Prologue
Thor couldn't remember for how long he'd been here. He was lying in unending darkness. The chains that bound his wrists and ankles were stained crimson from his countless attempts to escape. He'd never succeeded, and there had come a time when he'd given up trying. He was at a point where he couldn't even feel the cold metal bars beneath and around him. He'd been in this cage for so long that he bare-ly even knew how he'd ended up here, in this old metal cage, with nothing but his clothes to shield him from the cold. In the beginning, he'd thought he'd never be able to sleep in here, but now he knew better. To say it was uncomfortable was an understatement. His whole body was bruised from moving against the chains and on the metal bars, hard as steel. But every passing day without food and water left him so spent that he dozed off automatically. He'd lost all track of time by now. The only thing that remained consistent were the visits. They rested at night. In the early morning, he came for him, and it wouldn't stop for the entire day. Right now, Thor was lying on his stomach, his face buried in his arms in an attempt to shield himself from the horrific sounds. It was to no avail. He'd tried this often enough, but he could still hear them - screams filled with terror and agony, piercing him like blades stabbing right through his heart. They never stopped, echoing through the halls like a dreadful symphony. Sometimes, Thor would hear his name being shouted. Those were the only times he would still struggle against his chains, commanding every muscle to rip them apart. It never worked, and the screams never stopped. And when they finally did stop, there were only a few minutes of blissful silence. Then he heard the footsteps approaching. The footsteps he'd learned to fear more than any-thing else. He wanted to close his eyes, but he knew it wouldn't help. It wouldn't make anything less scaring. So he watched as their captor approached the cage, flinging the door open. It was always the same. The man threw the motionless figure back into the prison, and Thor, as always, stretched his chains to their maximum to cushion the fall onto him instead of the cold metal. The weight came down on him, and all the air was drawn from his lungs. He slowly rolled to his side, not caring that he only bruised himself further, and his companion sank down next to him. He wanted to look away, but he forced himself not to. The black hair was a bloody mess, as was the rest of him. The slender frame next to him was barely recognizable as human. This was always the worst part. Their captor used to take Loki with him in the early morning and do things to him that Thor couldn't see but could only hear through the walls. He never knew what happened to him only a few rooms away, but he heard the horrific cries and screams for help. And when he brought him back, and Thor saw what had happened, there was nothing he could do. It was always the same. Every day. His brother was unconscious, not moving at all. Thor knew that dur-ing the night, healers would come to make sure Loki would stay alive and heal his injuries enough to ensure he wouldn't fall unconscious during the next day. So Thor could still hear his yells and cries. All of a sudden, Thor's chains were brutally pulled up. Yes, he knew this as well. Now came his part of the day. His captor pulled him out of the cage by his chains until the prisoner lay in front of his feet. As always, Thor didn't look up. Not until the man kicked him directly in the face. When the man started speaking, his voice was only a dangerous whisper.
"Your turn of the day, my beautiful prince. - LOOK AT ME! NOW!"
He did as ordered then, looking up at his captor. The man he'd earlier called his fa-ther stood above him, a wicked grin across his lips. When he lifted his gaze to the other's piercing blue eyes, they showed nothing but hate and satisfaction.
"That's how you behave! It's a shame I have to tell you that often, but you never behave as you should. And you obviously don't learn from your mistakes. - How could I ever consider you a worthy king? You're a dirty, little whore - nothing else! I should have killed you right after your birth!"
He punched him again, this time in the ribs. But Thor didn't answer. What for? It wouldn't change anything. When it all had started, he had tried to reason, tried to resist, and remain stubborn. But by now he didn't even have the strength to argue or say anything, actually. It wasn't out of resistance that he wasn't talking or looking at him. This man had reduced him to something he'd never believed he'd reach. He'd broken his will - and his strength. He'd grown too exhausted and tired to show pride. Odin pulled him up by his hair, forcing him into a kneeling position. He start-ed laughing hysterically, watching as Thor struggled to stay upright. Then he hit him full force in the stomach. The prisoner fell back, not making any sound. He repeated this ritual multiple times, finally changing to Thor's backside so he fell onto his face. Then he made him stand, letting him fall again countless times. Thor knew this was only the warm-up. Once bored, Odin continued with simply throwing him around - against walls, against the cage, down the stairs, onto a table, and down again. In the end, he grabbed his former son's long, golden hair and smashed his head against a wall multiple times. When Thor's vision was completely blurred, the man stopped, holding him up while drawing a knife with his other hand. Then he gently pushed it against his throat, smiling at the scared look on his son's face.
"And now - do it yourself. - You know what I'll gladly be doing if you don't obey."
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After that, Thor landed flat on his back in the cage. He couldn't breathe for a mo-ment, shutting his eyes tight. From afar, as if through a thick fog, he could still hear Odin's laughter disappearing in the distance. When Loki awoke after a while, he im-mediately started crying. Thor slowly moved towards him, crawling on his hands and knees as best as he could. Then he picked Loki up, ignoring the protesting chains at his wrists, and cradled him in his arms. It had become a ritual for them, giving them both at least a little sense of comfort by clinging to each other. Thor didn't say a word. He didn't even know when he'd spoken the last time. It had probably been in another life. In a life where he and Loki had been free and there hadn't been con-stant pain, where he had had friends and - a family.