Loki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
throneenvy) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fossilised2016-02-15 03:54 pm
throneenvy) wrote in fossilised2016-02-15 03:54 pm
Entry tags:
For Steve Rogers
Odin's wrath was a magnificent thing to witness.
Even when it had been directed fully in his direction, even knowing he might have died any second, the thrill from seeing the All-Father's power and fury unleashed and unfettered had been awe-inspiring. It had also been bitter, fractured, and furious. For how could any still think of Loki's rage as untamed, or his actions as crimes, when so ruthless a war-god sat upon the throne of Asgard? His actions had been that of a King. Had he not proven a wise and benevolent leader during his time upon the throne? Any who gainsaid that were fools, blinded by their petty prejudice.
He hated and loved Asgard with all his heart. He wanted to watch it burn and he wanted to rule it from on high, he wanted to see his family dead at his feet and yet always seemed to stay his hand when such an ending was within his grasp. It had been so again with Odin. He should have killed the old man when he had succeeded in spelling him into imprisonment, but he had not. For he had told himself that to keep the All-Father alive was wise, it allowed him to continue to tease out details from that ancient mind in order to keep his illusion believable to all.
It had proven his downfall.
For when Odin escaped, he had come with the force of a thousand suns for the man who sat atop his throne and wore his face falsely. Any love he had once felt for his younger son was gone now, and Frigga no longer there to stay his hand against execution. An execution he had determined to carry out with his own hand and with no further delay, to give Loki no quarter or mercy this time.
How long the battle had lasted, Loki did not know. He had not often battled to his full power, he preferred tricks and illusion to outsmart his enemy and his usual weapon was his silver tongue. He had no choice in this fight. He threw all his power at the All-Father, he used all his strength, all his tricks, all his magic. And somehow, impossible though it should have been, he survived long enough to slip through one of his hidden pathways.
Loki used the last of his remaining magic to cloak himself from Heimdall's all-seeing eyes so that he would not be easily found. To be so drained, so helpless, was not an experience he enjoyed at all. Blood stained his clothing from head to foot and he could feel the sticky clotting of it all over his body. He had taken great injury, and he knew he may not yet even survive the next few days in order to begin healing, but he would not give up. He would never lay down and wait for death. He was Loki of Asgard and he would never go snivelling to the gates of Hel.
With the remaining shreds of his energy, Loki staggered into the nearest building. His consciousness only vaguely registered that this was Midgard, a realisation that sent a thread of concern through his gut. An apartment door chosen at random, a hand slippery with blood on the handle. The lock yielded to him easily, he did not even need a trickle of seiðr for that, and he stumbled within. The Norns must have a sense of humour and wish for him to suffer, for he did not know even as he collapsed onto the couch that, out of all the billions of homes upon this wretched realm, he had found himself within that of Steve Rogers.
Even when it had been directed fully in his direction, even knowing he might have died any second, the thrill from seeing the All-Father's power and fury unleashed and unfettered had been awe-inspiring. It had also been bitter, fractured, and furious. For how could any still think of Loki's rage as untamed, or his actions as crimes, when so ruthless a war-god sat upon the throne of Asgard? His actions had been that of a King. Had he not proven a wise and benevolent leader during his time upon the throne? Any who gainsaid that were fools, blinded by their petty prejudice.
He hated and loved Asgard with all his heart. He wanted to watch it burn and he wanted to rule it from on high, he wanted to see his family dead at his feet and yet always seemed to stay his hand when such an ending was within his grasp. It had been so again with Odin. He should have killed the old man when he had succeeded in spelling him into imprisonment, but he had not. For he had told himself that to keep the All-Father alive was wise, it allowed him to continue to tease out details from that ancient mind in order to keep his illusion believable to all.
It had proven his downfall.
For when Odin escaped, he had come with the force of a thousand suns for the man who sat atop his throne and wore his face falsely. Any love he had once felt for his younger son was gone now, and Frigga no longer there to stay his hand against execution. An execution he had determined to carry out with his own hand and with no further delay, to give Loki no quarter or mercy this time.
How long the battle had lasted, Loki did not know. He had not often battled to his full power, he preferred tricks and illusion to outsmart his enemy and his usual weapon was his silver tongue. He had no choice in this fight. He threw all his power at the All-Father, he used all his strength, all his tricks, all his magic. And somehow, impossible though it should have been, he survived long enough to slip through one of his hidden pathways.
Loki used the last of his remaining magic to cloak himself from Heimdall's all-seeing eyes so that he would not be easily found. To be so drained, so helpless, was not an experience he enjoyed at all. Blood stained his clothing from head to foot and he could feel the sticky clotting of it all over his body. He had taken great injury, and he knew he may not yet even survive the next few days in order to begin healing, but he would not give up. He would never lay down and wait for death. He was Loki of Asgard and he would never go snivelling to the gates of Hel.
With the remaining shreds of his energy, Loki staggered into the nearest building. His consciousness only vaguely registered that this was Midgard, a realisation that sent a thread of concern through his gut. An apartment door chosen at random, a hand slippery with blood on the handle. The lock yielded to him easily, he did not even need a trickle of seiðr for that, and he stumbled within. The Norns must have a sense of humour and wish for him to suffer, for he did not know even as he collapsed onto the couch that, out of all the billions of homes upon this wretched realm, he had found himself within that of Steve Rogers.
no subject
That did not mean he had given up all hope for his birthright, he just had to regroup and begin to plan anew. It may take centuries, during which he would have to be cunning and hidden well, but he had centuries to burn. He was young yet, scarcely a few decades over his first millennium, he could afford patience.
The sting of being ousted from Asgard once more, however, was more than he wished to discuss with this mortal. And so he chose not to answer the question posed to him and instead continue his ruthless attack on Rogers' ideals.
"Then you place your belief in a lie. Nothing you do shall ever do good, your actions are as inconsequential and ephemeral as a guttering candle soon to be extinguished. You mortals, even with such enhancements, are transient creatures. You do not live long enough to create an impact or change the tide."
Loki waved a hand langurousdly as if he were explaining a rudimentary concept to a rather slow student.
"How many men have believed themselves doing good, and how long does their good last? Hours? Weeks? A few years at most before another comes to undo all they have done, to plunge your pathetic whimpering race back into perpetual conflict, and they are no longer around to protect their fragile ideal. What you quest after is an act of futility, Captain Rogers."
no subject
"I disagree," he says firmly, looking at Loki evenly. "The important thing is shaping the attitudes of other people, so there are those that can carry on the ideas of doing the right thing no matter how long we live for." He rakes a hand through his hair. "I don't believe that I'm the only person that wants to make to make things better. And even if we can't save everyone.. we can still make a difference." There's something a little strained about that sentiment, like he's reminding himself as much as he's trying to convince Loki. It's not a good bargaining position, but he can't help thinking of Sokovia as he talks.
"And what's the alternative? Accepting that nothing will last, so it's not worth trying? Attempting to enforce a world without conflict by having the biggest weapon? I'll stick with my futility." He sighs and shakes his head because he realizes suddenly, that Loki is getting to him more than he would like to admit to. But, this is what the man is good at, so he supposes it's not surprising.
no subject
He would have ruled them well. They would have understood and unified under a single leader, and their petty need for war and destruction would have been challenged outwardly to foes they could stand against as one realm. But that would now never be, and his throne here had never come to pass.
Loki fell silent after that thought to concentrate on the food that he held cradled on his lap. It was hot and filling, both things he required in abundance right now, and he had no longer the strength of will to keep from wolfing it down. Yet despite the obvious ravenous hunger, Loki still ate with a certain decorum that Thor had never yet managed to learn himself.