Chapter Text
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Loki's Legend: Falling (Book 1)
Part 1 of 2
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Prologue
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Green eyes gaze past the golden shield of his cell, one that keeps him from escaping and was enforced that he wouldn't use any of his seidr to escape. He sees the cold dark dungeons and the other cells, filled with prisoners. Guards march past him without a thought, and he mentally lets out a bitter chuckle.
It is rather ironic. Asgard has finally had the second Prince of Asgard to his rightful place—the dungeons. The looks of delight at the sight of him going to the dungeons and the hate looks people sent him.
"Serves him right after everything he has done."
"I knew he should never be trusted."
"He has killed hundreds, and then attempted to rule that realm?"
"How could he?"
It should have been glorious. The plan had been perfect. His mind had calculated every angle and variable, analyzing any possible flaws to it. Perhaps maybe he should have thought more thoroughly, but he had done it quickly and had maybe underestimated them. Those fools had ruined it. He had imagined after it went as it should be (what he wanted), it would end with cheers and joy from people. He would have seen the looks of admiration and respect he deserved and earned. But most of all, he would finally felt accepted. He would have no longer felt living in the shadows. And it had angered and frustrated him that not everything went according to what he planned.
Then an image of Thor comes to his mind. He remembers Thor dragging him down the dungeons and putting him in this cell. His brother's face is grim with anger and the look of betrayal. Loki scoffs, his mind ignoring the words Thor left on his mouth. He doesn't need to know what Thor had felt. But the last word he had spoken before he left, his mind could not ignore it.
"You are not my brother. I do not know you anymore." With one last look of hate, Thor turned away and left before Loki could reply.
Loki gaped before his jaws tensed. The burning rage and frustration he felt crawled up to him. Never had he wanted more than anything but to strangle his oafish brother. How idiotic and foolish? How he hated him? He cannot believe this.
Yet at this moment, he feels content. He would have pondered why he would feel content at this moment and after everything that has happened. He should have screamed and yelled. Maybe he should be panicking. He should have cursed with bitterness, hurt, rage, and betrayal he had felt but he was not letting anyone have the satisfaction of him in this rotten cell, not when he still holds the pride and dignity he has left.
Right now, he doesn't care. After given time to think, and something about now—perhaps it is this cell, maybe it is the fabric of the tunic he is wearing—makes him recall a brief yet distant memory from his childhood. It holds something of importance, yet cannot comprehend why. It has a lingering feeling of wonder and content back when he was a child.
He had wanted to go out to the market, outside of the palace to see what people were like. He wanted to see what people sell and the colorful items he had heard. Once the doors of his bedroom shut, he had quickly pulled off his covers, snatching his favorite black cloak with a hood as he sneaked outside the palace with the routes planned on his head.
He had grimaced when he reached the market that was filled with stalls of delectable fruits and clothing, and the feeling of awe and wonder quickly died as people bumped into him while he made sure the hood still stayed covering his face. The noises had irritated him. Voices of people shouting and music so loud, he couldn't hear clearly.
Then his eyes had caught a small trinket in one of the stalls, and just the sight of it made him feel curious yet drawn to it. He knew he wanted to purchase it and have it in his room and examine it. Excitement filled up with eagerness, knowing that he would enjoy exploring this place.
He had never felt much free than this. And much more content as he allowed himself to smell the fresh air, and he caught the smell of bread and sweets like any other child would want.
His thoughts are cut off, snapping him into the present. Familiar footsteps heading his way, and he looks up as the person comes to view.
His eye narrows, jaw clenching, and then says. "You."