"My dear Brother," Loki grins, just for a moment, through the mist of emotion. "I'll happily remind you to sing my praises later."
And he probably will, though even at this point it may be tongue in cheek.
He feels watched; Thor's eyes on him are heavy, because Loki fears what he's looking for is hope. He can offer so little in the way of reassurance. The world that he comes from the world that Thor comes from, and at least some others, are cut in two, and Loki cannot fix that any more than he could prevent it. (And he tried, he really tried.) He can promise his care to the children here, and his shoulder to Thor to lean and cry on, if he will accept it. All of that may not be enough, and all of it weighs on his shoulders so heavily it makes his spine ache and creak and cry.
But here, in this room, there is a single small task, and a brother with kind words for him. And that is bearable.
"If she grows up to be a mimic of me, we're all in a great deal of trouble," he says of the little girl, laughing quietly, but his distant expression falls into more sober lines when Thor asks.
It's hard to answer, and still a bit raw and uncomfortable, but he smooths the backs of his fingers over Thor's forehead as if to reassure him that the moment of silence is not a sign that Loki is angry or hurt by the query. "It's like being stripped down to the bone," he says slowly.
"When I first saw the blue skin I knew I had lost everything. Nothing would ever be the same, no matter what anyone said in explanation. And when I put my hands on the Casket of Ancient Winters, I could feel it peeling the magical illusion away. And it made such perfect sense. I am the god of lies, because I lived a lie every day since I was an infant."
"I could not bear it for such a long, long while. But over the Winter I was forced to try, and I found that being stripped to the bone left me lighter. And the more I look at the bones, the more I see their strength and sheen, not their ugliness."
"It's a work in progress. It will continue to be for a long time. But the more I wear my true shape, the more it feels...freeing. And the more I embrace the core of what I am--this creature made of ice and darkness, frost, wind and fire and sharp angles, the stronger I become, and the more certain of who I am."
no subject
And he probably will, though even at this point it may be tongue in cheek.
He feels watched; Thor's eyes on him are heavy, because Loki fears what he's looking for is hope. He can offer so little in the way of reassurance. The world that he comes from the world that Thor comes from, and at least some others, are cut in two, and Loki cannot fix that any more than he could prevent it. (And he tried, he really tried.) He can promise his care to the children here, and his shoulder to Thor to lean and cry on, if he will accept it. All of that may not be enough, and all of it weighs on his shoulders so heavily it makes his spine ache and creak and cry.
But here, in this room, there is a single small task, and a brother with kind words for him. And that is bearable.
"If she grows up to be a mimic of me, we're all in a great deal of trouble," he says of the little girl, laughing quietly, but his distant expression falls into more sober lines when Thor asks.
It's hard to answer, and still a bit raw and uncomfortable, but he smooths the backs of his fingers over Thor's forehead as if to reassure him that the moment of silence is not a sign that Loki is angry or hurt by the query. "It's like being stripped down to the bone," he says slowly.
"When I first saw the blue skin I knew I had lost everything. Nothing would ever be the same, no matter what anyone said in explanation. And when I put my hands on the Casket of Ancient Winters, I could feel it peeling the magical illusion away. And it made such perfect sense. I am the god of lies, because I lived a lie every day since I was an infant."
"I could not bear it for such a long, long while. But over the Winter I was forced to try, and I found that being stripped to the bone left me lighter. And the more I look at the bones, the more I see their strength and sheen, not their ugliness."
"It's a work in progress. It will continue to be for a long time. But the more I wear my true shape, the more it feels...freeing. And the more I embrace the core of what I am--this creature made of ice and darkness, frost, wind and fire and sharp angles, the stronger I become, and the more certain of who I am."
"It is my lightning."