Um. Wow. The response to that was...disappointing.
What did you guys think?
Very emotional chapter...all Loki's POV. Takes place in Asgard. We see a little more of Loki's violent side - such as his encounter with Hawkeye. Cameo by Lady Sif...it's jammed packed.
-XXX-
Truth be told, he had been scheming. Slightly.
It was his nature. Loki did not make plans for the sake of plans, but rather for his own security and defense. So what if he was seeking more power? If he was storing back energy, if he was avoiding the eyes of those around him, keeping Tati at a distance….what of it? He was not a threat lest they made him such.
He goes with them, silent, resigned, in his mask. The silver, to cover his silver tongue. Bitterly, Loki accepts his brother's grip. They are going home.
-XXX-
He is greeted home with less-than-welcoming arms. His parents are relieved, mad, and finally rid of their grief. Their son is alive. And home.
The punishment he receives is nothing more than a slap on the wrists. Silvertongue is put in a mask, his lies prevented by a silver contraption sealed to his face. He is contained for sometime in a sort of iron prison, alone, in the Pavilion of Secrets-a vast room of pillars, segregated from the main palace. It was where he met Tati in her dreams. Accidentally, of course.
Where he will meet her still.
Thor came often, mournful and eager to make brotherly peace. His advances were not rejected entirely. Odin comes on occasion, silent in the presence of his son-who-was. The prince-for he is a prince again-is reminded of Fury when that one-eyed stare is turned upon him. It is little comfort - both men would see him here. Trapped. In Asgard. In misery. Forever a wayward prince - never the high king.
His brother has told them of Loki's plans, of his demise. His new life. His war against SHIELD. And of her. Tati. "His woman."
The exact term unsettles him. While the god may possess Deror, he doesn't care for the very Asgardian phrasing. For she is his as he is hers. They own no one but each other.
He knows Frigga has asked Odin to bring Tati here once his punishment through. "It will make him happy," she insists. What she doesn't say is it will make him stay. Tati's presence will no longer give him reason to return to Midgard. His mother's strategy is abundantly clear; Frigga wishes to greet the girl in as a daughter, and as a hopeful wife to her youngest boy. Once it might have scandalized her that both of her boys wished to take Midgardian brides. Now she could only be relieved to have them home to stay, that mortal brides were a small price to pay. Loki also assumed that as Jotun, it would have been a relief to have him with a partner, rather than an expectation hanging over him. Besides - who but a mortal would take a Frost Giant?
He wonders if he did take a bride, not knowing his heritage, what would have been said when his children conceived arrived blue. That was, provided he could effectively procreate with an Asgardian. And what of Midgardian women?
Loki does not wish to marry Tati. To trap her to the home that was his gilded cage is far from kind. And, if married, they may never leave.
The Allfather is hesitant to fulfill his wife's request. There is no good in snatching up a young woman from her world. Especially one so associated with SHIELD. They'd had permission with Jane. If SHIELD was to be alerted…the friendship between dimension could grow strained. His elder boy urged it as well, agreeing with Frigga, but Odin knows Tatiana Deror has friends in high places. Violent friends. This must be handled with care. Loki prays Odin might see sense against his wife's pleads.
Frigga does not comprehend her younger son's cold nature on the subject of "his woman." She visits his iron box, tearful.
"You love her, do you not?" She never waits for his answer - not that he can deliver one, anyways. "Then let us bring her to Asgard! Let yourself be happy, Loki. We want a whole family again."
She believes Tatiana will make him hale and whole again. That her human love will fix all. Like Thor was healed by Foster. As if Loki will be so distracted by her that he will give up all aspirations of a throne. That is all his mother seeks.
If she, Tatiana, is brought, they will surely be married at his parents' insistence. Thor has told them of his affections for the girl, their brief life together, all that he knows. The king, queen, and court expect a wedding. Thor and Jane receive no such expectations - Thor is, after all, heir and full-blooded Asgardian. They simply all wished to see the younger prince settled. Out of the way and taken care of.
This is not the life he wants for her, and certainly not the life he would have ever selected for himself. If Loki must remain locked away, galaxies apart, then so be it. But she does not deserve the same fate. Tati will loath court. She will hate the false smiles, the stiffness, the disrespect of snippy comments. There are so alike in that way.
Besides, he cannot imagine her in a stiff court costumes, covered in crystals or gold as his mother might appear. He can hardly imagine her in any kind of formalwear - the stiff life of court simply isn't suited to a girl who cannot part with her sweatpants.
No…she would not sever as a distraction for him. Only as another means to suffer.
"Why, Loki?" Frigga pleads. It is a rare day in which the mask has been allowed off. His jaw feels tight, the movement of bone and muscle unnatural. In the background, the Allfather stands, imposing and silent. Part of him pities them both. His mother is at least attempting to find him some kind of happiness.
His back is to her when he replies dully. "Because I love her, mother."
She does not understand. But he thinks Odin might.
-XXX-
Eventually he is released from his cage. The trickster goes back to what he'd always done before - reading, alone in his room, a guise for his schemes. He does not attend court functions. Frigga attempts, once, to convince him to attend some dinner or feast. But it is in vain; the prince wants nothing to do with the menial tasks of royal life. Odin says nothing.
For weeks he stays in his corner of the palace. His apartments feel colder than before, barren. He opens the drapes for the first time, and reads in bed. Loki takes up late-night tea drinking, then sleeps in. He doesn't seek the company of others, nor have they yet sought his. When he does leave his chambers and encounters another living soul, it is with great indifference, as though they are part of the interior décor. Whispers following him throughout the palace and its grounds. "No matter."
When he's feeling restless, he has taken to practicing his swordplay in the stable yard. As he is usually feeling restless in the evenings, this is not a problem - no one bothers him there.
He conjures himself opponents. People, shades, in the images of the Avengers, his brother, his brother's warriors, and, once, even her.
There is one interesting factor to these spars - he doesn't always win. He allows for the magic to expand and create a proper rival. For what fun is there is you're not challenged? Still, his rage makes him very good, if not sometimes sloppy in his execution. Loki loves the rush of the simulated fight. It releases his pent-up frustrations. Every time he manages to fell Steve Rogers or Thor, satisfaction rose to the hollow of his throat. And when he faced Tati, well….
She isn't as adept with the blade as he is, this shade. But determination ruled her every thrust and parry. His magic makes her still clumsy, only accidentally graceful, and, on occasion, foolhardy. Nine times out of ten, he will defeat her, ending their spar with his reader flat on her back, trembling on the ground, or cornered in the stable yard, chest heaving, pressed against the wall. In these moments he will reach out. Touch her face. And then, as easily as she was created, the shade will crumble, fade away from his sight.
It is not fair.
He still wears the Vinter's pendant. Apparently, SHIELD thought he would be little trouble in Asgard with it. With it, he can feel her, faintly, like a whisper of silk against skin in motion. But nothing more.
Slowly, he is integrated back into small court gatherings - feasts, mostly, perhaps a few other ceremonies. Though he stands in the shadows, without helmet, the bare minimum of armor, many eyes are drawn to him. They stare, most unabashed. He simply gazes back, a once-king and all-god away from his people. "So this is what exile is…." He does not have the energy to show them his hate, so he settles for a dull, bruised expression. Since returning, his appearance has suffered - dark circles around once-bright eyes, his hair longer than usual, a smattering of a beard, hollow chest. Some do not even recognize their prince. He cannot bring himself to care.
It is the warrior Sif who first seeks him out.
She has never been one for great caution - truly one of Thor's lot - and comes to him in the midst of one feast, drawing away from her friends to slip into his shadowy corner. He eyes her with distaste, but says nothing as she rests on a bench next to him.
"My lord," she says quietly.
Loki inclines his head. He and the warrior have always had an understanding, primarily based on respect. He cut off her hair, she sparred him to a bloody finish, and they now had a solid regard for one another.
"Enjoying this fine evening?"
He smiles, a faint bitterness in the lines of his mouth. "As much as one can."
"You have not graced us with your presence in so long."
He sighs. "I have been here, have I not Lady Sif?"
"Yes, my lord, but only in body." A half-smile. Tentative. Not a word one would typically associate with the lady-warrior Sif. "Your mind is elsewhere. We can all see it."
"Then let them see." His sneer is unkind, but his tone is low, broken.
Sif folds her hands. "I only point this out, my prince, for your parents' concern. And for your brother's."
"I am alive. They need not concern themselves more."
For a long moment, Sif is silent. They sit together, watching the bustle of warriors and courtiers, the story-telling, flirting, and general wooing occurring around them. It is a sight. While tonight's festivities are, perhaps, smaller than usual, the hall still roars with noise. They go unnoticed. Neither speak, but something hangs in the air between them. He isn't certain what - they've never been ones for talking, at least, not to each other. So, they sit. Silent. Waiting one another out. When Sif rises, her head bowed, the god pauses in his observations.
"You are an object of their concern," she states quietly. "Because no one would have figured you to be one to give up so very easily. Loki Odinson is not one to relinquish that which he wants. But maybe we were all wrong."
He is too stunned to answer for several seconds. Then, he is rising, ready to pin her, hissing. "You've no idea what I have resigned myself to. For what cause it is I…I have not given up."
"Oh?" She does not appear convinced. Arms crossed, the warrior leans against the nearest wall. "That is not how it appears to the rest of us."
"Because I want nothing more to do with that world, you accuse me of 'giving up?' What do you know of my suffering?"
Sif is unimpressed by his passionate outburst. "I know nothing. Only that you've not surrendered out of boredom of Midgard, but for regard of one particular Midgardian. Which is, forgive me my lord, rather bone-headed."
Had he anything to throw, he would've seen that her pretty forehead was marred with bruise or blood. But he is without cup (much unlike his brother), and he dare not use a speck of power in this hall - not with so many warriors milling about. So, the prince grits his teeth very prettily, a half-grimace-half-smile.
"My lady Sif, you speak out of turn."
She bows. "My lord. I only speak what is observed."
With that, she goes back to her fellows. She doesn't look back once.
-XXX-
That night, the shade is torn to bits. This time it flickers between Banner, the Widow, Fury, and Tatiana. All are bloodied by the end of their turn.
"What do you see of me?" he growls to Tati when she steps up, flexing her wrists and rolling her shoulders before she enters into a stance he's almost certain she does not truly know. Thoughtful, the shade observes him for a few moments. "I see many things."
"Oh? Then tell," he commands, thrusting forward.
She parries, though with little grace. "I see unhappiness. Despair. Winter-bones…you are tired, my lord - " The shades will always, always refer to him as their prince. "- and tensity. But, mostly, I see you."
The last sentence sounds like his reader, and in a defeated relief, the prince surges upon her again. The shade-Tatiana defends herself with a look of entire concentration. She cries out when the blade whacks her sides, slices across her hand, and slides over her knee cap. But she stands still, ducking and leaping to keep up with his most angry hand. Let it be known that human-form or shade or otherwise every incarnation of Deror would be as stubborn as a bear upon a hive. Her thick skin would not allow for standing down.
When he lands a long, whip-thin slice across one cheek, she cries out. Only then does he pause to see the damage.
Instantly, he is there, before her, fingers on the wound. The shade hisses with simulated pain. Before she can fade, he presses down upon her, brutally claiming her lips. The creature of magic responds correctly with a squeak. He crushes himself to her, trying desperately to taste her skin, memorize the magic flesh, inhale her warm, clean scent. It's always reminded him of childhood. Safety. Warmth and light and laughter. He loosens his grip to ghost her arms, and then lets her go, sparkling fragments fading in stale evening air.
He is outside, but he wants space. Air. Darkness.
The god flees to the gardens instead, sitting in the grove of poplar trees, breathing. The thick rows were often his hiding place as a boy. Loki relaxes, slight form sinking against one generous trunk. He can still taste – or thinks he can still taste - Tatiana on his skin. He wants her to seep into his every pore, but that is unlikely for the moment. So he curses himself, his brother, the SHIELD, the Avengers, Tati herself…until he quiets, tired.
"I know nothing. Only that you've not surrendered out of boredom of Midgard, but for regard of one particular Midgardian…"
Sif's words echo in his head. The god closes his eyes. She is right, she is right, she is entirely right. But even so, it does no one good. Tati is not his for the taking. Not anymore.
Not even if he could find his way out of this blasted place.
"There are other ways out of Asgard."
-XXX-
Sif has become one of my favorite characters. And Sif/Loki are probably one of my favorite Marvel's pairing. She's so BA. *sigh*
Again, reviews would be lovely.