Chapter 5
The days fell into a sort of routine. Every day, the prisoners would be taken out to a room filled with chamber pots. Afterwards, they were thrown back into their cells where they eagerly waited once or twice a week for food and water, which they would try to ration out and make last. Although it definitely wasn’t easy for the refugees, Brunnhilde privately thought it was worse for Loki. Often, he would be dragged away by guards and would disappear for hours on end. Brunnhilde found herself restlessly awaiting his return, often taking up pacing. She wasn’t sure why she was so bothered by the lack of his presence. After careful consideration, she decided that it must be because she would hate to see Thor’s reaction if he returned only to discover his brother was gone. Yes, that must be it; she didn’t want to see Thor miserable. Of course, she told herself, that was the only reason that her heart unclenched with relief when Loki was brought back alive, no matter how bruised or beaten he was.
The periods that Loki was allowed to rest in between beatings were becoming shorter and shorter. The number of sessions with Thanos Loki was being forced to attend was increasing exponentially. It went from once every few weeks, to twice, to once a week, to twice a week, to thrice, to once a day. Today, Loki was barely conscious when he was returned and dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Brunnhilde, who had frozen when the cell door opened, instantly rushed over (as always) and protectively hauled him away from the backs of the retreating guards.
“Assholes,” she muttered under her breath, ticked off.
Loki groaned slightly, making feeble attempts to pull himself off the ground. Brunnhilde returned her attention to him and restrained his efforts to sit up.
“Stay down,” she said in a low voice. “It’s worse this time. Stay down.”
He tried to mumble something, but Brunnhilde hushed him and cradled him in her lap. He tensed, but made no movement to back away. Brunnhilde sighed slightly and brushed his hair out of his face, scanning him for serious wounds.
“The wound on your shoulder is open again,” Brunnhilde informed him.
“Not surprised,” Loki muttered, his eyes half closed. “I think he’s trying to, like… cut it off as slowly as possible…”
“Well, it’s getting much deeper.” Brunnhilde frowned and sighed once more. “If you could tell me what exactly he’s doing to you--”
“It doesn’t matter,” Loki said firmly, his voice becoming clearer. “We don’t have medicine anyways, so there’s no point for me to relay my tragic torture sessions to you. It would waste my time and your tears.”
Brunnhilde scoffed loudly. She gently pulled Loki into a sitting position and let him lean against the wall. She peered closely at one of the gashes on his leg. “That looks pretty bad, too. Like you said, we don’t have any medicine, so our choices are pretty limited, but we could try a tourniquet of sorts--”
“Don’t,” Loki interrupted. “My wounds don’t bother me much. I’m a god, remember?”
Brunnhilde couldn’t resist a sarcastic laugh. “Right… a god… you…”
Loki grinned lazily at her, his features lax and comfortable. “God of mischief.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a self-proclaimed title,” Brunnhilde teased, surprised to find that she wasn’t annoyed with Loki and his arrogance.
“Maybe,” Loki drawled. “Maybe not.”
“I’ll accept demigod,” Brunnhilde decided. “But there is no way, in any realm, that you are a god.”
“Midgard sure thought so,” Loki said quietly. It seemed like it should be another jibe, another joke, but his tone was subdued and soft.
Brunnhilde was silent. Any time she began to think that Loki was okay, that maybe he wasn’t a horrible, smarmy git one-hundred percent of the time, she would remember everything he had done to the people on Midgard, how many lives he had stolen, how much damage he had done. Maybe Thor was right, and he was changed now, but all the same, Brunnhilde couldn’t resist the cold, hard feeling in her stomach. Loki had never openly, willingly brought the subject up, so Brunnhilde couldn’t resist a flutter of surprise when he mentioned the realm.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked finally.
Loki was quiet. He stared a speck of dust on the ground, tracing his finger through the dirt. “I’m not going to pretend that it was all Thanos’ fault. That he messed with me, that he forced me, that he tortured me. Those things did happen, at least partially, but if I hadn’t gone and thought I could manipulate him right back, that I could feed some of my will to him…” he shook his head. “If I could take back what I did to them, I would. I wanted the Infinity Stone. I wanted both of them so bad that I disregarded life-- even human life, low though it may be-- just to acquire them.” Loki clenched and unclenched his fist. “Every day of my life, I always wanted… I always wanted my father to want and love me the same way he did Thor. I wanted Thor to notice and appreciate me the same way he did his other friends. And I thought…” he trailed off, staring at nothing. “I’m not sure what I thought. I was so young. And foolish, gods, I was foolish,” he gave a strange half-laugh. “At first, anything I did, I did for them. I thought they would be pleased. And when they weren’t I… told myself I didn’t care anymore. And I thought I knew I didn’t. Everything that happened in New York, I told myself, over and over, that I didn’t care. That all I wanted was to rule. To be king. And yet, deep down… I hoped they’d be pleased. That they’d see I could be a good king and they’d want me again. But then that crashed and burned… literally… and I was taken back to Asgard, and then Mothe-- Frigga died and Thor thought I was dead and then I was finally king. And you know what?” He paused and was quiet for a few moments.
“What?” Brunnhilde prompted softly.
Loki shook his head slightly. “I didn’t enjoy half as much as I thought I would. And then suddenly Thor’s back and Father’s gone for good and it turns out we have a sister and then the Grandmaster and the Hulk and Ragnarok and now Thanos. I have such a hectic life,” he ended with a small laugh.
Brunnhilde found herself smiling slightly. It wasn’t a happy smile or an amused smile it was just… a satisfied smile. An at-peace smile. Now she knew. Or she at least knew more. She wasn’t sure what to say, or if she should say anything at all, so she compromised by simply putting her arm on Loki’s shoulder.
Across the cell, opposite from where Brunnhilde and Loki huddled, Serlah and Barow watched out of the corner of their eyes.
“I’d give it a month, at most,” Serlah said quietly, only loud enough for Barow to hear.
“Not even,” Barow grunted. “They’ll realize it before a fortnight is up.”
“No, they’re stubborn, especially Brunnhilde,” Serlah replied conversationally. “A month.”
“A fortnight.”
“Hmm… half my ration of food, bet on a month?”
“You’re on.”