Hey, tell me how this reads. I really appreciate every review, and this fic is going surprisingly well. I’m test driving a new style I want to play with, so tell me how it reads. You’ll see it. And don’t worry, Loki’s not crazy… yet. But he is talking to himself.
He’d escaped from Heimdall’s watch just a few hours ago, and he’d almost regretted it.
While he used to appreciate the idea of someone always watching over him, Loki now realized he was just being monitored like the rest of the universe. No special concern for the unwanted Frost Giant runt stolen to Asgard’s treasure hoard. Then again, maybe if they had, he would have received that Ancient tome of Calligraphy spells long before he had to ask for it. Not like it was his birthday or anything.
He launched a rock into the air, watching as it skittered down the snowy slope. He gained a small smirk from this action, envisioning the small rock as Thor’s awful smug smirk. Oh it felt so good just to watch the rock bounce as it hit ice and trees. In fact, it felt so good, he knew he should just try it again to get a little more anger out.
The next rock his targeted turned out to be frozen into the ground- crunching his foot against the toe of his boot as his bones collapsed against the immovable force.
He growled in his toe destruction, falling to his knees and gripping the slowly cooling appendage. As it began to quell against his rough half sobs, his frustrated mind- unthinking as it was at the moment- provided him with the knowledge of his exhaustion. He scanned the area quietly for a small space that wouldn’t require too much energy to cloak. Certainly there had to be somewhere-ah!
A small crevice, perfect for holing up in. Small enough that no beasty would find their way into during his rest. Loki hobbled his way over to the fissure in the rock, snuggling himself beyond the opening. It was actually large enough for Loki to lay down, but certainly the magnificent beasts that roamed this frozen world would not fit into this place.
He tossed his gear down roughly, ignore his subconscious desire to save his books from clattering together as he flopped down onto the ground. A wave of his hand sealed off the entrance with packed snow and a few of the rocks he’d stumbled over on his way through. He didn’t want to hear the wind howling while he slept.
He rolled over onto his side, slightly chiding himself for not wearing one of Frigga’s warm coats or bringing one of her blankets to cover himself with. No, he just had to be stubborn as hell. He just had to resist taking anything Odin’s family had given him and only bring what he’d had tailored, or purchased outside the realm. Now, that looked like an incredibly bad decision. Between his lack of energy for keeping up the cloaking spell for so long, not eating well in the weeks beforehand, and probably breaking his toes on that rock; he needed a chance to let his magic replenish itself. That meant trying to keep himself out of Heimdall’s sight the old fashion way.
He withdrew the silvery cloak from his bag, watching as it shimmered against the air. Such a rare item, and Thor had never appreciated it. It was given to his brother by an elven dignitary some years back (probably while Loki was still trying to chew on books rather than read them), and Thor had given it to the younger prince when he found in the bottom of his closet a few years ago. It wasn’t warm, but that’s what the red manticore pelt he’d dragged along from his eighth kill was for. It wasn’t anything compared to the bear skin his former brother had given him on the night of Thor… um. Shit. What was it? Nine hundredth kill? Oh for Odin’s sake, even Loki couldn’t remember exactly which kill out of Thor’s stocks that pelt had come from. But he did recall that was the first year that Loki had actually felt cold.
It was also the year he’d first loved some Asgardian. This little infatuation had been over one of Thor’s many rejections. She was a blonde girl, meek in form but wonderful in the kitchen. Loki always knew when she’d been around because the entire palace would smell of meat filled buns. And Thor had the shriveled balls to reject her because she came from a commoner’s family! But when Loki approached, she offered nothing more than unspoken disgust. That was the first heartbreak the green clad man had experienced.
After running through the best paths in his mind, he decided to take the ‘mature’ path (or, what the elders and books always emphasized was the mature path) of returning to his studies and waiting for love to find him.
What a stupid idea.
Had he known what he was then, perhaps he would have thrown a dead bird in her golden braids, just for kicks. Forbidden from Asgardian love, but certainly not forbidden from mischief. If he wasn’t allowed the same happiness as everyone else- Hel, he’d find it himself.
No. That’s immature.
You’ve always been this way, why does finding out make any real difference?
“It made all the difference in the world when he’d been excluded from everyone’s bildgsnipe games as a child. It made the difference when girls flocked over his brother, and treated him like horse mature. It mattered when there was never a real competition for the throne.” Loki recalled darkly, trying to ignore his own mind.
Surely, you saw that coming.
Thor was the elder. It was never a real competition.
The oldest gains the throne. That’s how it’s always been. You’re not one to kid yourself into believing that just because Thor is an inconsiderate oaf who can’t complete the most basic of treaties that Odin would over look his birthright for the second born.
“More like never born, if you ask me. And yes. I thought, at one point, that Odin would have enough sense to keep Thor from the throne if he wasn’t ready for it.” Loki chuffed.
And you think this course justifies his wronging of you?
“I didn’t ask you. And for that matter, what about my birthright?” Loki growled into the night.
We can’t change what Laufey did. But this won’t solve anything.
In fact, this may lead to war, if you are serious.
“I highly doubt they would start a war over me stealing a text. Besides, they are Frost Giants. Since when do they read books?” He bluntly stated.
It’s the idea behind it. This is wrong.
Even if you succeed, will there not be another Loki for Ragnarok?
“I highly doubt the Norns, or anyone else for that matter, would bother creating another Loki to fulfil a terrible prophecy after I’m gone. Seems like a waste of energy and magic.” He justified to himself again.
This course won’t solve anything.
I know you are hurt, but perhaps giving them a chance to talk would change things.
“They’ve had far too long to talk and I’ve stopped listening. This is right. This is the only way. This is the only way I can be happy. This is the only way I can be free. This is the only way I can finally have some blasted control of my destiny. I refuse to be at the mercy of the Norns any longer.”
They will stop you.
“Let them try.” Loki hissed to himself in the darkness.
Loki’s mind began to quiet itself. He just needed to focus on getting into the Ruins of the Markthus library. It was the last location recorded of the Book of Time- a census of every creature born or dead, past and present. If he got to that book, just one small spell and he would erase the name Loki from all of history, and the Norns wouldn’t have a pawn to play with.
He wrapped himself in his shabby manitcore pelt, barely managing to keep his feet warm in the torn edges. He was never good with a knife, and skinning the damn thing had been a job on its own. But he ignored his shivers and did his best to close his eyes and forget the past few weeks. It hadn’t worked since this mayhem began, but what was one more try when you were terrified of what you were? Insanity seemed to be his only friend and worst enemy, which had infected his thoughts and coddled his ideas.
He needed this.
He needed to erase himself.
For the Nine Realms.
So, review please. I could really use the polite feedback. Don’t worry. I’m not for super sad ending… though, at the way this is going, maybe I’ll make an exception.