gut and she decided to voice it.

"I fear for you, my son." She placed a gentle hand on his arm and he winced. "When was the last you ate? Or left these chambers? Or...slept?" He shook his head.

"That is of no import," he started.

"It is to me." Her tone was a bit harsher than she'd intended but by the gods, it should not be like this. Mourning was one thing, but the guilt that haunted his gaze was like nothing else she had ever seen - especially in one so young.

"I do not mean to concern you mother." A fake smile pulled at his lips as he looked at her again, but it failed to reach his eyes. "Truly I don't. I am just not hungry is all."

"Then I would ask you to walk with me for a spell," she said firmly, knowing full well that he knew she was not asking.

"If it is alright with you mother," he said, his eyes slipping shut, "I would rather not. I should like to lie down. Perhaps tomorrow?"

"Loki," she said, now fully unable to keep the desperation from her tone. "You have not left these rooms at all in two weeks. This isolation endangers your health. You are not yourself."

"It is no less than I deserve." He stood abruptly, tearing himself from her touch. "Father has deemed it so. I will not challenge him."

"He did so for your protection," she said, quickly standing with him. "Not as a punishment. After the reports we received there was suspicion amongst the ranks. He did not want any undue harm to befall you - surely you know this?" A bitter smile graced his lips and his eyes flashed with the first real sign of emotion since they'd begun this conversation.

"Are you quite certain of that, mother?" She noticed then that his hands were shaking; he noted the line of her gaze and quickly tucked his hands behind his back. "Are you quite sure father only feared for my welfare and did not bestow a punishment he thought fitting for Thor's murderer?"

"Loki!" she cried, recoiling in horror. "How can you say such things? Both I and your father know you did not..." Her voice wavered, unwilling to speak the wretched accusation aloud.

"Forgive me, but I sincerely doubt father's allegiance to me," he spat out. In the next breath his face calmed and he straightened, regaining control of himself. "It is alright, mother. Were I in the reverse position, I too would doubt myself."

"I have not yet given up that your brother will return safely to us," she replied, a slight tremor working through her body. "And I will not give up on you either. My son, if it is an apology you seek then please know that I am sorry." She paused a moment, regarding him, and realization hit like a burst of sunlight. "You think I have been avoiding you?"

"You've a kingdom to look over," he said stiffly. "I thought no such thing." A small twitch in his cheek was the only indication he was lying, and it was then she wondered exactly when her bright, open boy so effectively learned to hide behind a mask of indifference.

Surely she was not the only one who had sought out his company these past, long weeks?

"Loki," she said gently. She reached out and placed her hands on his shoulders, turning him to face her. He stared past her shoulder, refusing to meet her gaze. "Will you not look at me?" There was a moment of hesitation where his breath hitched and he stiffened before he dragged his eyes upwards to meet hers. She studied him for a matter of seconds with a sinking heart, momentarily dazed by the haunted shame he was trying so hard to hide. She would need to be blunt. "Your father knows you did not kill your brother. I know you caused him no harm, and neither of us care for the cowardly murmurings of those who accompanied you. Believe me when I say those dissenters are being dealt with accordingly." She squeezed his shoulders firmly to emphasize the point, hope sputtering in her chest as he relaxed beneath her grip. "Am I understood?" Loki regarded her for a moment, his eyes blank. She had no way of knowing his innermost thoughts.

Does it matter, truly? You may punish a crime, but you can never kill a belief once fully formed.

"Yes." He stared at the wall behind her again and the newfound vestiges of hope withered and died in her chest.

She could not lose both of her sons. Norns help her, she could not.

She was opening her mouth to say as much when the muffled call of the King's Horn sent shockwaves through her entire body. Loki's eyes met hers, widened now; neither said anything but rushed from his room together, matching each other's stride down the corridor. And it was not until they had raced down the palace halls and out to the main walkway that they allowed hope to surge; for there was Odin All-father, dismounting from his horse, turning to look upon them as they approached. But his was gaze troubled, burdened with longing and some unknown sorrow. Loki released a breath he didn't know he had been holding; Frigga's eyes did not leave her husband until a group of four soldiers emerged from behind him, their own expressions grim and solemn.

Holding a casket in their hands.