Work Text:
When Loki is not spending his time repairing the Bifröst (which is most days), he handles some of Thor's errands. His brother, while still not king, has begun to invest more time in learning how to govern the Nine Realms, and his new-found responsibility leads him to Odin's company more often than not. Loki balks at the idea of being in the same room as the All-father, the man who brought him down to this half-existence, and Thor knows this, so he gives Loki tasks and encourages him to complete them.
The lack of an outright order matters little to Loki. He picks one to do—getting a bottle of polish from the smiths—and ignores the rest, preferring to actually use his day of rest as prescribed.
However, even without his magic, he heals quickly from the exhaustion of construction, and by mid-day he's restless and bored. With his original rooms sealed to all and the librarians likely suspicious to his presence, Loki has no choice but to wander the palace and look for passive entertainment. Eventually, his feet carry him to the training grounds, where he sees only one man practicing: Hogun.
Loki lingers behind the stone pillars around the circular yard, watching Hogun thrust and jump at imaginary opponents. Images with vibrant colours shine across his shoulder and back. Loki has never seen these markings before—somehow, in all these years—and is captivated by how they seem to move as muscles ripple underneath them. From this distance, he can make out a large tiger across Hogun's back and maybe a large fish on his left arm. The symbolism intrigues him, too.
At the end of one twist, he faces where Loki stands and stops. They stare at each other for a moment and Loki wonders why, he was just watching—until he realized he didn't have his illusions anymore, and his voyeurism is no longer undetectable. He turns to leave.
"Wait." Loki stops and looks back to see Hogun approach, mace swinging gently at his side."You do not have to go," he elaborates.
"I've interrupted you," Loki reasons.
"You are my friend," Hogun retorts, and Loki stares at him, disbelieving, but he knows Hogun is not one to joke. "You know how I fight. Sit." He motions with the mace to the edge of the circle where the lawn turns to dirt. "Watch."
Loki hesitates, wonders if this is a trick to get revenge for the Destroyer, and then sits at the edge of the grass, drawing up his legs and leaning his arms on his knees. Hogun returns to his practice, and Loki finds his gaze drawn to the tattoos again. "Are those marks permanent?" he finally asks after several minutes.
"Yes," Hogun answers without pausing.
"How were they applied? Magic?"
"By hand." He backflips, lands, and thrusts the mace out. "With needles." Then, he straightens up and begins stretching. "It is how my people remember our land."
Loki remembers the circumstances that brought Hogun and his family to Asgard, how some warlord had laid waste to his country. Of the men that had survived, most of them (including Hogun's father and brothers) returned to endure a second round of slaughter with minimal help from Asgard's troops, and it was only when Hogun had grown-up and recruited Thor's (and Mjölnir's) help that they could finally avenge that massacre. Loki had accompanied in a support capacity, lest they run to their own deaths. It had been a near thing.
Odin had yelled for a while after they had returned, though Loki had escaped most of that by slipping out with his mother's company.
While he doesn't envy what happened to Hogun, Loki wishes he had something so permanent to call his own, something to claim as his own and of his choosing. Everything now feels so fluid; once, he had pegged his identity to his magic, as it was the only thing that had stayed constant in all his lies and schemes, but now that it is gone...
He notices that while his eyes focus on the tattoos, Hogun sees the collar at his neck and the patch on his sleeve, and his gaze lingers there on his arm.
"That's interesting," Loki says pleasantly, and he looks away, and his hand grips hard at the hammer-shaped patch sewn into the cloth. If this were not one of his few shirts, he would rip it off and discard it into the dirt. "Are you troubled when others stare?"
"Are you?"
Loki glances back at him, still uncertain where Hogun's allegiances and vengeance lie—but he is still an honest fellow, and he will not do anything to upset Thor, which includes striking Loki. It's a thin assurance of security, but Loki can't ask for much more. "I'm not accustomed to being stared at like some servant," he admits. "It can be troubling."
Hogun says nothing at first; he tosses the mace up in the air so it twists once before landing in his other hand, and then he sits in the grass next to Loki. The tattoos are even more detailed than he imagined: the colours are shaded expertly, pink petals fall from a tree branch curved around Hogun's shoulder, and the fish is actually scaled.
"You do not have to dress like a servant. Dress like a prince, ask the Queen—"
"What for?" Loki interrupts, looking up to meet Hogun's gaze. "I'm still a laborer. The only time I have to dress is on days like this, but there are no royal duties to attend to and no dignitaries to meet. Who would I dress for, besides my own vanity?"
"Thor."
"You can't be serious."
Hogun gives a little shrug and looks up to the sky, where wisps of white clouds move across on the wind. "Ask him. He will agree."
"Why?"
"He has lost his brother," Hogun says in a softer voice, as if this topic strikes too close, "and you are not Loki without your clothes. Or—" he makes a gesture with two fingers curving back from his forehead, a long-forgotten tease when Loki had first received his adult armor, "—your horns."
Loki shows a grim smile, and his forehead rests on his arms. The sunlight burns hot against the back of his neck. "I'll see what can be done...thank you."
They sit there for a while, not saying anything more, until Thor comes looking for Loki. He's done with his duties, and he wants to have a late lunch (and to ensure Loki actually has a midday meal). They take it on one of the shaded garden terraces. Loki broaches the subject in between eating grapes while Thor attacks a turkey leg.
"I want my armor returned to me," he says, asking for his most royal accessories first, and it's enough to make Thor pause.
"...that will be difficult to arrange," Thor says after swallowing. "Why do you want it?"
Loki lifts his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, glancing aside. "It would be advantageous to have protective gear on hand, wouldn't you agree? In case some enemy should befall us?"
"I will protect you."
Loki rolls his eyes. "That's touching, Thor, but we both know you would be the first to enter battle, and I would be unable to follow you."
This makes Thor frown, but he doesn't argue the point. He takes a long drink of mead before answering, "I will talk to Father about this."
Loki nearly cringes at that; his chances of getting it back have gone from slim to none. "And I suppose while you're busy I shall complete those other—errands." He still loathes being a messenger boy, but Thor gives him a smile at his pledge, and that weakens his reluctance. That, and perhaps his willingness to work will encourage Thor in his arguments against Odin.
--
When Loki finally returns to Thor's chambers later that night, his feet sore and his stomach growling, he turns on the light to his own little room and blinks at the metallic glint that reflects back at him. On his cot, his horned helmet sits on a thick green cape. Loki feels numb as he sits beside it, takes it in his lap, and runs his fingers over one of the horns.
"It was as much as I could get for now," Thor says from the doorway. Loki doesn't look up, and Thor walks over to sit next to him on the small bed. He's already dressed down into his undershirt and light trousers, and in one hand he holds a loaf of bread through an ivory napkin. He offers the bread to Loki.
"It's enough," Loki says, his fingers curling around the point. He wants to say something else but his throat feels tight, so he swallows instead and reaches out to tear off some of the loaf and chew on it. Loki's worn this helmet as a second prince, a king, and a murderer. Now, he can't imagine wearing it at all—it already feels too heavy in his hands—but it will add some life to this room and mark it as his own.
They share the loaf until it's gone. Thor gives him a one-armed hug when he bids him goodnight. Alone, Loki examines the helmet at closer angles, before he finds a place for it atop the dresser, resting on the folded cape once more.