"Be extremely subtle even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent s fate."
― Sun Tzu

Loki lay back-down on his twin-sized bed. The sheets were a grey-green but the entire room—the floor, ceiling and the walls that weren't glass—was a stark, eye-burning white. He threw a cup in the air, catching it with his right hand. Sometimes when he was really bored, he'd try to catch it with his left hand. Or feet. Or mouth. He'd almost chipped his tooth. He had probably laughed for near an hour after that.

This was his punishment. A hundred years ago, or even just a few years ago, he would have thought this was worse than death. By now, however, he really knew things that were worse than death.

It didn't change the fact that being imprisoned in this white room was boring, mind-numbing, and was driving him completely mad. Like putting a child in the corner when they do something wrong, he was left alone to think. Of course there were many things that he regretted, that piled on his chest when he lay down at night and tried to smother him in his sleep. He would have killed himself already, had he less pride.

He found it hilarious that the room had furniture. That was his special treatment—furniture. Because that would make it more comfortable, apparently. Furniture for the prince's cell.

The difference between hell and purgatory was this: his previous hell, his torture, Thanos, was incomparably worse than this by far. But he never had time to think. Sometimes he had tried to will himself to die, but usually he had been intent on living. To see the small number of people he loved, fewer than the fingers on one of his hands. To get revenge upon those who had wronged him. Being tortured, at least for him, did nothing but increase his anger. It made him set on living just to kill.

But purgatory—then there was purgatory. Such a useful Midgardian term to compare to this white cell, he mused. If torture hadn't yet driven him completely mad, this would. He thought of his brother and mother and father and wife, his anger towards all of them. Her prophecies had come true; he did disappoint her, he was sure of that. She hadn't yet come to visit him, if she were allowed to. Even if she hadn't been, she could find a way. She wasn't so much manipulative as forceful, charismatic, though she could be either…

Nobody had let him explain. Nobody had given him a trial. His actions had spoken for themselves, or at least they seemed to. That was no excuse for not trying him, however, but Odin could do whatever he wanted, couldn't he? As much as Odin was loved by many of his people, he had an ever-growing group of opponents. The older he became, he slowly grew more stubborn and even arrogant. And of course, he hated Loki. Loki couldn't bring himself to believe otherwise. Even when his mother visited and he insisted upon the idea, his mother's optimistic answers seemed doubtful, at least to his ears.

Odin wouldn't even give him a trial; his brother hadn't visited him; his mother refused to hear his explanations, perhaps not because she didn't believe any of it, but because the very thought of listening to him seemed like treason. She preferred to speak of mundane things. How are you? Are you at least comfortable here? Do you enjoy your books? Your wife is doing well. War's broken out in Vanaheim.

Why would you even ask that question? he pondered. No, I'm not comfortable here. No, I don't enjoy my books, I've read each at least six times. I don't want to hear about my wife. I don't care if there's war in Vanaheim.

He actually wondered if his wife had divorced him, or Odin annulled their marriage because of his "death" or his disdain for Loki or his trying to protect her from embarrassment. As if he actually cared for her. Whether or not Odin cared for him, Loki was certain he highly disliked his wife. Maybe he'd annulled it because her father had asked him to. Her father wouldn't do that without her permission, though; Loki was pretty sure he feared his daughter, at least a little.

Maybe halfway through his imprisonment (though he didn't know that at the time), she appeared while he was playing the cup game on his small, uncomfortable bed.

He never saw her enter, but that wasn't surprising. She was a skilled user of magic. As much as he was, probably. Of course she could materialize.

They locked eyes for perhaps an entire minute. She looked exactly as he'd remembered—blonde, streaming hair down to her slender waist, round blue eyes pointed at the corners. Pointy chin, high cheekbones, a generous mouth. Tall, but not too tall. Tall at least for being half light-elf. Slightly exotic looking, but not too unusual to be an undeniable beauty.

She finally looked over him—his face, body, hair.

"You look disgusting," she said with a hint of humor. "You're so pale."

He couldn't help but laugh. "You've finally come to visit me," he said caustically. In a moment his face changed from humor to doubt. "Are you really here?"

"Do you think you've gone so mad that you're hallucinating? Yes, I'm here."

"Odin let you visit?"

"Are you stupid?" She began pacing slowly, but she kept her eyes locked on his. "Do you think I'm unable to enter myself? Actually, no, I'm lying. I had some help from your mother and Fandral. His wife is able to make him do anything."

"Heimdall," Loki replied, not really paying attention to her words. He rose abruptly from the bed and walked towards her. "You need to leave. Now."

"No, I don't. I've hidden myself. Besides, he's not looking at me."

"You need to leave. Of course he's looking at you. Or me. You are going to get yourself killed." He raised his voice, and his faced twisted into a snarl. "Get out."

"Do you know what I've been doing, all this time? For the past year and a half?" she said levelly, ignoring Loki's paranoia.

"Stop this. Don't change the subject. Are you a fool? You need to leave." He was nearly shaking.

She completely ignored him. "I've been crying. I've been drinking. I've been loud about how much I hate your father. I've told everyone I hate you, then I tell them I love you. I've been creating failed conspiracies. I've been fucking other men. And what have you been doing? Probably sulking and complaining to your mother. Throwing things around your cell."

He flinched. "What is your point?" he practically shouted in her face. "What are you trying to tell me? You are being reckless. You need to leave."

"My point," she said, "is that we are doing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. What do you think he would see if I were plotting something?"

Loki didn't answer; he stared at her indignantly, stubbornly refusing to reply. She didn't have the time to stall.

"Not in the mood to answer, apparently. You have little to say, even after we've been apart for so long…" she turned and picked up a piece of fruit sitting on the table by his bedside. She nonchalantly took a bite. "What he would be alarmed by… is if I were quiet." She paused. "I have friends, Loki. I have always had friends. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here. I'm well-protected enough."

"You trust people too much."

"Do you really believe that? I'm too trustworthy? Anyway, you can't have trust in absolutely nobody." She turned around. She was uncomfortably close to him. She shouldn't have felt uncomfortable being close to her own husband. "My point is, I know he's not looking. He's not watching us when there's war and conspiracy." She turned around to face him. "When there's Thanos."

"Don't."

"You're not going to hide from that forever, are you? I know you won't. You want to get out of here, precisely because of him."

Loki stepped toward her again. His hands were shaking. "He will kill you. I betrayed him. I need to get out of this place."

She cocked her head and smiled wryly. "Good news! You'll be freed. Or will escape, or something."

"You dreamt it. When?"

"How would I know? Sometime. In a month, or a year, or ten years. Do you think I'm given a date and time?"

He rolled his eyes. "Stop playing."

Her smile fell, and her tone became more serious. "You will get out. And you will help me. You have enemies. I have enemies. While you've been gone, I've found out far too many things…"

He knew exactly what she meant by that. Every ruthless Odin had done to anyone would never compare to that, at least in his eyes.

He grabbed her face roughly, unable to control himself. He pulled her body close to his and kissed her aggressively, squeezing her hips, trying to run his hands downwards…

She pushed away. "Itriel," he said. "I love you."

She batted her eyelashes and walked away through the clear barrier wordlessly.