Loki left the castle behind him as he walked out into the city itself. This time, he wasn't stopped by the guards for walking around.
He had the reason explained to him; the only reason he was stopped was because he used magic.
Camelot and the realm of Albion forbid magic without official permission. Something he, a guest, didn't have.
It was understandable, magic was powerful, and against foolish mortals who couldn't defend themselves? Dangerous.
Now he had been given permission to use magic, as long as he didn't harm people with it, something he didn't plan on doing.
He was Loki, prince of Asgard, rightful ruler of the Nine Realms. Why would he waste his time playing tricks on mortals?
The only reason he walked around under an illusion was because he couldn't be bothered with the mortals. They weren't worthy of gazing at him.
Still, after having met this city's king, he was far more curious about the people, these mortals living under a god's rule, and the city itself.
So, he took his time making his way over to Thor, taking in the city, exploring it.
And what a breathtaking sight it was. He could clearly see that mortal hands didn't make it; it was too perfect for that. He was honestly impressed and surprised that Arthuria allowed mortals to live here.
In his eyes, they weren't worthy of such a city.
He continued on, his steps light and deliberate, the illusion around him shifting with every corner he turned. He moved unseen, a phantom among mortals, his sharp eyes picking out the smallest details of the bustling marketplace he had wandered into.
Merchants called out in clear, confident voices, their stalls overflowing with goods from every corner of the world. Yet he couldn't help but be slightly disappointed, as what they sold was the most mundane things of all.
Fruit, meats, toys and trinkets, clothes, all meant for mortals. A far cry from the divine luxury he had seen from the castle itself.
Yet once more, he couldn't help but notice just how clean the city was, even with mortals everywhere, it felt… strange, like mortals shouldn't be this pure.
He could only assume that this had something to do with that Goddess who ruled them, and hadn't that been a surprise.
He didn't think there were any gods left on Midgard. She hadn't been there last time he was here for sure, so where did she come from? And why did his father allow her to stay?
He was sure there was some secret there, and he would get to the bottom of it for sure. But first, Thor.
Using magic, he quickly found out where Thor was, and Loki found himself standing outside a tavern, a quaint old wooden sign hanging over the door. It was interesting; the place had this strange feeling to it. both old and sparkling new.
Almost like Asgard itself.
Still, Thor hanging out in a place like this fit him well. Not surprising that he was getting drunk after being thrown out.
Loki pushed open the heavy wooden door, the faint creak of the iron hinges cutting through the low murmur of voices and the clinking of tankards within. The warm, smoky air of the tavern washed over him, tinged with the scents of aged wood, strong ale, and the faint, metallic bite of weapon oil.
It was a stark contrast to the gleaming, rune-inscribed stone of the castle, a place of warmth and noise and life, the kind of place where mortals gathered to drink away their worries and share tales of their fleeting, mortal lives.
And there, in the far corner, sitting alone at a heavy wooden table with a massive, half-empty tankard clutched in one hand, was Thor.
His brother's broad shoulders were hunched, his head bowed, his long, unkempt hair casting shadows over his face.
Loki allowed himself a moment to savor the sight. Thor, his proud, reckless, hammer-wielding oaf of a brother, reduced to this — a mortal among mortals, drowning his sorrows in ale, cut off from the power that had defined him for centuries. It was almost poetic.
Then he stepped forward, his long, slender fingers wrapping around the back of the chair opposite Thor's as he slid into the seat, his cloak pooling around him like the shadow of a serpent.
"Thor," he said, his voice low, almost gentle, his expression carefully arranged into one of sad resignation. "Brother."
Thor's head snapped up, his bleary, bloodshot eyes blinking in disbelief as they focused on his brother's familiar, regal form. For a moment, he simply stared, his mind struggling to process the sight before him.
"Loki?" he croaked, his voice rough, his thick fingers tightening around the handle of his tankard. "Is it… is it really you?"
Loki forced a small, sad smile onto his lips, leaning in slightly as if to share some quiet, private grief. "Yes, brother. It is I."
Thor's expression shifted, a flicker of desperate hope igniting in his tired, haggard eyes. He set his tankard down with a heavy, deliberate thud, leaning forward, his broad shoulders quivering with the effort of holding himself together.
"Loki… you must help me. I must return to Asgard. I must ask Father to pardon me. Loki please—"
Loki's hand shot out, his slender fingers resting lightly on his brother's thick, muscular forearm, his expression one of carefully crafted sorrow. "Thor… I… I wish I could. Truly, I do. But… there is something you must know."
Thor's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing in confusion and mounting dread as he searched his brother's face for answers. "What… what do you mean? What has happened?"
Loki let out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes closing for a moment as if to compose himself, to gather the strength to speak the terrible truth.
"It is father." He said at last, his voice a low trembling whisper. "Our father… he is dead, Thor."
Thor's face twisted with despair, his broad, calloused hands clenching into fists as he struggled to contain the torrent of grief and guilt threatening to tear him apart.
"No… no, this cannot be…" he whispered, his voice breaking, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I… I am sorry, Father… I am so sorry…"
Loki leaned back, his sharp, elegant features settling into a mask of cool, detached sympathy as he watched his brother crumble before him, the mighty God of Thunder reduced to a broken, defeated mortal.
"I know, brother," he said softly, his voice carrying just a hint of sadness, just enough to twist the knife a little deeper. "I know you did not mean for this to happen. But what is done is done, and now… now you must live with the consequences of your actions."
Thor's head slowly lifted, his eyes filled with a desperate, almost childlike hope as he met his brother's steady, unflinching gaze.
"Then… then I can still return? I can still make things right? I can… I can prove myself worthy and—"
Loki's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a cold, cruel satisfaction. "I am afraid not, brother. I cannot, as the new king of Asgard, make my first decision one that undoes the final order of our father. It would undermine my rule, shatter the fragile peace I have managed to secure in the wake of his death."
Thor's face fell, the spark of hope in his eyes snuffed out as quickly as it had ignited, his powerful shoulders sagging once more, his head bowing under the crushing weight of his brother's words.
"I had no choice," Loki continued, his tone one of carefully measured regret, his sharp green eyes never leaving his brother's shattered form. "With Father gone, the Jötunn seized the opportunity to push for a peace treaty, one that demanded your banishment be upheld as a condition for continued peace. To break that promise now would be to invite war, to undo all the progress I have made in securing Asgard's future."
Thor's fists clenched, his jaw tightening, his teeth grinding together as the full, terrible weight of his exile settled upon him. He had lost everything — his power, his honor, his family — and now, even the hope of redemption had been stripped from him.
"I… I understand," he choked out, his voice thick with grief, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "I… I never meant for this to happen. I only… I only wanted to protect Asgard, to prove myself worthy of the throne…"
Loki allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, his sharp, elegant features settling into a mask of cool, detached sympathy as he reached out to gently clasp his brother's shoulder, his long, slender fingers pressing down just hard enough to remind Thor of his place, of his powerlessness.
"I know, brother," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, his sharp eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "I know you meant well. But what is done is done, and now… now you must live with the consequences of your actions."
Thor's head dropped once more, thick, golden hair falling into his face as his shoulders slumped even further. His massive frame seemed to shrink beneath the crushing weight of Loki's words.
"Take comfort in this, brother," Loki continued, his voice soft and smooth, his sharp, emerald eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. "Father's death was not in vain. Your exile has brought peace to Asgard, and your sacrifice has secured the future of our people."
Thor said nothing, his head bowed, calloused hands clenching and unclenching on the polished wooden table, his powerful frame trembling with the effort of holding himself together.
Loki straightened, releasing his brother's shoulder as he took a small, graceful step back, his dark cloak swirling around him like the shadow of a serpent.
"I must return to Asgard," he said smoothly, his voice cool and composed. His sharp, elegant features settled into a mask of detached indifference as he turned away and took long, graceful steps toward the door. "Take care of yourself, brother. I shall ensure that your exile is as comfortable as possible."
And with that, Loki swept out of the tavern, his long, dark cloak swirling around him as he disappeared into the smoky, crowded room, the door swinging shut behind him with a low, resonant thud.
While he wanted to stick around for a bit longer, he understood that he needed to return home, his rule still wasn't strong, many still doubted him, and now with Thor sure not to return, he had to work on the rest of his plan.
Though… he decided to do one thing first.
He once more made his way through the streets of Camelot, using magic to make the mortals part before him. No one even noticed the strange open space in the crowds. Slowly, he got closer and closer to where Mjolnir rested.
Finally, he reached the central plaza, the towering white statue of the young king rising high above the throngs of gathered mortals, one hand raised in eternal defiance, the other resting on the hilt of a great, shining sword.
Having now personally met the king, he struggled to see how this young boy had turned into such a stunning, beautiful goddess. Still, he didn't think about it for long. As she stood there, he once more heard the whispers of the mortals.
"Did you see that last guy? Nearly threw his back out trying to budge it," a rough-looking man muttered to his friend, adjusting the strap of his leather satchel. "Must weigh a damn ton."
"A ton?" his friend scoffed, a wiry, bespectacled man with ink-stained fingers. "It's not about weight, you fool. The king said it's about worthiness. You could be as strong as a bull, but if you're not worthy, it won't budge an inch."
A woman nearby snorted, folding her arms over her chest as she watched another hopeful step up to the pedestal. "Worthiness? What does that even mean? Who decides who's worthy? That hammer? Or the gods themselves?"
"Does it matter?" the first man shot back, his eyes locked on the hammer. "All I know is that if I could lift that thing, I'd never have to work another day in my life. I'd be a god!"
A burly, tattooed sailor chimed in, his voice a low, rumbling growl. "Forget about money. If I had the power of a god, I'd take back my family's honor, make those bastards who wronged me beg for mercy."
"Oh, please," the bespectacled man shot back, pushing his glasses up his nose with a scowl. "You'd just end up like the rest of them. Drunk on power, smashing mountains for fun, or throwing lightning bolts at your enemies. You'd be no better than the fools who came before you."
"And what would you do with godly power?" the woman asked, her eyebrow arching as she fixed him with a skeptical glare.
The bespectacled man hesitated, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides. "I… I'd change the world," he said at last, his voice a low, trembling whisper. "I'd bring order to this chaos, reshape it in my image… create something better."
The group fell silent, their eyes once more turning to the hammer, their thoughts lost in dreams of power and glory, of revenge and redemption, of a world reshaped in their own image.
Loki allowed himself a small, knowing smirk as he passed them by, their whispered ambitions echoing in his sharp, cunning mind.
'Fools,' he thought to himself. 'They have no idea what true power is. They have no idea what it means to stand above the masses, to shape the very fabric of reality to your will, to bend the cosmos itself to your every whim.'
Still, despite his thoughts, he still weaved a slight illusion and got to the head of the line. He felt the gaze of those magic knights on him, but they ignored his actions. And then, he bent down, wrapping his hand around the handle.
(end of chapter)
Just Loki lightly gaslighting his brother. Then, trying to steal his power… nothing out of the ordinary there.
Loki does still care for Thor… but having him suck there is just so much better for him.