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loki-cees-all · 2 months

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Chapter 7 - All the Tiring Time Between {TLTGYA - Post!TVA Loki x OFC Longfic}

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Pairing : Post-TVA!Loki x Oliviette (OFC)

Chapter Summary : Sometimes the sharpest boundaries require the gentlest touch.

Chapter W/c : 8.7k words

Chapter Tags / Content : Angst (as always), brief mentions of blood and injuries. Also there's a bunch of Tesseract lore and Loki's history with Thanos that I really got carried away with while writing this.

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

The silence in the cell was electrifyingly tense, and Loki wished he had something else to focus his attention on.

His jaw ached as he took another bite of the flavorless, perplexing bread that was both stale and damp at the same time. He should have been grateful for it and its distraction, despite the woman having offered it without even so much as looking at him. But it just reminded him of the year he’d spent with the Mad Titan: Wretched. Forsaken. Totally and completely hopeless.

Loki tried desperately not to think about it, but it was getting harder to fight as his exhaustion grew.

The woman sat across from him in the cell, her knees pulled to her chest and her expression blank. She’d said absolutely nothing after dismissing his question about Anathema the night prior, not even when the peculiar guards brought in their cruel attempt at a meal. She didn’t even flinch when they set the tray down in front of her, nor when the duo stared, cold and unmoving, presumably waiting for her to beg for her life like all the others…but she did wait until they were finally gone to pull the tray closer.

She had grabbed the chunk of bread first, and extended it towards him in the shadows like it was second-nature to her. As if it wasn’t ever an option that she wouldn’t share it, and despite the fact that they were in stark disagreement about their respective situations in this place.

He felt guilty for accepting the offering, but unfortunately, he felt like he had no other choice; his eyelids were growing heavier by the minute, his muscles were becoming weaker with each new day of disuse, and his nerves were perpetually fried with wary energy. He was constantly stifling another yawn, and was dangerously close to falling asleep, to having another nightmare again.

Loki didn’t know if he ever talked in his sleep, but he didn’t want to risk revealing any compromising information about himself or his past; the less anyone knew about him here, the better off they all were.

But other than the food she’d shared with him, there wasn’t much else for him to distract himself with. The woman wasn’t talking anymore, and her questions had faded away alongside the hope she may have once had about escaping. That left Loki to alone deal with his questions about her, and their inscrutable answers.

The problem with that, however, was that his mind was nothing but a tangled mess; a rat’s nest, made up of lies and false memories, the betrayals of the life he’d left behind, and all the lives that never were. Before him lay a scattering of dots, all seemingly unrelated and centered around a woman who claimed she didn’t know what they wanted with her, and he couldn’t seem to make heads or tails of any of it.

Loki used to pride himself on his ability to see the bigger picture, especially on a galactic scale. But he had come here to hide and to wallow, to purposely let his mind atrophy into a cobweb of nothingness, because that was easier than continue trying, and failing, to be happy. He felt comfortable doing that, and letting this become his legacy, because he hadn’t ever expected a riddle to fall into his lap again. He hadn’t ever expected her.

As Loki swallowed the last of the bread, he forced himself to look at her again. She was still huddled against the wall, illuminated by the dim lantern light from the hallway and shivering in the cold dungeon like a scared little child. He was flabbergasted that she was still here, that they’d bothered bringing her back after being caught during an escape attempt. And he couldn’t help but hate himself, because the old Loki could have figured out why that was a very long time ago.

Next to her, the bowl of porridge sat on the floor, mostly untouched and definitely not enjoyed. Her expression was sullen as she stared off into the distance, and her limbs were folded around herself as she retreated deeper inward. It almost made him feel…something.

Of what exactly, Loki wasn’t quite sure; the feeling was old and familiar, something that was long lost while never really being understood in the first place. He told himself that the feeling was irrelevant, because it was just the mystery he found equal parts infuriating and intriguing. He just needed a bit more time than usual to settle the question marks, and then he could finally return to the blissful void of apathy.

And maybe she wasn’t lying when she claimed to not know who Anathema was, but he didn’t believe for a moment that she had no idea why the guards were so interested in her. Either she had something of theirs, or she knew some mysterious piece of information they didn’t yet - but they were obviously willing to play the long game in order to acquire it, and that couldn’t have been for nothing.

Perhaps it had something to do with the gem dangling from her necklace. Loki had seen her touching it, frequently and absentmindedly, running her slender fingers over the deep blue stone during stressed and quiet moments like now. Clearly it meant a lot to her; someone who loved her had given it to her. Someone she loved back, someone she probably missed dearly…

As he started to wonder if anyone was out there looking for her, Loki realized he was staring and quickly averted his eyes. They landed once again upon the bowl of uneaten porridge next to her, and a new form of discomfort wove itself between the muscles of his shoulders and neck. It wrapped around his nerve-endings, stinging the open and frayed tendrils that had been worn bare from the pain of still being alive.

He was quite vulnerable existing like this, even though he knew she couldn’t see him hiding in the shadows. That she didn’t know what he was thinking, or where he was looking. That she was unaware of the fleeting relief that poured into his veins when she was brought back to the cell alive, or his shame at feeling anything that had immediately replaced it.

Loki had been flippant when she was initially brought in here. He was angry the first time she tried to share a meal with him. And then he was conflicted, at best, when she was dragged back in the second time. This paltry range of emotions was far more than he was previously used to; he felt like he was drowning in it, like it was slowly collapsing his airways and squeezing out every last ounce of oxygen from his lungs.

Because there was only one person on this planet who knew his name. A single individual, throughout all of space and time, knew where he was. She was the sole witness to his current existence, and he’d never felt more uncomfortable or on display than here and now. She had met him at his worst, in his ultimate moment of triumph when he’d finally been able to remove himself from any and all equations, from every problem that ever needed solving, and he absolutely hated that.

Loki thought he’d finally accounted for everything when he had stepped through the Time Door and into this dungeon. He thought he’d finally fixed the issue, himself, for literally everyone - and then this tiny little variable had shown up so unexpectedly to completely ruin it for him.

He should have been angrier about it. He should have been furious and seething and shaking with rage over this egregious betrayal of the universe. Being alone had been the whole point, keeping everyone safe from him had been his only intention, seeking protection from the pain of both betrayal and being betrayed was all that Loki had left. Why wasn’t he allowed that meager peace of mind?

Damnation clung to Loki like a frightened child clung to his mother’s skirts, trembling in the dark and begging for acknowledgement of its traumatized state. It lurked around every corner and it haunted every shadow, constantly weeping and whimpering and howling out its anguish to cruel and uncaring souls. It was always there, lingering in the corner of his eye, reminding him of just how helpless and useless he was. That he should just give up. That he should just end it already.

But sometimes, the damnation would transform into something far more sinister, into the tall, skulking form of a cerulean demon. Hanging over his shoulder and digging its claws into his neck, the demon would spit cruel maledictions into his ear. Didn’t Loki know that everyone around him was already doomed? Wouldn’t it be kinder to just kill them now, rather than waiting for him to ruin their life and then cruelly and inevitably take it from them?

Hiding in the dungeon was the only reasonable compromise between the frightened child and the viscous demon warring in his mind. If only he had stuck with that plan, if only he hadn’t revealed that someone else was alive in the cell with her, then maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess right now.

Regret, his oldest and only friend, wouldn’t be blaring its horn and sounding the alarm bells and crying out for solace. So why did it bother him so much now that she wasn’t eating?

Loki shifted uncomfortably on the stone floor, weighing the options in his mind. The regret of initially engaging with this woman didn’t mean he couldn’t change tactics; and if she wasn’t eating, then it wouldn’t be too much longer until he was on his own again. That had been his initial plan, and there was no reason he couldn’t return to that now. Wasn’t being alone all he ever wanted?

“You should finish your meal. There’s no telling how long it’ll be before they bring another…” The words felt like acid on Loki’s tongue, dripping down his throat to eat away at his insides. He hoped they had come out as bluntly as he’d intended, but in reality, it just sounded like something his mother would have said.

This time, the woman didn’t shudder when he finally broke the tense silence. She didn’t even react at all, other than to sigh heavily and respond in a low and flattened tone. “What’s the point…?”

“Well, clearly they’d prefer you to be alive, for whatever reason…” Loki’s jaw tensed as he paused, struggling to understand why he was even bothering. “Even if they bring food on an irregular basis, it’s still more than anyone else gets…”

“Maybe the only reason they want me alive is so they can continue mocking and hurting me.”

That was a more difficult point to contend with; perhaps the guards had just grown weary of the simple and mundane murders, and they’d decided to go with something more entertaining this time. What if there wasn’t a more complicated explanation for the guards' motivations? What if he was searching for logic that didn’t even exist?

Loki stifled another yawn as he leaned back against the stone wall, raking his fingers through tangled curls that were just as chaotic as his thoughts. There had to be something he was missing while attempting to put this puzzle together. “So what did the guards say when they caught you escaping?”

The woman let out a heavy exhale, and her tone shifted into a more sarcastic tone. “Oh, normal things like what are you doing out of your cell?, and no one’s coming to rescue you. Typical kidnapper things, you know…”

Loki couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her nonchalant answers, but what else was he expecting? He was beginning to wonder if it was even worth putting this much effort into avoiding sleep. Nothing else in his life prior to meeting her had been easy, so why was he expecting this to go smoothly?

“Actually, the guard did say something strange before knocking me out…” The woman trailed off, pausing as she furrowed her brow.

Loki cleared his throat as he looked towards her again. “Strange how?”

“Maxine - or Nulan, whichever one it was…They caught me upstairs in their private quarters. Just before attacking me, they said what is gone…may never return.” The woman pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she recalled the memory. “I’ve never heard it before, and I have no idea what it means…”

What is gone…may never return. Loki turned the phrase backward and forward in his mind, trying to find its place in this absolutely confounding puzzle. But he’d never heard anyone say anything even remotely close to it, so there was nowhere for it to go. The phrase’s sentiment, however, he understood perfectly well.

“It was probably just a threat, or a taunt…” she continued with a dismissive shake of her head. “They were just mocking me, for losing everything…”

“Or it’s a prayer. A desperate request, for some kind of reprieve…” Loki murmured in reply. He didn’t want to think about whether anyone had ever hoped for the same thing after he’d finally walked away, but he was positive that they had. And he hadn’t meant for his interpretation to sound so melancholy, but as his gaze caught the woman’s matching expression, he could feel her understanding of his meaning. Loki hated that.

She must have sensed that as well, because she quickly forced a false smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No…surely they must have been talking about me losing my boots.”

Her smile faded just as quickly as it had appeared, shifting into a grimace as a violent shiver shuddered over the limbs she struggled to pull close enough. She breathed out a heavy sigh and lowered her forehead to her knees with another tremble, and for once, Loki was grateful for the Jotun physiology keeping him relatively comfortable. But the woman didn’t share the same luxury of such a curse, and she was clearly suffering in these dank and grim conditions.

Loki turned his attention towards his fingers, twitching and fidgeting restlessly in his lap. This particular guilt was both new and unwelcome, like the haunting of fresh ghosts he thought he’d finally manage to not brutally murder for once. It wasn’t directly his fault she was here, that she was suffering. She was a complete stranger, after all, and this couldn’t have been his problem, or his responsibility.

But as Loki lifted his gaze again, carefully moving his eyes to avoid looking upon her once more, he caught a glimpse of the woman’s forgotten boots in the shadows, the ones carelessly stripped away while the guards were searching her the night before.

He recalled one of the first lessons Odin had explained about ruling a kingdom, that sometimes tact and finesse were far more effective than blades or might. Perhaps if Loki was kind instead of harsh, and if he returned the boots to the frozen woman, then she might help alleviate the nagging questions he still had and allow him to fight off sleep for just a little bit longer.

His brow furrowed, and he swallowed hard as he realized this was the least he could do for the both of them. It wasn’t much, but it felt like chopping off a limb when he cleared his throat and forced himself to speak again. “Your, um…boots are in here. They might help you with the…cold.”

The woman’s head popped back up, and her eyes narrowed as she scanned for them in the darkness. “Where are they? I don’t - ” she replied, clumsily attempting to push herself upright, obviously eager to get them back on as soon as possible.

Loki felt an odd sense of duty, one that had been buried deep underneath the many eons of pain, and it compelled him to act before he had the chance to second-guess himself. He moved slowly, shifting his weight onto his hip, and extended his arm out. His fingers were just long enough to barely grasp the black leather pull loops, to drag them closer and then place them within her reach while maintaining a safe distance, and without the need for him to stand.

A faint smile crossed her lips as she stretched to pull them closer. “Thank you so much, Loki.”

He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact anymore; it was hard enough to listen to the bewildered gratitude in her voice. His every movement had stayed within the safe confines of the shadows, and he imagined that she saw her boots reappearing as if from the loving aid of a benevolent god, of someone else who was capable of caring.

“It was nothing,” he told them both.

He had fully intended to return his attention back inward, but he found himself distracted by the woman as she shifted on the floor. Curling and stretching her limbs, gracelessly attempting to pull a boot back on with a single hand, and then reluctantly, with both hands. She let out a gasping whimper as she tried to extend out her left arm, and Loki noticed her fingers trembling as she tried to push through the pain.

Obligation flared along his spine again, but this time, Loki questioned it. A childhood memory surfaced, of when his father would return home from war, bruised and exhausted and weary, and Loki would rush to his side, eager to help with removing his armor and assist in any way he could. He thought maybe if he proved himself useful, eager and determined, like his older brother was, then Odin might finally give him a chance to fight alongside him.

But even though his seidr had been well-advanced for his age, his father had always refused to bring Loki along, despite never leaving home without Thor. Odin had said that Loki wasn’t ready yet, that he wasn’t strong enough, that it was too dangerous for a little boy to be out on the field and surrounded by their mortal enemies.

“Such a young prince falling into the hands of Asgard’s opponents could prove disastrous to the realms,” his father had said, even though that fear had never stopped him from bringing Thor into battle. It wasn’t until much later that Loki realized the truth, that the only real use he had wasn’t needed back then - not until the direst of circumstances forced his father’s ultimate and final hand.

The woman let out a sharp groan, bringing Loki back to the present. She had collapsed back against the wall, sniffling and brushing the messy strands of crimson hair away from her face. “Loki, I’m so sorry…but can you please…?”

His eyes widened, and hers were full of tears. Her cheeks reddened, and her lower lip trembled as she spoke with a cracked voice. “Please help me? I’m so cold, and I can’t…I can’t get these back on…”

It wasn’t like the cold, calculating demands he was previously used to, and Loki realized that it pained her to ask like this. She wasn’t trying to get anything out of him, she wasn’t manipulating her way into something more than she deserved, or trying to get him to commit atrocities in her name.

It wasn’t a game or a trick designed to be laughed at later with her friends; she genuinely just needed his help. But the problem was that this kind of assistance not only required him to vacate the shadows, to come closer and share the same air as her - it necessitated physical touch. Loki was sure he couldn’t handle that.

The muscles in his fingers articulated of their own accord, separating and curling into just the right place to summon and concentrate his seidr, intent on disassembling the atoms that made up the woman’s boots and reassembling them back where they belonged.

A suitable compromise, Loki believed, except that absolutely nothing happened. The warmth that normally accompanied his magic was nowhere to be found, that familiar connection to the past and the present, to his mother, wasn’t opening its loving arms to welcome him back home - and that was when he finally remembered.

Loki’s seidr was dead, because he was supposed to be dead.

He’d forsaken his magic as soon as he’d arrived here. Once he willingly stepped through the Time Door and into this dungeon, once he’d realized that the first thing this newly-freed universe had done was trap him yet again, he decided that this time it was really meant to be.

So he didn’t bother fighting it, and he willingly let go of the tendrils of seidr he had once clung so tightly to. He didn’t deserve the honor of wielding it, not after what he’d done in New York. And what use would that magic have been to the hollowed-out shell of a person he was now? What good could he have possibly done with it anyway?

“Loki?”

Once again, the woman’s quiet voice refocused his attention. Her expression had fallen even further during his silent brooding, and she was staring woefully into the dark, desperately hoping to see him finally coming to her aid. A deep sense of dread rose up within his chest, thick and impenetrable, oozing between his ribs to singe and suffocate his lungs like molten lava.

Loki didn’t know what to do, and yet, he moved anyway. Pressing his palms flat against the stone floor, he bent his knees and carefully pushed himself upright. His joints cracked and popped, his muscles were stiff and sluggish as he slid one foot forward, and the belt around his waist was far looser than when he’d initially put it on.

Taking another step closer, his mind suddenly dizzied, and his body began to sway dangerously from the juxtaposition of pushing himself forward while he’d been wasting away. He quickly grabbed onto the wall with a sharp gasp, trying to steady himself as his legs tingled themselves awake.

“Loki…are you alright?” the woman murmured, her brow furrowing with concern.

“I’m fine, it’s just - ” Loki sighed heavily, his heart pounding and muscles trembling. “I’m just not used to…standing.”

Loki closed his eyes and leaned against the wall for a moment, willing his body back into operating under his own control. But despite his best efforts, weariness and exhaustion were still permanently at the helm, relentlessly steering him back towards collapsing and passing out again.

“It’s alright. Take your time…”

Loki’s eyes snapped back open, painfully aware that she was still watching him closely, and he did everything he could to both avoid her gaze and her reassurance. Nothing about this was alright, and he could hear his father’s chastising voice from beyond the stars, criticizing him for allowing enervation to consume him - even though that was the only way to keep himself out of trouble.

His eyes flitted across the dungeon cell, feverishly taking in the stone walls and steel bars of the door, then out to the flickering lantern light of the hallway. Loki had never even bothered to take a good look at his coffin before committing to staying in it for all eternity, but from this elevation, he could clearly examine the cuts that made up the large slabs of the walls and floor. Meticulous, flawless, precise - too perfect to have been sliced by hand.

His gaze moved to the cream-colored candlestick suspended within the single lantern in the hallway, evenly melted away and without a single speck of soot upon the glass encasing it. From there, he could make out the grooves carved by the steel bars into the doorway’s arch as it swung open and closed, and the streaked and dark stains, smudged against the grayed and leadened floor, leading from the hallway back into their cell.

The woman’s blood, he assumed, and Loki’s hands clenched into fists. His throat tightened, and the slightest hint of outrage began to reluctantly wake from its slumber.

Forcing the feeling away, Loki finally closed the distance and carefully crouched in front of the woman; only then did he let her be the focus of his attention. Loose and uneven strands of crimson had been pulled free from the long, disheveled braid nestled untidily over her shoulder;her skin was wan and pallid, and her lips were tinted with the faintest hint of blue.

Dried blood had smeared on her ear, her neck, the lengths of her hair and along her cheek. It was everywhere, mixed with the dirt and muck from the floor, coating the corners of her cracked lips and the freckles that dotted her cheekbone. The fact that the blood was dried, meaning the original wound was at the very least no longer actively bleeding, did nothing to make him feel better.

Loki lowered one knee down to the floor, precariously settling his weight onto one ankle, and the woman’s attention was now entirely fixed on her boots. She swallowed nervously, and Loki silently agreed with the sentiment. How long had it been since he’d touched another person? Did he even remember how to be gentle? How to not contaminate?

Moving cautiously, he took a boot into his grasp, threading his fingers between the loops and slowly pulling to loosen its laces. While he worked, he focused on the soft leather: its scent was herbal, earthy, and with just the barest suggestion of sweetness. Intricate designs, swirls and constellations and rays of light emanating from an overly-stylized sun were stitched into the leather, extending from the collar and flowing down way past the ankle.

Soft, pliable and shiny, the leather still showed signs of its latest polish, applied with a healthy dose of high-quality wax, from underneath the layers of grim. The boots had been methodically cared for, regularly and recently, and probably not too long before the woman found herself in custody of the mysterious guards. Loki found himself curious about the circumstances of her capture.

Stained in the same shade of night as the leathers covering her legs, they blended seamlessly together with the rest of her clothing, from the thin stockings on her feet to the chipped lacquer on her fingernails. Everything was the exact same color, save for the thin, flowing emerald tunic that had long since come untucked, and the gem that hung from her neck.

And everything she wore was undoubtedly expensive, most likely customized for this particular owner, and she had obviously not dressed for being locked inside a damp and grimy dungeon. At best, she was prepared for a pleasant walk through the woods on a mildly chilly evening; Loki tried not to think about it too much.

Out of his peripheral vision, Loki could see the woman stealing glances up at him. She watched him carefully, her sea green eyes shifting cautiously between his face, his hands, and the boot he was unlacing - obviously examining and judging the hideous monster whose help she had no choice but to accept.

Loki began to feel self-conscious. There was no doubt that his own appearance wasn’t any better than her own at the moment; in fact, he was sure it was much, much worse. Dark and unkempt curls hung way past his shoulders like sinister snakes. The skin on his hands was sullen and pallor, shifting dangerously close to bluish gray, and he had no idea if his eyes had begun to drift back into their original shade of ruby-red or not. He promised himself that this would be the only time she ever saw his face up close.

When he could no longer justify stalling with the laces, he cleared his throat, and forced his fingers to tap the underside of her leg; a featherlight touch that could have been easily missed if one hadn’t been expecting it. But the woman again mercifully sensed his meaning, and she positioned the appropriate foot for him to slide the boot on.

Too well, Loki noticed, as he pulled the collar up to settle around her calf; she was exceptionally practiced at having others put footwear on her - at tensing the right muscles at just the right moment, and extending the leg with just enough force to seat the foot comfortably against the insole.

“Sorry about this…” she mumbled as Loki pulled the laces tight and began looping them back and forth around the hooks. “Although, this is probably the most exciting thing you’ve done in a while, huh?”

She was trying to lighten the mood, to distract from the previous awkwardness of such close quarters. Loki’s response was flat and measured, his attention focused on tying instead of talking. “Like I said - it’s nothing.”

A nervous silence followed, one that was far more uncomfortable than the awkwardness. Loki hadn’t meant to be so dismissive, and perhaps he’d been far too frigid for someone who was supposed to be helping her. When he finished the final loop, he cleared his throat again and forced himself to look up again.

“Is that…too tight for you?” he murmured softly.

The woman managed a weak smile as she flexed her ankle. “No. It feels fine.”

Loki noted that her pupils dilated ever so slightly when she met his gaze, and he took that as a good sign that her head injury wasn’t a completely serious one. He wasn’t sure why he was noting that, but nonetheless, he had, and he didn’t have the energy to start questioning it. Instead, he busied himself with picking up the other boot and threading his fingers underneath its laces like he’d done with the first.

“Is this all I have left? Just waiting in this cell to die?”

Her voice had taken on a somber, more sorrowful tone now; apparently open anguish was much easier for her than polite small-talk, and if she hadn’t been so exhausted, Loki would have guessed there would have been more than a tear or two accompanying her questions. He wasn’t sure how to answer her; bringing up the fact that the other prisoners before her had never lasted more than a day or two, or the fact that they were never returned once removed from their cells, probably wasn’t going to help her mood very much.

“At least they’re leaving you alone for the most part,” Loki answered, lightly tapping his fingers underneath her other leg for the placement of its boot. “Be thankful for relative peace.”

The woman sighed heavily as she cooperated. “Relative peace. That’s all I have to look forward to?”

“For some, that’s all they’ve ever wanted,” Loki said absentmindedly. “They’d kill for it, and others willingly die in its pursuit…”

The woman’s eyebrows raised in troubled concern, and Loki tried to ignore it. He couldn’t understand why he was like this, either speaking too familiarly with the woman, or far too flippantly. He was out of practice when it came to any sort of normal conversation, but he didn’t want to be accustomed to it again. In the end, she was just a temporary distraction, and he wasn’t supposed to even exist at all.

“That’s very enlightened, coming from someone who has nightmares every time he closes his eyes…” the woman replied as he finished tying the laces on the other boot. She flexed that ankle, and then nodded her approval while pulling her knees back against her chest.

Loki’s brow furrowed as he met her gaze once more. Her eyes were wide and open, appearing to be without a single shred of judgment, only empathy. Loki couldn’t help but scrutinize her for that. If she only knew how little he deserved kindness, and he was irritated that she’d noticed how bad his nightmares were at all. He’d rather have not known that his weakness was on complete display, and thus, beyond his complete control.

Slowly pushing himself back up to standing, grateful that the task and its requisite close proximity were finally over, Loki’s fingertips trailed along the cold stone as he backed into the shadows again. But lethargy was creeping back in, along with the ever-present unsettled and restless energy, and when Loki returned to sitting, he wasn’t quite as far into the dark as he had been before.

“You know, it may help your nightmares to talk about them,” the woman suggested cautiously. “Perhaps unburdening yourself a little would be a good thing…”

Loki grimaced. Of all the ways she could have worded it, he wished it hadn’t been in that specific way. As it were, various burdens of all sorts were already going to haunt him until the end of time, it seemed, and he preferred not to be reminded of the purposes initially set upon him by Thanos. And even if he wanted to, where should he begin?

He still didn’t quite understand what exactly had happened to him on Knowhere; that entire year was just a chaotic haze of torture and manipulation, through both physical and psychological means, and it was impossible for him to decipher what was real and what was a lie. Even now, he couldn’t even recall the exact circumstances that led to his descent from the Bifrost and into Thanos’ control.

Sometimes, he could clearly remember the decision to let go of Gungnir and fall into the abyss; other times, he was absolutely convinced that his brother had pushed him in a jealous rage, furious that Loki’s short tenure as King had proved far more successful than any longer one Thor could have ever managed.

Either way, the fall had resulted in him becoming Thanos’ prisoner, and then later, as a member of the Black Order - but only after they’d finally conceded that physical torture was never going to work on the body of a Frost Giant, on an Asgardian prince raised as a warrior, or on a powerful sorcerer who already had extremely complicated feelings about being alive in the first place.

But once they realized that he just wanted somewhere to belong, they finally started to see real progress, and the emotional manipulation that followed was probably more effective than they could have ever hoped for. It was so very easy to muddy the rough waters of Loki’s psyche thanks to the Chitauri Scepter and his tremendous heartbreak - a kind word here, a clever lie there, and nothing but speeches about revenge and betrayals, destinies and purposes, salvation and redemption, and scorned Kings and their disgraced sons.

After Loki had been welcomed into the fold, Thanos explained his need for the Tesseract; if Loki acquired it, then he would be granted an army to help take Midgard by as excessive and violent force as he deemed necessary. The God of Mischief already knew that he wanted to be as destructive as possible - to both completely cripple his brother’s fondness for the pathetic humans, and to show Odin that he would settle for being a terrifying leader if he wasn’t permitted to be a good one.

His idea for retrieving the Tesseract had been a clever one; so clever that Loki wasn’t surprised that Thanos or the Black Order hadn’t ever considered it before. But getting to suggest it meant that his new Master was immediately pleased with his usefulness, something that had rarely happened with his previous keeper, and Loki was so grateful for the opportunity to satisfy.

Out of the six Infinity Stones, the Space Stone was unique in that it could generate massive amounts of self-sustaining energy. Its power signature was incredibly easy to track, and it didn’t take long for Loki to determine the Tesseract’s location inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. research facility. Under Fury’s careful and watchful eye, the mortals were studying its capabilities for power production, no doubt to be used in some kind of advanced weapons manufacture instead of something that could actually be used to help mankind.

A stereotypically short-sighted action, one that would soon be their downfall, because none of those weapons would ever be able to stop him from completing his task. Had they realized the stone’s true potential, as Loki had, then perhaps the humans might have fared better during his invasion.

Because he knew something that apparently no one else did, something he now prayed that no one else would ever be able to figure out. Loki was in the unusual position of understanding exactly how the Bifrost had operated, of how it could easily send and receive anything from across the galaxies with frightening and pinpoint accuracy. As a child, he was fascinated by the Bifrost, and more than once Heimdall had to stop him from attempting to disassemble it while searching for the details of its inner workings.

Once informed of her son’s unyielding curiosities, his mother had patiently redirected that energy towards Asgard’s massive libraries. There, he spent many late nights pouring over the texts and histories of the magnificent Bifrost. Once he’d devoured all he could from words, he then spent his time exploring the Realm and looking for means of travel that didn’t involve going to the Bifrost at all.

And thanks to the Mad Titan’s relentless and universal conquest in search of the stones, Loki had access to incalculable amounts of lore, research and history that had been stolen from countless cultures and societies. He spent months buried in books and manuscripts, performing calculations and practicing his seidr, searching desperately for the perfect combination of science and magic to get him what he needed.

All of that, when combined with his extensive knowledge of the Bifrost, allowed Loki to realize that all he needed was a power-source. It must have been fate and its impeccable sense of humor, because the Space Stone could be the engine, and the Tesseract was going to be the gateway - a terrible, incredible bridge between where you were, and where you desperately wanted to be.

For Loki, the Tesseract was going to deliver him to vengeance, respect, authority and glory - in a way that no one would be able to undo once he finally got it. His brother, his father, the entire Nine Realms and beyond, all of them would be powerless to stop him once he figured out how to open the Tesseract’s portal from the other side.

Returning to his research with a new sense of delirium, he gave up on sleep, and food, and his sanity while he searched for the answer. His cheeks became hollow, his eyes were sunken deep into his skull, and his skin grew weak and frail. His nerves were on the verge of total disintegration, his heart ached and his mind was hazy.

His every waking thought was consumed by the Tesseract, and on the rare occasion that he actually passed out, so were his nightmares. He became too lost to even carry on a conversation; all he could manage were grunts and groans and strange approximations of the word “Tesseract”. Every part of himself, anything that had once been Loki, had all but slipped away.

But occasionally, Loki would come back to himself. He would look down at his hands in horror, and he wouldn’t understand where he was or how he got there. While screaming and lashing out, the one called Ebony Maw would preach about balance, about salvation and judgment and how Loki was destined to assist the Great Titan in saving all of life, by ending half of it. He was instructed to be grateful for being allowed to take part in it.

But it didn’t make any sense, and Loki tried so hard to resist, to fight them off, to scramble to the exit and free himself, to warn someone of the terrible thing that was coming. Then, something would happen, something would touch him, and his mind would cloud back over with rage and madness. The dangerous craving for the Tesseract would return tenfold, and then he would be back on task, more eager than ever to please.

After a quick journey through the minds of the men known as Selvig and Barton, Loki finally had everything he needed to complete his sacred mission. The astrophysicist filled in the last remaining gaps about the Tesseract’s functionalities, and the archer revealed information about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s security protocols - how many personnel were on site, what types of weapons they had, where they’d been trained. The details of every file stored on their secret servers, every individual’s personal histories - including that of the beings once considered to join the so-called Avengers, the ones that might be called upon to stop him.

On his first attempt, Loki succeeded in opening the Tesseract’s portal. One moment, he was standing on Thanos’ ship, and the next, he was inside the research facility, shrouded within a haze of smoke and mania. By the third second, he was ferociously attacking, moving and acting without consideration for the stealth or secrecy he’d been trained with as a child. He didn’t even bother dodging the humans’ pathetic projectiles; instead, he focused on murdering the ones he had already deemed useless to his cause, and using the Sceptre to convert the ones that were worthy of it

Nor did he bother mincing words with Fury as the Director stalled for time, not even the ones ripped directly from Ebony Maw’s impassioned and self-important speeches. Loki already knew how unstable the gateway was, and that was by design. During his maniacal studies, he had determined how best to sustain the portal’s opening for safe and easy passage - first, in order to allow entry for the Chitauri forces, and then to facilitate easy travel for Thanos to find the rest of the stones later on.

Loki’s first act of murder had been intentionally not stabilizing the portal as it opened inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility; he had wanted the structure to collapse in a stunning display of destruction. Whether it was to be an ominous warning for what he was about to do, or if it was to serve as a call to action for the only ones who could have prevented him from succeeding, he still wasn’t quite sure.

Either way, he ultimately failed in the only way that had mattered. Loki didn’t achieve vengeance or respect or authority, and there was no victory or glory waiting for him after it was over. The Chitauri Forces were destroyed, the Tesseract was not handed over to Thanos per their agreement, and he’d made a great many vicious and unforgiving enemies that day.

In the end, the only thing waiting for him was a prison cell on Asgard, and all he’d managed to do was to make everything worse.

And presumably, after it was over, Thanos still had access to all of Loki’s research. Losing out on the Tesseract would have infuriated him and the Black Order; a minor inconvenience, sure, but it wouldn’t have hindered their quest in the slightest. Thanos still knew how to use the Tesseract because of him - and more importantly, he understood how to use it in the most destructive way possible. That was completely and entirely Loki’s fault, and he just hoped that Thanos was arrogant enough to keep that information to himself, that no one else would try and fail in the same catastrophic way that Loki had.

Maybe the Tesseract wasn’t meant to be used as a gateway, and in doing so, Loki had ensured that he’d never get what he wanted, and that he’d lose what little he had left. All of that madness and frantic chaos and deliberate carnage had been for absolutely nothing. Maybe the Tesseract was cursed, and maybe, so was he.

Because every single time Loki had come into contact with it, his life had taken a drastic and even more devastating turn for the worse. Attempting to acquire it for Thanos had broken him - mind, body, and soul; fleeing New York with it had landed him in the clutches of the TVA; and apparently, it had been his ultimate destiny to die while trying to keep it from the Mad Titan.

The absolute last thing Loki ever wanted was to be reminded of the Tesseract - more than he wanted silence, or solitude, or to rot. And now this woman wanted to know what his nightmares were about?

Even if he had made it to the prison cell on Asgard, he wasn’t planning to explain himself to anyone. What was he supposed to tell his brother, his mother, his father? That he’d been deceived? Were they going to believe that he’d fallen for someone else’s lies so easily, and without question? That the God of Mischief himself had been tricked, played for a fool and made to be the universe’s largest and most pathetic scapegoat?

No, trying to justify his actions would be a grave disservice to the innocent lives he’d taken, and telling the truth was next to impossible. Even just talking about the betrayal of his family would be too much for him to bear, and that was the only aspect of the entire thing that Loki had never, ever second-guessed.

The woman continued stealing glances in his direction, from just a few feet away now. Still waiting for him to say something, anything, to help keep her mind distracted from her own plights. For the briefest of moments, he actually considered asking if she’d ever heard of the Tesseract, or the Infinity Stones. If she knew who Thanos was, if he’d ever been to this planet before…but as Loki fidgeted with his tie, running his fingers over the frayed and broken seams in the cloth, he knew the answer didn’t matter.

The appropriate time to have asked that question would have been when he’d first arrived, back when the TemPad still had the power to take him some place else if need be. But now the TemPad was dead; he was trapped here, and the longer he could go without hearing about the Tesseract, the better. The longer he could go on in the blissful ignorance of relative peace, and without talking about himself, the easier this would be for everyone.

“How did you wind up here anyway?” He winced as he spoke, hating himself for being more than a little curious about it. “I can’t imagine the guards asking you to come along nicely…”

The woman hesitated for a moment, no doubt replaying the events in her mind and wishing she had done something differently. Her fingers grasped the gem that hung from her neck, and she swallowed hard. “I was…taken from Tessaway, my home, in the middle of the night.”

She paused, her eyes focused on something non-existent in the distance. “I don’t know how they made it past the sentries, but they…managed, somehow. They took me from my bed, while I slept…”

Loki shook his head, trying to appear sympathetic. “You lived in a heavily guarded city. It must be a very dangerous place…”

“Tessaway isn’t a city,” she corrected, furrowing her brow as she looked over at him. “It’s the castle in Fayrest. You know, the capital city…?”

He didn’t know any of that, of course, having never left this cell. The woman looked like she wanted to say more but was afraid to, and he couldn’t help but think about why she had seemed to imply before that no one was going to rescue her. “Wouldn’t someone from the castle have noticed your absence? Surely they have to be looking for you by now…”

“No…” The woman shifted uncomfortably in place, her expression broken and forlorn. “No, I was just a servant. No one important enough to miss…”

Loki had been studying her carefully ever since he’d realized her captors were going to keep her alive for much longer than they had the others. Her movements were elegant and refined, her clothing and jewelry expensive and customized, her speech graceful and enchanting; the kind of charming that could only come from years of practice. He didn’t believe for a second that she was just a servant working in a castle.

But she was also clearly in a tremendous amount of pain, and for whatever reason, was keeping the origins of her birth a secret. Loki wondered what might have happened to him if he had been given that luxury, if he hadn’t been the only one to not know the truth about himself.

“Ah, a servant,” he replied, trying to lighten the mood a little. His unpracticed lips curved into a forced and lazy grin. “That certainly explains why you’re so concerned about my well-being…”

The woman’s eyebrows raised in amusement, and she tilted her head curiously as if taking his comment as a challenge. “What’s the matter? Are you not used to someone worrying about your well-being?”

Loki’s jaw tensed; perhaps he hadn’t been behaving as opaquely as he hoped, and he hated that she could see through him just as well as he could through her. He glanced over, and decided to provoke her right back. “Well, I’m sure they’ll miss you at the castle eventually. Like when there’s pots that need washing, or linens that need changing?”

“Yes, yes, that’s very funny…” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I get it, the thing about servants is that no one knows your name until something you normally do suddenly isn’t being done anymore…”

The woman turned, and she met his gaze with a considering and dissecting one of her own. “Like you - you don’t need anything from me, so why would you ever bother learning my name?”

From just a few feet away, the woman stared deep into his soul, tugging at the strings that still held him upright and all but questioning if they were even necessary. He waited until she looked away to furrow his brow again, because while she was right about him not needing anything from her, she was surely mistaken about the other half of her point.

Because he did actually know her name; it was the first new name he’d learned in such a very long time, and he thought it suited her quite well, all things considered. But he had been trying to avoid acknowledging it, not wanting it to mean something more than what it was.

It was just a name, after all; a series of specific vocalizations designed to get her attention. Saying it out loud didn’t mean that they were friends, or that they were even important to each other. It wouldn’t bind them in any way, or obligate him to care. But if that were true, then why did he have such a problem with saying it?

Loki could feel a nervous energy creeping relentlessly up his spine again. He wished it would stop receding, that it would stay put, because the constant shifting between relaxing and stressing was completely wearing him out. He told himself he just needed to say it out loud and get it over with, before he could start second-guessing and talk himself out of it again - especially now that she had noticed his careful avoidance of her name.

“What kind of servant knows how to fight with a staff anyway?” Loki asked, affecting an innocent and casual tone. “I guess servants named Oliviette do…”

After he answered his own question, Loki looked towards her again, and Oliviette was already smiling back at him; it was a bleary and quiet acknowledgement, but the sentiment was definitely noteworthy. For the first time since they’d met, he could see the dimples in her cheeks, and it was impossible to miss the way her eyes lit up with mirth, or how her lips pursed before she finally responded.

“What? Am I not allowed to have hobbies outside of work?”

Loki struggled to not return her smile. He almost felt a sense of appreciation for her snark and the much-needed diversion from the constant aching in his chest. It was only then that he remembered that this was supposed to be a temporary distraction; he couldn’t afford to spend needless energy that didn’t directly involve finding out why the guards were keeping Oliviette alive for this long.

Keeping a safe distance was paramount, his new glorious purpose. Trust was for children and dogs, wasn’t that how he’d put it to Mobius during their first meeting? As long as he stayed here, keeping himself isolated and protected, then he couldn’t ever be tricked into being someone else’s attack dog ever again. He couldn’t ever hurt anyone again.

Besides, it was highly implausible that her life would end in any way other than tragically. Loki’d already had quite enough of that - and would it be worth getting close to her, even if it didn’t?

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

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loki-cees-all · 5 months

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Chapter 6 - The Eyes Ease Open, and it's Dark Again {TLTGYA - Post!TVA Loki x OFC Longfic}

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Pairing : Post-TVA!Loki x Oliviette (OFC)

Chapter Summary : Oliviette is being taken back to her cell, and she finds out a bit more about the dungeon guards while they bicker with each other. After they’ve gone, Loki and Oliviette do a little bickering of their own.

Chapter W/c : 3.7k words

Chapter Tags / Content : Mentions of blood/injuries, and as always - the angst of it all. And we're finally starting to dive into the mysterious dungeon guards and Oliviette's backstory! Happy reading!

18+ Only - Minors DNI

✦ ─── ⊹ ─── • ° • ─ ☽ ─ • ° • ─── ⊹ ─── ✦

Hues of white and yellow flashed on the inside of Oliviette’s eyelids, barely conscious as she was dragged slowly across the stone. Every muscle tensed in anticipation of further injury, every rough surface scratched the bare skin on her arms, every vessel and artery throbbed as blood rushed to her wounds. Her body hung limp as she was pulled along, and her mind reeled as it tried to cling to consciousness.

“This is a mistake. We should be taking her to the Apotheosis and be done with her - not back to her cell where she’ll just escape again!”

“You heard what Caden said. He wants to present this one to Anathema when she finally arrives…”

That name was like a shock to Oliviette’s senses, instantly waking her up, turning her stomach and sending chills down her spine. She swallowed back a groan as her heavy eyelids heavily struggled to remain open; but even the faltering lantern light of the dungeon too much, and her weary pupils struggled to properly dilate.

Oliviette closed her eyes again, and she focused her efforts on listening instead. The heels of her boots scraped along the stone. The voices above her were callous and inconsiderate, as cold as the draft creeping into the dungeon and pricking maliciously at her skin. The collar of her tunic scrunched under the hands of her captors as they dragged her along; mercifully, they hadn’t noticed her waking up, allowing Oliviette to hear them speaking freely for the very first time.

“Rüzdæts. Anathema’s not coming,” the female voice snapped, her tone heavy with disdain and mockery. “Caden’s been promising that for weeks now, and what do we have to show for it?”

The male voice chuckled, the sound almost a sneer as it left his lips. “Mind your tone, Maxine. You’re already on thin ice with Caden; best not let him hear you defaming our Queen…”

Oliviette’s blood ran cold; they clearly weren’t referring to the beautiful and benevolent Gloustanian Queen - she had died twenty-five years earlier, and had never been officially replaced. This group, whomever they were, had installed their own nefarious one to follow.

“Our Queen…” Maxine scoffed as the pair lazily turned the corner, sending Oliviette’s damaged shoulder colliding with the wall. Tears stung her eyes, and pain radiated across her nerves in a searing crawl. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out, drawing blood and stifled gasps instead.

“We don’t even know if Anathema is real! No one’s ever seen her! She could just be a story - a chǐsh!”

Without warning, Oliviette was dropped to the ground just before the sounds of a scuffle rustled overhead. She imagined the male guard grabbing Maxine and pushing her violently against the wall and Maxine struggling to free herself; apparently the group that stole her was plagued by profound infighting.

“Our Queen, Anathema, has bestowed her blessing upon Caden - and by extension, all of us,” the male guard hissed. “I suggest you temper your hostility towards Caden, before you find yourself at the mercy of the Apotheosis.”

“Remove your grimy hands from me, Nulan, or I promise I’ll remove them for you!” Maxine growled, her words dripping with a violence she was desperate to inflict.

A tense silence descended upon the corridor, and Olivette lay unmoving and blind on the floor, waiting to hear if a fight would break out between the pair. The news of the group’s splintered aspirations was like music to her ears - if only Oliviette wasn’t weakened even more than ever now, she might have been able to do something useful with it.

But as it was, she didn’t even know if she had the energy to crawl away if the guards did begin to fight, let alone try to find her way out of the dungeon a second time.

“Unlock the cell,” Nulan finally ordered, releasing Maxine with another push into the wall. “And if you cannot temper it, then channel that hostility into searching her for any more weapons…instead of into this petty - ”

“Oh, do not say fitmǐ!” the woman hissed as the jangling of keys echoed against the stone. Oliviette simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief and tensed in fear - reluctant to return to the cell again, but grateful she wasn’t being taken someplace even worse.

“ - insecure, childish and useless jealousy…simply because you cannot compare to our Queen…” Nulan continued, almost gleefully.

“This is not fitmǐ! I am not - ” Maxine groaned as she unlocked the cell and then crouched down to search Oliviette, rolling her back and forth without a single morsel of tenderness or respect to her injuries, pulling on each layer and rifling through her pockets.

“Did you search her body after she was knocked unconscious?”

Oliviette struggled to remain quiet during every push and pull of her weakened form. She wondered if Loki was still in their cell - hiding in the dark, watching this scene unfold, letting it happen to her. How imprudent she was to think she could ever trust him.

“You know I couldn’t - ” she answered through gritted teeth, rolling Oliviette on to her back and tearing the belt from her waist.

Loki could probably see it better from his vantage point in the shadows, and if he wasn’t willing to stop it, then ideally he’d at least describe it to her later.

“And why is that?”

Oliviette didn’t know much about Loki, but she did know that he more than likely wouldn’t even be that considerate.

“Because she - ” Maxine yanked the leather boots from Oliviette’s feet, her cold fingers indelicately clawing at her socks and ankles.

Oliviette stifled a whimper, and moments later, two thuds echoed off in the distance, presumably from Maxine tossing her boots away - and most likely not into the cell. “ - because she knocked me out first!”

“Oh, that’s right,” Nulan chuckled cruelly while a hand grabbed the back of Oliviette’s collar again. “Because you let your guard down while you were…what were you doing anyway? Lurking outside Caden’s chambers again, perhaps?”

Maxine growled as she began to drag Oliviette behind her again, even less considerately than before, and all but tossed her into the middle of the cell. Oliviette landed on her side, choking back coughs and groans as she tried not to squirm on the floor. The familiar stench of musk and rusted metal invaded her senses, leading to new tears rolling down her cheeks.

“This is her last chance, Nulan. If she breaks out of here again…” Maxine hissed as she stormed out of the cell.

The barred door slammed shut behind her with a violent crash. “Then I’ll kill her before Anathema even sets foot in this dungeon…”

Nulan didn’t skip a beat, honing in on her perceived weakness like a wolf stalking its prey. “And what exactly are you going to do from on your knees in Caden’s chambers, hmm?”

“I can do two things at once, unlike the rest of you…” Maxine snapped as she rammed the bolt back into its lock, the sound ringing out like an omen of doom.

Oliviette’s eyelids slowly fluttered open, and she struggled to focus on the blurred forms of the guards as they turned to leave. The walls started to close in, and sheer panic lurched in her chest. She was trapped again.

“And you should probably make at least one of those things - ”

“Oh, would you just shut up?!”

“Wait - please…” Oliviette hadn’t meant to say it; it was just an uncontrollable machination of her own desperation. She almost didn’t even recognize the sound of her voice, so small and so frightened, and so unsure of what was to become of her.

The atmosphere of the dungeon instantly changed, shifting from ebullient chaos to refined malevolence. Oliviette’s heart stopped in her chest as the pair simultaneously stopped bickering and went absolutely silent - the kind of quiet that always gave way to something catastrophic.

There wasn’t much she could make out, and her mind splashed in her skull as she tried to push herself upright. But Maxine and Nulan appeared to be standing at attention, one wearing a mask of turquoise and the other wearing one of ruby, both of them turning their gaze upon Oliviette and eyeing her viscously from the other side of the steel bars.

“Please…just let me go. I promise I won’t make trouble…” Oliviette begged through shaky exhales. She knew it wouldn’t matter, but what other option did she have?

The guards merely tilted their heads in unison, as if to make a silent mockery of her plea. They moved in sync, matching in every single way except for the masks that concealed their faces, their feet facing forward arms hanging loosely by their sides. Oliviette had no idea which was which, and she began to question the severity of their earlier bickering; apparently petty squabbles no longer mattered when there was a prisoner to terrify.

A chill slithered down Oliviette’s spine, turning down and coating each and every possible nerve ending in damnation. And without speaking, the guards stepped backwards down the hall together, maintaining their sinister eye contact until they turned the corner and finally disappeared from view.

Oliviette let out a shuddering whimper after they were gone, and her head hung so low. It was exhausting, trying to exist like this, and Oliviette didn’t know if she should even continue trying. Every inch of her burned and ached, and her body felt so heavy with despair as she tried to crawl away from the center of the cell. She didn’t even have the energy to hold back the tears that fell as her back finally found the wall again.

The wall of this specific dungeon cell - the one Tereth kept bringing her back to.

Oliviette brought her knees closer, once again cradling her damaged arm between her thighs and her chest, curling into herself in an attempt to keep warm. Most of her protective clothing was now either missing or severely damaged - she couldn’t tell if her boots had landed in the cell or not after being tossed carelessly by Maxine.

Her wool socks, dampened by the dungeon floor, just made the cold air that much worse, but she didn’t have the strength to take them off. Her cloak had been left behind where they’d found her upstairs, and no doubt one of the other guards had already stolen it for themselves.

She never found her staff, and now she didn’t even have her dagger. All she’d accomplished in the past few hours was to make everything worse for herself. If this were a story she was reading, she’d truly be impressed by the severity of these failures.

“So you are alive.”

Loki’s voice was low and flat, but it startled her all the same. The anxiety that flooded her system soon gave way to anger; he’d been there that entire time after all - and he’d done nothing to help her.

"No thanks to you," Oliviette snapped without lifting her head. She knew there was nothing to see, that he preferred to deliver his sarcasm from the shadows.

He didn’t respond, and she found that even more infuriating. But the walls of stone and steel were doing an excellent job of numbing her emotions, standing tall and strong and unyielding against the will of someone far too weak to do anything about it.

None of this was fair or justified. She’d wanted to be on her own for the first time, yes, but not like this.

“Did you even notice the door?” Oliviette felt like a child asking that question, so small and so scared, but she desperately didn’t want to descend back into silence.

“What about it?”

Oliviette sighed and lifted her head, searching for Loki in the dark. “I left it unlocked for you. So you could leave, if you wanted to…but you didn’t even look at the door, did you?”

Loki didn’t answer her, because of course he didn’t; dread and hopelessness were the only things Oliviette had to keep her company anymore. It probably never even occurred to him that escape could be an option - and if the guards ever ordered him to get out, even then he still probably wouldn’t leave.

Olivette turned away from him and pulled the charm on her necklace between her fingers, tracing over the sapphire crystal wrapped in gold wire and becoming lost in her thoughts and regrets. Only Tereth knew why she kept getting pulled back into this dungeon cell, and perhaps she wouldn’t be allowed to escape until she figured out the reason.

But was she being punished for simply leaving the castle? Was she being punished for her father’s lack of faith? What exactly was she expected to learn from all of this?

Oliviette’s people had never considered the God of Knowing to be a malicious god. None of their gods were - a people of peace have no need for a deity who thrived on vengeance and anger. No, Tereth was born alongside the Aethalium, at the beginning of time and in a fantastical wave of ocean-blue light and illuminating power. Those two were among the first things to ever exist, and they would be the last ones to ever die.

Tereth provided guidance, not malfeasance. Tereth knew what you needed before you did, and the Aethalium had the wisdom to either bring it to you, or you to it. Together, they knew everything, while Oliviette knew nothing, and that was the point of the faith - the trusting in the not-knowing was what would give you everything.

But Oliviette was terrified that she was going to die here without ever knowing why she had been kidnapped, or why Tereth wouldn’t let her escape. She was going to die locked up in this dungeon, and no one back home was ever going to know what happened to her.

Not a single soul was going to know, other than Loki - but he seemed content to stay like this. How could that be? Had he forgotten what it was like to not be here?

“Hey…” Oliviette’s voice cracked painfully as she spoke. And she knew she wasn’t going to get any information out of him, but she had nothing better to do than try.

A lingering silence hung heavy in the cell before Loki finally gave a curt response. "What?"

"How long have you been here anyway?" Oliviette asked, looking in the direction of his voice from the dark. She couldn’t see him at all, and wondered if he was even bothering to look back at her.

"I'm not sure. Why?"

Oliviette sighed again, somehow surprised that he gave yet another non-answer. "Just wondering how much time I have to think about all my mistakes before the end…”

Loki said nothing again, his silence hurting more than the blows delivered by the guards earlier. Oliviette’s fingers drifted absentmindedly through her red hair, and she winced as they made contact with the concoction of ripped skin and sticky blood.

Oliviette pulled her fingers away to examine them, tilting her hand and trying to catch the crimson in the dim light of the dungeon. She wondered if she’d be able to even see it if she had a mirror, or if all of the blood was now permanently synonymous with the color of her hair.

“How far did you manage to get?”

His voice startled her again, and she hated it. But that was twice now he’d started a conversation first; Oliviette didn’t know why he was so interested all of a sudden, and she didn’t want to ruin it or push him away again, as silly as that was.

“Not far. I was looking for my staff…” she answered quietly, shivering as she thought about losing her cloak. “I figured I’d need it to fight, but they caught me before I could find it…”

What a stupid, foolish girl she was. And so much for all that "training" Deacon had given her while she was growing up; apparently it was all useless in a real fight. Another tear rolled down her cheek as she recalled having to beg for that training as a child, and how hard her father resisted. How angry he was upon discovering that Deacon was giving them to her in secret…

“I should have just ran instead…” Oliviette continued, whether Loki was still listening or not; talking was much more preferable to the silence. “And the dungeon is like a maze, it just keeps going and going…”

To her surprise, Loki actually responded to that. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never actually left this cell.”

Oliviette’s brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked in his direction again. “Then how did you get in here?”

She could hear shifting in the shadows, as if he was uncomfortable with the question even though he’d been the one to bring it up. A part of her inexplicably hoped that the shifting was actually him leaving the shadows to move closer to her, and not just because she felt ridiculous talking to a ghost.

But when he didn’t answer, or even emerge from the shadows, Oliviette’s anger began to boil over. “So you won’t say how you got in here, how long you’ve been here, why you’re hiding here. Is there anything you will tell me?” she scoffed.

“I’ll tell you that it’s none of your business.”

“Oh, I think it is, actually. Because if we worked together, we both could get out of here,” Oliviette snapped through angry tears. “But you’d rather be here - and therefore I’m stuck too.”

“I didn’t bring you down here,” Loki answered simply, as if that absolved him of anything.

Oliviette couldn’t believe what she was hearing, that she ever held hope in this man assisting in an escape. “Maybe not, but you’ve trapped me here all the same with your wallowing, and your - ”

“You’re a stranger, and I don’t owe you anything!” Loki interrupted, his own anger becoming more obvious even in the shadows.

“And what could you have possibly done to justify all this? What was it - did you murder a bunch of children? Burn down a village?” Oliviette’s veins swelled with blood as she became angrier, and her head started to throb even more. “Did you get greedy and rob a temple, and that’s why I have to die in a dungeon?”

Loki sighed - a deep, heavy sigh that originated in his bones and seized the air around her. Oliviette almost stopped, but he wasn’t giving her any valid justification as to why it had to be like this, and she was desperate to feel anything other than her own impending doom.

“No, it couldn’t have been so bad, or we would have heard of you before. So what was it? What did you do?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you!”

“But you would if you were considerate!”

Oliviette stared unflinching in his direction, feeling a little bit insane for arguing with a shadow. A new fear lodged itself in her throat, that maybe she was just imagining him. Maybe he was just a hallucination - a reaper, meant to escort her to the afterworld. Maybe he was working with the guards, and that this was just the first step of torturous devices awaiting her.

Loki was quiet again, but it was different this time, like a thousand versions of the truth were spilling out of him all at once and he didn’t know which version to choose. But how could any one man be that complicated? And why did it have to be like this?

Oliviette swallowed hard and shook her head when he didn’t answer. Again, her mind sloshed in her skull, and it was pure agony even trying to exist anymore. All she wanted was to sleep, or to wake up and realize this was just a horrible nightmare. But she knew that was never going to happen.

She curled into herself again, huddled against the wall and too cold to care about anything else. Her eyes closed, and she didn’t even have the energy to hope that there was a greater purpose to this - because Loki wasn’t going to answer her, she was never going to get out of here, and this was going to be the method of her demise.

“This is me being considerate…” Loki’s voice wasn’t cruel or mocking, it was simply a matter of fact. Oliviette’s brow furrowed, and she cautiously opened her eyes to peer into the darkness.

“Me hiding away down here, rotting in despair - is me being considerate,” he continued, his self-loathing oozing out of every word - but she could tell that he believed everything he was saying.“You’re just…the latest of my many collateral damages.”

“Is that why you just sat there while the guards dragged me back here?” Oliviette asked quietly, unable to stop herself. She felt dizzy and nauseous and completely sick to her stomach. “Was that you being considerate, or was it because I’m just collateral damage to you?”

“Neither. I was listening to them. They were talking while you were unconscious…”

Oliviette’s eyes widened, amazed that he had actually put in the effort to pay attention. “Wait - you were listening to them?”

“The only other time I’ve heard them say anything was when you were dragged in here for the first time,” Loki answered, almost reluctantly, and her heart started pumping just a little bit faster. “But if I had revealed myself, they would have stopped talking, the way they did earlier when they realized you’d awoken…”

Her breath shuddered, and her limbs tingled with nervous energy. “Just the…mere fact that the guards are even talking now is significant to you?”

“That, and…” Loki cleared his throat before continuing. “The fact that they’re feeding you. So I’ll ask again…”

His tone shifted, from full on reluctance to conservative curiosity, like he couldn’t believe he was asking the question again but he also couldn’t ignore it any longer. Oliviette could feel his eyes boring into her for the first time, and she already knew what he was going to ask next.

“Who are you? And who is this Anathema?”

✦ ─── ⊹ ─── • ° • ─ ☽ ─ • ° • ─── ⊹ ─── ✦

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