Hey, you guys. This is my first Marvel story, seeing that I WAS working on a DC Batman a while ago, my Skyrim one currently, and a few others that are mainly on DeviantART. If you want to look me up there, my name is ESUERC, too. So yeah, I didn't really mean for this to turn into a story, as it was originally just a lot of drabbles and doodles I'd thrown together. But, I ended up liking it so much and had some pretty positive feedback that I decided to go with it.

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Ignis and Ardor

Chapter 1

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Any other night the air would be filled with jovial laughter, the sound of merriment, resounding from the feasting hall within the grand palace seated in the centre of Asgard. Wine, meats and other delicacies shared and spread about for all to see, goblets filled to their brims and the air thick with warmth from the hearth. But this night a tumultuous rain fell upon the antiqued gold and bronze of Asgard, cleared out the wide streets of inhabitants and clouded the varied colours of the heavens above.

But this did nothing to end the excitement shared amongst many throughout Asgard, celebrating Thor's valiant return from his battle with the mighty Mangog- dreaded beast bent on the destruction of the Nine Realms and anything and everything in between.

Past several guard a small group walked with ease, their gaits leisurely and relaxed. The rain grew more violent as they passed through the hall, their voices echoing on the engraved walls and resounding all about them- though their conversation remained unheard to the loyal guardsmen that stood ever around.

A much larger man, his beard a dark copper and his girth nearly as wide as two men, walked alongside a smaller woman, both equally clad in armour despite the elements outside. Several others followed behind, too engrossed in their own conversations to truly acknowledge one another fully. The smaller woman laughed heartily at the joke of her partner, and slapped at his arm playfully when he ruffled at the short warrior stripe running down the centre of her head.

"Volstagg, that's not funny." She retorted despite her laughter from moments before.

"You have to admit, Valr, it might be time to retire the look." Volstagg replied as he rubbed away at the small pain in his arm before his hand rose up to sweep at the woman's hair once again. "Your father, his father, your brother, and your mother- all of them have that same stripe. Perhaps, you—"

"It's tradition." Valr, as she was known, clarified to Volstagg the Voluminous, hoarder of sweet treats, drinker of meads, and devourer of fanciful feasts.

Behind the group, which consisted of the Warriors Three, Lady Sif, and the most powerful and slightly hardheaded Thor, walked the thin, lithe figure of Loki. Disconnected from the various intermingling words ahead of him, he looked out to the rain beyond the safety of the palace roof, his hands knitted loosely behind his back and his head bowed as though in deep thought. He let loose a quiet "oomph" as he suddenly made contact with a figure in front of him, only to find Valr standing steadfast at the toes of his boots.

She laughed at the knitting of his brows and patted his slumped shoulder in mild amusement. "Come on, Loki, cheer up." She demanded, and grinned as his face remained unchanged from the half idled stare with which he looked at her. "Alright, I know you hate it when a prank backfires, but you have to admit," her face contorted into a look of discomfort at the memory, her lips drawn into an awkward grimace, "Heimdall doesn't make the best candidate."

It was quite amusing when she looked back on it, the thought that Heimdall, guardian of the Bifrost, would fall for such a simple trick. Loki should have known better than to tempt him, to try and trick him into falling to the waters below the Rainbow Bridge, gracing the edge of the world by mere feet. The trick was cruel to be sure, but any prank, foul or otherwise, brought a sense of hilarity to the daily life of the God of Mischief.

Loki plucked her hand from his shoulder and allowed his grip to linger for a moment before he released her, "It would have worked had you not said anything." His eyes fell to the floor as the group walked slowly away from them to a nearby doorway, the sounds of the feasting hall beyond heard down the expanse of the walkway, "And it certainly did not help that you proceeded to push me in afterwards." He pulled at his damp clothes with hidden annoyance, his eyes traveling up to meet the small grin on her face, "Though I suppose I should not have expected otherwise."

"Be happy for Thor, Loki." Valr prodded, her hand wrapped around one of the curved horns atop his elegant helmet, her attempt at changing the conversation from anything but the drag of Loki's wet cape on the floor. Her brows raised in an exaggerated expression, her finger poised at his chest as though for emphasis.

"I can assure you, I am nothing but 'truly' happy for my brother." Loki shifted his head and removed the finger pointed into his armour, "You, however, I cannot say the same." She seemed disappointed with his answer and hung her head with a nervous grin for a moment, her hand at the back of her neck sheepishly.

Valr turned about on her heel and traveled toward the awaiting doors, the party within alive and steady, "It's been that way since we were children, Loki. Thought you would have been used to it by now." Her chortle echoed off the wall despite how quietly she let it slip past her lips, and she disappeared from his sight within a moment.

"I am used to it…" he admitted to himself in the now empty hallway, "But that certainly does not mean I enjoy it."

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As the hours of the evening counted on into the colourful night, the party continued on without end. The various meads, ales, wines, and all other sorts of pleasantries were renewed and refilled all throughout the hall, the aromas abundant and heavy about the party goers. Volstagg the Voluminous, dear friend to Valr the Battle-Slain, sat in competition with the young Asgardian nearly a third of his size, the long table before them littered with empty steins and dirtied plates.

A challenge had been declared between the two nearly an hour earlier- that Valr could not hold her own against that of the largest of Asgardians in a drinking bout. But there Volstagg sat, his red beard covered in a thin froth and his eyes crossed, swaying to and fro in his seat. Valr sat beside him, just as worse off as he.

They both sat, a half filled stein in their hands, and gazed sickeningly into the amber liquid with nauseous disgust. On the edge of passing out then and there, Valr slammed her stein upon the wooden table and raised a mead covered hand in truce, her ginger brother-in-arms staring at it questioningly. Within a moment, his mouth agape for nearly so long a fly buzzed at its entrance, he, too, dropped his stein and clasped his hand firmly around hers. He shouted loudly, though slurred terribly, something indecipherable, before landing face first against the table with a resounding thud.

Those around them laughed heartily at the display, Fandral and Hogun, the other members of the Warriors Three, walking up to clasp the shoulders of Volstagg and Valr both in admiration. Thor, meanwhile, having watched the display whilst consumed in his own amusement, only chuckled at the group before returning to the lavish feast before him.

Across the room, secreted away in the dim shadow of the doorway stood Loki, glum and disinterested in the party itself, and far more taken with the small, hapless jests he played upon those unwary. Snakes in goblets, disappearing benches, unexpected winds that tempted the clothes of women and men alike, amongst the many other tricks he kept up his sleeve. All in good favour, of course, his tricks a means to lighten the party from the heavy honor Thor carried about his person. And yet, he watched carefully and with slight delight the scene between Valr and Volstagg, noticed the way the former now slumped on the table in a drunken stupor beside her inebriated friend.

His eyes rolled at the sight as a grin barely graced his thin lips. He was not assisting her home that evening, of that he was most sure.

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"Go away, Loki." Valr ordered as the sun shone through the open shutters of her window, the bright pain of a terrible hangover sitting at the front of her head. Loki sat at her window sill silently, and despite the promise he made to himself the night prior he assisted her home in her all-too-drunken swagger, through stumbles and incomprehensible ramblings.

Valr covered her head against the sun with her pillow and rolled onto her side gingerly so her back faced the gangly Odinson in her room. The floor creaked under his weight as Loki stepped across the room quietly, as one does when avoiding a bear or Volstagg and a piece of cake, before setting himself at the edge of the bed near her curled legs.

"Did I win?" Valr asked of him cryptically, but immediately he understood to what she had referenced.

"You declared a truce with Volstagg." He commented and proceeded to clasp his hands in his lap patiently.

"Pity truce." She corrected, and nudged him in the back with her foot. "I could have beaten him, fairly and all that. It was his belching, really. I'd gotten sick of it."

"You were not much better." Loki laughed and pulled the pillow from her head, an action that caused her to cringe painfully, "And you are far too proud for your own good."

A white wave covered her head as Valr pulled her sheets up and across her eyes, hidden away from the God of Mischief's sight. "Not nearly as proud as your brother. He gives Volstagg a run for the largest bust in Asgard when he puffs his chest out like that." Loki smiled briefly at the comment and stood from his seat to pull back her covers.

"True. I'll not dispute that. But you do share his stubbornness." Valr curled into herself before at last she admitted defeat. She turned about and stood on wobbling legs, the once vertical warrior's stripe atop her head slumped and knotted.

It was, in fact, a family tradition Loki noticed, the bizarre hairstyle amongst the Battle-Slain family- as was the family name. Her father, a guard in the All-Father's palace, had such a design, her mother, brother, and grandmother all similar in style. Her father's father, slain in battle, also carried with him the tradition, as did his wife, also slain, and so did their siblings- not spared from the terrible fate of battle. It was unique amongst them, identifiable from a distance, the family that strutted about proudly, their gaits wide and determined, shoulders back and heads held high despite what seemed to be a short gene.

Valr slapped at Loki's back until he neared the window, and all but pushed him out with the simple excuse that she needed to dress. "Enough ogling. Out." She told him and pushed against his back futilely as he stood still as stone at the sill. "You're like a stubborn horse. Out!"

"I told you not to bring up the horse aga—" He was stopped abruptly before he could scold her properly for her words, as she decided then to back away and shoulder him out the window without so much as a glance back.

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Unfazed, Valr sat at the edge of the rainbow bridge and dangled her feet from the side without worry, without fear that the pacing Loki at her back would shove her off as she had done to him earlier that morning, and the day before. From edge to edge of the colour changing bridge he paced, slowly and deep in thought, glimpsing every so often to the all-seeing Gatekeeper, Heimdall, just within the nearby chamber.

A grin swept past Loki's gaunt features at the notice of the Gatekeeper, that stoic and powerful being loyal to the All-Father and none other, just out of Valr's sight. "Do you remember," He began, loud enough for Heimdall to take heed of his words, "…your like for old Heimdall as a child, Valr?" He pried, jested at the small crush she once held for the Keeper, trying to embarrass her within sight of the man in question.

Valr caught on quickly to his words and whisked her hand around in the air to dismiss him, "Of course. And I made it quite obvious!" She yelled, loud enough for Heimdall to hear.

Loki's head snapped in the direction of the Gatekeeper, who now appeared nearer the archway to his chamber, his mighty sword stationary at his armour-clad feet. The Odinson shifted uncomfortably at those golden-amber eyes that gazed without once blinking, and stepped up behind the young woman to prod his boot against the back of her lightweight cuirass. She looked back at him with an irritated glance over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a thin line.

Sensing an argument, Heimdall turned on his heel toward the dais in the centre of his chamber and tightened his hold at the leather grip wrapped about the handle of his sword, his stance suddenly tense and rigid. Meanwhile, Loki and Valr bickered outside at the prods of the Mischief-Maker moments before, one embarrassing reminder after another exchanged between the two.

Loki seemed to be winning, Valr's race reddened and flustered, her nostrils flared as she fussed at the elegant leather of his overcoat. He dragged out every moment, every secret she'd told him, and repeated it to her with the slightest hint of venom- through the grin on his face never wavered. "Why would you bring that up?" she whispered harshly, "No one has to know about that night with Fandral. I shouldn't have even told you!"

"You brought up the horse again." He said calmly, his hand wrapped about her wrist as she threw a single punch at him. "Sleipnir was a gift for Father, nothing more."

Loki laughed as her futile attempts to hit him carried on without end, her punches, he knew, all in good fun.

Heimdall, caught in his own world, lifted his sword cautiously against the electricity that now sat in the air, the tense static uncomfortable at his skin.

Valr and Loki shot up at the sound of tearing- a single punch making contact with his cheek as he was caught off guard- the noise that followed the opening of a portal, as though reality ripped open before them.

Trolls, all sizes and shapes, from the light skinned trolls of Vanaheim to the frost-ridden beings of Niflheim, and the creatures, fire-charged and alive with flame, of Muspelheim stood at the entrance of the Bifrost.

Heimdall, deadly and quick to react, downed several of the vermin before a few others managed past him and raced out into the open air of the bridge. Valr and Loki looked to each other with a hint of hesitation before they readied themselves fully, Valr's short sword drawn and Loki's hands alive with powerful magic.

Engaged in seconds, Valr felled two as they drew their swords against her, the bloodied weapon in her hand having been unused for nearly a week.

The exhilaration coursed through them as trolls fell around the pair easily- even the largely unarmed Loki a challenge against the foul humanoids. It was a dance they'd shared before, back to back, their attacks complimentary to one another.

A master of magic and sorcery, and purely all things illusionary, Loki dispatched the remainder of the trolls with ease. Skilled with her sword like any other member of her family, Valr swung about swiftly, her jabs and swings calculated.

She trotted about eagerly and excitedly similar to a lion at the bars of its cage. "There has to be more, Heimdall." She admitted, and looked to the calm god beside her for input.

Loki acknowledged her with a glance and a curt, one-sided grin. "Perhaps it was merely a small group, nothing more th—"

A shard of ice shot through the air, easily zooming past his head and missing by inches- only to be tracked to a freshly spawned frost troll at the Gatekeeper's side. Heimdall eliminated the threat with one swing and emerged from his chambers and out into the open. The gold of his armour, horned helm and all, gleamed in the orange haze of the evening, his gaze affixed to the All-Father's palace at the heart of Asgard. "Go." He stated simply, his sword still drawn at his side.

Flashes of light bloomed at several points in the city at his words, a swarm of the foul beasts emerging from each.

Valr looked to Loki with a hint of disdain in her narrowed eyes. "Seems I was mistaken." He admitted, and followed quickly behind the advancing warrior toward his home.

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Valr paused for a moment to collect herself once they stood in the main courtyard, her eyes roaming about the palace walls in a jerky fashion. "Go find Thor and the others. They're already fighting, knowing your brother."

The streets around them ran rampant with hundreds of trolls, a regular field of battle on the soil of Asgard. The air hung thick with the fog of war as the roofs of many a building lay covered in flame from the steps of the trolls of Muspelheim, others frozen from the exterior in by the icy grip of Niflheim. Loki looked to Valr with furrowed brows, but said nothing to express the disapproval of her idea. At that moment, he wanted nothing but to return to that morning, to any other day in which he could relax without war or strife.

He stepped back slowly, steadily, and prepared to turn about before Valr's words caught him. "You and me." She started, and pointed between them with the tip of her sword, "After this, we're having a drink. You're getting drunk tonight, not me."

And with that, the two disbanded with a shared laugh, Valr toward the centre of the palace, Loki to the surrounding courtyards.

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Valr scrambled about the slick floors of the palace's interior beside those she'd rallied to aid her, guards and battle seasoned commoners alike. The room reeked of the burnt husks of the fallen but sat chilled like the winds of winter by the frozen statuettes of a considerable number of guards, caught in their last ounces of life. Arms raised and weapons readied, they sat encased in a thick coat of ice, their countenances frozen in anger and fear.

The room lay clear of all threats once the group found themselves in the feasting hall, the open balcony stretched across the expanse of the far wall empty of the invading trolls. Valr took the lead and searched about the room cautiously, suspiciously, her hands coiled around the grip of her sword tightly.

"Somethin's not right." A heavily armoured guard behind her commented, his pole arm's spearhead aimed at the floor as he, too, roamed about.

But just as the words escaped his lips the room shook violently, the double doors leading within torn from their hinges by an outside force. Valr and her comrades backed away further toward the balcony as innumerable trolls stormed in, followed by a singular warbeast. The great and vicious creature hung low to enter the room through the space the doorway offered, the fur of its arms marred with aged scars and fresh wounds.

Over twenty feet tall, the warbeast trudged forward on four hooves before the gathered trolls, its face masked and shoulders and chest armoured, its two arms weighed down by dual, jagged swords. The warriors backed away, frightened by their new opponent and its reverberating steps, all caught in a well-placed trap.

'And you are far too proud for your own good.' Loki's words reminded Valr, and she regretted at that moment that they'd divided and "conquered".

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Thor, the Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three stood victorious amongst the broken bodies of a small army of trolls, largely unhurt and jovial from the suspenseful and surprising combat from moments before. Loki approached them quickly and looked around at the group with a curious eye, "Have you seen Valr?" He quipped, the tips of his fingers rubbing at his palms unconsciously. "Have you been inside as of yet?"

Thor tittered and placed a congratulatory pat on his brother's shoulder, rocking him on his feet so he wobbled precariously. "No, not yet, Loki." He added swiftly. "But do not doubt her. She craves battle nearly as much as I."

Thor pulled himself away from his brother and swung Mjolnir, his powerful hammer crafted by the Dwarves, around in a circle at his side.

"That's what I'm afraid of…" Loki replied and pushed past his headstrong sibling and into the palace, only to be followed close behind by Thor and the others.

From top to bottom they scoured the halls of any sign of Valr and the remaining Palace guards, but found not an ounce of their presence until, at last, they stood at the broken doorway to the feasting hall. The night before, the grand scope of the room was marvelous. Burdened with far too many people, and loud enough to be heard from the streets below, the hall was a sight to see. But before them was nothing of the sort.

Rubble lay strewn about, broken shards of the doors scattered across the scuffed and scarred floor. The room lay a mess, bodies littered about like discarded refuse, Asgardian and troll alike.

Loki walked into the room silently and avoided with each step the fragments of the broken long table and scattered weaponry, the large carcass of a fallen warbeast at the far side of the room an object most interesting. Thor, on the other hand, strutted about as proud as any victorious warrior and slung his hammer atop his shoulder, his cape billowed behind him- still a bright sanguine in the light of the hanging sconces despite the darkness of the evening outside.

Loki navigated about the warbeast cautiously and prodded at one of its hooves with his boot. It stank as much in death as it had in life, its fur matted and tangled, their armour on its chest and shoulders dinged heavily from battle.

Dead, of that he was confident, slain by the short sword embedded in its forehead. But as he neared the unmasked maw of the warbeast he saw alongside it a stilled figure, their armour largely crushed as though trampled, blackened by the dangerous beams that no doubt originated from the mouth of the warbeast. A short crop of hair stuck out from the top of their head- recognizable from a distance.

A warrior's stripe.

Instantly, Loki ran forward and pulled them onto their back, only to be faced with a grievous image.

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In a last ditch effort to slay the warbeast, Valr, her armour collapsed by the tremendous grip of the trolls' monster, plunged her sword deep into its forehead. Its body shuttered violently before it released its hold around her, shrieks caught in its throat as it swung about in the throes of death, its jaw slack and body ridden with spasms.

Valr laid still on the floor, exhausted and breathless, the ribs under her armour broken inward. In those last moments, she struggled to breathe, her gasps like that of a fish out of water.

Her vision darkened slowly as the twilight outside gave way to the evening.

'Looks like I'm not having that drink…'

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Wordlessly, Loki touched at Valr's cheek with the most ginger of touches, his fingers trembling, fallen to his knees as his legs gave way beneath him. The sight before his eyes he refused to believe, refused to accept.

It was not until he cradled her against him did the reality of the situation sink in, the limp weight of her form still somewhat warm to the touch.

In the distance, Thor joked with Sif, Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg, his friends as boisterous as he. But Loki paid them no mind as he sat hidden away behind the enormous heft of the warbeast, unmoving and distanced. For several moments he remained unnoticed until finally Thor began his walk about the room, his steps heavy on the floor and his strut relaxed.

"Come now, Brother. Surely that beast does not require such careful inspection?" He laughed, and guided his friends to where Loki sat.

Sif was the first to stop at the sight, her hand raised to her mouth in an unheard gasp, the Warriors Three following suit almost immediately after. Volstagg's mouth sat agape, his hand coiled in the curls of his beard, Fandral and Hogun's heads lowered to avoid the sight.

A tension hung in the air as Thor sidestepped them with a grin, perplexed by their sudden halt. "Not you, too." He whined at the warriors, "There is nothing about this beast that…"

Thor grew deathly quiet at the sight of his brother on the floor, Valr's broken form caught tightly against his chest.

His smile drooped then with realization, his hand instinctively extended to loosely grasp his brother's hunched shoulder. Loki jumped at the sudden touch, believing perhaps Valr played an elaborate ruse, a hateful prank, upon him as he would her, but breathed in deeply when the blue eyes of his brother met his. "Loki…" he began softly, "Perhaps Father can help her. Bring her back."

Loki's throat grew taut and he struggled to raise his head in response. "No." he stated bluntly, with far more venom than he intended, "Such dark magic cannot…" he stopped himself as the words turned foul on his tongue, a heavy sigh let loose in exchange for the words he wished to express at such a ridiculous idea.

"I'm sorry." Thor told him, the others gathered close as though to comfort. "She died a warrior, as any of us would hope."

But his words fell to deaf ears as Loki sunk deep into the recesses of his mind, that dark corner, that widening crevasse in which all creatures hid when the world grew bleak around them. How he wished it was a simple trick, a prank against him as they'd done time and time again. But he knew all the better, and crawled away into that abysmal corner and sat.

In that corner he disregarded all else, all apologies and condolences, and shut himself away for a time. A time he did not measure.

A time he refused to acknowledge.

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NEXT CHAPTER:

DISAPPEARED

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That's it for my first chapter. I already have chapter 2 completed, but I would love to hear what you thought about the first!