He was falling. Down, down, down into deep blackness for what seemed like an eternity.
Not again, Loki scowled, and flung his arms out as if that would help him get a better sense of where he was, but there was just nothing around him. Nothing. On the flipside, it didn't seem akin to the fall from the Bifrost. No, he could actually feel something this time instead of hollow emptiness; there just wasn't anything to be seen.
And then he landed, a sea of green and brown exploding into his vision, momentarily stunning him.
"A'wright, evweyone 'ere-" Loki heard a familiar voice after all his senses returned to him, although it sounded like whoever was talking had a mouthful of dirt. Loki supposed that was indeed a possibility as he felt the coarse ground beneath him, and the wet stickiness of mud on the side of his face which lay down on the ground.
Pushing himself up and to his feet, he sourced the voice to a rather bedraggled looking Tony, who was currently spitting dirt out of his mouth. His ragged appearance was due to him being overtired and running on the vestiges of caffeine in his system, Loki suspected.
"Lokester!" Tony fumbled around to find some purchase in the ground where he could push himself up to a standing position, his inferior height whilst talking to Loki from the ground made the muscles in his neck protest violently every time he looked up. Damn those Asgardians and their unnecessary.. tallness.
Loki visibly cringed at the name, he'd considered offering a helping hand to the inventor but that thought went out the window as soon as he'd heard his new name.
"I don't require a nickname, Stark. Loki will do fine." Loki raised an eyebrow to emphasise his point. Tony shrugged, and clapped him on the back as he walked past, sending Loki's armour rattling.
"Wow, why the hell do you wear so much armour?" Tony turned at the sudden rattle, lips quirked upwards in amusement.
"Warrior culture. And you are a fine one to talk, Stark." Loki stated simply as he surveyed his armour for any damage, and his gaze came to rest upon Thor, Bruce, Natasha, Clint and Steve standing in a line, most of them mud-streaked from the bumpy landing, but all wearing the same, incredulous expression on their faces.
"What?" Loki and Tony chorused, Loki's dry tone just undercutting Tony's indignant whine. The sudden synchronization caused Tony to turn and shoot another amused smirk Loki's way, much to the god's displeasure.
"The Tesseract. It misbehaved. Again. And we're here." Bruce stated in broken up sentences, as if he was thinking of more to add after each pause.
"And you're talking about the latest Asgardian fashions." Clint interjected with a huff, folding his arms.
"It's not like this was unexpected." Tony stated, placing his hands on his hips and standing straighter, obviously annoyed at being so much shorter than the lanky god stood next to him. Clint snorted, muffling a laugh rather indiscreetly.
"It'll pass." Loki added, with a nonchalant shrug as he scuffed the ground with his boot. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembled group.
"Where is here, exactly?" Steve mumbled after a long pause, looking around. He stood stock-still when everything came into view.
They were surrounded by people. All kinds of people. Some wearing little more than rags, with some a little better off in rough cloth, to a few who wore finer materials and then many important looking people in armour and clenching unsheathed swords. Exactly how they'd managed to miss them was beyond Steve.
"Now, there's no need for that." Loki said smoothly, fixing the nearest important-looking-person-with-a-sword with a steely glare. The man's hand wavered slightly, but he still kept his sword aimed.
"Where did you come from?" A curious little boy piped up from behind his mother's back, eyes wide and gleaming with interest.
"That's of no concern to you, boy." the god muttered, "What is this place?" Loki stepped forward, causing the crowd to move away with quick steps. He couldn't help the smirk that worked its way onto his face. This entire situation was quite amusing to him, even if he did look like a madman who just fell from the sky.
Which he was. Although with less of the madman and more of the falling-from-the-sky part.
"L-London. England." the sword-wielder whom Loki had his gaze fixed upon answered with a stutter, and his hand shook again as Loki took another, smaller step forward.
"And the year?" Loki pressed, eyes narrowing.
"1413." the man replied, stepping back and stumbling over an ill-placed rock. Loki laughed, a dry, rattling sound that set the armed men on edge.
"Oh, what is this?" Loki heard a thickly-accented voice over the low commotion that had begun. The crowd dispersed as quickly as they had gathered, moving back to their mundane chores.
Another guard. On horseback. Great. Loki took note of his shield – it bore the red cross of St. George, but a blue border ran around the perimeter, and in the uppermost right corner, a fleur-de-lis was visible. Ah. French.
Loki's calculating gaze moved up to the man's face, shrouded under the hood of his murky, leather cloak which rather resembled mud, if Loki was being entirely honest.
"That is some.. interesting armour." the man spoke, pulling his horse to a stop besides Loki. "Not from around these parts, are you?"
"Clearly." Loki stood his ground, flicking a piece of dirt off his leather overcoat. He could feel the Frenchman staring at him from under his shadow, and so Loki returned the glare.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you-"
"If you are going to do that, you could at least show yourself."
Loki stepped back as the man reached up to his hood, gently lifting it and pulling it back, letting it drop.
If Loki hadn't been a) standing besides a horse and b) in 1413, he would probably have teleported himself away, downed several glasses of mead and forced some enchantment that steadied and/or completely numbed his nerves upon himself before returning.
The man atop the horse was an unmistakable replica of Steve Rogers. The blonde hair, the structured face, the clear blue eyes, the broad shoulders – everything. Bar being French.
Behind him, Loki was vaguely aware of a series of choking noises, suppressed laughter, hysterical questions and the all-too-loud, reverberating thud of Mjolnir dropping to the ground.
"I think I owe Fury another 10 bucks." Steve spoke slowly, eyes wide and stance totally slack with shock.
"My name is Thomas LaFey, and if you have not already, uh, come to realise, I am rather curious about you all. Reasons are obvious, are they not?" the man-who-looked-like-Steve-but-was-most-certainly-not-Steve spoke again, resheathing his sword and hoisting his shield securely onto his left arm, looking at Steve with narrowed eyes.
"With me," Thomas turned his horse and nudged him into a brisk walk, glancing over his shoulder to see if they were following, "I do not know how you got here, or how you plan on getting out for that matter, but there are guards right across this city if you try to run. I'm being nice."
There was a long, heavy silence that fell over each of them like a thick blanket, shrouding their thoughts and feelings in the process. Tony, as ever, was the first to break it.
"Did we just get arrested by French Steve from 1413?"
"It would seem so." Loki replied, his eyes still remained locked upon Thomas' back.
"Glare at that guy anymore and you'll burn a hole right through him." Natasha quipped softly, moving up to walk besides Loki. The tiniest quirk of Loki's lips notified her that he had at least found some amusement in her statement.
"Thomas. You cannot blame us for being curious about you also, so perhaps a little more, er, information on you wouldn't go amiss? You obviously have a high rank with your shield. That's a quality set of plate armour too. Expensive." Loki looked up to Thomas, one questioning eyebrow raised. At first, all he got was a low chuckle, then another bout of silence, before Thomas finally began to speak.
"Expensive is right. If you must know, I am a Champion." the Frenchman turned to look at Loki, an air of nobility in his voice was now clear.
"That is a fine rank." Thor commented, almost absent-mindedly as he looked more interested in his surroundings of dirty streets and rickety houses clumped together to make up a rather feeble looking village.
"You speak as if you know." Thomas retorted, glancing to Thor instead. Thor looked at him and gave a wolfish grin, while Loki simply smirked.
"We do."
"How?"
"I'm sure that will be revealed later." Loki cut in, knowing Thor would be all too happy to go off on a tangent about how he came from Asgard and how astounding its warrior culture was. Which it wasn't, Loki thought.
Thomas gave them both a long, hard stare, before turning back to face forwards again, picking up the slack of his reins and nudging the horse to pick up speed.
All was quiet again for a while, bar the noisy children and screeching mothers, the rattling of trade carts and market stalls and the general hubbub of a village.
Well. Maybe not that quiet.
The motley crew made their way slowly through the throngs of peasants and were only stopped once by a sizeable commotion, which had spooked Thomas' horse, almost throwing the man off. Tony concluded this would have been a welcome sight.
Once again, the crowd dispersed at Thomas' arrival, and he moved to the source. On the ground, two men sat, breathing heavily, like they'd just been engaged in a fight of some sort. Thomas duly noted that there was a run-down inn to their right. Drunks.
"Jack." Thomas said to one of the men, who looked up to him at the sound of his voice. He had a very neat goatee for someone of the middle ages, and it wasn't until Loki reached the man's eyes that he realized it was indeed Tony Stark's carbon copy.
"Right, I'm seeing a theme here." Loki heard the man in question say, loudly and with a clear air of sarcasm.
"You are already walking a dangerous line with Harry, Jack." Thomas sighed, dismounting his horse with a heavy thud as he hit the ground. He walked over and the other man scarpered faster than a bullet from a gun. Dejectedly, Jack reached up a mud covered hand, and Thomas took it and pulled him up.
"He won't do anything." Jack mumbled, dusting himself off best as he could.
"Blacksmith." Thor said to Loki in a hushed tone and the trickster nodded in agreement. The dust covered, leather apron was a giveaway, if not for the slightly sooty-but-mostly-muddy face.
Suddenly, Jack was right in front of Loki, staring up at him with dark, hooded eyes, laughter lines clearly visible.
"He looks-"
"Like Harry. Don't you think I noticed? Look at my double." Thomas chortled, gesturing to Steve, who didn't know whether to look affronted or passive. He settled for the latter.
Jack turned back to Thomas, dumbfounded.
"You reek of alcohol." Loki stated to Jack, who turned back to him in another sudden movement, index finger raised towards the now amused god in a threatening gesture.
"You keep your mouth shut, boy." Jack hissed, dark eyes narrowing in anger.
"Boy?" Loki snorted incredulously, eyes hardening.
"He speaks like Harry too." Thomas commented to himself, wandering back over to his horse. "You're going to get on just fine." the man laughed as he swung up onto his horse, securing his shield and gathering the reins up again.
"Foolish, vain, conceited, stupid boy." Jack muttered under his breath, turning away from Loki, a string of words unfolding in angry whispers, some repeated and some spoken louder than others.
"You forget, Jack. He's a King now." Thomas sat deep in his saddle, and was about to spur the horse on when he heard Jack's loud exclamation from besides him.
"King? King? The boy cannot even hope to look after his own friends, let alone a kingdom! Let alone England!"
"And you think you could do better? He's young, Jack. Too young. Give him time."
"And this is just what England needs. We're on the brink of war with France –which, by the way, should you not be protesting? - and there's a boy sitting on the throne!"
"I believe you have a few swords that need finishing." Thomas said cooly with an air of finality, not sparing a look at the raging blacksmith.
"Oh, great. Alcoholic in this life too." Tony scowled, brow knitted in anger as he stumbled along the dusty path behind a still shell-shocked Steve and an incredibly amused Clint.
"I.. am no drunk." Jack said to Tony as the group began to pick up a decent walking speed once again instead of stumbling over hidden rocks and potholes.
"Denial. Second sign." Tony retorted. Jack just shot the inventor a disdainful look and turned away, walking briskly besides Thomas and his horse.
"What, you think Harry is going to deal with this too? Magic?" Jack shot to Thomas and gesturing behind him, the Champion paid the sentence no attention. Instead, yet another silence broke out over the group apart from the odd yelp or shuffling of jackets and clothes as someone fell or almost fell and grabbed on to the nearest person as a response.
"For someone who claims to hate him, you talk about him a lot." Thomas commented drily after the 4th yelp and noisy clothes ruffling, followed by an actual complaint this time from Clint.
"Ah! He was fine as a prince. A laugh. Always in the tavern, drunk or with some woman." Jack threw his hands in the air exasperatedly, bringing them down to his sides when the horse skittered dangerously to the side.
"You are forgetting that he drove his father insane because of it."
"The man was death incarnate!"
"He hardly led an honourable life, granted."
"Was?" Loki cut in, more to quell the bickering than anything. He found Jack's drawl combined with Thomas' accent to be incredibly grating on his sensitive ears.
"Dead. As of the week previous." Thomas replied curtly, his tone implying he wanted to say no more on the subject.
After the walk – which turned out to be quite lengthy, much to Clint and Tony's disappointment – they reached the gates of a huge, grey stone castle, standing above a river on high ground for defense. Farms and markets were littered immediately outside the castle walls, guarded by sentry towers and patrols on horseback and on foot. Along the top of the walls were further patrols, armed with longbows and crossbows and spears, and Loki concluded that their range would stretch a fair distance from their height if Asgardian archers in their towers were anything to go by.
A low whistle from Tony, a few appreciative murmurs from Bruce and Steve and a few remarks on how they could get inside, undetected, from Natasha summed up the thoughts that now buzzed around Loki's mind like a squabble of children pandering for attention, and he disregarded every one of them. A clear mind was needed to make his way through this mess without causing a train wreck of some description.
Thor hopped lightly from foot to foot, eager to do something more than just walk. Flying would ease off the energy a bit, but the god got the feeling that flying around with a hammer wouldn't be appreciated here.
A low rumble and the clatter of old iron chains alerted Loki to the now-open gate. In the back of his mind, he was aware that Jack had started up a fuss again and he couldn't help a little smile at Clint's comment to Tony ("Wow, and I thought you were annoying. You got nothing on this guy-") which he thought, given the circumstances, was fairly accurate.
Jack left after he finished his rant, presumably to his workshop. Loki did not bother to watch as the man retreated towards one of the outlying markets, the droning of his complaints still rattled around Loki's head, and he was sure it would remain there for some time.
Thomas was about to lead them all through the stone archway, when a faint sound of hoofbeats reached his ears, growing louder and louder, drawing nearer and nearer. He stopped his horse and turned to face the way they came, squinting against the sun glare. He could make out two figures appearing over the crest of the hill they'd travelled down. One figure was slumped over slightly, and it was the shield that gave the rider's identity away. The stark red cross of St. George upon a now muddy white.
"Harry?" Thomas turned his horse and sent him into a gallop, cloak billowing out behind him as he rode towards the figures with a sense of urgency.
"Please don't tell me this is another one of our doppelgängers." Tony whined, planting his butt down on a rock, weary from walking so far. He convinced himself he'd actually try to finish his latest version of the Iron Man suit whenever they managed to get the hell out of here. Preferably a portable one that wasn't as conspicuous as a shiny metal briefcase clearly emblazoned with STARK INDUSTRIES for when the Tesseract decided it wanted to take them all on a relaxing day trip to an alternate reality again. Which it would do until they managed to get the damn thing back to Asgard, along with a pair of Norse gods who really did not get on with Midgardian customs. At all.
Clint shrugged, and joined the weary inventor on the ground, glancing around the group almost instinctively, and he counted off seven. At what point it went from six to seven, he wasn't sure, he still wasn't Loki's biggest fan. Clint lay back against a tree stump that was situated just behind Tony's new-found seat, and concluded that Loki was still a complete ass, but he was… tolerable. From a SHIELD Agent's point of view, the guy had a tongue that could cut through ice and he was an excellent strategizer, a useful addition for the most part.
Bruce looked tense and his stance remained guarded, arms folded and shoulders hunched against whatever decided to throw itself at him. In all honesty, he was surprised he'd remained so long without incidents on these trips, whether it was an effect of the Tesseract's power or he'd somehow acquired a perpetual state of zen, he didn't know, or care. At least, not until this all blew over and he could return to his natural habitat of R&D labs to poke and prod about a bit with that.
Natasha remained the embodiment of calm with her passive expression, focused eyes and relaxed stance, as if she was bored or simply content. Loki knew she was not, however; the occasional drumming of her fingers against her thigh or her arm was a sign of unease for the assassin, he'd learnt.
Steve had managed to get his head around the situation at last, prompting Tony to slowly clap and mutter a few sentences heavily laden with sarcasm. He was silenced by a warning glare from Thor, who remained otherwise motionless and expressionless, mostly watching Loki or casting a glance at Mjolnir for lack of anything better to do.
"Alright, taking bets – Thor, Clint, Bruce or Loki?" Tony called out, hands in the air with palms open as if he was going to receive money.
"Tony, shut up." Natasha sighed exasperatedly. "Not the time. Or the place."
"Actually, these medieval types are heavy gamblers!" Tony retorted, standing up. He was about to move forwards but an arrow pierced the ground right in front of his foot. An inch closer and it would have gone right through his toe.
"Wha-" Tony looked up to see a man on the parapet aiming an arrow at him on a longbow, poised and ready to fire. He couldn't quite see the figure in the sun glare, but upon Natasha's exclamation, he guessed it was another member of their crew.
"Clint, we found your double." Bruce muttered drily, confirming Tony's thoughts.
"Don't shoot! We come in peace!" Tony stuck his hands up in the air in mock surrender and started glaring daggers at the man. "And I don't appreciate the fact you almost shot my foot off!"
Clint's double retreated, disappearing behind the parapet. Tony let out a relieved sigh, turning back to the group. He found them all staring into the distance at the 3 figures, who were now galloping back this way, armour and swords glinting in the sun. At least they were easily distinguishable by their horses – one was white, one a light bay and one black.
Upon reaching the bridge, the clatter of horses' hooves quietened and came to a stop.
"Harry, I should think you'll find this curious." Loki heard Thomas say, sounding highly amused. The trickster slowly looked up and was greeted with the velvety nose of the white horse thrust into his face.
Leaning back and extending a finger to push the nose away, Loki looked up to the man atop the horse.
Plate armour, although splattered with blood and dirt, it was carefully crafted – even more expensive than Thomas', Loki suspected – the breastplate half concealed by a deep scarlet cloak emblazoned with a golden lion. In one hand he held a sword, marred with blood and mud but the visible blade gleamed in the sunlight. In the other hand he held the shield that Thomas had so quickly recognized. Eyes travelling upwards, Loki was met with his own face staring back at him through all the crimson of dried blood and deep russet streaks of mud, but the eyes were a striking blue, unlike Loki's bright green. One eye was partly obscured by a blood-matted lock of light red hair which led up and disappeared underneath the golden band of an ornate crown.
Loki saw the man's cheekbones lift with a smirk, and Loki felt himself returning it.
A.N: Someone save me from my insanity. I've gone and thrown Henry V into my Avengers' chaotic lives.
This was just a drabble to work through my serious writer's block on Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey (someone needs to shoot me with a motivation gun) and I just haVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED ;_;
A few notes:
- the 1413 OCs are speaking kinda modern-ish, sorry! I took the idea from BBC'S Merlin, they don't speak all oldy-worldy but the fact that they're in the medieval ages is still clear enough. I hope that's true for this little drabble. Welp.
- is it finished? Is it not finished? To finish or not to finish? These are all my little annoying questions in my head right now. I have an idea of where this could go, but it would involve me stretching history and skewering it to the point where it no longer becomes history and instead a piece of my warped imagination. Any opinions on this?
- Bruce and Natasha's doubles were penned in, but I think they'll appear in another chapter if I decide to continue.
- please forgive me for mutilating Thomas' shield embelm.
/ Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or its characters. I do own my 1413 OCs' names, however. Maybe not their faces or their general personalities. Damn.
I also don't own Shakespeare's, er, writing? I have no idea how to word this part. I don't own any of the Shakespearean influence? XD
And I don't own Tom Hiddleston/THC's 'Harry'. Also damn. /