marvelbox | Stitches

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For just this moment, he indulged himself in leaning against her. Or at least that was how he thought of it, because otherwise he might have to admit that he'd fall over without her support.

Loki shook his head, the motion feeling strange and wobbly. "He already has. He can't bloody well shut up. I did this for him. And... and... that wasn't good enough, was it? He wanted me to fix it, and now he won't just shut up and let me fix it and it's just going to get worse!"

He had more to say on that vein, quite a bit more, the words forming a strange pile in the back of his throat, but he couldn't get them around his breath or his heartbeat. He shook his head, throat working uselessly, another odd moan coming from his throat that transformed into a humorless, horrible laugh.

"Loki," she interrupted him, her voice soft but firm. One hand cupped against his cheek as she tilted his face up so she could meet his gaze. "Breathe. You did this for him, yes, and no one is more aware of that than Thor. It was good enough. It was more than enough, and even that's an understatement. It went far, far beyond what he ever anticipated you needing to do for him, or what he ever would have asked of you. It is fixed, the debt is paid and he would not lessen what you have done for him. Give him some credit, Loki. When he actually stops and thinks, he's not entirely inept at it and he has had much time to brood over this through the night."

"Besides," she countered, trying to keep her voice logical, because Loki hated fussing on a good day, and this was the farthest thing from that. "You're in no state to go out there just yet, either. How early did you sneak out this morning?" she asked, keeping her arms around him, lending him her strength as long as he needed it. And, she could admit to herself reluctantly, because it felt nice and she needed the reassurance.

"You're a bit of a mess," she informed him gently, distracting herself from her own thoughts as she kept her focus on him.

He only laughed more, somewhere between despair and hysteria. What was she talking about? He couldn't breathe. His breath had run away from him. Loki seemed to be trying to look at everything but her face, gaze wandering wildly. "When he stops and thinks. When he stops and thinks. He should have... nothing to say to our father. Nothing. Needs to... let it alone." It was difficult to organize the words, the way his heartbeat kept thundering in his ears, but it was important. She needed to understand, so maybe she'd let him go. He'd already done his own cause a possibly insurmountable injury just by sitting around for so long. "I need to go. Need to talk to our father. Make him understand. Tell him it was all my idea."

One hand curled around the collar of her shirt, though the movement felt very weak. He shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

"Loki!" She interrupted him again, her worry growing as he babbled, only halfway making sense, his words disjointed and stilted. When his fingers curled against her collar, her arms tightened about him, wishing she could give him some of her strength, some sense of calm. It wasn't like him to be panicking and it frightened her. "Fine, fine, I will take you to your father, but you need to calm down first. You'll do no one any good in this state, you're not making sense. Come sit down a moment," she urged him, one arm moving to twine about his waist as she turned him back to the bed. I think you underestimate what your father understands, dearest. I think he understood from the start. And it will do no good lying to him now when you can barely stand upright, let along string two coherent thoughts together."

He finally realized what a state he must be in, trying to slot this new humiliation in with everything else that had already happened. He swallowed hard and nodded, not resisting as she moved him the small distance to the bed and sat with him. He released her collar, flexing his fingers to try to get some sensation from them other than the strange tingling.

He made himself count his breaths, one, two, three, and then spoke. His voice sounded a measure more even, but he couldn't quite seem to sit up straight, listing a little against her. "Father does know. But he doesn't know unless we tell him. He can pretend to not know. And he needs to not know. That's why... that's why all of this happened. If my brother... if he..." Loki shook his head, closing his eyes tightly for a moment. Not really registering the motion, he felt at his lips with shaking fingers. If anything, he seemed to get a little paler as he did so. "It's all meaningless. I had a purpose."

For once it had been his turn to protect his brother, and he knew that Thor was just going to go cock it up with his sense of justice that had no place in the realm of court games, which was what this had become ultimately. "You shouldn't be here. Shouldn't have been there. I have to fix this."

That didn't make much more sense than the disjointed sentences he'd been babbling a moment before. "Why does he need to not know, Loki?" Sif asked him softly, catching his hand and tugging it away from his lips. "What will make this not meaningless?" She humored him for the moment, for she truly did want to understand him, but if he thought this new purpose involved him being Thor's whipping boy, she was going to physically start attempting to knock sense back into his head.

She squeezed his fingers lightly, searching his face. "Forget about where I should or shouldn't be, I am here, so you're going to have to deal with it. Now what do you need to do to fix this so you stop panicking?"

Having to explain it, having to think how to put it into words helped, strangely. He had to be calm to think. His hands still shook, but his breath slowed a little. He stared at the bookshelves rather than her, letting her have his hand for now. "There is no reason for both of us to be punished. Not publicly. I did this for Thor. Whether he knew what he was asking me to do or not. I cleaned up his mess. You heard them all, cheering their future king. It only hurts everyone if he doesn't keep his damn mouth shut."

He paused, trying to collect his thoughts as they scattered once again. "As long as no one tells Father the whole truth, then it stays my fault. Thor remains the hero. The dwarves don't hate him. But if Father is told, then he will have to act. He won't have a choice, like he didn't have a choice to punish me. And punishing Thor will only make the court angry. It will cause more trouble. It will ripple."

With each word he became more still, his tone more even. He knew that his reasoning was impeccable, and it made him a little sick, but he needed to make himself an expert at the terrible calculus of state. His father could no longer protect him, so he had to take that into account now. It was the irrevocable symbol that he and Thor were truly adults and had to figure out how to solve their own problems.

Finally, he did look at Sif, hoping that she could at least understand his point now, his reason for being so frantic. "If Thor opens his gods-damned noble mouth and forces Father's hand, then everything that happened yesterday... everything that I endured becomes a useless gesture."

And really, what could be worse than having his mouth sewn shut? Having that happen for absolutely no reason at all, for that pain to be worthless currency.

She didn't know what she hated more - the words he spoke or the fact that she knew he was right. It made perfect, horrifying sense and her fingers tightened about his hand in an unconscious clench as she closed her eyes, unable to look at him, her shoulders slumping slightly, the posture almost defensive.

"I hate them," she whispered softly, anger and hurt in her voice. "They are foolish, blind sheep. They don't deserve to be so smug over this, to celebrate. I hope they choke on it." She had never been fond of the court, or even politics at large. She'd born the brunt of too much of it beneath her father, and then her peers. Arrogant, cruel, narrow-minded, self-absorbed bastards.

She opened her eyes then, and there was resignation on her face as she searched his expression. "Thor would never let you do this, if he knew. It's not right."

Edited 2011-12-29 21:59 (UTC)

"Hate them all you like, they're still Father's subjects. Still Thor's future subjects." His tone was stiff and emotionless. He doubted that she could hate them any more than he already did. Though the truth was as he had said it - he hadn't done this thing for them, or Father, or even himself. He'd done it for Thor, and no matter how shaky his conviction was becoming, that fact still hadn't changed.

And he knew, as much disdain and hatred as he had for those people, they seemed to have just as much for him. That wasn't comforting either. He'd been told often from an early age that he had an obligation to them, by grace of his blood. That obligation was hard to stomach indeed.

He tugged his hand away from her. It was too difficult to sit there like that, with every other emotion washing through him. It felt like one more reminder of what he could never have or who he could never be. His heart gave another strange flutter as he felt the walls of his life beginning to close in.

This was what it meant, he told himself, to be the son of a king. The second son.

"Right and wrong has little meaning on this matter. Thor will have to figure that out eventually, though perhaps it's better for everyone if he takes longer. It wouldn't do to have a wholly cynical king." He couldn't stop the note of bitter hopelessness that crept in to his voice for that moment, then it heated to something like anger. "My brother does not let me do anything."

He slipped away from her, standing and taking the step to the small window so that he could look outside. It was tempting, now that he was calm enough to do magic, to just see if he could re-form his body into that of a bird and simply fly away. "I am not so useless that I cannot fight in my own way."

Her fingers curled into fists in her lap as she stared downwards, not going after him when he pulled away. She felt cold, and the note of bitter hopelessness in his voice cut her more deeply than a blade. She didn't want to be cynical either - for as hard as she had struggled to get where she now was, it had not turned her bitter. Though she despised those that had scoffed at her, told her it was impossible, ridiculed her for trying, she'd never given up the hope that maybe things would change, eventually. It didn't make her stop hoping in the fact that right and wrong, good and bad, they still meant something.

To hear Loki resigned to this, certain of it... it made her want to cry.

Sif got to her feet in an abrupt motion, hands still clenched at her side, her own expression carefully distant to hide the well of frustration and hurt that churned in her stomach. Her eyes burned, but she kept them locked on the floor at his feet, not wanting him to see. "I meant no insult, my prince," she spoke, her voice soft but thick with choked emotion, her head bowing slightly in apology. "And you are the farthest thing from useless. I never meant to make you think I believed such. I don't. Do you... It would be my honor to assist you, if you wish it, Loki."

Edited 2011-12-29 22:42 (UTC)

Something in her voice reminded him that he needed to be a better, stronger man. This had been a harsh introduction to the game, but he had the shape of it now and needed to play like he truly meant it. He kept his gaze fixed out the window until he was certain he had his expression fully under control again, then he turned toward her. "No offense taken, Sif, you needn't worry. My words were hasty and unnecessary."

The polite distance hurt, more than it should have. But he wasn't certain what else he could do. His instinct was to reach out to her, but that would only make things more complicated, and burden her with something she plainly was not prepared to handle. Like Thor, Sif was a warrior, and he was becoming aware that this game wasn't one they could really play.

Loki considered his options, trying to look at it rationally, from the perspective of what he might need Sif to do. Having her upset wouldn't be any good. He finally did reach out, patting her gently on the arm.

"If it is too late to stop my brother from going to our father, then there is little you can do at this time. But I appreciate the offer. And... the spirit in which it was given."

He admittedly wasn't even certain what he meant by that, since he wasn't entirely sure of her motivations yet. But it was likely out of affection for Thor; most of what everyone did was. Perhaps guilt, a little pity toward Loki. He didn't particularly want to be an object of pity, but he supposed he had been particularly pathetic for the last half a day.

He opened his mouth to speak again, then changed his mind. Voicing any of those thoughts would only borrow trouble.

"Your words are never hasty, and you had the right to voice them," Sif replied, although the words were absently polite, her mind preoccupied. "Loki, I..." she started, looking up at him, and stopped, having no idea what to say next. Words were never her strong point. Instead, she gave in to her impulsive nature and took a swift step forward. Arms flung about his neck as she hugged him, the embrace tight and just shy of clingy. She buried her face against his throat for a moment, trying to bring herself back under control once more as she took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry if I made this harder for you," she murmured quietly. "That was not my intent."

"My words are often more hasty than you might think..." Loki gave her a wry smile. It was actually true; he still didn't have himself truly mastered, or he might have avoided some of the problems that had arisen in the last week.

Anything else he might have said was driven from his head when Sif hugged him. He froze, hands outstretched in the air and fingers spread. Then, very hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her, the pressure light, as if he expected her to break, or perhaps simply get angry if she noticed that he was hugging her.

Something twisted in his chest, and this was the moment that tears pricked at his eyes. He stared resolutely at the wall until the sensation passed. He couldn't afford to be so undone by something so simple, he told himself. It didn't mean anything.

Loki swallowed hard against a throat that felt strangely tight, and rested his chin lightly on her hair. "I know it wasn't," he said. "But sometimes there can be no helping me. And I need for you to understand that... and to help me make Thor understand that as well."

Though even saying those words, some bitter part of himself asked, Why am I doing this?

His arms tightened around Sif for a brief second, a tiny spasm of movement that he quickly throttled down. But he also thought, Maybe because of this.

Her arms tightened about him, her face still buried against his throat. "I can't guarantee constant understanding, but I'll do my best," she answered, reluctant to let him go, not when he wasn't shoving her away. "Making Thor understand however... That might be asking a bit much."

She lifted her head, pulling back just far enough to see his face, her arms remaining snugly around him. "You don't have to do everything alone, I hope you know," she informed him, voice soft and sincere. "Promise me, Loki. When I can help, you'll tell me? Especially if you pursue this course. You shouldn't have to do this alone."

That she hadn't let go yet was a strange and fascinating thing. Loki was not accustomed to being on the receiving end of much physical affection, at least not outside of the sort Thor handed out.

And it was strange, and fascinating, how it also hurt.

"I appreciate any effort," he said after a long moment, his voice soft and a little uncertain. "Thor will have to understand eventually. I can fight him and everyone else at the same time, but I'd really rather not have to."

He did his best to keep his expression calm and controlled as she turned her face, trying to ignore how strangely close that put her. It felt strange, to be speaking to someone from that distance, and the words were stranger still. He always felt at least a little alone, after all, and had always made his plans alone. "I don't really know how else I would do things," he said, giving her a wry smile. "But if anything comes up, I will try to let you know." That seemed diplomatic enough.

"This isn't studying or researching or something you do within the dusty halls of a library or your workroom, Loki," she countered with a slight shake of her head, still within his personal space, her hands sliding to his shoulders as she studied his face. Her voice was low but fervent as she spoke with soft emphasis "This is different, this is more. I don't want to see you hurt again. Not like this. It was all I could do to stand there and not interrupt in the first place." And true to her suspicions, she had Volstagg-shaped bruises on her upper arms this morning to prove it.

"Please, Loki. I may not be talented at plotting and keeping track of all that you know and do, but I can at least take orders, and you can count on me, should you ever need aid. I would hope you'd know and remember that."

He blinked his eyes a few times as her hands moved over his back, fighting to hold still. But he also wasn't willing to let go of her, even though he thought that he probably should. The tip of his tongue darted out to find the tiny new scar that decorated his lip. "I think I understand that point," he said dryly.

But what she wanted to see or not didn't ultimately matter. He certainly hoped to not suffer like this again, but it would always be a possibility if his plans went awry, because he could no longer rely on rescue from Odin. It was the terrible calculus of state again, and he knew that, "If such a thing happens again, then you mustn't interfere. I am sorry to ask that of you. But if I'm to rely on you, I must be able to rely on you for that as well." He tried to keep the words gentle; he knew that was asking more than he really should.

He didn't want to give Sif orders, which was a strange feeling. With no one else would the thought bother him at all. But he also understood the necessity of it, and welcomed the distance that it would be necessity put between them, since it was probably for the best anyway. "If I were to give you an order, would you follow it, even if you disagreed with it?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. "That would be a dangerous thing to offer, Lady Sif. But I cannot promise to always tell the truth either, you know me better than that."

She remained where she was, her expression solemn as she studied his face for a moment, measuring her own words before she gave them. "As long as what you ask makes me break no vow or go against my own honor, I would follow it," she finally answered, knowing that was quite possibly a dangerous vow to give. It was one she had already given Thor and she did not regret it. But if she would follow anyone anywhere, it was the two sons of Odin. That didn't mean she followed blindly, but while they had all found themselves in dire straights a time or two, they'd also gotten back out of them again. And given the choice between being at her princes' sides or staying tucked safely at home, she knew what she would pick, every time.

"I suppose I can ask no more than that." But it was important, then, to remember that there were things he couldn't ask her to do, no matter how necessary they were, because of whatever vows she'd undertaken or her personal honor. That limited her usefulness, and even as that thought crossed his mind he hated himself a little for thinking it.

But this too was a new avenue of thought he had to accustom himself to, and he found part of himself hating it already even as analytically he found it fascinating. He had always considered most people to be at the very least easily manipulated, if not merely tools. But for all he had certainly manipulated everyone in their little group at times - including Thor, he was one of the easiest to fool often - he'd never thought he would need to make it into an art.

Loki frowned, for a moment looking at Sif without seeing her, looking through her. It all seemed so neatly laid out, a course that he could follow and a purpose that seemed made for his particular talents. And still, he hesitated, uncertain if that was truly what he wanted while the part of him that took almost unholy glee in untangling puzzles was already miles ahead, calculating and mentally arranging.

He was afraid. As inevitable as it was, he was also pathetically, damnably afraid.

"Yes," he murmured to himself. "But what else could I do?" No answer was forthcoming.

"Loki?' Sif asked, having watched the emotions play across his face in fascination, wondering what thoughts upset and puzzled him so. She didn't step back, but her hand brushed against his spine, as if to subtly remind him that she was still here before his mind wandered off down a path she couldn't follow and he forgot her entirely. It had happened before and she suspected it might have occurred several times in the past few seconds. She didn't mind, although there was something in his eyes that unsettled her.

Her arms tightened unconsciously about him a moment as she searched his face. "What are you plotting this time, my prince? You don't look entirely pleased with it." Which was odd in itself, she could admit.

Loki forced himself to look at her again, brought back to the here and now by a touch. He shuddered, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to compose his expression better. Plainly he was failing at that effort.

The fingers of one hand curled lightly against her back. It was so odd, that she still hadn't let him go. Did he really seem that... concerning? Loki examined her face, trying to find an answer to that question as he considered what he he should say.

"No plots. Nothing..." he should have continued on with, 'you need concern yourself over,' but the words refused to emerge. He should let go of her now, he thought. This was strange and awkward and difficult to think around. But his arms refused to drop away; if anything, his hold tightened.

Loki looked past Sif toward the wall as if there was some answer written there. "... I'm afraid." His tone was strange and far away to his own ears. "How pathetic."

His answer surprised her and she lifted her hand to cup against his cheek, her brow furrowed with concern. "It's not pathetic," she argued, shaking her head, a frown on her lips. "There is no shame in admitting fear. But of what, Loki?" she asked, her voice softening as she searched his face, worry dark in her eyes. "What is it you're afraid of?"

Loki dragged his gaze back to her face, examining her expression minutely for any sign of contempt, anything that didn't match with her words. He wasn't certain what he hoped to see. Because in a way, it would have been easier, if she had chided him or insulted him or told him to grasp at his courage and move forward since he seemed so unmanned he couldn't do it on his own.

He didn't know how to react to sympathy, to the other strange emotions coloring her eyes. Her touch made something twist in his chest; he shuddered, but covered her hand with his to keep it there.

How to answer that question? Everything was the closest thing to the truth, but it seemed so ridiculous and dramatic. Just the thought of it drew on odd sound from him, a laugh but far more painful. His other hand tightened against her back, gathering a fistful of cloth.

"I don't really know," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper. "But it's not a luxury I can afford."

"Loki," she spoke softly, turning her hand, giving his fingers a squeeze. She was still pressed against him, and very aware of it now, with his fingers fisted in the cloth at her waist. She felt her cheeks heat slightly and unconsciously took a step backwards, although the movement was reluctant. She hadn't really wanted to, but at the moment, she was very conscious of what she should or should not do. She still kept hold of his hand however, unable to relinquish that just yet.

"Then what can I do, Loki?' she asked him softly, still searching his face. "What is it you need?"

That hurt as well, when she stepped away; there was an echo of that pain in his expression for just the blink of an eye, and then he had himself under control again. Loki quickly dropped his hand away from her back. He pulled her hand away from his cheek, pausing to place a light kiss on the back of it, the motion made into an irony with the practiced arch of an eyebrow.

He had wanted her to tell him to stop his self-pitying and move forward. This would do just as well, he supposed. He should not have asked for comfort in the first place, and it was not a thing he could ask of Sif, for all her noble offers of help.

She had said he could give her orders, he mused for one dizzying moment. But that would be a new level of pathetic to grasp at.

He opened his fingers to let her hand go, adding a polite, if half-bow to the motion. "I require nothing of you at this time, Lady Sif, but I appreciate your concern. I ought to go see my father now. I've already delayed far too long." He gave her a smile that was all pleasant, polite distance, as if they were miles apart rather than nearly on top of each other in the tiny room. "Perhaps find my brother and delay him if he has not yet spoken to our father, though it's no doubt too late for that."

Stitches

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)