Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.
AN: Written for the October 5th Whumptober prompt: poisoned.
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Myths by luvsanime02
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The truth doesn't hit him right away. Somehow, Thor doesn't understand. This is a grand day. He's happier than he's been in, well, centuries, actually. Best not to think too deeply about why.
Except, now Thor can't breathe. He doesn't even need to breathe, does he? He must, because his throat is too tight, and his hands are grasping uselessly at the floor. Why is he on the floor? Has he fallen somehow? Thor needs to rise again. He must be strong. He must help the others.
But this is not a battle. This is supposed to be a peaceful gathering. He and his fellow warriors are here only to celebrate a special occasion with others. There should be no real reason why Thor is suddenly on his hands and knees, why he feels like he can't draw in a single breath of air, why he should even need to. Nothing makes sense right now.
Someone kneels next to him. They grab his wrist, their grip solid and stable, and Thor clings to that slight feeling of comfort in this most confusing of situations. "He's been poisoned," someone says, and that's not right. That doesn't make any sense. Thor being poisoned?
There would need to be a horrible wine present, a potion ancient and foul, tales of which Thor hasn't heard since his youth. A legend even among the gods. Such a thing does not exist.
Then why can't Thor move?
A hand is bracing Thor's shoulder now, so that he doesn't collapse. Thor has never been so afraid of lying down before, but suddenly, it is the most dreadful thought in existence. What is happening to him? Nothing makes sense anymore.
"Dear me," that same voice from before says, this time speaking softly into Thor's ear, barely louder than his thundering heartbeat, "poisoned at such an event? What a scandal. Come now, Brother, you're scaring the children."
And then suddenly everything makes sense, because even though the voice itself is a stranger's, the speech is far too familiar, the tone far too vicious. Thor lifts his head with supreme effort, just far enough to be able to look into those plain, mortal eyes, and he knows. A sly glint of mischief is present in them.
"Amazing what one can find when one believes in myths," Loki says, still speaking softly, his face a mask of concern, his eyes gleaming in triumph. His hand is still holding Thor upright, and of course, he should have known. No mortal could ever bear Thor's weight, but Loki's never had that problem, now has he?
"Sleep, Brother," Loki mutters, like he's soothing a lost child, and it's galling that Thor finds himself obeying, everything going dark.
Yes, far too many things make sense to him now.