Vent fiction-turned drabble. Don't'cha love it when that happens?
Disclaimer: I do not own "Thor."
You know, I didn't ask for this life. I didn't ask to be thrust into this world head first without any choice over where I was going or how I was to get there. But that's no surprise, really. Oh at first, yes, it was a shock; such so I'd first believed myself cursed, of all dastardly things. But I'm not cursed, am I, father? No…no, that isn't the word at all. I'm just a pawn, aren't I? A little game piece shoved into your back pocket until a useful opportunity arises.
Ha…how incredibly predictable. Truly; it's a wonder I hadn't noticed it until now. Time and time again you sit and brood while chaos stirs around you like a festering plague and only when you find things unbearable do you finally get off your royal haunches and act like the monarch so many assume you to be. Ah, but it is never a wise decision to assume, is it, father? Oh no…not at all. What are you but a figurehead clinging to the shreds of a power slipping through your fingers with every breath you take? A washed up fool so desperate to remain in control you place the future of our home in the hands of a brawny idiot incapable of verbal communication lest it be the shrill cry of war. A fool unfit for the throne but chosen only because he is of your blood and not your brain which, need I remind you, is a gift you passed to me. Your greatest asset as king of Asgard, and you deny the one who, too, holds it because he is of Jotunheim decent and not. Your. Son!
Deny the truth if you like; I'm no fool. I can see how your eyes shift their focus whenever we speak. You survey me, you hear me, but you do not view me as you do my brother. You do not listen to me as you would were I not what I am. If you did…if you did you would reconsider. Thor does not appreciate you as I do, father. He does not understand what it means to oversee our realm. I do. You know I do. I could be king—I should be king but instead I spend my time babysitting a bumbling blond bobble-head and why? Why do I waste my time trying to reason with a man whose skull is as thick as the hammer he wields? Is that all I am to you? Those years spent listening, learning…was it really all for naught? Have I no purpose in life other than cleaning up after a band of overgrown children in battle armor?
Do tell me if that's all I'm doing. Really, I'd like to know. If the almighty Allfather has no greater purpose for his "second son" than to play babysitter for the elder then it's my obligation to know. Wouldn't you agree?
Father?
Odin?
…
I'm meant for so much more—I can feel it gnawing at my chest with every droning day passed by. I do not wish for conflict; I am of silver tongue, not one of fire. But I, also, cannot sit by while my mind collects cobwebs and my wit turns to dust from inactivity and minimal use. I am not a child's nursemaid, father-dearest.
I am the rightful heir to your throne.
And I will not stand for this diminutive treatment any longer.