#they're too smart to be so reckless in odin's presence when they're thinking straight

[emeraldxphoenix]

Loki has never liked being on the receiving end of pity. Sure, they understand that sometimes it is warranted – Mobius was instrumental in helping them realise that – but such a look still scrapes against their soul like sandpaper, like an animal’s fur being brushed the wrong way, and leaves them defensive and angry. In their younger days they would have demanded that they not be pitied, but now, when they see such a look on their brother’s face, all they do is drop their gaze to the little fingers playing with their hands. They watch, wordless, as their niece grows upset, and relinquish her willingly when Thor’s hands reach for her. The only problem is, now they don’t know what to do with their hands.

“Almost true. But then, the easiest way to lie is to keep as close to the truth as possible.” They would know, after all. “I devised a plan, but not to kill Baldr: to play a trick on him.” Restless hands lie atop their thighs, then entwine their fingers, then separate again, unsatisfied until the god finally conjures up some green vines and begins weaving them together in a complex pattern. Determined to avoid their brother’s pity, their eyes remain fixed on their own hands. “Everyone loved him. They hung on his every word, and took great delight in testing his proclaimed invincibility. It was exceedingly apparent that Odin preferred him to me.” Even in Thor’s absence, Loki had still somehow failed to attract Odin’s favour. “So I conspired with Höðr to embarrass his brother, and instead ended up killing him.”

Yes, it had been a tragic accident, one which Loki will always regret causing, but all the same, the trickster knows that for a brief moment, they had been glad of Baldr’s death. And why not? The warrior would move on to Valhalla or the halls of his fathers, where no doubt he would continue to be adored and celebrated, and all present would see him again one day. It wasn’t like he was gone forever, and maybe now he was temporarily gone, Odin would pay Loki the attention they craved. How naive to think such a thing.

Finally, they meet their brother’s eyes once more. He is allowed to speak his piece without interruption, but Loki does not accept or even acknowledge the apology immediately: the story is not yet complete. “My sons suffered for my first mistake. And when, in my grief, I drank too much wine and stormed into the busy feasting hall in a drunken fury, the generous Allfather decided I had not suffered enough, and sought to punish me further.” Their jaw clenches, words hard as steel. Loki will never forgive Odin for this, not for as long as they live. “I was banished from Asgard, bound in the mouth of a cave between the realms and left until I showed proper contrition. My gaoler was a large, black, venomous serpent, and Sigyn was my only permitted visitor.”

the nod he offers is brief, remaining silent as the story unfolds.  there is no need to speak, to interrupt.  thor listens intently, the focus evident in the pull of his brows and the eye contact he holds steadily.  for as long as he has gone without thinking of sigyn, it has been nearly as long since he's thought of baldr, yet hearing the name alone is a clear enough reminder.  he remembers that time in an instant.  it stirs the ghost of grief in his chest, but he is fine.  many centuries have passed; he has long since healed from that death.  so he waits, watches his sibling closely, no emotion bringing forth bias nor assumptions.  though it isn’t without effort.

it has been a long time.  being upset with loki now would do neither of them any good.  and, if he is honest. . .  he doubts odin’s telling of the events capture the whole truth.

if he had been moving, if he had been speaking, it would come to a halt.  for a moment, thor thinks he’s holding his breath.  what was attentive eye contact becomes a pitying stare.  it weighs his face, his body; he frowns, his shoulders slumping.  as suspected, he’d been told a different tale.  thor’s eyes drop to leia in loki’s lap; that is his heart, blissfully unaware of what’s being discussed, so easily enthralled by the glint of rings and magic.  knowing it would be best not to dwell on such a thing, he finds himself wondering regardless: how could he possibly survive what loki has?  the mere thought brings a near-unbearable pain to his chest.  sensing his distress— his empathy— her little head lifts, the movement of her hands pausing, to look between the two of them.  when her eyes settle on him, he hears a whine, her mouth wobbling.

carefully, thor reaches for her, plucks her from his sibling and holds her to his chest.  a hand rubs at her back, lightly and slowly bouncing her in place.  “it’s alright, my little love,” he soothes, though when he looks back to loki, his upset is still clear.  he releases a breath.  “i was told something else entirely.  i was lead to believe. . .  you had devised a plan to kill baldr.  odin had said whatever repercussions may have followed were your own doing, your own responsibility.”  though he never thought to question it— there are too many memories, too many stories that may be falsehoods, for him to sift through each of them— learning it now doesn’t quite surprise him.  it only disappoints and hurts him.

“i’m sorry. . .  for all you endured, all i was blind to.  it’s— well, no words can do it justice.  i could never imagine how awful and lonely it must have been.  if something ever happened to her. . .”  sadness darkens his eyes as they turn down toward leia again; her hand reaches clumsily for his face, and his smile is slight, quick.  “i don’t know how i would survive.  i don’t know that i would want to.  you are stronger than we ever truly gave you credit for.”