"Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out."

- Marcus Zusack, The Book Thief

Loki retrieved another scroll from the sizable stack that occupied most of the space on the heavy mahogany desk. He had read them all before, of course, but even so he mildly appreciated the small escape that the familiar words offered him from his imprisonment. Muttering a quick spell under his breath, he passed his hand over the candelabra on the bedside table. The small flames stretched and reached up towards his fingers like hungry fish, filling a greater expanse of the room with their light. Dusk was falling on Asgard and the last few rays of the setting sun played through the colored tints of the bewitched stained-glass window on the western wall of the room. Though most of his powers had been taken from him by the grand meisters upon his return, Loki still retained enough of his magical ability to perform small spells. Enough to keep him from feeling completely useless. Though his collective crimes upon Midgard had been worthy of severe punishment, even the meisters of Odin's court had not decided to drain him of his magic completely. Loki shuddered at the thought. Only three beings to his knowledge had ever received such retribution in the written history of Asgard. The first, Loki once read, had been a well known sorcerer at the time, but had been driven to the more sinister side of the magical spectrum by his desire to bring back to life the mortal woman he had loved after she had died of fever. Unfortunately, the nature of the dark spells he forced upon her corrupted them both. She was only ever but a husk of the woman he had once loved and the sorcerer was driven mad by a combination of grief and the evil spells he had used to rip her soul from the underworld. In his misery and rage, he had wreaked havoc upon Asgard and Midgard until the grand meisters finally brought him down. After they stripped him completely of his magic, a terrible sickness fell upon him in prison. A sickness of the soul. As if he had lost the will to live, the sorcerer neither spoke, slept, ate nor drank until he shriveled up to mere skin and bones. Desolate and broken, he died in his cell before ever appearing for his trial. The second offender, a sorceress of considerable magical power, had also been undone by love. In her time, she had loved a Jotun. Blinded by the perceived affections of her lover, she could not see that his only goal was to learn her magical secrets which he then used to betray her and lay siege to Asgard. After a long and bloody war, she too had been hunted down and stripped of her magic. She hung herself in her cell naught two days after losing her powers. Of the third case little was known. The crimes of the offender were not explicitly listed, but they too had been enough to merit the forced loss of his magic. According to the historical records, he never even survived the experience and had died under the palms of the grand meisters. Since then, it had been agreed by the meisters and the lawkeepers that no sorcerer would ever again be completely robbed of their magic, regardless of their crimes. For evidence had shown that it was indeed a fate worse than death.

Even as Loki recalled the records, his skin prickled uncomfortably at the memory of his own magic being taken from him when he had returned home a fortnight ago. Still cuffed and gagged by the horrible contraption that the Stark human had forced upon him, he had been immediately lead before the four grand meisters. He could still feel their ancient hands upon his arms and chest as they chanted the spells that had sapped his magic from him and transfered it to a couple of silver gauntlets lying on a nearby pedestal. In olden days, his magic would have been directly absorbed by the meisters themselves, but now it was policy to store it in inanimate objects instead. This practice ensured that the magic would not corrupt the meisters. In turn, it would also make it easier for his magic to be returned to him one day if ever the higher powers so decided. Loki remembered feeling heavy at first, like a boulder was being laid to rest directly on his heart. Then he remembered the horrible feeling of emptiness, as if his very insides had been scooped out of his body. For the first time in a very long while, he had felt scared. Frightened of not being able to defend himself. Frightened of not being able to reach for something that he had thought would always be there. Frightened of losing part of who he was. Of course the meisters had safely halted the process before his powers were gone completely, Loki had fallen to his knees from the mental exhaustion and perturbation of the experience. Despite himself, he felt a pang of misplaced emotion in his heart as he remembered his adopted brother grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet, a look of genuine concern etched on his face. "Unbind him," he had demanded of the guards of the temple as soon as they had exited its doors, "he no longer needs to be restrained. Unbind him!" Once the confounded chains and gag had been removed, Thor had accompanied him to his current lodgings in the roomier cells of the palace prison, never once leaving his side even as the guards closed in formation around them. Though Loki had yet to speak a single word to his brother since their return, the corner of Loki's mouth twitched in a half smile at how predictably righteous Thor was. Still willing to care about his evil adopted sibling. Still unabashedly compassionate for someone who had betrayed him, attacked him, and threatened the lives and realms of those he cared about. Loki's smile disappeared as quickly as it had formed and he sniffed in distain. Thor's disgustingly unbridled concern for everyone and everything dear to him was definitely his weakness, not his strength. His bleeding heart coupled with his witless tendency to rush into situations while considering only his emotions and never any kind of logic would surely be his undoing.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Loki had just begun to unroll the scroll in his hands when he heard a knock at the door. It was probably dinner, he supposed, given the time of day. However, the person who entered the cell was not at all whom he had expected. Although Loki had been home for over a month, he had seen no one but the palace guards since his imprisonment. Loki knew that Thor had probably tried to visit him, but visitors were not allowed by prison rules, even despite his princely title. Loki was in part glad of this fact. His current feelings towards his brother were mixed at best. He now turned his attention to the newcomer in the doorway; his adopted mother, Queen Frigga. Her golden robes and diamond crown shimmered in the dying light as she stepped forward, her hands crossed calmly over the front of her dress. "Hello, Loki." she said simply. For once in his life, Loki found he could not say anything. His silver tongue had melted to his teeth. "I know my visit is- belated," she started shakily, "but believe me this, my son" she strode forward to where he stood rooted to his spot by the bed. She reached out towards him with her right hand, hesitantly. Then, something in her face changed, softened, and all at once she wrapped her arms around his thin frame. "I have missed you." she said quietly. As if they had a mind of their own, Loki's arms seemed to rise up and rest themselves on her back, returning her embrace in spite of himself. Of all the Aesir in Asgard that he had disappointed, Frigga was the only one for whom Loki could ever admit to himself that he truly felt remorse. In all of his living memory, Loki could never recall a time when his adopted mother had not shown anything but sincere concern for his well being. Like most mothers, Loki knew she had only ever wanted the best for him, wanted him to be happy. When Odin had showered Thor with praise for his feats on the training grounds, Frigga (although she too had praised his brother often) had always commended Loki on his magic and encouraged him to pursue the ancient art with all his passion. With her nearby, Loki had always felt a little less overshadowed by his taller, stronger, handsomer adopted brother. Although she shared equal blame for concealing his true heritage from him, Loki conceded that he could almost forgive her. Unlike her husband, Loki had never doubted that Frigga had always seen him as everything he could be and not simply who he was. He slowly pulled her hands away from his shoulders and turned back towards the window. "Why?" he asked softly. "Why would you miss me? Why would anyone miss me? I am nothing. I have no one." he said acidly. He heard Frigga take a tentative step forward and reach up to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Loki," she said softly, grasping his shoulder and turning his body back toward herself. "You have never been alone. You have always had us. We are your family. We always have been." Loki tried to meet her eyes, to find the sincerity in her words, but his eyes inevitably fell to the floor. Though he knew she meant well, her words stung him more than she realized. What kind of monster had he become to hurt the only people who had ever cared about him? "How can you expect me to believe that you still feel any kind of compassion for me after all I have done?" he asked, still not able to meet her gaze. Frigga cupped her hand under his chin and drew his face upward towards her own. "We all want to be forgiven, Loki. The fault for your actions also rests on your father and myself, for it was we who failed you. In our effort to protect you from the truth, we doomed you to undeserved anguish. We did not want you to feel different because we did not know how to make you realize that our feelings for you have always been the same."

"I do not understand you, mother. Why, even though I have done you so much wrong? Even though I have caused so much hurt and death? How can you stand before me and speak as if I am deserving of forgiveness?" he begged, searching her face for answers. "You should hate me."

"Oh, my son," Frigga said calmly, her hand still upon his face "that was exactly my point." Suddenly, Loki felt something in his chest, a warm pressure. He looked down, confusion flooding his eyes while his mind processed the dark growing splotch of blood around the blade of the dagger that his adopted mother had just driven straight through his black silk tunic and into his heart. The first wave of pain hit him and he gasped for air, falling to his knees. Frigga's eyes turned to ice as she tugged the dagger from his chest. "We've always hated you." she said, sheathing the dagger and vanishing as quickly as she had come, leaving him to bleed.

Thank you so much for all the reviews so far! I really appreciate it. Yes, I plan to continue this story and update as soon as I can!