Disclaimer: Me? In ownership of Marvel? I think not! Though, here's to deluded dreams and even more deluded hoping!
This is an answer to a prompt on Norsekink and a cannon!AU:
"Scourge; 1. a whip or lash, especially for the infliction of punishment and torture. 2. a person or thing that applies or administers punishment or severe criticism. 3. a cause or affliction or calamity (disease and famine are scourges of humanity)
Loki is the Scourge of Odin and the most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms. When someone truly angers him, Odin sends Loki to met out punishment. The position has given Loki great power, but he hates it. It isn't the magic he dreamed of performing for Asgard when he started learning spells. Odin also commanded him to secrecy (a misguided attempt to prevent Loki being feared by the Asgardians).
Loki can create plagues that wipe out entire populations, famines that starve entire planets, extinctions or overpopulations (locusts ect) that devastate entire ecosystems, and calamity's that change the very shape of the land (wars and natural disasters). Odin keeps the Nine Realms in check with the threat of these.
When Loki called himself a "monster" he really meant it - the revelation of his Jotun heritage enough to finally push him to say what he's thought of himself and the horrible things he's committed across the Nine Realms in Odin's name. It's also why he tried to destroy Jotunheim, along with destroying a part of himself he hated he was acting out a punishment he truly thought would please Odin.
When Odin has need of his services, he goes to Midgard to give Loki orders - in front of the Avengers. Thor is horrified to learn Loki is the Scourge all in the Nine Realms live in terror of.
Something warm hits his cheeks and he hisses, turning his head to the side to escape the burning sensation only to meet cold, hard, unforgiving stone. He winces weakly and opens his eyes, blinking a couple times before his blurry world snaps back into focus. Blobs become three dimensional shapes, sharply defined in the piercing light of what he thinks to be the afternoon sun. He blinks again, back straightening and joints popping as his primary mental functions start coming back to him.
Afternoon?
Loki groans and falls back onto the wall, regretting it when moments afterwards a dull throb of pain in his back makes itself known. Had he slept in the corner? He must have; the sore back and the stiff joints proves it. He presses a hand against his temples and closes his eyes, trying to work his way through the fog inside his mind. His head is pounding and it feels like it had been cleaved in two by Heimdall's sword. Thinking - he very much hates it right now.
Knock.
He stifles a rather derogatory, animal-like noise, and props himself against the walls, knees creaking in protest from staying locked in such an uncomfortable position for so long. What in all the realms could have made him think that sleeping in the corner would be a better alternative to his bed? His soft, fluffy bed with its thin, insulating covers that felt like silk against his skin...
Blood drips onto the floor, trickling through his fingers. The blood of his enemies, the blood of monsters, the blood of innocent children.
It takes a while for the phrase to sink in before his eyes snap open, coherent thought present inside them for the first time since waking. Memories from last night flood his brain and all he can muster is a dumb, "Oh." His breath hitches and he rests his weight against the walls, feeling oddly boneless and weak to his stomach.
Oh.
Knock.
"Loki?" Hazily, the word 'Mother'registers in his mind.
He awkwardly makes his way towards the door, leaning against the wall for support with his usual graceful movements jerky and robotic. His lithe fingers move and he flicks his wrist, lifting his ward with a familiar gesture before curling his palm around his door knob to open the door. Loki sighs tiredly, running a worn hand through his hair. He grimaces when it comes back greasy.
"Hello Mother," he greets her carefully. "To what do I owe this gracious visit?" In all honesty, he wants nothing more than a chance to hide away from the world for a day or two. He needs time for silence and solitude to think over the recent events and sort his thoughts out. Not like he ever gets what he wants, but here's to hoping.
Frigga smiles, eyes twinkling mysteriously, "My dear son, you seem ill at ease. What troubles you so?"
"It is nothing that you should spend your time worrying about. I was merely awake most of the night, researching," he lies smoothly, chest tightening with each word. "I must have fallen asleep sometime during early morning. My sincerest apologies if I had caused you any trouble."
A smile decorates her face once more, but a small twitch of her eyebrow tells Loki that she doesn't believe a word he says. Obviously the lack of sleep is getting to him, dulling his silvertongue to the point that even a mongrel like Thor could point out what were lies and what were truths. It isn't because Frigga knows how to strip his defenses away, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed under her scrutinizing gaze.
Obviously.
"Then I must strongly urge you to sleep, Loki. It is not healthy to overexert yourself." She brushes her smooth hands across the taut skin of his cheeks, rubbing soothing circles. He is reminded of his childhood, where he would fall asleep curled onto his mother's lap, letting her comforting ministrations and warm voice gently lull him to sleep. He resists seeking that motherly nurturing he has come to know so well; Mother must never know.
"I will once I finish my research, I am almost finished."
Frigga shakes her head, "No, my child, to bed." She ushers him along smoothly, letting him crawl under the covers before pulling them up to his chin. He lets her stroke his cheek, his jaw, and his hair in a never-ending cycle. Loki's eyelids grow heavy and black begins to creep against his vision, the only clear image amongst the darkness being his mother.
"Sweet dreams, my prince," Frigga whispers, placing a tender kiss on his forehead. She caresses his cheek once more, before letting her arms fall back to her side, taking their warmth with them. He evens his breathing and stills his urges to twitch, feigning sleep like he has done so many times before.
He listens to the soft clicks of her shoes against the marble floors, the turning of a door knob, the creak of the door and the following echoes of her steps reverberating in the halls, before opening his eyes and shifting positions.
It isn't a minute after she has left before another knock is heard on his door, though this time a servant greets him.
"Prince Loki, the Allfather requests an audience with you."
Loki all but glides down the halls, going as fast as he possibly can while still keeping his footfalls light and nearly imperceptible. The hairs on his neck stand straight up and his heart is thumping away, each beat sounding like thunder to his ears. He is not ready for a confrontation with Father, he has yet to have the time to fully resume his apathetic, professional guise. After years of playing the part of the dark prince who could care less about the dangers of messing with the natural and unnatural forces, he is still nothing more than that frightened child with his eyes frantically glancing around in suspicion and paranoia.
He still hasn't quite forgotten the feeling of complete and utter weakness. He is never good enough, no matter what he tries to accomplish and prove. Loki wasn't always a sorcerer and he hadn't always been so well versed in the world of magic and spells. He still knows what it feels like to be helpless, to be alone and frightened beyond belief, to be truthful - he's all of those things right now.
Sweat cascades down his back, causing his tunic to stick to him uncomfortably. He frowns, lines from years of his lips curving downwards apparent even on his young, boy-ish face.
He's scared, very scared.
Even as he raises his hand, knuckles ready to strike the door, he fights to keep them from trembling too badly. He bites his lips and soon three equally spaced knocks sound throughout the quiet halls containing all of the royal family's private chambers. He moves from his lips to the inside of his cheeks, softly chewing off bits of skin, falling back onto a familiar, nervous habit he picked up years ago. A deep breath later, he is still no where near calm enough when the ornate doors, intricately decorated with ancient runes and symbols, pull open, revealing an aged man with a white beard and a crown of hair falling wildly onto his shoulders.
"Loki," Odin greets, not bothering to offer a curt nod even as a courtesy. Loki would be lying if he says that it did not perturb him, but then again, he is the god of lies. Still, his frown deepens.
"My king," Loki bows his head reverently as a sign of respect and lets himself be ushered into the room. Odin glances across the hall as if scanning them for any potential eavesdroppers before closing the gold-embossed door behind him.
The Allfather sat down by his desk, still every bit as intimidating as Loki remembers him to be. The dark haired god of mischief shifts, letting one leg carry most of his weight before switching to the other. There is silence between them and Loki's heart rate spikes for the second time in half an hour.
"Was your mission successful?" A question, yes, but coming from Odin, it sounded more like a statement.
Are they disposed of?
"Yes," Loki starts off, bringing up the brief speech he has planned on the way over to fruition. "The deed has been done and the Jotnar have been properly reminded of their place. They will not trouble us for a long time."
Yes, I have killed them, as you, my Father, has commanded me to do.
Odin makes a, 'hmm' sound and Loki becomes apprehensive, coiling up inside. They have long since forged a secret language between them, using words unsaid and subtle gestures and expressions to communicate.
"Heimdall sees all."
You have not told me what I already did not know.
Loki shrugs, "I am fully aware of that fact, Father. I have made sure to keep myself present in his sight whilst cloaking myself from any stray Frost Giants."
Did I not carry out the deed in your name? I did not try to shame you, you know me better than anyone else.
"He tells me that you had paused," Odin returns, "hesitating for a moment before casting your magic."
You felt - no, feel - mercy for them.
"Forgive me for my incompetence then. I am afraid that I had difficulties adjusting to the cold temperatures of Jotunheim. I had not foreseen such a stark difference. I was distracted and therefore could not focus enough to carry out the…punishment right away." Loki concludes, feigning an air of passiveness.
Allow me another chance, next time will be different. I promise.
"The mind is tricky." Odin says, posture rigid, seeing through Loki's lie as if it were glass. Asgard may comment on how it seems impossible that the two are related given their obvious contrast in appearances, but no one can deny the all-too familiar cunning and wisdom that is apparent in the second son. That's why Loki is so eager to please and so hungry for his father's love and approval; he bears the face of the Allfather and the last thing he wants is to sully his father's reputation.
Do you think me stupid?
"Indeed."
Of course not, Father.
"This will not happen again, will it? You have already broken one of your pledges and it is seems to be customary for you to fall into such...habits." Loki flinches and blinks before regaining his composure. Odin continues, undeterred, "Words are your weapons and they will seek their battles be it of your own intentions or not."
'Well, that certainly is simple enough,' Loki surmises.
"I understa-"
Odin cuts in, voice hard and sharp, "Do you?"
You are a lie-smith.
Loki's mouth tightens and he clenches his fist, feeling his blood boil for a fleeting moment, "I have no reason not to."
You say so.
Odin stares at Loki, the same searching look present in the age-old blue eyes of the Allfather, pilfering the life out of him slowly. Loki looks back, trying to act unaffected but he isn't so sure he's conveying it correctly. Suddenly, the taste of a metallic element, copper most likely, fills his mouth and he barely restrains the urge to cringe. He must have absently sawed off a rather significant chunk of skin.
He breathes out deeply and forces himself to meet his father's eyes unfalteringly and he succeeds for the most part. It is only when Odin's features softens ever so slightly, various wrinkles receding somewhat, that he almost heaves a sigh of relief. The relief is smothered to ashes when a second later, the reproachful gaze seeps back into Odin's eyes.
Unable to continue in the silent battle of wills, Loki breaks away, face downcast and flushed with shame. He sputters out an apology, quickly asking to leave before turning on his heel when the barest of nods is given. Though he knows he must look like a drunkard stumbling through the halls after a night of indulgence when he rushes out of the room whilst trying to retain some dignity and princely grace. With his gangly too-long legs fumbling over themselves and reddened cheeks and sickly pallor, he is nothing short of socially unacceptable.
He, fortunately, encounters no one as he stumbles back into his room. He locks himself in for the entirety of the day and not once does anyone come to his door, expressing their concerns for the health of the second prince. Loki knows it's because it's not unusual for him to seclude himself for hours to days on end. He usually finds solace in the silence of his room, either pulling the strings for a master plan or simply because he could not take the strain of being social any longer. He is, by nature, an introvert and Asgard and his family have grown accustomed to his self-imposed isolations.
He immerses himself into his studies and pulls book after book from his shelves. Pen in hand, he opens a notebook and starts to jot down notes on spells he's already perfected just to keep his mind occupied. His tongue, a sliver of pink against his blood-red lips, sticks out as a testament to his frenzied workaholic state.
When his hand begins to cramp up from being forced to stay in writing position for far too long, he cleans up his work space and grabs a worn-down tome from the floor before seating himself on his balcony. He opens up the book to a dog-eared page and lets his eyes travel across the black splotches of ink, roughened, yellowing pages crinkling under his hands. Despite his attempts, he gives up the ruse after he realizes he has read the same sentence about seventeen times now. He shuts book harshly, tossing it through the doorway leading into his room with little care about where it would land.
The evening wind drifts lazily over to him and plays with his hair, moving it out of its slicked position and letting it fall over his eyes in a tangled, matted mess. He shivers, a memory playing in his mind.
He curls in on himself and sighs, trying to ignore the incessant thoughts of issues he knew he had to deal with fraying on his delicate mind. They nag and filter their way through the maelstrom of useless thoughts he conjures up to dissuade them from his real problem. Left alone, with nothing to dull the sharp edges of the truth, he finds himself falling back into the conversation from the morning.
'No, Loki, you're thinking too much. Stop this while you can.'
But he can't. He won't.
Odin is always expecting something from him, be it a reaction or a favour, it's always something that he has to attain and later offer up. Loki quite often finds himself floundering under his father's intense stare; he knows he's not Thor.
He wants a son to be proud of.
That son is not and never will be Loki.
He can see it in Mother's eyes, the constant glances filled with concern and worry every time she sees him. Or rather, every time she can see him. Loki's sporadic disappearances have been noticed and when asked, the prince brushes off the questions with the claim of research and projects. Suffice to say, most of the general populace and even some of Loki's - Thor's - friends begin to suspect that not everything is quite right with the young sorcerer.
It's when Loki begins to pull pranks and harmless bouts of mischief that they back off on their claims, concern being replaced with wariness. At first, it is to cover up his absences, to say that he was scheming because no one believed his speeches about research - not that he didn't expect that. Then Loki began to enjoy pulling tricks and deceptions, it gave him something to do, something for his mind to work with because he needed to be clever and cunning to pull the wool over some people. It's also a very good distraction.
Of course, all his fun and games end when he hears the idle gossip of people as they ambled around, talking in low whispers about the dark prince who is most likely conspiring bigger and more harmful ploys because one who does evil can only be evil.
They aren't wrong, if only they just knew exactly why.
Odin's anger, it seems, knows no bounds and while Loki's found himself on the receiving end on more than one occasion, he still has an inkling that what he's seen so far, what he's experienced will never hope to measure up to the aptly hidden fury brewing inside his father. When the Allfather was younger, he had no need of a scourge to send out and relay his punishments. No, the man would have done it himself, with his own bare hands! No one escaped his rage.
But now, Odin is older, weaker. This seems to be the only inheritance Loki is ever going to get because it's obvious to everyone that Thor will have the throne.
Monster.
Whenever he sees is hands, delicate and small, he can't help but see past the porcelain skin and straight into his dark blood almost black with his sins. But sometimes, he only sees the reddest of reds, the shade of Thor's cape, which covers his skin in a repulsive thick liquid that refuses to wash out with water. He's tries; he's tries and ultimately fails to rub out the damned spot.
It is eternally a part of him, as much a piece of his soul as the monster that lives inside him. He has committed myriads of atrocities with his hands, his mind and his magic. There is no return for him, no redemption, no light. All he has known is the darkness and he will continue to dwell in there. At least in the shadows, his mistakes and hideous nature is hidden, concealed and locked away.
The only way now is forward.
His 'pranks' will only become grander and maybe even a bit of malice will be tossed in because of the people's ignorance to his reasons. His disappearances will continue and maybe some will even last weeks, months if Odin is truly furious. His heart will become darker, without a doubt, as he compensates for the weight of his acts.
But he'll still be Loki. Loki, son of Odin and Frigga, brother of Thor. Maybe he won't be the same Loki, but he's Loki nonetheless...
At least with that, Loki can lie and lie and lie until his lies are on the cusp of being truths for they have nowhere else to go as lies. The sweetest illusions, after-all, are always the ones he fabricates solely for himself.
My good old-fashioned feels are hurting. Someone help me, it's too easy to torture Loki.
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Till next time, happy reading!