[Thor] Gen | A Broken Window [1/?]
Title: A Broken Window (1/?)
Summary: You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes. Thor travels back into the past in his dreams.
Fandom: Post-Thor
Characters/Pairings: Loki, Thor
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Warnings: Implied sexism, bullying
Word Count: 760
Author's Notes: 30 days challenge, R3, prompt #7: poem. There is a fic on AO3 that had Loki visiting Thor a la The Time-Traveller's Wife, and I felt like doing the opposite. ("Ergi"; a noun of Old Norse meaning "unmanliness".)
Loki is six; Thor is eight and thirty.
Thor blinks as he lands in the quiet garden. The little boy stares back at him, the book falling onto the ground, grains of dirt insinuating themselves in between the pages. The spine is cracked, and Thor winces, expecting a tirade from Loki.
But this Loki doesn't send cutting remarks or green flashes of seidr his way; this Loki is still young, and he just sits there looking at Thor with those brilliant emerald eyes, observing the way Thor shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other.
A tingling feeling rushes upwards from his toes, and Thor's vision starts to blur. It's too soon, and Thor means to reach out for his brother, but the tingling turns to a pull strong enough to stay his hands.
"Goodbye, brother," Loki whispers, giving Thor a little wave, and picking up his book.
When Thor returns to the darkness, he thinks on that day when he'd finally finished playing with Sif and the Warriors Three. He remembers pouncing on his little brother, his sweaty tunic pressed to Loki's flailing hands. He remembers the book falling (again) to the floor, (this time) causing the spine to crack, and praising his brother when Loki used his emerging seidr to restore the book to its pre-Thor pristine state. Book-healer, Thor had teased, nudging Loki with his shoulder, and Loki had grinned slyly before hitting him with said tome.
Thor wakes up soon after, disoriented and brushing off an imaginary book attack. After his morning meal, he excuses himself to the library; the keeper of the books stare at him in wonder, for Thor rarely enters this territory of words. The Thunderer ignores her, creeping through the shelves as quietly as possible (still, each footfall elicits irate glances before the owners of the glares realize his princely identity) to find a long-forgotten book.
*
Loki is eight; Thor is ten and thirty.
Thor hears the crying before he sees his brother crouched in a corner. Loki's room has always been wanting for more sunlight, but Loki himself has always preferred little touches of gold to dark shadows.
"Why do you cry so, brother?" Thor asks gently, kneeling down against the young boy. Loki at this age is still soft and skinny, his limbs not yet reaching the gangly awkwardness of teenagehood or the later lean grace of adulthood.
It surprises him that Loki isn't afraid of Thor. His expression is thoughtful, his sorrow mixed with curiosity, as he answers in between sniffles, "They say things about me, brother. That I'm ergi for practising my seidr." When he finishes whispering, Loki buries his head in his hands again, his throat working to swallow his sobs. "But father practises seidr. He united the Nine Realms through his skills, and no one dares-but father is a warrior too, I suppose, and that I will never be." Loki sighs, and Thor's heart clenches at the sight of the deep weariness that places itself over his too-young face.
Thor had always known about Loki's many names, and that the people had no love for his wayward brother. But he'd thought that the insults had only begun after Loki started his many tricks, not while Loki was still the little innocent child that hid behind Frigga's skirts whenever they were required to attend public celebrations.
Training sessions, Thor remembered had always been for him, and not for his younger brother. No, Loki was always meant for the love of knowledge and quick-fingered spells, even though he stubbornly made his way through lessons with staff and sword, despite the constant bruises and being pushed into the mud.
"You're no ergi, brother," Thor says, running thick fingers through Loki's raven-dark hair. "You are a warrior of your own making." He, unlike Loki, was more suited for the mad rush of the battlefield, for the clanging of metal and spillage of blood; Thor hopes his few words are enough, for now.
"What are you?" Loki asks, leaning against Thor. It's a deflection of the topic, a skill that Loki will only get better at throughout the years. "You are fading again, brother, how rude."
Thor chuckles, and looks down to see that, indeed, he is fading back into his dreams. "I apologize for the slight, my prince."
"Promise me you're not a ghost." Loki's fingers are small but strong around his vanishing wrist, his eyes pleading and watering again. "I need to know you'll be there, brother, please."
"I am no dead wanderer," Thor says, even as everything disappears into the black.
Summary: You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes. Thor travels back into the past in his dreams.
Fandom: Post-Thor
Characters/Pairings: Loki, Thor
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Warnings: Implied sexism, bullying
Word Count: 760
Author's Notes: 30 days challenge, R3, prompt #7: poem. There is a fic on AO3 that had Loki visiting Thor a la The Time-Traveller's Wife, and I felt like doing the opposite. ("Ergi"; a noun of Old Norse meaning "unmanliness".)
Loki is six; Thor is eight and thirty.
Thor blinks as he lands in the quiet garden. The little boy stares back at him, the book falling onto the ground, grains of dirt insinuating themselves in between the pages. The spine is cracked, and Thor winces, expecting a tirade from Loki.
But this Loki doesn't send cutting remarks or green flashes of seidr his way; this Loki is still young, and he just sits there looking at Thor with those brilliant emerald eyes, observing the way Thor shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other.
A tingling feeling rushes upwards from his toes, and Thor's vision starts to blur. It's too soon, and Thor means to reach out for his brother, but the tingling turns to a pull strong enough to stay his hands.
"Goodbye, brother," Loki whispers, giving Thor a little wave, and picking up his book.
When Thor returns to the darkness, he thinks on that day when he'd finally finished playing with Sif and the Warriors Three. He remembers pouncing on his little brother, his sweaty tunic pressed to Loki's flailing hands. He remembers the book falling (again) to the floor, (this time) causing the spine to crack, and praising his brother when Loki used his emerging seidr to restore the book to its pre-Thor pristine state. Book-healer, Thor had teased, nudging Loki with his shoulder, and Loki had grinned slyly before hitting him with said tome.
Thor wakes up soon after, disoriented and brushing off an imaginary book attack. After his morning meal, he excuses himself to the library; the keeper of the books stare at him in wonder, for Thor rarely enters this territory of words. The Thunderer ignores her, creeping through the shelves as quietly as possible (still, each footfall elicits irate glances before the owners of the glares realize his princely identity) to find a long-forgotten book.
*
Loki is eight; Thor is ten and thirty.
Thor hears the crying before he sees his brother crouched in a corner. Loki's room has always been wanting for more sunlight, but Loki himself has always preferred little touches of gold to dark shadows.
"Why do you cry so, brother?" Thor asks gently, kneeling down against the young boy. Loki at this age is still soft and skinny, his limbs not yet reaching the gangly awkwardness of teenagehood or the later lean grace of adulthood.
It surprises him that Loki isn't afraid of Thor. His expression is thoughtful, his sorrow mixed with curiosity, as he answers in between sniffles, "They say things about me, brother. That I'm ergi for practising my seidr." When he finishes whispering, Loki buries his head in his hands again, his throat working to swallow his sobs. "But father practises seidr. He united the Nine Realms through his skills, and no one dares-but father is a warrior too, I suppose, and that I will never be." Loki sighs, and Thor's heart clenches at the sight of the deep weariness that places itself over his too-young face.
Thor had always known about Loki's many names, and that the people had no love for his wayward brother. But he'd thought that the insults had only begun after Loki started his many tricks, not while Loki was still the little innocent child that hid behind Frigga's skirts whenever they were required to attend public celebrations.
Training sessions, Thor remembered had always been for him, and not for his younger brother. No, Loki was always meant for the love of knowledge and quick-fingered spells, even though he stubbornly made his way through lessons with staff and sword, despite the constant bruises and being pushed into the mud.
"You're no ergi, brother," Thor says, running thick fingers through Loki's raven-dark hair. "You are a warrior of your own making." He, unlike Loki, was more suited for the mad rush of the battlefield, for the clanging of metal and spillage of blood; Thor hopes his few words are enough, for now.
"What are you?" Loki asks, leaning against Thor. It's a deflection of the topic, a skill that Loki will only get better at throughout the years. "You are fading again, brother, how rude."
Thor chuckles, and looks down to see that, indeed, he is fading back into his dreams. "I apologize for the slight, my prince."
"Promise me you're not a ghost." Loki's fingers are small but strong around his vanishing wrist, his eyes pleading and watering again. "I need to know you'll be there, brother, please."
"I am no dead wanderer," Thor says, even as everything disappears into the black.