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artemxmendacium-blog · 6 years

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A Crown, By Any Name || cl.

@lastkingofasgard continued from here.

“You are a good man with a good heart, and it’s hard for a good man to be king.”

“Loki…” Thor sagged, all the tension and worry of the past days seeming to exhaust every muscle in his body. He let himself fall back against the wall, meeting his brother’s eyes with an open look of worry and despair. “I can’t be a king. You should be the king, we both know it’s true. And with Asgard in such a state of disrepair, who will guard it in the coming war? You were ruling in father’s stead just fine before I came back. The people will accept you.”

Even as he said it he knew it wasn’t true–at least not yet. The Asgardian people were shaken and terrified. Hela had wreaked havoc on them, they had lost not only their Queen but now their King. If Thor did not take the throne there would be panic, possibly even revolt. The people needed the surety and stability of the royal line. He knew he had his new friend, the last of the Valkyries, by his side and that with her he would not need to be the one leading a policing force. She could handle his old role, more than handle it, yet he was afraid of the constraints of kingship. He was afraid to be tied away from his friends, the Avengers, and from Midgard, a planet he dearly loved and longed to protect. Now he was at a crossroads, where his choice may doom his own people or doom his heart.

When he looked at Loki he felt a thrum of nostalgia stir within him. They had been lovers for a time, something not uncommon on Asgard, especially among noble brothers who marched to war often. The nobility would rather their sons find comfort in each other than to find it in the beds of whores who may bear illegitimate heirs to their titles or, in this case, the throne. But after the events of the past, Loki and Thor had moved apart, emotionally and physically, and he no longer knew where they stood. But in this intimate moment in the private chambers of what remained of the Asgardian palace, Thor found himself wishing for the comfort of that old intimacy to help him be calm, even just an embrace, something grounding to remind him he wasn’t alone. To wish such things from the Loki who stood before him felt foolish–after all the betrayal, he would seek to feel safe in his arms?

As Thor spoke, Loki brought his hands together, lightly scratching at his palm in a nervous habit he’d never quite been able to quell. Despite what Thor said, they both knew that if Thor continued to denounce the throne after Hela’s hostile takeover and the slaughter of Asgard’s armies, the people would feel abandoned. He was more than capable of ruling, but the people didn’t need capable. They needed more.

Thor was more than a prince, or even a king now. He was a figurehead, representative of the Asgardian ideal. Even though it had been Loki’s magic that had taken down Hela, casting her into a slip in time, forever lost on its endless waves, Thor was the hero. That’s how it had always been. Thor had once longed to be king, but now that he knew the pressures and troubles that came with ruling, he sought his freedom on Midgard. Loki knew this. It was why he’d felt comfortable bewitching Odin and taking his place. Now, that wasn’t an option.

The problem presented itself to his brilliant mind, ideas coming and being dismissed just as quickly. The people needed Thor to be king. He could be an advisor, but that would still trap Thor here as his own voice would have no political power.He could be regent in Thor’s absence, but people would know that he was ruling simply because Thor didn’t want to. Asgard was his wife, and Midgard his mistress. Such situations never ended well.

Wife.

Well...that was an idea that was...insane. Insane enough to work.

You were both born to be kings.

Loki felt his brother’s eyes on him, the distance between them like an impassable rift. So much had changed in so little time, and he didn’t know if it could be repaired. Once upon a time, Thor had meant comfort. Home. Safety. He had woken up next to Thor for years and felt the twinge of jealousy, knowing that one day he’d have to give up the warmth of those arms to someone who could be queen. But why couldn’t it be him?

Loki stepped forward, testing the waters before him. “I...may have an idea. You probably won’t like it.”

#lastkingofasgard #rp: a crown by any name #v; what are you the god of?#post ragnarok;;#thorki

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artemxmendacium-blog · 6 years

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Wicked Game || closed.

@lastkingofasgard

The ground shook, and the very earth of his ancestral home turned molten, signaling the end of his long sleep. Deep beneath the volcano, massive pillars of crystal rose, towering in the chamber. Massive wings rose, shaking off the crystalline stalactites and he raised his head, sniffing the air. The land tasted older, and new still. How had the world changed, so far above his hidden cove? What new stories waited to be told? How long before he had to slumber again?

The dragon stretched and rose to his feet, shaking his wings out again. These were all important questions, but he had more pressing matters to attend to at that moment. Mostly, finding breakfast.

Quickly he rose from the depths, stretching his wings in the night sky. His wings blocked the moon as he glided, scanning the ground for prey. Much of the forest had been cleared as he slept, and there no elk as far as he could see. They’d been replaced with fat, splotchy beasts that lacked the wit to run from him as he landed. He ate his fill, then scooped one up in a claw to carry back with him. Tomorrow...tomorrow he’d see what the world had to offer.

#lastkingofasgard #rp: wicked game #v; dragons are just big cats

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