Darkness There, and Nothing - CH. 2 - All Is Illusion and Vain Fantasy

Chapter Two

All Is Illusion and Vain Fantasy

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"Thea?" Frigga murmured. The queen of Asgard moved to the window of her private receiving room, brushing a tendril of hair back from her face. Her son saw that her hand trembled just a little. Thor watched as his mother pressed her fingertips to the smooth pane of window-glass, pressed until her fingertips turned white at the edges. "Thea," she said again, as if testing or tasting the name. "Thea."

Sunlight drifted through the glass, casting rainbow sparkles upon the smooth marble floor and across the silken folds of his mother's white dress. Her hair, piled artfully atop her head, caught the amber light of morning. It burnished the bronze strands, bringing out glints of copper fire. Thor stood near the chair his mother had offered him—the chair he'd been too restless to take when he'd first arrived—and watched Frigga stroke the glass. Worry for Loki was in every line of her body, in the brittle set of her shoulders, even the angle of her head as she studied Asgard through the window. They all worried for Loki; until the day he and Thor had battled atop the Bifröst, there hadn't been even the slightest inkling that there was anything wrong with him.

"Who do you think she is?" Frigga asked softly, pulling Thor's thoughts back to the meeting at hand. "This Thea he spoke of? A woman? Could he…" She trailed off, then seemed to steel herself to continue. "Could he have fallen in love with one of the Chitauri's agents, do you suppose?"

Thor's massive shoulders rose and fell in a helpless shrug. "I don't know. I…I'm not sure. He spoke of they. Not a single person. And he…he spoke to me of children."

Frigga's head whipped around, her honey-gold eyes wide. "Children?"

The prince sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "He provoked me, and I told him he was acting like a child. Suddenly he…he changed again. He was being his typical condescending self. He sneered at me, so I struck back with an insult to show him how petty I thought he was acting. It enraged him. I have never seen him so furious. He raged at me not to speak to him of children. I didn't understand…I still don't understand what made him so angry."

"Perhaps this…Thea…was his child?"

Thor's eyes widened and an odd feeling churned in his belly. Loki…with a child? The thought was so alien, so bizarre, Thor could scarcely fathom it. His brother couldn't have a child. Loki as a father?

But then, if not so, why had his little brother become so infuriated at the petty insult? Had Thea been Loki's daughter? Or if not that, then a child he'd inexplicably grown fond of, who'd been killed during the Chitauri invasion? No, because how was that Thor's fault?

Unless in Loki's insane guilt, he had to place blame on his foster brother because he could not shoulder it alone…

"I simply don't know, Mother," Thor murmured, heaving a sigh. "I do not know what Loki is thinking, or even if he speaks the truth. I came only to give you a report of what occurred last night. I know you worry for him."

"I worry for all of you," Frigga replied in a strained voice, turning back to the window. "Tyr was so angry at being passed over for the kingship, but…but he simply wasn't ready. Would never be ready. Víðarr feels Loki's betrayal so keenly; he looked up to him. I do not know if they will ever be able to mend the breach. Balder and Hermod are both torn by what your brother has done, and you…we've asked so much of you, Thor—"

The brash, boyish smile Thor gifted her with seemed to ease some of Frigga's strain. She smiled at her second-eldest. Thor went to her and took her hands. "You needn't worry, Mother. I will handle Loki."

"Don't let Tyr provoke him," Frigga added. "I do not know what cruel game he plays with your brother, but Tyr's harsh words will help nothing."

Thor nodded. "Don't worry. I will speak to Tyr."

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As before, when Thor went to the dungeons to speak to his brother, he approached with silence and the utmost caution. He'd never been as good at skulking and sneaking as Loki and Balder, but these days it seemed that if he took enough care, and Loki was distracted, his brother wouldn't notice Thor's presence until the older prince had had a chance to observe his strange behavior for a time. He was counting on that; after everything Loki had said the night before, Thor wanted a chance both to think and to observe his foster brother.

The clank of iron-shod boots on the marble floor arrested him. Frowning, Thor paused. The air suddenly seemed to hang thick in the torch-lit corridor. A sliver of apprehension whispered down the Æsir's spine as a guard hurried down the hall, eyes wide beneath the visor of his golden helm. Thor took three quick strides forward and grasped the guard by the shoulders, halting him.

"What is it?"

"Prince Loki, Your Highness," the guard gasped. "He is trying to perform seiðr to break the bonds of his prison."

Something sharp and hot sliced through Thor like a blade. Loki was trying to escape? Now? Because he knew Thor was coming, and didn't wish to answer anymore of his questions? Or because of something else? Thor shoved past the guard, ordering, "Fetch my father."

Without waiting for the guard to acquiesce, he took off running. The blood pumped hot through his veins as he laid one hand on the hilt of his sword. His other hand flexed at his side, his fingers twitching with the desire to wrap tightly around Mjölnir. His hammer would come if he needed it, but for now, he would rely on his blade. Loki hadn't broken out yet—the backlash of power from the shattering prison-spells keeping him bound would've been felt throughout Asgard. There was still time to stop him.

With that thought, Thor lowered his head and put on a burst of speed that rocketed him down the corridor and around the corner, where he slid to a halt just before he would've come into Loki's line of sight.

But Thor could see Loki as plain as day.

His brother sat against the plain white wall of his prison, shoulders hunched, knees drawn up to his chest. One hand curled into a white-knuckled fist, pressed against Loki's mouth hard enough that Thor was surprised his brother hadn't cut his lips on his own teeth. The other hand stretched out toward empty air, palm-up, trembling as if it held up a great weight. Loki's dark sleeves were rolled up to mid-forearm. Blue veins and chords of muscle strained against the pale flesh, and sweat streamed down the white brow, plastering strands of ebony hair to temples, cheeks, and neck.

Loki's breath came in harsh, ragged gasps. His chest rose and fell sharply with each breath. An intense, almost mad fire blazed in the absinthe green of his gaze; that gaze focused on a spot somewhere in front of him, never blinking, distant with concentration. Thor could tell Loki hadn't closed his eyes, even for a second, in some time—moisture gathered and seeped from the corners of Loki's reddened eyes.

The second hand flexed open, shot out to join the other. Long, slender fingers stiffened; both hands shook with Herculean effort. Dark brows knotted in fierce concentration and the green eyes narrowed to mere slits. Pale, thin lips peeled back to reveal Loki had gritted his teeth, almost as if he were in pain. His breath whistled between his clenched teeth as he struggled against the bonds of his prison. The seiðr that the All-Father had placed around the prison and laced throughout the room vibrated and hummed as the pseudo-Æsir fought to bring his spell to fruition. The ensorcelled glass shield rattled in its casement with the force of the magic battering at it.

No. No, Loki couldn't escape. Not again. As vividly as a nightmare that would always haunt him, Thor remembered the day Loki had stepped out of the containment unit on the SHIELD Helicarrier, amusement in his sea-green eyes, that smug grin on his face. As if everything were going according to plan. Thor recalled vividly how he'd run to tackle his brother, to shove him back into the cell, only to pass through the illusion of him like lunging through a sheet of icy water. He remembered the hiss of the prison door closing him in, his little brother's mocking query, Are you ever not going to fall for that?

All too well could Thor remember Coulson preventing Loki from dropping the Asgardian from the Helicarrier to what should have been certain death…only to see his little brother murder the Midgardian who'd inexplicably become his friend with a thrust of the bladed spear through Coulson's back. Loki had murdered him…stabbed him in the back…like a coward…

Thor drew his sword, the uru metal whispering against the leather sheath like a softly spoken promise of vengeance. His heart hammered in his chest, threatening to bruise his ribs. He took a step forward, rage and grief warring for pride of place in his chest. The leather-wrapped hilt of the sword was a heavy weight in his palm. He would do whatever it took to prevent Loki's escape. He would…he would shatter Loki's concentration…and if that didn't work, then…then he would…what would he do?

Another step dragged him closer to his brother.

Something shimmered in the air about two feet in front of Loki's nose. Shadows and shimmers of verdant light twisted and writhed in the air, coiling around each other, morphing like clay to take a vaguely human shape. Loki bit his lip until it bled. A thin trickle of blood leaked from his left nostril. The crimson droplets stood out as stark as rubies in the sun against the wan face and dark clothes. Wrinkles snarled across Loki's forehead and between his eyebrows as he leaned forward, hunger written plainly across his features.

The twining shadows smoothed out, the vague shape sculpting into more definable lines. Thor froze perhaps ten paces away from the cell. Thor didn't know as much about seiðr as Loki—no one did, at least in Asgard—but he knew a little. Enough, in fact, to know that what Loki was doing would never get him out of his cell. It would never help him escape.

It was an illusion spell. Not the kind of illusions Loki normally used to deceive his enemies; something less malignant, less vicious. This illusion couldn't even make tactile contact. Though it could be touched, it couldn't touch anyone itself, couldn't affect the world around it. That was a subtle difference taught to every Asgardian warrior, because this type of illusion could be damaged, but could do no damage in its turn. If Loki had been forming an illusion of himself, perhaps it would have made sense, but this wasn't an image of the pseudo-Asgardian at all, nor could it be mistaken for such.

Thor lowered his sword as the shadows and smoke solidified into the image of a young child. He couldn't see the child's face, as she faced away from Thor and toward Loki; he saw only the back of her head and body. She might have been perhaps five or six years old, judging by her size. Slender, small, with thick, lustrous black curls falling to the middle of her back, she stood in typical Asgardian dress—a simple linen shift the color of fresh cream beneath a green velvet kirtle embroidered with gold runes. A deeply emerald ribbon tied back those curly black tresses, giving Thor just a glimpse of pale, round cheek, delicate ear, slender throat. Her small hands hung at her sides; in one she clutched a stuffed black bear with green eyes.

Was this Thea? She couldn't have been Loki's child. She was too old. Loki hadn't been in the habit of fathering bastards, and even had he been, Odin's edict regarding illegitimate issue was well-known—the by-blows (and their mothers) were to be brought to the palace, given work there, and taken care of as befitted the children, legitimate or not, of the royal family and the court nobles. Loki couldn't have had a child—not one he knew of, at any rate—before falling from the Bifröst three years ago, unless it were a Frost Giant babe…but the little creature Loki had rendered via illusion was no Frost Giant. So who was this girl?

Loki drew a shuddering breath. Jade eyes roved over the illusion of the child with insatiable hunger as he reached out with one shaking hand. Trembling fingertips halted a hand's span from the small cheek. Loki's fingers knotted into a fist and his breath escaped in what might have been a sob. Then, moving as if he might shatter, he caressed the child's cheek with his knuckles. Carefully slid his fingers into the black curls and ran his fingers through them; his eyes tracked the movement of his hand before returning to the girl's face, which Thor still couldn't see.

"I'm sorry," Loki whispered. Thor jolted; it seemed his entire body had gone numb, then been struck by lightning. The rage and fear of Loki's escape dwindled to nothing, replaced by confusion and uncertainty. Loki's mouth quivered as he breathed, "Oh, little one…I'm so sorry. Forgive me. I swore to protect you…swore I would always…but I failed you. I'm so sorry."

Then Loki did the unthinkable—he shifted, rising to his knees, and embraced the child, pressing his face against her shoulder. A fine tremor went through the long, lean frame. Loki crushed strands of the little girl's black hair in his fists even as the illusion began to fade. Thor watched—chest tight and throat raw from swallowing back salt and sorrow at his younger brother's grief—as the girl's image vanished, leaving Loki holding naught but empty air. The rattle and hum of seiðr pressing against seiðr slowly faded.

Slowly, as if afraid of bleeding to death, Loki drew his hands to his chest and bowed his head. His shoulders shook once, twice. Then he went still. He knelt there for a moment, simply breathing. Then he surged to his feet and strode to the fireplace to gaze down at the flames. Thor saw then that an entire stack of drawings were burning to black char and ash amidst the coals. Was that what had brought on this sudden need to conjure the illusion?

Loki passed a hand over his face, and when it dropped back to his side, there was no sign of the anguish that had so recently pained the pseudo-Æsir. The pale countenance was a blank mask, empty of everything. Then Loki's lip curled, his mouth twisting into that familiar and irritating smirk that made Thor's fist ache to knock it askew. He straightened his shoulders. Rolled his neck until a small pop released some tension. Then he sighed and shook his head, before chuckling to himself.

"Thor is a fool," Loki whispered, still sneering. "But then, so are they all."

The words were a slap that struck aside everything Thor had felt in the last few moments upon seeing the illusion of the child. Left behind was only simmering anger.

"Fool, am I?" Thor demanded. His voice emerged harsh and strained, but the fresh anger in it came through well enough. Loki tensed, but didn't whip around to face his brother. Instead he pivoted slowly until he could look Thor in the eye. The elder prince snapped, "And why am I a fool?"

Loki chuckled dryly. "Well, there you stand. Surely the guards rushed off to tell you I was attempting to escape, yet you come running with your sword drawn in an effort to stop me…again. Even though every time you've attempted it, you've failed. Is that not foolish? Or perhaps mad," he added with a bright smile that made Thor's teeth clench. "Is not the definition of madness, 'doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result every time?'"

"Our father is coming to see you," Thor said coldly, ignoring his brother's taunt. "You will offer the proper respect—"

"I believe we've already established that he's your father."

"So you decry us all because he didn't tell you that you were a foundling? Truly?" Thor sheathed his sword. "Don't tell me that everything you've done, every treachery committed, is because Father kept that truth from you?"

His brother shrugged and clasped his hands behind his back. "Believe what you will. You always have. Which is why, I imagine, you told the guard to bring the All-Father, in case I managed to get past you once I'd broken my bonds." When Thor said nothing, Loki scoffed. "So predictable."

"I remember what happened the last time you escaped your prison," Thor muttered. "You killed a man I was proud to call my friend and ally."

Loki arched a brow. His eyes glittered with cold amusement; in the light, they seemed almost blue, rather than his typical green. "Oh? Did I?"

Thor lunged for the enchanted glass separating him from his brother. Thumping his fist against it, ignoring the prickling of the magic bound within the glass, the Asgardian growled like an enraged lion, "Don't you dare mock me! He was my friend, Loki, and you murdered him in cold blood."

Another disdainful scoff. "He had a gun aimed at me. What did you expect me to do, Brother—let him blast me into a million pieces? I know you were sorely disappointed when I managed to survive his attempt, but surely you've more sense than that."

"Disapp—" Thor choked on the word. He stared at the disguised Frost Giant with incredulous eyes. "Is that what you think? That I wanted you dead? Bor's ghost, Loki, why would you ever think that?"

"Because I remember you dropping me off the end of the Bifröst into the blackness of an abyss without a thought, Brother!"

He'd said that before, Thor recalled, when they'd argued in the forested hills around Stuttgart. We grew up together, played together. We fought together. Don't you remember? And Loki had said something like, I remember you dropping me into an abyss. Thor hadn't known what to make of that at the time; still didn't. But there had been other things that needed to be said, and so he'd let it go. Yet surely Loki didn't think that Thor had let him fall on purpose? Loki had let go of the haft of Gungnir. Didn't he remember?

"You let go," Thor murmured. And even now, that memory sent a shaft of ice through his heart. "I begged you not to. I begged you, Loki, and yet you…you let go."

Loki blinked, brow furrowing as if in confusion. He shook his head slowly. "No. No, you dropped me—"

"I didn't," Thor insisted. "I would never. You're my brother. I mourned you, Loki. I thought you were dead. When I found out you were alive, I was overjoyed. How could you ever think otherwise?"

"Oh, yes, you seemed quite glad to see me when you dragged me off that Midgardian aircraft by the scruff of my neck like an errant child and then hurled me into a mountainside when we made it back to the ground. I could see your joy as plain as a campfire in the dark, Brother."

"You'd murdered innocent people. The Midgardian authorities had you in custody for crimes you'd committed against them. Did you expect me to be happy about that?"

A flash of snow-white teeth in a smile that was more of a sneer. The mazarine tint of Loki's eyes became more pronounced. "Happy? Perhaps not. I suppose it isn't your fault you've become so soft. I can understand, even sympathize. No, I didn't expect you to be happy. But I didn't murder anyone. The Midgardians who died were unfortunate casualties—"

"Unfortunate casualties?" A rich, deep voice asked from behind Thor. Immediately Thor saw Loki's features close off, his eyes go blank and cold as frosted jewels. His lips thinned into a severe line. The elder prince hadn't realized how much his younger brother had opened up to him until Loki shut down in the presence of the All-Father who'd raised them both. Odin continued, "Is that what you call those innocents, Loki?"

Loki's lips twisted into an expression Thor couldn't quite name. "Do you think me a liar, All-Father? Do you doubt my sincerity?"

Odin's single blue eye burned as it rested on his adopted son. "Do I?"

The disguised Frost Giant gave a short, sharp laugh that seemed to Thor as if it should've left either Loki or Odin bleeding—or both. Loki replied, "Ah, but I'm never sincere, am I, Thor? You've said so yourself. But then," he focused on Odin, and the blankness left his gaze, to be replaced by something icy and razor sharp, "neither are you."

Odin didn't speak for several long moments. Thor studied his father, wondering if the king of Asgard saw as much—despite Loki's mask of mocking boredom—as Thor did himself. Finally, the white-haired Asgardian asked, "You attempted to thwart the containment spells on your prison; why? What did you hope to accomplish? Surely you knew you couldn't break them and escape, so why waste so much effort?"

Thor opened his mouth to tell his father about the illusion of the little girl, then closed it. Loki didn't know he'd been seen; at least, Thor was fairly certain he didn't know, judging by Loki's reaction the last time he'd accused Thor of spying on him. What sort of damage would it do to whatever progress the golden-haired prince was making with his wayward younger brother if he revealed that secret to their father in front of him? Somehow Thor knew that Loki would never forgive him. And what would Odin do with the information? Had Frigga already told him of the mysterious Thea, whose death the pseudo-Asgardian blamed on Thor?

"It wasn't a waste," Loki said simply, smirking once more. "Clearly Heimdall isn't keeping as strict a watch as you would like, since he cannot answer your questions. Then again, he has always been particularly blind to what was right in front of him…as have you, All-Father."

"Loki, that's enough," Thor cautioned sharply. Loki shook his head, but said nothing more. "Father, Loki hasn't escaped, as you can see. He has not the strength to make another attempt in the near future. Let me speak to him alone. Perhaps I can get the answers you seek."

When Loki snorted, Thor shot him a look that clearly said, Shut up.

After another interminable silence, Odin nodded. "Very well. Reason with him…if you can." And he turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor, leaving the brothers alone save for the guards. At a nod from Thor, they took themselves off a ways, giving the princes privacy once more.

"I hope you enjoy wasting your breath," Loki said with a smile. He turned to walk to the chair where he normally sat during his and Thor's often one-sided conversations. "Not to mention your time."

"Both are mine to waste," Thor replied, thinking quickly. "Tell me…who was the girl?"

Loki froze, as if his entire body had been encased in a thick sheet of ice. So excruciatingly slowly, he turned to look at Thor. "What girl?"

"The child you conjured," Thor said gently. Bored mask gone, Loki leveled a vicious look at him. "Who was she?"

"That is none of your concern."

Still keeping his voice gentle, the Asgardian prince asked, "Was that Thea?"

Pale hands slammed down on the table hard enough to make the ink-wells rattle. "Don't say her name!" Loki hissed, hatred seething beneath the words. "How dare you? You don't deserve to speak her name!"

Time for a single moment of ruthlessness. "Why?" Thor demanded. "Because you and I killed her?"

The effect on Loki was immediate. All the rage and hatred dissipated and he sank into the chair like his legs would no longer support him. His pale face grew haggard. He closed his eyes as if attempting to block out Thor and his incessant questions. A ragged sigh escaped him.

"That child—that was her, wasn't it?" Thor asked. "Who was she to you?"

But Loki shook his head. Wearily, he said, "That wasn't her. That was…someone else."

"Who?" When Loki didn't speak again, Thor said, "You said you would give me the reasons for my condemnation today, Brother. You would tell me once and for all why you hate me so. Well, here I am. Give me your reasons. Because of a girl whose name you have forbidden me to speak, and why else?" Silence stretched between, broken only when Thor implored, "Tell me why, Loki."

The seconds ticked by as Loki sat with his eyes closed, his face unreadable. Thor measured those seconds—those small eternities—with the rapid, uneasy beat of his heart. Finally his brother lifted his head and locked shadowed emerald eyes with his own blue gaze.

"The…the child you saw…" Loki seemed to momentarily struggle for breath. "Her name…was…Sophie."

Was. A hollow pang hit Thor in the chest. The child had been so young…"She is dead, then."

Loki's hand, resting atop the table, spasmed into a white-knuckled fist. "Yes."

Sophie. A Midgardian name. A Midgardian child? Thor couldn't be sure, but he did know that Loki would never have given a child of his loins a name from Midgard. No Frost Giant would give their child a Midgardian name. Nor, Thor was almost certain, would any Asgardian woman Loki might have bedded do so, either. Loki had always disdained mortals. He would never call a daughter of his after mortal fashion. But then…who was the child?

Sensing an odd brittleness in Loki, Thor's voice was at its gentlest when he asked, "Who was she?"

The green-eyed prince shook his head. "I cannot explain so you would understand…not in the time we have. I know I promised you an explanation, and so you shall have one, but to make all known, I must start at the very beginning—the moment I fell from the Bifröst." He cleared his throat. "It is quite a long tale. Are you certain you wish to hear it?"

Thor nodded. "Tell me. I will hear you out, Brother."

Loki drew yet another ragged breath that seemed to tear through his chest like a knife. He said softly, "You asked me who Thea was. I'll tell you. She was a prisoner of the Chitauri…a prisoner from Midgard."

"One of the prisoners you captured for them?" Thor hazarded.

Yet Loki shook his head. A rueful smile played about his mouth, edged with no little pain. His eyes were tired when they lit on Thor's baffled face, but a flicker of amusement warmed them from glacial emerald to a softer green.

"You still think you know how it all played out. You think you're so wise," Loki whispered, "so clever." He leaned his head back, supporting the weight of it against one fist. His dark hair gleamed in the lamp- and firelight. The lines of pain around his mouth deepened as he closed his eyes again, laughed softly, ruefully. "You think I caught her, like a songbird behind golden bars, and then regretted caging her when my better nature won out? You're such a fool, Brother. My prisoner? No. Thea wasn't my captive."

Noting his brother's emphasis, Thor asked, "Then…who was she?"

"She was the prisoner in the cell next to mine."