Title: The Heart of Thunder

Author: vilan

Pairing: Thor/Loki (SLASH)

Warning: Intersex!Loki

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Marvel. Except Balder, Váli, my OCs.

Chapter 1

Thor couldn't sleep. For three weeks already.

His broken ribs and limbs were long mended, malnutrition he had endured taken care of; nonetheless he was restless.

Mjölnir hummed in his hand like liquid lightening, inexorable bloodlust boiled through his veins. Every night he lay in bed, looking up to well-carven constellations on the ceiling, recalling the loathsome face of that scum, Thanos and his disgusting minions.

He wanted to kill, to slaughter, to rip those metal-cased heads from their shoulders and crush their bodies into bloody messes until their intestines quell out.

The God of Thunder closed his sleep deprived eyes with a deep sigh.

In his dreams he could think of something else, like the gentle touches and kisses of his consort-

His Loki.

Loki, the sole beneficiary of Thor's devotion, Loki, still captive of the Chitauri, Loki, presumably dead.

No, Thor woke up with a howl, No, no, no! Loki could not be dead, he wouldn't allow it!

Thor vehemently shook his head, disheveled and coated in cold sweat.

Not after everything they went through, not after every pain the young pair of Gods had fought against and survived. The mere thought of Loki dead and Thor alive was just atrocious.

They were supposed to spend eternity with each other, and not slowly suffocate in loss and sorrow.

"Loki must be scared," Thor muttered to himself, the ache in his heart gradually intensifying. His Loki was a sorcerer, not a warrior, while the young god was thoroughly cunning and by no means a defenseless maid, he had never trained to face death without fear. Still he was brave like none other, Thor thought with sorrowful fondness, remembering how his consort chose to save Thor in exchange of what could only end fatal.

Hurtful memories emerged again with that vile laugh of Thanos, telling Loki to gut his own husband.

"I will provide a knife, young prince," that monster had said, "The idea of holding the golden Crownprince will suffice to keep Asgard to its place. We don't actually need him to be alive."

"Then you will lend me an army to conquer Midgard?"

Loki had asked, eyes focused on the foreign warlord. After Thor had been fettered to these walls the younger God hadn't spared one glance at him. Loki's posture was calm and carefully calculated, with only a hint of his impetuous sprit, which could be a sign of anxiety as well as impatient greed.

Thor didn't know what went through Loki's mind at that moment. After an ambush the two had fallen through the void, captured and mercilessly tortured by the Chitauri; Thor witnessed his spouse slowly falling apart.

The fact that he could nothing to soothe his mate's distress shredded his pride, to hear the sobs and cries calling his name burned his soul. It hurt him more than his own pain.

Thor did not fault Loki when the raven-haired God finally gave in. Loki became more and more engulfed in the foul tongue of Thanos, his sanity ran in thin line. Thanos convinced the young God to strive for the throne, planted greed to rule over Midgard and the nine realms. He manipulated Loki to recognize Thor as the obstacle he truly was, a hindrance to power, who will always regard his Jotun consort as a broodmare to impregnate, a convenient whore to bed. In agony, Thor listened how Loki broke down by that repulsive, false revelation; he wanted nothing more than hold his dear consort and vow the truth of his devoted love over and over again. But with Mjölnir lost and in strong chains, Thor was useless.

So Loki stood, face blank and unreadable, in front of his husband, sharp knife in his delicate hands. The Thunder God didn't cringe. His body felt already heavy, if his death could ensure Loki's survival he would die gladly. He just let his gaze wander over his consort's feature, the last image of his love branding his soul-

Then, Loki dropped the knife.

"I don't need help to gut this pathetic lump of meat. The stupid oaf shall die by my bare hands."

Thanos seemed to consider this, and cackled with a nod. The Chitauri were mere slaves bound to their Lord, therefore there was none who would object.

Before anyone realized what was happening, Loki launched at his husband, his hands the mimicry of claws and dug into bare flesh-,

And with a flush of powerful Magic, Thor lay panting in front of the golden Gates of Asgard.

Loki was nowhere to be seen.

"Brother," the door of his chamber silently opened. Balder, his cousin and blood-brother approached, shortly followed by Váli, his other cousin. Thor did not bother to stand.

"You missed dinner. When was the last time you ate proper? I do not recall such absence of appetite in your whole life," Balder gently chided but looked haggard himself. The usually bright brown eyes were dimmed with grief. Apart from Thor, Balder probably was the only one who still believed Loki to be alive, just to deny the alternative.

Thor slowly tilted his head up to his blood-brothers. Both looked grave, lines of worries on their faces. They spent days and nights searching for signs of Loki, Thor knew, as did the Warriors three and Lady Sif. All that for naught, he thought grimly.

"I asked Father to grant me access to the void," Thor murmured weary and defeated. He felt powerless, weak, too vulnerable, even in his exile on Midgard he had more control. True, during his exile he was forbidden to reach his powers, but now he felt deprived of his soul. The void inside was eating him alive.

His brothers, though, seemed shocked.

"…Brother, the Allfather will never allow you to go back! We will try to retrieve Loki, believe me, we shan't rest, but you are the sole heir to the throne!" Váli violently shook his head, feeling both disbelief and sadness for his blood-brother and Prince, but stood firm. Balder didn't lose a word, eyes closed in pain.

Thor understood Váli's logic.

Wasn't that exactly what Thanos used to whisper in Loki's ears? Although the two Gods were equals in front of Asgardian Law, they never would have the same worth in the eyes of their people. Loki would always stay the spare, the lesser of the two.

But for Thor, Loki was everything.

"Tell me, Brother, what good will do a broken Prince? A Prince without his reason to live?"

"By Valhalla, Thor, I know you love him, but you also have responsibility to your own people! You cannot simply fall apart even if Loki-"

"Not one word!" Thor yelled in rage. Váli, clearly taken aback in the venom of the God's voice, felt silent. Of all his friends Váli never liked Loki well, at least didn't approve of the depth of Thor's love, especially not after Balder—

No, he would not think about the past, not right now. He couldn't afford to irritate his temper any more, it was already on its very verge. The continuing storms and Thunder over the heart of Asgard were too obvious of their Lord's agony.

The three Gods stayed in tense silence, not daring a fight. It did not break until urgent footsteps reached the chamber. The wooden door abruptly opened, exposing the face of Sif, the Shield-maid, pale as death.

"Thor," she whispered. "We found Loki."

Thor remembered the first time he met Loki.

It wasn't love at the first sight.

Thor had been just called from his exile to return, the herald of his father claimed Jotunheim's hierarchy to be crumbling.

Laufey, the monarch of the Jotuns had died, his two sons Helblindi and Býleistr each invoked their rights to be king. The realm of Frost Giants was divided in two and the Aesir feared the upcoming of another war. The Allfather kept his thoughts low, Huginn and Muninn on his shoulders, and regarded the threads of fate with keen eyes.

What the father of Gods withheld though, was the secret delegation of Jotunheim secretly residing in his court. They had arrived in the shadows of dawn, disguised through the deceptive power of seidr.

No one outside the palace was to know of their visit. And as it happens, nobody thought to tell the newly-arrived Thor either.

"I am Loki Laufeyson," a boy approached, ruby red eyes wide and with shy demeanor, "You are Thor, the golden Prince of Asgard, yes?"

But all Thor could do was to stare.

Laufeyson. Son of Laufey. Son of the late Frost Giant King?

As much as the young God learned of at least the idea of humbleness during his exile on Midgard, there was so much a 'crash-course' could do. To his defense, Loki looked barely out of adolescence, with his locks of silky black hair and fair skin; and most important of all, the boy was smaller than Thor.

In the older God's mind, there was absolutely no reason to humor this outrageous declaration of 'I am not a giant, but a Giant'. So he did the worst thing possible.

He laughed.

And for Loki, that meant war.

After few sober confirmation and courteous apologies on Thor's part (which was neither accepted nor forgiven), the Allfather assigned his firstborn and only son to entertain the foreign prince. That was just fine, since Thor did not harbor any desire to sit days in the meeting room talking about treaties and agreements. He had long learned that the important thing always came at last, when both sides had tested the water and came to a certain degree of mutual understanding. As long as he appeared on the last day, he would miss nothing terribly significant. Later, he would think differently, but at that time Thor was busy defending his very own war.

At first, it started with waking up his usual golden hair turned into sapphire blue. Sif and the Warriors three never spoke a word, the entire breakfast long, until Balder came and stared; Váli immediately doubled over laughing, those traitorous bastards.

It took Thor the whole noon and a puppy face to convince his mother to reverse the curse, for some reason the Queen found her son's new looks endearing and laughed off Thor's attempt to declare it 'an attack on his very person'.

The next day, Thor had horse-piss instead of ale, when he asked the tavern maid for another it turned to piss in front of his eyes, just to spite.

The day after that, his usually majestic deep voice shifted to a shrill, high-pitched one; he by no means could bark a laugh anymore, instead he giggled. Giggled.

He was named Thora for the rest of the day.

The crown, however, was the defamation brought upon his notorious stallion Gladr. Somebody colored its hooves and fur in vibrant colors, braided petite flowers in its wild mane and that stupid mule of a horse loved it.

After fifteen vain attempts to wash off the colors and remind the stubborn stud of its status as a warhorse, Thor sat down with his friends and blood-brothers and mumbled bitter:

"We have a God of Mischief in our midst."

And what a God of Mischief he was.

Váli, the ever attentive one, had long figured out the true identity of this mysterious bane in Thor's life, albeit he did not bother to address his findings out loud. Thor of course had his own theories, but couldn't find any proof to support his case.

His other friends simply refused to help him actually catch the trickster. They reasoned their betrayal by saying they had better things to do. In short, they found the whole situation hilarious.

So when Thor finally caught Loki in the act, he was reasonably gleeful. He did not care how Loki came to his chambers, the only thing in his mind was fierce retaliation.

The moment the young God tried to escape, Thor bent Loki across his knee and spanked him. Loki yelped in surprise, but to Thor the robes seemed to dampen the sting, so he naturally bared the younger God's rear.

When the broad palm clashed on the smooth flesh, the violently cursing Loki froze and stilled. Thor couldn't hide his mirth and hit the boy again—

until Loki started crying, in heartbreaking sobs.

It wasn't whimpers of pain or shame, the youngling was truly in shock. Noticing the utter panic in the other God and somehow realizing he just spanked a prince of another realm, Thor abruptly stopped; Loki wildly wriggled himself free and ran.

The God of Thunder could do nothing but stare, lost in his own thoughts.

A part of his mind scoffed at the weak character so unfitting of a royalty, another part though, just felt bad. The latter got even worse, after witnessing Loki being scolded and belittled by another Jotun.

It was clear that not even his own people appreciated the small Giant prince.

Thor tsked silently and wanted to turn away, but then his eyes caught Loki standing alone in the dark court.

The gold threads woven black hair, his pale skin kissed by moonlight. When he saw a translucent tear falling from those enthralling ruby eyes, Thor could have sworn a stir in his heart.

Two years had since past, since Thor was first enthralled by Loki's beauty.

Now he was beside the battered body of his beloved and couldn't bring himself to emit a sound.

When Sif had arrived with the news so pale and forlorn, Thor already suspected the worst; this comes closely to that, he blankly thought.

There was no sound flesh on Loki's body. Every part was either torn, beaten or burned—

Even the most experienced warriors turned their gazes away. Thor couldn't refrain his tears from falling.

"By Valhalla," there was a small gasp from behind, probably Váli or Balder, Thor didn't know. All he could do was to wait and look up at his Father, who quickly approached the lifeless body and turned to an anguished face. The Allfather, like others, seemed to have lost the ability to speak. The Crownprince forced himself to open his mouth.

"He is still here, Father," Thor rasped with a hoarse voice from suppressing a pained cry, "His soul is still with me. You only need to bring his body back."

Loki would live, because Thor wouldn't accept anything else.

Odin looked at his son, jaded and pained, and for the first time he wondered if he did the right thing to bring these two young together. But before his thoughts could form any significance, the paternal part of him wanted to prepare Thor for the worst.

"My son. Loki is…I do not know if he will be strong enough to return to the living."

"He will."

Thor spoke with so much conviction, it ached. Frigga, who had neared in silence, pressed her hands gently on her son's shoulders, but Thor made no indication to acknowledge. Odin let out a sad, exasperated breath.

"Thor, you have to think, that Loki might be lost-"

"You make no sense Father," the God of Thunder stopped his Father abruptly, "Of course Loki will come back to me, where else could he go? He does not have anyone else besides me, I am his everything as well as he is to me."

"Thor."

"No," the God stood now tall, tears still falling, but his face determined as ever, "No, Father. Just do what you have to do."

With that he spoke no more, just gazing his father straight in the eye. There were silent sobs, sounds of grief, but the resolution in Thor's eyes never faltered.

Then finally, Odin nodded.

The Allfather kneeled next to his son-in-law, breath nonexistent, limbs and organs turning ashen, and spread his hand on the young god's forehead. It was a pure wonder Loki even had a breeze of life still lingering inside him. When Odin let his own seidr tenderly circulate around Loki's body, he felt a slight pull from the stone underneath his palm.

The heartstone of Fárbauti.

It was embedded in center of the Jotun markings, it was the only thing Loki had to cherish from his father. The golden stone was humming in ancient tongue of mages and Odin understood.

The moment he felt the seidr shift, the Allfather begun to chant.