Cleave | Loki x Reader

• seven - for all of us •

Present day, Asgard

Y/n

The blinding light vanishes and my eyes quickly adjust to the golden canopy above Heimdall's console – where right beside it he lies. Unconscious.
Marching ahead of our band of five, Thor points to Heimdall's form on the steps as he demands, 'Get him to the healing room!'
Volstagg unsheates the Gatekeeper's sword from the Bifröst's heart and Thor's steps turn into a determined run. 'Leave my brother to me.'
'Thor!' I exclaim when my own two feet have already begun their endeavour of catching up with the crown prince. Seconds later, I'm at his side and he turns his head in my direction as a deep sigh is falling from his pursed lips, 'Fine. Together then.'
And I'm already pressed to his side and surging towards the palace by Mjölnir's force when I promise, 'Damn right we will.'

Landing at one of the palace's top most balconys I notice the uncertainty in Thor's features of where to possibly go next. Not just do I feel my seiðr tingle lightly in the recognition of his, and a burning at the unfamiliarity of that something else mingling with his greens, I also can't quite surpress that certain inkling of just where we might find him.
'Trust me,' I hush as I take Thor's hand in mine and search for an answer in his eyes. A nod, and we're off down the longest corridor. Towards the faint huff of Frigga's healing seiðr.
About halfway down I'm able to discern sounds; a voice so familiar yet so horribly obvious to be but a sinister mask.
'And your death came by the son of Odin.'

* CRACK *

A sharp explosion fills the halls, coming from the two wide open sides of the door to Odin's recovery chambers. In unison, Thor and I up our pace.
'You saved him!' another voice exclaims. The Queen.
Sharp intakes of breath echo down the hall and I begin to fear for our queen. Saved him from what?!

'I swear to you, Mother, that they will pay for what they've done today,' Loki's words are drenched in heroic purpose and princely bravery. He sounds just like Thor. And I fear he's heard it too – for in that moment, Thor has reached the entryway, calling out his brother's name warningly.
'Thor!' I hear the Queen say with fearful elation right before I too, enter the room.
The second I catch sight of Loki in all his armoured glory and the spear clutched tightly in his hand, I find that my eyes are failing to lock with his.
His glory is maddening.
His glory is madness.
The way he holds himself... I just won't allow myself the heartbreak of meeting his eyes – for they must have changed too.

'I knew you'd return to us!' Frigga exclaims as she rushes into her son's embrace.
Behind Loki, I spy a pile of ashes, and seeing that Thor and I had just passed a handful of frost giants battling our warriors at the palace doors, I might have an idea of just who those ashes belong to.
My stomach flips over savagely.

With Frigga in his arms, Thor, unlike me, never leaves his brother's gaze. His stare cuts deep; his expression grave and resolute as he slowly untangles his mother from him.
The brothers stare each other down, the elder taking measured steps towards the younger, still straight-backed and undaunted though backing away.
At the moment, they are terrifying equals.

'Why don't you tell her,' Thor presses from tight lips as he advances quicker now, 'how you banished me down to Earth and sent the Destroyer to kill our friends, to kill me!'
'What?' Though she is not the one rounding up a traitorous prince, Frigga is breathless.
The brothers stand on opposite sides of the bed comprised of golden mist. Odin's as though lifeless husk the only thing seperating them.
O, how cruelly poetic you Norns can be.

Loki holds the spear in an offensive stance, and Frigga notices as much as I do.
'Why, it must have been enforcing Father's unconscious demands.'
'You're a talented liar, Brother. Always have been.'
'It's good to have you back.' And though I'd like to imagine Loki's words to carry that sly, innocent mischief within them, all I here is a monotonous, lifeless taunt – the promise of something way worse than mischief. Of chaos.
'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to destroy Jötunheimr.'