Loki spends most of the day asleep across Thor's bed. His back still aches though the salve keeps it warm, and he isn't too hungry, even if Thor does his best to convince him to eat a whole pheasant and a pork chop and a slice of cake. Later that night, when his room adjacent to Thor's is completed and furnished, Loki slinks off to sleep on a bed that isn't nearly so plush, decorated with no furs at all.
The sheets scratch his skin, too. He's careful to lie on his stomach.
Nobody disturbs him when he embarks on another day of rest—except for Thor, slipping inside with a plate of food every three hours, like clockwork. "You must eat something, Loki," he says around lunch time, sitting on a tiny stool by Loki's bed and brandishing a skewered carrot at him. "Your energy cannot come from nothing."
At this, Loki wrinkles his nose. He could have pulled energy out of the air if he wanted to, before, enough to make his hands crackle with lightning to rival Thor's. Now, Loki pulls the pillow over his head and waits for Thor to leave.
Around supper time, he does take a small meal of the pile of food that Thor brings him, then lays on his side and digests as Thor perpetuates a one-way conversation. Loki half-listens, groggy and uncaring, as Thor talks about Sif and the Warriors Three and some matter of state (Loki thinks he hears "Jotunheim" and tries to listen a little closer), but once Thor gets to personally relevant information—something about "work" and "Bifröst"—Loki has begun to nod off. He feels a blanket pulled up to his shoulder and hears the soft click of the door before he is out completely.
***
When Loki wakes up again, he feels awake and rejuvenated. His back still hurts, but the pain is tolerable—enough to actually wear the shirt he was given, which feels as rough and scratchy as the vegetable sack it resembles. Regardless, he fixes the buttons and folds as properly as he can.
Stepping out into Thor's sitting room, he sees that the dawn has yet to come and hears that Thor is still asleep, snoring loudly. It's the perfect time for a walk, but he's not about to show himself looking disheveled and just woken. He slips in to use Thor's bathroom before he leaves, but after washing his face Loki finds himself staring at his reflection in the mirror. After fishing out a comb from the drawers, his hair looks fine—but who would notice his hair when he wears this collar around his neck?
The accessory gleams bright against his skin, the smooth, metallic surface only marred by the runes etched into it. Loki leans close to the mirror, raising a hand to feel the symbols. They don't spell out anything familiar nor does anything happen when he whispers their names, and they don't react to his touch. Of course, none of that is conclusive; it could just be his own lack of magic.
He steps back to get a better picture of himself: the bands around his neck and wrists are even more brilliant against the backdrop of his simple ivory shirt and brown trousers, though he can pull and fold the sleeves to hide his wrists. There's nothing he can do about his neck, so resigned to that, he takes a deep breath, turns away from the mirror, and steps out.
The palace still sleeps at this hour; all Loki hears are the echoes of his footsteps off the walls of the hallway. Torches light his way out to the courtyards, empty and cool and quiet save for the gurgling of various fountains. Loki takes a seat along the bench of one with a sigh, and absently runs his fingers over the collar again. Sooner rather than later, he decides, he's going to get this off. He's going to make Thor take it off.
"Halt!" An Einherjar calls from an open passageway nearby, and Loki jumps. The guard approaches him, taking long strides across the path with his spear at his side, and Loki decides that he doesn't want to know what, if anything, he's done wrong. He takes off running, and while he isn't as quick as he used to be, he doesn't have the Einherjar's armor to hinder him. He loses the man within winding corridors, until he comes to a large room that smells of straw and horses.
Most of the horses don't bother lifting their heads as Loki walks down the aisle, either resting or feeding as the sun starts to peek over the horizon. Loki's black mare rests in an adjacent stall to Thor's chestnut stallion, and Loki doesn't want to bother either of them.
There's a loud, impatient snort from the end of the aisle, and Loki looks up to find Sleipnir staring at him from his stall.
Loki smiles and steps up to the stallion, placing a hand on his head and reaching out to pat his neck. Sleipnir snorts again and lifts his head against Loki's hand, and then noses at his shoulder as he steps closer. One of eight hooves scrapes at the ground.
"I'm fine," Loki says quietly, continuing to rub Sleipnir's neck. "You were quite admirable on the Bifröst, not unseating Father." It's a genuine compliment: Sleipnir doesn't need his exalted position compromised, either. Loki wants the best for him and always has.
Sleipnir noses closer to Loki's neck, and he laughs before pushing that large head back down. "This? There's no need to worry—it's only an ornament, like the breast plate Father makes you wear." Sleipnir snorts. "Yes, it's not as heavy, but it is still uncomfortable."
Through the large open doorways, Loki hears the morning birds start to chirp. Soon the stable hands will wake and attend to their duties and likely shoo him away from the All-father's prized steed, regardless of Loki's special privileges with Sleipnir. Maybe those privileges have been snatched away, too, like everything else of his?
"Child," he whispers, reaching back to thread his fingers through Sleipnir's mane, "would you like to go for a morning ride before all of Asgard wakes up?" Another hoof scrapes at the ground, and Sleipnir noses his shoulder again. "Good."
Loki opens the low door to the stall and Sleipnir steps out, all eight hoofs clicking against the ground. To be honest, Loki's forgotten how large Sleipnir is, how his little colt is now all muscle and strength, and it's any wonder he still respects Loki after many years in Odin's service.
A hand on Sleipnir's neck, Loki leads him outside, where the morning sun now glints off the surrounding buildings and the palace behind them. Then he wonders how he'll get onto Sleipnir's back, whether he should really test his arm strength or find a bench, when the stallion lowers its forelegs. "Oh, you are the nicest beast in Asgard, aren't you?" he laughs as he climbs on, and grips at the base of Sleipnir's mane as he rises. "Let's pay Heimdall a visit. He will be overjoyed to see us, no doubt."
They take the less traveled roads between the palace and the Bifrost, yet the sound of Sleipnir's trot still lures some onlookers from their bed and breakfasts. They stare at the horse; they stare at Loki; they whisper in equal parts excitement and derision. Yes, he rides the most royal steed like he is still a prince of Asgard—how else would he ride? Did they expect he would be sequestered to the palace just because of his new, low rank?
Perhaps. The press of the collar to his neck, constant and unyielding, nudges at those very thoughts, but he continues to ride Sleipnir towards the gates, thighs pressing to urge him faster. Loki has never been one to favor the attention of all eyes in Asgard.
The gates that lead out to the Bifröst part as they approach, but the astral horizon is bare and empty now that Heimdall's observatory has fallen. However, Loki can see Heimdall standing at the very edge of the shattered bridge, his sword and eyes focused towards the endless abyss, and he doesn't turn as they approach. Sleipnir slows several paces back—he has always been wary of the gatekeeper—and then lowers his forelegs again, letting Loki dismount.
"Good Heimdall," he says, casually strolling up to Heimdall's side, "You seem to have healed from when we last met."
Loki sees a flash of white steel before he's knocked onto his back, breathless and chest sore. Sleipnir neighs loudly, rearing up, but then only comes so close as to help Loki up, nudging at his shoulder and back as he sits up. Peering down at his chest, touching it tentatively with one shaking hand, Loki realizes that the skin isn't broken. Not even the shirt has ripped.
Heimdall has turned to look at him, and now he lowers his sword so that the tip rests against the bridge again. From the angle he holds it, Loki figures that the gatekeeper only hit him with the flat of the blade. His chest still aches. "That was for endangering this realm, Loki, and you can be certain I will strike you again, as necessary."
"Necessary?" Loki wheezes, pushing himself to his feet with Sleipnir's help, hand in his mane again. "How do you think I'll trouble you again, without magic?"
Heimdall stares at him with an orange-eyed gaze that Loki can't meet for long. "You should listen to the Einherjar when they wish to speak with you."
"Excuse me if I would rather have nicer company."
"Your company is no longer yours decide, if I recall," Heimdall points out. Loki's jaw tightens. "I suppose Thor has not told you about the task you have been set, then."
Loki narrows his eyes. "No, he has not," though Loki can't be sure; Thor said plenty of things last night that Loki couldn't remember. "Will you tell me instead, or leave me in suspense?"
"You see the fracture of the Bifröst behind me. The restoration of your citizenship will be contingent upon its repair."
"What?" Loki steps forward, and Heimdall's gaze is solely focused on him (with a glance towards his neck). He ignores it and looks at the broken edge of the bridge, where shards strain out towards the abyss. There isn't anyone else here and the bridge doesn't mend itself. "They expect me to repair it? How? I have no magic! The bridge will never be finished!"
"The Bifröst was not built with spells."
"Oh, and I suppose you would know?" Loki snaps, stepping closer and ignoring the way Heimdall's grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. "Then what was it built with? Blood and sweat and jötunn bones? Did you watch them construct this from your mother's womb? Or are you as ignorant as me, and this is just an impossible task meant to keep me occupied? Tell me, gatekeeper, will I be a bricklayer from now until Ragnarok?"
Heimdall says nothing, but glances over Loki's shoulder towards something else. Sleipnir neighs, and Loki turns to see what agitates him. There's nothing coming up the road, so he looks towards the sky, now orange with the dawn, and sees a familiar figure and hammer whistling down to meet them.
Thor lands next to Sleipnir, who snorts and steps back from him. He looks as if he had flown straight from bed, hair uncombed and dressed only in his undershirt, trousers, and boots. The undershirt alone is still more regal than Loki's entire outfit, and, armed with that annoyance and his cold anger, Loki rounds on Thor, walking over to him and jabbing him in the chest.
"Did you know they want me to rebuild the Bifröst?" Loki asks, and he can see Thor glance away, just that one moment of him trying to find another answer other than the direct truth. Loki scowls, but knowing that he can't release his frustration on either of the men present, he walks away from Thor towards Sleipnir, who lowers his forelegs again.
"Wait—" Thor calls after him, following, but Loki pulls himself onto Sleipnir's back. "—brother—"
"Run," Loki orders the stallion as his knees dig in, and Sleipnir takes off.
Sleipnir is the fastest horse in the Nine Realms, and also the most agile despite his size. The streets bustle with more people as the sun rises higher across the sky, but Sleipnir avoids the traffic as he tears through the boulevards out to the countryside. The buildings get shorter, the people become sparser, and soon there is nothing but long grass and sand by calm waters. Sleipnir slows when the homes fall behind them, and Loki directs him down a tall sand dune to the shoreline before stopping him and sliding off his back.
While Sleipnir takes a drink, Loki sinks to his knees in the sand. He's breathless. His hands shake. He's not sure he can endure an indefinite existence like this, with everyone making decisions about him without his input, without his presence. He can accept punishments when they're delivered to his face, may even agree with them, but this disembodied sentence—it takes away his thin veneer of control that and drive home the point that his life is not his own anymore.
Loki brings both hands to the collar at his neck, clawing at it, pulling at it until his fingers and his neck hurt. More than being uncomfortable, it feels as if it's slowly choking him, that it will press against his throat until he can no longer speak, and then until he can't breathe. He hates it and pulls and pulls and pulls—
"Loki!" Thor shouts, and Loki, startled, looks over; he hadn't seen or heard Thor land nearby. "Loki, what are you doing—" Dropping Mjölnir in the sand, Thor rushes over and kneels in front of him, taking Loki's hands and pulling them away from his neck.
"Release me!" Loki shouts, though pulling against Thor is as useless as trying to break the collar. All the energy he had when he woke seems to be fading, too, and his arms burn with his efforts. Suddenly, Thor jerks him and Loki stills, his chest still heaving.
Thor gives him a small smile before pulling him into a tight, crushing hug; Loki's weak jabs to Thor's ribs don't loosen it. "You need not suffer in silence or solitude," Thor whispers to his ear, and Loki exhales a sardonic laugh against his shoulder. "What bothers you so?"
"This wretched collar," Loki answers, muttering, because it's the easiest thing to target. "It is the first thing others seem to consider and the only thing they see."
"Think of it as jewelry, like the silver clasps you enjoy," Thor says and holds Loki at arm length again. Loki looks at his own hands in his lap. "They stare because it looks handsome on your neck—but what really troubles you, brother?"
Everything, that's his first thought, but it's childish and untrue and Loki prides himself on being analytical, even of his own emotions. Usually. He looks up to meet Thor's blue eyes and swallows. "...does the All-father truly expect me to repair the Bifröst with my own hands?"
"He does, but—" Thor catches Loki's chin as he tries to look away. "—the engineers will give you tools, and it will not be an endless task. Father says it can be done quickly—"
"So they intend to work me to exhaustion!"
"They will not!" Thor says with such conviction that Loki feels a thrill of fear course through him. "I promise you that, but you must tell me when it's too much, Loki. I cannot watch all of your work nor read your mind."
"...fine." Loki takes a deep breath, calming again. These wild swings of anger exhaust him, and yet he feels powerless to stop them, while Thor of all people remains calm, worried, concern. The contrast feelings sickening and unnatural, and just adds to the imbalance Loki has felt ever since Thor returned from Midgard. "But I won't work today."
"There is always tomorrow." Thor helps Loki to his feet, and they brush off the sand from their own clothes. Thor holds his hand out for Mjölnir and then reaches for Loki's waist, but Loki blocks his hand.
"No," he says, and begins to wade through the sand. "I want to walk, but you are free to fly off, if you wish. Sleipnir, you should return, too, before Father notices your absence."
Sleipnir nudges Loki's shoulder before he gallops off towards Asgard again, but Thor doesn't fly through the skies overhead. No, his insufferably good brother jogs up to his side and walks with him, swinging Mjölnir casually at his side.
Later, as they walk an empty road halfway between the palace and the beach, Loki raises a hand to his neck and touches the collar again. The metal feels cool under his fingertips. "Thor, what you said earlier—do you think this looks handsome? This shackle?" Loki asks, looking over. He's more curious than insecure (though there is that, too), and Thor's opinion is Asgard's opinion.
Thor grins, and extends one strong arm around Loki's shoulders to give him a squeeze. "Verily, brother."
The answer's more cryptic than Loki usually expects from Thor, and it leaves him wondering whether he was actually referring to the collar.