Chapter III. Rain Upon the Shepherds
"Will you not join your troops?" asked Jane, perhaps with a touch of bitterness. "Usually most men are eager to leave the company of a woman."
He fell into step beside her, their horses flanking their shoulders, and he wore a large, warm grin, "I think you will find I am not most men."
Instead of descending into silence, Thor immediately picked up the thread of their conversation. "So," he said conversationally, "You never did tell me your name."
They walked along the treeline, not descending into the forest as she'd assumed they'd do. She would've been comfortable if they had cover. Open spaces no longer gave her comfort as they once had. She wanted to ask why they chose this path, but considering she didn't know the way to the Rebel encampment, she kept her opinion to herself.
"No, I didn't," Jane answered.
He chuckled, seeming to take her answer as sounding coy. Which it definitely hadn't. "Then what am I supposed to call you?" he asked with a broad smile that made her breath catch a bit.
Get yourself together, Jane. The Raven doesn't trip over herself because a handsome man smiles at her. "Whatever you like, I suppose."
"Somehow, 'my lady' doesn't seem to fit you."
Jane snorted, sarcasm dripping from her voice, "Well, isn't that a right shame."
"It is when I am unable to call a beautiful woman by her proper name."
Jane had no quick response for that one; no one had ever called her beautiful before. She couldn't stop the startled, "You think I'm beautiful?" that came out of her mouth. For the first time in a long time, her face heated in a fierce blush.
Thor laughed heartily, making Jane's face heat further. "Aye, and you should be told so every day."
Jane pulled down her embarrassment, shoving it away into a corner of her mind where everything she didn't want to feel went. "I could still shoot you, and you wouldn't be fast enough to stop me" she threatened sharply, but since they both knew that wouldn't happen, it came across as more of a tease.
"And why should compliments be catalyst to a murder?"
Jane turned her head to face his stupidly handsome, cocky face. "Because they are usually handed out by men who want something I'm not willing to give."
The teasing smile fell from his face, replaced by something that bled a deeper sincerity. "I apologize, milady. I did not mean to offend, or impugn upon your honor-"
Touched by his effort to make amends and feeling that her words had come out much harsher than she'd intended, Jane interrupted, "You weren't. I'm, um... I overreacted? Maybe? I'm sorry, I don't usually talk to people. Well, more like I never talk to people."
Overwhelming relief filled her once again as Thor didn't dwell too long on what she said, "As it is, I give you my word I will not give you compliments any longer," he said, turning it back to light banter while still giving her the option to back out of the conversation. She could suddenly believe that he was a politician, despite his less than illustrious appearance.
She could have just let the conversation drop off, but for some reason, she wanted to talk to him. Unfortunately, she was telling the truth when she said she didn't really talk to people. She fumbled for a topic. "I'm sorry I shot at your men," she offered.
"No you're not," Thor answered immediately, no hint of resentment in his voice.
She wondered briefly how he knew that, but didn't try to dissect it just now. "Okay, I'm not," she admitted.
She was encouraged by his smile. "It's good for them to be knocked down a couple of pegs. They start getting cocky, they start getting killed. Not to mention Clig is a raging misogynist and needs to have more women than Sif or Hoder beat him. Many a man have claimed wisdom until they're blindsided by the existence of women," Thor said.
Jane laughed, but within she was impressed by his speech. "Not many are willing to give the courtesy you have shown me. Know that I am thankful," she said, trying to copy the same honesty she heard in his voice.
"Not to mention saving your hide back there," Thor replied cheekily.
She felt herself grinning back. "Not to mention that," she said. She opened her mouth planning on saying more when she froze. The grin fell off her face.
Listen to the flow of the forest, Jane. The birds, the wind through the branches, the crush of shifting dirt and leaves. Asgardian capital trained soldiers and horses can't move in the forest like we can. Once you hear the flow of the forest, you can hear them blundering about lounder than a forest fire.
"Get down!" Jane shouted, hurling herself at Thor.
Despite his size dwarfing hers, she'd caught him off guard and she took him down to the ground, Jane's body landing on top of his.
Only half a second passed before a sleek, refined arrow of Asgard sliced through the air right where Thor had been standing. It soared past them, landing somewhere in the clearing behind them. Had his horse been one more step forward, he'd have been impaled.
Jane released Gísl's reins. Despite her injury, the horse had good instincts, and Jane had to trust that she wouldn't be injured further. Besides, they were less likely to shoot at a horse if there was no person attached.
"Hostile forces on the western treeline!" Jane yelled, and the men ahead of them assembled much more swiftly than she'd anticipated.
"Assault formation!" Thor commanded from beneath her.
She didn't see who it was, but as she heard the sound of swords being drawn and drawstrings being strained, she also heard a rallying cry. "For our king! For the house of Odin!"
This soon went up amongst all the soldiers, and Jane rose quickly off of Thor as the silver-armored Queen's Army, the green banners of Hela with the crest of the house of Cul snapping in the wind, charged from the trees. An unwise battle tactic to give up their cover, Jane noted idly. Critiquing the Army's battle choices didn't stop her from replacing her hood and scarf; she wouldn't take the chance of her identity becoming known.
She drew her bow. Next to her, she saw that Thor had come to possess axes of varying size. However, these axes were clearly not crafted for wood cutting.
Dark, hard steel characteristic of the legendary weapons crafters of Svartalfheim gleamed in the fading sunlight. The blades were sharp, not showing any signs of wear or chipping. Svartalfheiman steel does not damage-it does the damage, and lesser metals yield to it. No simple axes would be made of it if it wasn't intended for battle. For breaking bones, for rending skin from flesh, for killing. He held two smaller axes in his hands, the wood of the handles dark and worn, displaying their many hours of use.
The largest axe was secured to his back, and Jane wondered how he had hidden it. This thing was wicked looking, a double-bladed battle axe with same steel making up the stylized head. The handle was long and twisted, solidly steel unlike the smaller axes. There were several smooth portions along the handle, covered in some sort of light-colored grip Jane didn't have the patience to identify at the moment.
"For Asgard," she heard him say, and then, quietly, "For Loki." Then he transformed into something else. Hardened, unrelenting, and Jane realized that Hawkeye's faith in him hadn't been misplaced. This was a warrior. Not a man nor beast, but a storm made flesh and this storm would send enemies to their knees.
His aim with his axes was deadly. He threw the smaller ones, and they sheared straight through the Queen's Army's armor- two soldiers fell dead with the blades in their chests.
Not wasting any more time worrying about Thor as he detached the monstrous axe from his back, Jane focused all her attention on taking down as many of the soldiers as possible.
They were outnumbered, that much was clear. The Queen's soldiers kept pouring from the trees- and Jane realized she might die after all. Another of her arrows found its mark between the eyes of a soldier who fell not too far from her feet.
Jane knew she wouldn't be able to use her bow for much longer, but she still managed to pick off a number of the enemy soldiers before she was forced to replace her bow and draw her scimitar. It wasn't her preferred method of fighting, but it served well in a bind. It was a gorgeous weapon, the curved blade shining silver with an engraving of characters of a language she did not know near the hilt.
You can't thrust with a scimitar. It's a curved blade, so it does more damage with a slash. The cutting edge runs all the way to the hilt, and if you do it right, this thing cuts like a fucking meat cleaver. Try it. Don't pull punches with me, Jane. I want you alive.
One of these days she'd stop hearing him.
That day was evidently not today.
A single soldier focused his efforts on her, coming at her with a high-pitched battle cry and his rapier raised. She held her ground with a hidden smirk. He brought the sword down forcefully, sweeping in a downward motion towards her head. She sidestepped quickly to her right, easily bringing the flat of her scimitar upwards to block it, the clash of metal on metal joining with the cacophony of the battle. She brought her free hand upwards and placed it against the side of her scimitar, locking her blade against the soldier's. It didn't take much fanfare to tilt the point downwards and stab the end into the gap in the armor.
She struck blood, and the rapier slackened against her. She withdrew her blade, knocking the rapier away before precisely slashing the throat of the soldier just beneath his helm. The blood spurted out, and she clenched her jaw, trying not to see it as a few drops splashed against her face.
She couldn't pay attention to loss of life as another soldier came upon her. This fight was more strenuous- this opponent appeared to have more skill with his blade than the last. Jane ripped her scabbard from her belt, knowing that she could use it as an extra weapon. With two instruments to parry attacks, the duel quickly shifted in Jane's favor.
She blocked his low thrust with her scimitar, spinning to the side so that she stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Her scabbard came down to take her scimitar's place, and she quickly flicked her blade around behind her, stabbing into her opponent's spine. She had to shove hard to get between the vertebrae, so she spun away, bringing her scimitar in front of her once more before pushing her weight into the blade. She didn't pull it out neatly, slashing to the side, pulling through the muscle and tendon of the back of the torso and letting the scimitar do the damage that it was designed to do.
Incapacitated as he was, it didn't take much to make sure he was dead. She slashed his throat like the soldier before him. Letting a man bleed out from a midsection wound was just cruel.
Another soldier did not immediately come at her, and her eyes quickly checked on the Rebel forces.
They'd been nearly halved by the Queen's Army, their bodies strewn about the battlefield. Many of those still fighting were all manner of injured and bloodied, but they still fought onwards, the red of their armbands and ribbons managing to outshine the blood on their swords and bodies and fallen comrades.
The patchwork armor of the Rebels wasn't the only outfitting of the corpses. The silver armor and green ornamentations of the Queen's army joined the count in greater numbers. It looked as though the Queen's army was down to about the same number as they were.
Her eyes were drawn of their own accord to Thor, who swung his massive battle axe like a predator, often downing more than one opponent at a time.
She didn't have long to survey the area as two soldiers began their own assault upon her. She fell once more into her stance, grip tightening on her scimitar and scabbard.
This wasn't Jane's first fight, but it was certainly her first battle of this size. Normally it was her alone against a small group of soldiers if they ever caught up to her. Mostly, she killed from a distance like her mentor had. As she completed a deadly slash against the neck of one of her opponents and turned to the next one, she found him downed by Thor's axe.
He jerked the blade free of the mutilated body, and several more of the Queen's army now flocked to the pair of them. They immediately fell into back-to-back fighting stances without having to say a word.
"You have much skill with a blade," Thor called over his shoulder to her. She could hear his axe colliding with flesh and the sound of men dying at the end of it.
"Really?" Jane said from between gritted teeth, swinging her scimitar in a deadly fashion. "Now you choose to dish out the compliments?" Her blade came across a jugular, and she immediately followed the momentum to the next soldier, opening a deep wound along his shoulder joint where the armor gapped.
Their partnership was natural to anyone who watched. Where Thor fell short, Jane would rise to compensate; likewise, when Jane's scimitar didn't down a foe, Thor's axe was there to make up for it.
It was a violent ballet born in battle and baptized in blood, but the inherent grace and ease in their movements couldn't be denied.
Jane found herself fallen into the monotony of combat- block, parry, slash, block, block, kill, move on. She'd never wanted killing to become commonplace for her, but here she was, fighting back to back with a warrior, her scimitar riving throats and arms and hands, and blood soaking into her boots. If she hadn't been a killer before, she certainly was one now.
It could have been hours or minutes, but all Jane knew when there was no Queen's Army soldier to replace the last one she'd killed was that she was sweaty and her arms felt like air had suffused into her muscles. She'd be sore tomorrow.
She was breathing hard as she turned to Thor, still looking like the warrior.
She drew off her hood and scarf, taking a deep, grateful breath of fresh air not filtered through the cloth. The light breeze blew against her neck and she sighed.
"We won," she stated unnecessarily. She didn't say it with a smile or relief. She maybe felt a bit of relief; after all, they'd survived against the odds, but looking around at the once beautiful forest clearing, the only thing she could truly feel was sadness.
So much death and destruction, and she couldn't help but see the large number of bodies piled around her and Thor.
Meeting Thor's eyes again, she watched with fascination as the warrior drained away, replaced by the man she'd met earlier that day. His face softened, eyes lightening, and as he replaced his axe on his back, she saw the last of the warrior leave him.
"Aye. That we did."
She began to move quickly about the battlefield, jerking her arrows out of the bodies and replacing them in her quiver. She would wash the blood off of them as soon as she could. She made sure to salvage what arrows she could from the bowmen of the Queen's Army. Their arrows were much different than her own. Metallic, refined, probably created by the finest craftsmen Asgard had to offer. They would be different to shoot than her own hand-crafted ones, carved of wood with feather fletching.
When she returned to where Thor stood, she noticed their surviving men gathered around them. Only ten of them had made it through. Jane noted that Cligg was not among the survivors. She wished she'd known more names than his. It was the least amount of respect she could pay them for giving up their lives.
"We should get moving," one of the men said. "Some of the soldiers retreated. Wherever they have their reinforcements, well, they'll know where we are."
"We should at least pay our respects to our dead," Thor insisted, "It's not right to-"
"Thor, if we don't get moving, their sacrifice will have been in vain," Jane said. "That's two detachments of Queen's Army troops in the same area. There might be more. They were pursuing me, so there's no telling how many men they could've deployed. We need to get back to your camp. I'll make sure we're not being followed. Just lead the way."
Thor's eyes bored into her, but she met his eyes unflinchingly. She'd make sure he lived. She owed Hawkeye that much.
"Move out," he finally ordered, but his voice lacked the strength of conviction she'd heard before.
"Formation, sir?" another of the men asked.
Jane saw his jaw twitch. "I don't think it matters anymore, Sig." Sig and the rest of the Rebel soldiers looked confused, shuffling on their feet and not making any attempts to move on.
She shot a look at Thor that he didn't see, his eyes far too busy taking in the scene around them, counting the dead that would never have graves. She sighed heavily but quietly. "Move out in pairs. Thor will lead and I will take up the rear and far guard to ensure no one is following us."
Any complaints about leaving their backs at the responsibility of a woman seem to have quieted after they'd observed her in battle.
As the men lined up as she'd ordered, she grabbed Thor's elbow and pulled him away from the men's earshot. "Look," she began tersely, "I know that it's hard to lose people. Really fucking hard. But you need to get yourself together. They look like lost puppies without you leading them."
"I know," he answered quietly. "I just don't..."
After he trailed off, Jane thought about pushing for an answer, but decided against it. Now wasn't the time nor the place. Even if it was, well... she's not exactly the best conversationalist. "Who knows how many contingents of the Queen's Army are out here. We walked for maybe two minutes before we were ambushed. We need to move out and be on alert." When he didn't respond strongly to her sentiment, she tried something different. "We all have our demons, but now is not the time to be battling them."
Those words seemed to do the trick, his back straightening as he rose up to his full height.
His horse had come back to him, Gísl following limply behind, and he took the reins of the black stallion and mounted up. "Thank you, Raven," he said sincerely once he was seated.
She didn't answer him, feeling that her input on the matter was not needed. Jane only nodded in understanding, before saying, "Take Gísl to the front with you. I need to be mobile if I'm too keep the Queen's Army off our backs."
Thor did as she'd asked, and a part of her wondered why she trusted him so much as to let him take her horse with him. "I will keep a sharp eye to the horizon," he replied.
12 Months Earlier
Sleipnir's hooves clopped dully on the cobbled streets of Asgard's undercity. He wouldn't be able to reach his home through the more reputable areas where he would be easily recognized. It would be best to stick to the shadows as dusk fell swiftly to night in a place where none would know his face from the rest.
Thor drew his cloak tighter to him, keeping his face downcast. There was no one in his immediate vicinity as he turned a corner, but he couldn't be too cautious. He had no desire to be seen or talked to on the off-chance one of the commoners knew the faces of the royal family, particularly one disgraced son.
"Oi! You there on the horse!" suddenly called a woman's voice from behind him, disrupting the hum that was city quiet. So much for getting through without being seen. He had half a mind to ignore her and sprint in the other direction, but that would only call more attention to himself.
Keeping his face as downcast as he could get away with, Thor brought Sleipnir to a halt, pivoting him slightly so he could turn to the woman who had spoken. "Yes, milady?"
She was older, but not so old that the severe hunch in her back could be explained by age. She was mostly obscured by a shawl, but her face appeared kindly. "You from 'round here?" she asked.
Thor squinted suspiciously.
"I only ask 'cause curfew began not yet ten minutes ago. You'll be wantin' to get along to your destination before the Army starts their sweeps."
He swallowed heavily. "I-I was not aware there was a curfew. I have not been to Asgard in some time."
She smiled tightly at him. "Well, we look out for our own here in the undercity. You take care now, you hear?"
"Thank you for your kindness," Thor said earnestly.
The woman seemed pleased. "So well mannered. Your mother raised you right. You tell her that when you see her."
He did his best not to choke as his throat tightened suddenly. "I will. Good evening," he concluded. As an afterthought, and to not raise suspicion, he added, "Long live the queen."
The woman sighed. "Yes, I suppose. Long live the queen."
Thor turned Sleipnir and continued at a more brisk pace than before, urging him to a quick trot that took him through the deserted streets towards the outer part of the city known as the Northern Partition nearest the mountains, where the lord and ladies of the court lived as well as those of the royal bloodline.
The lavish homes and vast courtyards were a stark contrast to the undercity, and despite having grown up here, Thor was jarred by the utter grandeur. But what startled him most was the sheer size of everything. Memory is deception- the image was worn so smooth by time and assumptions that being confronted with the reality was quite startling.
The roads were ornamented on each side with sprawling yards with fountains and gravel drives, monstrous mansions that were desperately trying in a losing game to outshine the Palace, and with the residents and their multitude of wealth oftentimes guarded jealously by large gates and thick walls.
His childhood home was just as lavish. It was in a deeper section of the Northern Partition, nearest the Palace yet it had the most land afforded to each family. This meant there were acres between his home and the homes where his extended family lives- lived he harshly reminded himself.
He drew upon the back entry, where the fewest amount of guards were ever stationed. In the darkness of near-night, Thor could still see the absence of guards. An oddity, but he shouldn't have been surprised.
Loki was expecting him.
Thor dismounted behind a thick, tall set of bushes that would easily conceal them to even scrutinizing eyes in the night. He removed his two smaller axes from his hips, placing them in their holsters on his saddle. His larger axe he almost always left secured to his saddle, which he did this time as well.
Sleipnir blew heavily through his nose, smelling horses he knew nearby in the stables. His father's horse was well-trained, so Thor dropped the reins to the grass, effectively ground-tying him as steadfastly as if he were tied to a rail. He ran a calming hand along Sleipnir's neck before stepping away from him and heading for the house.
Thor approached the back door, still remaining quiet despite the lack of guards.
He twisted the knob, finding it unlocked. Further evidence that Loki was waiting for him. He stepped through the threshold, turning to shut the door as quietly as he could manage.
Before he could call out, someone slammed into his back. He gasped in surprise as he was driven up against the door, and his right arm twisted behind his back. He found his left hand immobilized by something, but he was unable to twist his head to look at it. A sharpened blade point was placed at his throat, a hand threaded forcefully in his hair to keep him still.
"What happened in Nornheim?"
Oh god. That was his voice. The first time Thor had heard it in so many years, and he felt the urge to weep.
"Brother- what-" The blade pressed dangerously deep into his jugular.
"Nornheim. If you are Thor, you will know which time in Nornheim."
He didn't understand the need for the verification, but if it would please Loki, he would do it. "It was one of the first missions we'd been sent on with the Warriors Three and Sif. I was a fool and instead of trying for the diplomatic solution, I decided to take negotiations into my own hands with Mjolnir. You concealed us in smoke so that we could get away. We would've been killed if it weren't for you."
Only a few moments passed before his arms were loosed. Loki had probably used his magic to bind them. Thor felt him back away, freeing him from his captivity. He turned to look at his brother for the first time in six years. "You've changed brother," Loki said. "In the past, you told that story with laughter. And often conveniently forgot my role in making sure we got out alive. And the brown hair is certainly not your color."
Loki spoke, but Thor only registered the words a few seconds after the fact. He was too busy drinking in his brother's visage for anything else. When Thor had been banished, Loki had been barely out of his boyhood at sixteen. Thor wasn't callous enough to lose track of his brother's age, and Loki was now twenty-two.
"You've grown," shouldn't have been the first thing out of Thor's mouth, but he couldn't keep it in.
Loki had become taller, so much so that he nearly rivaled Thor in height. Loki had always been on the gangly side, and though he seemed to have retained his more refined musculature, but he'd filled out since Thor's banishment. He looked like a man, so unlike the child Thor had left behind. Pride and guilt mixed in his gut.
Loki chuckled, "I've missed you, too."
With that, Thor grabbed his brother's shoulder and drew him into a fierce embrace.
Loki returned it, if a bit less forcefully than Thor.
Upon pulling back, Thor looked upon his brother's face with as much of a smile as he could muster. "I am so glad that you are all right. But was there any particular reason for the friendly greeting?" Thor asked as Loki sheathed his knife.
His jaw tightened. "Hela has many talented magicians and shapeshifters under her employ. Sometimes, I cannot see through their magics."
People had tried to harm his brother with his visage. How those scenarios had played out... he didn't even want to try to imagine it. Thor closed his eyes, trying to control the rage he felt bubbling within. "I'm sorry, Loki. I should have been here."
"Yes, well, there's nothing you can do about it now. I came to terms with your absence long ago." Thor opened his eyes, only to find Loki's expression a mystery. He'd once been able to read him so well... His inability to understand his brother didn't stop the guilt punching into his belly.
Thor quickly changed topics. "I knew Hela's report couldn't be true, but to know that our cousin had a direct hand in Mother's death is unsettling."
"You mean our mother's murder," Loki corrected sharply. "Now is not the time to be diplomatic, Thor. That vile witch murdered our mother to keep the throne. She doesn't deserve to be called family any more. And it was not just our mother- I know you've been banished, but I imagine the illustrious Rebel Savior knows exactly what's been happening."
A conflicted feeling rose in him at being called the Rebel Savior, but he didn't let it show. He instead nodded with Loki's words, and was sensitized to how close Loki was to this. Yes, he'd been hurt by the deaths of his extended family, but Loki had been in Asgard the whole time. He was the one who had to watch as each member of their family fell to Hela's machinations; he had to see the Royal bloodline become a decimated shell around him, the proud heritage spanning back to the Time of the First Songs crumbling because of selfish ambition.
Cul, the oldest of Bor's children and Hela's father, had died before Thor was born, ousted from the throne because he couldn't meet the quorum, a law that required a king to have a son within the first three years of his rule or abdicate; the next eldest son, Vili, then claimed the throne. Uncle Ve and his entire family had gone missing without a trace five years ago, their bodies never recovered and declared dead.
Uncle Vili, their King for nearly forty years, was killed in an 'unfortunate riding accident' four and a half years ago, which Thor was sure was either a setup or an outright lie. Vili's sons, Virve and Skirve, hadn't been old enough to claim their father's now empty throne, and had died about six months after their father in 'tragic military training exercise accidents.' Vili's daughter, Hoder, was ineligible for the throne (the Laws of Succession stated that the eldest son would become king) and attending a university in Alfheim. She was still alive. The former Queen Krista had lost her right to the throne as soon as her husband died, and she had a place in the military, so she was often away on campaigns and not in Court (if Thor knew his aunt at all, she was probably glad for that particular development. Although he was sure she would want to fight like hell against Hela if she knew their current Queen was responsible for the deaths of her family.)
Loki, if he'd been a true-born Odinson, would be next in line considering Thor's banished status, but the law forbade a child not of the bloodline from being king.
The swift removal of heirs was anything but accidental. "What happened, Loki?" It was a loaded question with everything that had happened to their family in the years that Thor was banished, but Thor only had one person on his mind.
Loki looked around briefly, "Here, let us go to the study. There's no reason to converse next to the door. Also I'm sure the guards will return soon and I don't fully trust their motivations if they were to overhear us."
Without complaint, Thor followed him to their father's study.
It hadn't changed since Odin had last sat in the large leather armchair by the fireplace. Their father was a serial bibliophile, collecting books from across Yggdrasil in his military travels. They loaded the shelves that lined three walls from floor to ceiling, some spines well-worn while others collected dust on the top levels. His father's desk sat off to the left, mostly untouched by anyone except Frigga since his death. The only wall that did not have a book shelf was the back wall across from the door. It was entirely glass, overlooking the estate in the daytime. Now, though, the red, heavy moiré curtains were drawn over the view. The fireplace split the window down the middle, and Thor could remember each time he and Loki had wandered into the study, despite their intimidation of the room that had seemed at the time to be infinitely large and filled with the imposing presence of Odin.
When the occasion arose that Odin was home, he would smile at his children when they crept in, their bare feet close to silent on the rich carpeting. He would pull a tome from the vast quantities of books, sometimes a war story or a fairy tale, and haul his boys onto his lap and read to them. Thor remembered him smelling of cloves and Niflhel brandy, his voice low and soothing regardless of the material he read.
Simpler times.
"Tell me, brother," Thor prompted once the door was shut behind them.
Loki didn't face him as he told the story. He opted to stroll along the shelves, eyes darting about the multitude of volumes with his hands clasped behind his back. It was so very reminiscent of Odin that Thor nearly forgot that Loki was adopted.
"They came in the night a fortnight ago. Mother had gone to bed hours before I had. I stayed up- here. Reading. Histories of Jotunheim," he said a bit bitterly. "I didn't even know anything was wrong," he said, voice taking a on a distinctly different tone now. It was not just recalling facts, he was remembering his sorrow. "I should have known. Mother always says I am the most gifted magician she's ever seen, that one day I'll be more powerful than she is." Thor didn't bother to correct the present tense.
"And yet-" he said, voice cracking, "and yet I did not sense a single thing amiss. I finished reading for the evening, and went to bed. The next morning, I awoke early. Mother said to wake her whenever I awoke. She wanted to further practice my magic. So I went into her room and-" Loki had come to an abrupt halt next to the desk, and one of his hands reached out to clutch the shelf. His head was bowed to the floor.
Thor wanted to move to ease his brother's suffering, but he could think of nothing to do or say. Loki straightened, but did not release his grip on the shelf as he began to speak again, "She was in bed. She looked like she was simply sleeping, turned away from me as she was. I went to touch her shoulder, to shake her awake and-" another deep breath in and out "-and her throat was cut. There was so much blood, and I couldn't-" He turned to face Thor fully, and Thor saw the tears welling in Loki's eyes. They hadn't yet fallen, and Thor doubted sincerely that his brother had let himself properly grieve yet.
Deciding to set aside his own uncertainty and grief, he moved to hug Loki once again.
Loki didn't hug him back, but he buried his face in Thor's shoulder and Thor knew his actions were welcome ones. Loki did not weep or sob. He merely stood in Thor's embrace.
They stood in near silence for several minutes, the only sounds being Loki's heavy, scraping inhales and exhales. Thor could hear his own heart in his chest.
When Loki pulled away, he turned his back on his brother once more without any fanfare, swiping a brusque hand across his eyes. "I sent for the Royal Guard. I didn't want to, but if I didn't Hela would know that I was on to her. Before they arrived, I examined the house with my magic. I felt the residuals of dark magic, something that Hela's assassin must have used to conceal their arrival and getaway. I was able to-" he struggled to find the right words, "the nature of dark magic is different than anything I've been taught, and- it's hard to explain properly, but I could feel it respond to me. Like it desired me to wield it."
Thor stiffened, but restrained himself from saying anything. His own limited magic was nowhere near the strength and ability of Frigga's or Loki's, but his mother had taught him enough to know the danger of dark magic.
Apparently sensing where his brother's thoughts were turning, Loki shook his head. "Don't worry, I didn't try. But I did sense the architecture of the spell. It reeked of Hela's handiwork, but it was much more powerful than anything I'd ever expect from her.
"The Royal Guard had cleaned up her room and taken her body away within the hour. 'She'll be interred next to her husband in the Palace Crypt,' they told me." Loki shook his head. "I've no doubt they've given her a headstone and commissioned an artist for her likeness, but there won't be a body there. Hela would never take that chance.
"I was the only one besides Hela's lackeys to see her body. Even if I tried to say anything, who would believe the abandoned, adopted Jotun child over the Queen of Asgard?" Hopelessness tinged his words, but they were still edged like a knife.
The silence only lasted a beat before Thor finally spoke, "Loki, I want you to come with me. It's no longer safe for you in Asgard."
At this Loki rolled his eyes. He hadn't lost his penchant for that, it seemed. The brother he knew was back again. "Thor, if the queen wanted me dead, I would be dead."
"Shockingly, that doesn't comfort me very much."
"I know it isn't your strongsuit, dear brother, but try to think. The assassin was cloaked so heavily in dark magic that I couldn't sense them. Why would they leave me alive if I hadn't even the smallest inkling they were here? Further, Hela knows I use magic. She knows I would be able to sense the dark magic here once her assassin left. It would've been better to kill me, tie up the loose end that she never leaves."
"So you suggest I leave you here to be prey to Hela's ploys and traps?" Thor asked incredulously.
"I am not prey," Loki snapped forcefully. "You've been gone a long time, Thor. I've grown in the time that you've been gone. I no longer live in the shade of your greatness, and I no longer need you to protect me!"
"I don't want to lose anyone else," he said brokenly, pleading.
Loki was having none of it. "Well, perhaps if you were not such a hothead, you wouldn't have been banished in the first place! Then perhaps Hela would never have been able to claim the throne, and our mother would still be alive!"
Thor's temper roiled, but he didn't let it loose. He tried to not do that any more. All it had ever gotten him was trouble, heartache, and tragedy. "I've spent every say since I was sent away wanting to take back my actions that day, but no amount of praying will allow me to change the past. I'm sorry I was not here, brother. You have no idea how truly, truly sorry I am for that. Perhaps I could have..." Thor allowed that sentence to trail off.
"What would you have done, Thor?" Loki inquired hotly, finishing the thought for him. "Hm? Mjölnir no longer recognizes you; this assassin was cloaked in magic that even I cannot penetrate, and unless you've another magical weapon I'm not aware of, you would have been just as powerless as I."
"You are right," Thor admitted, "but that doesn't change the fact that I at least wish you hadn't been alone."
Loki had no brash comeback prepared for that. The tension was thick in the room for several long beats of silence. "Well, as you said, no amount of prayer will change the past."
Thor was about to try to persuade Loki into coming with him, at least for the time being, when his world exploded.
Glass shards flew through the air, the shrapnel slicing his skin. On reflex, his arm shot up to protect his face and he moved towards his brother, intending to shield him from whatever attack this was.
Five intruders had smashed through the windows of their father's study, shearing the curtains and scattering the glass across the ground. Thor could hear more breaking glass as well as the wooden explosions that told him doors were being broken down as well. There was no telling how many more there were pouring into the house.
The black armor and green ornamentation gave the invaders' identities away- they were of the Queen's Royal Guard.
Thor reached for his axes, only to find their holsters empty, and he remembered with a curse that he'd left them attached to Sleipnir's saddle.
He dropped into a defensive stance, prepared to fight bare-knuckled against these men until his last breath if it meant his brother's survival.
As the first of the Guard came upon him, he drew back a fist, bracing for the inevitable pain that would come from his skin-and-bone fist colliding with their armor. He was startled by a green blast of magic that blew the five intruders backwards; two of them smashed into the bookshelves, collapsing the infrastructure and sending dozens of books to the floor. Two others were thrown out of the windows from whence they came, and the last one found himself impaled upon a fire poker.
His stunned gaze turned to Loki. He could feel the magic in the air, could sense the sly, neat spellwork that was his brother's signature. What looked like green smoke rose off Loki's hands, just below the dark sleeves of his tunic. "As I said, brother, I have changed much."
The sound of heavy boots upon the floor rumbled towards the door to the study.
"Loki, we must go! Now!" Thor said urgently, taking his brother's shoulder.
Loki didn't answer him, instead, he turned and raised his still smoking hands. After performing a few quick gestures the entire door glowed green. "That will not hold them off for very long."
"Then we must leave. Come, Sleipnir can carry both of our weight." Thor tried to move the two of them towards the shattered windows, but Loki shook his hand off. There was the sound of more broken doors, and men shouting back and forth to one another from outside the study.
"I meant what I said. I am not a victim, and I am staying."
"Loki, this is madness-"
"No! Thor, listen to me-" Heavy thuds against the door told Thor that the Guard were now attempting to break it down. "If they catch you, they will kill you! That would be a fatal blow against the Rebellion, and you know it! What a victory for Hela to hold above the people, that she killed the beloved true heir. If you've any sense at all, you will run, and let me hold them off." The green magic that encased the door began to flicker.
"I can't let you-"
"No, it's my turn to protect you, now."
The magic dissipated completely, and the door flew open in a hail of wood shards.
"You must go!" Loki shouted at him.
With his heart in his throat, and what felt like his soul in his feet, Thor made for the windows.
Before he made the short leap to the ground, Thor looked back, watching his brother throw magic and knives at the advancing hoard.
He was vastly outnumbered. There was absolutely no way his little brother would win. For an instant, Thor saw a flash of a little boy, still learning how to control his magic. Look at this, Thor! I made a flower! He nearly hurled himself back into the fray, but he would heed his brother's wishes, no matter how the action gutted him.
"I am so sorry, Loki," he whispered before leaping from the window and making a run for where Sleipnir waited.
He saw the soldiers Loki had blasted from the room at least thirty feet from the house, and he was deeply impressed by the force Loki had put behind that offensive spell.
He nearly tripped over a gutted body of one of his family's personal guards. Loki had been wrong to question their loyalty.
Thor approached the bushes where he'd left his mount. Sleipnir was a seasoned war horse, and he knew when a battle was afoot. He pranced in place, his nostrils flaring and muscles quivering.
Still holding back tears with a clenched jaw, Thor mounted up quickly. He was completely unnoticed by the Guard, whose full attention and forces were focused on mobbing the house.
He saw a green draped carriage, driven by a team of white horses, approaching his home.
Hela had come to dispose of Thor herself.
It had all been a trap. Murdering his mother had been killing two birds with one stone, but leaving Loki alive? No, that was purely to draw Thor back to Asgard.
He felt like throwing up as he realized there was absolutely no way Loki would escape now. Everything in him was telling him to go back, every brotherly protective instinct mixing potently with the warrior blood that ran through his veins.
But all of that was overridden with the plea his brother had sent his way.
It's my turn to protect you now.
Thor lost his battle with his tears, and he turned Sleipnir before he could change his mind, and for the first time in his life, ran away from his brother in peril.
Branches and rocks stabbed into Jane's feet, but she didn't stop running, not paying much attention to where she was headed. She didn't hear pursuers, but she didn't trust her own ears. Nearly every sound was blocked out by the sound of her own breathing, the rapid beating of her heart, and a deafening sound of blood rushing in her ears.
She felt like she was going to throw up, but she kept running anyway.
Her nightgown billowed around her legs, and she reached into her pocket and grabbed ahold of her journal. It's solid presence in her hand grounded her, reminded her that she had something to lose.
The brick roads of New York's Rim gave way to the dirt roads of the valley, and Jane stumbled as she careened down the hill towards the Lowtown. She tried to keep running, but her legs got tangled in the impractical gown and she fell to her knees before slamming down on her face.
In that instant on the ground, everything hit Jane at once- the tears rushing down her face, the cuts on her chin and cheeks and knees from her fall, her shaking hands, her freezing body. And the fear. God, she was so afraid and was reminded of how nauseous she was. Upon sitting up, she realized that the nausea didn't stop, and she emptied her stomach beside the road. Her stomach cramped, muscles spasming and throat burning.
She coughed before spitting the last of the vomit out of her mouth. Jane panted, trying to quell the sob rising within her.
You can do this, Jane, she tried to coach herself. But that begged the question: what was the this she's supposed to be doing? She didn't know how to survive on the run. She had never been in a situation even remotely like this before. She couldn't go home, she couldn't let anyone who might turn her in see her. Seriously, what was she supposed to do? Run to Jotunheim or Nidavellir? Somewhere beyond the seas, live among the Chitauri? How does she even get there?
God, she didn't know.
Okay, she's rational. How does she solve her problems? If she's stuck on an equation, or a part of her thesis isn't making sense. Start small. Build off the basics. Make a list of what she needs to do.
First off, she needed out of this wrecked nightgown. Extra clothes.
Darcy.
Yes, Darcy and Ian could help her. It's not like the soldiers would be looking for her in the Lowtown, right?
She stood up, not bothering to fix her appearance. With a deep breath, she headed towards Harlem, where Darcy and Ian lived.
When Darcy answered her door, bleary-eyed and confused at the late hour, Jane pushed straight past her best friend into the house.
"Oh my god, Jane!" Darcy exclaimed in horror at her appearance, apparently having shaken her sleepiness.
Jane tried to ignore her shaking hands as she explained what happened at her house. Her father's abduction. How she killed one of the soldiers. Her mother's sacrifice so she could get away.
"Oh my god, Jane," Darcy said again, quieter this time as she gathered the shaking Jane into her arms.
"I-I need my clothes. And m-my star charts. And-and... and..." she honestly didn't know what else she needed. If she thought she'd gotten herself together on the road earlier, she was wrong.
But Darcy was a capable woman, and her best friend sprung into action. Darcy tore through the house like a hurricane, tossing Jane's clothes at her and ordering her to get dressed, before blazing into her bedroom to wake Ian. She filled him in on the situation and told him to go prepare one of their horses for Jane.
Ian, the good man he was, immediately did so, but not before pausing to give the now-dressed Jane a sympathetic hug. "It will all be all right, Jane," he told her in his heavy Asgardian accent.
She didn't believe him for a second, but she appreciated the sentiment.
Darcy was flinging things into a large saddlebag faster than Jane could truly follow, but she saw her charts go into the bag, along with a good amount of food, and a skein full of water.
Her best friend then went back to the closet, tossing her own favorite cloak at Jane. "You're probably in shock right now, sweetheart, so stay warm, and I'll make sure the horse and everything is ready to go." But Jane didn't feel cold. She just felt numb, and in that moment she didn't know if she'd ever been more grateful to Darcy. "We need to get you on the road before they get the inkling that you might not have stayed on the Rim." Darcy was still making sure everything she'd packed could fit into the saddlebag, and she smiled weakly at Jane. "Good thing your Mom threw out your star charts that one time, eh? If she hadn't, they would still be in your house and you definitely wouldn't have them."
God that seemed so long ago, now. When Jane was sixteen, Laurel had gotten rid of her star charts in the hope that she'd focus on her 'womanly studies.' If anything, it had driven Jane harder to replace the charts and expand them. But not before she'd cried for hours on Darcy's shoulder about it. Her best friend had taken the duty upon herself to keep Jane's treasured charts at her house.
"Jane, you with me?"
Jane's eyes focused on Darcy's face, who stood before her, the saddlebag now gone (probably attached to the saddle by now). "It's time."
She nodded wordlessly, tugging Darcy's cloak tighter around her shoulders. It smelled like home, and her home was gone, so she held onto it like it was gold.
Her mind started to wander again, descending into panic. God, no, she didn't know what she was doing! Couldn't they just hide her in their cellar forever? It would be better than going on the run. God, that's what she was doing now, going on the run like some common criminal. But she is a criminal now, a murderer at that-
A sharp smack across her face brought her back to the present. "Jane Foster, I love you to bits, but you need to put that brain to use girlfriend. You're a genius. You'll be okay. I believe in you so much."
Darcy's slap had brought her back to herself, and she gathered her scattered wits and the pair headed outside.
Ian held the small Appaloosa gelding Jane had usually ridden whenever she and Darcy had gone riding. He was strawberry roan, with a blanket of white hair across his back and rump. His name was Toivo.
She'd regained enough of her motor functions to pull herself into the saddle without a leg up. She was certainly not the best rider, but she'd had enough practice that she could at least look like she knew what she was doing. Heels down. Grip with thighs. She could do this.
She looks down at Darcy and Ian, two people who she knew she could count on in any situation. "Remember what I said, Jane," Darcy said, her brown eyes full of tears that hadn't fallen. "You're a genius. You can do this."
"Thank you," Jane said, noting the tears in her own eyes. She wished she could wrap her arms around Darcy one last time, but she was already mounted and she really did need to get moving. Not to mention if she hugged Darcy again the temptation to just stay with them forever would probably become unbearable.
"I'd recommend heading south towards the Nidavellir border. There's only a minimal Asgardian presence there. You should be able to slip through the border patrols," Ian said.
"I owe you both so much," she said, trying to extend as much love for them as possible through her words.
"No you don't. We love you Jane. We need you safe. And now, you really need to go," Darcy said, tugging a rein forward, prompting Toivo to walk.
Jane sent one last look over her shoulder and Darcy and Ian, still clad in their bedclothes with twinned smiles of sadness on their faces. Ian pulled Darcy closer to him, and Jane guessed it was because her best friend was crying.
God, she couldn't look back any more. She turned to face forward, looking between Toivo's ear's. "South," she said quietly, and she urged her horse into a trot.
She kept her steady pace for about twenty minutes. She'd left the city, finding herself in the farm country surrounding New York with only the moon lighting the road ahead of her. Toivo's steady footfalls in the soft dirt punctuated the silence in a one-two one-two rhythm.
She'd managed to keep her mind mostly blank for the first part of her ride, but slowly, she began to think about what would be going on in the hunt for her.
She didn't know what happened to her mother. Was she simply captured like Father? Or did she make the ultimate sacrifice to let her daughter get away? That last option had Jane choking back emotion. Just a few days ago, she'd been at her mother's throat, and while she'd never gone so far as to hope for her mother's death, she didn't think she would've despaired too much when nearly every other sentence of Laurel's was a backhanded insult towards her or her work.
She wondered if they'd start looking for her. She didn't know much about the criminal justice system Asgard had in place, but they probably didn't take murders of soldiers lightly. She wondered if they'd put up those 'Wanted' posters she'd read about in fairy tale novels. They were always reserved for the villains.
She thought about what she'd read in those books. How did they usually go about looking for their criminal? Asking family and friends, of course.
She suddenly froze.
Her family was gone.
Every Queensagent on the Rim probably knew that she spent most of her time in the Lowtown.
They would question her friends.
Friends who had blatantly committed a crime of aiding and abetting a fugitive.
The Queen's Army was not known for it's mercy.
She yanked harshly on the bit, and Toivo threw up his head in startled protest, but she used the reins to whirl him around, back in the direction from which she'd come.
She had to warn Darcy and Ian.
Kicking Toivo into a dead sprint, Jane tangled her fingers in his mane and held on for dear life as she and her mount galloped back towards New York.
She berated herself harshly. She was so stupid. God, and Darcy had had so much faith in her, in her ability to use her freaking brain. But apparently, she couldn't even keep the last two people in this world that she loved more than anything safe.
As she drew nearer Darcy and Ian's house, she spotted an unnatural orange light against the night sky over the tops of the other Lowtown buildings.
She slowed Toivo to a canter as she rounded the final corner.
A pained gasp was torn from her as her mouth fell open, and her hand flew up to cover it.
Darcy and Ian's home was on fire.