Chapter 2:

Loki has disappeared into the wash room of his chambers.

He had strode through his old place of sanctuary without so much as a look around, or a moments hesitation. No frozen moments of remembrance or nostalgia tinged contemplation.

Thor sits, waiting, in one of the many sitting chairs situated about the main wing of what had been his brother's study, looking about with hands clasped loose between his knees.

He seems not so coldly determined as his younger brother, not so able to block the ghosts of the past.

Memories flood unwanted through his mind.

So many times, so many moments he found himself bursting through those double, gold gilded doors, calling out loudly Loki's name, only to find his brother seated in one of these very chairs, book laid open upon his knee, engrossed and seemingly oblivious to the elder god's presence.

And always, he had looked so content. So relaxed and calm and without burden.

Thor recalls those were perhaps the only times, when the tension and worry which seemed always to plague his little brother and follow him as a specter had fled his being, and left him momentarily free.

When he had his books and texts and scholarly pursuits.

Thor feels his clasped hands tighten together near painfully, as he thinks how he had always so recklessly and thoughtlessly disturbed those quieted moments for Loki.

How then he had thought nothing of Loki's upset, laughing at how easily flustered he would grow, slapping him hard across the back and making merry of his reddening face and stiffened posture.

How he simply had shrugged and dismissed it offhand when Loki had gradually begun to storm out of his presence and he would not see the younger Prince again for the remainder of the day.

He had never inquired after where it was Loki would go those times.

Never asked if he was alright…

His eyes flit to the well worn work desk, pressed up against the Eastern most wall, just below an open window, where Thor knows Loki would so often sit and write and solve his magical equations while watching the sun peak its first rays of light over the golden fields of Asgard.

There are books piled high on that desk still, gathering dust, untouched since Loki's fall.

Stacks of journals lie too, filled Thor knows with his brother's notes and musings. There is an entire shelf filled with the journals, along the opposite wall, dozens upon dozens of them, dating as far back as to when Loki was but a child.

Thor remembers he and his friends often laughing at Loki, making jest of what they called a feminine and sentimental practice.

What man of the Aesir need write down his thoughts and feelings, they had asked, chortling and scoffing, but one not possessed of the strength required to control such useless burdens?

A kind of queasiness works its way up Thor's throat as he recalls one time, when he and the Warriors Three and Sif had invaded this very study, finding Loki seated at that old desk, writing in one of the journals.

Loki had moved immediately to close the thing up and turned to face them, agitated scowl already in place along his features, when Fandral had dipped in and snatched the book up, dancing away swiftly out of reach, even as Loki had jumped up and attempted to take the thing back, angered curses slipping from his lips as he chased the young man about the room. Curses which soon turned to panicked pleas to give it back as Fandral had opened it up and begun to read its contents aloud.

Their amusement and laughter hadn't lasted long, as Fandral went on, and the words which spilled from his tongue spoke only of self-deprecation and thoughts of inadequacy, spoke a hopeless desire to be more, to be better, and suffocating loneliness.

Fandral's voice had trailed off, the room having fallen into uneasy silence, before, nervously, he had laughed, looking up, beginning to say it had only been a jest, intending to toss the book back to the younger Prince.

But as all their eyes had turned to him, shamed, they had seen Loki standing stiff and shaking, face twisted in fury as tears slipped ceaseless down his pale cheeks.

He had taken the journal back from Fandral's offered hand and brought it against his chest, holding it protectively before turning, still trembling and telling them in a rough voice thick with tears to leave.

Thor remembers having tried to apologize, trying to reach out and make things alright, and he remembers the moment his fingers had brushed the younger god's shoulder, Loki had flinched violently away and screamed "go", and they all had shuffled out of the rooms without another word or argument.

It had been after that day, Thor thinks, when Loki's already withdrawn behavior had intensified, and he began to see less and less of the brother he had once been so close to.

He remembers asking Loki about what had been written in that journal, weeks later, saying he couldn't possibly have meant any of it, couldn't have believed it, surely, and Loki had simply closed off, refusing to speak a word.

Later, when in his determination to get to the bottom of it, Thor had snuck into his brother's study and tried reading the journal himself, and he had found it warded against prying eyes, the words coming out an unintelligible jumble to anyone other than the writer.

That, Thor thinks, is the day he began to lose Loki's trust.

There's an opened journal lying on the desk now, half of one page filled with his brother's elegant script. Thor realizes with a jolt, in the months after Loki's fall, what they all had thought was Loki's death, he hadn't ever bothered to try again at reading the second Prince's private thoughts.

Thor thinks it was out of fear, a refusal to seek confirmation that the young boy he'd grown up with was gone. Because if Loki truly was dead, then the wards would have been lifted, his magic done away with.

He's broken from his morbid thoughts by the sound of knocking, and he looks up, towards the closed double doors.

"Yes." He calls, and a moment later, those doors come open, revealing one of the several guards stationed outside.

"My Lord Prince," he begins, bowing his head in respect.

Thor nods in returns, and waits.

"The Lady Jane Foster requests that she be allowed to join you while you await the prisoner's preparations."

Thor feels himself bristle slightly at the term assigned his brother. An annoyance he knows he should not feel. Because that's what Loki was, wasn't it? A prisoner. He wouldn't be allowed free reign, or any, real privacy even.

Even now, Thor stayed near, and again, he thought of the many guards, situated outside this room, and the main foyer, ready to take action should the man they once considered their Prince try anything unapproved.

His thoughts shift to Jane.

And he feels hesitation.

She hasn't yet met Loki.

He hadn't even thought it a possibility when he'd first brought her here, those few days ago.

There had been no need, and Thor hadn't been prepared or willing to expose Jane to his brother's caustic and cruel wit.

Nor had he forgotten Loki's threat against her, while they had been fighting on the Bifrost, what seemed a lifetime ago now.

But he knows now that a meeting between the two is inevitable.

Jane is coming with them.

He isn't going to leave her here, in Asgard. Not with her defenses so crippled and the threat of another attack looming.

And so he casts his hesitation aside, and nods to the guard, assenting to her presence.

The guard nods back.

"My Lord." He bows, disappearing.

A few, short seconds later, he reappears, and Jane is trailing close behind him, already looking anxiously over the broad man's shoulder, eyes searching with unmistakable desperation for him.

Thor stands, the first, real smile he's been able to manage all day gracing his lips.

And Jane doesn't even wait for approval, she rushes past the guard, towards him, and he opens his arms to receive her, her tiny frame and seemingly nonexistent weight barely registering as it slams into him.

He wraps thickly muscled arms about her torso, holding her tight as she sags against him, pressing her face into his chest.

He doesn't miss the shutter which works through her, nor the strangled sob which pushes past her lips.

"Oh God, Thor…" she cries. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

The smile is fast erased from the thunderer's lips as he bends, leaning his cheek along her crown.

"You have nothing to be sorry for Jane." He whispers, and she shakes her head.

"No… No, I was th-there." She weeps. "I should have done something. I should have…"

"There is nothing you could have done Jane." Thor says. "Nothing. You cannot blame yourself."

And it is true.

What hope had she, a mere mortal, of battling back against a throng of half a dozen Dark Elves, led by Malekith himself, one of the most powerful sorcerers in all the Nine Realms?

None. There had be no hope.

As even their Queen, his Mother, a goddess of great power herself, had fallen before the force.

Thor knows only the dumb luck and fortune of them having spared Jane their attention, passing her by and moving on to other sections of the palace without so much as a glance back.

"What… what are we going to do Thor?" She asks, face still hidden against him, small hands curled and clinging in to the fabric of his cloak. "What are we going to do?"

Thor absently rubs his wide palm down her back, and he is reminded harshly of her frailty.

Of how easily she may be injured… or killed.

So much weaker than the Aesir, are the mortals.

"We must travel to Svartalfheim," he begins softly. "to the dark world."

"The dark world?" Jane at last pulls back, blinking up at him with tear filled eyes, face red and broken with grief.

Thor nods grimly.

"We must lead the battle away from Asgard's gates, or the entire city may fall. We must protect the All-Father. He is helpless in his current rest. Jane, I am sorry you have been pulled into this. It was never my intention."

She shakes her head.

"I know Thor. I… I know." She says, looking away finally, eyes scanning over the room they're in.

"How do we get there?" She asks absently. "The Bifrost?"

Thor shakes his head, mouth opening to answer.

"No."

He is stopped short at the sound of his brother's voice, and both he and Jane turn, surprised as their eyes fall upon the tall, razor thin form of the man standing within the threshold of an entryway opposite.

Loki stands, staring back at them.

He is shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of loose fitting soft leather breeches, his feet bare and a towel in his hands.

His hair has been very clearly washed and now slicked back off his face, behind his ears, still long and well past his shoulders.

Thor can't help his gaze roaming over his brother's state.

He is so thin.

Painfully so.

It had been obvious, given the way he had practically been swimming in his clothes all these past months. But actually seeing the bared condition of his body, Thor feels less than well.

Loki had always been incredibly thin.

But there had always been a subtle power and strength to his long, sinewy frame. Corded muscle had defined his limbs and torso, giving him a kind of weightless grace few others possessed. Only Sif, truly, had ever been able to match Loki in agility and light footed swiftness.

Few had ever given the second Prince acknowledgment for his strength in battle. But Thor knew it well, and, he realizes suddenly, with dismay, he has missed it so.

The reassurance that his more than capable brother would be at his back, always, guarding him against approaching enemies.

Loki seems a shade of his former self now.

Wasted away to practically nothing.

He has little left of that muscle left. And if there had ever been any softness to any part of his brother's form before, it is entirely absent now.

He is all sharp angles and jutting bones.

Thor can count each of his ribs individually, pressing prominent against tightly pulled, sickly colored skin, his stomach no longer simply flat and defined, but now concave and sunken, and his chest thin. The curve of his collarbone stands out grotesquely beneath narrow, bony shoulders. And as Loki finally moves, and turns towards a trunk, situated along the Western wall, he can count nearly every, single vertebrae which makes up the entirety of his spinal column.

He finds he cannot stand it, and he looks away suddenly, eyes casting down, own frame tensing in unspoken anguish.

"You must be Thor's mortal." Loki goes on quietly as he bends, opening up the trunk's top, beginning to rifle through its contents.

Thor sees Jane is staring intently at his brother too, eyes wide and with no small amount of shock. Whether at Loki's emaciated state, or simply seeing the man who had tried to subjugate her Realm, he does not know.

Loki seems to light upon the article he was searching for, giving a small sound of approval before straightening, holding the folded, black tunic in his hands and turning.

Closing the lid of the trunk, he drops the half wet towel upon it and begins towards them, and it is odd, Thor thinks, how he still moves with so much poise and dignity, even while looking so close to death.

"You will forgive the indecent state of my undress, I hope." He is saying.

Thor feels Jane press back against him, frame winding anxiously as Loki comes nearer. She is afraid, and Thor can hardly blame her.

Loki looks like some feral, wild beast, ready to strike and devour his prey.

And yet his manner and words are only perfectly cordial.

"I was not expecting the company of a lady." He goes on, keeping his eyes on her. "Had I known of your arrival, I would have requested my clothing be brought to me, or awaited your departure."

Jane stares, speechless a long moment, before finally she breathes out, an inarticulate "Oh.".

Loki gives no reaction to that, simply pulling the tunic over his head, finally hiding away the unpleasant sight of his wasted body.

Taking several, long seconds to straighten and smooth it out, tucking the long hem of it carefully into the band of his breeches, he then moves across the room, disappearing from the study, into his sleeping chambers.

He reappears a moment later, tying his long hair back into an intricately woven band, forming a straight pony tale which reaches halfway down his back.

"The path to Svartalfheim is treacherous." He continues, as though the conversation had never stopped. "It can be reached only through the hidden ways and by foot over unforgiving and harsh mountain terrain and fields of pure ice, home to many an untamed beast and bands of marauding nomads."

Finishing tying his hair back, he turns, looking to Jane with a gaze so piercing, she finds herself having to look away.

He is nothing like Thor, it seems.

Thor is all good intentions and kindness in open expression.

If there is any kindness in his younger brother, Jane can see none of it in his sharp, cutting eyes.

"You should not be coming with us." He finishes, eyes unmoving on her.

Jane stands stiff and mute, hands still buried in Thor's cloak, and she finds herself unable to look at the imposing form of the mischief god, unable to respond.

Thor makes it so she doesn't have to.

"She is coming with us Loki." He says, voice firm and unwavering and heavy with unsaid threat.

Loki's eyes flash to the Crown Prince, face impassive.

"She is mortal Thor." He replies, with the air of one long suffering the stupidity of others.

It sounds bizarre to Jane's ears, to hear anyone speak to Thor with something less than total respect. To speak to him even with mocking disregard and contempt.

"She could very easily be killed." He goes on, as though explaining to a small child.

Instinctually, Thor pushes Jane half behind him, hand heavy on her shoulder.

"I will not leave her here unguarded Loki." He says in return. "If there were an attack, I would be unable to protect her."

"And you think bringing her into the heart of the battle will better serve that ability?" Loki nearly scoffs, features now worked to incredulousness. "I guarantee you Odinson, the fight will be where we take it. The Dark Elves have no use of some lowly mortal girl on her own, but if they see her as a weapon to be used against you, they will not hesitate to utilize her thus. She will only slow us down and impede our success, and if not taken advantage of to compromise our position, likely then she will merely be killed as collateral. Leave her here. She will be safer."

It is at once, Thor's temper flares, and he pushes Jane fully behind him now, stepping towards his brother threateningly.

Loki doesn't move, standing straight and seemingly utterly unintimidated, even as Thor moves within inches of him, glaring down at him with his superior height, and the difference in size between them in glaringly obvious.

Thor looks as though he could crush the younger god with a single swipe, and yet, Jane feels a sickening dread building in her stomach that the appearance is a falsity. That Loki is so much more dangerous than he outwardly seems.

"What is this concern brother?" Thor asks, suspicion clear in his voice. "You care nothing for anyone but yourself, and yet you waste that silver tongue of yours making supplications on her behalf. You would expect me to believe your concern sincere?"

Loki scowls, matching Thor glare for glare, vivid green eyes every bit as unyielding as the thunder god's blue.

"I expect nothing but ignorance and stupidity from you, Thor." He answers calmly. "I only plead the girl's case in the realization that, when she is killed, and she will be Thor, it will be I who shoulders the blame, as I always have in the wake of your failures."

Thor takes another step forward, cutting the space between them to practically nothing, and still, Loki does not move.

"If you think to threaten her…" he begins, and Loki cuts him off with a short, sharp bark of laughter which sends a chill down Jane's spine.

"I make no promises should she in any way hinder my progre…"

The words never finish, cut abruptly by a loud crack. The sound of the back of Thor's hand, raking across Loki's mouth, the force of it hard enough to knock the smaller god clean off his feet, dumping him on his bottom.

Jane gasps in shock, hands flying to her mouth, even as Loki's own lift and cover his.

She sees bright red blood, slipping slow and thick between long, pale fingers.

Thor stands over him, hands clenched to fists at his side, breathing heavily in anger.

After a moment, Loki pulls his hands away, staring down at the smear of his own blood across his palms, a kind of curiousness lighting his gaze at the sight before he looks up at Thor, eyes glittering as a twisted smile warps his thin lips, and he begins to laugh.

"Oh, you are predictable, brother." He snorts, even as he puts his hands flat to the ground and with obvious effort, begins to push himself to his feet.

Thor steps back, towards Jane, grabbing her too roughly by the arm and tugging her to his side.

"Threaten her again, and I will kill you." He spits.

Loki is straightening out his clothes again, dusting himself off in seemingly oblivious apathy to the seriousness of Thor's voice.

"What need have I to threaten her," he begins, as casually as if he were having a conversation about the weather. "when you all but ensure her demise through your own, stubborn blindness?"

He looks back at Thor with disdainful eyes, viciously bright and intelligent.

And Jane feels suddenly terrified at his words. At the sickening sensation that in them lies only truth.

Thor stares back, barely suppressing his own rage, silent, before abruptly he moves, dragging Jane with him.

"Come," he says to her, ignoring Loki as they move past him. "We will go to my own rooms and begin to prepare. We leave tonight."

Jane says nothing, allowing Thor to move her away, towards the foyer.

As they reach the doors, she dares to steal one last glance back, and she sees Loki there, standing with his back to them. He is still, head bowed slightly, arms hung limp at his sides.

And she doesn't know why, looking at him, she's overcome with a sudden sadness.

She doesn't know why, and she pushes the feeling down, turning back, leaving him behind as she lets Thor take her away.

/

AN: Thanks so much again to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter! Really glad you all are liking it so far, and let me know what you think of this chapter! Thanks again!