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Silver hum runs dark and strong
Dec. 31st, 2012 10:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beworthy[ He knows peace in the evenings best, in the chambers that belonged once to his father, the warm golden chambers which are Loki's now, the chambers reserved for the king of Asgard. There where it is he and Loki alone, where the weight of shame does not bear down so heavily upon his shoulders as it does when he is in the eyes of the court, Loki's obedient thrall before them. Where he need answer to no one but his king. And still there is no one else, here or at the foot of the throne or in the feast hall, on Asgard or Midgard or any realm, there is no one else but Loki, no one who he might offer his loyalty to: his mortal friends imprisoned, their lives bought by Thor's obedience, Sif and the Warriors Three long since fled, Frigga missing and Odin lost to the fog of interminable sleep.
Thor has long since stopped wearing chains. Loneliness is a bond far more powerful than any chain could be; it is the leash which holds him to his brother's hand. ]
You are pale. [ he tells Loki, worried, once the door has been shut and bolted behind them, the guards gone to their posts. ] You look unwell. [ Embers blaze in the hearth, the chambers glowing softly golden, yet the light makes that much starker the fine arch of Loki's cheekbones and the gaunt hollows beneath, the faint bruising of shadow around his eyes, the thinness of his mouth. He has not eaten, Thor knows, in many days: has merely toyed with a goblet of wine at the feasts, or picked at pieces of fruit, and Thor does not know what troubles him--is it the business of being king? Is it that he has taken to it, as Thor had once in spite of himself hoped he would: that it is some care of the kingdom, of the welfare of the Aesir and the rest beneath his dominion, that puts such shadows into his face?
He had not thought once that he should think willingly, and loyally and obediently, of his brother as king; that he should ever think of him so. Yet now the duties of a thrall come with a strange ease, a natural order to them, so that slowly the tension melts from his own shoulders as Thor quietly strips the outer garments of Loki's raiment from him until he is clad only in tunic and breeches, taking care with helm and cloak and armor, the motions as fluid and familiar as Mjolnir in his hand upon a battlefield. ]
Will you not eat now, Loki-king?
[ His voice is soft and rough with concern. Thor is loose, pliant, the plaits in his hair slipping down over his cheeks as he bows his head, the golden beads tinkling softly at the ends of them. A wide gold band presses its smooth and warm weight around his throat, and the stud of gems in his nipples glimmer in the light; at most times he is given only a pair of soft, fine breeches to wear, and soft boots laced to the calves, and a wide belt of beaten gold disks to rest low around his hips. Gold at his wrists, too, smooth cuffs like shackles, and around his ankles beneath the boots. Bedecked like an idol, or a prize given in tribute, his own beauty on display for his brother's pleasure. ]
Thor has long since stopped wearing chains. Loneliness is a bond far more powerful than any chain could be; it is the leash which holds him to his brother's hand. ]
You are pale. [ he tells Loki, worried, once the door has been shut and bolted behind them, the guards gone to their posts. ] You look unwell. [ Embers blaze in the hearth, the chambers glowing softly golden, yet the light makes that much starker the fine arch of Loki's cheekbones and the gaunt hollows beneath, the faint bruising of shadow around his eyes, the thinness of his mouth. He has not eaten, Thor knows, in many days: has merely toyed with a goblet of wine at the feasts, or picked at pieces of fruit, and Thor does not know what troubles him--is it the business of being king? Is it that he has taken to it, as Thor had once in spite of himself hoped he would: that it is some care of the kingdom, of the welfare of the Aesir and the rest beneath his dominion, that puts such shadows into his face?
He had not thought once that he should think willingly, and loyally and obediently, of his brother as king; that he should ever think of him so. Yet now the duties of a thrall come with a strange ease, a natural order to them, so that slowly the tension melts from his own shoulders as Thor quietly strips the outer garments of Loki's raiment from him until he is clad only in tunic and breeches, taking care with helm and cloak and armor, the motions as fluid and familiar as Mjolnir in his hand upon a battlefield. ]
Will you not eat now, Loki-king?
[ His voice is soft and rough with concern. Thor is loose, pliant, the plaits in his hair slipping down over his cheeks as he bows his head, the golden beads tinkling softly at the ends of them. A wide gold band presses its smooth and warm weight around his throat, and the stud of gems in his nipples glimmer in the light; at most times he is given only a pair of soft, fine breeches to wear, and soft boots laced to the calves, and a wide belt of beaten gold disks to rest low around his hips. Gold at his wrists, too, smooth cuffs like shackles, and around his ankles beneath the boots. Bedecked like an idol, or a prize given in tribute, his own beauty on display for his brother's pleasure. ]
