Its spread as far as the eye can see, covering anything and everything—the guards are covered from head to toe in it, the stairs are paved with it, and the throne of the All-Father is carved from it. So much of the beautiful gold only serves to make its abundance displeasing to the eye and yet oddly enchanting. It makes what few colors there are in the room stand out. The red of Thor’s cape is almost painful to the eyes after so much gold but Loki holds back the glare he wants to aim at his ‘and stares straight ahead as the guards drag him into the painfully gold room by his bound hands.
All eyes in the room are immediately locked onto him as he’s pushed and pulled towards the throne but he ignores them and allows a smirk to grace his lips as he stares up at Odin, —not that anyone can see it under the muzzle covering his mouth. It’s to keep him from spreading his lies and Loki wants to roll his eyes at the thought that a simple muzzle will stop him. Sure, they have him at their mercy now but soon they’ll be begging for forgiveness.
He’s feels like laughing even as he’s shoved roughly to his knees once he reaches the golden steps and he knows his eyes show his amusement when Odin’s one eye glares down at him from his golden throne. He’s a sight to see with his arms tied behind his back, his hair a tangled mess and his ill fitting robes barely clinging to his malnourished body—once proud and regal, he’s now a disheveled mess—and he knows he really shouldn’t be as arrogant as he’s being but he can’t bring himself to care.
He’s riding on a weird high, brought from near starvation and not enough sleep—the prison is nowhere near comfortable for real sleep and the food is inedible—mixed in with apprehension and giddiness. He’s been waiting for this day since he was captured in Midgard and brought back to Asgard. The day that the All-Father will bring his punishment upon him and he can’t wait to see just what the almighty All-Father will do to his adopted son.
Loki’s not afraid of death, he never has been and when Odin rises from his throne, Loki doesn’t bow his head or attempt to hide his amusement, he simply raises one elegant brow. The giddiness increases and his body begins to tingle all over—he’s fucking shaking in anticipation like one of those Midgardian creatures with the constantly wagging tails. It’s completely odd to feel this way—down right insane—Loki knows this and he wonders if the whole reason he’s so excited about this is because he’s so tired of simply staring at the plain white walls of his cell.
He lets his eyes wander around the room and once again the vibrant red of Thor’s cape draws his gaze though he tries to pretend he’s not looking. He ends up catching Thor’s eyes from the corner of his though and it only serves to deepen his smirk. If Loki looked like an excited Midgard creature then Thor looks like one that’s just been kicked. His eyes are filled with pain and sadness and fear and it makes the tingles in Loki’s body stronger.
He holds Thor’s eyes for only a few seconds before they’re drawn away by the Frigga’s baby blue robes and suddenly he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be miles away from the throne room or in his cold white cell. Hell, he’d even take Midgard because the look on Frigga’s gentle face chases away his high and makes him feel like someone’s dumped cold water over his head. He fights to keep his eyes looking amused even as his smirks falls as he turns to look at Odin again and away from Frigga’s anguished expression as she clings to Thor.
Odin begins and Loki tenses as he feels hands in his hair before the straps of his muzzle loosens and it clatters to the floor in front of him. As soon as he feels the muzzle being pulled away he lets out a dark, humorless chuckle and forces his smirk back onto his lips. His high may be gone but Loki refuses to show that the situation affects him in anyway. And now that he can talk again there’s no reason to hold his tongue.
“It’s Laufeyson, Odin.”
His voice is hoarse from disuse but even scratchy and cracking his words have the desired effect. Gasps ring around the room and Loki can feel his old mischievousness fill him as the sound caresses his ears like a lullaby. “Surely, you of all would know or has your memory been faulting as of late?” he taunts without meaning to, or caring for that matter, but he can’t hold back his laughter even as the guards standing over him strikes him and he collapses onto the ground.
“Stay your tongue Loki before I have it cut off.”
Odin’s voice rings out like the snap of whip and many flinch as it resonates around the room but not Loki. No, Loki’s high has come back harder than before making his body tingle all over and his head spin from the lack air while he crackles like a mad man. It’s not his fault he looks like a lunatic. Hell, between starvation, sleep deprivation, and isolation it really should have been expected.
“You, Loki, have gone against your King and your people. You have waged war against an innocent realm and cut short many lives simply on whim. You are unworthy of this realm…” With each word, Odin has taken a step closer and when he’s no more than a foot away the guards yank Loki back onto his knees by his hair. The last four words are familiar and Loki struggles to remember where he’s heard them before through the haze in his mind.
“Unworthy of your title…”
Odin towers over him now and Loki’s head is craned back by the hand still clutching his hair when he refuses to look up. Odin's blue eye burns into his and he somehow manages a smirk at him.
“Unworthy of the loved ones you betrayed.”
He’s heard these lines before, he’s sure of it and panic fills him when he realizes what the next words will be.
“I hereby take your powers from you.”
Loki wants to scream and yell but the room has begun to spin in earnest now as he feels the magic coursing through his veins slip away. It starts at his fingertips—not that Loki can see them since they’re behind his back but he can feel them become colder—and as slowly as the magic is being swept from him, his skin is tainted blue. He sags in the grip of the guards as what’s left of his strength is taken along with his power even as he tries to warn them.
Sure Loki’s not afraid of death and he probably never will be but it doesn’t mean he wishes for it and, for as much as he hates that they lied to him, he knows Frigga will hurt if he dies. His attempts to speak are useless though because as more of his skin becomes blue, his mind becomes muddle and he can’t tell them that they’re killing him. The magic—what little was left with him after his imprisonment—has been the only thing holding him together and as his body drops limply to the ground he knows the veil has been removed.
He looks ten times worse now that the magic isn’t covering his true appearance, isn’t forcing his body to keep going. He’s nothing but a pile of blue skin and brittle bones at Odin’s feet. There’s nothing left to him, no meat after months of starvation and his body is litter with bruises and lacerations. His robes have slipped off his too thin body and he knows everyone can see the cuts and scares and bruises littering his back when shock gasps resonate around the room.
He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes but he can’t bring himself to open them, he doesn’t have the strength too and suddenly all he’s aware of is the beat of his heart as it slows. He can’t feel the touch of frantic hands on him, or the heat of strong arms as they wrap around his body and lift him easily—so easily that it only increases the panic of the person holding him—from the cool golden floor.
He also can’t hear the shouts of anger as Frigga releases her rage on the All-Father.
Mayhem has been released because of him but he can’t enjoy it, he’s too busy chasing the beat of his heart into the dark abyss.
One that he enters all too happily