Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'd like to own a Loki, though.
This follows the events of Thor and The Avengers and is rated 'M' for violence, torture, and sexuality. The prologue's relatively mild, but the first chapter (and later chapters) won't be.
Prologue
Jane collapses in a mound of snow. It fills her mouth, frigid against her teeth, and her hands and feet slip beneath her as she struggles to right herself. A cold wind whips mercilessly against her face, and she coughs violently as it enters her lungs. Struggling to her knees, she observes her surroundings and trembles. She sees snow and ice and little else. Some distance from where she's landed, mountains form an imposing skyline, several flickering lights bobbing along their base.
She shakes her head, trying in vain to clear the confusion that fogs her mind. She doesn't recognize her surroundings, and, glancing at a dark, cloudless sky, she realizes, her terror mounting, that she doesn't recognize its constellations either.
She shivers, curling her arms around a sparsely-clothed torso, and attempts to focus her thoughts, wild and frantic. She remembers the tiny Puente Antigua library. She remembers studying past dark, scribbling notes on methods of harnessing negative energy. She remembers resting her forehead against a folded elbow (she may have dozed), but her memory ends there. If her exposed ears, face, and hands weren't throbbing painfully, she'd guess she were dreaming.
"Don't move," a disembodied voice commands, and she feels a sudden pressure at the small of her back. Her heart thumps painfully against her ribs, and, in spite of his whispered warning, she struggles to stand, to face him (friend or foe, she isn't sure). Her legs are clumsy and numb with cold, and the unseen force shoves her to her knees. "I said," he hisses, "don't move."
The flickering lights she spotted at the base of the mountains draw nearer, and she realizes they're torches, gripped firmly in gigantic hands, hands attached to gigantic beings. They're tall, probably twenty or thirty feet, and their skin, tinted blue, is stretched over taut muscles. They form a line, each giant sweeping a torch from left to right, a warm glow illuminating wide expanses of snow-covered land. They're searching.
Jane gasps and presses a frozen hand to her mouth. Her teeth chatter, and tiny whimpers fight to escape from between clenched jaws, tears turning to ice in the corners of her eyes.
"Quiet." His breath is warm against her neck. She shivers, but he curls protective fingers over her shoulder, and a tiny, mildly hysterical part of her brain suspects he's a less malevolent being than those lumbering in their direction, ice crunching beneath their enormous feet.
One of the giants, the smallest (if twenty feet is small), pauses, his steps faltering, and throws an arm to one side, halting the others. He sweeps his torch in their direction, and, before Jane is able to react, she's covered in soft light. Another giant shouts, and the group moves toward them, murmuring excitedly amongst themselves. She tries again to climb to her feet, but her shoulder is squeezed painfully, a silent command, and she stills.
"What's this?" a giant calls, his voice gravelly. "Who are you?" He crouches, his face several feet from Jane's, and, with his torch, illuminates her face.
"Jane," she says, her voice shaking. Swallowing, she lifts her chin, a show of confidence. "Jane Foster."
The giant's eyes, red and menacing, narrow. "Jane Foster," he repeats, shifting a glance at her companion, his gaze lingering momentarily. "Are you of Asgard, Jane Foster?"
"N-no. Earth, or... Midgard."
"What business do you have with the Asgardian?" he asks, and her heart skips a beat. 'Asgardian,' he'd said. Her breath catches in her lungs. She can't dare to hope. Could it possibly be...? She says nothing.
"Well, Odinson," the giant growls, "to what do we owe the pleasure?" Jane's breath returns, puffing from her lungs at a frantic pace, her heart beating a rapid staccato.
Behind her, he shifts, and his grip tightens, his fingers crushing the delicate bones of her shoulder. "Why, I'm here to finish what I started," he replies evenly, in a frigid tone that most certainly doesn't belong to Thor.
Jane's brain processes this information sluggishly. It's not Thor. But the giant had called him 'Odinson,' which must mean...
Her mouth opens in a circle of terror, shivers scurrying along her spine, and it's with this final, horrifying realization that she crumples to the ground, her face half-buried in snow. A giant stands before her, a bloodied rock in one hand, matching blood trickling from Jane's temple, turning the surrounding snow a garish pink. He smiles, and then, teeth bared menacingly, turns his attention to Loki.
A/N: Hi! So, this is my first foray into the fandom, and I have to say, the level of talent in this fandom is a bit intimidating! I'm loving it, though.
I've written the first chapter of this story, but it needs a bit of polishing, so I'll be posting it in the next week or so; I hope you'll check it out. Thank you for reading, and please review!