This story is dedicated to D., the biggest Loki fan I know. 1/17/13

Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers or any of the Marvel characters. This is fan-made work and not for profit.

Day 1.

Thor took me back in chains to Asgard, muzzled so I could not call upon my magic, and they have imprisoned me in the deepest cell in the palace.

The cell is not uncomfortable, but there is nothing here. The floor and walls are bare grey stone; the sheets and blankets utilitarian and there is no color anywhere. None of my books or other possessions are allowed me. They remove the muzzle only once a day to feed me.

I do not know how long I can stand it. The boredom… it crawls up my throat until I think I will go mad.

Day 2.

I am penitent. I keep my eyes downcast. Oh, how humble and remorseful I am.

I know they are watching me.

Day 3.

Without my magic, I am nothing. I am powerless. I cannot stand being so feeble.

I bang my head against the stone wall until I bleed. Then, dizzy, I allow myself to slump to the floor.

Day 4.

I wake on my bed. I have been bandaged, and my hands stroke oddly familiar textures on my bedding. I look down. They have given me back the embroidered feather quilt from my chambers. I touch its rich patterns and I breathe more deeply before I sleep once again.

Day 5.

At mealtime, I refuse to eat. I turn my head away and face the wall. I say nothing.

Eventually the guards put the muzzle back on and leave me alone in the dark.

Day 6.

I am lightheaded with hunger, but I still will not eat. Another day passes and I curl up in my bed.

Day 7.

Thor comes to visit. I knew he could not long stay away.

"Brother," he says. "I am sorry."

I gaze at him with my eyes wide. Penitent. I am penitent.

"You must eat, brother."

I shake my head slowly and he sighs.

"They told me I could not remove the muzzle, but I will stay with you." He looks at me, his eyes hopeful. My expression is neutral. "See, I brought you one of your favorite books." I peer at the title, and I smile inside. Poetry. How… intriguing. Thor always used to make fun of my interest in poetry and literature. "I cannot leave it with you, but I can read to you."

I gaze at him and nod slowly. He opens the book and begins to read. I close my eyes and let the words wash over me.

I fall asleep leaning against his shoulder.

Day 8.

Thor removes the muzzle. "Brother, will you tell me why you will not take sustenance?"

I work my jaw, and then meet his eyes carefully. "I will go mad in this cage, without my books, bound like a dog." My voice is hoarse from disuse. "It is no life, so why should I cling to it?"

He stares at me, and heaves a long, deep sigh. "I cannot bring you books or weapons," he says. "It has been forbidden."

"Is there anything you can bring me?"

His head droops a little. "Perhaps something that it is clear you can do no harm with."

I consider him for a moment. "What about games?"

He regards me, then after a long while he smiles. "You always loved games." He tilts his head. "I will ask."

Day 9.

Thor is pleased when he returns. "You are to be allowed a game of your choice, brother! What would you like me to bring you from your rooms? Your chess set? Or one of your strategy games?"

I cross my arms. "I want a game I learned to play in the human world."

He looks puzzled. "What game is that? Only tell me, brother, and I will travel to Midgard to fetch it for you."

"I need a computer. And an internet connection."

Thor's expression is one of complete bafflement. "I do not know what those are, but I have promised on my honor to bring you your game, so I will ask if that is allowed," he declares.

Day 10.

"They say you must ask for something else, brother."

I turn my head away from him. "There is nothing else I want." I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. I am very weak. "Do not trouble yourself any more, brother," I whisper.

Day 11.

Thor comes bounding into my cell, a huge grin on his face. "Brother!" he exclaims joyfully. "I have pleaded your case with the Allfather, and your wish is to be granted! I go tomorrow to Midgard to bring you your game equipment."

He has forgotten to remove the muzzle, but I turn to him and clasp his hand. I let gratitude shine in my eyes.

That night I eat and he regales me with stories of the old days. As we sit quietly after the meal, my stomach protesting the unaccustomed use, he tells me, "As I said before, I swear on my honor as a prince of Asgard, brother, that I will fetch you exactly what you ask for, or die trying."

As he walks away, I smile under the muzzle.

The fool.