No Fun Being All Alone
Loki
Loki was bored.
He’d probably never been so bored in his life, actually, and it had been a pretty long life thus far. He had thousands of years for comparison, but nothing- nothing- compared to the boredom he currently was being forced to endure. Well. Perhaps forced was a bit melodramatic. He had rather deliberately taken over Odin’s throne after he almost died but Thor thought he died, (and rather than telling him that he was alive, Loki decided to go and sabotage the throne of Asgard because when Loki thought he was dying, he accidentally revealed that he loved his elder brother, and the thought of confronting that whole relationship was infinitely worse than trying to secretly take over the throne and somehow remove Odin, the Allfather, strongest of the gods-) and in any case- the result was that Loki was stuck pretending to be Odin and he was bored.
The Allfather was boring. King of Asgard, all-powerful, and all Loki was meant to do in his stead was attend meetings and act imperiously. It was such a drag keeping up the illusion of a crooked, short old man with one eye. He had to impersonate Odin constantly, and Loki- while he’d thought it would be fun at first- no longer found any of it even vaguely amusing. He hated the whole thing.
Somehow, Odin had been too easy to beat. All Loki had done was one simple enchantment, and with that, he’d taken Odin down to Midgard and dropped him at a home for elderly people, and the Allfather had cooperated perfectly. It was almost frightening how well everything had fallen in line. It was all just as Loki had impulsively, rather hastily planned for it to be- and that never happened.
Perhaps his seidr (in simpler terms, his magic) had grown stronger. Loki hoped it had somehow strengthened and would continue to do so. He needed all the power he could get. His seidr was a part of him: the magic that flowed through his veins was entirely bound to his energy, and so, the more seidr Loki used up in one day, the more exhausted he was by the end of it. His seidr always recharged, even if Loki drained himself to the point that he couldn’t use it anymore. But the more he used, the longer it took- and if he seriously pushed himself too far, Loki could collapse or cause himself to fall ill. Or both. At the very least, he’d be a sleepy, incomprehensible, bedridden and delirious pile of bones for a good day or two if he overdid it just enough.
Admittedly, it had happened to Loki many times before, but none of those times had been when Loki’s very lifeline depended on him maintaining the illusion of being Odin. Not that illusions were too draining- he wasn’t pathetic- but to keep one up for an entire day, collapse into bed, then wake up early every morning and do it all over again- it did take its toll.
Loki swallowed, staring at his own reflection in the mirror of the Allfather’s chambers. He resented Odin as his adoptive father, and being in his skin usually was enough to repulse Loki if he thought too hard about it. However, with how much of his energy he’d been using up, Odin was nearly a more welcome sight than his own face. Loki had become paler, eyes shadowed and bloodshot, face drawn and gaunt, veins a prominent maze beneath his skin. He never even bothered to straighten or slick back his natural curls anymore because no one ever saw him- really him- and it was too much of a pain to bother with. Loki had been allowing the inky waves to cascade carelessly over his shoulders, in thick, and currently slightly frizzy tresses.
By the Norns, he was a wreck. Furthermore, Loki thought, this whole situation was a wreck. And that time, it was inarguably his own fault.
Loki had been right about never wanting the throne. Being a king was awful enough on its own, and even more so because he wasn’t even allowed to be himself and be a king.
A few years ago, Loki had fallen on Svartalfheim, and in a mad effort to save his brother, he’d allowed himself to be impaled by the same Dark Elf he’d just stabbed himself. Loki would be lying if he said he didn’t see it coming. He had seen it coming, he’d known that once he’d shoved the blade through the back, the Dark Elf would snatch him and pierce Loki through the front. Thankfully, Loki had time to plant the detonation device, even through his pain. He was thrown to the ground, and there he assured the monster he’d meet him in Hel. Then, Loki died. When he’d woken up alone on the ground, he’d been healed by his seidr’s natural restorative properties- just barely the nick of time- he probably should have just gone back to his big brother.
It was miraculous Loki had pulled through at all. The poisoned blade had already spread its death to his whole body. He’d fallen unconscious. His heart had stopped. He was so close to being dead. Thor had thought so- he’d just left him there. ALONE. On that filthy, horrid planet with those filthy, horrid Dark Elves. Hadn’t even bothered to bring his body back for a funeral. His big brother had been too busy being distracted by his Midgardian woman to bother with Loki’s body- the Midgardian that Loki had protected, by the way- but if Thor had taken him, he would have seen him come back to life.
Or Loki could have just found Thor and told him himself. But he didn’t.
As the God of Mischief, Loki was supposed to be clever. But he’d made a horrific mistake in choosing to let Thor keep on believing he’d died. What was he so frightened of? What justification did he have to come up with such an impossible plan as taking the throne? The odds had been very highly stacked against him.
However much as Loki tried to fake his own obliviousness, he knew why. When he thought he was dying, he’d admitted to being a fool more than once, he’d apologised repeatedly, and to top it all off, Loki had actually admitted that his sacrifice hadn’t been in some desperation to prove his worth to Odin. He’d done it for Thor. For his brother. And that was nothing if not an act of love. How was Loki supposed to know he’d actually survive being impaled with a poisoned sword? If he’d known, of course, he never would have admitted any of that. Such sentiments were vulnerabilities, and Loki had enough of those without proclaiming the fact that he might have, somewhere deep inside of him, a heart.
After that mistake, Thor already knew Loki’s heart. He knew well enough all the emotions Loki had kept hidden, and it was pointless to bother convincing Thor otherwise. In fact, if Loki had turned up, alive, and especially with what he’d just revealed- he may have even had a chance at happiness. Maybe Thor could have really felt like his big brother. So why he’d bothered to take the worse route of trying to take over Asgard, which was supposed to have been nearly impossible- Loki didn’t have an excuse.
All he had was this: he’d been scared. Even that was embarrassing.
It was at this point Loki realised he was still staring into the carved, golden mirror, in his own form, wearing one of the Allfather’s sets of sleepwear. The sight was harrowing, to say the least.
Shuddering, Loki turned away from the mirror and spared a quick glance at the door, to ensure he’d locked and bolted it. He had that time, but he’d been recently forgetting to, even after three years of keeping up the whole Odin charade.
Or perhaps it was because it had been three years of Loki keeping up the whole Odin charade.
Yawning, Loki collapsed into Odin’s bed, trying not to think about the Allfather, or his mother, Frigga, or even his brother Thor. Every night he had to stop himself, and every night it became torturous to try falling asleep. At least he was nearly drained that night. It might help him fall asleep faster. He twisted himself into the golden sheets and cream duvets, curling up in the centre of the bed that was much too big for anyone to sleep alone in. Loki snatched his arm out and grabbed a few of the numerous pillows, shoving two of them on either side of his head and gripping the third pillow in a death-hold, hugging it to himself and screwing up his face as Loki tried to assure himself that all was as it should be.
He went on like this for a good few hours. At one point, Loki even screamed into the pillow he had so tightly gripped in his arms, the sound muffled by the soft depths his face was buried in. He needed a day off. If not physically, then at least mentally. He wanted to be able to do as he pleased while some… other Odin did all the work.
And then, an idea struck. Loki was going to force himself to create a corporeal illusion of himself, then have his clone disguise himself as the Allfather, and that’s who was going to run Asgard for a day. It would use up a tremendous amount of his seidr, yes- but it would spare Loki from having to actually sit all day, draining his seidr anyway. If his disguised clone did it, then Loki could leave. He could go anywhere for the day- wherever he wanted.
Much happier now, Loki hugged the pillow even harder, nuzzling his face into it and smiling as he fell asleep. He knew where he’d be going tomorrow.
Midgard.