Chapter 5 : The Muzzle goes Off.

Over time, Loki notices that the pieces are changing. They become more elaborate, more detailed. The crude wood turns polished, then varnished. Touches of color appear on them, like tiny ornaments. Red on the white pawns, green on the blacks ones. Crimson and emerald. Their own attributes. Thor turned the pieces into avatars. And Loki finds that totally stupid.

Thor never wins. And will never. What the point of turning those stupid pawns into their alter egos in order to symbolize their fight when he knows there is only defeat for him at the end ? Because as long as Loki is Thor's opponent, Thor will always lose. He swore it. If Loki cannot defeat Thor hand to hand, on a real battlefield, then he will settle for the small victories on the checkerboard.

Now that's just petty. I see your behavior become more and more adult and mature! But you're improvising ! Go on !

Loki lets escape a long and weary sigh. Nothing good happens when he tries to argue with the Voice. Just an awful headache that makes him want to tear his head off, just to end it once for all. So better not to answer. Let the mad whispers flow on him like water on rocks. No answer. That's the key. The Voice will tire in time.

Mimicking opossum now ? I know that tactic. It might be effective. But you will tire before me, that I can tell you. But you should thank me, instead of trying to shut me off. If I weren't here, who would protect you from the Monsters who lies in your sleep ?

Thor's face appears in his mind before he can even think about anything else.

Thor, huh ? Ha ha ha ! My poor friend ! You're even more pitiful than I thought ! That being said, you're probably right. Even after all you did, he would protect you against your enemies, even if it means risking his life. The fool.

Loki shakes ragingly his head to chase images and words from his head. The sudden movement makes cling loudly the mails of his shackles on his wrists. Shackles which seem heavier each day. He cannot move the way he would like to with them on. They cut into his wrists. Chafe his skin and cause annoying itches. He is unable to stop scratching his hands and forearms. He skinned his arms because of that. The blood that ran from the wounds only worsened the itches. Damned shackles.

Even if they weren't there, you wouldn't move more anyway. You don't have the strength to move anymore.

He has to agree with that. Every movement exhausts him, gives him unspeakable stiffness. It is because of the fatigue. That, and the hunger. Two things more and more difficult to ignore. Before, he used to pace his cell back and forth, like a caged lion. Now, all he can do is curl up against a dark corner and watch the candles burn out until Thor appear, his leather bag secured in his hand. Only at that moment his muscles remember how to move correctly long enough to let him sit in front of the bars and win the game. But as soon as Thor leaves, it's like all his forces are siphoned away. If he didn't know better, Loki would think that Thor cursed him with some spell.

Oh no. It's just that he trained you well. Now, you're a perfect little dog, which wails its tail in before its master and mopes when said master is gone.

Those words give him nausea and make his heart beats too fast. His skin burns so much that he feels like a fire is consuming his entrails. To dissipate the dizziness which threatens to overwhelm him, but also to make the Voice shut up, Loki punches the floor. Hard. The pain is his last resort. The very last rampart against the total madness. He doesn't try to heal his hand anymore. To what end ? It will be smashed again tomorrow or the day after. So the bones stay twisted and he lets the blood dry on his skin and form dark scabs which will worsen the itches even more. But at least, that macabre spectacle keeps him entertained for a while.

Tss. No time for your sick enthrallment this time. It appears that you have company.

Loki jolts. The Voice… He didn't think it would come back so fast… Did his condition worsened again ?

Pff… Is there even any doubt about it ? You're mad. Get over it. But for now, focus, will you ? I said you have company.

Loki looks up. The Voice is right. Heavy footsteps are echoing in the corridor. Thor ? Loki casts a quick glance to the candles. If it's really Thor, well he had to be very bored because he comes earlier than usual. And he is not alone. One, two, three, four… Five people are coming with him.

Oh no. They are more.

Yes. Loki hears them now. They are about ten people. But some of them don't wear armor. That's why Loki didn't hear them first.

Well well well… Who would be crazy enough to come and taunt the Maker of Chaos in his own lair ?

Thor. Of course. Always with his precious crimson cape draped on his shoulders and lovely Mjölnir settled on his belt. But this time, no leather bag with makeshift chess game in his hand. Instead, he came with eight soldiers in full armor and three Grand Wizards of the Court.

Oh look the lovely gathering you have here ! And all for you with that !

Oh joy.

Thor scans Loki from head to toes before his eyes fall on the injured hand. Fresh blood is seeping from it. His face darkens, but he remains silent. He looks slowly at Loki again. A wave of static electricity runs through the room.

Aouch. His Royal Highness Thor is not happy. You could have made an effort. You know that His Royal Highness does not like when you mutilate yourself so !

Loki looks back without blinking, daring Thor to say anything about his wound, to ask him again why he does that. He hates when Thor pretends to care about his health. That hypocrite. If he felt really concerned, he would have sent a physician to him earlier. Or he would have freed him.

"Guards, the key please."

The Great Master's Voice makes them both jump a little. Trying to poison someone with only the eyes requires some amount of concentration. Loki quite forgot Thor wasn't alone.

The soldiers look at each other, hesitating. Then one of them comes forth, searches feverishly among a bunch of keys (it's interesting, incidentally, how common an enchanted key can look for those without informed eyes) and, when he finally finds the good one, he gives it to the old Wizard. The Great Master's fingers brush lightly on the rusty metal while he mutters an odd spell in a forgotten language. The two others Wizards join him in his incantation. A golden light appears on the bars and turns gradually into runes. A chilling wind fills the room.

A sudden click rings out.

Then the door snaps open.

Before he can even think about seizing this opportunity to escape, two soldiers rush into the cell and point the tip of their sword on Loki's neck, the cold metal resting in a threatening way on his skin.

"One move, just one, and you'll be regretting that you're not dead already." hiss one of the guards.

Loki smiles under his muzzle. Ah, threats… He survived at least two wars, plus one deadly fall from the Bifröst, a never ending trip in the Void, and much worse. And they really think they will make him submit with mere threats ? That's so funny he can't hold back his laugh.

Immediately, the pressure of the metal on his neck increases.

"What's so funny, freak ?!"

"Drop it Borus. He's crazy anyway."

Loki's eyes slide on the soldier who has just spoken. They pierce him like two sharp daggers, dissect every layer of his body, before doing the same for the other guards. All their muscles are tensed to their maximum. Their pupils are dilated. Their jaw shut tight. Loki knows well what causes that. He always loved seeing that sentiment spread on someone's face, especially on those who proclaimed themselves brave among the braves. What was it again? Ah, yes.

Fear.

The soldiers are afraid. The Wizards too. To their credit, they hide it a little better than the guards. But their beautiful stainless garments trimmed with arrogant gems cannot conceal the way their muscles tense despite themselves, nor the tiny beads of sweat that form on their forehead. And in spite of all the scorn and aversion their try to display on their haughty face when they enter the cell too, Loki can clearly see the truth.

All are terrified. Terrified by him.

It's ludicrous, don't you think ? You're supposed to be harmless here.

No, no it's not. It's thrilling.

He who was always mocked, denigrated, called ''coward'', ''unworthy'', ''weak'', he who is locked away and chained, he is the one who scares the Hel out of them. Isn't it the proof of his all-power ? Who could pride himself of such feat, except maybe Odin ?

Well… Truth to be told, I can indeed think of a name. Oh, I have it on the tip of my tongue. It begins with a T. Let's see… Was it Tha…

Loki flinches violently and gives out a feral snarl. The Wizard who had crouched to his right lets escape a yelp of terror and draws back hastily like he had been bitten by a rabid dog. A guard immediately strikes Loki across the face with the pommel of his sword. The copper taste of blood spread in Loki's mouth. He had bitten his tongue.

"You will stay put, do you hear me, Monster ?!"

"Enough !"

Thor's mighty and unforgiving voice vibrates in the dungeon. His voice has the final authority of a true King. All he had to say was a single word and all stopped right where they were, petrified and abashed, just like children caught in the middle of a prank. Or is it because Thor now has Mjölnir in his hand and because said Mjölnir is sparkling with blue and threatening lightnings ?

Sure, that might work too.

Thor steps forward. The sound of his hobnailed boots on the stones of the floor makes Loki flinch. Damned echo.

"Loki may be your Prince no longer, but he remains my Brother. You shall treat him with due respect."

Without warning, Thor points Mjölnir's head on the guards and the intensity of the lightnings increases.

"You touch him one more time and I will crush your bones." He growls. "Is that clear ?"

The soldiers gulp with almost perfect synchronization. It's funny to see what military discipline can do in matter of coordination.

"For… Forgive us your Highness… It won't happen again…"

If their answer had any importance for Thor, he hides it amazingly well. He turns toward Loki and points Mjölnir on him.

"As for you, you'd better behave. Don't make me use Mjölnir on you. Again."

Tss. Brother, but not too much, he ? The hypocrite. On Midgard, he never ceased to repeat again and again how he cared for Loki, how he had always cared for Loki. But still, he would crush his skull with his accursed Hammer without any hesitation. And they call Loki the treacherous one. At least, since his return, Loki never tried to hide his designs. He did tell clearly that he will destroy Asgard. And the eight other worlds.

Bah… Don't pay attention to him. He's not that worthy.

Seeing that he gets nothing more than a murderous glare full of hatred from his brother (nothing unusual, really) and since the guards draw back a little so Loki can breathe without risking to have his throat sliced (accidentally or not) by their sword, Thor lowers Mjölnir. He lets die the lightnings, but he keeps the Hammer in his hand. Just in case.

"Sir Vaslof, you may continue."

"Thank you, your Highness." The Great-Master answers, bowing a little (not too much, Loki notes. His back must be painful). He then turns towards his two subordinates. "Sigurd, Fergus, go back to your position."

The two Wizards comply hastily, but the one who yelps earlier seems a bit more reluctant. Maybe he thinks that Loki can truly bite through the muzzle. Poor mite. They place themselves on each Loki's side and begin to chant magic spells. Loki rolls his eyes. No wonder that Sorcery is so denigrated in Asgard. The so-called higher representatives of the Dark Art make the lesser ritual look like an obnoxiously boring farce. Does he, Loki, need all that ostentation to cast a spell ?

Surely not. But what do you want ? You never had their title, but you always were more powerful than them, even when you were just an ''apprentice''. Be forbearing with them.

They are nothing but a bunch of senile botchers.

Did you never ask yourself why Odin was considered as the most powerful Sorcerer of the Nine Realms ? In a Kingdom full of blind ones, the one-eyed is King.

The Great-Master (so, his name is Vaslof, hun ? That's strange. He always thought he was named Dario. Did so much time passed since his fall in the Void ?) walks closer too. He mumbles unintelligibly while his hands draw a sign in the air. Loki knows that sign. Rmr. Arrival. He tilts his head. What is that old thing up to ? What are they all up to ?

The golden light is back. It's between Vaslof's hands this time. Soon, it changes into a long succession of rings, all dark-red runes inlaid in them. A chain. Another one. They cannot be serious… How much more will he have to bear before they are all satisfied ? Where will they put it this time ? To his ankles ? Do they fear that he will destroy the walls of his cell if he runs into them ? Seriously. Brainless imbeciles. All of them.

Vaflof gets a little closer again and looks up at Loki.

"It may hurt a little, I fear. I'm sorry."

He doesn't look really sorry at all.

Oh… Oh wait a minute… Those runes, on the shackles… This is…

"Sigurd, Fergus. Now."

The two Wizards simultaneously draw the same sign on the fetter Loki already wears on his wrists. Hníga. Opening.

All of a sudden, Loki feels all his magic rushing back to him, overwhelming him like a titanic wave. The sensation is disorientating, oppressive almost. But ô how exquisite. His magic. His dear magic is back. He can feel it bursting in every fiber, filling every cell of his body. It's not that pathetic, shaky, dying sparkle anymore. Now, it is the powerful blazing fire it always used to burn inside of him before. All that power… Finally… Finally !

But suddenly, it's all gone.

As abruptly as it came back to him, his magic is reduced to nothing. With it, are gone his power, his newly reformed strength. And his last drops of hope. The emptiness spreads through him like an insidious poison, eating away everything on its way.

And when there is nothing left, when the last bit of his Seiðr is annihilated, comes the pain. Dazzling, harrowing. Unbearable. His eyes turn blind. His lungs don't remember how to absorb air. Inside of him, the fire starts anew. Except this time, it's his nerves that are burning, releasing shots of electricity through all his body, causing his muscles to contract in a totally anarchic and painful way.

Something is tearing his flesh apart, limb by limb, fragment by fragment.

So Loki screams.

The muzzle slashes his face, muffles his cries of agony. Oh Norns… The pain… Now, Loki is panicking. What have they done ?! What have they done to him ?! His Seiðr… His Seiðr is not here anymore ! Gone ! All gone ! Before… before they came, it was feeble, yes, an insulting parody of what it was before his captivity… But it was still here, comforting and soothing ! And now… Now it disappeared, simply and plainly ! It cannot be ! They wouldn't dare… ! Don't they know ?! He needs his magic… ! Need it like he needs the blood flowing in his veins and the air which should fill his lungs right now… If they take it from him…

Enough ! You're not in danger. Calm down and focus !

Loki tries to breathe. He really does. To calm himself. But his lungs stay desperately empty and it only increases his terror a little more. He feels his body heavily crash on the floor, his muscles too stressed and crossed by uncontrollable spasms to keep him seated. On the floor, his head explodes. As does the pain.

Calm down ! Hey ! Do you hear me ?! Calm yourself, you fool !

Little by little, his blind eyes find the light again. Finally, he is able to take short intakes. Forms appear. Then sounds and odors come to him. The taste of blood fills his mouth. All is clouded and he can't part the up from the down, but Loki knows where he is. The shapes come closer and bent above him. He tries to crawl away, to trash, to flee. But soon one of the shadows takes his wrists and pins him down. Words are drawn on lips misshapen by an awful grin. No… No no no no no…! Please…!

It's alright, stop fighting. Let them win. You have to let them win. There is no other way.

No ! He can't be there ! This… All this… Nothing is real ! Not. Real. Awake… He must stay awake…!

No ! Don't !

"LOKI !"

With a jolt, Loki opens his eyes (when did he close them ?) and gulps the air like a drowning man finally coming back to the surface. The dusty floor covers with grey damp stones. The threatening sky with red clouds slowly turns back into an old rocky ceiling where spiders of all times weaved webs with odd, yet fascinating patterns. The sinister shadows blur, then stretch to change into pathetic wrinklies in white robes, shaking soldiers with shiny armors. And, bent above him, Thor.

"Loki ? Do you hear me ?"

Loki looks at the Thunder God without really understanding what is happening. His head is incredibly painful, as are his vocal cords. He can hear his blood pounding on the sides of his skull, and the sound is throbbing. He cannot stop shaking, nor he can keep his breathing under control. Something (fingers ?) snaps just in front of his eyes, making him jump. But the sharp noise somehow allows him to come back to his senses. A little.

"Focus brother. Do you hear me ? Answer me."

Thor has his eyes locked on him. His voice is firm and collected, but Loki can decipher in those blue eyes worry and incomprehension. Loki slowly nods. Yes, he can hear him. How could he not ? His voice is so loud it reverberates in his very bones…

Thor lets escape a relieved sigh and shifts. The pressure on Loki's wrists lifts. Oh… So Thor was the one pinning him down… In his turn, Loki tries to tear himself from the floor. Bad idea. His non-coordinated movements and his spinning head make him sick. He falls back heavily on his right side and soon he finds himself fighting the gagging reflex of nausea. Fortunately, after so much with an empty stomach, he has nothing left to vomit. If it wasn't the case, with the muzzle on…

Thor crouches by sides and sets a comforting hand on his back. Loki is too exhausted to beat it off. Truth to be told, he feels too exhausted to do anything.

They stay like that a moment, waiting for the crisis to pass and for Loki to breathe more or less normally again. But a hoarse (and clearly annoyed) fit of cough makes them both start and reminds them (for the second time) that they are not alone in the cell. Vaslof steps forward, Sigurd and Fergus right on his tracks, like two trained dogs. Tss. They have not any pride.

"Well, my Lord. All went well in the end. It appears that the prisoner can perfectly bear his new shackles."

The murderous glare that Thor casts over his shoulder make Sigurd, Fergus and the guards shudder. All draw back and locate themselves as far as possible from their Prince. To his credit, Vaslof not even flinch. He straightens his robes with affected gestures and looks down at Loki with clear contempt. That mangy dog. He wasn't that proud when Loki still had enough venom in his eyes to make his Holiness the Great-Master fear to come too near him. The old thing only dared to approach once he was surrounded by soldiers and dedicated (yet fearful) Wizards (no need to mention the threatening Mjölnir in Thor's fist).

"Sealing someone's Seiðr never was something pleasant, for no one. A thankless and exhausting task, that is." He explains quietly, while dusting his hands. "Mark my words, your Highness, your… brother" and he spits the word with a scorn he doesn't even try to hide "should think himself lucky to come out only with some superficial convulsions."

Superficial… convulsions…? The bastard…

"The All Father was merciful enough to impregnate those shackles with his own Seiðr so the prisoner won't die, even deprived from his magic. He should be grateful to be still alive and to benefits of our King's goodness, instead of throwing this shameful act in order to gain your pity."

There is a pulse. And a wave of electricity pours out on the room. Then another one, more powerful. Scarier, too. The all air tenses and it's become hard to breath. Loki does feel grateful. Not for Odin's so call mercy, but for his superficial convulsions (which were apparently part of an act he would have set up unwittingly) and their aftereffects that still ravage his body. The spasms running through his body hides perfectly well the quivering of fear he cannot suppress. He doesn't have much pride left, so if he could manage to preserve some…

"Sir Vaslof, if you truly value your life and titles, I recommend that I don't hear your damned voice for the next weeks. At least."

The Great-Master takes a few steps back, seemingly afraid. Since his banishment on Midgard, the Prince became much more affable and wise. That doesn't make his wrath less frightening.

Vaslof lowers his head, ashamed. Being berated like that, in front of his subordinates…

"Get out. All of you." Growls Thor. His voice is low, steady, perfectly controlled. And it's terrifying. The perfect illustration of "calm before storm".

All comply and get out the dungeon with hast and relief. Better be away when the God of Thunder is angry.

When they are finally alone, the tension in the air disappears and allows Loki to breathe again without having his lungs burning. At his sides, Thor sighs.

"Don't pay attention to him. Vaslof is a boastful, arriviste and self-centered man. No one understood why Master Dario named him Great-Master when he left his duties. But he is here now, and we have to compose with him."

The words don't seem to reach Loki. He is still lying on his right side, unmoving except for the few trembles that still rack his body, breathe even, at last. He looks like he is sleeping. But he is not. His eyes are still open, vaguely staring at the floor.

"Are you alright, brother ?"

The green eyes slowly slide to meet Thor's. There is no anger in those pupils. No venom, no untold threat, not even the cold scheming that usually rest there. There is just a great weariness, coupled with a bitter resignation.

Loki is defeated. His magic has been annihilated, purely and solely. Now, even if words were returned to him, he still would be incapable of casting the lesser spell, not even the easiest. There is no lock on those new shackles, which mean that they have to be opened with an incantation. A thing beyond Loki's abilities now. This time, it's really over. He will rot here, in this infect dungeon, for the rest of his life. Just like Odin told him.

Thor observes his brother silently. He is well aware that nothing he could say to ease his pain. Loki is a criminal who spread Chaos through three of the Nine Realms. His punishment is nothing but the fair consequence of his deed, and his dangerousness easily justifies Odin's disposals. Thor is not supposed to feel sorry for him. Hel, he is not even supposed to be here to begin with. But still, Thor never was good when he had to follow Odin's orders.

Without saying a word, Thor stands, then with slow and cautious gestures, he straightens Loki and helps him sit, his back resting on the wall of his cell. Loki doesn't fight him. He can't be more humiliated now. So he lets Thor kneel before him and slides his hands behind his head. He has no reaction when a click is suddenly heard. He just docilely opens his mouth to allow Thor to fully remove the muzzle. Loki doesn't feel anything when he is finally freed from that accursed piece of metal. He just stares at it without really seeing it.

Thor places a little phial at Loki's feet.

"There. For the wounds on your face. It should work on your hand too. Eir told me it might sting, though. Sorry." Thor murmurs.

He really looks sorry.

Thor hesitates a moment, then stands once more and goes out the cell, closing the door behind him with the key Borus left for him. He stays before the bars, visibly wanting to say or do a little more but not daring to.

"I will come back tomorrow." He says finally.

And Thor disappears.