Part Two:
The new world order was bleak, but it was a start. So many presidents or prime ministers had either been executed or deposed, so many countries broken or destroyed, so many people dead. The world had to rebuild itself, but at least it didn't have to start from scratch, and Tony's new aid programs providing resources and people to countries that needed them helped, even in a small sense.
Zora was glad to be busy. To be flying from country to country for however many weeks at a time to consult governments in turmoil or help construct buildings in a decimated city. She couldn't stand the silence of the Tower, the concerned looks turned her way, the questions, the prodding. Cap had benched her for the time being, saying that as a friend, he was worried. Tony had backed him up, as shocking as that was. Nat knocked on her bedroom door in the Tower one night to try the former assassin's attempt at a heart to heart, which was really just the redhead staring Zora down like she'd crack under pressure, eventually. Hawkeye invited her for an 'extended stay' at his family's homestead located gods know where. Banner, the least infuriating of all of them, just exchanged understanding looks with her whenever their paths crossed.
He lived with the Other Guy on a daily basis – he knew that it took more than one week with Loki's madness to push her over the edge. But he was the only one who knew.
Thor had left them, almost six months ago, with grim farewells. Zora had clutched onto him like he was never coming back. He had hugged her back fiercely, and she often wondered if it could be true – if he would never return. She worked nightly on carving him a new version of the miniature mjiournir in case he did, since she noticed his must've gotten lost at some point during the Battle of New York.
Loki crossed her mind every day. It would be false to say he didn't. To pretend the short amount of time she had been held as his captive hadn't changed her, in some way. Didn't often make her wonder: what would the world look like, if the Avengers hadn't overthrown him?
Would she have been alive to know?
When those thoughts started twisting down dark roads she didn't want to revisit, she threw herself into work more, taking on twelve-hour shifts, doubles. Anything. Her mind wanted to be as exhausted as her body.
She didn't want to have to wonder at what the mad god knew. About what sort of Fate she'd gotten twisted up in. About what the future held in store for her.
But it was coming. That much she knew. There was only so much running Zora could do, and she knew she was nearing the end. She could feel it.
Until then, she was content to rise with the sun every day and get to work, and avoid being at the Tower at all costs.
000
Thor maintained a level stare with the Allfather, his head canted slightly to meet the king's one-eyed gaze from his place on the throne room's golden dais. Working his jaw in annoyance, Thor couldn't help but think about how much better suited Loki's silver-tongue would have been for this task of diplomacy.
"Father," Thor tried again, his strained patience wearing into his tone. "You must understand – the Midgardians need the assistance, and it is surely assistance we can provide at a low cost to ourselves. A mere thousand troops would be sufficient – and the least we could do to contribute to their reconstruction efforts." Given that it was Loki, an Asgardian, who made such efforts necessary, he thought darkly to himself, but the words would never leave his lips. Never. Loki had not been himself, and Thor held on fiercely to that belief.
Odin wore the same expression he often defaulted to when dealing with a particularly difficult delegation from another realm. "I have denied this request for various reasons, Thor. I expect that, as future king of Asgard, you will come to understand these reasons."
"As future king of Asgard," Thor said vehemently, voice raising despite his efforts to remain cool-headed and rational, "I would like to make amends with realms we have, advertently or not, nearly destroyed! I should think you, Odin Allfather, would understand this! Midgard suffered at our hands, Father. We owe them recompense for the lives they lost, the cities decimated."
Odin abruptly rose to his full height, staring down imposingly at his son with an angry frown marring his lips. "Midgard suffered at Loki's hands!" The king's voice bellowed through the throne room, forcing the guards to straighten their spines and stare harder at whatever wall they were facing, fear etched across their faces. "Your inability to see your brother for what he is – a war criminal – is blinding your rationality!"
Thor gritted his teeth together. "I was branded a war criminal, Father, or do you have such a selective memory? You banished me to Midgard, powerless. Stripped of my honors, my titles. I attempted to make war with the Jotuns – I risked plunging Asgard into another thousand-year war with those we had made peace with! – and yet my only punishment was banishment until I could prove myself worthy. Where is Loki's chance to repent? Where is his second chance, Father?"
Odin's mouth folded into a thin, white line. "You were requesting troops to aid Midgard's reconstruction," he said stiffly, one hand clenching tight to the staff beside him. "Would you rather debate your brother's actions – and consequences – yet again?"
"I would rather you listen!" Thor thundered, his anger rising up like a dark wave he couldn't contain. Hands clenching into fists at his sides, he sucked in a short breath, eyes never leaving the king's. "You refuse to listen to reason. You refuse to listen to anything that is not a condemnation of your second son. I grow weary of this, Father. If being king of the Realm Eternal means shunning reason, then perhaps I am not fit to be king at all."
And with that, Thor turned and walked away from the Allfather without a proper dismissal, the anger and confusion and sadness that had built up within him over the last six moons threatening to spill over and thicken the tension that already existed between Asgard's crown prince and its king.
000
There had been a time in Loki's childhood when, in playing a game of hide and seek with Thor and Sif, Loki had thought himself crafty enough to win by merely going to the single place no child of Asgard ever dared go: the dungeons. And, being of a superior sort of intelligence, Loki had managed to win through mere cunning alone. He'd spent all night wandering the dungeons, peering curiously at this criminal and that warlord, before Thor had finally given up searching for his raven-haired brother and brought news of his absence to the queen, who in turn informed all of Asgard's guards to find the young prince immediately.
He recalled vividly how Frigga herself had marched down into the dungeons to collect the baby-faced Loki, her eyes wide and fearful, her mouth pulled into sharp and angry lines, as she dragged him out by his ear and lectured him for hours on the dangerous company he had been keeping with.
The memory occasionally brought a smirk to his lips, however self-loathing it was.
Now Loki was the dangerous company the other prisoners feared.
Lounging back in the chaise they'd dragged from his chambers, arms tucked behind his head, he stared amusedly at his gloomy visitor, thinking of how drastically things had changed since their childhood.
"Father is impervious to my efforts," Thor ranted, pacing back and forth in front of Loki's cell with sharp, gaunt movements. "He sees no reason."
Loki rolled his eyes. "Perhaps it is you who sees no reason. You visit the cell of a man who is not your brother on a near-daily basis," the God of Mischief said off-handedly, though the words bothered him more than he cared to admit.
How Thor could still pretend they were kin despite knowing Loki's true heritage was beyond the trickster. How Thor could even stand to look at him after the havoc he'd wreaked on Midgard was even more baffling.
The thunder god paused his heavy strides, frowning hard at Loki, the way he used to frown at their tutors as children when a concept had breezed far over his head. "Blood or not, Loki, you are my brother," Thor asserted, his tone sharp enough to arch Loki's brow. "Nothing can change that."
"Nothing?" It was another reiteration of an argument they'd been having for half a year, now, but Loki was content to start it up all over again. He had an eternity to rot in this cell after all. "Not my attempted subjugation of your precious Midgard? Not my foiled plot to destroy the Jotun race?" And always the kicker, the one thing that would get Thor to really think about how his supposed brother was no longer the boy he had once played hide and seek with: "And if I had succeeded in executing your dear mortal?" Zora, he thought to himself, the trinket he had managed to hold onto by cloaking magic alone still crooning softly to him in his pocket, the only melodic sound in the otherwise dour dungeons. The only thing keeping him partially-sane these past six moons. "Would that have made you realize I am not your brother, Thor?"
The thunder god's massive fist connected with the magical barrier of Loki's cell, a snarl on the blonde's lips. "I have said it before and I will say it again!" Thor boomed, glaring at the raven-haired god. "You were not yourself, Loki. You think me too thoughtless to notice, and I accept this – you have always been the cleverer of the two of us – but your fall through the Void still had its hold over you. This I know."
Loki rolled his eyes. "That's not an answer," he pointed out.
Thor's snarl was no less intense. "You would not have killed her," he maintained, the certainty in his tone prompting a flurry of thoughts Loki had had on more than one occasion: Did Thor know what the non-mortal was?
Why the trinket in Loki's pocket, a bearer of her magical fingerprint, sang to him so softly, despite being so far away from its source?
"And why not?" Loki asked imperiously. "There was nothing to stop me, until your oafish Avengers showed up. Had they not, she would be dead and you would still be rotting in the dungeons of that tower. Her survival was mere luck."
Thor had never been one to keep secrets – that was always Loki's penchant – but the trickster could read, clear as day in his non-brother's crystal blue eyes, that the future king of Asgard was holding something back.
You could not lie to the God of Lies, after all.
"You are my brother," was all Thor gritted out between clenched teeth before spinning on his heel, crimson cape flapping harshly behind him, and marching out of the Realm Eternal's dungeons.
000
Berlin looked nothing like the beautiful city Zora had once visited as an undergrad. The once colorful city had been reduced nearly to ash by Loki's army, ravaged and devastated by an alien force no one could hope to fight off.
She remembered the day clearly. How the German Chancellor had refused to bow down to the self-proclaimed king of Midgard. How calm the Chancellor had been when Loki winked into existence right in front of her. How the cameras had kept rolling, despite the blood staining the ground and the Chitauri aircrafts blackening the sky.
Blinking, Zora forced herself back to the present, staring through the brand-new window of a quickly-constructed base that housed international aid groups working to rebuild the former powerhouse of Europe. She could still taste smoke in the air, like the night she had spoken with the fallen prince on the balcony of the Avenger's Tower, overlooking a razed New York City.
"Agent Haque," a voice from behind her beckoned her attention.
Zora was grateful for the distraction. For anything to pull her gaze from the charred ruins of the German capital, another reminder of how bleak the world had been only six and a half months ago.
"Yes?" She faced one of the security guards deployed to the base, wondering if he was going to inform her of another impromptu visit from Nat or Clint or Tony again.
"There's a Doctor Foster here for you," he said instead.
Zora's brows nearly skyrocketed to her hairline. Jane?
"Lead the way."
000
The genius astrophysicist and her quirky intern were waiting for Zora in the Canteen, twiddling their thumbs and looking anywhere but out the glass windows that reminded everyone of the destruction that sat outside their new temporary home.
"Jane?" Zora asked tentatively, looking from the scientist to the intern questioningly, concern coloring her voice. "Darcy? Is everything okay?"
As soon as Zora spoke, Jane's bright brown eyes shot up, looking to the young agent like they hadn't seen one another in years. "Zora!" She stood, stiff and awkward as she had always been, clearly uncertain whether to shake hands with the agent or pull her into a hug, hovering near her table instead. "We heard you flew into Berlin – we weren't sure if you were still here."
Zora was just as uncertain how to go about greeting the pair, and so maintained a reasonable distance from them and smiled kindly in return. "Yeah – I'll be stationed here for the next month. There's been some trouble in digging up bodies…" Zora's green-eyed gaze glanced briefly out the window, a frown touching her lips, before she hastily continued, "so I figured I'd try to help as best I can."
Darcy grimaced. "Yeah. Alien-boy really fucked this place up, huh?"
Zora wasn't sure what to be more taken-aback by – Darcy calling Loki Alien-boy or Darcy's almost irreverent tone regarding Germany's complete decimation.
Alien-boy almost made the young agent laugh.
"Um, yeah," Zora said, exchanging looks with a put-out looking Jane, who whispered to Darcy, "You need to stop calling him that to other people."
Darcy, in turn, rolled her eyes. "Well that's what he is, isn't it?"
Jane decidedly ignored her opinionated intern. "You'll be here for a month?"
Zora couldn't exactly say why she felt this way, but she sensed Jane didn't really care if Zora would be in Berlin for a month or for the rest of eternity. "Yep, four weeks. Was there something else you wanted, Jane?"
Finally, the astrophysicist heaved a sigh and looked at Zora plainly. "Yeah, actually. I – well, I haven't seen Thor since he left. He stopped by briefly when I was in Norway to tell me he'd be taking Loki back to Asgard, but since then…"
"He's been off the radar," Zora filled in, nodding in agreement.
Jane frowned. "Yeah, exactly. So I guess I was just wondering… has he visited you? At all?"
Zora was floored by the question – and even more by the accusation in the scientist's tone. "Me?"
Darcy looked Zora up and down as if she'd suddenly dropped 100 IQ points. "Duh. Cuz you know he's always so," she waved her hands about vaguely, "chatty about you."
Zora's expression scrunched into one of confusion. "What?"
Jane and Darcy exchanged equally stupefied looks.
"I don't think she knows, boss," Darcy finally said to Jane, who nodded her head slowly.
Zora looked between the two of them with a frown. "O-kay… Why don't we take this up to my quarters? You," she pointed at the pair, "can explain what's going on to me over a couple glasses of whiskey. Since it sounds like I'll be needing it."
000
"Thor and I are not a thing!" Zora shouted, tossing her hands in the air as if the simple motion itself could convince Jane and her attack-dog Darcy that nothing had ever, ever occurred between Zora and the God of Thunder. "Not now, not ever! So no, he hasn't visited me. No one's heard anything from him in months!"
Jane watched Zora carefully over the brim of the tumbler she was taking a hefty sip of while Darcy merely folded her arms over her chest.
"If you think she's lying, boss-lady," Darcy said without taking her eyes off of Zora, "I can always taze her."
Zora raised a brow at the intern. "For your sake, I'll pretend you didn't say that."
Darcy, however, didn't back down, but pushed her glasses further up her nose and canted her chin up. "Just 'cause you fought with the Avengers in New York doesn't make you some big league hero, as evidenced by your current duties," the young woman pointed out sharply, gesturing around Zora's cramped quarters.
The SHIELD agent opened her mouth to respond, but was interceded by Jane, who huffed at Darcy, "Seriously, Darce, now's not the time or place to pick a fight."
"An unnecessary fight," Zora emphasized. Throwing back the rest of her whiskey, she set her tumbler down on the small table sitting between her bed and the two other chairs in the room, giving Jane a pointed look. "Look, I get why you'd be suspicious of me, if he really says all that – but I swear to you, Jane, there's nothing to worry about. Not from me. Thor… he's a friend. A good friend."
The astrophysicist turned a bright shade of red, eyes darting down to her hands as she stuttered out an apology. "I guess I just haven't heard him talk about anyone else like that. I am sorry, Agent Haque – I shouldn't've taken my insecurities out on you. I just thought… calling someone something like that, their lucky War-Breaker – it's strange, isn't it?"
Zora shrugged. "That's what I thought, too, but no one at the Tower really ever batted an eye. He said it was just some children's story. I really don't think he meant anything by it, Jane."
Contrite, Jane gave the SHIELD agent a careful smile. "I'm sorry, Zora. Really."
Thankful that the conversation was no longer going down that path, Zora waved off her apology. "It's fine. Really. Now, if you're not going to blast me with 50,000 volts of electricity, maybe we can actually have some fun in this gloomy place. Y'know Ryan, the security guard at Gate B, has a whole stash of vodka in his quarters, right?"
000
After stumbling back into her quarters late into the night and flopping down on her tiny, threadbare bed, Zora glared up at the ceiling, willing herself to sleep if only so she didn't have to think about him.
Loki.
The mad god who had imprisoned her.
The alien who had tried to take over her entire world.
The lunatic who was going to execute her right in front of Tony's beloved bar.
Why he was on her mind, yet again, was beyond reason. She'd dragged Jane and Darcy over to Ryan's quarters like they were a trio of girls in college sneaking out for a drink and laughed more than she had in months. Darcy had quite the mouth on her, which was really no surprise, and when Jane got really riled up, she started speaking in some gibberish math-language that no one else had been able to follow along with, which was amusing in itself.
It had been a good night. A good night after so many terrible ones.
So why did he have to haunt her thoughts?
Zora worried it would never go away – the flashback of him ordering her execution, of the relief etched onto his face when Tony and the others had overtaken the Chitauri guards and saved her life.
The relief. It didn't make any sense.
It was driving her crazy.
When she finally fell asleep, she was haunted by piercingly blue eyes, invaded by a touch of green.
000
Thor had never been called to the War-Room before. Asgard had thankfully been at peace with most of the other realms since his maturation, and besides, he had spent more time on the battlefield than in the very room that mapped out the battlefield. It was widely known that Thor was first and foremost a warrior, wielder of mjiournir, master of the skies, breaker of all that could possibly be broken.
The War-Room, Thor had always thought, was better suited for Loki's cunning, calculated mind, his tricks and machinations, his cold and quiet intelligence.
So Thor couldn't help but feel out of place in his gleaming armor when he stepped into the massive chamber, drawing all eyes onto his bulky form. A long table built of the sturdiest wood in the realm sat in the middle of the space, with Odin Allfather at the head of it and various generals and other ministers filling the seats all around. A single chair remained empty at Odin's right side, which Thor immediately began marching to, for once uncomfortable under the weight of so many stares.
"The servant said it was urgent, Father," Thor said as soon as he took his seat, though the words felt useless on his tongue. Were he the raven-haired prince, he would've felt at place next to all of Asgard's most strategic minds. He would've understood, already, what was going on and why he was summoned.
Something was clearly wrong, but whatever it was, he could not extrapolate it from the mere dour atmosphere of the room alone.
"Indeed," the Allfather said, nodding curtly at the crown prince. "Now that you are here, Thor, we may begin." Standing, the Allfather clasped his hands behind his back, his one-eyed stare no less intense as it gauged its anxious audience. "I've gathered all of you here in order to discuss a grave matter. One that was brought to my attention by a messenger from Vanaheim early this morn."
Vanaheim. Thor frowned up at the Allfather, his mind running from one possible situation to the next that could feasibly lead to him and all of Asgard's top generals being called into the War-Room so abruptly. If the Vanir had sent a message… that meant that the Seer had sensed something grim on the horizon. Something worth troublingthe Aesir with.
"Jotunheim?" A golden-armored general asked, one Thor immediately recognized as Tyr, a one-time mentor of his during his developing years; now, the top tiered general was nearly as gray as Odin, but sat with firm shoulders and a certain jaw, battle-sure and ready.
The single-worded question was enough to spark murmurs through the room and fear in Thor's chest. Could it really be Jotunheim? Seeking blood for Loki's past wrongdoings, now that word had surely traveled through the realms that the fallen prince was alive and in Asgardian custody?
"No." Odin said tersely, effectively cutting off the fearful buzz of the room and releasing the heavy weight in Thor's heart. But as soon as Thor managed to feel some form of relief, the Allfather carried on. "The Seer… she has warned about Hela, rising from her pit." The Allfather said the words carefully, as if measuring their very weight as they settled in the chamber, over the now-silent audience he held. His one eye drifted from minister to general before finally landing on Thor. "Do you understand the significance of this, my son?"
Thor swallowed thickly through the cotton-like dryness in his throat. He had never heard the Allfather sound so… uncertain.
"Yes," Thor answered in as level a tone as he could. He looked sideways down the table, reading the stern expressions on every single member of the War Cabinet to be a reflection of his own expression. "It means it's come… Ragnarok."
000
Loki was closely studying the SHIELD agent's trinket when he felt it. A strange hue of magic, stronger than whatever made the miniature of mjiournir sing, harsh and dark and deep. In the span of a second, he had gone from slowly picking at the trinket's magical fingerprint, edging this way and that around it to try to peek at its source, when he sensed some sort of shadow fall over him, the way one can sense a catastrophe before it strikes, some strange thing slowly flooding his perceptions the way ink would slowly bleed onto fresh parchment.
He was up and out of his lounge before he could even realize he was moving, his muscles coiled tight, his hands ached to conjure more magic than his magic-subduing cell allowed. There was a taste to the air that hadn't been present just a moment before. Something bitter. Tangy, like blood.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in the scent, taking it into his lungs, absorbing what he could to make sense of it. Fear clutched at him – Thanos had surely found him, had come to collect a debt that Loki owed – but no. This magic was darker than Thanos'.
Instead of rotting flowers, it reeked of… smoke. Fire. A fire he'd seen only once before.
Panic shot through the usually cool-headed god. "Guard!" he suddenly called out, his feet taking him to the edge of his cell, where he could peer from one end of the dark halls to the next.
The corridor, which was typically dotted with guards every other pillar, was eerily empty.
"Guards!" he shouted, his voice resounding only within the confines on his cell.
A darkness Asgard had never seen was fast approaching, a darkness Loki had only borne witness to once before in his lifetime, and there was no one to warn.
000
Since the Allfather had taken his seat, the War-Room had fallen into a disarray of voices, some shouting over one another, others talking amongst themselves, but all voicing various opinions and expertise in fearful, cautious language that made Thor want to bang his head against the table. Glancing sidelong, he watched his father observe the chaos in stride, as if the Allfather had expected this precise reaction.
It made Thor feel weak. Stupid. Though he had heard the tales of Ragnarok and knew of the precipitous events that needed to take place for it to occur… he had never once truly entertained the possibility of Ragnarok occurring. Not ever. Not to Asgard.
The dusk of the gods had never been rooted anywhere in Thor's reality, and it felt like the reality he had made for himself – one of immortality, of endless adventures and wars – was crumbling around him.
He saw, in his father's gaze, the terrible weight of having to be king. And he realized, in that moment, that he may never become king at all. Not if Ragnarok had come, the end times neared.
Of course, everyone in the room had one name on their lips, and it was not Hela's, the she-devil, the corpse of a creature banished to Hel eons ago by the Aesir, the victors. The name was Loki, the realm's second prince, the fallen god, the wicked one. Thor heard his brother called every name imaginable in those brief few minutes, silvertongue and liesmith, trickster and evil-doer. He flinched at every harsh grumble, every jab at the raven-haired prince who couldn't be present to defend himself.
"That's enough!" Thor boomed, standing to his full height, pulling every pair of eyes onto himself. A thick silence descended in the room, deeper still than when Odin had called the generals and ministers to order. Even the Allfather cast a curious gaze on Thor, his chin canted up, giving his first son his full attention.
"That is enough," Thor repeated, his tone quieter but no less heated. He met the gazes of those he had been fearful to face minutes ago. "You all speak ill of my brother, your prince, yet you seem to forget. Loki has been imprisoned for the last six moons. If Ragnarok has come, he was no harbinger."
There was a moment of hesitance, steeped in the sort of nervousness many of the councilmen and women felt when addressing a particularly irate Odin, before Tyr spoke up.
"This may be true, your highness, but the legends are very clear. Loki sets Asgard on her path to damnation, and Hel rises from the roots of the worldtree to bury the other realms along with it." His voice was careful, reasonable, but Thor could not stand it.
"The legends are merely that," Thor insisted. "Legends. We must consult the elders in Vanaheim, the Seer. There are steps that must be taken before we thrust the blame on one who has not seen daylight in so long."
Thor's blue-eyed gaze dared the others in the room to challenge him, his jaw ticked in annoyance. Beside him, Odin also rose. "Thor is right," his father agreed coolly, taking the thunder god by surprise. "But Tyr is also correct, son. Loki was always predicted to be the catalyst to the end days… We must not overlook that. In the meantime, I've sent a delegation to Vanaheim to escort the Seer and her maidens here."
Whispers and conversations broke out yet again, but Thor hardly noticed. Instead, his eyes shot to the Allfather, who had suddenly slumped forward, his frail hands falling hard against the wooden table. "What in the Nine…?" the Allfather murmured, his eye going wide, his brow furrowed. Thor made to assist the Allfather but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard his father say, "A bomb."
Just as Thor had not come to terms with the concept of Ragnarok so quickly, he too did not register his father's words until it was too late. A great heat suddenly built up in the War Room as if from nothing but mere air, a smoke filling the room that tasted foul and deadly. And in a single, cataclysmic flash of light, a bomb exploded, like the birth of a new star, throwing all of Asgard's top generals and ministers, its king and its crown prince, through walls eaten up by fire.
000
The first thing Thor registered when his mind swam up from the deep tresses of unconsciousness was pain. Pain unlike any he had endured before, unlike any he thought possible for an Aesir to feel. A searing, burning pain eating away at his abdomen.
Blinking blue eyes open, Thor sucked in a breath of ashy air and observed the chaos around him. The War Room was no more – merely a burning ground, now, the walls eaten away by fire, smoke billowing out into Asgard's pure air through the half-missing wall that once stood between the long desk and the outside world.
His ears soon registered the moans of the injured, the dying. He realized that the Allfather could be in a critical state. The searing pain in his side be damned, Thor forced himself to stand, gripping at his half-melted armor to fight against the throbbing, and sought out the realm's king with frantic eyes.
Less than a minute passed before he came across the Allfather's body, crumpled on the floor many feet away from where he had only just stood, at the head of the table. Blood soaked his white robes, seeped into his hair and his beard. So much blood that Thor at once thought he must be dead, and fell to his knees in devastation, hands wrapping around his father's wrists like a child grabbing at something that was no longer there.
But as soon as he touched the Allfather, the king moaned in pain. Panic jolted through the crown prince. "A healer!" he shouted into the chaos. "We need a healer! The king is wounded!"
Everything else rushed into a single blur. Watching the healers rush towards him, take the king away for treatment. The weight of his mother crashing against him in a tight, near-bone crushing hug, her tears silent but wet against his cheek. The sobs of those whose loved ones had died in the explosion, the questions of those who had not borne witness.
And finally, after enduring a treatment of his own that dulled the deep throbbing on his abdomen to a bearable ache, Thor found himself standing before a pacing, mad-looking Loki.
As soon as the raven-haired prince saw Thor, he approached the boundary of his cell, a wild look in his eye, his long hair askew in all manners as if he'd been tugging at it nonstop. "What has happened? The guards won't tell me, but I felt it…"
"A bomb," Thor managed to say. "In the War Room."
Loki's mind, always so quick to calculate, seemed to know exactly what questions to ask. He paused, tried to read Thor momentarily, before asking, "What of the Allfather?"
"Alive, but in poor condition. The healers believe he will fall into the Odinsleep any moment." Thor forced himself to swallow down his fear, his anxiety. "They fear he may not rise from it."
"And the culprit?"
Thor couldn't meet his brother's gaze, so ashamed was he to have no answer. "We do not yet know."
"I do," Loki said quickly, forcing Thor's gaze back up. "It is Hela. Risen from her pit."
Thor's heavy brow did not furrow in surprise like Loki had expected. Instead, the god's frown deepened. "That is what the Seer from Vanaheim warned father about earlier in the morn," he informed Loki gravely. "But her visions… normally there is time, Loki. And yet Hela has attacked straight away."
Loki considered this matter for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin white line. He suddenly looked up at Thor sharply, a spark in his eyes. "The Seer – she came to speak to the Allfather personally?"
Now Thor's brow did furrow. "No, she sent a raven. Father said so in the War Room, right before…" Before the bomb went off. Before everything changed. Thor's shoulders drooped, like the weight of the cosmos was pressing down upon him even harder. He worked his jaw and stared at his brother intently. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you are correct," Loki said, surprisingly the both of them at his willingness to concede that Thor was right about anything. "The Seer's visions have always come in time for preparations. That is why she is so revered through the realms, far more esteemed than the others who have premonitions. Why should that be any different now?"
"What are you proposing?"
Now Loki was looking at Thor in his typical condescending way: as if Thor were some insect who could never properly understand the intricacies of the realms. "Think about it. When was the last time the Seer held audience? When was she last seen?"
Thor's belly fluttered with anxiety. "When she last prophesized about the War-Breaker to mother and father." He felt a panic, but he couldn't ascertain what for. Something seemed gravely wrong.
"Yes," Loki said, a bit impatiently. "And that was five-hundred years ago."
Thor had never really felt sick a day in his life; not until Loki had bound him on Midgard with the rune-enchanted chains. The feeling growing throughout his body felt too similar to that. "You're implying that the Seer might not have sent the raven."
"And may in fact be dead," Loki continued. "Who are we to know? Not Seers ourselves."
"But that means…"
The brothers shared a fearful look. "That means," Loki said quietly, enunciating his words sharply, as he always did when matters grew serious, "that Hela may have been planning her attack far longer than we may think. She's prepared."
"For war." The words fell softly from Thor's lips, because what Loki was saying made sense. The pieces were falling together. Vanaheim's revered Seer did not have visitors unless her visions were so important that they called for an audience. She would never have sent a raven – she would have come to Asgard herself or summoned the Allfather to Vanaheim.
So if it was true… If Hela was already prepared to make war with Asgard, as all the prophecies said…
One face flashed into Thor's mind. The face of the only person who could possibly defeat Hela and her undead army. The War-Breaker.
"There is somewhere I must go," he murmured, already turned away from Loki and marching down the dungeon's halls. He only half heard his brother call after him frantically as he marched on. His mind was already focused on how he could possibly convince Zora Haque that she was not quite as human as she thought.
000
Dust swirled through the broken streets of Berlin like a vengeful tornado, whipping the cheeks of volunteers who were scavenging the ruins for months' old bodies that might otherwise never be recovered. Zora squinted hard against the biting wind, the debris that threatened to fly into her eyes should she remove her safety goggles. She coughed into the crook of her elbow and pushed on, wandering Sector Five – the last Sector that needed to be cleared out. A month had passed quickly in this foreign, demolished city, the daily monotonous tasks making the four weeks blur together. She already had orders for the next city she would visit: Johannesburg.
Except for the shrieking of the wind, the work was silent and eerie. The sun had just passed its apex in the sky and Zora had already uncovered twenty-seven bodies from the rubble, which were now on their way to the identification tents set up outside the compound. She was searching for body twenty-eight when a prism of light, the most beautiful rainbow of colors she had ever laid eyes on, shot down towards the ruined sidewalk next to her, the swirl of colors so tantalizing and shimmery that she felt almost nauseous.
She brought one of her arms up to shield her eyes from the play of light; her free hand immediately went for the dagger she always kept strapped to her combat vest, which she never left the compound without. The dagger was unsheathed with a sharp tingy sound, and the young warrior squared her shoulders for a battle.
When the light faded, Zora found herself face-to-face with Thor of Asgard. Thor, who she had not seen for six months, who had been so close to death in the Avenger's Tower when Loki had held the pair of them captive.
Now, the Asgardian looked like the picture of health: his bright blue eyes rivaled the blue that had danced in the rainbow bridge, focused so intently on Zora that she felt almost uncomfortable. As if it was his brother, Loki, staring at her rather than him.
Swallowing thickly, shoving the thought aside, Zora sheathed her weapon again and clamped her mouth shut once she realized it had fallen open in shock.
"Lady Haque," the Asgardian greeted her somberly.
Zora wanted to run to him, to throw her arms around him and hug him close because she had missed him so much, but she understood by his unusual demeanor that something was horribly off. Thor had not even looked this grave when he had been held under Loki's rule.
Thoughts swarmed through her mind. "Thor?" She stepped towards him, then stopped short, cocking her head to the side. If something was really wrong, wouldn't he go to the Avengers with the issue? Why was he here?
He seemed to read the confusion on her face. Mjiournir looked heavy in his hand as he glanced down at the rubble and sighed. "We must speak, Lady Haque. It is time I share your destiny with you."
"Fuck," was the only thing capable of coming out of her mouth.
It seemed that Fate had finally caught up to her.
000
"No," Zora said adamantly, fiercely, shaking her head side-to-side as if to emphasize her point. "No no no. I'm human, Thor. I'm really, reeeally human. My mom and dad are from Michigan. I was raised in Michigan. In a suburb. I was a barista, once. I'm the most human human that exists."
"You are not," Thor said firmly, his patience quickly heading towards its end. "I swear to you, Lady Haque – I would not lie about this."
"You've been misled," she asserted. But in her mind, she somehow knew that what Thor had just told her must be true. As much as she wanted to fight it, as much as she wanted to come up with every reason in the book why Thor couldn't be right – she could not be the War-Breaker, the creature from legends that his mother had told him of as a child – part of her knew it was right.
You're connected to things, Zora. Things you don't understand yet.
Had her mother known, all this time?
Was her mother even her real mother?
The questions assaulted her from all sides. The world she thought she knew flipped on its axis. Only Thor's voice, steady yet somber, fearful, drew her from her chaotic mind. "You must come with me," he insisted. "I'm truly sorry that there isn't more time to process this, Lady Haque – I should have told you long ago. But Asgard is in trouble and your destiny is calling to you."
Your destiny. Fate. You're connected to things, Zora. Her mind spun and spun and spun.
"Jane is here," Zora suddenly stuttered out, because she could not process. She needed a moment. Just a moment. "She's here and you need to see her."
That seemed to blindside the thunder god. For a moment, Zora felt pity for the astrophysicist. But Thor hadn't forgotten about the scientist – his realm was in grave danger. On the brink of complete damnation.
"Where?" Thor asked, suddenly urgent, his fear bleeding out into his tone. "Where is she?"
000
Zora watched Thor and Jane reunite from afar, feeling numb to the whole ordeal, to Jane's obvious happiness, Thor's clear distress, the couple's passionate embrace. Zora was numb. Her mind was processing so much information at once, performing its own sort of triage, trying to determine what was best to understand now and which questions would have to wait for a later point in time.
Her hands were shaking. She curled them into fists and pressed them into her sides. She clenched her teeth and tried to focus on one thought: Thor's realm was in peril. He said he needed her, and he had already fought for Midgard. He had already shed blood for them. He had said it himself before: he was like her shield-brother. She needed to do this for him. To keep her mind from splitting in all the directions it wanted to go in right now and focus on the issue at hand.
The she-demon named Hela.
Leaving the cafeteria behind, Zora silently made her way up to her room to pack what few items she owned in this world. If she was going to Asgard, she wanted to be ready.
000
By the time she returned to the reunited couple, backpack in hand, Zora could see clearly in Thor's guilty eyes what he wanted to do. His hand was curled gently around Jane's, and he stared at Zora almost imploringly, seemingly expecting her resistance.
"No," Zora stated authoritatively. "She can't come, Thor. You said it yourself – your realm is at risk. Would you put Jane at risk, too?"
"All the nine realms are at risk," Thor reasoned. "Jane is no safer on Midgard than she would be on Asgard. However, she is safe with me. It is better this way, Zora."
"It isn't," Zora frowned. "She's no warrior – we can't put her in harm's way like that."
Jane glared at Zora. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here," she bit out, her tone surprisingly caustic. "And I might not be a warrior, but I can help."
Zora wasn't sure who the scientist was trying to convince more – herself or Thor. But determination was written plainly on the couple's faces. This was a battle she would not win. "Fine," Zora relented. "But we should go before I decide this is all a crazy fucking idea, okay?"
000
Zora could not bring herself to drink in the sight of Asgard in all of its glory. For one, she was still half locked inside her own mind, compartmentalizing as best she could manage. For another, a billow of smoke, the blackest smoke she'd ever seen, swirled up and up from what she guessed was the Asgardian palace. The smoke itself cemented her new reality: Hela was real. Hela had bombed that very section of the palace just earlier this day. The Allfather had fallen into a deep Odinsleep and Thor was currently acting king.
She followed behind Thor and Jane, half listening as Thor managed enough enthusiasm to point out this or that monument to his lover as they walked up a golden, cobbled street. She only vaguely noticed when they had reached the palace steps, her legs straining to ascend them, her body already thoroughly exhausted from her time in Berlin. Thor apologized to Jane and Zora for a lack of a greeting party – the queen was with the Allfather, he explained, and the Warriors Three and Sif were out collecting intelligence.
She followed his broad shoulders as he offered to lead her to a guest room for the night, having read on her face that she wished to have some time alone to process, to rest, to prepare.
He left her at the door leading to her rooms with a parting, sad smile. "I hope you will forgive me in time," he murmured to her, and Zora suddenly realized that the guilty expression he'd been wearing had not been because he wanted Jane to accompany them, but because he had shaken Zora's world to its core with his revelation. Because he felt guilty for not telling her sooner. "A guard will be posted outside your door. You will have some time to rest, Lady Haque, but a meeting will be called soon. We must be prepared."
The look of hurt that flashed across his face when she merely nodded at him did not go unobserved. But Zora was still feeling so numb.
She entered the rooms he'd provided her with. The walls were towering and golden gilded, painted a luscious blue. The furniture that dotted the room was lavish. But it was the bed that drew her gaze. It was a massive four-poster thing, bigger, even, than a king size back on earth. She allowed herself to shuffle towards it and fall face first onto the silky soft comforter.
Then, she screamed loudly in frustration and let the tears she hadn't even realized she was fending off come to her eyes. She screamed and screamed, clutching a pillow to her chest, as her world unraveled and rewove itself before her eyes.
000
After she'd made her voice hoarse with screaming and her eyes red with crying, an eerie sense of calm settled over Zora. The calm before the storm or after, she couldn't really be sure, but she knew it wouldn't last. Not forever, anyway.
The exhaustion that had been eating away at her earlier dissolved, leaving her restless. She wanted to move. To escape these four walls that were so foreign to her, to exhaust her legs once more so perhaps at some point this evening she could release herself to sleep.
So she rubbed at the salt on her face, stepped out the door, and told her guard that she would return at a later point. He opened his mouth to object to her, but Zora shut him down with just a look. She wondered, absently, if the guard knew who she was. The War-Breaker.
Zora's idle legs led her through massive dining halls, gardens, libraries, and kitchens; through the streets of the common people, to the edge of the rainbow bridge, to a cliff overlooking the massive golden city. She wandered and wandered, hoping to lose herself in the lives of the porcelain-looking Aesir, looking for some shred of herself in their godlike features, but again and again came up empty.
At last, her wandering feet led her to the dungeons.
She wasn't sure if he was alive or dead, but on the off chance that he was living, she knew she would find him here. And she did.
His cell was set apart from the others; whether this was because he was afforded such a luxury based on his status as a prince of the realm or because he was a trouble-maker when he had an audience, she couldn't be sure. Also unlike the other cells, his was furnished with the same lavish furniture that adorned Zora's rooms.
Instead of approaching right away, Zora stood off in the tresses of a shadow and watched him. He was pacing, looking mad as ever as he tugged at his hair every so often and murmured to himself, walking this way in his cell, coming to the edge, and then turning about to walk the other. His movements were graceful – they always had been, hadn't they? Princely. It was something Zora wanted to hate about him, but found intoxicating instead. She couldn't stop watching him; pace one way, then another, then back again.
Zora wasn't quite sure if she would have preferred him dead. Any sane person would have, she was sure. Maybe she wasn't quite sane.
Finally, after some time, Loki stopped dead in his tracks, head cocked to the side, as if listening to some call only he could hear. Zora strained to listen but could make out no sound other than of her own breath.
When he turned his cutting green eyes on her, Zora's lips parted in surprise.
His face mimicked hers momentarily – the god of mischief and lies was just as caught off guard as she was – before his expression closed off again.
"You," he said, his voice as rich and elegant as ever, an accusation, a challenge. Zora focused on it. Allowed herself to be more absorbed in all his strange intonations than the chaos in her head. "How are you here?"
Zora stepped forward – one foot, the other – until she was standing in front of him. A shimmery gold barrier separated the pair. Zora did not feel much safer because of it. She reached up, made to place her palm against the barrier, but Loki's sharp tone stopped her.
"Don't," he snapped, seemingly angry. "It's enchanted to cause immense pain for any unauthorized person who dares touch it, no matter on what side you stand."
Zora met his green gaze again. Something about that seemed off to her. She stared at him in silence, trying to figure out why he didn't seem quite the same as he had before.
"Your eyes," she said suddenly. "They're different."
Loki shifted on his feet. He wasn't dressed in battle gear, as she was accustomed to seeing him in. Instead, he wore a deep green tunic and black trousers that were tucked into soft-looking black leather boots. He seemed smaller for it, less like the god that had tried to take over her world and more like a person.
"How are you here?" he asked again.
"Thor came for me," she replied simply, shoulders lifting in a meager shrug. "He said I was needed here." That I'm the War-Breaker. The only one who can stop Hela.
His sharp green gaze suddenly looked like a jagged cut emerald; they studied her slowly, covering her from head to toe, before meeting her eyes once more. He seemed to have realized something imperative, something that made him look at her with a tiny furrow between his eyebrows.
Something between a grimace and a smile broke out on his lips. "It's you, then." If she wasn't mistaken, reverence swam just beneath his questioning tone. "It's you the Seer spoke of."
Thor hadn't told him? Zora's head tilted slightly as she considered this. If Thor hadn't mentioned this to Loki, was it a bad idea for her to? "I'm not sure- "
"Don't lie," he cut her off smoothly. "Not to the God of Lies, darling."
The pair stared at one another, a battle in itself, before Zora relented and dipped her head. She didn't want to argue about this. She didn't want to think about it.
"You didn't know?" Regardless, she needed to know this. She required this of him. Part of her thought that maybe this was the reason her legs had carried her down here, into the bowels of Asgard's dungeons. "When you took me, you didn't know?"
That flicker of relief that played through his blue eyes right when the Avengers had saved her from being executed looped through her mind, again and again. He must know, she thought to herself. That was why he was so relieved. It made sense.
"No." He sounded surprised, himself, and because of this, Zora did not doubt the veracity of his answer. "No… I did not. If I had, do you think I would've let you slip away so easily?"
"You mean, would you have been beaten by the Avengers so easily?" Zora pretended to ponder this a moment. "Honest answer? Yeah. You would have been. Because you were going to lose, no matter what."
"Perhaps," he allowed. "As I've said before… The Norns have desires of their own."
"Your eyes are different," Zora pointed out again. She was almost enchanted by the way they glimmered, the foresty green color of them. Such vitality, whereas before, they had been cold as ice. "They're green."
He stared at her, hard, as if he were debating whether to indulge her unasked question or not. Finally, he changed the subject once more. "If you're the War-Breaker… This means you are destined to kill Hela. The Goddess of Death. Tell me, my dear… How does one go about killing the Goddess of Death?"
The taunt that ran through his rich voice in a thick undercurrent made Zora want to snap at him. But she couldn't. Because she had been wondering the exact same thing, herself.
Fed up with the raven-haired prince, his sly smiles, his taunts and words that hit too close to home, Zora glared at him and turned away. "I'm not sure. But you had better hope, for your sake, that we figure something out."
000
Loki watched the curious creature that was Zora Haque turn away from his cell and leave without a backwards glance. The trinket, which had alerted him of her presence just minutes earlier, crooned after its owner, singing the sweetest melody Loki had heard since he was last on Midgard over six months ago.
All the mystery surrounding the woman fell away at this new revelation: she was the War-Breaker, the daughter of Aesir prophecy, an allegedly fierce warrior destined to slay the Goddess of Death herself.
Lady Death calls for Zora Haque, Thanos had told him, almost eight moons ago. Of course, it made sense now. Hela had been preparing her siege of the Realm Eternal for far longer than anyone suspected. Thanos was clearly involved. Hela had wanted to remove the War-Breaker from the picture before the prophecy could even come close to realization.
It all made so much sense, now. And Loki felt like such a fool. He should have connected the dots. He should have realized sooner.
Memories surfaced, faded in and out of focus, a whole collection of hints that he should have seen. Loki's brief rule over Midgard, orchestrated by the Mid Titan. The Titan's desire for Loki to capture a mortal who had seemed so inconsequential at the time. Thor's reluctance to share information on her during his captivity, his desperation to protect the strange little creature.
Thor. Loki growled to himself, balled his hands into fists and wished he had somewhere to direct his rage. Thor had known this whole time who Agent Zora Haque was. The entire time. Thor had fooled Loki. Never, in their 1500 years of living, had that ever occurred.
Hiding just beneath his rage was a sliver of admiration for his brother. Loki could not deny Thor's adaptability. Such a refutation would be just as foolish.
But the mortal – the not-mortal, or whatever she was… the daughter of the prophecy. She was not prepared for the battle and bloodshed that was to come. This Loki knew for certain.
000
Zora had never mastered the art of taming her loneliness. It plagued her no matter where she went or who she was with. It lingered at the corners of her mind, in the tresses of shadows of thoughts, always ready to pounce, always there to remind her: you are alone in this world. And you always will be.
The monster that her loneliness had become since the Battle of New York began stalking her anew, on the dimly lit streets of Asgard. Seeing Loki had both quieted some of the chaos of her mind and reignited the haunting thought that had terrified Zora since she was a child: I am alone because I am different.
You're connected to things, Zora. A younger version of herself had already understood what that meant. You're connected to things, Zora. Things that other people are not connected to. Things that set you apart. Things that, in the end, might tear you down. Might scare people away.
After Loki's condescending words – how do you kill the Goddess of Death? – Zora felt fear. Pure, thick fear. It pumped through her veins. It made her heart jump in her chest. It made her loneliness that much more terrible.
She wasn't sure at what point she had wandered onto a great balcony in the palace overlooking the sleeping golden city. Wasn't sure when her nails had started to bleed from gripping the marble balustrade too hard, as if it were the only thing in the world that might steady her. Wasn't sure when she had started crying or stopped, since she could feel drying trails of salty tears on her cheeks. Mostly, she wasn't sure when she had received company.
"It is only logical to feel such emotional turmoil," a kind, soft voice said at Zora's elbow, close enough to startle the young woman but far enough away that she didn't feel that her personal bubble had been invaded. Zora flinched and turned towards the voice's source, coming face to face with a beautiful older woman who carried herself like a queen.
A queen. Shit. Fuck. This probably was the queen, right?
While Zora was mentally freaking out, the woman – possibly the fucking queen – continued, her smile gentle, encouraging. "To be told, for so long, that you are one thing only to learn that you are another. It can be difficult to adjust."
As much as Zora tried to focus on the present, she couldn't help but sense the loss and pain in the woman's voice. And that's how Zora confirmed that this was, in fact, the queen. Because that loss, that pain, came from Loki. From the deceit he had endured, the secret of his true heritage.
"I suppose I never realized Loki and I had so much in common," Zora said carefully. These were delicate matters, of course. Even for her, it was so raw. "To be honest, he and I… have not really seen eye to eye."
The queen smiled contritely. She joined Zora at the balustrade, placing one elegant and strong hand atop of it while another hovered over her stomach. "I know my youngest son has not always treated you with honor, Lady Haque, and I am deeply sorry for that. He wasn't… himself."
Zora had to bite her tongue. She wanted to curse Loki up and down the fucking street. But there was also a part of her that didn't want to. Part of her remembered blue eyes which were now green. Remembered that raw and plain sense of relief crossing over his face as the Avenger's swooped in and kept him from executing her.
Maybe there was some truth to the queen's words. Maybe he had not been himself. But, then, who had he been?
"Queen Frigga, I presume?" Zora half-asked, half-stated. She fumbled a moment, uncertain if she was supposed to curtsey or bow, but the queen kindly saved her from the distress and unfamiliarity.
"Indeed," Frigga answered. She held out a hand to Zora, and it took the young woman a moment to realize that the queen was offering to shake her hand. Like mortals. Like normal people.
Zora clamped her mouth shut and gently shook the queen's hand. Then, stuttered out without thinking, "I'm so sorry – I've never met royalty before… I don't know how to curtsey, or – "
"It's quite all right," the queen said with a pretty laugh. "As I was telling Lady Jane not too long ago, it is nice to do away with some of the more formal Asgardian customs on occasion. It is… refreshing."
Zora could understand that, in her own way. It was nice to step out of your skin every once in a while. To pretend, if only for a brief period of time, that you were not tangled up in all the strings you were so helplessly tangled up in.
"I appreciate your kindness," Zora said to the queen, uncertain of what else there was to say. "And your hospitality."
"Of course. It is my pleasure, and if Odin were here to meet you, he would certainly say the same." She regarded Zora carefully, her deep blue eyes taking stock of the young Midgardian warrior. Those eyes lingered on Zora's fingernails, bloodied and ugly, before smiling enigmatically at Zora. "I must say… we have waited a long time for this moment. Not with eager anticipation, given the circumstances… But a long time, nonetheless."
Zora swallowed thickly, tucked her hands behind her back to hide evidence of her anxiety. The circumstances that the queen was referring to, of course, was Ragnarok. The end of the gods. Turning away from the older woman's elegant visage, Zora stared across the golden Asgardian land once more, trying and failing to picture it as anything other than what it was: lively, strong, beautiful.
And she was supposed to be the one to keep it that way?
"I… have a hard time believing what Thor told me, to be honest with you, your majesty," Zora admitted quietly, her chin tucked closer to her chest. "But at the same time… It somehow feels right."
Frigga hummed in agreement. "I can understand more than you might think," the woman divulged. Zora canted her head to find a sad smile on the woman's berry painted lips. "I am not Asgardian, you see, but Vanir. I hail from Vanahiem, the land of the light elves." Zora marveled at this, searched the woman's appearance for any obvious distinctions that would set her apart from Asgardians… but truth be told, she wouldn't know what a light elf looked like, anyway. The queen caught her stare, regardless. "Ah, yes. Odin and I agreed that, like Loki's true self is partly tucked away by spell, it would be wise to reduce the visibility of my Vanir blood." Another small, sad smile. "But as I was saying… I was young when I learned I was promised to a future king. Too young, still, when I became queen of a realm that was not mine. It took time to process. There were times when I thought I was living a dream."
Zora kept her expression schooled into one of curiosity in order to hide her shock. She didn't even know this woman, this queen, and yet she was showing Zora a kindness by sharing such personal details about her own life to be comforting. To reassure Zora that things would make sense, in time.
God, she hoped she could save Asgard. If only for this incredible woman. For Thor.
"This place is like a dream," Zora said, feeling more confident now, more grounded. Sure, she was terrified. She didn't know what lay in store for her tomorrow or the day after. But the quiet strength in the queen's face emboldened her. It helped her face facts: this was her reality now. "Asgard is so beautiful… and I will do my best to defend it. You have my word."
"And you have my gratitude, War-Breaker."
000
"Is that supposed to be… armor?" Fandral asked Zora skeptically, circling the young woman as his rich brown eyes assessed her Midgardian garb. At the table, Volstagg snorted while Fandral finally stopped directly in front of Zora, a deep frown marring his pretty lips. "I find it rather…"
"Lacking?" Sif supplied in agreement. She, too, had stood from the table after Thor brought her inside, having mentioned that the Warriors Three and the prolific Sif wanted to meet her. "Poorly constructed?" The dark-haired goddess brushed a finger over Zora's beloved vest. "Weak?"
Zora glared first at Sif, then Fandral. "Gee, what a warm welcome."
Thor bellowed with laughter behind her, his arm still wrapped protectively around Jane, as it had been ever since they had landed on Asgard. "Do not take it so personally, Lady Haque. Sif and the Warriors Three have seen the best armor in all the realms due to their travels. They become nearly as snobby as Loki and his literature when they find something that doesn't measure up to their high standards."
Bleh, as if it wasn't hard enough trying to accept the fact that she's some prophetic creature. Now she had people judging her preferred battle armor, too.
Sif sized her up, arms crossed over her chest. "Worry not, my new friend," she said to Zora seriously, although Zora was beginning to realize that 'serious' was probably Sif's only mode. "I shall have new armor commissioned for you straight-away." Then she looked Zora in the eyes and smiled. Actually smiled.
Zora's heart briefly stopped. God, this woman was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
"Only the best for our savior," Sif said, before spinning on her heel gracefully and exiting the room without so much as a goodbye.
Fandral grinned after Sif's retreating body, then turned his pearly whites onto Zora. She could understand, now, why Thor had always mentioned that this warrior was quite the ladies' man. He was so gods-damned pretty. "I think you've made a friend, Lady Haque," the warrior commented gleefully. "Which is not to be taken lightly. Sif does not make friends."
Whatever remark Zora might have made in response to this was lost when an Asgardian soldier entered the room, stiff-backed and formal.
"King Thor," he said, bowing his head deeply as he addressed the now acting king of Asgard. Silence dampened the room at the title. Everyone was sobered by it. By what it meant. "The War Council… what is left of it… wishes to meet in the Hall of Knowledge. It has been locked down to act as a temporary War Room."
Any traces of joviality had been erased from Thor's expression. He nodded at the soldier solemnly. "We shall go."
"And, my king," the soldier hurriedly continued, seemingly embarrassed at himself or what he had to say. Then he snuck a glance at Zora, and her belly dipped all the way to her toes. Glancing back to his king, the soldier said, "The War-Breaker's presence has also been requested. At your discretion, of course."
Zora locked eyes with Thor. So this was it. This was how it would all begin.