[ loki sits on the throne and the kingdom flourishes, rebuilds. in many ways, it's a shell of what it was: the faces that once walked these halls have become strangers and ghosts. there are no princes and no queen, and for loki there is no king — when he looks in the mirror, he sees only himself.
thor stretches himself thin. he returns home on occasion, checks in with odin and pays his respects to his people, puts in his dues with his companions. he takes easier to celebration, now, confident in his freedom to return to midgard and those frail waiting arms.
loki sits on the throne, but satisfaction isn't in his nature. and day by day, week by week, the sight of thor content — free to go and do as he pleases, victorious in love — it's a splinter he can't reach. he ignores it for the better part of a month. when his hatred of thor's easy smiles (but they aren't; they're heavy with the loss of his mother, his brother) risks shattering the facade he's effortlessly maintained, tempts him to mirror his father's violent streak rather than the placating lie that's made everyone so content, he's forced to admit that ignoring it isn't an option.
sif doesn't pursue thor. she respects him too much, respects the woman he loves by mere extension, if not for her own encounter. they celebrate, they drink; she occasionally can't help a telling smile or look, but that's the extent of it. she doesn't pursue him, doesn't accompany him home, doesn't invite herself into his quarters — loki's observed this as keenly as he's observed the balance of power, though it's clear his rule hasn't suffered for the distraction.
sif never comes back to thor's room, so there's nothing to fear — no chance of an unfortunate encounter to explain away. he doesn't hesitate as he steps out of the shadows near the doorway, adopts her easy strength, softens it just slightly as he meets thor's eyes. he's not drunk, but he's not quite sober; it's a start. ]
Can you stay upright for a few moments longer, or should I return some other time?
[ not loki's voice: sif's, assertive and vaguely playful. her body, her face, her casual stance of friendly challenge, and it takes some effort to resist leaning idly against a pillar — sif doesn't lean. she's all visible power, none of the latent energy loki's accustomed to keeping beneath the surface. ]
[ thor has always taken naturally to celebration — it's why his reticence had been so acutely noticed by his companions, his heart-sickness so obvious. but the cure has been found, and though perhaps he is occasionally struck with a fleeting guilt, like a husband glancing at the clock in a bar and thinking of the wife at home, for the most part he is content to down his ale and roar merriment with the best of his men — and women. ]
[ one woman in particular. he is not completely blind to sif's affection, but he believes they have an unspoken understanding. his heart lies elsewhere, and though perhaps there may come a time far in the distant future when she would make a better queen than he would king, thor has always found it easier to dwell in the present. it is why he can love a mortal so unflinchingly. ]
[ so he is surprised, of course, when sif proves to have sequestered herself outside his private chambers. but he smiles, too, to see her, jolility coming easily with the liquidity of old friendship and wine. ]
Of course. Come in.
[ he gestures broadly as he walks into his rooms, inviting her to follow. he has little thought as to what that might look like in the eyes of the court, though that's mostly the effect of the alcohol than any particular lack of political acumen: well does thor know how asgardians talk. ]
You know well that it would take more than a paltry celebration such as that to leave me unsteady on my feet.
[ he tells her with a chuckle, closing the door behind her. ]
[ there's a brief, petty flash of emotion when thor welcomes him so easily. loki would like to call it irritation, and in some ways it is; it's been ages since thor welcomed his brother with such ease and trust, though loki can hardly claim he has no cause. and that's the problem: that he should even notice how long it's been since thor looked at him so openly. it speaks of something far too childish and needy, reflects back on years in thor's shadow.
it's muted by an equally petty — and far simpler — flash of amusement, and it's easy to offer a smile as he strides into the room, idly draws his gaze over the smooth golden lines. his attention pauses on the bed briefly. in character, maybe, but it's mostly an excuse to control his expression before he turns to face thor. ]
We all worry for you, Thor. You are content now; that is plain to anyone. But you must know that it cannot last.
[ it's a practiced mix of resolve and sympathy. he's heard it from sif enough times to replicate it now, smile faded to a look of careful concern. it also might be too much of a push, but that's not necessarily a slip. this body and the faith thor has in it is enough to grant him some leeway to test the boundaries. and, admittedly, there's some pleasure in cutting to the chase just to catch him off guard; surely that's worth a slight lapse in strategy. ]
[ immediately thor's good humor dampens, though it doesn't outright dissolve. his brows draw down, and he takes a deep breath, as a man preparing himself for an exchange of words that he has no desire for. ]
You speak of Jane's mortality.
[ because he can be as blunt as she, perhaps blunter. ]
Again.
[ that, of course, may come as a surprise to loki, that this is not the first time thor and sif have spoken on the subject of her. though it does provide a much stronger foundation for this tactic, when this is a sally sif has already made. ]
You're right; I am content. And therefore I need take no action until that is no longer true.
[ which is really just a sort of stubbornness, as though if he refuses to acknowledge the way jane's inevitable death will pain him will mean it shall never come to pass. ]
[ if he were loki, there'd be a telltale glimpse of arrogance in his features, that mischievous smile — but he's sif, of course, and it's far too easy to play into that. if anything, he has to pull back on the concerned mugging; sif's never been particularly dramatic.
there isn't much distance between them, distance easily closed with half a step before he takes a gentle grip on thor's shoulder. there's nothing particularly intimate in the gesture; it's the tactile camaraderie of soldiers, something innate to thor and his trusted friends. ]
As it will be. Each day you spend with her now will only make that inevitability worse. When the day comes — and it will — what will be left of you?
[ they've had this conversation before; it'd nearly ended in blows. there's a thrill in mirroring it now, safe behind the ruse of sif's genuine concern for thor's well-being. ]
[ last time it had been for the realm. this time it was for him. something unhappy crosses thor's features, but it is only a flicker of what last time drove him to anger. when loki speaks, thor hears jibes. when sif speaks, he hears counsel. ]
What there is of me now.
[ not true. he knows he would be greatly lessened without jane. and it is not just her. steve, perhaps, might live for a greater time than other humans, and the banner man, also. but most of the dear friends he has made on earth are mortals, with mortal lifespans. ]
My father lives with his grief, and he had long, long years with my mother before she was—
[ a slight pause, a clench of his fist, a weakness that he would never show to loki in the slight fracture in his voice. ]
[ there's a brief flash of satisfaction as loki watches that flicker of unhappiness settle, but it doesn't last long. his expression falters at the mention of their mother, too quickly for him to catch it. but that's in character, as well; sif respected her, as did everyone. his eyes fall to the floor for a few short, unsteady seconds before he looks back to thor's face, but it's not quite long enough to school his expression fully.
it's grief, of course, but that's far too deep to show on the surface. only the anger is allowed that courtesy, and it lends a hardness to his gaze as he listens to the break in thor's voice. anger that thor had not been kept from her in her last days as he had, that thor hadn't saved her — and that she had been taken from them both. if there's any sympathy to be had in the last thought, it's not enough to override the rest.
it's the only reason he doesn't hit thor, now. instead he reaches out, hand settling on the side of his face, his jaw; and if the gentleness there is real, born of that small common ground, loki has no interest in admitting as much. it's just another lie.
the anger in his eyes might pass easily as a warrior's mourning. laughing at the idea of odin living with his grief — that might not, and it's a small mercy that he manages to avoid it. ]
He has a kingdom to live for, Thor. He has no other choice. But you—
[ no longer a prince, no longer king. he would still have his duty, sworn before his father — before him — but loki no longer thinks particularly highly of such promises. ]
[ thor doesn't even bother hitting him as a warrior: he backhands loki, casual, the way a man would swat a fly. it leaves blood on his knuckles. ]
[ he has been grieving for at least twenty years now. things on earth have shifted and changed, just as power has in the nine realms, but thor cares for none of it. he pays no attention to anything beyond the minutae of his life, certainly cannot even think of visiting earth without feeling his heart rent anew. ]
Do not speak to me of moving on again.
[ his tone is quiet. jane's death drove him mad, in some ways, but he clawed back his grip on his temper, bit by bit, and he no longer destroys for the sake of destruction, summons rainclouds for the sake of the cold and wet. the worst of his fury was wreaked on earth at her death, and then our in the dark world, away from anyone he might do harm, but he has broken a column or two in his wing of the palace, over the years. ]
[ mostly when loki comes to him, thor is compliant. never jolly, never again, but he will agree to a game of chess, a drink, advise loki in the ways of battle strategy, remind him of something their father once said, or take the front lines despite the way his old friends look askance at him as they fight at his side. loki is the only person in asgard who understands anger the way that thor has come to understand it: as a friend, and as a fuel. ]
[ this is his victory. he has a throne, and asgard calls him king — not odin, not a mask. jane foster is gone, and thor is brought to his knees — in spirit, if not in body. in those first few years, watching thor take to blood and battle with more grief and anger than even loki had predicted, it crosses his mind that he should have thanked jane for her troubles; tolerating a mere mortal lifetime of thor at peace was a small price to pay, all things considered.
the vicious satisfaction doesn't last. a decade on, and it shifts to irritation; thor's grieving is monotone, dull. but if that's the lie loki settles on, the truth is that whatever they'd had before, that push and pull — it's been crowded out by thor's grief. when thor begins to tame his temper, begins to follow orders, it infuriates him.
he tells himself he does it because it's entertaining. pushing thor to the edge, drawing out that anger, teasing nerves he knows fully well are still raw. the truth is more needy, if no less twisted; it's only in moments like this, when thor's forced calm breaks, that loki recognizes his own brother. the kind interpretation would frame it as him trying to coax thor back to life; the less kind, and far more accurate, might compare him to a child fed up with a broken toy. getting him to strike his sworn king is a new best, though admittedly loki would have preferred it if he'd upended the board between them first.
his head snaps to the side at the casual backhand, skin splitting easily. the simple reminder of thor's strength disgusts him as much as it excites him (because that's his strength to command, now), but there's still a short, breathless laugh in response. he only half schools the smile off his face when he turns back to thor, one hand lifting to lightly brush the blood from his cheekbone. he studies that instead of having the courtesy to meet thor's gaze, expression almost curious. ]
That's treason, brother. I could put you in chains for that.
[ he may have controlled his grin, but it's still clear in his voice, mocking and disrespectful. ]
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thor stretches himself thin. he returns home on occasion, checks in with odin and pays his respects to his people, puts in his dues with his companions. he takes easier to celebration, now, confident in his freedom to return to midgard and those frail waiting arms.
loki sits on the throne, but satisfaction isn't in his nature. and day by day, week by week, the sight of thor content — free to go and do as he pleases, victorious in love — it's a splinter he can't reach. he ignores it for the better part of a month. when his hatred of thor's easy smiles (but they aren't; they're heavy with the loss of his mother, his brother) risks shattering the facade he's effortlessly maintained, tempts him to mirror his father's violent streak rather than the placating lie that's made everyone so content, he's forced to admit that ignoring it isn't an option.
sif doesn't pursue thor. she respects him too much, respects the woman he loves by mere extension, if not for her own encounter. they celebrate, they drink; she occasionally can't help a telling smile or look, but that's the extent of it. she doesn't pursue him, doesn't accompany him home, doesn't invite herself into his quarters — loki's observed this as keenly as he's observed the balance of power, though it's clear his rule hasn't suffered for the distraction.
sif never comes back to thor's room, so there's nothing to fear — no chance of an unfortunate encounter to explain away. he doesn't hesitate as he steps out of the shadows near the doorway, adopts her easy strength, softens it just slightly as he meets thor's eyes. he's not drunk, but he's not quite sober; it's a start. ]
Can you stay upright for a few moments longer, or should I return some other time?
[ not loki's voice: sif's, assertive and vaguely playful. her body, her face, her casual stance of friendly challenge, and it takes some effort to resist leaning idly against a pillar — sif doesn't lean. she's all visible power, none of the latent energy loki's accustomed to keeping beneath the surface. ]
I was hoping to have a word. In private.
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[ one woman in particular. he is not completely blind to sif's affection, but he believes they have an unspoken understanding. his heart lies elsewhere, and though perhaps there may come a time far in the distant future when she would make a better queen than he would king, thor has always found it easier to dwell in the present. it is why he can love a mortal so unflinchingly. ]
[ so he is surprised, of course, when sif proves to have sequestered herself outside his private chambers. but he smiles, too, to see her, jolility coming easily with the liquidity of old friendship and wine. ]
Of course. Come in.
[ he gestures broadly as he walks into his rooms, inviting her to follow. he has little thought as to what that might look like in the eyes of the court, though that's mostly the effect of the alcohol than any particular lack of political acumen: well does thor know how asgardians talk. ]
You know well that it would take more than a paltry celebration such as that to leave me unsteady on my feet.
[ he tells her with a chuckle, closing the door behind her. ]
And what is it that brings you to my door?
i like writing this w/loki icons attached
it's muted by an equally petty — and far simpler — flash of amusement, and it's easy to offer a smile as he strides into the room, idly draws his gaze over the smooth golden lines. his attention pauses on the bed briefly. in character, maybe, but it's mostly an excuse to control his expression before he turns to face thor. ]
We all worry for you, Thor. You are content now; that is plain to anyone. But you must know that it cannot last.
[ it's a practiced mix of resolve and sympathy. he's heard it from sif enough times to replicate it now, smile faded to a look of careful concern. it also might be too much of a push, but that's not necessarily a slip. this body and the faith thor has in it is enough to grant him some leeway to test the boundaries. and, admittedly, there's some pleasure in cutting to the chase just to catch him off guard; surely that's worth a slight lapse in strategy. ]
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You speak of Jane's mortality.
[ because he can be as blunt as she, perhaps blunter. ]
Again.
[ that, of course, may come as a surprise to loki, that this is not the first time thor and sif have spoken on the subject of her. though it does provide a much stronger foundation for this tactic, when this is a sally sif has already made. ]
You're right; I am content. And therefore I need take no action until that is no longer true.
[ which is really just a sort of stubbornness, as though if he refuses to acknowledge the way jane's inevitable death will pain him will mean it shall never come to pass. ]
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there isn't much distance between them, distance easily closed with half a step before he takes a gentle grip on thor's shoulder. there's nothing particularly intimate in the gesture; it's the tactile camaraderie of soldiers, something innate to thor and his trusted friends. ]
As it will be. Each day you spend with her now will only make that inevitability worse. When the day comes — and it will — what will be left of you?
[ they've had this conversation before; it'd nearly ended in blows. there's a thrill in mirroring it now, safe behind the ruse of sif's genuine concern for thor's well-being. ]
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What there is of me now.
[ not true. he knows he would be greatly lessened without jane. and it is not just her. steve, perhaps, might live for a greater time than other humans, and the banner man, also. but most of the dear friends he has made on earth are mortals, with mortal lifespans. ]
My father lives with his grief, and he had long, long years with my mother before she was—
[ a slight pause, a clench of his fist, a weakness that he would never show to loki in the slight fracture in his voice. ]
Taken from us. As I will live with mine.
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it's grief, of course, but that's far too deep to show on the surface. only the anger is allowed that courtesy, and it lends a hardness to his gaze as he listens to the break in thor's voice. anger that thor had not been kept from her in her last days as he had, that thor hadn't saved her — and that she had been taken from them both. if there's any sympathy to be had in the last thought, it's not enough to override the rest.
it's the only reason he doesn't hit thor, now. instead he reaches out, hand settling on the side of his face, his jaw; and if the gentleness there is real, born of that small common ground, loki has no interest in admitting as much. it's just another lie.
the anger in his eyes might pass easily as a warrior's mourning. laughing at the idea of odin living with his grief — that might not, and it's a small mercy that he manages to avoid it. ]
He has a kingdom to live for, Thor. He has no other choice. But you—
[ no longer a prince, no longer king. he would still have his duty, sworn before his father — before him — but loki no longer thinks particularly highly of such promises. ]
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[ he has been grieving for at least twenty years now. things on earth have shifted and changed, just as power has in the nine realms, but thor cares for none of it. he pays no attention to anything beyond the minutae of his life, certainly cannot even think of visiting earth without feeling his heart rent anew. ]
Do not speak to me of moving on again.
[ his tone is quiet. jane's death drove him mad, in some ways, but he clawed back his grip on his temper, bit by bit, and he no longer destroys for the sake of destruction, summons rainclouds for the sake of the cold and wet. the worst of his fury was wreaked on earth at her death, and then our in the dark world, away from anyone he might do harm, but he has broken a column or two in his wing of the palace, over the years. ]
[ mostly when loki comes to him, thor is compliant. never jolly, never again, but he will agree to a game of chess, a drink, advise loki in the ways of battle strategy, remind him of something their father once said, or take the front lines despite the way his old friends look askance at him as they fight at his side. loki is the only person in asgard who understands anger the way that thor has come to understand it: as a friend, and as a fuel. ]
tl;drs all over your inbox
the vicious satisfaction doesn't last. a decade on, and it shifts to irritation; thor's grieving is monotone, dull. but if that's the lie loki settles on, the truth is that whatever they'd had before, that push and pull — it's been crowded out by thor's grief. when thor begins to tame his temper, begins to follow orders, it infuriates him.
he tells himself he does it because it's entertaining. pushing thor to the edge, drawing out that anger, teasing nerves he knows fully well are still raw. the truth is more needy, if no less twisted; it's only in moments like this, when thor's forced calm breaks, that loki recognizes his own brother. the kind interpretation would frame it as him trying to coax thor back to life; the less kind, and far more accurate, might compare him to a child fed up with a broken toy. getting him to strike his sworn king is a new best, though admittedly loki would have preferred it if he'd upended the board between them first.
his head snaps to the side at the casual backhand, skin splitting easily. the simple reminder of thor's strength disgusts him as much as it excites him (because that's his strength to command, now), but there's still a short, breathless laugh in response. he only half schools the smile off his face when he turns back to thor, one hand lifting to lightly brush the blood from his cheekbone. he studies that instead of having the courtesy to meet thor's gaze, expression almost curious. ]
That's treason, brother. I could put you in chains for that.
[ he may have controlled his grin, but it's still clear in his voice, mocking and disrespectful. ]
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