marvelbox | Stitches

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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.

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Loki was glad, strangely, that Sif asked no questions. He could not have answered them anyway, of course, but he didn't want to listen to them either. He was angry enough that he'd had to drop Mjolnir in front of her, but he'd felt if he held the hammer a moment longer, he might simply black out. At which point, he would have dropped it anyway.

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.

Thor was dimly aware of the commotion. His jaw ached from the effort of clenching it for so long, and stung where Loki struck him. His brother's blood seemed to burn as it cooled on his fingers and the backs of his hands. He bowed to Odin after Loki and moved to follow, only to be blocked off as the king retired and the court was allowed to move freely again.

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.

Edited 2011-12-12 15:42 (UTC)

It took Sif only a moment to decipher what Loki wanted and she hesitated, but the prince obviously was unable to communicate any other way at the moment so she nodded, striding to the desk and coming back with a stubby length of charcoal and some parchment, the best she could come up with from the chaos that was currently his work surface.

"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.

Loki didn't even raise his head to watch her go to his desk. Sif had been in his room often enough as a friend that she should know what shouldn't be touched. He took the charcoal with a shaking hand and smoothed the parchment over his knee.

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.

She took the parchment he held out to her, her dark eyes scanning the messy handwriting. her expression was blank, because it was all she could do not to drown in the rush of emotions that were smoldering within her. They would be of no benefit here and now. They would wait until later.

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.

Loki took the parchment back. As she fetched the basin, he wrote:
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.

Edited 2011-12-13 06:48 (UTC)

It took too long to master himself, and when he finally did it was tenuous at best, but it would have to be enough. He felt the strength of Mjolnir's call and it filled him with dread so strong he ran the rest of the way. His brother would not drop the hammer unless he was safe or unconscious, and Thor did not want to think of Loki alone, choking on his own blood.

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.

The relief Sif felt when Thor appeared showed on her face, if for the mere fact that together somehow the two of them were more likely to figure out a way to fix this. Not that they were the ones usually responsible for getting out of messes, unless that solution required brute force and blade-edged skill.

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.

Loki wanted to hate Thor. This entire mess was his fault, after all, and he knew he would have nightmares now about his own brother sewing his mouth shut. Anger burned in his chest, but it was a sick feeling, muted by pain.

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.

It was easier to be steady when he supported some of his brother's weight, yet at the same time it brought a sharp ache to his chest. He had done this, all of this, with his own hands.

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.

The word Loki had written was impossible to miss, despite the unsteady hand that wrote it. When his hand clenched about hers, she lifted it to her lips, pressing a kiss against the back of his hand, one of the few places not stained with charcoal and blood.

"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.

Everything was happening too quickly, just flowing around him while he tried to catch up. He wasn't used to his mind feeling so slow. Loki found the shape of what they were intending to do, and it was horrifying. In a visceral reaction he curled up more tightly against Thor's side, arms clutched against his stomach, head bowed. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, in the hopes that it would quell the humiliating flow of tears.

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.

"I was wrong to accept it. Father isn't to blame for this." Thor's gaze shifted to the hammer where it had fallen. He could feel its pull still, not as strong now, but present all the time. He had always thought the consequences of his actions all his own to accept. If he had known he would be holding his brother in his arms while he bled -- but perhaps he should have known it would come to this. Was this what it meant to be king one day? That all whom he loved would suffer his failures?

He swallowed and turned back to Sif, but he could not meet her gaze, his own eyes clouded again with tears. "It was my foolishness, all of it."

But there was no time to talk of that now. Loki had curled up, and Thor was struck by how small his brother felt against his side. He moved his arm briefly to tug the cape from his shoulders and wrap it around Loki's shivering form. "Brother, I know that I have failed you already, but listen to me. Look here..." He squeezed Loki's arm through the layers of material. "You are too strong to be broken by this. It will be done soon. It will be alright."

Sif was true to her word and was back within moments, a small bundle clutched in her right hand. It had been easy to find, sitting on the table beside the Queen's favorite chair, as if it had been left out for just this purpose, although she had no time to wonder at this, too caught up in what needed to be done.

Slipping back into Loki's room, she returned to her position, crouched at the princes' feet as she unraveled the bundle with deft fingers that shook only barely. She took out the tiny golden sewing shears, so like her mother's that at least they fit easily in her hand, and glanced up at the two men, though her gaze lingered on Loki.

Taking a deep breath, she moved to stand beside the bed, relieved that at least the light was still good. Her expression grim and pale, her fingers clutched the shears tightly as she braced herself for what she must do, trying to ignore the sickening knot of dread in her stomach.

"You're going to have to hold still, Loki," she commanded softly, not meeting his gaze. Not looking directly at either of them. her courage couldn't fail, not now, and she knew if she looked into Loki's face, saw his pain, she might break down entirely. She couldn't do that. There would be time enough after, when the worst of it was over.

She silently cursed Odin once more.

"Thor. Hold him firm. I will make it as quick and painless as I can."

With that warning given - and the promise hopefully able to be kept, Sif lifted her gaze to the dark stitches in Loki's lips, smothering down her cold horror at the sight, and bent to the task at hand.

The golden scissors glinted in the light as she brought them to his lips to carefully snip the first of the stitches, using her utmost care to give no tug to his sewn flesh.

Loki could only shake his head at Thor's words. As sick as he felt, he also knew that it wasn't right to blame Odin for their own various failings. They had done this, and left Odin with few choices.

And yes, Thor had been foolish. Incredibly so. But Loki had made his own idiotic mistakes, and he knew he was paying for them. He'd mistakenly thought he could rely on their father to protect him.

He'd never make that mistake again.

Loki made a strange sound, his breath bubbling from his nose. He couldn't laugh with his mouth sewn shut, so that was as close as he could get. It was too ridiculous, all of it. Even as more tears squeezed from his eyes he indulged in that odd laugh, because it hurt too much to do anything else. And because he knew it wouldn't be alright. Something had changed; they had crossed some boundary that they hadn't even been aware of with their father, and there would be no going back.

But unable to say those things, the best he could do was nod to the one true thing that Thor had said - that Loki would not be broken by this - and huddle under his brother's cape.

Sif came back quickly. Loki's eyes widened at the sight of the scissors. It was clever of her to think of that, he thought, even as dread turned his stomach over slowly.

He sat up clenching his jaw as tightly as he could, and made his hands into white-knuckled fists, his fingernails cutting into his palms. His breath came rapidly through his nose. But even that preparation couldn't force him to hold still at the first cut. It hurt too much, and there were some reactions that could not be denied because they were too visceral.

Sif was quicker than he expected, and for that he was grateful. Every moment of this seemed to drag on too long. His eyes lingered on the scissors in her hands, but he nodded his assent and moved to wrap his hands around his brother's arms.

It was a whole different horror holding Loki still while he suffered, his body straining against Thor's grip so that Thor knew the tightness of his own white-knuckled hands would leave bruises. There would never be a time when he forgot this. Perhaps it would not be alright, and it would be a wound that festered and scarred.

It was the wrong thing to think. His stomach lurched.

He could do no more than match Sif's grim determination.

Her breath hissed out between teeth at Loki's involuntary flinch, but Sif's hand was steady and sure as she moved on, taking care as she loosened each thread. She didn't pull out the remnants yet, leaving them there until she got them all cut, but in order to minimize the pain of pulling on sewn skin, she had to move a little slower than she wanted. It was an agonizing choice between efficiency and care, one that only was more evident by Loki's harsh breathing and pained reactions.

She hated hurting him more than anything.

A drop of sweat trickled its way down the side of her face, but she didn't pause in her task, focused on it with a single-minded determination that only eased somewhat as she snipped the last thread. Only then did she meet Loki's gaze, her own dark and impassive. She wasn't letting herself think or feel, not yet.

"They're cut," she murmured to the princes, her voice strained as she set the shears aside. "I just have to remove the thread."

It had been a long time since Loki had done something so stupid as letting Thor pin him. Not since they were boys, before Loki had gotten truly adept at avoiding lessons he didn't care for. Thor was much, much stronger now. He fought against his brother's grip, with a certain sense of relief because he could fight, and he knew that he didn't have to be afraid of winning.

But it also stirred a strange, shaking note of panic in him, because he couldn't escape. And each fresh pain from the stitches fed that visceral need to flee the pain like a wounded animal.

Threads of blood slipped from under the fingers of one fist. The other, let go and simply clawed ineffectually at his brother's leg. Because somehow that movement, that feeling he was doing something helped him keep his feet planted firmly on the floor.

But he still made no sound. Even though no one was watching now, he still felt like he couldn't give them the satisfaction. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut at Sif's words, nodding shakily.

Do it. Quickly. Please, Sif.

His gaze shifted to Sif as she drew away at the last stitch. He had seen her bear mortal injury with much the same unwillingness to yield, so he did not offer to trade places with her now that the task ahead would be the worst and the last of it.

He took a moment to shift his hands against Loki's thin arms for a surer grip. He too knew that his brother could not overpower him - he had reminded Loki of it often enough, before he had imagined he would be in this position with Loki's fingers scraping almost pitifully against his thigh. Besting his brother in some match was nothing at all like this. He didn't want this. He couldn't have done it if he had not known it was needed.

Thor nodded as Loki did. "Finish it, Sif."

Her stomach churned unsteadily but Sif gave a single nod of grim determination. The shears were lain aside as she took a deep breath to steady herself. Shifting her position, she braced her legs to either side of Loki's as she leaned over him for a better angle, one hand coming to gently but firmly grip his jaw. She was careful to move none of his skin, but her fingers were deft and swift as she began to tug the threads from his flesh, ignoring the way her eyes burned or the cold sweat that trickled down her spine as she bent to her unpleasant task.

This was the worst of all.

Loki strained against his brother's grip, clenching his teeth until something in his jaw cracked and he tasted lightning.

And then it was done. The pain didn't end, but it was done. As Sif stepped back, he opened his eyes. He knew he should thank her, should say something but the very idea of speaking was unimaginable.

His stomach rolled.

Loki twisted out of Thor's grasp and snatched up the basin from the floor. He dropped it. His fingers were slippery and didn't seem to be working right. He bent to pick the basin up again, but instead dropped to one knee and retched.

At least he had his back to them, he thought bitterly. It could always be worse. And he now had some idea of what worse might look like.

His stomach had been clawingly empty when his father had ordered his lips sewn shut. All he retched out now was all of the blood he had swallowed. He propped himself up on the floor with shaking hand. His breath came out in sharp pants like he had just run a race. Fresh blood leaked from his lips and fell into the basin.

He could do nothing but close his eyes again and try to forget the sight.

Edited 2011-12-16 05:44 (UTC)

Once Sif had pulled the final stitch Thor's hands seemed to lose their strength and Loki finally twisted free of his grasp. His hands felt numb from tension or strain, and he had to lace his fingers so that they would not begin to shake again while Loki bent over the bowl.

He took a shallow breath before he again dropped to his knees beside his brother. The flat of his palm rested against Loki's back, moving in a slow circle. His mother had once done the same for him when he first drank too deeply of wine no longer cut with water, but this carried none of the easy warmth or the simplicity of that. He wanted to shut his eyes against the sight but he could not.

Instead, he lifted his eyes to Sif, dark and hollow with weariness. "Thank you, Sif, for all that you have done. Will you do one favor more and fetch some water and a cloth?"

Thor's voice was thick with strain and Sif couldn't blame him. This was the worst sort of punishment Odin could have devised for his sons and she hated him a little for it. She met Thor's gaze over Loki's back as the dark prince's shoulders hunched against another heave of his stomach and she knew her own expression was as haunted as Thor's.

"I already have it, my prince," she answered softly, retrieving the pitcher and cloth she'd brought back with the basin earlier. She set them at Thor's knee before fumbling for the satchel at her belt. She always kept emergency supplies on hand these days - a trick she'd picked up from Hogun that had probably save her life a time or two. Having returned with the Warriors Three shortly before they were summoned to the throne room, she still had it on her. Although at the moment, the small chunk of healing crystal was less than she would have wished, but it was still better than nothing.

"There is this, as well," she spoke, holding it up to the light. "It isn't much but it should at least ease the worst of it."

They'd already come this far after all and if there was disobedience, it had been entirely at her hands. Odin did not have the same freedoms in punishing her as he did his own sons. And to her, this was worth risking punishment for.

Loki forced himself to take deep breaths, to try to hold them in and let them out slowly through his nose. Thor's hand at his back was oddly soothing; it made him think of their mother. He was too old to wish for that sort of comfort, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

Everything seemed to have escaped his stomach. With exaggerated care he pushed the basin away, then sagged against his brother again.

Trying to keep the semblance of dignity was a battle he'd already lost.

He made to try to pick up the water pitcher when Sif set it near him. He thought better of it when he noted how much his hand still shook. Spilling wouldn't help anyone right now. He let his hand drop uselessly back to his side.

He raised his head slowly, like it weighed far too much, when Sif spoke again. He regarded the stone in her hand with horror. Normally, Loki believed that rules did not apply to him, and would have been eager to end the pain and avoid scars. But with the way Odin had been now... He no longer had that certainty, and he feared what his father would do to Sif. And to Loki himself. Would breaking the edict of no help get his mouth sewn shut again out worse? He felt he could no longer predict what happened.

Loki shook his head, then managed a ragged but emphatic, "No." He felt that he should probably explain his thoughts, but the idea of speaking that much right now was just too daunting. He shook his head, then looked over at his desk. The bottle that he kept there for his normally rare headaches was visible among the drifts of papers. He tried to remember if he'd showed it to either Sif or his brother before, but it was difficult to think, let alone pick out such a minor memory.

Finally, he simply said, "Headache," and pointed toward the desk. The word came out strangely formed, his lips unable to move properly around the pain. Hopefully one of them would know what he meant.

Loki let his head rest on his brother's shoulder. His face was already such a mess that he didn't notice the thin dribble of blood that flowed down his chin and dripped onto Thor's sleeve.

He hadn't even noticed the pitcher. Thor nodded his thanks mutely, and instinctively wrapped an arm about his brother again.

Loki was not weak. He was proud and graceful, sharp and subtle as a knife. His hands were quick and deft as his tongue. Though Thor mocked him for it, he knew all of these things so well he had the luxury of taking them for granted until now.

The futility of Loki's silent fumbling was unbearable. It spoke too openly of how deeply he had been harmed by this. Thor wouldn't have wished this on the worst of the Jotunn, and Loki was the furthest thing from that. He was Thor's brother. He swallowed hard, trying to quell the rising emotion that would serve no one.

He knew what Sif held from the way Loki tensed against him, so he didn't look up. He dipped a cloth directly into the pitcher. It took too much will not to flinch at the sound of his brother's voice. "Leave it, Sif. The Allfather may not hesitate to --" His tongue seemed to catch on the word 'repeat'. "Just leave it. We don't know yet what he'll do when he comes to know of this."

He followed Loki's line of sight to his desk, strewn liberally with paper. Thor used his own to pile tokens from maidens and swords that needed sharpening, so he only vaguely recalled what anything on Loki's desk was meant to be for, except perhaps to give himself a headache from all of that reading. He had something for that, didn't he? Something for pain.

"The bottle?" He couldn't imagine the papers being of any use. He glanced in askance at Sif. He hated asking her about like a servant, but he was unwilling to move from Loki's side, and not entirely certain that his brother would support his own weight anyway.

He moved the cloth to Loki's brow, cleaning the sweat and tears and blood face with care. Though his lips were the most gruesome, Thor would leave them for last, cleaning around them carefully so that he would not tug the skin.

Edited 2011-12-17 04:16 (UTC)

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(kind of disgusting I'M SORRY)

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