"And who can see the golden rot from the inside"
Title: And who can see the golden rot from the inside
Fandom: Thor (MCU)
Author: Yenneffer
Type: one-shot
Timeframe: post-Thor
Rating: PG
Character(s): Odin, Frigga, Thor, Loki
Genres: Angst, Mourning, Family
Warnings: nothing much
Summary: There are gods who cry, for Loki is no more.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
His dreams are dipped in poison.
Failure, all around, and it spears him like shattered spiredomes growing golden upon this mountainous soil. The kingdom prospers, the golden city in Asgard’s heart shines brighter than ever, it would seem (it mocks him, this brightness of a star on a nightless sky, the everlasting summer always lacking the harsh beauty of winter; he misses it, grows weary of the hot sun). The gilded halls of Asgard’s palace ring with empty hollowness, though. The royal family stands united in front of Asgard’s people, yet in private they splinter.
Frigga, who only ever smiles for Thor anymore. Her smiles are laced with sorrow, though, and a desperation. She wishes she could hold her warrior-child in-between the folds of her skirts, hide him from the world which has already taken one of her sons. A she-wolf, barking mad at anyone who dares come close. The loyal and steadfast Queen, who stands by the King’s side, spears him with a cold blame that spans between them like a cord of steel, a binding chasm that never lets go, that is unbreachable. She is ever-watchful of danger, now that is too late.
The golden Prince is a ghost-like presence in the palace. He wanders in the corridors alone, for the first time shunning the company of others. His steps ever-lead him towards his brother’s chambers, and the training fields are barren in want of his cheer and exuberance. He pushes on the heavy door till the wood creaks and gives way, and his feet stumble into his brother’s sanctuary, clumsy and uninvited. He spends hours here, his thoughts resting under the heavy haze, before his eyes and thoughts and steps turn towards his brother’s bed, where he sits, the only weight that disturbs his brother’s sheets. He looks for solace in there, and behind his closed eyelids, but on the edge of his vision he sees the walls of his brother’s room dipping with venom. He sleeps.
Odin dreams of failure, the hours in-between the dreams he sits bent on the giant throne, plagued by phantom voices, the laugh that laughs is spilling through the rotten cracks in the throne room, and Gungnir burns his hand when he touches it, leaving wounds of gold on his old, foolish skin. Sometimes he sees from the corner of his one good eye the poison dripping dark and haunted from some forgotten cobwebs moving in the shadows, everywhere. Nothing is there when he turns to see.
Asgard moves on. But there are gods who cry, shrouded in mourning, for Loki, the Silvertongue, the Liesmith, the Sky-Walker, the Trickster, Loki of the many faces is no more.
The End
Fandom: Thor (MCU)
Author: Yenneffer
Type: one-shot
Timeframe: post-Thor
Rating: PG
Character(s): Odin, Frigga, Thor, Loki
Genres: Angst, Mourning, Family
Warnings: nothing much
Summary: There are gods who cry, for Loki is no more.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
His dreams are dipped in poison.
Failure, all around, and it spears him like shattered spiredomes growing golden upon this mountainous soil. The kingdom prospers, the golden city in Asgard’s heart shines brighter than ever, it would seem (it mocks him, this brightness of a star on a nightless sky, the everlasting summer always lacking the harsh beauty of winter; he misses it, grows weary of the hot sun). The gilded halls of Asgard’s palace ring with empty hollowness, though. The royal family stands united in front of Asgard’s people, yet in private they splinter.
Frigga, who only ever smiles for Thor anymore. Her smiles are laced with sorrow, though, and a desperation. She wishes she could hold her warrior-child in-between the folds of her skirts, hide him from the world which has already taken one of her sons. A she-wolf, barking mad at anyone who dares come close. The loyal and steadfast Queen, who stands by the King’s side, spears him with a cold blame that spans between them like a cord of steel, a binding chasm that never lets go, that is unbreachable. She is ever-watchful of danger, now that is too late.
The golden Prince is a ghost-like presence in the palace. He wanders in the corridors alone, for the first time shunning the company of others. His steps ever-lead him towards his brother’s chambers, and the training fields are barren in want of his cheer and exuberance. He pushes on the heavy door till the wood creaks and gives way, and his feet stumble into his brother’s sanctuary, clumsy and uninvited. He spends hours here, his thoughts resting under the heavy haze, before his eyes and thoughts and steps turn towards his brother’s bed, where he sits, the only weight that disturbs his brother’s sheets. He looks for solace in there, and behind his closed eyelids, but on the edge of his vision he sees the walls of his brother’s room dipping with venom. He sleeps.
Odin dreams of failure, the hours in-between the dreams he sits bent on the giant throne, plagued by phantom voices, the laugh that laughs is spilling through the rotten cracks in the throne room, and Gungnir burns his hand when he touches it, leaving wounds of gold on his old, foolish skin. Sometimes he sees from the corner of his one good eye the poison dripping dark and haunted from some forgotten cobwebs moving in the shadows, everywhere. Nothing is there when he turns to see.
Asgard moves on. But there are gods who cry, shrouded in mourning, for Loki, the Silvertongue, the Liesmith, the Sky-Walker, the Trickster, Loki of the many faces is no more.
The End