AN: Whoa! Thank you everyone for the reviews! There were more of you last time, so I was super excited! You are all really helpful and encouraging and I cannot thank you enough! Also, thank you everyone for following, and welcome new followers!
This is a real dialogue-heavy chapter, but I hope it brings the feels. I hope you all enjoy it!
Chapter 29: Sentiment
Green eyes scanned the impressive balcony of Stark Tower. He had been there before, of course, on less pleasant terms. He could see exactly where he had stabbed Thor. He could see where he finally came to rest before the green beast had thrown him in the tower and tore him apart. The construction trucks were gone from when he threw Stark over the edge. But in the dark of night, everything looked so different. Everything seemed calm.
He could hear the buzzing from the lights, with their bright white glow lighting up the expanse of the balcony. In their light, he could see his own breath glittering in the frigid air. Though he couldn't feel it, he knew it had to be cold out—for the Asgardian healer with him was shivering profusely, her hand trying hard to stay steady as she stitched her wound.
"You look cold."
Her golden eyes told him she was not in a gaming mood.
"An astute observation, Milord."
Rolling his eyes, the prince let out a sigh.
"Why don't we go inside?" he groaned, "You're shivering. You're not a Jotun."
"Exactly." She stuttered, pulling the thread through her hand, "This wouldn't work if I was."
Blinking a few times, Loki looked at the woman besides him and cringed. Whatever the stone had done to her again had been brutal—the skin around her palm burned and shredded. It looked painful, it had to be, but she paid it no mind. Instead, her eyes were focused expertly on the needle that she danced around her palm. In its place, dark thread left a pattern against her pale skin—leaving behind a design far prettier than the wound before it.
"I am inducing vasoconstriction." She explained, sensing the awkward silence, "When you get cold…"
She stopped herself.
"When most people get cold, blood leaves their extremities." She corrected, "I need not my hand making a mess of Stark's tower."
In the corner of her mouth, Loki could see the ghost of a smile twitch along her lips. For a second, he was brought back to the many times in the gardens when she would lecture him about the medicinal properties of plants. He could still see the spark of life in her eyes when she would go on about a new medicine she created, or a new cure she discovered. He could still hear the faint melody of a laugh when he would tell her jokes. He could still see the light in her eyes when she would see him.
But that was gone now.
"Clever." He decided quietly, "I should have never doubted you."
"Yes, well." Eir sighed, avoiding his eyes, "I suspect you have little desire to listen to me go on about physiology. So-"
"I simply wish to forget for a while." He interrupted, sensing her question, "This war. Thanos. 'Tis all rather heavy."
And it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't completely truthful. He didn't want to tell her that he kept seeing images of himself murdering his brother. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he could still see the Loki of his dreams—maniacal, with a bloodlust in his eyes. He didn't want to tell her that he didn't know which version of himself he was anymore—that her magic had done something to him and that he was terrified by the disjunction.
"Admittedly, a lecture would be a pleasant change from the horrors I have seen."
"And what is that?" she asked quietly, needle slipping by her delicate fingers, "If you don't wish to speak of it—"
"I don't." he insisted quickly, "I just…"
He could feel his chest tightening as the images came flooding back. She was looking at him now, an inkling of curiosity in her eyes, and he wanted to scream. How could he tell her that Thanos was going to kill her—kill everyone—because he made a mistake? The images were so vivid and so gruesome; how was he to tell her that he just needed her there to remind him they hadn't come true yet?
"I can't be alone with my thoughts anymore." He admitted finally, "So please…distract me."
The needle in the woman's hand came to an abrupt stop when the words left his lips. For the first time in a while she looked at him. Her golden eyes seemed extra bright in the glow of the tower, but their owner seemed particularly dim. There was a reluctant look of concern over her features, and it pained him to see her so torn between her anger and worry for him.
"You are terrified." She remarked, her voice barely above a whisper, "Tis written all over you."
The prince felt ashamed that he could be so easily read.
"Your lies once stopped at me." She muttered, focusing her attention back to her hand, "I suppose you were right; Time certainly has changed us."
The guilt had started to claw at his heartstrings once again.
"I'm scared of Death." He offered, not wishing to explain more, "I know she is near."
To his surprise, the lips of the woman next to him twisted into the smallest of smirks.
"I recall you wanting to die." She remarked simply, "Quite a change of heart, yes?"
And with that, the reason behind her smile became all too obvious. Narrowing his green eyes at the doctor, Loki let out a grunt of disapproval. He wasn't scared of his own death—he never was. He had fallen through rips in space and been put through torture. There were times he had been begging for Death to take him. He wasn't scared of his own death. He felt weak for fearing hers.
"Do not for a second think your magic did anything." He hissed, "Fear of one's own demise is natural."
The smile had left her face.
"I know what you plan to do." He continued coldly, "This isn't therapy."
Letting out a breath, Loki watched as the cold made his breath materialize again. Small flurries had started to fall now, their tiny white tuffs falling like glitter over the long, dark hair of his companion. A silence had now come between them-the conversation as icy as the air blowing past. Closing his eyes, the man let the chill enter his lungs.
"Knowing everything I've done..." He started, his voice barely above a whisper, "Would you save me?"
With each passing moment, the Jotun felt his chest tighten. The doctor had cast her eyes towards the star-lit sky, her face seemingly searching for an answer. In the end, he didn't know which answer would be more painful, but he knew which one he wanted to hear.
"Of course, Loki."
"Only because you are bound by honor to do so." He countered, "You certainly wouldn't mourn."
This time there was a visible change in the woman next to him. The breeze between them now held the echo of a shuttering breath, and her face had taken upon a look that was cast in anger.
"I could tell you people would miss you." She said, her voice harsh, "But you wouldn't believe me."
The prince just stood quietly.
"You have woven an intricate lie to yourself. You have tricked yourself into believing everyone hates you." She spat, her needle plunging into her flesh a little harder than before, "I suspect it makes it easier for you to hurt everyone."
With her hands shaking, the goddess wove a tight knot on her palm before throwing the needle over the edge of the tower. She was shaking her head now, her jaw clenched in frustration and her other palm in a fist.
"You have imprisoned yourself in this delusional reality where you are second best." She yelled, "I fail to understand how you can see yourself as so useless when you mean everything to…"
This time, Loki didn't know what he wanted her to say.
"…Thor."
Shaking his head at the woman glaring at him, Loki let out a bitter laugh.
"He would be pleased to see my demise." He argued, "He would carry on becoming king. He would wed that harlot of a mortal. He wou-"
"And if you were king, Loki?" Eir asked seriously, "What would you do? What makes you so much better than your brother?"
And as the question left the handmaiden's lips, Loki found his laughter dying down. Though he had dreamt of being a more spectacular king than Thor, he knew that they were just that—dreams. In reality, he knew that what he would do as king would be much more repulsive. No matter how wise a king he would claim to be, his road to obtaining the crown would be marred with casualties of selfish need. As much as he resented Thor, he knew his brother would make a far better leader.
Meeting eyes with the angered Asgardian, Loki could feel the guilt creep back and sit heavily upon his shoulders. Thor was arrogant and glory seeking, but he was still better. Thor wouldn't have tried to kill him to win the crown. Thor wouldn't have agreed to wed a woman he despised to win the favor of Asgard. Thor wouldn't have thrown away everybody he loved. Thor wouldn't have convinced himself that he was a hero, while playing the part of a villain.
"I don't want the throne." Loki admitted silently, more to himself than to the woman, "I simply wanted everyone to see me as they saw Thor."
And the look on Eir's face made him feel even worse.
"What?" she asked shakily, her voice cracking, "But you—"
"My brother is everything Asgard wants." He interrupted sternly, "Blonde. Heroic. Charming. Asgardian."
He could feel the breath catch in his throat.
"I'm not even Asgardian."
To his surprise the woman next to him just laughed.
"So?"
"So?" Loki asked horrified, "Do you even hear yourself?"
"So you turn blue." She yawned, pulling a blanket over her, "Do you truly think it changes anything?"
Narrowing his eyes, his orbs followed the woman as she sat over the ledge of the tower and dangled her legs lazily over the city below. She was wrapped in a blanket now-the shivering temporarily at bay. Loki couldn't understand how she could so easily dismiss his trauma—how she could truly think nothing changed. She couldn't understand the heartbreak he felt when his hands turned blue under the casket's touch. She didn't understand what it felt like to be different.
"It changes everything."
Her hand was motioning him over to the spot next to her.
"Does it?" she asked again, her eyes following him, "Does it really?"
Sitting down on the cold ledge, Loki let out a sigh.
"I am a monster." He pointed out simply, "I am the very thing my father would tell horror stories of. I am the very thing Thor sought to eradicate."
Closing his eyes, Loki could remember the many times—as children—that he and Thor would pretend to hunt monsters. They would climb impressive trees and create weapons out of sticks and rocks. Thor would always be the hero—and he would always be stuck playing the monster. He supposed that, in some way, their games weren't so far-fetched after all.
"And yet it was you who did that." Eir pointed out, breaking his thoughts, "You destroyed Jotunheim, not your brother."
"Yes, well." Loki muttered, his eyes following the river of lights, "Thor changed."
Eir was holding her blanket tighter now.
"Thor learned his lesson." She corrected, the shivering coming back, "But you have not yet learned yours."
Not able to stop himself, the prince let out an incredulous laugh.
"Oh this is going to be precious." He smiled, rolling his eyes, "My family hates me. Pray tell, what lesson must I learn from all of this? What lesson must I learn after being lied to?"
The Asgardian let out a frustrated sigh.
"Thor's lesson was to open his heart." She explained simply, "And yours is to open your eyes."
Once again, the prince couldn't help himself from letting a laugh escape his lips. With each cackle, the frustration on the handmaiden's features grew.
"I have done nothing but open my eyes." He spat, eying the doctor coldly, "I have seen through the veil! I have opened my eyes to a lifetime of deception…I finally see the vile workings of my parents. I see that I have been manipulated—used!"
His voice had only gotten louder as his anger grew. She had some audacity to claim he was to learn anything from his troubles. There was nothing that he could learn from the wretched life he had. There was no redemption and no great moral finding to be had in the wake of such torture. He was not Thor—he wasn't put through trials to learn something grand—he wasn't used so that he could become king.
Letting out a shuttering breath, he continued.
"I finally see that I was never who I thought I was." He added quietly, his voice no longer hostile, "I cannot open my eyes further."
This time, a small laugh escaped the Goddess.
"I adore it when you prove my point so easily." She smirked, "Precious."
Loki narrowed his eyes.
"'Twas wrong of Odin to lie to you." She agreed, her voice shaking, "But you only see the lie. You only see yourself as a monster from stories of old."
Eir had tightened the grip on her blanket once again-her small hands shaking in the icy air. But when she looked at him this time, there was something that was much warmer. The golden eyes that were the envy of Asgard were dripping with a sincerity that broke his heart. For the first time in a while, they weren't filled with animosity towards him.
"You fail to see that…to everyone that cares about you…" she continued, biting her bottom lip nervously, "None of that matters."
His chest was tightening as she gave him a small smile.
"I suppose this isn't forgetting, is it?"
Looking up towards the sky once again, the prince let the woman's words sink in. Even when he had stolen the Tesseract—even when he had sought to rule Midgard—Thor looked at him as a brother. He could still hear the words of his mother, her face filled with worry over Odin's weakening body, when she told him he was every bit her son. Despite the many things his parents had made him give up, he knew their words were not selfish lies.
And when he looked over at the woman next to him, with her metallic eyes reflecting the diamonds in the sky, he knew that she, too, was telling the truth. Despite everything he had done, despite the lies he had told and the power he craved, she was sitting there next to him. Of anyone, she had the best reason to hate him and yet she had saved him—she had vowed to heal him. He was a monster for many reasons, but not because he was of Jotunheim.
"The stars are different here." He whispered, his eyes tracing the patterns in the clear sky, "I fancy the ones back home."
The handmaiden next to him remained quiet.
"Did you know." He smiled sadly, "The light we are seeing is centuries old? To look at the stars is to look to the past."
He let out a small huff.
"I was happier then." He admitted quietly, "In the past."
The healer finally looked at him.
"We all were."
"And now look at me." He said, shaking his head, "I am damaged. I have lost everything."
But to his surprise, the goddess gave him a small smile.
"Some Midgardians believe things are more precious when broken." She explained, her voice a whisper in the breeze, "They fill in cracked bowls with gold."
Her eyes had traveled back up to the stars.
"I think it is the same with people." She remarked, "You will become better for having been broken."
Loki could hear the faint sound of a siren in the city below. In the silence between them, he was reminded of the buzzing from Stark's lights and the low roar of the city he once destroyed.
"A nice sentiment, really." He agreed, "But I am not a bowl. I cannot be so easily mended."
And as he looked down at her stitched up hand, he realized that she was not so easily fixed, either.
"Perhaps that's true." She admitted, her fingers dancing across her stitching, "But that doesn't mean you are irreparable."
She gave him a small smile.
"I don't think so, at least."
And as he looked at her sincere smile, he could feel the guilt overtake him—for when the tables were turned, he couldn't say the same of her.
"Eir…"
His eyes had met hers now, his mind suddenly aware that they had become very close. Sitting on the edge of the tower, Loki could feel the goddess's breath on his face, and her eyes lowering towards his lips. Though she was shivering, he didn't think her breath had hitched in her throat because of the cold.
"I have to go."
Blinking his eyes, the prince watched as the healer moved away from him quickly, almost as if she had just touched something hot—as if she was afraid of being burned.
"Goodnight, Loki."
He could hear the sounds of her footsteps growing fainter as she left him alone once again—his only company his thoughts and the slow whistle of the wind. Looking up towards the stars once again, the man let out a sigh. Despite everything she had told him, there was still the shadow of mortality looming over them. His sins would be their undoing—his mistakes would be the spark on their funeral pyre. He had made many follies, and he was left with not enough time to atone for them.
He wished he were strong enough to tell her how sorry he was—to tell Thor how sorry he was. But they were living on borrowed time; Thanos would make good on his promise in the coming days, and all would be lost. He had days to fix what a thousand years of apologies wouldn't heal. No amount of wishing, no amount of magic or bargaining could change that.
Letting the cold air enter his lungs once again, Loki let himself become embraced by the chill of the wind. She was already gone, in more ways than one, but the words still passed his lips—their sounds getting lost in the echo of city life below.
"Goodnight, Eir."
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