Author's Note: Hello. This is an Avengers/Hobbit crossover fic, written upon the insistence of my two friends, known in my fics as "Joslyn" and "Kristen" and inserted here under their elvish personas "Galawyn" and "Caraphin". I have already finished writing it and am in the process of revising and dividing it into chapters. It currently amounts to about 16.5K words. Sequels are in the process of being written.
Constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged, but please do remember that I wrote this to amuse myself and my friends, and I post this in hopes that others may also derive amusement from it. Therefore, please don't leave comments that will make me feel bad about my writing. Thanks :D
Warnings: Language, allusion to adult themes, drunkenness, mildly graphic violence, occasionally devolution into crackfic. Rated M mostly just for the language.
Quite a bit of intergalactic running had taken him here, so much so that he wasn't exactly sure where 'here' was. Despite this mildly inconvenient lack of knowledge, Loki of Asgard was fairly confident that he had, for the time being, given his enemies the slip.
He was a little the worse for wear: he swayed a little as he stood, his hands shook with exhaustion, dark circles could be found under green eyes that were temporarily without a mischievous glint. Not to mention, he had somewhere along his mad dash out of danger lost his awesome gold helmet. He hoped he would not need it here, in what appeared to be a dark forest in an unknown realm.
No sooner had that hope formed in his thoughts than it was dashed as a colossal spider fell out of a tree a mere meter from where he stood.
Gah! shouted his internal voice as he blasted it away from him with what energy he could scrape from the bottom of his reserve.
"Not bad!" called a female voice from high above his head. Even as his head snapped up to locate the speaker and his still-glowing staff rose in anticipation of conflict, he realized how exceedingly tired he was—skipping through space had been as taxing as it always was.
"No worries, obviously lost traveler!" Loki was able to locate the voice, which was coming from a humanoid figure perched in a shadowy tree. "I am the embodiment of your long-overdue stroke of luck! Now come with me before more of them show up and eat your devilishly handsome face!"
She either understood his silent acquiescence or expected his unquestioning compliance, as she at once descended from the tree with a sort of functional grace and led him through the darkness. The surrounding forest teemed with unseen life, some of its creatures emanating fear, others malice. Loki had no wish to meet any of them in his current state of distasteful weakness, so he hastened to stay with the quick-footed silhouette of the girl ahead of him.
"And here we are," she said with a dramatic gesture to their surroundings, which looked exactly the same as any other spot of forest Loki had seen thus far. "You're welcome. I'll leave you here, as I've got better places to be tonight!" And she bounded off before Loki had even decided what answer to demand of her first.
"Where am I?" he called in annoyance.
"I am more interested in who you are," spoke someone off to his right.
"I am lost. Could you tell me where I am?" he requested benignly as he vainly searched the darkness for the body to whom this voice belonged.
"Lost, you say? You are lost indeed. Fortunately, you are lost in Northern Mirkwood, and those who dwell beneath this leafy canopy may well help you find yourself."
"Who are you?"
"I am Tathar," said the voice, still not revealing itself. "A happy and humble guard on this fine night, no more or less."
"Are you corporeal, Tathar?" Loki inquired with what would come off as perfect politeness.
"An interesting question indeed!" Tathar exclaimed. "I am not entirely sure. I do possess a body that can be seen and touched, but it is entirely within the realms of possibility that I am a mere resident within this body which is not my self, in which case my self would most likely be of the intangible variety."
"I do not believe your claim to a body, as I cannot see it," Loki challenged.
"You are peculiar indeed, if you only believe what your eyes can behold," commented Tathar, stepping up to Loki out of the shadows. "But if you insist on seeing, I am here to be seen."
Loki observed a young face set with distracted blue eyes and surrounded by shoulder-length blonde hair. Somehow, Tathar's being was emitting its own subtle glow, just enough to see by. Neither the face nor the voice had confirmed Tathar's gender, but Loki guessed him to be male. He would be careful not to use gender-specific pronouns until he had more faith in that assessment.
"So you do have a body," Loki observed. "As have I. Mine happens to be on the brink of exhaustion at the moment, so if you would be so kind, my good Tathar, I would be directed to a place safe enough to take a few hours' rest."
"But of course," the cheerful guard replied. "If you would but give your word that you mean my people no harm and will cause no mischief here."
Loki held back a laugh. His word? "I know not your people, nor do I bear any ill will towards them." And he left it at that.
"Good! Come with me!"
Despite his exhaustion, Loki was able to be truly astonished that the imbecile guard had managed to trick him. He hated having his oldest weapon turned against him, and wielded by one so utterly unworthy. Bah!
If he had been more alert, he might have thought thrice before accepting the proffered water. He might have checked it for poison or enchantment. But Tathar seemed so genuinely amicable; mistaking him for simple, Loki had underestimated him in a manner that would be embarrassing if anyone he knew ever came to hear of it.
This passed through his mind as the enchanted water began to take its effect. After a few moments, he was too disoriented to think much more, and not long after that the entirety of everything crashed down and dragged him into unconsciousness.
"Alright, Galawyn," Tathar said, heaving the unconscious form over his shoulder. "Who is this?"
"I have no idea," the girl, Galawyn, replied, reappearing from amongst the dark tangle of tree limbs. "But it seemed rather harsh to let him get eaten by the spiders when he probably came to enjoy our amazing elfish hospitality."
"I don't think he did," Tathar corrected. "He did mention being lost."
"That'd be my excuse too if I was trying to sneak into an elfish rave party," Galawyn chuckled into the darkness, defying it as though it had long ago ceased to intimidate her. "We must inform the king of our party crasher."
"Of course. Now that the threat is neutralized, I'll go find him somewhere safe to stay. Then I'll go deliver the message. Stand my guard while I take care of this."
"Sure, sure," she said as she ascended into a comfortable tree and opened her senses to the surroundings. "But be back quick—I've got places to be."
Loki awoke slowly, despite the fact that a part of him was ringing every alarm bell in his head, stressing that the external world had created a situation that demanded his immediate attention. He hated that part of himself even though it had done a stellar job so far of keeping him alive.
He noted trees above him, small amounts of bright light filtering green through the leaves. Forest sounds surrounded him, but nothing was very close.
Someone watched him.
This someone was a dark-haired young woman who observed him with catlike hazel eyes. She was armed with what looked to be a light metal rod with a large netted loop on one end. Her mouth curved in a smirk when she noticed his observation.
"See anything you like?" she challenged, and he recognized her voice as the one who had led him to Tathar.
He considered her for a moment before obliging her challenge. "You are not the foulest alien I have ever seen." Her eyes widened in surprise that he had returned her lip. "Who are you?" Loki asked as he sat up and stretched.
"Who are you?"
"I asked you first," he protested.
Unimpressed, she replied, "I asked you second. Also, seeing as your face owes me after I saved it from being spider food, I call in its debt to answer the first question."
"I am Loki," said his very handsome face.
"And I—" she swept her arms wide in a dramatic reveal "—am Galawyn, proud supporter of interspecies relations, as evidenced by my willingness to stomach your presence, you gorgeous round-eared freak."
"What are your ears, if not round?" was probably not the most to-the-point question Loki could have asked, but he excused himself on the grounds of being drugged.
"Oh, wanna see some elf skin, do you?" she teased, but obligingly pulled back her dark tresses to show off her pointed ears.
"What manner of creature are you?" he asked.
"Hold up!" she scolded. "It's my turn to ask a question. Jeez, let a lady have a chance to speak, unmannered foreigner!"
"You confuse me with my boorish brother," he corrected her coolly. "I am very well-mannered. Please, my lady, ask away."
"Why are you here?"
"As a general rule, I don't wrestle with existential conundrums after having just awoken. Try again."
She took no time to consider before blurting, "Are you single?"
"Short answer—yes." He didn't bother asking why she wanted to know; she had already dropped a few unbidden compliments to his appearance. He thought of how better to use his question.
"This forest we are in—where is it?"
"This forest, Mirkwood as it is now commonly called, lies between the Ered Mithrin and the realm of Gondor."
"I have never heard of these places. What realm is this?"
"You lied! You are not well-mannered at all. You have stolen my question again! You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
As Loki was currently at a disadvantage in terms of knowledge and power to this people he had bumped into inadvertently, he knew it would be a poor strategic move to kill one of their own, even if that one was remarkably impertinent. Best just to toy words with her until he developed a workable counter-plan.
"My sincerest apologies, my lady," he said, dialing up the charm with a smile.
"Well, the sexy smile means you get forgiveness. You know, you're lucky you're pretty, or else I would probably have fed you to the spiders already."
His smile twisted, but he said nothing—he did not divulge the secrets of his false face to anyone who brought it up in conversation.
"So if you have never heard of us before, how can you speak our language?"
"I am a god, you dull creature; I understand all languages of gods and lesser beings such as yourself."
"Hey, I resent that! And there's no way you are a god. A god wouldn't be wandering lost through Mirkwood at night, nearly getting eaten and then getting drugged by a 'lesser being'. And you've completely shattered any claim to courtesy."
"We have already established that I lied about the manners. Despite what you have falsely concluded, I am a god; what manner of creatures are your people?"
"Sex gods," she answered with a perfectly straight face. "Also known as Silvan elves. Skeptical?" she asked in response to his raised eyebrows. "Well, we may look pretty tame in the day, but once the sun goes down and the good wine starts flowing…" She left the end of her sentence hanging. "We'll have to get you to one of the good parties while you're with us. In the meantime, answer me this: where do you come from?"
"A place very far away. Who leads you?"
"An elf," Galawyn answered indifferently.
"That," Loki protested, "Is hardly an answer."
"Neither," Galawyn pointed out, "Was yours."
Loki sighed, prompting a little feeling of triumph in the elf for her success in being annoying. "Fine. I come from a realm called Asgard, which is so far away from this realm that the distance can only be traversed with magic. My home is a grand city full of people who are collectively too loud for my own tastes. The man who raised me is the king. Is that sufficient to merit a real answer?"
"Passable, I suppose," Galawyn allowed. "The Elvenking is Thranduil, a Sindarin elf who has ruled over the Woodland Realm for millennia. He's tall and blonde, and he wears a crown made out of sticks—don't even ask, I have no idea."
"I will refrain from putting this question to you."
"Very good. Now how did you get here?"
"Magic."
"I told you: no non-answers."
"I told you: no existential questions this soon after rising."
Galawyn frowned at him. "We can do this half-answer game all day, but it would be much preferable to go find a good party instead. So how did you get here?"
Loki divulged, "It was by use of a magic too complex to explain to someone who is not well versed on the subject. I had not had time to fix a destination in mind, as my enemies were in hot pursuit at my heels. I was tired, so I amassed what capacity for magic still lingered inside my body and magically threw myself as far away as I could. I ended up here, for which I ought to count myself lucky—there are far worse realms in which I could have landed." He shuddered to think of the possibilities.
"There are far worse places within this realm too, so you're very lucky. Also, I was there to keep your face from being eaten by spiders, so you're extraordinarily lucky. Have you always been extraordinarily lucky?"
"Now, now, impertinent girl, it's my turn to ask: have you always been this outspoken?"
Galawyn grinned, showing all her teeth in a way that seemed almost feral. "Only with the gentlemen—or not-so-gentle-men—that I find attractive. Have you always been so extraordinarily lucky?"
"Most definitively not," Loki admitted truthfully. "I would say that this is a first."
"Are you up for a second?"
"My lady Galawyn! However am I meant to interpret that?"
Her eyebrows arched, and she replied smoothly, "Interpret that as a non-declinable invitation to the best party of your sad and empty life."
Loki raised his eyebrows to mimic her expression. "I am breathless with anticipation," his very handsome face replied with sarcasm all over it.
"You'd better be. However, before I'm allowed to take you around, I'm supposed to bring you to the king."
"What does your king want with me?"
She shrugged. "Not my business, but he's probably suspicious of your popping up unannounced as using an unknown magic within our realm during a time of war."
"What war?"
"It's no big deal—just some stupid ugly smelly creatures who are so sad with their pathetic lives and jealous of how awesome we elves are that they occasionally attack us. It's the highlight of their miserable lives."
"Hmm. How very strange to see what elitism looks like from the outside."
"We have lots in common," Galawyn agreed.
Loki would admit that she had a certain aura of mischief about her, but he would not go so far as to call them alike. The elf girl had not seen nearly enough life.
Galawyn prodded him with the netted end of her metal staff. "Let's go, alien prisoner, move it. We've got an Elvenking to see."
Loki observed that this place was very different from Asgard. Where one was halls of grandeur, the other was tunnels of tree branches; where one was noisy, boisterous crowds, the other was silent, fleeting figures darting amongst the trees.
He wondered if it was too soon to decide to like this place.
Galawyn led him through the city without giving him much chance to look around or speak to the inhabitants, but that was fine by him. He was quite anxious to meet this Thranduil character, who would hopefully grant him permission to stay here for the time being. Not only did he need a safe place to build his magic back up, Loki also sensed that there was magic here that he had not yet encountered—curiosity ensued.
In no time at all, Galawyn was leading him before a grand throne seemingly grown out of the ground. It was somehow all the more imposing and majestic for the fact that it was simply a piece of nature. There was a figure on the throne, wearing a crown of branches and surveying them mutely as they entered, and another standing nearby, watching with wary eyes.
The elf on the throne grinned at Galawyn. "Heeeeyyyyy, gurl," it drew out enthusiastically. "Where did you find that yummy one?"
And the little redheaded elf hopped down from the throne and stood right before Loki.
"Who are you?" she asked, and continued without giving him a chance to answer, "Are you single? Are you gay? If you were that'd be fucking depressing, but I'd still keep you around because you, sir, are eye candy."
Loki stared at her, bemused, before venturing to guess, "You are not Thranduil?"
"No, I'm not Thranduil. Do I look like fucking Thranduil? 'Cause I'm not fucking Thranduil. Though I wish I was, not in the being-him sense, in the fucking-him sense. I'm Caraphin, by the way, because my parents are fucking cruel, and decided to name me something that literally means 'red hair'." She tossed her head, making the green light shine metallically off the crimson locks held down by the crown.
"What are you doing in here?" Galawyn asked her. "And why are you wearing the king's crown?"
"I am in here," she explained, "Because I do what I want. And I am wearing the crown," she pointed to the object on her head, "Because I do what I fucking want. Any questions?"
"Why are you here?" Galawyn asked the young male elf that was watching Caraphin with extreme patience.
"I am here because she is here," he answered in a voice that was probably incapable of shouting. "And she needs someone to watch over her at all times."
"Aww, you're so sweet!" Caraphin told him. "And so fucking sexy. Now be a dear," she removed the crown from her head, "And put this back where we found it before Thranduil notices it's missing."
The elf nodded, smiled an adorably sweet smile, and left with the crown.
"That was Althadar," Galawyn explained for Loki's benefit.
"He's mine," Caraphin warned. "Don't touch."
"I will most certainly not touch anything of yours," Loki said with evident disdain.
Caraphin narrowed her eyes, but made no remark.
Galawyn told her, "We need to speak to the king, but that shouldn't take all day. What is the plan for tonight?"
"The plan for tonight is the same as the plan for last night and every other night: there is no plan."
"Sounds like a plan! If you don't mind, we'll join you, seeing as I finally have a sexy date!"
"Finally!" Caraphin agreed. "Although I suspect that one will eventually turn out to be gay." She eyed Loki critically. Loki eyed her back.
"See anything you like?" he echoed Galawyn.
"Oh no. Immortal gods, no. No, you see, I've got Althadar in reality and Thranduil in my imagination. So no. Just no. Life is not a garden, so it's my philosophy to not be a 'ho."
Galawyn smiled. "Thanks, Caraphin, I know you're only saying that because you want me to have him. That's mighty nice of you."
"I have a question," Loki inserted politely. "Is your very forward banter typical societal conversation amongst your race? For I wish to know how to appropriately address your king when I do have the privilege of meeting him."
Galawyn and Caraphin exchanged a look.
"Yup," said Galawyn. "Definitely."
"Thranduil would not expect anything else. Cursing and speculation over sexual orientation. That's what passes for normal around here."
"Liars," Althadar scolded, coming back one crown lighter. "It passes for normal between the two of them, but anyone else would be shocked and scandalized."
"Althadar!" Caraphin whined. "Why're you always eating fun?"
"I'm not; good clean fun is fine in my books. Yours never is."
Caraphin waved off that comment as though she had not heard it.
"We should go," he continued. "Remember what happened last time you were in the presence of the king?"
"No," she denied petulantly.
"Well I'm sure he does. C'mon." The little redheaded elf was escorted from the throne room.
No sooner had the pair left than an anxious whisper sounded from seemingly nowhere: "Is she gone?"
"Yep," said Galawyn. "The coast is clear."
And lo and behold, there was an elf king in their midst.
"You will have to excuse me for that," said Thranduil. "But I truly have not forgotten the last time I saw dearest Caraphin. I find it unlikely that I ever will."
Poor, traumatized elf king.
He continued, "Thank you, young Galawyn, for bringing our guest to me. You are free to go now."
"I think I'd better stay, actually," Galawyn advised. "I don't think you're quite up to dealing with his snark, Your Majesty."
"My—!" began Loki, outraged at her nerve.
"I shall deal with it to the best of my ability," Thranduil told her seriously. "Now scram."
Galawyn smacked Loki on the ass with her weird weapon as she walked past him on her way out.
"We're still on for tonight!" she called over her shoulder.
Thranduil's response to Loki's slightly dumbfounded look was to assure him that such behavior was quite normal for that particular elf. He then proceeded to give the self-acclaimed god a civil interrogation and they together enjoyed an intellectual discussion of arcane magic. This meeting ended with the two well on their way to becoming friends and Loki with an open invitation to stay as long as he pleased.
"You had best go find Galawyn then," Thranduil advised as they parted. He answered Loki's incredulous look, "She'll just track you down if you don't."
"Are these parties that she is so keen to drag me to safe?"
"On a scale of dandelions to apocalypse, elfish parties typically ranged from large explosions to inter-dimensional war in terms of danger. That's what makes them fun." Loki suspected the king might be joking. "Now as I'm sure you understand, I do have other matters to attend to, so I shall take my leave of you here."
The Elvenking was not a full minute gone when Loki was again captured by his 'date', who was threatening him with such menacing phrases as 'get you ready for the party' and 'Caraphin has ideas'.
"Galawyn, are you intoxicated?" Loki asked the slightly wobbly elf. "I was only gone for three minutes! Seriously, what did you drink?"
"Uhhhh…this," she replied, holding out a goblet of some sweet-smelling liquid, some of which sloshed over the edge.
"And I suppose it is beyond your current capacity to inform me of what that is?"
"Jerk…iss my turnna assa quession!" Loki rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Where is Caraphin? I don't want to babysit you." He thought about that, then rescinded. "Actually, where is Althadar? I don't know what I was thinking with Caraphin."
They were in a sea of elves under a darkening forest canopy. Voices and laughter formed a solid wall of noise, augmented somewhere by the sweet torture of instruments and vocal chords. As a stranger among familiars, he garnered less attention than he anticipated, although he still was able to capitalize on a few opportunities to meet the natives.
He looked back at Galawyn, wrenched the goblet out of her hands, and downed it in one gulp. "I hope it's as potent as you make it look." And he pulled her by the wrist through the crowd, looking for the familiar sensible elf or the loud redhead he was likely to be attached to.
He found the latter relatively quickly, as she was one of very few elves with locks of that bold hue. She seemed to be half-buried under a number of young male elves, with Althadar standing with his arms crossed a few feet away.
"Caraphin, what are you doing?" Loki asked helplessly.
"With the aid of these fine spirits," she told him loudly, "I have come to a brilliant realization."
"…which is?" Loki prompted.
"We're elves. We live in a fucking garden." And then Caraphin was no longer interested in conversing with Loki.
Loki turned to Althadar. "Are you drunk?"
The elf shook his head. "I do not partake in this revelry. I am here because she is here."
Loki decided that he liked this elf a lot, but he also decided that this would not cause him to so much as hesitate in pawning off a delirious girl on him.
"Well, as the designated sober person, you can have one more drunk girl to babysit," he said, offering the elf the wrist that he still held and the girl attached to it.
"One more…? Oh, Caraphin's not drunk. She's had a few, but her tolerance is too high for it to bother her at all. This is merely her typical bad judgment and is not at all caused by alcohol."
"Then what's wrong with her?" Loki asked, indicating Galawyn.
Althadar shrugged. "That's not something within my power to answer."
[JSYK, they're playing Twister. Joslyn's dirty mind came up with something entirely different. Shame on Joslyn.]
Loki usually was not the type to mingle. He was usually the type to observe partygoers from the periphery, but curiosity once again got the better of him. With each new person he talked to, he learned more of this alien race and this unheard of realm.
Loki liked learning things—knowledge was power. So even if socialization was not a favorite pastime, he was happy to now employ his infamous silver tongue in winning over some elfish hearts.
The longer the night wore on, the more the elves drank, and the ease with which he loosened their tongues increased. He saw a thousand prime opportunities for pranks, but he reluctantly dismissed them until such a time as he better understood the place and circumstances.
He had just sighted a seventeenth person to engage as a conversation partner and was making his way over to his target when he bumped into a figure and knocked his drink out of his hand. The half-formed apology died on his lips and he started in surprise as he recognized the Elvenking.
[Thranduil had shutter shades. The drunken elves painted the trees. Joslyn hijacked this story. The end.]
Loki's brain was stuck somewhere between 'the Elvenking attends rave parties?' and 'what the **** is he wearing?' Fortunately, his tongue, on autopilot, spoke for him, "My sincerest apologies, friend. I had not anticipated seeing you here."
The elf grinned crookedly. "And why is that?" he asked almost playfully, another drink materializing in his hand.
"…Ah, forgive me, it is just that the rulers of the realms I have visited have conducted themselves differently," Loki justified weakly, trying in vain to picture Odin at a party like this one. Then he had to wonder why Thranduil was laughing quietly and shaking his head.
"If you can still speak so flawlessly and with that much tact," the elf explained, "Then either we are very much amiss in our hospitality or you have had much practice staying sober at such gatherings. I assure you, there is no need to here." And he conjured another goblet, which he handed to Loki.
It tasted funny, but Loki refrained from asking if it was safe. These people had already drugged him once, and they had as good as told him this would intoxicate him. He guessed that the king had not given him anything that would surpass his tolerance.
Loki was wrong.
Althadar found him just before dawn and removed him from the tree branch he was draped over. The elf was puzzled as to why his charge had an unidentifiable purple substance smeared over half of his face and how he had ended up with Thranduil's crown sitting sideways on his head.