The battle had been long, waging many hours, the noise cacophonous with the roar of a thousand men and women, raging in bloodlust and fury, filling his ears and overtaking his mind.
Thor knew this existence well. For his people were people of war, and every boy of the Aesir, and many a girl too, were burdened from the youngest age with the expectation that they would grow to be warriors of fine skill and unsurpassed courage. To fall short of this expectation meant shame. Meant dishonor.
And none, did Thor like to think, were finer warriors than he and his brother, Loki. Though the second prince of Asgard did have many a detractor, those fool enough to call him cowardly and craven, for how he was wont to use trickery and deception and guile to defeat an enemy. Fools they be, for Thor knew his younger sibling to be brave and fierce and determined as any man upon the field of battle. Braver still, Thor thought, for what Loki lacked in brute strength, he more than made up for in will and courage and skill, and that he should be less powerful of arm than the other men, only rendered his willingness to throw himself into the fray all the more admirable.
With Loki at his back, Thor felt no fear, no doubt as to his position, or his ability to win any battle. He knew Loki would be there for him, always. Knew his brother would protect him from what he could not see.
He wishes only, for Loki, he could say the same of himself.
He hadn't seen the attack. But Loki had. Of course Loki had.
His little brother, who always saw everything.
The dissonance of battle had deafened him to Loki's cry of warning, to his brother screaming his name. Had too deafened him to the sound of fast approaching footfalls, and the roar of an enemy at his back, intent on the kill.
But he'd heard clear as the crack of his own thunder in his veins Loki's strangled cry, and seen with eyes too sharp as he'd spun round, and watched his brother fall to his knees, the blade of their enemy stuck more than halfway to the hilt through his chest, even as that same enemy lay, dead already, at Loki's side, one of the younger prince's throwing knives buried deep inside the man's throat.
Loki had been staring up at him, eyes wide and shocked, mouth hung open as though about to speak.
And then Thor had seen the blood begin to seep from the corners of his brother's lips, sliding garish and strange down Loki's pale skin.
His hands had held the hilt of the sword through him, trembling viciously.
And then he'd crumpled, collapsing to his side, and Thor had broken from his horrified reverie, running to his brother, crashing to his knees and lifting the smaller god up off the blood soaked ground, pulling him into his lap and cradling his head.
Vaguely, Thor remembers denying over and over and over. "No, no, no…" he'd cried, even as Loki had sputtered and choked on his own words, eyes still huge in his face, rapidly draining of color, lips spattered in flecks of blood and soaking through, deep in color, almost black, as it spread across the front of his armor, spilling out onto the dirt.
What followed still remains largely undefined in Thor's memory.
Sif had been there, and Hogun. He remembers, vaguely, them pulling him away from Loki, him protesting almost madly, vision blurred by the tears in his eyes as he'd tried to fight his way back to his brother. His little brother, who he was supposed to protect, to keep safe. Not the other way around. Not like this. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
If Sif or Hogun had said anything to him, he doesn't recall. Only remembers Sif holding him back as Hogun had gone to Loki and lifted him into his arms, easily as one would a child.
It had been as a nightmare. Every awful vision Thor had ever had of watching his brother fall on the battlefield. Every fear he'd harbored for centuries now whenever the call to war was upon them. Ever since Loki had come of an age to join him in that call.
Hogun had carried Loki away, Thor remembers. Though how Thor himself had come to be here, in this tent, away from the field of battle and by his brother's side, is at best vague to him.
He knows only that he is grateful for it, as he sits by Loki's side, holding his limp and cold hand, his brother confined to a makeshift bed, unconscious and motionless.
The only sound to fill the space, outside the noises of preparation and orders being given beyond the tent, is that of his brother's rattled breathes. His struggle for air.
The healers had done all they could, removing the blade and doing their utmost to staunch the flow of blood from the gapping would in Loki's chest. Thor had stood by, watching with a frantic, nauseating worry as they did this, fretting further as one of the healers had explained to him in somber and serious tones that the sword which had pierced through his brother's flesh had been poisoned, laden with some substance which stunted Loki's innate magic from healing up the wound itself.
They'd said, as it now stood, the chances of Loki's survival were less than probable. Thor had nearly felt himself ready to faint as those words had left the woman's lips, but somehow, he'd fought through it, and in the hours since, he'd not moved from his spot, praying to the Norns to give his brother strength, struggling himself to hold on to hope as each minute passed, and Loki showed no sign of improvement.
And it's all become too much now, Thor thinks, as he sits there, his large, thick hands cupped round Loki's own, delicately thin one.
He watches his brother. Watches the shallow, rasping rise and fall of his chest. Sees the deathly white pallor of his skin, stripped as he is to his waist, and the ugly, blood soaked bandages wrapped round his torso. Loki's face looks gaunt, forehead thick with sweat. And all Thor can think about is how this is his brother. His little brother. Whom he was meant to protect. To keep safe.
Loki looks so small to him. Thin and fragile in a way none other of their kind ever is.
Always has Loki been thus.
Always has he had to fight to earn his place amongst the warrior class, when he had not their physical gifts.
Thor thinks now how much stronger Loki always was for that fight. For refusing to give in to his forms limitations.
He begs silently now for that same strength to see his brother through this fight.
But it is too much, and at last, Thor feels himself give in to his own grief, the hours long threat of tears at last overcoming him, stinging at the backs of his eyes before welling within them and slipping, hot and silent down his face.
He bows his head, eyes closing, bringing Loki's hand to his lips and pressing them against his brother's bruised knuckles, kissing them gently.
"Please brother," he weeps quietly. "please, do not do this…"
"Do what?"
Thor's head snaps up at the sound of Loki's voice, a broken, fractured whisper, barely there. But still, it is there, and when his vision focuses, he sees his brother staring up at him from where he lies, smiling weakly.
"Loki!" Thor nearly shouts, voice thick with shock.
His brother flinches at the loudness of his voice, and immediately, the older god feels shame heat his face.
"I am sorry." He begins, making his voice deliberately soft.
Loki shakes his head before lifting his free hand, beckoning Thor closer.
"Come here." He says tiredly, the effort to speak obvious.
Thor doesn't hesitate, overwhelming relief warring inside him with a still queasy fear. He leans close to Loki, attention full, and Loki brings his hand to Thor's face, thin fingers brushing so softly against the Thunderer's cheek, he barely feels it at all.
"Ridiculous oaf." Loki breathes harshly. "Why do you cry?"
Thor blinks, shaking his head and wiping at his face roughly, forcing a laugh that sounds more like a sob.
"I am an oaf?" He asks, trying vainly for a cheerful tone. "I am not the one who went and got himself run through the chest by a poisoned blade."
"Ah, well…" Loki says. And then his eyes close, his face turning momentarily away, hand slipping from Thor's cheek. "I can hardly argue that point."
Thor can see by the strained lines of his brother's continence that he is suffering badly, and as if to confirm the realization, moisture appears at the corners of Loki's still closed eyes, a barely audible moan slipping past his lips.
"Oh, by the Norns, this pain is exquisite." He says, voice wavering intensely a moment.
And then he laughs, a wrecked, broken sound, flecks of bright red blood showing stark against his pale lips. Thor feels his heart seize up a moment, a wave of terror ripping his insides.
"More the fool am I, I s-suppose," Loki goes on softly. "for allowing myself to be so struck down."
Thor can't help it as fresh tears surge in his eyes, spilling over fast, and he squeezes his brother's hand tight.
"No Loki." He says. "No. I am the fool, for letting this happen. For being too caught up in my own lust for battle to hear you. I should have… should have protected you. I should have been there to…"
Loki's eyes come open again, dull with pain as he turns his face towards Thor, lips pulling up into a smile.
"You truly are an oaf." He says. "Thor, please do not blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done."
"But…" Thor begins to protest, feeling his throat tighten with despair. But Loki shakes his head, cutting him off.
"Please Thor." He says. "It is the risk we all take when called to battle. Is not there honor and glory in this?"
Thor's face feels tight as he struggles to keep it from crumpling, several seconds passing as he works his throat, knowing if he speaks in that moment, he will break into weeping.
"You are the bravest man I know, brother." He at last manages, voice thin and weak.
Loki scoffs at that, turning his face away again, lids slipping closed once more.
"You are a terrible liar Thor." He says gently.
"I am not lying brother." Thor protests immediately, heartbroken.
"Than you flatter me and are kind to a fault." Loki returns, an instant after his face grimacing hard in pain, his hand closing tightly over Thor's own.
"Loki…" Thor starts, worry spiking in his chest.
"Thor, listen to me." Loki says, voice ragged and breathless. "If I do not make it…"
"Loki, do not say such things. You are going to live." Thor interrupts, startled and dismayed that Loki would even suggest otherwise.
"Thor," and his brother looks at him again, eyes still hazy with pain. "please. You have to promise me, if I do not make it, tell Mother that I love her. And… and Father too."
"Loki…"
"I have strength enough left in me to tell you myself that I love you." Loki goes on as though he hasn't heard Thor at all.
And again, hot tears fill Thor's eyes. He doesn't even try to stop them from falling.
He shakes his head.
"I love you too Loki." He forces out, voice thick and brittle with tears.
Again, Loki reaches up, his hand cupping along Thor's cheek, his skin startlingly cool.
"Promise me then brother?" Loki asks once more, and Thor nods, taking hold of Loki's other hand, curling his fingers round it.
"Aye, I… I promise." He says. "So long as you promise me also that you will not die here today."
Loki smiles weakly, indulgently at him.
"I give you my word Thor, I will do my utmost to live on." He says slowly, almost slurring the words.
Thor wants to tell him that isn't good enough. That he has to promise he won't die. That he has to mean it. To swear to him on honor of his word.
But he doesn't.
He doesn't push Loki, who he sees is fast fading now, unconsciousness threatening to overpower the younger prince. His eyes fall half-mast, mouth slackening, the rigidity of his frame lessening by the moment.
It will do no good to badger his brother, his little brother. To pressure him. Loki, who always reacts so badly to pressure, to expectation. Who always pushes himself to dangerous extremes when the fear of failing others takes hold of him.
Instead, he reaches out, resting his large palm along Loki's cool forehead, pushing his sweat slicked hair back off it, letting his fingers knead his brother's scalp gently. And Loki's eyes fall closed all the way then, a near soundless sigh escaping past his lips.
"Alright then brother." Thor tells him quietly. "Alright."
Loki's hand lifts one last time, taking hold Thor's wrist and squeezing it gently, before his fingers slip free, arm falling to rest again on the bed.
Moments later, and he's out entirely, thin chest rising and falling once more in shallow, rattling breathes.
"I will be here when again you wake brother." Thor tells him, though he knows Loki cannot now hear.
Wiping at his still wet face, he once more resumes his post, grasping Loki's cold hand in his own, resting his head along the mattress.
And there he waits, praying once more to the Norns, and whatever other beings a god may pray to.
He waits, and hopes, and refuses to believe his brother will give over so easily his soul to the Valkries.
/
Loki survives. Blessed be the Norns, Loki survives his wound.
It is several days of uncertainty. Of Loki's grip on life several times thinning alarmingly before, at last, it seems to strengthen for good, and the healers declare he will pull through.
Heimdall pulls his brother back into Asgard via Bifrost, when Loki proves strong enough to bare the exertion of the trip. It is in Asgard the second prince will see out the rest of his recovery.
Thor had embraced him, long and hard, before Loki had been set to depart, and Loki had held him back, burying his face against Thor's thick head of hair.
"Do not let me hear of you being so thoughtlessly reckless again Thor, lest I am forced to return and once more guard your back." Loki had spoken softly against his ear, and Thor had laughed, pressing his lips to Loki's temple and promising to be more careful.
And then Loki had pulled back, holding Thor's face between his hands, his brutally perceptive eyes staring intently upon him.
"Come back whole and hale Thor." He'd said in absolute seriousness. "Do not deprive your people of you. Mayhap Asgard could stand to lose her second prince, but she would not recover from the loss of her first. Nor would I."
Thor had known not what to say to that, only felt a strange, uneasy pull at his heart for the way Loki had seemed so casually to dismiss the worth of his own life.
And Loki had not given him a chance then to reply, taking him into another hug, pulling him hard against him and bidding him one final farewell, before allowing himself to be escorted to the Bifrost sight by a party of the royal guard, tasked with seeing his safe return.
Thor had watched him go until he and the others were well out of sight.
And then he'd turned back, silently, for his tent, knowing still there were many battles to be fought.
Knowing also, until his brother could return, he would feel the burden of his own vulnerability, heavy upon his back.