Second Place
Loki tried to forget, but he couldn’t. He watched Sigyn be beaten for something he did over and over again. He hated her. He wanted to irritate her, anger her, scare her, hurt her, but he had never meant for there to be consequence for his tricks. He couldn’t help but think that he should have stepped in. He told himself over and over that he should have stepped in. But he hadn’t, and it had been a long time.
He and Thor strode down the great length of the throne room towards their parents at their place of power. The two of them had been summoned by Odin for something important. Probably not important enough to warrant such stiff and borderline ceremonial formality. In Loki’s opinion, the set up was a bit excessive. Unless Thor had done something royally wrong, in which case of course Loki would be dragged in to share the blame. How would their father spin it this time, he wondered? How would he be made a villain? When Thor received praise Loki was ignored and when Loki received criticism, Thor was the standard to live up to. But his father never hit him.
He felt sick.
“Are you alright, Loki?” Thor whispered.
“I’m fine,” Loki replied, a little harsher than necessary
Thor’s brow furrowed in concern, but he said nothing more as they arrived at the end of the hall. Odin stood imperiously on the dais, just in front of the large golden throne which was more a sculpture than a chair. Their mother stood beside him, a symbol of support and unity. She was always forced behind their imposing father. She was always an extension of him, rather than a ruler in her own right. Loki hated it. She was not lesser.
“My sons,” Odin greeted, cutting off Loki’s bitter train of thought. “I have called you here on a matter of formality as well as celebration. We have gifts to bestow on the two of you. It is time that you came into your birthrights.”
Birthright.
Heir.
The words crashed through Loki’s head. He had no birthright. Born to be a king, and yet never would he become one. What did Odin mean to give them? Thor was much too young for the responsibilities that came with a crown, and looking at the graying king proved that he had eyes only for his oldest. Well, one eye. The other was replaced by a golden eye patch that glittered in the brightly lit hall.
Two guards stepped forward, each bearing an ornate chest.
Frigga smiled, stepping forward for her part. “Loki.” She invited him up to join her on the dais with an outstretched hand. Of course his father wouldn’t be the one to give him anything other than scorn. He smiled for his mother as he obeyed, climbing the short set of stairs. She turned to the nearest guard. “Loki, for you I offer twin daggers.” She opened the guard’s box. Inside were two glittering, gold knives. “Daggers are the weapons of the quick and the clever. You are a sorcerer, but never believe for one moment that magic is all you have. You have always been smart and strategic in everything you do. You are skilled at adapting to any situation and playing towards your strengths. You are an honorable young man, Loki. However,” her eyes glittered with mischief, meeting his for a moment, “a trick or two, or a slight of hand, can come in useful.” she waved her fingers at the weapons and they vanished from their case.
Loki’s smile was no longer forced when they reappeared in front of his face. He caught them before they could fall and turned them over in his hands. They were engraved with runes, meant to make them easier to conjure from wherever he might leave them. He tried his hand at sticking them in whatever magical storage space they vanished to, and was pleased to find it came quite easily to him. They faded from his hands in a flash of green. They returned similarly.
He held them tightly. “Thank you, mother,” his words were sincere, “I will use them wisely.”
“Oh, I have no doubt,” Frigga smiled at him.
He bowed before retreating back down the steps to stand beside Thor.
Odin stepped forward now and turned to the other guard, opening his chest. “Thor, my eldest son, you are a brave and fierce warrior.” Thor grinned widely as he climbed the steps, confident that every compliment was absolutely true. “For you, I hand over a weapon of might and strength. Mjolnir, the war hammer.”
Loki kept his face frozen, he did not let the bitter shock register on his features. Mjolnir had a long history of great battles and ancient heroes. A legendary weapon for the golden child, the favorite, the heir. The weapon of backstabbers and liars for the second son.
Odin lifted the fabled hammer from the box, “This weapon comes not without responsibility. It has a reputation that precedes it, and that you must prove yourself worthy to carry. It will help you channel your power as the God of Thunder by acting as a conduit for your magic to course through without straining your control. Use it well.”
“I am honored, father,” Thor announced as the hammer was placed in his eager hands, “I will make you proud,” he vowed, kneeling for dramatics. Loki was glad he hadn’t promised to use it wisely. He would have called bullshit before the word was halfway out of his reckless brother’s mouth.
“Now go,” Odin ordered with a generous smile, “I’m sure you have much to do today.”
Thor stood immediately and descended the steps, “Come, brother,” he grinned, grabbing Loki by the shoulder and pushing him along with him.
Loki stumbled but managed to throw in a last bow towards their parents before allowing Thor to sweep him away. As soon as they exited the hall, Thor began tossing Mjolnir up in the air with all the care of a child with his toy.
“Do you think maybe you should be more careful with that,” Loki drawled, “respect the history you’re currently throwing around like a ball.”
Thor laughed, “Brother, you are funny. Of course I respect it, but father wouldn’t have given it to me if he didn’t think I deserved it. Evidently I do, so I can’t disrespect it by carrying it around.”
“Of course,” Loki said, throwing a disgusted look at the young court ladies who giggled loudly as they passed the princes.
They pretended to blush shyly when Thor glanced their way in confusion. He hadn’t yet seemed to grasp the understanding that girls everywhere were interested and were willing to sacrifice their dignity to have him. He graced them with one of his signature, blinding smiles.
Loki would have chalked it up to Thor’s royal status and good looks if he himself hadn’t also been royal and good looking. For whatever reason people just didn’t like him. They didn’t trust him, but despite being the God of trickery, he had never done anything to prove untrustworthy. Not to the whole kingdom. There was no real reason that everyone should like him less, but they all did. Except their mother. Maybe Thor had their father to give him legendary hammers, and girls willing to crawl for him, but at least Loki had their mother.
He disappeared from Thor’s side, ducking around a corner into a separate corridor. On his own, he began to change shape. He could take any form he wished, plant, animal, rock, person. He could take any gender he wished too. Shifting was hard though, so for the most part, he didn’t do it. But it provided too good of an opportunity for tricks. He thought back to the trick he had played on Thor when he was eight. Revenge taken too far. It was the one true story that circulated the court rumor mill, despite the passage of time.
His current change was almost subconscious. His eyes lightened a shade, his hair turned to gold, his features began to smooth out, becoming less sharp and pointed and more even and square. He was so caught up in the shift that he didn’t see the person barreling down the hall towards him until they collided and he found himself on the ground with Sigyn on top of him. The handprint was gone from her face. Of course it was. It had been a while. A while of avoiding her out of guilt.
“I’m so sorry-” she started and then recognition dawned in her dark eyes, “You.”
Loki raised an eyebrow, “You know who I am?” her body was warm against his,
“You even changed your voice,” she cringed, “ Of course I know who you are. Blonde isn’t a good look for you.” she slid off of him, “It’s horrible really.”
“Why thank you,” he drawled, sitting up and whipping stray hair out of his face, “I worked really hard on this.”
“Waste of time if you ask me.”
“Which I didn’t.” the voice truly had been subconsciously. It was rougher than his natural one, rougher and deeper. He wasn’t sure what had inspired that. He had never thought about voices before. Sigyn’s was smooth and sharp like one of his daggers, but gentle and subtle at the same time.
“Stop trying to be your brother, it’s pathetic.”
Loki bristled, “I’m glad to see your mother’s handprint faded,” he said sweetly, going for the throat.
She stiffened, “Go back to normal and I’ll argue with you, but I’m not going to waste my time on a second rate Thor.”
He laughed, but let himself return to normal as he stood, “How’s this?” He offered her a hand.
She glared at his outstretched fingers but eventually accepted. “Much better.”
“Argue with me now,” Loki invited, pulling her to her feet.
“I was going to say that that was low, even for you, but then I remembered that you’re the kind of person to bring a shovel when the bar’s on the ground.”
“What’s the worst part about being in love with Lady Sif? Is it that you can’t ever say it out loud, or is it that if you did she would despise you?”
Sigyn’s eyes flashed. He’d hit a nerve. “Do you enjoy being second place after Thor? Because you’d have to be trying to be that much of a disappointment.”
Loki grinned as he always did to cover up hurt, or discomfort, or vulnerability, “At least I have a place.” Beneath his brother, in Thor’s shadow, straining for light.
She scoffed. “There’s that infuriating little smile. Have I ever told you how much I hate your smirks? They seem perfectly designed to get on my every nerve. That’s why you have no friends, no one can stand to make you smile.”
“Really, I have no friends?” Loki asked. He didn’t, but he spoke to more people than she did. All she had was him, she needed him. He had Thor and by association, all of his friends. “I think you might be the one who’s lacking a social life.”
“I have Sif. We talk.” she argued, “She doesn’t like you much either. You could say you brought us together.”
“I could also tear you apart,” Loki reminded her, “Just one little slip up. I could get you in so much trouble, Sigyn. Should I tell your mother you’ve been yelling at royalty, should I tell mine you have magic? How hard would your mother hit you then?” A pang of guilt stabbed his gut as he remembered the trick he had played years ago as a child. If he had known, he never would have done it. His mind brought forth the image of her leaping away from him, wide eyes pinned on the illusion of her mother. How hard would her mother hit her then?
A sharp smack echoed off the marble of the hall. His left cheek stung and throbbed, his head was forced to the right. He paused like that for a moment, letting it all process. So that’s how hard, was it? He was a prince and she had slapped him. He nodded to himself and slowly his lips turned up in another venomous smile. He turned to meet her gaze.
Sigyn was breathing heavily, but the anger was draining from her face as fear took root instead. She curtsied, breaking eye contact, “I- Sorry-”
“A bit late for that,” Loki whispered, “I’d leave before you make things worse for yourself.”
She turned to go, but it seemed her pride wouldn’t let her because she turned back around again, “I just want to be clear: I hate you, and any apology is simply to keep from getting my hands cut off.”
He almost laughed. “Noted. Get out.”