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Loki curls up in a corner, because there is no one there to see, as he lets the golden splendour of Asgard’s halls chase away memories of suffocating darkness and falling, ever falling, through eternal void. He does not know where he is, nor when. It does not matter. The stone floor of the abandoned building is hard and cold, the walls naked and dark, but from the mirror flows bright warm light. That is all that matters.
A crack spreads across the surface, a low groan as the fragile mirror glass caves under the spell forced upon it. Loki watches. There is an empty seat at the high table, though all are careful not to look at it. There is a matching space within Loki, where home used to be.
Another crack. There is Thor, and Loki thinks he sees his not-brother's gaze linger over the empty place. But only for a moment, before he turns to smile at Sif, so maybe it was but Loki’s imagination. The fires roar as bright as ever, the mead flows freely, and Loki can easily imagine the drunken laughter echoing through the hall. It is all as it ever was, overabundant, ignorant Asgard, feasting as though there is no tomorrow and wallowing in tales of its own glory. Only one piece is missing, and it is a negligible one at best.
The mirror breaks, scatters into dull, lifeless shards, and all Loki wants is to go home.
__________
Loki wreaks chaos, because that is what Loki does, and in time Thor returns to Midgard. Again and again, Loki finds himself facing his not-brother. It is impossible to stay away. Loki is Loki, Thor is Thor, and Loki needs Thor.
I miss you, Thor, brother, I've watched you. Every night you keep the darkness away, so bright, so golden, and I hate it, I hate you.
Loki spits accusations and insults, lies and truths hopelessly tangled, and sees hope turn to hurt in brilliant blue eyes. Again.
Can I come home?
There is no home.
More chaos, destruction, death. The question is not why, but why not? Reason is not for the lost, yet there is a reason all the same, however deeply buried it might be. Chaos will keep Thor in Midgard, looking at Loki. Not Sif or Fandral or Balder, or some empty seat. It is all that matters.
Thor is the light, the one thing between Loki and the void. Brother, not-brother, only friend, hated enemy. Bright blue eyes, as he pleads for Loki to stop, please, come back, come home. But as the sins pile up and the spiral of chaos goes ever on with plots within plots, death, destruction, those eyes grow weary and the pleas dull. It grows colder.
No brother of mine would do this, Thor growls, as they face each other on yet another field of battle. Loki does not recall for what they were fighting, why, and nothing matters anymore.
Loki falls. Ever falling, ever failing.
__________
The years pass and Thor is called back to Asgard.
The empty seat is since long filled by Balder the Bright, beloved by all, and better company than Loki could ever have hoped to be. The high table is all smiles. Asgard’s halls seem to grow ever more golden and warm, so very warm, as Loki watches.
There was a time when he too could make them smile, with clever tricks and quick words, Loki remembers. Yet it was never quite the same. Balder jests, he smiles and laughs, and sometimes he does nothing at all. Those around him all light up in such unmarred happiness, with such love, and Balder seems to draw it from them through the simple act of being.
No one speaks of Loki, the one who was once their prince. Their king. No one looks for him. No one misses him.
Balder smiles and laughs, and Loki watches, and how beautiful would not Balder look with bright red blood staining that unblemished skin?
Why not?
For that crime the Aesir would never forgive him.
__________
Loki huddles close to the dying embers of his fire. In it is the light of Asgard, where the Aesir are feasting as ever. There is once again an empty seat at their table, and all look upon it with solemn faces and have some well-put words to share. Then they eat and drink and smile, because that is what Balder would have wanted.
Loki grasps for that final shard of warmth, his missing home, but finds only void. The memory of an arrow and bright red blood.
Something inside Loki breaks.
__________
Loki stumbles through the doors, and the hall falls silent. Drunken laughter falters, the tales of valour abandoned halfway through. They all look at him, Loki, and they see the wretched creature that was once their prince, liar, traitor, murderer, a cursed Jötun child spitting at the kindness of their king. It doesn’t matter, because at least they look at him.
In their eyes is only cold contempt and unshielded hate.
Loki lets his accursed silver-tongue run loose, freely spilling cruel words of spite, countless lies, and some sliver of truth that no one believes. Shards of a mirror broken beyond repair. He insults them all, spits on their honour, their deeds, their fathers, exploits every fault and every weakness. Some rage, some retaliate, and some do not even deign to answer. Loki feels as though he is watching from someplace far away.
Then Thor enters, golden, warm, brother-not-brother Thor, and that long-buried, long-forgotten final shard of bright burning hope pierces through the darkness. Thor, home, brilliant blue eyes. Loki wants to speak, but can find no words, wants to embrace him, but can not move. And Thor looks at Loki.
Brother, I'm home.
Thor's eyes are cold blue steel, and Loki runs. Falling. Failing.
Can I come home?
The stone is hard and cold, but the venom is a searing warmth, and that is all that matters.