Birds of Passage - Chapter 3

The crack in the ceiling had disappeared. Its tangled web of lines and folds in the rock had melted away, leaving nothing but blank grey. The implications of its disappearance didn't enter Loki's mind at all, at least at first; only the certainty that there were definitely no spiders in his cell. He was absolutely alone.
Only later, after the fifth session with the little fingers and bitter tube and hands everywhere, did he realise that it was not logically possible for the wall to have fixed itself. Either he had imagined the cracks being there and they had never really existed, or they had genuinely been there and he was now imagining their disappearance. The idea that he may be going mad casually entered and exited his mind. Madness wouldn't be a horrible prospect, now that he was unable to kill himself.
Starvation was now impossible, what with the disgusting methods of feeding him that had been introduced. Hanging was impossible without anything to use as a noose. There was no way to acquire poison or a blade. Perhaps he could entice one of the guards into attacking him and throw himself on their sword during the ensuing mêlée, but he knew he wouldn't pose enough of a threat in his physically weakened state to warrant the use of a weapon to restrain him. With his wrists bound he wouldn't even be able to throw a halfway competent punch. His complete incompetence in all things, most of all his own death, made his stomach turn at his own pathetic state.
A distant rumble caught Loki's attention. Perhaps auditory hallucinations would be another step into his inevitable descent into abject insanity. The noise was not unwelcome, though. It was strangely reminiscent of thunder, impossibly booming and echoing down the stone corridors between cells and insinuating itself within each chamber, reverberating between the walls. It was different, completely different to the clanging of cell doors and the rap of boots on stone floors and silence that normally permeated the air of the dungeons.
It certainly was a hallucination because more rumbling came, becoming louder and louder every second. Higher pitched noises came and went, warping and melding with the deep booming into a strange rhythmic pulse.
Whatever it was, it was both relaxing and distracting. On the one hand, it was almost hypnotic, with waves of sound entering through the cracks in the cell door to ricochet through the cell and his eardrums. It was a sound to get lost in. On the other, it was too much like the sound of battle. If he let himself sleep to this noise, he would inevitably dream of fighting next to one he couldn't think about because he might as well not exist at this point or worse, dream of New York and the humiliating defeat at the hands of a ridiculous troupe of Midgardians. Even awake it was the sound of memories from years past, of grand conquests and petty frays and simpler days. His stomach twisted at the bitter worm that insinuated itself in every one of those memories, a cruel reminder that all they proved was that he was not worthy.
The memories came unbidden: two children, running with little hands clasped around a stolen pastry or a wooden sword or another little hand while the head of the kitchens yelled after them, or their mother's – for she was certainly his mother then – laughing voice gently wafted along behind them, or the shouts of other children chased them but never quite caught up. Later, the wooden sword was replaced with a real one, and the other children grew to realise that chasing princes was not in their courtly interest, but pastries still disappeared from the palace kitchens.
Still the noise pounded along, its erratic pitch and rhythm in stark counterpoint to the beating of Loki's pulse. The steady, even thrum that denoted is continued existence felt so artificial, so wrong in comparison to the organic, haphazard thundering that continued to flow through the corridors. If only his pulse could stop and this sound could take over, and he could be lost-
A new sound reached his ears. It mixed and blended with the booming, then rose above it in a clear, high note. This one was distinct, and there was no mistaking it – shouting.
Instantly, hundreds of scenarios ran through his mind. Were other prisoners staging a revolt? Had someone else escaped? Were the guards fighting amongst themselves? Whatever it was, the sound was becoming louder, getting closer with every passing minute, or maybe second, Loki couldn't tell any more as his whole body began to sing with anticipation.
Something was happening. Something was about to bring an end to the monotony of imprisonment.
The shouting grew more pronounced, blending with the yells of battle cries and screams of pain. The booming – bodies flying against walls and stone crumbling on impact – dissolved into clashes of metal on metal and footsteps and a roar so familiar it could have come straight out of his memories.
With a deafening smash, the door to his cell was broken clean off its hinges and the last person he ever expected to see again stormed through, a glowing silhouette in the doorway.  
Loki decided he was definitely already insane.
“Brother!” Thor's voice cut through the noise, a momentary lull in the clamour of fighting as he paused to survey the room. His bright, clear eyes settled on Loki's for a second, too brief to communicate more than I'm here. In that second, relief and humiliation and apprehension rushed like adrenaline through every fibre of Loki's body. This situation simply wasn't possible; Thor was here in his dungeon cell, where everything he hated about himself was laid out on display for all to see.
Thor turned, not missing a beat as a guard dove forward with a weapon extended. A swipe from Mjölnir threw his attacker back, colliding heavily with a wall in a clatter of armour and flesh that echoed so thunderously down the corridor and through the cell. Every line of his body was a familiar sight, and hope, furious at being quashed for so long, burst through every barrier Loki had constructed in his mind. It was familiar, so familiar and so welcome, he thought his chest may burst as emotions he hadn't felt in so long demanded to be felt and acknowledged.
Somehow, the onslaught of guards died down enough for Thor to approach him. Every step brought something new, a fresh wave of emotions he thought he would never feel again, each crushed by the unwavering similarity to what usually happened when someone approached him. The anticipation of pain was too much, and he couldn't stop himself curling in on himself a little.
“Brother,” Thor repeated, urgency and a maturity Loki barely recognised in his voice, standing barely a foot away – close enough to touch - “Father has fallen into the Odinsleep once more, and-” Fresh blasts of footsteps echoed down the hall, announcing the approach of more guards. Before Loki had the chance to react, Thor had seized him and thrown him over a broad, red-caped shoulder. Had it not been for the gag, he would have protested at the indignity and demanded to be set down at once, but the bitter metal choked back all the words. He settled instead for tugging ineffectually at a handful of red as the stone floor beneath Thor's feet turned to dark, polished wood then to glossy marble.
Still the sound of footsteps pursued them, relentlessly pounding out a brisk, metallic tempo that couldn't compete with the heavy yet thankfully swift rhythm of Thor's feet. Shouts accompanied the footsteps of the dungeon guards, doubtlessly accompanied by palace guards, calling for aid.
His hands were so blue against the red of Thor's cloak.
“Thor! Loki!” another voice, so familiar his chest ached, called out. Thor slowed, then stopped altogether. Even through the armour, Loki could feel tension radiating through every muscle and bone beneath him. “Oh, what have you done, you stupid, impulsive child?”
Loki slipped to the floor as Thor's grip slackened. He nearly fell, knees giving out after having been unused for too long, and he stumbled sideways into a podium holding a vase. The vase fell to the floor and shattered, but it went completely ignored though it was undoubtedly priceless. Actually falling would be an indignity he wasn't sure he could bear. Though his shoulders slumped under the incalculable weight of everything and his head remained bowed, a small sense of pride swept through him. He could still stand.
His eyes found Frigga, dressed in a nightgown with golden hair falling about her shoulders, breathing heavily with exertion as she surged forward in an almost-run. She was like a painting, artistically ruffled and blending perfectly with the décor of the palace behind her.
“Mother, I couldn't allow him to remain in the dungeons any longer!I had to-” Thor cried in a dramatic, booming voice as if half the palace didn't already know what was going on. Loki very nearly rolled his eyes.
“I understand, Thor. It was my insistence that he be kept prisoner, and not executed,” Frigga slowed, voice still choked. This close, he could see it accompanied the tears that were slowly welling in her eyes. A shard of porcelain crunched under her slipper like an autumn leaf.
“Then you understand why we have to go, why I have to take Loki and-” he paused for a second, before continuing in a softer voice. “-and leave. Exile us both if you must, but please let us go.” One huge, strong arm reached out, shielding Loki's slender frame in a gesture more symbolic than practical. Frigga continued forward regardless, stepping lightly around Thor's arm with a light touch to it with a soft hand, until she stood in front of Loki.
She said nothing as she reached into the folds of her nightgown to pull out a key, which she pressed into his hands. Steady fingers then reached behind his head, though she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach, to undo the clasp on the gag. Warm hands ghosted across his skin in a touch that was maternal and everything he loved about her. It fell to the floor between them where it lay forgotten.
“I am – allowing you to escape,” her voice broke, but only for a second. She rose up again and pressed a quick peck to his cheek. Intense power and strength poured out from behind eyes swimming with tears, and Loki was suddenly reminded exactly why she was queen of Asgard. “Now go!”
With a sweep of her hand a beam from the ceiling and a section of wall collapsed, blocking off the corridor they had just run through. Dust glittered like gold in the early morning light, and it suddenly hit Loki that this was the first time in months, maybe years, that he had seen sunlight. It was too much and too soon, and he had to close his eyes.
“Mother, I-” Thor began, only to change his mind half way through, seize Loki's hand and run.