[ Oh, it would be simplicity itself to name Thor the worst of liars, to fly off the precipice of his fury, and to die here amongst the rubble of a life Thor had crafted for want of him alone. It would be a divine end to a story writ and acted by the divine themselves, and Loki would not begrudge the King of Summer one last vow broken.
Because Loki-king had forgotten himself in the wake of a betrayal he had seen as motivated by condescension, by malice, by anger. That Thor had left him, and taken the last gifts that Loki had sown, because he had finally seen the truth of it — that winter was no place for a king of his stature, of his great and glorious warmth. That Loki himself was but a leech of his majesty, and hardly a king in his own right.
But there is forgiveness and there is the seeking of forgiveness in Thor's eyes. That gold-fringed gaze has never known malice and anger the likes of which Loki has cultivated over the centuries; to name him liar and betrayer would be worse than committing murder upon a blade of ice. ]
I know it now. [ says Loki, in a soft, faltering voice. His mouth is a broken curve, his words lost against the press of Thor's skin. ] Yet — even if I make a dowry of my lands, winter will follow. Your country will know both the warmth of the summer sun and the blade of the north wind's scythe. [ And though his eyes are black, and his skin white and thin and run through with blue veins, there is steel yet in the set of his jaw, in the grasping strength of his hands upon Thor's shoulders. ] Can you bear it — [ And, after but a heartbeat of hesitation: ] —my king?
no subject
Because Loki-king had forgotten himself in the wake of a betrayal he had seen as motivated by condescension, by malice, by anger. That Thor had left him, and taken the last gifts that Loki had sown, because he had finally seen the truth of it — that winter was no place for a king of his stature, of his great and glorious warmth. That Loki himself was but a leech of his majesty, and hardly a king in his own right.
But there is forgiveness and there is the seeking of forgiveness in Thor's eyes. That gold-fringed gaze has never known malice and anger the likes of which Loki has cultivated over the centuries; to name him liar and betrayer would be worse than committing murder upon a blade of ice. ]
I know it now. [ says Loki, in a soft, faltering voice. His mouth is a broken curve, his words lost against the press of Thor's skin. ] Yet — even if I make a dowry of my lands, winter will follow. Your country will know both the warmth of the summer sun and the blade of the north wind's scythe. [ And though his eyes are black, and his skin white and thin and run through with blue veins, there is steel yet in the set of his jaw, in the grasping strength of his hands upon Thor's shoulders. ] Can you bear it — [ And, after but a heartbeat of hesitation: ] —my king?