Title: Slow Poison

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Angst

Summary: Years before the events of Thor and Avengers, Loki is working as a spymaster for his father the King. Or at least, that's what he thinks he's doing.

Loki wakes to a scene that is familiar and strange at once. Familiar because he'd woken more times than he could count to this same ceiling, the shape of the light through the archways, the faint whisper of the blowing curtains. Strange, because for years past counting he'd taken great pains to ensure that he was never forced to wake here again.

Eir's healing chambers, Asgard's infirmary. It's been years since Loki set foot in here, since he learned to heal himself well enough not to require her services any longer. He'd even avoided visiting Thor or any of his friends when their antics landed them here, ever wary of the healer's cool and discerning gaze upon him. He didn't know how much she could tell from just a glance, but he'd done his best to avoid the risk entirely.

For the moment, however, he is too relieved by this waking to worry overmuch about Eir. He feels good; better than he had expected, better than he's felt in a month. Longer. His body does not pain him, and his lungs and chest and stomach feel empty and clean. His blood is free of the cacophony of madness that had steadily increased over the past few days, and he feels something that might be the beginnings of hunger for the first time in weeks.

The price of healing, as Loki well knows, is weakness; when he tries to shift his newly-mended muscles and tissue twinge in warning, so he gives up the effort and lies still again. He reaches for his magic and is overjoyed to feel it stir in response, to be able to draw on it again with no warning roar or acid burn when he overreaches his powers.

He's just beginning to turn his attention to the world outside him when he hears an echoing knock. He shuts his eyes hastily, old habits making him feign sleep when others may be around to see it.

Through slitted eyelids he sees Eir rise from her seat and cross the room towards the door. She shoots him a cool glance that warns him that the old healer may not be fooled by his dissimulation; she knew him well as a child, after all, better than any others save his mother and father. Perhaps better than they.

The door opens, and Loki freezes as he catches glimpses of the figure standing behind it; Odin's too-familiar gruff voice echoes in the chamber. Eir replies in a soft murmur, and then the two of them step outside the healing chambers entirely and pull the door closed behind them.

Loki can't suppress a small, quiet snort even as he's left alone in the peaceful room. Perhaps Eir does not know all he's capable of, but Odin at least should know better than to think something as simple as a closed door and a few dozen feet of space will keep Loki from hearing a conversation he wishes to overhear. Now that his magic is back at full strength it is the work of a moment to weave the charm.

He breathes into his hand and a green glow hovers for a moment, then coalesces into a small spark. It is no larger than a beetle, glowing like a firefly, and it skitters across the room and burrows under the door. Loki lies back and shuts his eyes as his little spy orients itself, and then he can see and hear - albeit a little bit blurry - what is going on in the corridor beyond.

"He is out of danger, then?" Odin is saying.

"Without question," Eir replies. "There was a great deal of damage when you brought him to me - strange to find such a disarray with no external mark or wound. His stomach was in shreds, but I have pieced it back together and mended it. There was also incursions to his lungs, extensive damage to his liver, and somewhat less so to his other organs, but that too has been mended. Thankfully, whatever force wreaked havoc inside him did not penetrate his heart.

"I have cleaned his lungs of fluid and his blood of infections, and induced him to sleep quietly until the last vestiges of shock wear off. As I have told you many times before, Allfather, he is hardier than you think; he will recover fully."

"That is good to hear," Odin says quietly. He sounds oddly subdued, and it discomforts Loki to hear such a tone in his father's voice. For all the long time Loki had spent under the false assumption that Odin knew all of his dealings, it had never occurred to him that the injuries he might bear in pursuit of his duties would distress his father.

But Eir is still talking. "It was not his current condition that I wished to speak with you about, however. I would be remiss if I did not ask you, Allfather, about his other wounds."

There's a pause. Then, "Other wounds?" Odin asks.

Loki cringes hard even from the other room, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth twisting in a silent scream of denial. This was why, this was exactly why he'd avoided Eir and her soothing chambers, her healing hands, her too-piercing gray eyes for so long. He'd known - he'd known that once he was under her eye, there would be no way for him to hide.

Many ásynja are known to have sight beyond that of their male counterparts; indeed, men like Odin or Loki who dabble in the occult are considered rather strange. Frigga herself is said to have sight that can discern the fates of men, although she tends to be rather close-mouthed about the things she sees. But for Eir, the focus of her sight is somewhat different.

Every healer must have a keen eye and a deductive mind, in order to gather symptoms and perceive the course of an illness and the effect of the treatment. But in Eir's case it goes further; whether it is magic or just the millennia of experience in treating wounds and illnesses of all kind, she has an uncanny ability to perceive past injuries nearly as clearly as present ones. It is this particular vision, this ability to draw a case history even from a patient she has never treated before, that makes her so spectacular at her art; and right now it is a damn bloody nuisance.

"Even before this latest injury, the walls of his stomach were thickened many times over by scar tissue," Eir explains. "Judging by the toxic residue lingering among some of the nerves and vessels, I would judge it to be a result of poison. Ingested repeatedly over a long period of time, is my best guess.

"There are also old scars in several places on his body that I believe came from dagger thrusts, that were certainly not on his person when I saw him last. I also found echoes of a severe break in the bones of both of his legs, where the thighs near the knees were completely shattered, most likely from a long fall."

Despite his growing horror, Loki can't help but wince at the reminder of that particular incident. Right off the battlements a hundred yards down onto hard stone it had been, and it was small consolation that the assassin he'd been struggling with hadn't survived the fall. The least fun part had been getting back to his room through the deserted hallways on two broken legs; it had required the creation of two half-real sort of magical crutches and the assistance of one of the palace dogs.

Eir's voice had been cool and practical as she recounted the list of his injuries; now she hesitates. "There is... one other thing," she said, and in the pause that followed Loki dares a look out of his bug-spy's eyes. Odin's expression could well have been carved out of stone, but for the look in his one remaining eye, and that is dark liquid fury. Loki wonders that Eir would dare to continue in the face of that expression, but Eir did not get to be the most accomplished healer Asgard by being faint-hearted.

"Say on," Odin replies, in a voice that strives for neutrality and utterly fails.

"Once I found the other injuries, I checked him more thoroughly than I otherwise might have, and I found evidence of... intercourse. In absolute terms the tissue damage was minimal, and has since healed completely, but... as the boy's father, I thought you should be informed."

Odin says nothing, and Loki does not dare to look into his face. There is silence for so long that if not for the shifting rustle of their clothing as they breathe, he would have assumed that his spy-spell had failed. At last Eir breaks it with a long exhalation.

"It is not my part to intervene in the private affairs of the royal family," she says, "nor to give my opinion on details of policy or covert operations. I will say, however, that if your son continues to insist on healing his own injuries with magic instead of coming to me, he had better start taking lessons with me beside my other apprentices for another decade or so. I can't abide sloppy work."

"That will not be necessary," Odin says, and despite the wooden tone of his voice Loki can hear the utter fury that vibrates beneath its surface. "Now, if you will kindly be excused, Eir. I wish to speak with Loki alone."

He hears Eir snort, a single sound expressive enough to convey what she thinks at being excused right out of her own domain. But the Allfather is clearly not in a mood to argue, and so she inclines her head to him in a respectful bow and walks past him down the corridor.

Odin turns towards the door, and his eye flickers as something - perhaps the tiny green glow Loki has never quite been able to extinguish - catches his gaze. His hand reaches out and envelops all Loki's sight, and Loki blinks and jerks his head back as the magical connection snaps.

He's still blinking stars out of his eyes when the door opens and Odin is framed under the lintel. The magical vision hadn't been the half of it, for Odin is as angry as Loki has rarely seen him. Loki fidgets uncomfortably on the healing couch, looking everywhere and nowhere except at his father; it's an attitude that is all too familiar to him from childhood, when he had been caught at some mischief or another and dragged to the foot of his father's throne to explain himself.

At the same time, Loki can't help but feel a little hurt, bewildered and resentful to be called on the carpet like an errant child. This was no prank, no idle foolishness on his part. He might have miscalculated but he'd done so in the aim of service to the house of Odin. He's done no lasting harm, and much good; he's done nothing wrong, so why is Odin looking at him with such suppressed fury?

When Odin finally speaks, his voice is so furious it is almost calm. "I have a thought for a spell I know," he says, "whereby the target is transformed, for the duration of a year, into a tree. The idea has some appeal to me; I understand it is a restful way to spend a convalescence, and your mother could spread her weaving under the shade. Most appealing of all, for the length of that time I would know exactly where you were and what you were up to!"

Loki flinches, and looks down. "I never meant to hide anything from you, Father," he mutters defensively. "I thought you knew. From the start."

"Yes, you said as much," Odin says with savage sarcasm, "before you unloosed the agony you'd been carrying for my warriors to do battle with. Where, under Yggdrasil's vast canopy, did you get the impression that I knew? When you never so much as spoke a word to me!"

Loki hesitates, biting his lips, then finally draws in a deep breath. He spent many painful hours thinking how to begin, and finally decided to start at the beginning."You gave me the book," he says lowly. "The one that contained the shadow-veiling spells. For my coming-of-age day? Don't you remember?" he asks as he sees Odin's confused frown. "I thought - I thought you were giving me a message, an instruction, that I should serve you with magic as Thor serves you with his might."

Stunned recognition flickers over Odin's face. "There were over a hundred other spells in that book, Loki," he objects. "Why would you fixate on that one, and imagine such a meaning from it?"

Loki doesn't know how to answer, because the truth is that he can't remember now just why such a certainty had gripped him that day. Unless it was all in his head, his deluded desire to be as valuable and worthy a son as Thor. "I thought it was a promise, like the one between he and you when you gifted him Mjolnir."

Odin shakes his head in amazement. "It was a gift, Loki, nothing more. It meant nothing other than that I knew you were interested in magic and I thought you would enjoy it."

"Nothing more?" Loki says, and disbelief colors his voice bitter. "All I have learned and done and striven for years, and it was nothing more to you than a child's passing fancy? Of all the warriors in the Nine Realms, I would have thought you would understand!"

"Do not twist my words," Odin admonishes him, anger beginning to return to his countenance. "You are not -"

"I only wanted to serve you!" Loki bursts out, the emotion in his voice overriding his father's mid-word. "To serve Asgard. I have served you, I do not know what I have done to deserve your wrath. I have done the realm no harm, and much good. I thought to please you -"

"Why did you think it would please me to put yourself in the way of peril, Loki?" Odin demands. Loki well recognizes the signs of building temper in his father, but for once in his life is too caught up in his own righteous passion to heed them.

"I only wanted to protect my family - " Loki plunges on recklessly.

"You are part of this family!" Odin roars, and the strength of his bellow is enough to stun Loki out of his tirade and, indeed, shrink him against the bed as though he were no larger than the bug he'd used to eavesdrop on the earlier conversation. The walls actually rattle from the force of Odin's voice. "You hurt us all when you bring hurt on yourself!"

Loki's teeth click together when he snaps his jaw shut, and for a long moment father and son glower at each other in silence.

Finally Loki finds his voice, and the words that come to him are silken with venom. "Strange, that you and Mother do not seem to suffer such agony when Thor goes to risk himself on the field of battle. Surely you do not expect me to believe that your love for Thor is any less than your love for me?" He does not for a moment believe that could be true, that anyone could love Thor less than they would Loki. Such a thing would be unthinkable, unimaginable, and Loki can only spit out the words as a condemning challenge meant to prove Odin's lie.

"Thor is a warrior born, Loki, and you are not," Odin tells him severely. "It is different."

"I fail to see the distinction," Loki snarls. He knows he is provoking Odin's wrath again, but he can't stop the words that slither out of his mouth, like echoing remnants of the magical monsters. "If I am worth so much less than Thor, then I fail to see how it should grieve you more if I should come to a bad end. Surely it should trouble you less?"

Odin is shaking his head, his long gray beard wagging and his face heavy with old sorrow. "Loki, Loki, my clever child. You do not understand."

"Enlighten me," Loki snaps, but wariness creeps into him, saps the righteous anger and the hurt.

Unexpectedly Odin heaves a sigh, and moves to seat himself on the edge of the cot by Loki's feet.

He is silent for a long time, so long that the heated emotion snapping around the room begins to cool, and without his anger to warm him Loki is left cold and dreading. The look on Odin's face is leagues-distant, years-distant, and Loki wonders if there is anything he could ever do to bridge that distance between them.

At last Odin speaks. "You were a sickly babe, Loki," he says. "Unlike Thor, who was loud and hale and vigorous from the start, for a long time you did not thrive. Your mother, Eir and I were all at a loss as to determine the cause. Sometimes it seemed as though the very air of Asgard itself was inimical to you."

...and there is something more in Odin's expression that Loki can't make out, behind the grief and the anger and the fear. Something that, if there were any reason whatsoever for such an emotion to be on the Allfather's face, might be called guilt.

"Even once you passed out of infancy into your walking and speaking years, when you began to attend lessons and play with the other children, still the strange frailty would not loose its grip on you. It seemed you were sick more often than you were well, and none of the treatments the healers could devise seemed to make an improvement for you." Odin looks at him sadly. "Too many times through those years, your mother and I had to face the prospect that we would lose you, that you would not live to see the end of the year."

All at once it hits Loki what his father is talking about, and he is not sure whether to laugh or to scream. He has done this to himself; all those times when he was a child that he had faked illness or weakness in order to get out of something, and now it is coming back to haunt him. Where Thor had become convinced that all of his illness was fake, now his parents were apparently deceived in the opposite direction.

Oblivious to Loki's sudden chagrin, Odin is still talking. "Your mother and I never wished to face such uncertainty again. To be completely truthful with you, my son, we were both relieved when it looked like you would take the scholar's path, one that would keep you safely out of danger."

It is too much to bear. Even now that he is a man grown, the childhood fits years behind him, his parents still see him as a frail, sickly child to be protected and sheltered. He's not. He is not. In the years since coming of age, Loki has drunk poison, walked through fire, thrown himself off tall balconies, grappled with assassins, and bound enough destructive magics under his breast to level a city, and he has survived it all. What greater blows, what heavier punishment must he take to prove to them that he is strong?

Then Odin seems to come back to himself, the veil of years lifting away as he stands straighter, casts a stern eye over his wayward younger son. "But no more," he says firmly. "Do you understand me? No more of these foolish endeavors. There will be no more sneaking about, no more engaging with assassins, and above all no more drinking poison!"

Well, doesn't that just ruin all of Loki's itinerary for the afternoon. "Yes, father," Loki murmurs, outwardly appearing nothing but an obedient and submissive son.

Odin gives him a sardonic look that says clearly that he sees right through that. "In order to make sure my conditions," he says, "I will put Thor to this task on my behalf. He is acting admirably solicitous towards you at the moment, and will agree readily enough. I think the episode in the courtyard gave him quite the shock."

"What?" Loki cries, jerking upright on the cot. "You must be joking! I can take care of myself, I don't need Thor babysitting me - "

"Manifestly, you can't and you do!" Odin snaps in return. "Do not press me on this matter, Loki; I am running very short on patience where your safety is concerned. I will be too busy enough cleaning up the aftermath of this debacle with Svartalfheim. And," he says, and his face goes grim and sunken, "there are some other matters on Vanaheim that I need to see to as well."

And that is apparently the only reference his father is going to make to what the old healer told him. Loki had hoped that he had somehow forgotten or not noticed, but apparently Odin is perfectly capable of putting two and two together with the memory of the Vanir ambassador's drunken demands and his sudden, uncharacteristic cooperation. Loki considers objecting to Odin's obvious bloodthirstiness; it is not as though he had been forced or anything like that. He'd offered. But Odin's made it clear that he thinks nothing of Loki's ability to make his own decisions.

Odin stands again, a clear signal that the audience is over. "Rest now and be well," he addresses Loki. "I will send Eir back to ensure that you do." As if Loki can't be trusted to see to his own recovery. As if Loki were still a young child, who needs to be put to bed when he is unruly.

But anything he says now will just sound petulant, like a small child, and it is clear that Odin is not in a mood to be moved by words. So in the end all Loki can manage is a stiff little jerk of his chin, and Odin accepts that as his due and sweeps from the hall.

Bitterness wells up in him as his father leaves, and Loki's fingers score deep gouges in the mattress beneath him as he curls his hands into fists. All these months of desperate campaigning for his father's approval - and he is back where he started, or even further behind than ever. He is not Odin's left hand, he is not Asgard's shield. He is only a wayward child to be curbed and corrected, and left once again in the shadow of his betters.

Worse even than failing, Loki was never even worthy of the chance to try.

For all the love his parents claim they bear Loki, it is only the concern one feels for a child or a pet. There is no pride, for the only thing that Asgard respects is strength; strength that Loki will never have in the amounts that are required. No matter what he does, no matter what he becomes Loki will never have worth in the way his family and country want of him.

Not in the way they value Thor. Thor, golden child of a golden city, who so effortlessly embodies everything that Loki can never be. Thor, who will always be the better in the only ways that matter.

Loki curls on his side on the cot, his eyes staring blindly through the curtained archway at the golden city beyond - the city that doesn't want him, doesn't need him, and will never, ever accept him. He squeezes his eyes closed and rolls over to turn his back on it, and the certainty of his own unworthiness burns within him like slow poison.

~the end.