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“I spoke no lies when I told you I never wanted the throne.”
The throne room itself was vast. It was lined on both sides with high windows carved from the palace stone, which allowed the exquisite blue skies of Asgard to be seen during the day— or the fathomless black sweep and dusting of stars at night. The latter of the two was the source of long, distorted shadows, which were pierced only by the two roaring bonfires strategically contained and placed on either side of the room.
The hall was empty, save for the two of them. Odin’s Einherjar had vacated. Any and all sound echoed off the seamless Asgardian architecture, from the meticulously tiled floors to the vaulted ceilings high above.
Chains rattled, and Thor took a single step back. It was a mistake, and he knew it the moment he did so. The muzzle was held in his left hand, and he could feel his fingers flex around it. He had already made one mistake in his brother’s presence. He must not allow Loki to spot another.
But of course, the first words Loki spoke to him would be that. And perhaps his brother knew that they would burn away at old wounds. This trick was one Thor could easily spot. He simply clenched his jaw against it, and forced his guilt down.
“You will be answering for your crimes, brother. You will give retribution for every Midgardian life you have taken. Father will not—-“
“So, the Allfather is asleep.”
It was not a question. And Thor realized he had made another mistake. He had taken Loki directly to the throne room instead of to a holding cell. And then, he had used the future tense.
“I will not play games with you, Loki.” Thor could feel his temper stoking itself from deep within his core, sending bolts of agitating heat through his bloodstream.
“Oh, but you will.” Loki laughed, taking one step closer, the chains jangling perhaps a bit too cheerfully for their given purpose.
“You will, Thor. And despite your poor comprehensive skills, even you must know what the outcome will be.”
A tip of that black-haired head, the faint curling at the corners of bloodied lips. The firelight was the most cruel; casting its’ glow in such a way that the cuts and scrapes over Loki’s face looked entirely black and fetid.
His eyes were the worst. This was not the brother he had known before the fall into the Abyss. This was not his Loki.
“You dealt your own fate the moment you set my tongue free.”
Thor hurled the muzzle into the heart of the bonfire in response. He did so with such ferocity and feeling that his center of gravity was momentarily displaced, and he had to turn himself to face the fire. When he turned back, Loki was right before him, their noses a scant centimeter from touching. Thor did not flinch. He held that cold, speculative, confident gaze without backing down.
“You have already lost, Thor.”
Mjolnir hummed at his hip, but he did not heed her desire for a fight.
“Brother you are not well.” Thor forced his words to be calmer than he felt. Loki drew the passion out of him as he always had, and his passion was the one thing Thor found the most difficult to control.
“Oh, brother…” Loki chuckled, leaning closer still until their foreheads touched, and Thor could see the twisted madness deep within those acidic eyes.
“What lies have you been fed?”