And now, a story in five parts. All are written, and I will post one every other day. I hope you enjoy! Please review - I love hearing what everyone thinks!
It is odd, I realize in retrospect, how the experiences that change our lives for the good are so often the ones that nearly end it.
It was as it had been so many times before. Just as when we were younger, riding out on our steeds into the far reaches of Asgard, the six of us ready to face with alacrity whatever adventure came our way. Dressed for battle, equipped with swords and spears and powers, courage and wit, loyalty to each other and to our great realm. Eager to see what this quest might bring, and looking forward to telling stories of our deeds in the times to come.
At least, that is how it appeared on the outside. We were the six of us, once again, just as before, just as we had wished. And yet, everything was so much different.
I glance over at him, guiding his bay to the right of and just behind Thor's massive white stallion. He is looking ahead purposefully, so abnormal for him. Of all of us, he has always been most aware of his surroundings (even more so than Hogun, whose constant mental readiness for battle often strikes others as pessimism).
He is avoiding looking around because he does not want to meet our eyes, I realize. I wonder briefly if he is plotting some scheme - it seems he is never not doing so - but it does not take the mind of a trickster god to reason that his manner stems from shame. And rightly so, for he has so very much to be ashamed of. The thought sounds harsh - for in our years together growing up and learning about life, such was our friendship, odd though it may have been, that I never would have wished harm upon him.
I do not now, I realize, and this startles me a little. Not long ago I would have fought my way through all of the underworld to get my hands around his throat, make him pay for his treachery, for the pain he caused. My temper has always been a vice of mine, and had it not been for Volstagg's strong hand upon my shoulder, I could easily have ended the traitor's life more than once.
But like us all, traitors and deceivers are subject to the hand of fate, a force stronger even than the gods. And fate acted in the form of a common enemy and so much patience and love - and characteristic refusal not to have his own way - from Thor, so much more of a brother than anyone who might share common blood. I wish I could say that somehow, somewhere along the line jealousy suddenly turned to loyalty and hatred to love, but life does not happen like that. Nearly everything I have observed about the turning tide that is Loki has been in the smallest of stages. And though he has proved himself many times to be one of us again, I fear to truly accept it in my heart. For the worst mistake one can make when dealing with the god of deceit is to think he has chosen a permanent path.
I beckon my mare just the smallest bit closer to him, and in doing so I end up next to Thor. Though he turns to smile briefly at me, he too seems uncharacteristically lost in thought. Perhaps he is wondering how this quest will proceed, but more he is likely worrying over how his brother will fare the experience, this being so great a step in what Thor at least considers to be his healing. So much like the mighty and powerful god of thunder, to be proud and bold and bombastic to everyone but the one person he felt most responsible for protecting. The relationship shared by the two princes had been a subject of much observation by my childhood self, having spent so many hours in the palace myself, as the daughter of a noble couple. We played, and later trained together, and more than once I had seen Thor knock older and bigger boys to the ground if they so much as looked strangely at his soft-spoken, pale, sensitive, different little brother. And though Loki always resisted any attempts to dote on or comfort him in any way with sharp glares and biting remarks, there was never a time of Thor's need when he was not at his elder brother's side, listening and speaking gently, often bringing a smile to his brother's face by turning simple dust into small fireworks or making the contents of a goblet leap and dance with a sweep of his hand. And though many a time I had seen the younger prince look on as his older brother took steps toward his kingly future with jealousy and hurt in his eyes, until the battle with the Jotuns, when everything had unraveled in Loki's mind and heart, those expressions had never been unaccompanied by love.
Knowing that side of him was what, I suppose, made it all the worse when we lost him. It had been so soon after Thor's banishment, and with our fears for the health and life of the Allfather, Loki's terribly misguided reign had almost been too much to bear. What had before been a penchant for mischief and tricks turned into manipulation and cruelty. I learned quickly the information which had set Loki teetering over the edge of sanity, but even though I knew that this terrible revelation and his feelings of betrayal by his family were what had pushed him into this darkness, I could not ignore the fact that he had still made this choice. And when I looked into his eyes that day in the throne room and saw in them only ice, with not a trace of the love or gentleness that I knew he was capable of, it made my heart boil with anger.
But my disappointment and feelings of betrayal outweighed even my temper. I remembered all the times the two of us had snuck about the palace, formulating all sorts of mischief, directed at his brother or our friends or, if we were feeling particularly brave, some of the nobles that always seemed to be wandering about, disrupting our play at the most inconvenient times. Countless times I had sought out an unsuspecting target or kept watch while he untied their boots or turned their breeches bright pink from where he hid. We would barely be able to hold in our mirth until our oblivious victim was out of earshot, and then we would laugh and laugh, and seeing him smile would enhance my joy all the more.
There were few who had the privilege of seeing the younger son of Odin smile more than once or twice in their lives. I always felt they were unfortunate in this, because though the instances of it became increasingly rare as we grew older, when Loki truly smiled, he seemed to do so with every fiber of his being. It would light up his face, straight to his eyes. When he fell between the worlds and we thought we had lost him forever, the thought of never seeing that smile again was like pouring salt into an open wound for me. I had stood out on the balcony overlooking the palace gardens, wanting to be alone with my grief, remembering all the times we had stood out there together over the years. He would conjure up butterflies - one of the only stereotypically feminine enjoyments I held - and make them flit around and land on me. I could still feel the tickle of their tiny feet on my arms. I would gasp with delight and smile until the butterflies vanished because he had been too busy watching my wonder to maintain the incantation. But it never mattered to me, because that smile would be there when I looked up. Whenever I would look back on those moments, they would always make me feel uncomfortably female (very unbecoming of a warrior, especially one trying to prove herself worthy as her masculine companions as possible). But when they were happening, they would thrill my heart and I would wish they would never end. It was only out there on that horrible day, when I could be truly alone, that I had allowed myself to shed tears for him, on the balcony in a garden utterly bereft of butterflies.
For our normally rowdy group of six, we are unusually quiet as we near our destination. I can hear Fandral and Volstagg speaking quietly with each other, with Hogun making the occasional comment, but they make no effort to draw the rest of us into their conversation, and I am riding too far ahead to make out what they are saying. I can, however, make a guess the general context of their conversation-The Warriors Three are not quite so comfortable with the presence of one who had so recently been our enemy as Thor would like them to be. It has been like this ever since we set out yesterday, and camping last night was especially tense. There had been brief talk of strategy, primarily by Thor of course, but not much else. Loki had eaten his small dinner in complete silence and then immediately curled up on his bedroll and the far edge of the campsite, facing the forest. So swift was the transition that I almost went over to him to inquire if he was unwell, but when I observed the way the trickster feigned sleep I realized that trying to speak to him would only make matters worse. What does one say, anyway? And how is it that you can wish so desperately to be reconciled with someone when you cannot let go of your anger at the ways they have hurt you?
Our mission was meant to be a simple scouting out, investigation of minor activity southeast of the palace-though Heimdall the gatekeeper can see actions, he cannot see motivations, and the small incidences needed to be looked into before they amplified. I knew that Thor wished to settle the matter without conflict if at all possible. No longer the rash, foolish boy who ran into Jotunheim with his hammer raised, the first prince of Asgard wished to talk the matters through as peacefully as possible.
When we have approached the sight of the disturbances, we dismount and tie our horses by the bank of a small stream that runs through the forest. We wish to seem the least opposing we can, so we opt for the sacrifice of stature and speed in favor of keeping hold of our weapons, just in case the negotiation process turns unfavorable.
We soon find ourselves in a dense part of the wood. Looking for the rogues' campsite will proceed faster if we divide our forces, so Thor sends Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg to the north. The three of us who remain proceed southward, our footsteps light, our senses on high alert.
We have not gone three hundred paces when we hear Volstagg yell "Thor!". We turn and rush back in the direction of our friends, who are surrounded by the outlaws with jagged blades at the ready, outnumbered by at least two to one. But as we charge we are intercepted by even more. The blood and thrill of battle pounding in my ears, I unsheathe my sword and slash at the first opponent I encounter, dispatching him quickly by cutting open the large artery at his neck. It was a pity he didn't have enough time to realize that his life had been ended at the hands of a woman. After dispatching two more opponents in a similar manner, I have a brief moment to check on the brothers - The Warriors Three are still too far away and hidden by the dense wood for my eyes to make out. To my left, Thor has engaged two enemies simultaneously, striking one with Mjolnir and frying the other with lightning bolts shot from his palm. Show off, I think to myself. I see Loki to my right, and for a moment I fear that something is terribly wrong - a particularly large outlaw is charging toward him, and he seems frozen to the spot. But just then I notice his dagger fly unmanned from behind a tree and embed itself in an impossibly perfect location in the enormous man's neck. As the enemy falls, I watch Loki step from behind the tree and, with a disdainful smirk, beckon his doppelganger to become part of himself once more with a wave of his hand.
Satisfied that Thor and Loki are safe and well for the moment, I look around for my next enemy, and am surprised when one does not present itself. Neither of the brothers seem to have any more challengers after the ones I had just observed, and when I listen, I can hear no sounds of battle from where The Warriors Three had been fighting. Taking a few deep breaths, I concentrate on slowing down my heart rate.
"Well," said Thor, looking around at the treetops with a satisfied look on his face and loosening his grip on Mjolnir just a bit, "it appears as though the battle has been won."
And at that moment the forest explodes.