The Challenge

Twenty-nine

((TW: Implied and described torture, branding, trauma, slavery, abuse, scarification and other dark themes for both this chapter and the next. In summary: A lot of gore!))

The next day.

There was a wave of panic among the deities as the portal opened and Loki was all but thrown through it before it immediately closed again. His barely clothed body had haphazardly been thrown onto the cold, hard ground as he landed in the Great Hall among the entire pantheon.
Pale, dark eyes, once filled with mischief and cunning, were now hollow and haunted. The pale orbs, surrounded by dark circles, spoke volumes of sleepless nights and endless agony.
Loki's lean frame bore the unmistakable signs of exhaustion, his lithe form frail and weak from the constant demands of the goddess he'd vowed to serve.

His once-smooth skin now displayed a sickly pallor, accentuated by the thinness that had settled upon his bones. Dark, matted locks clung to his sweat-soaked forehead, while bruises marred his body, silent testimony to the countless tasks he had been forced to undertake at Aphrodite's command.
The most prominent mark of his servitude lay on his left shoulder – a large, intricate brand, a painful reminder of his subjugation.

The brand on Loki's shoulder bore the unmistakable mark of Aphrodite's dominion over him. Crafted with a cruel elegance, it displayed the intricate intertwining of two elements: a delicate rose and a sharp, twisted thorn. The design was both beautiful and ominous, a reflection of Aphrodite's dual nature as a goddess of love, with a dark, twisted jealousy.
The rose, with its petals delicately unfurling, seemed to capture the essence of beauty and desire.
Its intricate details were etched into Loki's flesh with an almost hypnotic precision. The petals shimmered with a faint iridescence, as if they held a captivating allure that masked the darker intent behind the mark.

Contrasting sharply with the alluring rose, the thorn emerged from the stem with a wicked curve. Its edges were sharp and menacing, a symbol of the pain and servitude that Loki endured under the goddess's command. The thorn was not just a physical representation but a metaphorical reminder of the hidden dangers lurking beneath Aphrodite's seemingly enchanting exterior. Finally it read the word 'disowned' underneath it, a definite message.

The entire brand was a fusion of opposing elements, capturing the essence of the goddess who had marked Loki as her possession.
It was a testament to the power dynamics at play, a design that mirrored the manipulation and control exerted by Aphrodite over the god of mischief.
As Loki bore the brand on his shoulder, it whispered of beauty tainted with cruelty, desire entwined with pain, and a bond forged in the fires of servitude.

As Loki lay on the ground, trembling and unresponsive, the remnants of his magical aura flickered weakly around him, a mere shadow of its former brilliance. It implied that Aphrodite had offered him power, but then destroyed him for it.
The once-mischievous god now appeared broken, drained of his vitality by the relentless demands placed upon him by the goddess of love and beauty.

Thor approached cautiously, concern etched across his features. He knelt beside his brother, reaching out to gently touch Loki's shoulder. The touch elicited a flinch from the god of mischief, his body still tense from the ordeal as Thor's fingers grazed the brand on his skin.
"Loki," Thor spoke softly, his voice a soothing rumble, "Brother, it is I, Thor. You are free now, you're home. You need not endure this any longer."

Loki's eyes, once sharp and calculating, met Thor's with a haunted emptiness. With a gentle touch his brother tried to move away from, Thor began to channel a healing energy into Loki's battered form, hoping to mend both his physical and emotional wounds. "You are not alone, Loki," Thor whispered, his words carrying a promise of solidarity, "I will not let you suffer in silence and alone any longer."
As Thor continued to offer his support, the trembling in Loki's frame gradually subsided.

Thor had healed what his powers allowed him to, only the shallow wounds that had faded, but beyond that, the mental damage that had been done, deeper wounds and the brand burned into his skin... He couldn't heal them at all.
Those empty eyes met his and Thor's brow furrowed, "Brother," the words were a quiet plea, but Loki wouldn't answer him, there was no acknowledgement in his gaze.

Odin approached next, having left Thor to try and calm his son, staring down at Loki, "She did this to him?"
As Thor nodded in confirmation, the mark a clear testament of her handiwork, Odin's eye narrowed, "Why?"
Thor shook his head, "He will not speak."

With a gentle strength, Thor carefully scooped Loki into his arms, cradling the emaciated form of the god of mischief against his chest.
The weight of Loki's limp body seemed to echo the heaviness in Thor's heart as he took Loki back to his home, to a private chamber within it.

Once inside, Thor laid Loki down on the bed with the utmost care, mindful of the visible and invisible wounds that adorned his brother's fragile frame.

As Thor cleansed Loki, Namira entered the room. She held a quarter of a golden apple as she approached. "Thor," she spoke softly, "this will help restore his strength and aid in his healing. Loki's breathing became heavy as he heard her voice, a woman's voice and his body started trembling anew.

Namira backed away then, "I'll ... wait out there."
Thor nodded in gratitude, then turned to Loki, holding the quarter of the apple before his brother's vacant gaze. "Loki," Thor spoke with a mixture of concern, "You must eat. It will grant you strength and aid in your recovery."

However, Loki remained unresponsive, lost in the depths of his own trauma.
The quarter of the apple remained untouched in Thor's hands, a poignant reminder of the disconnect that lingered within Loki's shattered spirit.

Whatever he felt Loki had deserved... this wasn't it. To be this broken, such a shadow of himself, a ghost in a living body. Thor frowned as he left the apple next to the bed, lightly touching his brother's cheek, "Rest, brother."

He quietly left the room to embrace Namira. She immediately returned the embrace, holding him close.
It hadn't been easy seeing his brother like that, "I'm... I'm going to crash out here. I want to be close, just in case."

He tilted her face up, kissing her softly as his fingers traced along her cheek, "Tomorrow..."
It was their wedding day.
It felt wrong to do so and Namira opened her mouth to assure Thor it was fine to postpone it, given the circumstance, but Thor spoke first, "We marry. I want you to be my wife. Loki... This may take months to heal, the mental scars I mean, we will not wait for that. I want to do this, with our family, our friends...To enjoy the celebration of spring and growth, while celebrating our love with them."

Namira's gaze had softened as she listened, "I understand..."

Thor kissed her again, "Enjoy our bed, ráðakván. I will find you in the morning."
She nodded, watching as Thor simply nestled against the wall, his gaze on the door to Loki's chamber. Namira wanted to ask him to come with her, but she knew he wouldn't and so she didn't make things any harder as she returned to their bedroom on her own.


TBC...