Chapter Eleven:
Loki reclined on the narrow bed in his cell, hands folded behind his head, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. The dungeon was quiet, late afternoon settling into evening, golden light filtering down from far above through the energy barrier that separated him from freedom.
Most of the court would be preparing for the evening meal. Thor was off world again, dealing with yet another rebellion on some backwater realm. Mother visited when she could. Father... well, Father pretended Loki didn't exist. And Kara was walking directly into the mostly harmless prank Loki had conceived last minute. He could picture it now, her expression, the indignant sputtering, the way she would storm back through the palace dripping and furious and absolutely adorable in her rage. His grin widened. It had been worth the wait. Two months. Two months since the strange girl from the stars had arrived in Asgard, throwing me into Thor's arms like some prize from battle, speaking in archaic phrases that belonged in the ancient texts Mother kept in her private library. Two months since Loki had been locked in this cell, payment for his actions on Midgard. Two months since he'd expected nothing but silence, solitude, and the slow erosion of his sanity. He had been... spectacularly wrong.
The first time Kara Zor-El had sought him out, Loki had been reading—or pretending to read while actually contemplating the various ways he might escape this glorified cage. He'd heard footsteps approaching his cell. Light, hesitant footsteps that didn't match the heavy tread of guards. When he'd looked up, she was there on the other side of the barrier—small, blonde, wearing one of the simpler Asgardian dresses Mother had commissioned for her. She'd looked almost nervous, hands clasped in front of her, blue eyes bright with something Loki couldn't quite identify. Curiosity, perhaps. Or hope.
"Hey, Loki," she'd said, her accent sounding mostly normal now, formal cadences. "Don't mean to bother you. I... I just kinda...I don't know, talk, if you would like."
Loki had raised an eyebrow, setting his book aside. "Speak with me? How novel. Most prefer to pretend I don't exist. More convenient that way, I'm told."
She'd blinked, tilted her head slightly. "I have spoken with Thor when he's around anyways. He is... nice. Protective. Perhaps overmuch so." A small smile. "But I thought, maybe, that you might have different stories of adventures to tell. Different wisdom to share." And that had been the beginning.
She came every day after that. At first, she talked about Asgard—the wonders of the golden realm, the people she'd met, the strange customs she was learning. She asked questions, dozens of them, with a childlike wonder, to which Loki couldn't help finding himself remembering his bugging mother to answer hundreds of questions. Loki found himself answering more thoroughly than he'd intended. She was clever. Sharp. She caught nuances that others missed, made connections that impressed him despite himself. And unlike the simpering courtiers or Thor's boisterous friends, she actually listened to his responses. Considered them. Asked follow-up questions that proved she'd been paying attention. It was... refreshing. Then, gradually, she began to talk about herself. About Krypton. About cities of crystal and light, where science had advanced to heights Asgard's magic could barely comprehend. About schools where she had been enrolled in class after class after class, excelling in every single one.
"My parents were most pleased," she'd said one afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the floor outside his cell as though the dungeon were simply another room in the palace.
"And yet... I could see it in their eyes. A sadness, beneath the pride. As though my success brought them pain as much as joy."
Loki had been pacing—he paced often, unable to bear stillness for long, but her tone made him stop. "Why sadness?" She'd been quiet for a long moment.
"Because I thought myself insufficient. No matter how well I performed, how many honors I earned, I believed I was not trying hard enough. So, I pushed harder. Took on more. Studied longer. Trained until exhaustion." Her hands had clenched in her lap. "I thought if I could just be perfect enough, they would be proud without the sorrow."
"And were they?" I asked with narrowed eyes.
"They told me of my mission." Her voice had gone soft. "They told me I was to protect my infant cousin. That I was chosen for this purpose. That they had such hopes for me, such... expectations." She'd turned to face him then, and Loki had seen something in her eyes he recognized all too well. "But it didn't matter how perfect I was or became. My path was set. My purpose decided. I was... trapped."
Loki's chest had tightened. "And how did you feel about that?" he'd asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. She'd smiled—small, brittle. "I said I was honored. That I accepted my duty gladly." "That's not what I asked." The smile had cracked. Just slightly. Just enough. "No," she'd whispered. "No, it is not." Loki had seen it then—the thing he'd been unconsciously searching for since she'd first appeared outside his cell. He saw himself. Not the magic, not the heritage, not the specific circumstances. But the feeling. The weight of being shaped by others' expectations, of having your worth measured against a purpose you never chose, of being told you should be grateful for a destiny that felt like a cage. She'd looked away quickly, composing herself, forcing brightness back into her voice. But Loki had seen the crack in her armor. And she, somehow, had seen his.
Her eyes had done something strange that day—a brief flicker, a shine that seemed almost unnatural. Loki would swear on his life, though he'd never admit it aloud, that he'd seen something like a targeting reticle appear over his heart for the briefest instant before vanishing. He'd tested everything afterward. Scanned for enchantments, illusions, manipulation magic. Nothing. She cast no spells, wielded no Seidr that he could detect. Peculiar. But not unwelcome.
The first month passed quickly. Kara's visits became the most interesting part of Loki's day, the only interesting part. She asked questions he actually enjoyed answering, listened to stories he'd forgotten he wanted to tell, and slowly, carefully, began to ask his advice. It was strange. Strange to be sought out for wisdom rather than punishment. Strange to have someone look at him through the barrier and see something other than a monster, a villain, a cautionary tale. Strange, and surprisingly pleasant. And then, one afternoon, Loki found himself talking. Really talking. He told her about the cell walls closing in. About the silence between Mother's visits. About Thor's awkward attempts at reconciliation that somehow made everything worse. And then, because she was still there, still listening, he told her about before. About Thor's friends and their casual cruelties—the jokes that went too far, the way they dismissed him in public while expecting his help in private. About the corruption he'd uncovered among Father's councilors, the schemes and petty power plays that rotted the golden realm from within. About confronting Father with proof, with documentation, with everything short of the criminals in chains. About being told to stay out of affairs he was "not ready for." "As though readiness were the issue," Loki had said, bitterness seeping through despite his best efforts. "As though I had not handed him everything needed to act. But it was simpler to tell me I was overstepping. Simpler to dismiss me than to acknowledge the truth." Kara had listened in silence, her expression intent. When he'd finished—when the words had finally run dry—she'd simply nodded.
"Thank you," she'd said quietly. "For trusting me with this." And then she'd left.
She didn't come the next day. Or the next. By the third day, Loki had begun to wonder if he'd driven her away. If she'd decided, like so many others, that associating with the prisoner was more trouble than it was worth. If she'd realized that befriending a war criminal was a poor choice. But on the third evening, she'd appeared outside his cell. She'd looked different. Older, somehow. Her eyes held a weight they hadn't carried before. "Sorry I was gone, I had to clear my head for a bit," she'd said, settling into her usual spot on the floor without preamble—a presumption that should have annoyed him but somehow didn't. "I had... a disagreement with All Father." Loki had blinked. "We had words. He has been... distant since."
"Ah." Loki had gestured to a chair. "Join the club." She'd actually laughed at that—sharp and surprised and genuine. They'd talked long into the night. And when she'd left, something had shifted between them. A friendly sibling bond that had been missing in his life.
A few days later, Loki had made a decision. "Do you want to learn how to pull pranks?" he'd asked, as casual as he could manage from behind an energy barrier. Kara's face had lit up like Asgard's sun. "Really!? I mean I guess it could be fun."
"I'm rather limited in my ability to execute them myself at the moment," he'd said dryly, gesturing at his cell. "But I can certainly teach you. If you're interested." "Oh, I am most interested." She took to it like a Jotun to ice. No... better than that. She took to it like a dragon to the air, with natural instinct and terrifying enthusiasm. Every trick Loki described, she mastered. Every prank, she improved. Often, she went overboard, but it was always harmless—paint and feathers, disappearing furniture, floating coins that dumped glitter when pulled. She'd return to his cell afterward, eyes bright with mischief, and tell him every detail. How Fandral had ended up covered in blue paint. How Volstagg's chair had vanished mid-sit. How the training yard had mysteriously filled with feathers overnight. The feathers were odd, though. No matter what prank Kara pulled, feathers appeared somewhere. Sometimes just one or two. Sometimes dozens. She'd only done a single prank actually involving feathers after she made a pillow that burst when sat upon, she claims she stopped making them, but they kept showing up anyway. Loki had made a mental note to investigate later, much later.
The court had been in an uproar for weeks. No one could prove anything, of course. Loki might be imprisoned, but Kara was too new, too innocent-seeming, too protected by Thor's favor. But the whispers spread, and more than a few suspicious glances were thrown toward the dungeons. Father had been unamused. Mother had been trying very hard not to smile when she visited. Thor had been confused, which was his natural state, so nothing new there. Then came the incident.
Loki had been pacing his cell, working through a particularly complex magical theory in his mind, when he heard voices approaching. Mother's voice. And Kara's whimpering. He turned toward the barrier just as they came into view. Mother walked with perfect composure, and beside her, or rather, slightly behind and above her, Kara floated like a kitten being carried by the scruff. Her head hung down, arms tucked against her chest, legs pulled up, and Mother's hand hovered near her neck as though she were physically holding her there. For one brief, terrible moment, Loki feared for Kara's safety. Then Mother turned to look at him, and her expression was far too amused for this to be an execution.
"Oh, relax," Mother said, clearly reading his face. "She's floating on her own. I simply had to push her here to get the truth out of her." Kara lifted her head, stuck her tongue out at Loki through the barrier, and giggled. "Did you," Mother continued, her voice perfectly calm and utterly terrifying in that particular way only she could manage, "teach Kara how to turn people colors?"
Kara burst out laughing. Loki froze. "I... may have mentioned certain alchemical principles..." "He taught me how dyes react to different substances!" Kara said cheerfully, still floating like a balloon. "And I may have done a small experiment."
"A small experiment," Mother repeated.
"Very small." Kara indicated with showing her index and thumb close together. Loki was beginning to enjoy this—grinned wider. "Fine", Kara huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "If All Father is going to be a meany jerk head and ignore me, then he should just be green. I merely turned him to his natural state."
Loki's mind went blank. Then rebooted. Then nearly short-circuited again. "You... turned Father green?"
"Not permanently!" Kara protested. "Just... conditionally." Mother sighed. "Explain. Fully." As it turned out, Kara had created a soap. A very clever soap that, when used in bathing, would deposit a harmless reactive agent in the skin. The agent was inert, completely invisible and undetectable, until it came into contact with a specific trigger. That trigger, purely by coincidence, happened to be Odin's favorite drink. Every time he drank it, he turned green for approximately one hour. The effect would last for a month.
"So," Kara said, still floating and now looking decidedly pleased with herself, "he can either go without his favorite drink for a month, or be green a lot. His choice."
Loki stared at her. Then, despite every instinct screaming at him to maintain composure, he laughed. He laughed until tears streamed down his face, until his sides ached, until Mother gave up on looking stern and started smiling despite herself.
"You magnificent little menace," Loki gasped, gripping the edge of his bed for support.
"That's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant." "Thank you!" Kara beamed, still floating. Mother had sighed, but even she couldn't quite suppress her smile. "You're a terrible influence, Loki." "I'm imprisoned. How much influence could I possibly have?"
"Apparently quite a lot." Mother had told him about the dinner later that evening, during her regular visit. Father had sat at the head of the table, sporting a faint greenish tint. He'd said nothing about the color, listened to Mother's explanation with a carefully neutral expression, and then... He'd simply looked at Kara for a long moment. Then he'd looked away, toward the windows, his expression distant. And he'd stayed that way for the rest of the meal.
"He's thinking," Mother had said softly, seated outside Loki's cell. "Reconsidering. Perhaps even... reassessing." Loki had known that look. He'd seen it before, directed at him, back when Father still thought there was something in Loki worth considering. "Good," he'd said, and meant it.
The weeks that followed were a blur of activity, for Kara, at least. For Loki, they were a blur of stories told through a barrier. Kara complained about Thor...how he babied her, how he insisted on escorting her everywhere as though she were made of glass rather than steel.
"I could lift this entire palace," she'd grumbled one afternoon, sitting cross-legged outside his cell. "And he treats me as though I might break from a stern breeze." She complained about Thor's friends, which Loki found endlessly entertaining. Fandral flirted with her constantly, to her visible discomfort. "He winks," she'd said, looking genuinely disturbed. "Why does he wink so much? Is it a medical condition?" Volstagg's eating habits disgusted her. "I have seen black holes with better table manners." Sif, she clashed with almost immediately—two warriors with completely different philosophies and no patience for each other's approach. "She called me reckless," Kara had fumed. "Me! I am the very model of calculated action!" Loki had wisely not mentioned the time she'd thrown Loki at Thor like a projectile weapon. Hogun, the quiet one, she found pleasant. "He does not speak unless he has something worth saying. It is refreshing."
Through it all, Loki found himself actually looking forward to her visits. Found himself thinking of her less as Thor's strange companion and more as... Well. More as a sister. The adoption ceremony had been scheduled. Mother had explained the process to him during one of her visits—a ritual that would tie Kara to Asgard's very essence, grant her a measure of protection from the realm itself, and formally recognize her as part of the royal family. Mother would sacrifice nine months' worth of godly energy, carefully stored and accumulated over years. A single drop of blood. A sacred golden apple. All mixed into a potion that would bind Kara to Asgard as surely as any child born of its soil.
"She will never be able to wield magic as we do," Mother had explained, her hand resting gently against the barrier as though she could touch him through it. "Her nature is too different. But it will not be a weakness for her either. The protection will help shield her from those who might try to harm her through seidr." The ceremony was set for the following week. Loki would not be permitted to attend, of course. Prisoners didn't get to witness royal ceremonies. But Kara had promised to tell him everything afterward. In the meantime, she was lonely. She'd told him as much during her visit yesterday.
Thor was off world again, fighting some border clans or something. Father was distant, absorbed in ruling and whatever thoughts had consumed him since the green incident. Mother was stretched thin between court obligations and teaching and a dozen other demands on her time. And Kara, for all her strength, was still adjusting to a world that wasn't her own.
Loki understood that feeling better than most, so he'd decided to do something for her, something nice, In his own way. That morning, when she'd come for her daily visit, he'd been ready. "You seem restless," he'd observed. "I am," she'd admitted, slumping against the wall outside his cell. "Everyone is so busy. Thor is gone. Mother has meetings. I feel... BORED!" "Then perhaps you need an adventure." She'd perked up. "What kind of adventure?"
"There is a secret path to Midgard," he'd said, casual as anything. "I thought you might like to visit." Her eyes had lit up like stars. "Really? Where is it? is it far? is it hard to open?" the questions pouring out faster than he could process them.
"Of course." He'd leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "What are siblings for, if not to help each other find a little freedom?" The word had hung in the air between them for a moment. Siblings. Kara's smile had been radiant. "Thank you, brother." He'd given her directions from memory, precise, detailed. Sent her on her way with encouragement and a smile. And now he waited. --- Loki checked what little sky he could see from his cell. Any moment now. He settled back on his bed, hands folded behind his head, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Welcome to the family, little sister," he whispered to the empty cell, his grin turning decidedly wicked. "It's going to be fun."
Somewhere in the palace, Kara was about to discover what it truly meant to be Loki's sibling. He couldn't wait.