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The first thing Loki noticed when he surfaced from oblivion was that his face was wet.
Immediately following, he realized that his wrists were bound by coarse rope, tied together behind his back.
He figured out quickly that the wetness on his face was his own drool, mortifyingly enough. His hands jerked reflexively to wipe it away, but they didn’t make it far. Right, tied up, he thought.
He braced himself and yanked on the ropes, hoping for even the slightest chance that they were loose, but they held firm. He tried again, the thin skin of his wrists starting to get fairly irritated, but it was clear that whoever tied the knots was decently experienced in that regard.
Loki stopped struggling and took in his surroundings. To the right, a flourishing forest stretched on, the thicket so dense he could hardly see through it. To his left, he could see the Palace of Valaskjalf, towering into the sky and hazed by distance. He realized belatedly that he was tied to a wooden fence post, in what must’ve been the very outskirts of Asgard’s city. When he craned his neck, he could see farmland behind him.
Great, Loki thought. He racked his brain for any recollection as to why he was in the middle of nowhere in the first place, nonetheless tied up there, but it supplied nothing.
The bushes to his right rustled and two figures wearing simple garb emerged, though they seemed hesitant to approach him.
“Is he awake?” one of the figures said.
“Shh! Be quiet. Let me talk,” the other replied.
The pair of strangers stepped into the sunlight, and Loki realized immediately that they couldn’t have been older than teenagers, both male, possibly around his own age.
“Prince Loki,” the brunette one said, “you’re probably wondering why you’re here.”
Loki rolled his eyes. He didn’t need a monologue. “A real wise pair you two are, capturing Asgardian royalty,” he said. “You know they’ll be looking for me, right?”
“It’s nice that you believe that, but I don’t think so.” his captor said. “It was very easy to catch you alone. I’m sure they won’t even notice.”
Loki bared his teeth in hostility. While his words might’ve been true to a degree, his family would eventually heed his absence. Eventually.
“It is a foolish move to rely on assumptions,” Loki said, ironically.
“Do you know who we are?” the boy said.
“I have not a damned clue,” Loki said. “What do you want with me?”
“Our father was Davin Hanson,” he said. “He was executed by Odin’s— your father’s— hand.”
“Ah,” Loki said. “You’re seeking revenge, then, I assume? One of his for one of yours?”
He was starting to feel heavy, strangely enough. Like someone was stacking bags of sand on his shoulders. Loki shifted uncomfortably and kept his head held high in a defensive posture. Showing weakness now would be undesirable, he refused to be belittled by these two imbeciles.
“Yes, revenge,” the smaller, ginger one said.
“No, not revenge,” the brunette one said, smacking what Loki assumed to be his brother in the shoulder. “We need you to bring him back.”
Bring him back? Loki couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, sharp and cold.
“I am many things, but a necromancer is not one of them,” he said.
“You know magic,” the boy said, frustrated. “You should know how to bring him back.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that,” Loki said, a derisive smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He flexed his fingers in anticipation. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, this has been— interesting, but I’ve had enough.”
Loki reached for his magic, and… missed.
His heart sank, a pang of dread creeping down his spine.
He tried again, and missed again. It was still there, he could still feel it, but every time he attempted to grasp it, it slipped away, like water through a sieve.
It was an odd feeling, similar to missing one’s footing unexpectedly whilst walking. In all his time of using Seidr, even during his years of inexperience, it never brushed through his metaphorical fingers in such a manner.
“What do you mean it doesn’t work like that?” the brunette said. “It’s magic, it should all work the same.”
“Seidr is very fluid,” Loki said, distracted. “It takes time to perfect it, but unfortunately for you, I have not perfected it in such a way as to reanimate the dead.”
“We gave you a thing to make it easier,” the ginger one said.
Loki felt a cool wave of horror wash over him.
“What sort of thing?” he said uneasily, forcing himself to remain outwardly steady.
“It was an elixir,” the taller brother said. “It’s meant to enhance your magic.”
Loki flared his nostrils in exasperated bewilderment. Of course these idiot children would give him the wrong potion.
“Where did you get it from?” Loki said.
“A witch in town,” the boy said. “It’s no matter where we got it from, we just need it to work.”
Tough luck, Loki thought. When he spared a glance back at the Palace, it was blurrier than it had been before. His vision was starting to haze at the edges, brain feeling thick with fog. His heart stuttered in slight panic at the very real prospect they might have given him poison.
“What exactly did you give me?” Loki said. His words were starting to slur, annoyingly enough.
“I don’t remember,” the tall one said. “Isak, what was it?”
“Something with the word ‘Midnight’,” the shorter one who must’ve been Isak said.
“Right, Murburry Midnight,” the brunette said. “Ring any bells?”
Loki’s heart raced. Ah, of course this would be my luck, he thought.
It wasn’t poison by any means, thank gods, but it was instead a very powerful sedative. The healers used it for intrusive surgery, to relax the patient and to relieve pain. Regrettably, it also dampened one's ability to use Seidr while intoxicated. When at its peak, it released a mind-numbing high. For that very reason, it was sought after and abused by many.
Unfortunately for Loki, it was starting to take effect, and he was at the mercy of two children, stranded in the middle of nowhere. He wondered distractedly how they even managed to purchase such sedatives.
“You fools, you gave me an anesthetic,” Loki hissed. “It does quite literally the opposite of what you intended.”
The boys exchanged perturbed glances.
“So, it weakens your magic?” the tall one said slowly.
“Yes, my magic and my body,” Loki said, voice slurring considerably now.
On the subject of his body, Loki began to notice that his legs were shaking, muscles weak and limp. He spared a glance down and watched them quiver in silent fascination, his mind starting to drift. When he tilted his head back up, the world heaved in one dizzying swoop. His heart stuttered, stomach twisting at the feeling.
“So you can’t bring our father back?”
Loki laughed, giddy and loopy. “No,” he said.
The world was starting to spin under him, but didn’t it always do that? No, he was spinning. Maybe. Something was spinning.
His captors shared another glance and whispered something between themselves. Loki felt as if he were floating away, like the world was drifting out to sea and he was stranded on the shore. He tried to blink the feeling away, but to no avail.
“Are you going to be okay?” Isak said.
“That depends,” Loki said, “how much did you give me?”
“The whole bottle.”
Loki thought he should be horrified. Instead, he grinned madly. “Wow, you two really are brainless.”
The boys looked at him concernedly, or what he assumed to be concernedly. It was hard to tell when they were so far away. Loki felt embarrassed that he had somehow been captured by a pair of such idiotic teenagers.
As he stared at the boys, their forms pulsed and started to drift in odd directions. He didn’t think that was good, for himself nor them. He registered in his mind that the amount of elixir they gave him could be deadly, but he wasn’t exactly in any position to amend it. Someone had doused his mind in thick, hot mud, and his body was shaking apart at the seams.
“He’s gonna come, you know,” Loki slurred, his own words distant to his ears. “My brother.”
He didn’t know why he was telling them, it seemed obvious. Thor always… he was always around, it seemed like.
“You gave him too much,” the brunette said to Isak, angrily shoving him.
“Why are you blaming me?” Isak said. “You’re the one who bought it.”
“It wasn’t my fault the witch sold us the wrong thing!”
Loki thought they should be quiet, arguing was useless. They made a mistake, they should live with the consequences. Simple errors, he thought, finding it humorous that his captors accidentally drugged him. How often does that happen? He must’ve laughed out loud because the pair turned to him. Their worried faces swam around as if they were nothing but reflections in a disturbed puddle.
“We should go,” the tall one said. His voice sounded as if it were buried under ten blankets. Loki thought it was too hot for blankets.
“Yeah, if they find us they’re gonna think we—“
“Shut up.”
Loki couldn’t keep track of who was saying what anymore.
“He’s— let’s just go.”
Between one blink and the next, they were scurrying off into the woods back from where they came. Loki thought it was a shame that they were leaving so soon.
He laughed woozily at nothing as his head lolled on his shoulders. He sagged down, his body too heavy to keep up, the rough bonds pulling on his wrists as he succumbed to the strong hand of gravity.
His heart thumped heavily in his chest, and he listened to it for a lack of anything better to do, quickly coming to the conclusion that it was beating far too slowly. Perhaps he ought to reach his hand in there and make it beat faster. Contrarily, breathing was growing increasingly difficult, as if the air around him was somehow leeching oxygen.
Loki inhaled deeply and let out a low groan, his eyelids fluttering and longing desperately to fall shut. He kept them open, a sober part of his psyche telling him to stay awake, that his brother would be there any minute.
He leaned heavily against the hard fence post, the strained position of his arms pulling at his sore shoulders, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. His hands were starting to tingle.
Norns, Loki thought, do you weave suffering in my fate for your sick humor?
His arms were shaking, now, in addition to his weak legs. All his muscles had been cut loose, like the strings of a marionette from its puppeteer. The world bucked and spun below him, as if he were stuck in a storming whirlpool, tossed and helpless against the relentless waters. He shivered and quaked like he had been left in the cold, frozen and abandoned.
When he looked up, the sky above him was shimmering, swaying between colors, swirling in large vortices to come down and swallow him whole. When he blinked, the patterns of it changed. He didn’t… he didn’t feel good.
Loki grinned wildly at the idea that he’d be killed by this, a foolish mistake made by foolish people. What a disappointing way to go. He wondered if they would be able to track his captors down, and if they’d be executed like their poor father. Maybe he’d finally learn necromancy in Hel. Would that even be permitted in such a place? He didn’t think dead people could resurrect other dead people.
Loki felt more than heard a thunderous boom to the left of him.
He slowly dragged his head towards the noise, the world smearing with the movement. After blinking a few times, his vision cleared and soon enough Thor’s large figure was rushing up to him. His heart fluttered with relief.
Loki laughed lightheadedly. “I knew you’d find me,” he mumbled.
Thor’s hands were on him before he could keep track of them, firm, leaning him forward to access the ropes that held his wrists, then ripping them away as if they were nothing but weak thread. Once free, Loki fell forwards limply, but Thor gathered him back up in sturdy arms and leaned him gently back against the fence post. Loki felt his calloused hands on his face, inspecting him. He was being too touchy.
“What happened?” Thor was saying. “What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?”
Loki shook his head loosely. He reached a trembling hand up to swat Thor’s own away. “No. Not—“ he furrowed his brow and tried to focus, words slipping his mind. “Not in the traditional sense.”
“What does that mean?” Thor said, voice rushed and concerned. “Are you— did they give you something?”
Loki nodded enthusiastically. “Murr— mulberry… murburry… something. I forgot.”
He must’ve done something alarming, because the worried lines on Thor’s face deepened dramatically. Loki stared at him and his vision tunneled. He realized absently that he was probably about to be sick.
Loki jerked to the side and vomited. He coughed dazedly, acrid bile burning his throat. The world swooped nauseatingly, and he was briefly worried he’d heave again, but the feeling passed before long.
Someone was shifting him around and he moaned, unable to keep track of where all his limbs were. There was simultaneously too much and too little happening; the rush of Thor and the dullness of his own mind. He was scared, he realized. He tried to tell Thor but his mouth wasn’t working how he needed it to.
A low noise of discomfort escaped his throat, and he tried to string it into words, but it remained thin and unwoven. Panic fluttered in his chest, and he stared at Thor desperately, trying to convey it using his eyes.
Help me, he thought.
Thor’s face creased in worry, blurry, but Loki could still see his concern. He must’ve made another noise of some kind because Thor was shushing him.
“We’ll get you help, just— just hang in there, brother,” he said.
Loki sucked in a desperate, shuddering breath, his chest heavy under the weight of inebriation. He was still shaking, couldn’t stop shaking. The trees were moving, dancing in some rhythmless tango. It looked fun, he wanted to join them.
Someone snapped their fingers in front of his face. His eyes trailed up the limb to Thor’s worried face.
“I need you to focus,” he was saying. His mouth wasn’t moving in time with the words and Loki wondered whether his eyes were wrong or his ears were.
All of it was wrong, it was too much. Loki closed his eyes against the onslaught of misery, but the dizziness followed him. His stomach lurched and he gagged, but nothing came up.
There were fingers in his hair, smoothing it back against his head. Someone was whispering confusing strings of noises above him. He imagined two snakes, one black and the other red, towering over him and bickering amongst themselves. Back and forth, endlessly.
A firm tap on his face brought him somewhat back.
“Loki! Loki, Wake up,” Thor said. “Now is no time for sleeping.”
Loki whined thinly. Why? He was so tired.
Thor picked him up and the world upended in a single, violent lurch. His vision crowded in and he panted laboriously against it. He was boneless against Thor’s grip, unsure if he even had bones anymore.
“I’m bringing you to Eir,” Thor said.
Loki nodded, recognizing drowsily that Thor’s words meant good. Eir would help him, yes. His head hung limply from his shoulders and he heaved for breath through his open mouth.
Blackness was crawling into his vision and he dimly realized that he was going to pass out. He needed to tell Thor, but he couldn’t feel his tongue.
There was little warning before the rushing in his ears consumed him.
He barely registered Thor’s alarmed face peering down at him before sweet nothing pulled him under.