Author's note: (This chapter was written by xCallMeLogiex) Sorry for the wait, writer's block can be pretty vicious at times. Since I wrote it in a half hour sometime early this morning it may not be the best.
Disclaimer: We do not own Marvel or Thor.
He wishes the guard were to come back, stand beside him again, maybe even give him that reassuring touch of his. The announcement of the prince is heard, and he feels a little cold, sincerely wishing for the guard to be his shield, his warmth, and confidence.
A slight shiver runs along his spine as he steps into the room, his stomach is in knots as he takes another step, one foot in front of the other, until he's standing a foot away from his father. He bows, as is expected. His head follows, before he straightens.
"Father. You requested to see me."
A simple wave of the king's hand, and everyone is filing out of the room, and Loki wishes he was going with them. One by one they leave, and as they do, his nerves freeze over.
"Loki." his tone is strict, Loki nearly visibly tenses. "Let us walk while we talk." he takes a step towards the royal garden, though once he takes notice of the prince, who has yet to move, he pauses. "Loki, we shall walk and talk." It's a demand; demands are something that the ebony haired prince are extremely familiar with.
He isn't sure why he suggests it, but he does. "With all due respect, father, but may we stay here?" he then suddenly thinks, 'Near the blond guard.' Quickly, he rids himself of the thought, not wanting to wish for something that will certainly not come true.
The king simply agrees, "That would be best. We wouldn't want the rest of the kingdom to be startled by your reaction." he then tries to lift the corner of his mouth, a sort of smile, but it only reminds the prince of a sneer. "I believe that this would be best, this decision. For all of Lazeroth."
And Loki just knows that this decision will make his head throb, even more so. His hands go for his royal robes, quickly fists them. Once he earns a small scold from his father, he swiftly apologizes as he lets the cloth fall from his iron like grip. Bowing his head, he listens as his father sighs. He doesn't need to look up to see that the king is pinching the bridge of his nose.
He isn't sure why, but he always feels as if he isn't a prince, or even a person, whilst in the presence of his father. He feels like a burden, a heavy burden, yet at the same time, an obedient one. Because whatever his father says, he does. He tells him to sit up straight, he does. He tells him to walk with his head held high, done. Loki is a walking, heavy, burden of a drone. He was taught to respect and obey his father's commands; the very mention of his father's name and he would visibly straighten; he'll be as stiff as a board. It's always been this way, so when he finally hears the king voice his decision, he gulps. The prince's stomach drops, he tries to remember how to breathe.
"What?" is all he can muster up into an audioable squeak. "F-father?"
"I wouldn't be asking you to consider if there were other options."
The ravenhaired prince can feel his blood begin to boil. There was never a time when the king asked him to do something. It was always a cold, hard, demand. And he's close to pointing it out, though now is not the time to pick a fight.
His head is swimming, questions begin to attack his brain. "When did you decide this?" It's breathless, but the king manages to hear it.
"I've been planning it for quite some time, now." when Loki raises his eyebrows in question, the king waves his hand, dismissing the unasked question, "Specific dates do not matter-"
"They do, father." the king narrows his eyes at the boy, but Loki lightly pleads, "Please, they do matter."
There's that exasperated sigh, Loki's shoulder slightly slump, because he feels like a major bother. As if he annoys most without knowing how to stop or prevent it from happening.
"This past winter."
Winter, having always been Loki's favoured season, makes him slightly grin. Though, he furrows his eyebrows, wondering why his king has been thinking about this for the past several months. It seems strange, yet expected. Much like deja vu. Realization dawns on the prince, his eyes widen.
His voice just barely shakes with anger, and he doesn't care if his father scolds him again, he fists his robes as he hisses, "You don't mean you've been planning to simply give me away to some stranger, just to make peace between our kingdoms, since the passing of my birthday?"
"I did what had to be done! What have you done? Besides playing childish tricks on our servants and healers!"
If the blond guard were in the room, Loki wouldn't hesitate to hide behind him, because his father can be downright scary once he raises his voice. Loki flinches, but doesn't back down just yet, instead, a humourless chuckle seeps passed his pink lips. "As opposed to being cowardly as you are, you're now offering your only son as a peace offering." Whatever confidence he had is drained out of him as his father, his powerful king, steps closer to him.
"Do not offend me in my own house, Loki." His eyes are hard, as cold as ice, he hisses, "I raised you to think about the good of your people, to be selfless. You will be married, and that is final."
"I will not be married to a man I have yet to meet!" he reasons.
There's a tired look that overtakes the anger, the exhaustion. "Loki, please." he draws in a breath, "Please, do this, marry Thor Odinson, for the sake of Lazeroth." his father places a hand upon his shoulder, lightly squeezing it. It's meant to be comforting, but it hurts and causes more pain than reassurance. But that pain is dulled as he replays his father's words, the name.
That very name causes something in Loki to swell: confusion, excitement, worry. Pleasant butterflies take flight within his stomach.
"Th-Thor?"