Author Note: This story was inspired by the following Lokane fic prompt: 'Loki's plans to fake his own death go awry when Thor actually dies during the battle instead. Afterward he and Jane have to save the universe because, even though he's an asshole, the whole universe dying means there'd be nothing left to rule and that is simply not acceptable to him. In addition, Jane is all that remains of the only two people Loki really cared about and he will not let anyone kill her and take the life they died to preserve. Use the Line: "you are all that remains of everyone I have loved"'
I decided the mood of the story was suitable for writing in present tense, but as I haven't often attempted this, I apologise in advance if I screw it up! Feedback is most welcome! :)
This Burden I Bear
by Sorrow
It is the fresh scars upon Svartalfheim's bleak barren landscape that lead Loki to Thor. He has but to follow the trail of rocks torn loose from the ground; the track marks of warring bodies gouged deep into the earth.
Of Kurse, there is no sign. But his brother lies face up upon the blackened ground. Cornflower blue eyes stare at the ruined sky. Dull and sightless. Life-blood soaking into the blackened earth. Body cooling in the fierce winds that whip across the plains. The hammer - for all the good it did him in the end - rests useless in his slackened hand.
Loki drops to his knees beside his brother's prone body; one hand stretching towards a well-muscled arm before falling short of its target. Thor. You great oaf. Why did you not listen?
"You fool." He snarls as the hands he cannot bring to touch his brother curl tight at his sides; nails biting into palms. "It was I who was pledged revenge - it should have been I who fought the Kursed!"
A movement to his right snaps him from his bitter reverie and he reaches for his dagger - half-buried in the sand - defensive and ready as he spins to his feet.
The mortal - Thor's woman - halts in her tracks. Hands raised to prove them empty. Eyes wide and horror-stricken as she stares at the body beyond him.
Loki nods, frowning, and the mortal steps past, a strangled cry escaping her throat as she sees the massive blade that felled the Thunderer. He waits for her to fall to the ground; a sobbing wreck. Hate swells like black ink within his veins. As if she has the right to grieve.
But she shrugs out of her coat and moves to kneel beside the fallen Prince. Quick. Efficient. "This isn't happening. You're not dying on me Thor." The wind steals away the woman's reassurances. Nonetheless, she places her coat around the wound - careful not to move the sword - and bears down. Expression fierce. Determined.
Loki watches. Numb and grim. There's no sense in staunching the blood. It's already ceased to flow. Still, a fragment of hope defies his instincts. If anyone can drag Thor back from the feasting halls of Valhalla, it will be this ferocious little mortal he had become so enamoured by. After all, he's already returned once from the dead for her sake.
"Is this entertaining enough for you?" The woman glares through tangled locks of brown hair, lank with sweat and the grit of the land. "Don't you have magic stones or something?"
"Can you not see it's a lost cause?" The slow creep of defeat flattens Loki's tone. He shrugs, as if Thor's death has not affected him. Liar. "Healing stones cannot bring back the dead."
It is a barrier he has long built around himself: This nonchalance. Inwardly, a tight knot of despair uncoils slowly from his chest and burrows deep into his stomach. Resentment hot on its heels. First Frigga, now Thor, and all because of this mortal and the poison she carried within her?
"He's your brother! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
The woman sits back on her haunches and strikes the hair from her face, leaving a smudge of blood upon her brow. Thor's blood. Loki stares at that red smear until all else blurs. The words - the accusations - are but white noise. Meaningless. He lets her anger wash over him and feels his own begin to writhe in turn. Thor is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead… It's a nightmare from which he cannot not rise.
"...and I wouldn't be surprised if you set this up! That's the kind of monster you are, isn't it!"
An eery silence hangs in wake of the woman's outcry. Loki blinks, startled, her words like a slap to the face; breaking him from his brooding trance.
"You dare speak to me thus?" In a heartbeat he grabs her arm and wrenches her towards him; fingers pinching skin until her knees buckle and a cry escapes her lips. "You dare speak to a Prince of…"
And there he falters, unable to say what once came so proudly to his lips. Prince of Asgard? No. Never more will that be the title for Laufey's son. Prince of Monsters his mind finishes cruelly, and he squeezes his eyes shut and drops his head; as if by doing so he might block the truth from his heart.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" The woman manages, fingers prising against his own in search of relief. His eyes snap open and he relinquishes her, turning his head from the angry red imprint his fingers have left upon her skin. Monster indeed.
"If we discount New York, I guess that was uncalled for." She massages her arm before sinking on trembling knees back to Thor's side. Her efforts to revive him now still as she slips her fingers through his hair, sweeping golden strands from his brow. "I saw you take on a half dozen of those creatures. It's not like you can be in two places at once, right?"
"Indeed." Loki says flatly, watching her work her fingers through Thor's hair.
He wonders how much Thor told her of his little 'brother'. Does she know of the Jotuns? Does she know how close her words cut to the truth? That he truly is a monster beneath his Asgardian veneer? Nonetheless, what does it really matter? She's but a mortal - her judgement weighs less than air. And if they manage to survive what comes next, she won't be the last to blame him for Thor's death.
And what will come next? For once Loki's ever-scheming mind is at loss. Malekith has the Aether, Thor lies dead before him, and that damned old man upon Asgard's throne is fit for nothing but a short ride upon a flaming boat. Should Malekith use the Aether against them...
Hopelessness is a feeling Loki would sooner do without, and he shifts his gaze to the direction from which they came. Working on the immediate problem is a better starting point.
"Tell me, have you been in a sandstorm before?"
"What?" The mortal falters, confused. "No. I mean, we had dust storms in New Mexico sometimes..."
"Well, Jane Foster." Loki steps forward, noting the fear in her eyes as they sidle to the dagger in his fist. Nonplussed, he extends his empty hand towards her. "I suggest you follow me."
For several moments the woman - Jane - stares blankly at his hand. He half-wonders if grief has rendered her daft, or if she's simply mortified at the thought of accepting his assistance. And then as a sudden gust of wind whips the sand around them, her eyes widen in understanding and she glances over her shoulder.
A vicious vortex of darkness gathers a mile or so away, eery and violent as it shifts slowly across the charcoal sands. It's greedy plumes swallow the dunes and stretch across the sky. Huge and malevolent.
"The sandstorms of Svartalfheim are unlike anything you've known in your realm." Loki waits for Jane's attention to return to him before continuing. "You will not survive long if you remain here, exposed on this plain."
"But what about Thor?" She whispers, broken. "Won't it bury him?"
Loki drops his gaze to his brother. To where Mjolnir lies upon his fingertips, pinning him to the ground more effectively than any Elvish skewer. "Burials are customary tributes to the dead on your world, are they not?"
"I suppose. But not to the Aesir, are they?" Jane's fingers tightened on Thor's shoulder. "Frigga was given a proper send off. The boat… The fire… Doesn't Thor deserve as much?"
Loki blinks away. What family is left for him? Something akin to grief rises to his throat. He swallows it down. Locks it away. "And what do you propose we do?" He asks at last. "Cart him with us? No. The Allfather will send someone to retrieve his precious corpse. Of that you can have no doubt."
"How will they find him if he's buried under that!" Jane points to the sandstorm, expression fierce and desperate
Loki lets slip a slow deep breath; gaze wandering their surroundings, taking map of the rocky outcrops nearby. "If we survive to make it back to Asgard, I will lead them here myself."
He raises an eyebrow, waiting for the mortal to concede. She meets his gaze with heated defiance, but grudgingly moves to her feet. Finally! Nodding, Loki turns north-west of the storm and sets off across the plains. They've lost enough time already.
"There is a cave where we can find shelter, if we reach the mountain range in time. You should remove those ridiculous shoes…" Loki throws a glance over his shoulder, then all but staggers in surprise.
The foolish woman is still at Thor's side, straining desperately to pull the sword from his chest.
"What are you doing!" Loki cries, appalled. "We have no time for this!"
But Thor's woman ignores him. All thought focused on that damned sword until finally it slides free of his brother's chest with a terrible sucking sound. Stumbling at its weight, she drops the massive weapon to the sand and hooks her hands under his armpits, intent now on dragging the mighty Thunderer across the sand.
Loki shakes his head in disbelief. It's an impossible task for such a petite creature - even without Mjolnir to anchor Thor in place.
"I told you - I'm not leaving him like this!" She manages at last, through gritted teeth no less. Grief, as it turns out, has made her ridiculously determined.
For Norns sake… The first winds of the sandstorm are reaching them now. Loki can feel the grit buffet his back like a vicious caress. Clearly the woman is as mad as she is stubborn. He could just as easily just leave her here and no one would ever be the wiser.
But that he owes it to Thor….
With an exaggerated groan, the dark Prince crosses the ground between them in long strides and reaches for her arm. "And I will not stay here quibbling over a corpse!"
"Good! You can help me carry him then." Unrelenting, Jane shakes off his grasp and continues to try and haul Thor across the sand. Her face set in a resolute mask.
"Stubborn wench!" Loki swears softly, shaking his head. Then with a weary mutter, "I did not ask for this brother, but if this is the burden I am to bear, then so be it."
Swatting her hands away, Loki begins to dig the sand around Thor's trapped hand. He cannot lift the damned hammer, but perhaps the ground will be soft enough that he can work his brother's hand out from beneath it…
"Can't you just lift it?"
Loki shakes his head; a bitter laugh his only reply.
At last, he works Thor free, sits him up and hoists him over one shoulder; knees buckling ever so slightly beneath the Thunderer's enormous weight. With a final scowl in Jane's direction, Loki turns towards the nor-westerly mountains.
"So your brother is a burden now?" Jane presses as she trails after him.
"What?" Loki grunts without pause in his stride.
"If this is the burden I am to bear, so be it?" She quotes.
"I was speaking of you, woman." He retorts, swinging around to meet her eyes. "And you're welcome."
The mortal opens her mouth and promptly closes it again. Dumbstruck. It's a pleasant change, Loki figures, as he turns and picks up his pace. This time not bothering to check if she follows. Of course she will. He has her beloved across his shoulders. As much a carrot on a stick as any.