A/N: What a month, I apologize 100,000,000 times for the delay. I had to get adjusted to my whole life that turned upside down- starting college, family stuff, moving out- it's been crazy and hectic and only this weekend was I finally able to type this out. This chapter is a tad longer to make up for the delay. Thank you my sweet little readers for your patience and reviews and support and I LOVE YOU ALL. Just wanted to say that I do plan to finish this story and updates will hopefully be more regular now I've got my shit together. I very much hope the wait was worth it. Thank you to all the lovebugs that review and read this story- I am literally shocked that people take time out of their lives to help me be a better writer. I love you all. Seriously- I'm speechless.
Ok- enough of me being a sap. Onward!
"Do you truly not understand the gravity of your crimes?"
Odin's voice rang out throughout the bias. Loki could not contain the hilarity bubbling up in his mouth at Odin's rage, at his shame. He laughed freely, openly, mocking.
Good, he thought viciously. Let him feel what he has subjected me to all of these years. Let him feel the shame of what the House of Odin has hidden under its nose for all these years.
The people watching on jeered at the fallen prince, throwing insult after insult towards the one who just a year ago, they called King.
The trial was meant to be a sentencing, a mere formality even though his fate had long been decided. But-
"Wait," a voice rang across the bias. And Loki turned towards Thor's stupidly stubborn voice, already halfway through a roll of the eyes. Before freezing in shock at what his eyes found.
"Thor," the Allfather began, a warning that shivered through the walls.
Thor stepped forward, unflinching and head high. "Allfather, I bring a witness to shed light on the true circumstances of the prisoner's crimes."
Loki could not breathe. The witness stepped forward into the light.
Thor strides through the doors of the Throne Room, his arms moving aggressively to push the heavy oak out of the way. His steps echo loudly and he dimly remembers the way this hall used to feel so warm and welcoming as the citizens of Asgard would gather for whatever the occasion.
Fleetingly, a memory comes to mind. When he swaggered through these same doors a lifetime ago. The smell of metal and sunlight. A vivid red cloak. The burning bright pride he felt at playing the soon-to-be king. There was a mother there. And a brother who was whole, too.
(Oh, now that's funny.)
(Fool.)
(Do not pretend you did not see, the voice reminds him again.)
He blinks hard to clear his head. Now, this hall just feels tarnished.
All of its glorious décor is vast and alone- save for one person. And Thor cannot help but feel a sudden, scorching rage at the way he stands at the bias of the throne chair so calmly.
As if Thor didn't still ice clinging on his soaked tunic. As if Loki wasn't lying somewhere reachable, a mere ten floors away from their father.
Odin makes no move to acknowledge the presence of his eldest son. He stands, his back slightly arched over, facing away from Thor with one withered hand clutching the armrest of the chair.
Thor swallows the tight ball in his throat and waits for Odin to turn to him, or more importantly- to ask after his youngest.
It does not come. Thor cannot help to feel impatient, bordering on desperation. He feels the urge to scream and yell at Odin in fury over his futileness, his stillness when Thor himself cannot seem to shake the urge to run and run until he can find Loki again. His brother. With the bright eyes and the smile that came so easily. Not the ghost who has taken his place ten floors away.
Odin does not move from his silent inspection of the view- a high dome of a window with cascading moonlight across the ceiling- a view that gives his father a clear view of the repaired Bifrost a distance away.
Odin does not ask after Loki- so Thor begins for him.
"Father." He waits for Odin to take the second chance, to look at Thor and ask at the very least what happened to his youngest son if he cannot find the will to see for himself.
(Papa, Loki is hurt and I am scared and I don't know what to do.
It's Loki. Please.
Papa, please…)
Nothing. Thor glares at Odin's back and cannot explain the slight panic that has built up in his chest because Odin still will not look at him.
Does he not understand that Loki is hurt? Loki is hurt- Loki is in pain, and how does that not send a wildfire through his rib cage compelling him with the force of a thousand fires to go?
"Father," Thor says again. This time, with a steely edge, an unspoken warning to not try his patience any longer.
Odin seems to shake out of a reverie- his back straightening halfheartedly as he turns to Thor with an air of surprise. His face remains impassive, his one eye looking directly in Thor's water-blues, yet not clearly seeing. As if the weathered King of Asgard gazes at his oldest through a curtain. It frustrates Thor to no end- but the familiar guilt presses down on him soon enough. Because this is his father- and while Thor can barely conceal his frustration at Odin in his futileness and stillness- he knows without a doubt that Odin loves Loki with his entire heart and soul, no matter how many poisonous words were spoken between them. No matter how many times Loki would bare his teeth and throw all of his love back in Odin's face.
"My son," Odin says quietly but clearly. Thor cannot pretend Odin's choice of words are anything other than a greeting to him- not a question over Loki.
Thor wastes no time in asking. "Will you not go to him?"
He knows Odin can sense the simmering edge to his words that would send anyone else cowering in reverence of his danger- crackling behind his eyes like a barely concealed thunderstorm. But the Allfather merely looks at Thor, his gaze going cloudy and impassive as ever and saying with all of the calmness and composure in the Nine Realms-
"No."
Thor takes a second to breathe- unclench his fists. "And why not?" His voice fails at staying steady.
Odin gives no answer- merely raises his chin a fraction higher to remind Thor that he is not to lose respect with the ruler of Asgard, father or not.
"My reasons are not yours to demand- nor are they yours to question."
Thor swallows the lump of rage in his throat, and forces his next words to come out calm. "Loki is ailing- and I fear it is worse than we thought it to be."
This is it, Thor thinks numbly. This is where Odin is supposed to look at Thor with all of the accusation in the world, where he is supposed to strike him down in his incompetency. Where Odin is supposed to wrench Mjolnir from his unworthy grasp- because who gave Odin the weekly reports on Loki's condition? Who fed the lie that Loki was getting better? Who allowed himself to be blinded by hope that his brother was coming back instead of seeing things as they really were? Who was supposed to be making sure that Loki did not disappear out of his sight in the first place?
No such accusation comes. "I do not underestimate the gravity of the situation," says Odin, a trace of detachment in his voice. "I will not go to him simply because there is no more I can do for him."
A strange sort of desperation compels Thor to move closer, an almost fear that does not allow him to mentally process exactly what Odin could have meant by that.
"So…What do you plan to do?"
Odin exhales sharply before turning to Thor. "What course of action would you take in this… situation?"
Thor barely suppresses the roar of frustration building in his chest- because he knows his father well enough to understand that this is not a father asking for his eldest's advice in how to better care for his youngest- but rather the Allfather testing the heir to the throne of Asgard to see if he is really capable of handling grave circumstances such as these- because what business does Thor have in ruling a realm as grand as Asgard if he cannot handle a simple situation of troublesome family nuisances?
Thor barely manages to keep his voice steady as he answers with clarity, "The same as any brother would do. I would not rest until I knew my brother was safe and well within my ability to care for."
Odin seems to sigh at Thor's unspoken accusation, which only causes Thor's impatience to grow. Time is running scarce. The Healers should know by now the full prognosis of Loki's condition and he is stuck here attempting to convince his father that it is worth the effort to hear it.
"A true ruler must understand the effects his actions could bring on the entirety of a Realm. A mere slip in judgment could begin a ripple in the entire pond of Asgard, could hinder her growth and stability. You must learn, Thor, to pick your battles wisely to avoid setting off entire ripples that could lead your collective body of waters to turmoil."
Thor's disbelief gives way to confusion. "I hardly understand how helping my brother could potentially harm Asgard. He is my brother," he says somewhat lamely, because he does not want to believe what Odin might be saying is what he really means to say.
Odin blinks slowly. "You endangered your own life to save your brother's," he says bluntly. "Did you not think the implications your actions could have transpired?"
(Can this be the same father who clawed his way after his lost youngest son when Loki was little more than a boy, lost deep within the woods for hours on end and everyone was getting ready to call off the search because, It is growing darker, Allfather… Soon the wolves will be out in the shadows and it will be too dark to fend them off…)
"Loki was in dan-"
"Your actions could have led this house to ruin. Already people doubt the capabilities of the House of Odin to rule. A haywire, maniac prince," says Odin, his voice losing none of the detached calm, "That is what the people will compare your rule to and your every action as King of Asgard will be called into question because of it. Already there is doubt on where your true loyalties lie."
"My loyalty is to my family," Thor says, furious. "And when I am king-" (I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all.) "-my loyalty will not waver in this. What kind of ruler can I be if I care not for my family?"
"A king must place his kingdom above all things. Yes, Thor-" he says calmly as Thor opens his mouth to protest, "even family. And that is not something you have exemplified to the people of Asgard. You put aside your duties as crown prince-"
"It was through your order that I protect my brother and I would have done so with or without your-"
"He is no longer your burden to bear, Thor."
Disbelief. Pure, numbing disbelief renders him mute.
(Allfather, it has grown too dangerous to continue… He is most likely already….And Odin silenced them with a look so utterly terrifying and silent that Thor could only shiver in fear of just how strong his father was...)
"Once Eir has seen to him… it is well within my capabilities to see him imprisoned," says Odin, now talking to himself more than Thor.
"The lower dungeons. Seidr-restricting. Constant watch," Odin adds quietly as the guilt churns inside Thor's gut, to add to the reddish haze that has obscured his vision.
"Under what charges?" His voice is shaking uncontrollably now.
Odin regards his son with a detached gaze that manages to make Thor angrier as well as cautious. It would not be wise to lash out at the Allfather at this moment.
"It is well within my grasp to hold captive whomsoever I desire. As ruler of the Nine Realms," his voice growing dangerously, "I am certainly able to judge insolence in any member of this realm."
"Insolence," Thor trails off, the fury subsiding momentarily for disbelief.
Odin does not give him a chance to continue. Something fragile he was holding together in his voice seems to snap. "Loki violated my direct order," his voice accenting every syllable as if admitting an unspeakable crime, "to refrain from his- actions. He trespassed my authority to remain under your constant care," he spits at Thor as he winces in shame, "and in doing so, endangered the lives of my crown prince and his comraderies through his arrogance, recklessness and stupidity-"
His bellowing rant chokes off with a sudden widening of his eye as he clutches his chest over his heart with a withered hand and shudders violently. As he begins to slouch sideways, Thor moves quickly to help his father support himself- but stops as Odin shoots him a fearsome glare that commands him to freeze on the spot, chest heaving and mind unwilling to process exactly what Odin has just said.
Father and son pause for a moment, chests heaving and raging eyes dangerously tiptoeing the line between accord and outright hostility.
"Then help him," Thor says beseechingly as Odin begins to straighten himself, his cloudy eye finding the distant view of the window again. "Do not chain him like a beast on a collar."
(When Odin finally emerged from the woods cradling his boy, Loki was shivering with big, fat tears streaming down his face. Thor could see three long, red gashes down the length of one skinny arm and torn tunic. He remembered the nauseating guilt he felt for weeks after, that only loosened its pincer-like hold when Loki was able to move his arm again weeks later. Nobody remembered to blame Thor, of course.)
"Will you really see your son imprisoned?" Thor nearly expects Odin to deny it- to rebuke his claim over Loki as his father- but it does not come.
Odin grasps Gungnir tight in his fist and turns to Thor, the creases seeming impossibly deeper on his face, all of the laughter lines pulling in the wrong direction. Old, he realizes dimly. My father is old.
"Loki will not be allowed out of sight once more," Odin says, ignoring the way Thor winces once again. "When he wakes, see to it that alternative arrangements be made for the time being. A concrete course of action will be decided once he is…" his voice trails off. "And send for the Lady Sif. I would have words with her."
Thor wants to argue against every order- Loki would be best in his care, Sif has no blame in this (it is all his, all his), Loki needs help, Loki needs love, Loki needs you. But Odin is not just Thor's father but also his king- and not even Thor is angry or foolish enough to disobey a direct order.
Everyone was so ready to give up on Loki. The number only grew in size as the years went. But Thor never did- and never would. And Thor realizes that is why he is scared. Because he did not think that Odin could become a part of that number too. He did not think his father truly capable of letting Loki g-
(Father and son returned from the shattered Bifrost. It would remain unguarded for now- with the Gatekeeper injured and the state of it- and what did it matter anyway, when the bridge itself cannot pass or bring back?
Thor's eyes stung painfully. He ambled without thinking after his father, his mind still working on piecing itself back together. He was afraid of when it would finally catch up.
You. You did, is the only comprehensible thought that Thor found himself capable of thinking at his father's back. You did not catch him- you let him go. You let my brother fall. You- you did.)
It fills him with a fear- not for himself, but for Loki. How deeply will it cut him to hear that his father no longer feels the need to rescue him? How much more could Loki unravel until there will remain nothing left to salvage?
Thor fears that this last act of turning away will break what precious little remains of his brother.
(Thor could not see his father's face- the gray grief-stricken color of it, the bleached-out blue of his eye as he dimly concealed his shock at the pain he left behind and the pain sure to come. He and his son approached the castle doors, to his queen that stood waiting for her husband and two sons, and instead, received only heartbreak.
Odin tried to see through the dim and only kept coming back to the same child face- hearing that single word "no," attached to a name he cannot bring himself to utter again.
He could not stop the hate directed to the very core of himself because he did not think of the right words to say.)
"Idiotic, fumbling arse of a fool," Sif seethes. She grabs at the flagon of wine Volstagg was holding moments ago and launches it across the room where it hits against the wall with a crash.
"How can you possibly forget that he cannot take in anything as wine?" Sif hisses between her teeth, cutting off the beginnings of a protest from Volstagg's mouth. "Wine, mead, ale-" she counts on her fingers, "anything remotely inhibiting to the senses is out."
Sif paces furiously across the length of the room, grabbing small commonplace objects- trinkets, sketchbooks, pens- and tosses them furiously with the rest of the pile on the bed.
It has been hours since the Lady Sif returned from Odin's throne room, deeply shamed and furious. Her mood has not improved.
Volstagg stands dumbfounded at the entrance of the Loki's room, holding the bushels of food he was tasked to bring up from the kitchens. He looks to the other three for an explanation but all he receives is Fandral's shake of the head and Hogun's grim look of understanding. Thor says nothing. He cannot seem to look anybody in the face yet he moves forward to take the cases of breads and cheeses and meats from Volstagg's leaden arms with a silent nod of thanks.
The packages are heavy- samples of the greatest delicacies Asgard has to offer. Thor deposits the cases gently on the bed. He knows without a doubt that Loki will not eat a morsel if he can help it.
The greatest shield maiden in all of Asgard moves through all of Loki's possessions as if she is waging war on the room. The men fall silent as Sif wrenches book after book off the shelves and flings them behind her towards the bed without looking- either unaware or pointedly ignoring the sounds of books hitting their marks behind her. Fandral grunts in pain as a book finds its target in the center of his face and Hogun halfway smiles, but it is gone as soon as it came. The missing member of the group hangs between them in the air like something burning.
Thor gently opens the closet doors. He fingers the soft-colored tunics hanging limp and lifeless, as if their wearer has not bothered to put them on for some time. There is an air of neglect about them. Thor carefully selects a number loose, comfortable tunics, knowing that Loki prefers the looser fittings so his thinness would not be as readily noticeable. Thor remembers the scars (flashing red behind his eyelids) and flinches. He places the short-sleeved tunics back in their place.
Behind him, the jarring sound of a metallic clatter informs him that Sif found another blade- strategically hidden, no doubt. It falls in the corner with the other three she found. Thor holds his breath as he senses Sif grow steadily angrier and angrier. The trio senses it too and they move cautiously around the room, carefully organizing and gathering various objects that Loki could take comfort in when he's in his new quarters. They all pointedly ignore the corner.
Thor does his best to not allow Sif's fury to permeate his own. He feels it building deep inside his core and knows it is only a matter of time before it explodes out. For now, he mechanically folds tunic after tunic, breathing slowly in and out so he doesn't sink a fist deep into the walls of Loki's chambers.
It has been a close second, Thor's emphatic refusal to chain Loki inside a prison cell- and later his emphatic refusal to keep him chained to a hospital bed. Convincing Eir was no less difficult than convincing the Allfather. The old Healer was all for chaining Loki to a bed and keeping him in a seidr-induced coma to force-feed him "back into shape." The image of Loki being made a mind-numb puppet compelled Thor to argue. Carefully suppressed fury and calm words eventually convinced the Head Healer to a compromise- Loki would be moved from his private chambers and into a separate room joined with the Healing Chambers where the more critical patients were usually housed, under close monitoring and care of the Healers- at least until a permanent solution could be arranged.
After feeling as if he had battled a liege of bilgesnipe, Thor hunted down Sif and the Warriors Three to ask for their aid in clearing out Loki's chambers in the hopes of making everything blow over smoother when Loki was moved to his new quarters. He knew before starting that it wouldn't work. Yet the trio was more than eager to help (while Sif just seemed angry) and Thor cannot help but feel grateful as they work methodically beside him as they sift through all of Loki's possessions, trying not to feel like impostors. His mind is screaming for something to occupy it and though the hour is late and his body aches, he knows rest will not find him tonight. He can feel the fatigue of everyone in the room but his friends loyally gather clothes, paintings, chess pieces- anything and everything that Loki could hold any attachment to. He knows they all feel as hopeless as he does.
Thor tries not to think about how Loki will react to the news of moving to the care of the Healers full time and instead, he tries to focus on not seeing red. But the clatter of another blade- this one from between the pages of a book- is the last that Sif can take.
"How," she exclaims suddenly, as the other four flinch, "how? How can he be so- so-"
Sif blinks away furious tears as Fandral closes his gaping mouth and hesitantly glances to Thor. He pretends not to notice but he cannot stop himself from balling his fingers tightly, fisting a green sleeve between his hands.
"I do not understand," Sif spits out, "how I could not have seen this coming." She breathes hard and fast, the tips of her cheekbones flushed in rage or grief or both, Thor does not know.
"Sif," Fandral says quietly, gently closing his hand around her arm, "none of us saw this coming. None of us had any idea how bad…" He shoots another worried glace at Thor, who pointedly looks at nothing of significance.
"Yes," Hogun says quietly. "We cannot dwell on what has passed."
"Our efforts were at our greatest," Volstagg said, looking deeply unhappy. "We helped him as best we could."
Did they? Thor thinks, suddenly furious. Did they really?
And not just since Loki's return from Midgard. Years before, ages before, when they all found amusement in the younger prince's odd customs. When they good-naturedly and foolishly called him strange or odd or different or laughed at the way he did the things he did- was that not fault enough?
"It changes nothing," Sif snaps. She only seems to be getting angrier at the same time the Warriors Three run short of things to say. "He was placed under our care. We let this happen."
Her scorching gaze finds Thor and he cannot look away. It crackles in air, electric and foreboding, the accusation he suddenly realizes Sif holds in her eyes.
He swallows hard once. Twice. "Well?" He asks.
Sif's eyes go hesitant, then hard. "Will you go to the Allfather and ask him to reconsider?"
Thor fists his hands again. "I told you, I have. I've done all that I can for him, Sif. The Allfather will not budge."
"Try harder," Sif beseeches him. "I fear that this," she says, gesturing at the mess around them, "will do much more damage than good."
"And you think I do not know that?" Thor's voice rises in volume and the others visibly retreat, but Sif glares back unflinchingly. The unspoken fault lies heavy between them, the nagging, pressing guilt that points the finger at the two tasked with watching over the once-again fallen prince.
"You did not see him, Sif. You did not see how far he has pushed himself to the brink of his own death and now I fear I cannot pull him back," he says and he can hear his voice waver but he is too angry to care.
"I was there, was I not? We saw him lunge over the edge, we were both there-"
Thor is either unwilling or unable to tell her how thick the scars are.
"Sif-" Fandral begins, but she cuts across him.
"I do not understand, Thor. Neither you nor Loki. We have to do something."
"What else do you want me to do? Because I have tried every damn thing," says Thor, dimly realizing he is shouting now, "but I am at a loss to know what else there remains for me to tell him which he has not already heard! I have tried and tried to show him he is loved, he is safe, but he jumped, Sif! He jumped and I do not know how to fix him-"
"I do not know either," Sif nearly shouts, and the anguish in her face makes Thor look away, "but we have to do it better this time. We failed and while I am furious at what he has done- to you, to himself- we cannot let it happen again."
"Thor-" Volstagg tries, but is silenced with a single scorching look.
"I know that. I know what has to be done but he does not want to live, Sif." His voice cracks and he feels Fandral look away embarrassed but he simply does not care. "I thought he was getting better but he was not. He did not. And I can see no other way to keep him safe other than this. I do not know how to make him want to live-"
"But we have to try-"
"For Loki?" Thor snaps, feeling surprisingly savage. "Or to reclaim your honor, seeing as how you failed to protect your prince?"
She recoils sharply. "You have fault in this as much as I, Thor! If not greater," she retorts, her voice ugly.
And there it is. He feels a savage satisfaction in the accusation, the guilt exploding in his gut that no one else has yet placed on him. Sif is seething, either feeling much too furious at him, or herself, or Loki, to take anything back, but he sees her eyes brim with tears as she realizes what she just said. And he cannot hold it against her for blaming him. He goaded her on to saying it. He wanted her to say it. And it is true. All of it.
Their audience collectively freezes, waiting for the storm that will strike Sif where she stands.
Instead, he turns around and walks out. The others stay dead silent behind him. It is not like Thor to walk away from a fight.
When he passes the Healing Room, he crouches on the floor and sinks down to sit against the wall. He realizes he is still holding one of Loki's tunics. It is painfully familiar, one of the many he used to wear in simpler times. Before now. Before Frigga. Before he fell (let go) from Bifrost.
And along with the guilt of his little brother lying on a hospital bed, the weight of his angry words at Sif add to the heaviness in his heart. He will apologize, when he sees her again. When he can focus on more than one thing at a time. He drops his face in his hands, breathing raggedly and deeply. He is only making things worse.
He brings Loki's tunic to his face and inhales deeply. He cannot say if the achingly familiar scent is actually there or if his mind is so grief-stricken that he imagines it. He cares not either way. He holds the tunic over his face until Loki's scent is all that lingers in his mind.
(You give up this poisonous dream.)
He wakes, the echoing remnants of a dream evaporating away before he has a chance to recall it.
(You come home.)
The thrumming of the blood through his veins is too weak but he can feel every shivery beat. His paper-thin skin is near transparent- the rivers of veins underneath his skin are too perceptible. He hates it. He hates it but- (he cannot stop)
Loki wakes up to the pain. He wheezes- twists his body over the sheets and clutches his side. His organs are convulsing, the acids corroding the lining of everything inside of him and he feels tears begin to build in his eyes as he chokes back bile. What did they give him? Don't they know that food will only fill his stomach until it bursts out filth?
(His brain his heart his bones his blood sings- for food for dirt for anything to fill this searing hollowness)
This hunger is the worst kind of hunger. He has long since progressed beyond the aching discomfort of denying himself sustenance for a mere handful of days. The searing pain of starvation has escalated into a numbness. No longer just hungry. He has progressed instead into this animalistic starvation so intense, he can feel his entire body going into shock.
This is the result of months of discipline, of trickery, of dedication- of work. He should feel proud of the result but instead, he only feels sick.
He can feel it deep inside his bones. His racing heart will not slow down. The tremors in his fingers have moved beyond his ability to control for some time now- even before his blaze through the woods. (Did that really happen or did he imagine it?) There is not a single cut along his skin that has ever fully healed. There is a freezing chill he cannot shake, the kind that lives inside his marrow so deeply it hurts. His body is practically screaming in its primal need to live- he can feel it in the desperate clanging of his heart.
His body- despite the emphatic refusal of himself- desperately wants to survive. He has never felt more betrayed by anything else in his life.
He remembers water. He remembers cold. He remembers- (Thor)
(shut up)
There is little else to recall. He finds it hard to stay tethered to anything these days.
He cannot focus. His surroundings are a haze- everything muddled except the ever constant fear. Of what- he doesn't really know. He cannot describe it. Nobody ever thought to explain it to him.
Sometimes he thinks that the unseen monster lives underneath his skin. He's been carving it out of him, piece by piece, a little more every day. One day they will see it for themselves. He will exorcise himself and banish the creature from his skin and maybe then, he could finally go to sleep. Thor can take care whatever demon is left behind. Didn't he say once that he would hunt these monsters down and slay them all?
But he will not let Thor beat him to himself.
Thor had drifted off sometime in the night and he does not notice until the Healer is standing directly in front of him.
"My lord? Prince Thor?"
He jumps slightly and opens his eyes. It is the young Healer from before, the kind one.
He opens his mouth to ask but finds he cannot speak, panic suddenly choking him.
"He has stabilized, my liege," she says, cutting across his stuttering. "He drifted in and out of consciousness and panicked on one occasion, but he is still now. He needs to rest more than anything," she says soothingly as some of the tension visibly relaxes from Thor's shoulders.
"Can I see him?" He asks quickly, the ability to speak returning as the numbing relief washes over him.
Something hidden flashes behind the Healer's eyes. "I'm afraid that might not be the best idea as the moment. He needs to rest now," she says, not unkindly. "Perhaps when he is more… aware."
Thor swallows the once again climbing panic. "Is there something wrong?"
The Healer sighs briefly. "No more than to be expected, Lord Thor. He is simply not as aware as he should be. He does not recognize anyone at the moment," she adds after a second of hesitation.
No more than to be expected. Thor wonders how much "wrong" they expected before Loki's jump.
"I thank you," he says and he means it. The Healer gives a slight smile of acceptance. A thought occurs to him and he holds out the tunic for her to take.
"Please give this to him and tell him… tell him that his brother wishes he returns to us soon," he finishes haltingly.
The Healer smiles kindly, albeit a little sadly, and bows her head. "I will be sure to tell him," she says as she takes the outstretched tunic.
She bows her head again in farewell and turns to the Healing Room.
He ignores the sudden pang of hurt at the way she closes the door behind her. On the other side where Loki is and where he cannot be.
"…return to him and your family soon." A pause. "They miss you wholeheartedly."
He can taste the lie before he's even fully awake. He tries to open his eyes but finds they are laden with some heavy weight and he cannot lift them. He tries to sharpen his train of thought but there is a barrier there that he cannot break down. He recognizes the sharp smell of seidr in the air, the gold haze behind his eyelids and he knows what they are doing to him.
How long will they keep imprisoning him this way?
Something gently lifts his head off his pillow and he would lash out if he could make use of his limbs. When his head is placed back down, he feels a cushion there. Something soft, like cloth, brushes against his cheek and stays there.
It smells like oak and rainwater and sunlight and something else that is warm and painfully familiar and safe. The barely functioning part of his brain screams at him to move away, to turn away from the smell before it only hurts him later for some reason he knows was urgent but cannot recall now. He struggles to remember why it is not a good idea to let it affect him so but the scent is so comforting and so warm that he slowly turns his head towards the softness and buries his face in it and inhales the scent once. Twice. He holds it in his lungs for as long as he can, suddenly terrified that breathing in too much too fast will make it disappear faster.
He is too tired to remember why he thought this was a dangerous thing to do. He inhales deeply until the familiar scent is all that lingers in his mind. He stops fighting the pull of sleep and allows himself to drift away.
A/N: I hope it was worth the wait. I really appreciate all those who take the time to review. I read all of them and take them to heart. They make me try harder to be a better writer. Thank you *cries with my ugly face*
Next chapter will have more of a plot- originally I planned for this one to have a faster plot but it felt too forced. They are all still somewhat in shock over the events so I felt more feels than action was appropriate (he he he) Let me know how that works for you!