Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2021-11-17 22:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread/narrative, marvel (tv/movies): loki laufeyson, → week 025 (npc invasion) |
NPC Invasion | Day 1
Loki and Frigga are reunited. And the guilt goes both ways.
Loki stood beside the entrance to the Lake Greenhouse, the building half covered in creeping vines and wild foliage which hadn’t been maintained since that one Hargreeves sibling disappeared and stopped sleeping inside of it. Occasionally, when he was bored or seeking refuge from the chaos that followed him, Loki would try to trim the tangle of plants and give the greenhouse a more cared-for appearance. But he never got too far. Something about the recklessness of the flora stretching in every which way, seeking sunlight in a Void that offered no sun, and slowly acquiring more of the lawn around it, appealed to Loki. Maybe it was the organized chaos. Maybe it was just the mess or the prickly barbs on the stems. The exterior of the greenhouse, overrun and forgotten, slightly out of control, wasn’t unlike how Loki felt, after all. They were kindred spirits. Both trapped. Both seeking room to spread out. A place where they could be free. Be themselves. And avoid the hindrance of growth from others around them. All of which seemed impossible in Derleth. He nudged his boot against a thick vine which had buried itself in the ground before popping back out of the dirt and breaking through one of the glass windows. A veritable jungle that Loki could easily fix with a magical snap of his fingers. And yet he did nothing. He crossed his arms over his chest. He could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath his breastbone. A weighty lub-dub that pulsed through his arteries. The one on his neck was actually throbbing from nervousness. And he caught himself tugging on the collar of his uniform—formal Asgardian attire for a very important occasion—so he could better swallow his own spit. And maybe a bit of that pride, as well. It had been a while since he’d purposefully adjusted the illusion of his clothing to match what he used to wear. What his mother would have recognized, that is. The traditional black, green, and gold attire reminiscent of the time Thor brought him back home from Midgard. With a few alterations, of course. Loki always had been a bit of a show off when it came to his appearance. And he didn’t like to wear the same thing twice. But clothing made the man, right? It depicted a story of who a person was. And Loki wanted his mother to see that he was in control. To see that he was fine. Even if that was the furthest thing from the truth. He pursed his lips together and stared off towards the Green. Waiting was agony. No, his guilt was agony. His shame was unimaginable. His hurt and his pain and his self-loathing—those were all a burden that weighed him down and made him feel chained to the ground. Like he was wearing heavy boots stuck in the mud. Loki straightened his posture, his back cracking between the shoulder blades. He could feel a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face and he shook it off with magic. Because half of everything about Loki was a lie. A deep inhale followed by a heavy sigh. Was it too late to hide in his room? He suddenly didn’t know if he had the strength to face her. He wasn’t ready. Not today. Not ever. He couldn’t do this. He dropped his arms from his chest and started to leave. “Loki.” Frigga spoke his name, straightening her own shoulders - it was the same dress she had worn at the end, aquamarine satin, draped fabric, gold on the borders with ornamented forearm pieces and spaulders. And sophisticated hair, of course, golden curls and a twisting braid. She had time but not an overabundance - she knew that much, even if she couldn’t pinpoint the exactness down to minutes or seconds. Because of that limited time, she felt no need to dawdle. Time passed oddly. Especially here, she thought - sometimes it felt like walking through waist-deep mud, other times it was a bolt of lightning in how quick it could be. Her son needed her, and she wanted to be there for him - it was hard, the wake of her death. He never truly took a chance to grieve. That grief felt like cobwebs, tangled all splintered, put back in the wrong places - there was so much wrong here. So much she could still feel, and See. Even if he tried to hide she would find him - she knew him in ways no one else did. “I would appreciate it if you would speak to me.” Her tone suggested that she wasn’t going to really go for anything else, like another option that wasn’t ‘pull up your big boy britches and have an adult conversation with your mother.’ Loki stopped mid step when he heard her voice. The sound sent a shiver down the back of his spine. It was a voice he’d never expected to hear again. And hearing it now, with all the history between them and all the grief Loki felt, was like listening to a whisper from beyond the grave. He felt like his throat was closing up. There was a lump that sat dead center, refusing to go down, even when he coughed. He knew he couldn’t ignore her now. Even if he did disappear or portal himself to another part of the campus, he’d still have to contend with the fact that she was here. And that he was the reason she was dead. He steeled his expression and turned on his heel. Dramatically, as always. Cue that grin. The one that always followed a short scoff of a laugh. The great facade. Second only to the facade that she and Odin gave him from the moment he was snatched from an icy cradle. This appearance. Asgardian. Pale skinned. Acceptable. A trophy of Odin’s conquests. What did that make the good king and queen of Asgard? Two of the biggest liars in their people’s history. Loki could only strive to be as good at falsifying the truth as either of them. The All-Father and All-Mother, deceiving their realm for more than a thousand years. “Mother,” he said with a sardonic twinge in his tone. Time for the theatrics. Anything to prevent him from actually expressing—and experiencing—his emotions. “I almost didn’t believe that was actually you on the network. You’ll have to forgive me for being suspicious. This place does have a tendency to mess with our minds.” The skin just below his left eye twitched. It was a more difficult facade to uphold than he anticipated. He should have given himself more time to prepare. “Yes, of course!” Loki shrugged. “Excuse my ill manners. What is it you wish to talk about?” Frigga stepped closer, close enough to rest her hand upon his shoulder. The illusion he cast upon his clothing was impressive - but then weren’t all of his illusions impressive? She taught him those - taught him magic so that he may emerge from beyond Odin and Thor’s respective shadows. Frigga was a staunch defender of Loki - she searched for him, when he fell into the Void, when others believed him to be dead. She disobeyed Odin and went to Loki when he was imprisoned. She ultimately trusted him with the throne but she had made mistakes too - she wanted to apologize for them, and this? This was a chance to do so. “Perhaps we should start with how you believe yourself to be responsible for my death.” May as well get to the heart of the matter, no? When he was a child, she reached out to him differently, connected with him differently than how she connected with Thor - wisdom through magic was what she and Loki shared; they were cut from the same cloth, and he truly was the apple of her eye. But that did not mean she needed to speak to him as if he was still a child. He wasn’t. Wasn’t that young boy with the collection of books in his room, weathered and new - a patchwork quilt, love breathed into the golden walls of that childhood space. Bloody witches. “Do you always have to know everything?” Loki gave an exhausted sigh, but it was at least half pretense. Another show. A way of playing it all off as nothing when it was, in fact, everything. And Loki knew that she wouldn’t fall for it. He was a good liar, but he wasn’t that good. If there was anyone who knew him better than himself it was Frigga. She’d been his comfort and his sanity when Odin pitted him against Thor. She was the only reassuring comfort from his childhood. The stalwart protector when he made bad choices or defied his father, family, realm. He might have been able to fool everyone else in the universe. The multiverse, even. But Loki would never be able to pull the wool over Frigga’s eyes. She saw too far and too wide. And she could look right through all of his disguises. Then again, perhaps that had less to do with magic and more to do with motherhood. His brows creased together at the hand on his shoulder. Lips pursed into a heartbroken frown. Was it real? Or was this simply another illusion of his own making, more realistic than the rest? If he put his hand on hers would he slip right through it? “You know why.” Loki didn’t entirely understand his mother’s powers, but he knew they were considerable. She had gifts he’d never seen in another person. “I sent them to you.” Instead of to Thor. He reached up and placed a tentative hand upon hers. A soft gasp fell from his lips. He hadn’t expected her to actually be there. He didn’t know if that was better or worse than what he imagined. “You did not send Kurse to me, Loki,” Frigga protested. Gently, as was her nature - but there was a firmness about it as well; she was steel swathed in velvet and had to be, throughout her tenure as Queen. “If you hadn’t - who is to say he wouldn’t have found the palace’s defenses another way? Or maybe we ought to back up even further and follow the events leading up to the Aether ending up in Asgard in the first place.” Thor was who brought Jane Foster there - were they all going to blame Thor for everything that happened too? It was all a domino effect - and life wasn’t as simple as cause and effect; it wasn’t as simple as listening to music, hearing one note after the other. “You were imprisoned, angry and hurting - we are more than the decisions we make in moments of anger and you, my son, have punished yourself enough,” she said. She slid around to face him, taking both of his hands in hers so he could see that she truly was real, that she was solid and warm and wanting to give him the reassurances he needed - the truth too, as he had been lied to plenty in his long life. Everything Frigga was saying now was the truth. “We need to let go of the idea that everything happens for a specific reason - loss is inevitable. Failure too. We do not own specific events, we do not own the reasons for them - we own what we do with them, and the value we create that will outlive the pain of those experiences.” Loki understood his mother’s reasoning, but that didn’t change the gaping hole he felt inside. He imagined his grief like a cesspool, spreading out from the center and infecting every part of him. He’d held onto this belief—this truth—that he was responsible for her death for so long. There was nothing anyone could have said to him to change that pit of despair he carried with him. He thought about it every day. Just as he thought about Thanos choking the life out of him every day. Loki had always struggled with his self-image. His self-worth. Especially, as Frigga rightly pointed out, when he was standing in the shadows of Odin and Thor. But ever since her death, any positive or confident feelings he had in himself as a person worthy of being (loved, respected, appreciated) anything had all but completely disappeared. The hate Loki had for himself far exceeded everything else about him. Even his ego and his lies and his playful nonchalance couldn’t hold a candle to his severe and utter contempt for the person he was. So, while he understood what she said—while he believed she was telling him those things to help him—he couldn’t help but feel like it was just another lie. Like everything else about him. Because in Loki’s mind he could rewind everything back to the day Odin took him from Jotunheim. From that moment he was destined to be a burden on all of them. And destined to be the one who set into motion the actions which would murder the only person he’d ever cared about. Loki looked down to their hands to avoid having to look her in the eyes. He was trying hard to push back the urge to break down completely. He could feel all of that hurt and anger swelling inside of him, but he forced it to go no further than his chest. He couldn’t start the week off in tears. He’d never recover. “I don’t know how to do it otherwise,” Loki said, fingers clenched around hers. It was easier to punish himself than to forgive. Easier to wallow in hatred than to open himself up to joy. “I don’t deserve to let it go. I have ruined everything. Over and over. It never changes. I don’t change. And what I did to you and so many others is unforgivable. What I’ve done to people here... Even in death I am the monster.” “Loki, I was not innocent either. I too owe you apologies,” Frigga said. Perhaps that was a place to start, to mend what had been broken between them - she had to own up to her own failings, as a parent especially. Because she hadn’t always done the best things, said the perfect things, made the best decisions either - their last conversation had been heated, tainted with a bitterness that was sharp, something corrosive. “I apologize if I ever made you feel as if you did not have space to air your grievances with me. If you ever felt as if I supported Odin and chose doing so over you - if I made you feel like you needed to choose both of us together, or neither of us.” Odin hadn’t been right, hiding Loki’s heritage from him all of those years - she’d tried to tell Odin that, but he never heeded her words. And when she openly defied him, he got angry. But Frigga realized that just because you were kind to someone, just because you loved them - as she did Loki - that didn’t mean you couldn’t hurt them. It didn’t make her a monster, but she recognized that she did hurt him. And now how did he let go of that monster mindset? “Learning to love yourself is hard,” she acknowledged. “Battling your demons and making peace within yourself is hard. So is acknowledging that no matter how hard you try, you’re going to make more mistakes sometimes. But it is not - everything all at once. Being better than you were yesterday is good enough. I promise you, that will be all you need.” Loki was at a loss for words. He was stunned. Not because he didn’t believe his mother or because she’d said something harmful, but because it had never occurred to him that she had ever done anything wrong. Or that she might be harboring her own feelings of guilt for mistakes made and the time lost between them. It wasn’t that Loki saw her as infallible. There’d been many times when his temper had been directed towards her. He’d said a myriad of things in anger to Frigga. Especially on that final day. But he didn’t blame her. Blamed Odin? Yes. Blamed Thor? Yes. Blamed himself? Absolutely. But his mother, for any errors in judgment she might have had while he was growing up or even into his adulthood, had never made him feel unwanted. She was everything to him. While Thor had his warrior friends and his father’s adoration, Loki had his books and his mother’s teachings. Most of all he had her magic which was, in truth, a far greater gift than a hammer. Sadly, Loki didn’t realize the worth of that gift until it was too late. Until he went for Thanos with a dagger instead of the illusions Frigga had taught him. But mistakes were plentiful in the house of Odin. “You owe me nothing,” Loki said, his words choked up in his throat. Finally he raised his chin and matched her gaze. She may not have been his biological mother, but there were so many similarities in their expressions. Loki had latched onto the tiniest of her mannerisms as a boy. The mimicry had become second nature. Even he didn’t notice it anymore. “I would be nothing without you. And I wanted so much to be someone you and father could be proud of, but…” I failed. I wasn’t good enough. I was a disappointment. And then, when the truth came out about his heritage, Loki couldn’t even fulfill the hope Odin had had for him. A bargaining chip. A pawn to bring peace between two warring realms. “I have never known peace within myself. And I do want that. I want to know what it feels like to love myself. To be able to turn that love towards others. I want to replace the turmoil with serenity. Because if I were ever to leave this place…” Loki hesitated. “When I died I saw nothing. Felt nothing. I was not worthy of Valhalla. Not worthy of being reunited with you and father. And I know it is because I have failed this test within myself. I want to be certain that if I am sent back, I will find my way to you. But every time I try to change, to be better, I fail miserably.” This Green was very fitting because, well, the color spoke for itself - there was no sun, no clouds in the sky, just a startling bit of nothingness but there was still something serene about it. Frigga squeezed Loki’s hands and turned one of them over, palm up, so she could cast the intricate illusion he was so familiar with - she used to do this when he was young; it brought about a sense of wonder to his face, and she’d taught him the same trick. This time the colors were bright blue, and there was green, exploding like stars shooting across the sky. They even sounded like fireworks, those telltale whooshing sounds. “Oh, but I am proud of you,” she replied. “There is no failure here. Right now, I am proud. Because you recognize these truths in yourself - these hard truths. You are realizing that an honest heart can be as powerful as any convincing lie. That being vulnerable is more meaningful than an illusion. You know all of this already. You are understanding it.” He’d come so far - and he would go even further. Frigga knew this, like she knew her own bones. “And when the time is right, we will see each other again - even after we both leave this world. The sun will shine on us again.” Seeing those flickering sparks from his mother’s hand as an illusion of tiny fireworks popped and fizzled—both as real and as fake as all magic was meant to be—was what finally broke any semblance of resolve Loki had. The ground suddenly felt muddled and unstable. He knew that if he didn’t focus and hold himself firmly in place that his legs might give out beneath him. He was equal parts heartbroken and relieved. But above all that, he felt small. So incredibly small and helpless. Like the young boy bullied and ridiculed by his brother, the chosen one. Like the child standing uncomfortable in front of his father, the warrior king. Like the prince who sought attention through tricks, mischief, and games of wit. It hurt not simply because he was hurt, but because he realized how much he’d forgotten of the good in his life. Loki always focused on the pain and the scorn and the regret. But there were happy memories too. Fireworks. Magic. Stories she told him and his brother before bed at night. Promises of a bright and glorious future. Of the kind of wealth that couldn’t be found in treasuries or on the battlefield. Loki had been loved. He knew that. Even Odin, in all his misguided wisdom, had some love for Loki. He’d said so in the end. Just before he left the mortal plane to be with Frigga. There was a narrative that Loki had written for himself where he purposely tried to forget that his life had moments of real affection. And for a while he was very good at convincing himself that it was true. But it wasn’t. And Frigga was reminding him of that now. She didn’t see him as a failure. She was proud of him. She saw honesty in him. She understood him. And for the briefest moment Loki wondered if they didn’t have something else in common as well. She spoke of these feelings so intimately. As though she, too, had once been in that dark emotional place where Loki frequently dwelled. And then those words. How poetic that they were in a place where there was no sun. Loki had been crying since the fireworks, but didn’t notice that his illusion had slipped away. The perfectly composed glamour evaporated beneath the weight of his own grief. And, in a peculiar way, his own joy. All of which had been heightened by the realization that this was temporary. Loki didn’t need her to tell him that. He could feel it. Palpable in the air between them. This time was a fleeting gift. And he would be a fool to waste it. “Can you take me with you?” he asked, wiping away the tears from his cheek with the back of his head. But, of course, he knew the answer before he finished asking the question. The fireworks puttered out, a gentle end to the illusion, and Frigga helped wipe her son’s tears - she reached up, thumb collecting a couple of the droplets that fell; she never wanted him to feel like he couldn’t express himself, that he couldn’t show his emotions. Odin was perhaps guilty of that, when it came to raising the children - he was too hard on them, Loki especially. But Frigga knew what had happened - she knew so much. Knew that, at the end, Loki had chosen not to save himself when he easily could have - he had died, in her eyes, as a hero. That was worthy of a place for him in Valhalla, however, he also had to believe it himself first. “I cannot, sadly,” she replied softly. “Regardless, there is so much you have left to do here, Loki. You have love to give.” Her hands smoothed down his arms, as if attempting to remove some of the weight he carried - the burdens, the strife. She would if she could - she no longer wanted him to suffer. “Love has led to your good decisions,” she reminded. Returning to the Ragnarok, returning to Thor. Taking on Thanos - she hoped he remembered, and that this all served as a reminder and encouragement for darker days ahead. There would be many in this place. Love. Why did that have to be his burden? Why did that have to be the thing that constantly slipped through his fingers? That intangible thread which weaved itself through the fabric of his existence, but never ceased to snap when he needed it to hold strong. An emotion he knew he had a capacity for, but had very rarely felt. But was it because he couldn’t understand it? Because he feared it? Or because it was simply easier to exist without it? It was difficult being the villain, after all, when you felt guilty about your actions. You have love to give. Loki wanted to argue with her, but there was no arguing with his mother. She knew more about the passage of time than anyone else. That was both her gift and her curse. And if she said that Loki had to remain in Derleth in order to follow a separate path then she was probably right. He’d never known her to be wrong. But it wasn’t the fact that he was going to be left behind which filled him with fear. It was the worry that he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his purpose. How could he, Loki, God of Mischief, God of Lies, Prince of Deceit, give love to others when he couldn’t even give it to himself? He wished she could just tell him what to do, but he knew she wouldn’t. Even if she did know the path of least resistance, there was only so much that anyone should know of their future. And Loki only ever learned through his mistakes. Frigga knew that. As did he. Loki closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around her in a desperate embrace. He buried his face as close to her shoulder as their height difference would allow. Part of him still questioned the veracity of this moment. What were the chances that she would be here? Now—in this moment when he needed her the most. But when he inhaled her scent all of those worries and doubts left him. It was her. She was real. “Can you ever forgive me?” Romantic love wasn’t meant to be unconditional - but familial love, a love between a mother and her child? That was not so easily shaken. It was a bond that was ironclad - and for Frigga, it existed no matter what. “I forgive you, Loki,” she replied, hugging him fiercely as her hand came up to cradle the back of his head - like how most parents hugged their children, a show of that particular brand of unconditional love and wanting to protect them. She wished she could - but that wasn’t possible. All she could do was be here and take what time she had to soothe him; after that, it would be up to him. But she spoke the truth. She knew he’d been angry, she knew of his misdeeds - but as she told him, we were all more than those decisions we made in times of duress. What he could be, sunshine behind clouds, was beyond that anger and that fear. “And I love you, my son. I will always love you.” Communication had never been the strong suit of anyone in the royal Asgardian line. It was one of those familial traits that appeared to be passed down regardless of whether biology figured into the mix. Both Loki and Thor were stubborn and hardheaded when it came to expressing themselves clearly. Loki had always been better at hiding his truths. He’d learned those slippery eel tactics from a young age. But Thor was equally as absent when it came to certain emotions. He just seemed more open because of his extroverted nature. None of them, however, be it Loki or Thor or Odin wanted to disappoint anyone. And thus there was always a thin veil of untruths. Centuries of posturing to fulfill the roles expected of them. And the roles they expected of each other. How different it all might have turned out if they’d dropped their individual facades and been themselves. Loki would have to wait until he met his father again in Valhalla before he could speak to him, one on one, with all of his emotional baggage left behind in his mortal life. But fate or fortune or whatever it was that ruled the gates of the universes had given him a reprieve. A chance. An opportunity to set right what he felt he’d done wrong. His mother’s death. Even if it wasn’t truly his fault. As long as he believed that to be the truth, then it was. Which was why he needed her absolution. That burdensome weight fell from his shoulders when she said the words out loud. I forgive you, Loki. He held her tighter, fingers clenching into the soft fabric of her dress. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. And, for a brief second, his mind entertained the idea that this would be it. This would be the moment that Derleth released its hold on him. The moment they’d both return to where they were meant to be. Home. Valhalla. The majestic hall overseen by his father where all slain warriors were sent to feast and revel in the glory of their lives. Where the golden tree Glasir shimmered in the eternal sunlight, welcoming the heroes to the immortal palace. And the shields of the Valkyrie glinted overhead. But nothing. Nothing but the words he really needed to hear, but didn’t realize he needed to hear. And I love you, my son. I will always love you. Loki released his grip on her dress and wiped the tears from his face. Then he lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. There were no words to explain how much he’d missed her. How her absence had left an emptiness inside of him that he’d been unable to fill with anything other than malice, bitterness, and regret. Loki tried to smile, but only half of his face managed to comply. The rest was trying too hard to hold back tears. But it was enough. “And I you, Mother. Always.” |