Loki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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marvelbox2011-12-10 09:56 pm
complicatedliar) wrote in marvelbox2011-12-10 09:56 pm
Entry tags:
Stitches
It had taken every trick in Loki's considerable repertoire to arrive in Asgard ahead of Brokk and Eitri. As he strode down the halls toward his Odin's throne room, he tucked his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. He fought to control his breathing, to appear calm and in control. The effect was ruined by the tattered state of his coattails, by the wildness of his hair, and the vivid streak of blood that had run from his forehead and past the corner of his eye.
He would explain it, all of it to Father. Well, all that he safely could. Thor's part in the escapade, he would leave out. As much as it gave him pleasure to tweak his brother whenever possible, he owed Thor this one and he would keep his peace. But Father would understand, would no doubt see the cleverness in the plan, would appreciate the gifts he had brought back in addition to the newly-rescued Mjolnir...
The throne room was filled to the point of bursting, though that was not unusual for the day and time. The court turned to look at him, his footfalls loud and hollow, but he told himself that, too, was not unusual.
Then across the crowd of gathered Aesir, he spotted the dark, stumpy forms of the dwarven brothers. His breath caught in his throat with shock, and there was a slight stutter in his step, but otherwise his expression was well-schooled enough to not show his dismay.
Head high, he walked to the steps of the throne and dropped to one knee. "Father, I have won gifts for you, and for the Queen." With a clever movement of his hands he turned the armlet, the golden boar, from the pockets in space he'd used to hide them, and set them on the floor. Mjolnir, he still kept hidden, the titanic weight a strain on his magic that was beginning to make his head pound. He imagined that the dwarves had the common sense to not mention Mjolnir as part of the wager and spoils he had won; surely they must have kept that silent if they were playing for Odin's sympathy.
"Loki." Odin's voice rolled like thunder. It was not the tone that Loki had hoped to hear his name spoken in. "I have been told that you won these gifts dishonorably."
Loki looked up, meeting his father's eye. He saw nothing there but a mirror, that showed a pale but resolute image. "I would beg to differ. I promised them my head, but gave them no leave to touch my neck. It is no fault of mine if the good dwarves did not fully consider the terms."
Brokk cursed him; Eitri grabbed his brother's arm. "We no longer desire his head. We accept your judgment on this matter," the dwarf said.
Loki's eyebrows went up. "Judgment?"
Odin stood. "You have treated friends of Asgard falsely, Loki. It is luck for all of us that they have accepted this, and ask but a pittance in return. The people of other realms might not be so kind." Odin's voice became cold. "Words have as much power as actions, Prince. And you must consider your words, and your wagers more carefully for what they could cause."
Loki bowed his head. "Of course. I understand."
"I don't think that you do." Odin said. Loki looked up sharply to see him wave a guard over. The man held a tray, with a spool of coarse black twine and a needle. "Brokk and Eitri have proposed a punishment I find most fitting. Your words have caused much trouble, Loki. It would be best if you take time to think before speaking so glibly again." The court dissolved in an uproar.
It didn't have to be spelled out any further than that. Loki swallowed hard, but he could also see no path of escape in his father's face. And he refused to beg shamefully in front of the entire court. His head felt strange, light and far away. "I understand."
It was only then that he realized that the noise of the court was not disagreement or protest.
They were laughing.
He would explain it, all of it to Father. Well, all that he safely could. Thor's part in the escapade, he would leave out. As much as it gave him pleasure to tweak his brother whenever possible, he owed Thor this one and he would keep his peace. But Father would understand, would no doubt see the cleverness in the plan, would appreciate the gifts he had brought back in addition to the newly-rescued Mjolnir...
The throne room was filled to the point of bursting, though that was not unusual for the day and time. The court turned to look at him, his footfalls loud and hollow, but he told himself that, too, was not unusual.
Then across the crowd of gathered Aesir, he spotted the dark, stumpy forms of the dwarven brothers. His breath caught in his throat with shock, and there was a slight stutter in his step, but otherwise his expression was well-schooled enough to not show his dismay.
Head high, he walked to the steps of the throne and dropped to one knee. "Father, I have won gifts for you, and for the Queen." With a clever movement of his hands he turned the armlet, the golden boar, from the pockets in space he'd used to hide them, and set them on the floor. Mjolnir, he still kept hidden, the titanic weight a strain on his magic that was beginning to make his head pound. He imagined that the dwarves had the common sense to not mention Mjolnir as part of the wager and spoils he had won; surely they must have kept that silent if they were playing for Odin's sympathy.
"Loki." Odin's voice rolled like thunder. It was not the tone that Loki had hoped to hear his name spoken in. "I have been told that you won these gifts dishonorably."
Loki looked up, meeting his father's eye. He saw nothing there but a mirror, that showed a pale but resolute image. "I would beg to differ. I promised them my head, but gave them no leave to touch my neck. It is no fault of mine if the good dwarves did not fully consider the terms."
Brokk cursed him; Eitri grabbed his brother's arm. "We no longer desire his head. We accept your judgment on this matter," the dwarf said.
Loki's eyebrows went up. "Judgment?"
Odin stood. "You have treated friends of Asgard falsely, Loki. It is luck for all of us that they have accepted this, and ask but a pittance in return. The people of other realms might not be so kind." Odin's voice became cold. "Words have as much power as actions, Prince. And you must consider your words, and your wagers more carefully for what they could cause."
Loki bowed his head. "Of course. I understand."
"I don't think that you do." Odin said. Loki looked up sharply to see him wave a guard over. The man held a tray, with a spool of coarse black twine and a needle. "Brokk and Eitri have proposed a punishment I find most fitting. Your words have caused much trouble, Loki. It would be best if you take time to think before speaking so glibly again." The court dissolved in an uproar.
It didn't have to be spelled out any further than that. Loki swallowed hard, but he could also see no path of escape in his father's face. And he refused to beg shamefully in front of the entire court. His head felt strange, light and far away. "I understand."
It was only then that he realized that the noise of the court was not disagreement or protest.
They were laughing.
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Thor wondered if he knew, but he thought that Odin would be more furious if that were the case. He had not been meant to lift Mjolnir yet, but it had called to him. It was meant for him, and when he had tried it in the vault its weight in his hands had fit so he wondered how he had gone so long knowing the lack of it. Its power filled him like a storm beneath his skin. He knew he had no equal, and then he had gone out to prove it so.
And instead he proved it wrong. In one fell move, he had lost Asgard's greatest treasure, and the part of himself that had awakened with it.
Desperate, he had gone to the person he trusted most in the nine realms: his brother. He hadn't even the presence of mind to hide his horror. And Loki, always clever, had promised to set things right. Thor had belied him capable of it until the moment the dwarves swept into court, and he had listened from his place with mounting horror as they decided Loki's fate and breathed not a word of his part in all this.
Still, he thought, his brother was too clever. It would not come to this. He listened until his brother fell silent and the court began to roar, and then he simply could not bear to sit and wait and listen any longer. The flash of the needle set his heart racing more fiercely than the battle in which he'd first wielded Mjolnir.
"Father, wait. Please." Perhaps the word caught Odin off guard, though it was drowned out by the roar of the crowd. He didn't even remember rising to his feet, but now he stood between Loki and Odin -- and the guard presenting the needles. "You cannot -- This is not justice."
"Thor," His father's voice made him cold all over. Though the word was not loud, he felt the weight Odin's gaze bearing down on him.
"It was not Loki's wager that started all of this, it was mine." Thor continued hurriedly, so that it came almost all at once in the same breath. "I --" Odin's staff hit the ground with a boom that seemed to echo in his bones. The silence that fell after it was deafening.
"Thor Odinson," Odin repeated. "Do not dishonor your brother further. I know all that transpires in these realms. Loki will face his punishment," Odin paused, his eye narrowing just a fraction. "And you move unless you wish to administer it."
Thor could not speak. He could not even breathe. The inevitability of this seemed overwhelming. He did not move or look at Loki. He nodded once.
The court came to life once more, cheering for their champion.
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Loki too, was silenced by Gungnir striking the ground. Odin looked at him, and cold washed down Loki's spine, because he saw that his father knew.
But he was accepting the lie all the same.
Is this what it means to be king? Loki thought numbly. Is this--? But he dropped back down to his knees, bowing his head again, as Thor nodded.
He hated the court for their cheering. He hated Thor, for not keeping his mouth shut, for agreeing to do this. And somehow, it just seemed to make everyone love him more.
The back of his throat tasted bitter. Loki clenched his hands into fists so they would not shake, and waited. There was nothing else he could do.
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He did not understand how or why such a thing could be. It was not fair, and it was not right. He felt sick to his stomach with helplessness. But no one else could do this. No one in court would try to be kind, and he could not imagine entrusting the task to Sif or any of the Warriors Three. It was not for them. He knew from his father's face that this was his punishment too.
He would have preferred to have his own lips sewn shut.
Thor dropped to his knees before his brother, unable to support his own weight any longer. The guard handed him a the needle, already threaded with twine, and Thor took it from him with an unsteady hand. His mouth felt dry, his stomach tight.
He touched the side of Loki's face, as if meaning to hold him in place. His brother's skin burned against his palm and the pad of his thumb as he brushed it once across Loki's lips. "Brother..." I cannot.
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What he saw would not do. Their course was set. They each had their part to play now, and there were no choices left to be made. He uncurled his fingers and grabbed Thor's breastplate at the shoulders, jerking him forward slightly. Someone behind him whooped, perhaps supposing that Loki would try to fight his brother or something similarly stupid.
"Shut up," he whispered fiercely, for Thor's ears alone. He had to keep his words short and fast, hidden from the court that watched them so intently. "Steel yourself, brother. Your empathy does me no favors." He gave him the tiniest of shakes, curling his fingers tightly around Thor's armor.
Blood pounded in his temples, the unending hum of Mjolnir a steady tone in the back of his head, draining his magic away. He didn't have much time before he wouldn't be able to hold the damned thing any more; it didn't want to be in any kind of proximity to him.
"Now," he hissed, then shut his mouth firmly. There was more that he could say, but there was no time. Perhaps it showed in his eyes. You are not the only son of Odin. I am a man and I will take my punishment. Fairness is the fantasy of a child.
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Thor was brother before he was prince. He protected Loki as best he could, and would have protected him still if he had wished to flee from this, but he would not dishonor his brother's choice, even if it was no choice at all.
Wordlessly, he shifted on his knees so that he would be steady. His hand did not leave the side of Loki's face as he brought the needle up to his brother's lips. He had not unjustly harmed his Loki since they were young boys, both small and awkward with too much to prove. Something in him recoiled at this, and he let it, blue eyes dark.
His horror was a burden his brother should not bear. Save for the ashen pallor of his skin, and set of his jaw, for once, Thor's features did not openly reveal his every thought. His hands were steady as he pushed the needle through in a single, careful motion. Rough twine followed.
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He was a man. He was Odin's son. This was his punishment and he accepted it.
The pain of the needle wasn't so bad. It was the rough twine sliding through his skin, cutting and burning as it went.
He clenched his teeth so tightly that something in his jaw cracked, that he tasted blood and lightning, his breath hissing unsteadily from his nose. But he made no sound again as Thor stitched. Blood flowed down his chin.
His hands, still curled around the edges of Thor's armor, went so tight that they shook continually no matter how hard he fought to stay still. One of his fingernails cracked.
Loki kept his eyes open, fixed on Thor's. But silent as he was, he could not stop the humiliation of pained tears gathering in his eyes and spilling over onto his cheeks.
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He could not stop. He could not even think of it. If he did, he would not start again. He would slay Brokk and Eitri with his his bare hands still wet from Loki's blood.
Thor breathed shallow and irregular, but still the motion did not falter. He was a warrior. He knew to put aside pain, steady his hands, and move with purpose. He told himself this, but too often he blinked to clear his eyes, or felt a tremor pass through his hand as he pulled the twine taught.
He passed his thumb across Loki's cheek irregularly but often, every time he felt the pressure against his armor increase.
Brother you are stronger than this. I know that you are.
If he paused, it was to wipe the needle clean against his own skin so that it would not slide in his fingers between one stitch and the next.
This would never happen again.
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Thor's hands dropped away. Loki shoved his brother back; it seemed to be the only way to free his hands from Thor's breast plate. His fingers felt stiff and frozen, the tips blooming with bruises. For a moment he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, bowing his head so he could scrape his cheeks free of those tears.
The pain as the stitches pulled was enough to send him sideways. He caught himself against the floor with one hand and pushed himself upright. Someone - Thor perhaps - grabbed his shoulder. He struck at them without looking, loosing himself.
Somehow, he regained his feet.
Far away, voice hollow and echoing and words running together, he heard Odin say, "The Healing Rooms are closed to him. No hand of the court shall help Loki in this punishment."
I did this alone. None shall help me. I can rely on none. I will rely on none.
Loki swallowed another bloody mouthful and squared shoulders. He made himself face Odin, made himself bow, somehow steady as his head pounded in time with his pulse, fire spreading across his face. And then he turned, back straight, and walked from the throne room with his hands clenched at his sides.
He couldn't tell what noises the court made now. It was lost in the roar of his own heart in his ears.
He no longer cared.
Loki made it from the throne room, and down the main hall that lead to the family's rooms. It was in the smaller, side hall that he lost his balance and staggered, falling against the wall. He slid down to his knees, cradling his head in his hands.
Blood dripped from his chin in a steady patter.
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Only this was no punishment, Sif thought with a mix of horror and sickened fury. There was no honor in this. No right. If this had been by anyone's order but the Allfather's, her glaive would have been at the knave's throat - or through it - before the first prick of that vile needle. But not even she could go against the Allfather's word. Not so openly. But she seethed with outrage as the crowd roared over the day's entertainment, hating every last one of them.
She did not know how Thor could stand it.
She did not know how Loki could endure it. Not even when he rose, pale and bleeding, and bowed to his bastard of a father before striding from the throne room. That was when she shook off Hogun's hand, slipping out the back of the crowd while they surged forward. She heard Fandral cry out to her, but she ignored him, slipping unnoticed out the doors, silent as a shadow.
The path to the royal family's quarters was well-known to her and her feet carried her there without the need to concentrate, which was fortunate, because she still felt lost in a horrified daze, too stunned to comprehend what she had just witnessed. What had been allowed to happen. The needless cruelty of it made no sense to her and left her feeling cold with anger and dread.
The sight of Loki crumpled against the wall just inside one of the passageways that had her crying out as she rushed forward. Sif crouched at his side, shaking hand coming to clutch lightly at his arm. "Loki..." she whispered softly, her voice strained. His head was still cradled in his hands, blood staining his fingers, his coat, the tile beneath them.
"Come, my prince. Let's get you to your rooms. We will see what can be done from there."
Safety, first. And privacy. She didn't care what Odin had ordered, this could not be allowed to continue a second more than it already had.
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It took him far longer than it should have to realize that the person in question was Sif. He sagged a little, then grabbed her arm tightly. He glanced back the way she'd come, but saw no one else.
Still, Odin had said no one was supposed to help him. And as happy as Loki was normally to bend the rules, he had caused enough trouble and hurt for one day. For a week. For a year.
He shook his head, then tried to drag himself to his feet by scrambling against the wall. It wasn't much further back to his room. What he would do when he got there...
He didn't know.
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Her voice was sharp as she grabbed his arm, keeping him from lurching away. He was in no state to get anywhere by himself, that much was obvious. Her dark gaze narrowed with temper, but it wasn't directed at him.
"Trust me," she stated softly, meeting his gaze as best she could. Since she had hold of his arm, she draped it over her shoulders, taking his weight herself as she helped get him to his feet, her arm wrapping about his waist to help balance them both. She was not going to be brushed off and she would carry him back to his rooms if she had to.
Somehow she doubted he'd appreciate that, and she didn't blame him. He had put every single person in that room to shame today.
It was a pity that most of them were a mass of sheep too stupid to know it.
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At least he'd made it most of the way before he'd failed.
He managed to put one foot in front of the other, though he was under no illusions about just how much of his weight Sif took - nearly all.
The short distance left to his room felt like a death march, even with her help. He tried to keep his head up, though everything seemed to list to the side. At his room, he rested one shaking hand against the door to release the wards he kept there.
As soon as the door shut behind him, he reached out with his free hand again as if grasping for something invisible. It took three tries, but he caught the space he had put Mjolnir in, and turned the hammer back to the correct plane.
Mjolnir hit the floor in front of them with a sound like thunder, cracking the tile beneath it into shards. Loki sagged against Sif. He felt strangely weightless, his breath coming hard and fast through his nose.
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Thor's babbled words, the explanation Odin had interrupted when the elder prince had tried to stop this, pieces suddenly clicking into place. It had made no sense to her before, why Loki would risk something so foolishly, not for a few gifts - even dwarven-forged ones. But if the stakes had been high enough...
Sif's fingers curled into the fabric of Loki's coat before she shook her head. She'd yell at them later for whatever stupid mischief they'd gotten themselves into. At the moment, Loki had already paid well beyond his share for it.
"Come on," she urged him, tearing her gaze away from the hammer and focusing her attention back on him fully once more. She didn't know the whole story, but she didn't need to. That could wait; he could not. Shifting, she made sure he was still supported against her before guiding them both over to his bed and easing him down on it, her hands careful, not wanting to cause him any more pain.
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He sagged down onto the bed, but didn't lay down. There was still too much blood pooling in his mouth, he felt like he'd drown if he laid down. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hands again. He tried not to think of the soft pattering sound that seemed to come from the floor.
After a moment, he looked up and pointed unsteadily toward his desk, making a motion like he was trying to write. He felt too exhausted to try to fetch the items himself, even over such a short distance.
He brought his hand to his lips, trying to not actually touch, but he was too unsteady, and it hurt. But he also caught the feeling of a magical field. That told him all he needed to know. He wouldn't be able to simply make the twine disappear on his own.
His stomach rolled, and he forced himself to swallow again and again until the urge to heave passed. That would only make a horrifying situation worse.
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They cheered and laughed and congratulated him. Someone made the mistake of clapping him on the back. Thor was hit by a wave of nausea so strong he thought he might fall to his knees again. He hadn't the presence of mind to make out any word, but he knew the sentiment behind them. Hate was a novel feeling for him, bitter and dark enough to blind.
"BE SILENT!" He roared, and though silence was given, even that was expectant, as if they wished for him to make some grand speech to add insult to injury. "It is done. If any among you dare to dishonor my brother's actions again, I will take it as a personal offense." And I will rip your dishonorable tongue from your mouth with my bare hands. "Move."
He didn't wait. Anyone who did not recover quickly enough to scramble back, he grabbed and threw aside. He heard Hogun's steady voice behind him, advising someone to stay down. He didn't see until he had gone some of the way into an empty hall how violently his hands shook, and then his shoulders. Tears rolled freely down his face, and when he moved his hands to cover it the scent of blood was so strong he thought he might choke. He jerked them away and stared at them, remembering resistance of Loki's flesh against the needle and twine. What have I done?
He couldn't articulate the words. All that came was a low sound of pain and horror.
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"Here," she stated as she offered him what she hoped he'd been motioning for, before crouching down in front of him. "Hold still a moment. Let me see how bad it is, and how best to start on it," she added, a hand reaching tentatively towards his face, although she hesitated before actually touching him, not wanting to inadvertently cause him more pain.
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When she reached for his face, he caught her wrist in an uncharacteristically strong grip. He shook his head, meeting her eyes for a moment before letting go.
Painstakingly, he wrote on the parchment:
It's bad. You can't help.
You should leave now.
But first
grab the basin
I'm making a mess.
His normal handwriting was almost indecipherable; he couldn't seem to keep his fingers steady no matter how hard her tried. As he held out the parchment to Sif, a drop of blood caught one corner of it.
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As she finished reading his note, she handed it back to him. "I will get the basin," she answered his words, pushing to her feet and crossing to the washstand, retrieving that along with a pitcher of fresh water and several cloths.
"But I am not going anywhere, my prince. Don't even think it. I'm not going to leave you here like this."
If there were consequences, she would deal with them later. And if the Allfather thought to scold her for her loyalty to his son - sons, for she loved them both dearly and she had witnessed the torment their father had set down on both of them this day - she indeed had a piece of her mind to share with the king.
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The twine is enchanted.
Will have to be cut out.
I need you to find Thor.
Tell him to get his bloody
hammer out of my room.
It's humming at me.
He hoped that would get her to go away, though what he would do then, he didn't know. He was in no condition to cut at the twine himself, he knew that. But he couldn't imagine leaving it in even a moment longer would help matters, however. But Odin had said no one was allowed to help him...
I must find a way out of this. I must think.
His head hurt too much for him to think. He could only shake his head at her again and hand her the new note.
And worst of all, his eyes were starting to fill with tears again.
It was just the pain. It had to be.
He put the basin on the floor; rather, he dropped it, though thankfully it didn't shatter on the tiles. He used his foot to slide it over the blood already pooled. At least this way, the mess wouldn't get any worse.
It was hard to think, with his shoulders shaking like that, with everything unsteady and his face burning and his head pounding. The charcoal dropped unnoticed from his fingers, falling into the basin. He cradled his head in his hands again, fighting to breathe steadily.
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He had not spoken the truth in court - it was not done because his brother's lips were still sewn shut. He had no intention of waiting until the Allfather deemed the punishment sufficient before he thought to find a way to undo what he had done. He should have been first to Loki's room. He wasn't.
When he pushed the door open he saw Sif's dark hair first, and quietly he was glad that his brother had not been alone at all. Then he caught sight of Loki and his fists clenched at his sides, but he steeled himself and moved over to his brother. Mjolnir wanted to come to him, but he did not call it. He could not take his eyes from Loki.
He sat beside his brother, careful not to disturb him too much, and tried to put an arm around his shoulders.
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She spoke no words in greeting as she knelt at Loki's feet, one hand coming to rest against his knee as she glanced up at Thor. "He says the twine is enchanted," she stated, her voice hushed, anger tinging the words. "Which I assume means he can't magic it away. He says it must be cut." Which wouldn't be pleasant for anyone involved, but this was one area she might be more capable of than Thor - her hands were much smaller and more used to delicate instruments. All those tedious sewing lessons her mother had forced on her as a child might come in handy now after all.
"I can do it, my prince. I will be careful. I need... I will fetch what I need from your mother's rooms, she will have it, I'm certain. But you will need to hold him steady, Thor," she added, her expression strained, fingers shifting against the inside of Loki's knee.
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When Thor sat next to him and put his arm around his shoulders, Loki sagged against his brother. Somehow the shaking of his shoulders and arms seemed less, now that he had someone more steady to lean on.
He hated himself for needing that.
After a moment he realized the charcoal was gone. He found it in the basin. It took two fumbling tries to pick it up; blood made it slippery in his hands. He took the piece of parchment back from Sif and crossed off the last thing he'd written with an unsteady scrawl. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
He only wrote one word on the paper as a message for both of them. It came out as a smeared mess: Leave.
The charcoal dropped from his fingers again.
They both needed to leave. He had to find a solution himself. But he couldn't stop himself from still leaning against his brother, from grasping at Sif's hand with his own, marring her skin with red and black smudges.
In the back of his mind, something horrible whispered: No wonder father thinks I'm unworthy.
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Thor's face was pale, his lips pressed into a grim bloodless line, but he nodded at Sif's words. Her hands were a warrior's too, only smaller and more precise than his own, and he trusted her as dearly as if she were blood. He would not have asked her to do this. The look on her face told him that she knew what she risked, and he could not have dissuaded her anyway if he tried.
He did not want to try, if it meant that Loki would suffer a little less to be free of what he had wrought. "I will hold him." Thor managed, a waver in his voice. "Sif..." It did not seem right to thank her for this. He met her eyes. "Return quickly."
When he read the word Loki fumbled to write, Thor's arm tightened around his brother. His answer was there. Perhaps if Loki wished to be free of him when he was well again, Thor would oblige. He couldn't ask forgiveness for this. He was not worthy of it.
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"Don't be an idiot," she hissed to him softly, but there wasn't anger in her tone this time, only firm resolution. "We're not leaving you to deal with this on your own. You do us dishonor to think we would. He was wrong to command this," she added, a bit more heat creeping into her voice once more as she squeezed his fingers. "All of this, it was all wrong."
But it was too late now, and the harm had been done, so she lifted a resolute gaze to meet Thor's, giving him a quick nod. "I will return with haste, my prince," she answered, pushing herself quickly to her feet and hurrying for the door.
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The tremors in his shoulders and arms began to worsen again as the sensation of cold started to creep through him. It was a strange counterpoint to the hot pain that filled his head. And below it all, he could hear the low mutter of Mjolnir, though the hammer no longer gnawed at his mind now that Thor was in the room.
He hoped that Sif would return soon. And he hoped that she never returned, because the pain would only become worse.
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