Life's Pursuit {Book 2}

Chapter 12: Indifferent Feelings

The library was quiet as Loki hid between the shelves, sitting near the southernmost wall where their books from Asgard were being kept. He hadn't budged from isolation since Thor left the day before. The books were his comfort, helping him to dissipate the anger he felt upon his brother's sudden departure. He was glad of the sun that shone through the windows. Not everything had to be gloomy.

Something in him wished he could have convinced Thor to stay. He was currently holding a grudge, but to have kept Thor from listening to Odin would have meant the world. Alfheim was not a cruel realm to be stuck on, but time was running out, severely. To stay behind and wait felt like a nightmare. It was a nightmare. Jennica didn't have that kind of time and neither did the rest of the Nine Realms.

Loki heaved a sigh and pushed his hair out of his face. His thoughts mangled him. Was he truly caring about the Nine Realms? Was he worried about the lives of others and not his own? Yes, he was. For the first time in a long time, he began to remember what empathy was; he was pained to imagine the suffering of others that would be caused by whoever was after the fractals. Would they be more evil than who he knew was after the stones? If Thanos was still on his quest as he was before, how far had he come since the attack on New York? Dare he think, was Thanos the one after the fractals as well?

Shuddering at the memories, Loki tried to distract himself. He hated remembering when he worked with the Mad Titan, how he gave up his mind just to prove something, just to be something. It was evil, and that was beginning to disgust him. There had been no room left for nuance. Picking up one of the books from Asgard's library, he mindlessly flipped through the pages, finding the one that had awakened with magic back on earth. He traced the runes with his fingertips, gently, finding that nothing more came to life. The magic in the page was gone, dissolved back into the atmosphere.

Straining, he tried to see if there was any hold he still had on his magic abilities, even though he was banished. He tried to reach into the depths of his mind and pull out the skills Frigga had taught him, tried to feel the binding energy of the surrounding realm. Nothing bent to his will, nothing treated him like the being he was. He was mortal. He was weak. Having no access to magic made him realize just how weak he was without it, just how little it made him feel. It aggravated him. He felt so numb compared to how alive he felt when using his gifts. It made him hunger to feel more again, to have control. He snapped the book shut as his jaw tightened, frustrated.

Leaving the library, he purposed to find a way out of the castle, sick of the walls, sick of the silence, sick of being stuck inside. He allowed himself to exit through the front gate and make his way beyond the bridge that crossed the mote, taking in a deep breath to relax his tightened lungs. Fresh air filled him. He was glad of the change in his surroundings, hoping this temporary escape would keep his frustration from festering. If he was being forced to stay then he wouldn't allow himself to be bored.

A large willow tree sat just beyond the bridge Loki had crossed, swaying gently in the warm breeze and welcoming any small creature that flew into the safety of its branches. The old tree stood strong, having withstood amidst many of Alfheim's trials. Wars, deaths, storms, all made their mark within the soil it took root, and yet it continued to grow without faltering. Loki didn't know of these significant moments and was even oblivious to the fact that under the branches, Jennica had comforted Even after the deaths of Odelia and Dellinger. The willow may have been truly weeping.

Loki sat against the trunk and looked up through the branches. A few beams of warm light shone through and rested on his face, a kiss of nature. He could feel the release of tension already, finding that the calm nature of the outdoors brought him peace. It reminded him of his garden walks with Frigga when he was a boy. He could envision her presence as if she had never died. The wisdom she would always impart, the comfort and understanding, even the moments she would remind him that he was more than the words of Odin were made known in what she would say. It was grieving to know how easily he had forgotten her words.