My War Is Over (Original Unfinished Version)

Chapter Twenty-Three

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"It's been falling for so long..." a growl laced with candied sympathy, underlying darkness so poorly concealed that even in the foggy transition to consciousness, Loki can pick it up as evil.

"Master will be pleased with this one." another voice, a slimy hand through his hair painted with the illusion of gentleness before ripping his head up harshly. Loki gasped, limbs weak from being unused for so long attempting to scramble for some sort of hold on the dirt floor, but too exhausted to find one.

Solid ground.

He'd stopped falling.

The realization brings a sob of relief before his head is yanked up again, this time by his throat. He chokes, blinking rapidly to clear his blurry vision as a rough hand slides slowly down his backside.

"How about we get acquainted, eh Frost Giant?"

-

Loki jerks awake with a small gasp, lifting a hand to his burning throat.

It was just a dream.

He sags back against the pillows, exhaustion pouring from every nerve. Why can't the world just be quiet for a little while? It's all I ask.

His other hand is occupied by none other than Thor himself. The blond had apparently moved him to a bedroom chamber, as he was laying in a large bed and was tucked in by blue sheets. Thor himself was slumped over in a chair beside him, clutching his hand while his head lolled on the bed, snoring softly.

Loki takes a moment to truly observe his not-brother, too terrified during their previous reunion to really see him. Thor looks different, an air to him that's present even in his slumber, an air Loki is estranged to. His hair has grown longer, brushing past his shoulders in slight waves that are more of a dirty-blond than the pure blond Loki was so used to. It wasn't brushed out or fluffy anymore either, and Loki finds he likes this style better. He'd thinned out his beard just slightly, now only light facial hair compared to his previous poor beginnings of an imitation of The Allfather.

He looks older. More mature, if Loki dares to hope. He's lost the youthful look to him that he'd carried before. It wasn't to say that he'd aged, at least not by appearance, but he'd lost the brash and stuck-up appearance of royalty that he'd carried for so long.

But looks are deceiving, Loki would know. A mere alteration of appearance does not necessarily point to intellectual or emotional growth, Loki muses. For all he knows, Thor is the same old brash, oafish, self-absorbed idiot he'd become as soon as he'd begun hanging out with Sif and The Warriors Three centuries ago.

Or was he? Could he have possibly changed in Loki's absence? Even in the short span of leave from the Battle of New York to now?

" I know, brother, I know. Do not think of it now. We will have much to discuss later." he'd said when Loki had reminded him that he was not yet forgiven. Such words of patience, of gentle acceptance, of maturity even, were most unlike Thor. Could he have learned of his faults and be attempting to change for the better? To be a better person? A better son? A better prince? A better brother?

For a minute, Loki ponders, and then he bursts out into bitter laughter. Surely, no. He's never been worth it before, there is no reason why he should be worth anything to Thor now. Then why is he here? At the sound of his laughter, Thor stirs and blinks wearily up at him, lifting his head from the mattress.

"You are awake," he states.

"And you were not a dream. Keen observations on both of our parts." Loki snorts. "Though I fail to see any logical reason for why you are here."