Notes: Okay, although this story doesn't encompass MCU events past The Avengers, I did borrow a moment from The Dark World just because it fit the situation and also the attitude of the Thor involved.
Warnings: A certain amount of whump. Also, for reasons of pacing we seem to be spending most of our time in Bristol this chapter, which probably means we'll focus more heavily on events n Asgard next time. I considered trying to force the chapter to be more even-handed but I felt like it was becoming unwieldy. I haven't forgotten either Loki, honest!
Chapter Seven
Loki regretted the loss of his soft grey t-shirt and flannel pajama trousers, but he only protested when Thor- with a disgusted look- bundled up the flowered quilt and thrust it at an embarrassed guard.
"Dispose of this," the golden prince ordered.
"Give that back," Loki demanded- most unwisely- and took a step toward the guard- which really was terribly stupid of him. In the next moment, he was once again restrained by the throat. Apparently this Thor had never heard of taking someone- or perhaps just his brother- by the arm or shoulder. It was a characteristic Loki found himself very grateful to know his own real brother had never displayed.
"Go," Thor commanded, and the guard, with evident gratitude, hurried away- taking with him the last vestiges of Loki's Midgardian identity.
Distressed, Loki opened his mouth to protest afresh, but the look Thor bent upon him was enough to make him reconsider. Instead, he silently returned to the business of dressing himself.
Which was no small matter: the outfit brought from his- from the prisoner's- old chambers was a formal one that normally would have required the assistance of a squire to assume. Perhaps whoever fetched it had thought it most suitable to an audience with the queen, or perhaps he had simply snatched up the first garments that came to hand.
Whatever the reason, the clothing was absurdly complicated, and Loki was having a difficult time getting dressed without assistance. The two guards who remained in the cell with the prince and the prisoner showed no inclination to help. Thor, meanwhile, showed every evidence of impatience and loss of temper as he waited.
Despite being well aware it was unwise under the circumstances, Loki found his own temper growing short as he struggled, sweating, into the ridiculous, heavy garb. How in the Nine had he borne it for so long? True, his fever was not helping, but the clothing of Midgard was so much simpler to put on and more comfortable to wear. This was clumsy and restrictive, and when finally dressed he would look ridiculous into the bargain.
He reminded himself that he had worn such garb for centuries. Indeed, when he had returned to Asgard this past winter, for the last days of the Yule celebrations, he had worn his old clothing and had not resented it at all.
Of course, on that occasion he had been costuming himself to play the role of a prince of Asgard, to please and show regard to his parents. And, too, he had been provided with a servant to assist him. Still, he would have struggled alone without complaint, then, just for the look of pleasure on his mother's face when she saw him looking as he did in the old days. It had been such a little thing, to allow her a few days' pretense that nothing had changed- or, rather, that nothing had needed to change, that their family had never needed to shatter and be patched back together. They were, Loki knew, stronger at the mended places than ever before, but the old pleasing façade was irreparably marred. It would be unnatural for Mother- and perhaps Father, too- not to miss it.
Dressing the part was a small enough offering, to pretend for a while that none of it had happened- including the long centuries of anger and loneliness that had warped him out of a shape that could ever fit into Asgard again.
This disguise, Loki reminded himself, was to please the queen of this realm, the mother of the prisoner. He needed to please her, to convince her, to win her support.
At the same time, of course, costuming himself in the clothing of her son would hardly bolster his claim that he belonged on another realm, let alone in another reality.
Apparently, Loki's thoughts had slowed his hands. Thor, in a growl, announced,
"There is little purposes in tarrying, Loki. You must learn to face the consequences of your actions."
It was not so much the consequences of his own actions that had Loki worried at the moment. He had- if, he admitted, only reluctantly - learned to accept those. What worried him now was the idea of facing the consequences of someone else's actions.
Even with a fever he had better sense than to express the thought to someone so quick to seize him by the throat. Instead, Loki bit back any comment and fastened the last of the foolish, unnecessary straps that held his overcoat together. Centuries of boasting of their advanced culture, and Asgard had so far not even invented the zipper.
"There. Done," he said, warning himself to keep his voice mild. This was not his Thor, who could be trusted to overlook a cranky tone if he felt Loki truly had something to be cranky about. His Thor would have long since inquired about the sniffling and coughing, the flushed and sweaty complexion. This Thor appeared to want nothing more than to lock the cell door and walk away, but of course it was his responsibility to find out what sort of evil was being contemplated by this mysterious villain and his flower-patterned quilt.
"Good," Thor replied as Loki turned toward him. He glanced up, over Loki's shoulder, in an obvious signal. Before Loki could react the guards closed in, seizing his arms and forcing his hands together. Submit, he warned himself, suppressing his natural instinct to struggle. If Thor wanted to march him to the queen like a prisoner, well, that was what he was. He had to get to the queen and plead his case. Fighting with guards or fleeing by magic could only make his situation worse.
There was a sudden cold pressure around his wrists, and all idea of acquiescence abruptly vanished. Loki recoiled violently, but too late: he looked down to find his hands closely shackled by manacles so complex and heavy he appeared to be trapped in the gears of a machine.
Worse, there was an immediate sensation of something struggling within his breast. Breath constricting, Loki reached out for his magic.
To his unspeakable- but carefully concealed- relief, he immediately found himself touching the source of his power, if only with his metaphorical fingertips. The sensation was rather like turning on a tap and getting only a trickle of water. Still, if one was patient a trickle could, eventually, fill a bathtub.
The manacles on his wrists were obviously designed to suppress his magic. More accurately, they were designed to suppress the magic of the local Loki, or perhaps any sorcerer of this reality. Asgard's past- his Asgard's past, for all he knew it was this Asgard's present- as a martial realm meant it had considerable experience in containing prisoners of all kinds, including those proficient in the use of magic. Clearly, this Asgard had learned similar techniques, probably for similar reasons. Or perhaps the local Loki was a habitual criminal whose powers routinely required suppression. Perhaps these manacles were specially created to contain him.
Regardless, Thor and the guards had come prepared and had not hesitated. Which rather begged the question of whether magic suppression in this reality was a painless procedure, or if confining their Loki was a matter of such necessity that discomfort to him was an acceptable side effect of keeping him under control.
Loki chose not to ask himself whether this Thor simply did not care.
The point was, his captors had come prepared to suppress their Loki's magic. The fact the shackles were not perfectly designed to contain the Loki they were dealing with- well, that was perhaps a case of least said, soonest mended. Small as it was, the little bit of magic Loki had available to him was a tactical advantage for as long as he could conceal it. The discomfort that accompanied even imperfect suppression was also to be concealed, if only for the sake of his pride.
Surprise must have flashed across his face, because Thor smiled at him- and it was not the kind of smile Loki was accustomed to seeing on the face of his brother.
"What?" he asked, triumph in his tone. "I thought you liked tricks."
There seemed little purpose in remarking on the distinction between a trick and an ambush, and Loki had no desire to converse with this Thor anyway. He therefore held his tongue while Thor took him for once by the shoulder and shoved him toward the door of the cell.
Loki, properly disguised in a stranger's garb, and properly demeaned by the humiliating manacles, docilely followed the two guards into the presence of the queen.
~~oOo~
Had he given the matter any thought, Loki supposed he would have expected to be paraded before as many mortals as wished to gape at him. The only wonder was that it had taken so long to for the exhibition to begin.
Well, that was one surprising thing. The second was the irrational little pang of betrayal he felt, when he realized Annie and Mitchell intended to do so. It was ridiculous for him to feel so, after what he had done to their world. And it was not as if Loki was inexperienced in the business of being betrayed. He should have expected something like this, should have known the kindly handling he was receiving had to come to an end. It was not as if he deserved better.
It still stung.
The newcomers were women, both tall and capable-looking. One appeared to be about the same age as Mitchell, the other considerably older. They held a short consultation with Mitchell on the doorstep- Loki should have had no difficulty hearing them, but to his dull alarm their muffled voices were inaudible- and then entered the room where Loki still sat, captive, with Annie yet holding his hand.
The older of the two women approached, crouching to look him in the face.
"Hello, Loki. My name is Catherine Bennett, and this is my friend Agnes Scott. Mitchell asked us to come and see if we can help you." Loki kept his face carefully blank. The mortal woman smiled slightly. "I understand that you must be confused, and maybe a little frightened- and also that it probably doesn't seem at all safe for you to show it, if you are." Loki sat very still, even in his condition too experienced to give anything away. "You really are safe here," the woman went on quietly, and Loki did not allow his face to reflect the fact he had- foolishly- felt safe, for a little while, before these strangers arrived to stare at him.
Catherine stood and then, without asking leave, sat down on the padded seat beside him. The second woman (Agnes) also seated herself in a large comfortable-looking chair, while Mitchell took the other padded seat across the room from Loki and Annie.
"I hope you'll answer a few questions for me," Catherine said calmly, phrasing it as a request instead of the demand it undoubtedly was. "I can see you've been injured, and you're probably in pain." Loki did not snort in contempt, but it was a near thing.
The urge to do so left him as Catherine went on,
"Can you tell me whether any of the pain you feel is connected to your magic? Mitchell tells me the… restraints you're wearing seem to have magic-suppressing qualities. Correct?" Loki did not respond in any way, but she correctly took that as confirmation. "All right. Is that painful to you?"
Painful? The question was ludicrous. Painfully humiliating, yes. Painfully infuriating, yes. Physically painful- no. There was a feeling of his senses being blunted, but certainly no pain.
And why would she, or any of them, care if there was?
Catherine waited, and Loki finally turned slightly toward her and shook his head.
"Good. Thank you," she replied calmly. "Agnes and I are friends of this household, including the Loki who lives here." The Loki we want back, she did not have to say. Loki dully hoped the other Loki was having a miserable time of it. Small chance of anything else, if they really had traded places. Of course these mortals' activities were all in aid of retrieving that other Loki, and, and disposing of the one they did not want.
Still, if this woman really was a sorcerer-
"I don't know whether we can get you out of this muzzle- " Catherine said, and Annie interrupted,
"And the chains."
"And the chains," Catherine agreed smoothly, as if it had been her intent to say it all along. Loki was not so far gone that he did not know she was lying. Apparently this Catherine was astute enough to realize that, when someone is chained, it may be for a good reason. "Anyway, we'll see what we can do. All right?"
The idiom was unfamiliar, but the intent was obvious. Loki hesitated only slightly before he nodded.
And, just at that moment, there came a loud knock on the door.
~oOo~
When Mitchell opened the front door he wasn't sure whether to squawk in panic or squeak in relief.
"Thor!" he hissed, stepping out the front door onto the steps. "What are you doing here?" Thor blinked, obviously nonplussed by the reception. Mitchell raised his hands in apology, resisting the urge to flap them the way George would be doing, if he were here. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it came out. I just- "
"Sif came to find me," Thor spoke over Mitchell's splutterings. "Heimdall had requested my return to Asgard to receive a message."
"Oh," said Mitchell, then admitted, "We weren't sure Heimdall would do anything on his own account, even if he saw what happened."
Thor looked faintly reproachful as he replied, "He told me that he saw Loki vanish and reappear, but in different garb and with the appearance of injury. Surely you knew I would wish to be made aware of this as soon as possible?"
"Well, yes," Mitchell conceded. "But the thing is, Thor, we're pretty sure this isn't, well, our Loki."
"Explain," Thor said tightly, expression gone dark. Mitchell swallowed- even the first time Thor had appeared at their door, looking for a confrontation with his lost brother, he hadn't directly threatened anyone. Mitchell wasn't at all glad to have this hard look turned on himself.
And then, apparently catching himself, Thor relented. "I apologize. I know you love him, too, and that whatever has happened worries you. But what- ?"
Mitchell took a deep breath. "I have no idea what happened. There was a flash, and then this Loki appeared in the lounge, where Loki- our Loki- had been sitting.
"This is a different Loki, Thor. He's… harder-looking, somehow, and he's been roughed up pretty badly. He doesn't know Annie and me, and I think he expects us to hurt him. And he's… he looks older. Five or six years, at least. I mean, if he was human it'd be five or six years. It seems like there was some sort of localized magical accident and our Loki was taken away and replaced with this other one, which means we're landed with a Loki who's obviously had some very bad experiences, and our Loki-"
"Is in the hands of whoever harmed this other Loki," Thor growled.
"Presumably," Mitchell admitted. "I'm sorry, Thor. We've got the local witches here in hopes they can help. The thing is, this Loki is chained and muzzled and there's magic preventing us from freeing him. And he looks like he really needs to be freed- to give him water, if nothing else, because he looks pretty weak. I think he might be bleeding internally, too, but if we get the chains off I hope he can heal himself. We were going to send for you as soon as Agnes and Catherine let us know what they thought."
"I must see him," Thor stated.
"Of course," Mitchell agreed. "I'm sure he's been hoping you'd show up. Just… go easy, all right? He's not going to be happy when he figures out you're not his Thor, and he's had a hard enough time already."
"Of course," Thor agreed, obviously trying not to look reproachful. "I will be careful."
"Of course you will," said Mitchell, and led the way into the house.
"Loki?" Thor said, quite gently, as he stepped into the lounge.
Loki's head snapped up at the sound of Thor's voice, and his eyes widened. A second later he had shot to his feet, tearing his hand from Annie's grasp, and was scrambling backward, nearly tripping over Catherine's feet as he did so.
Of all the reactions they had been expecting- anything from joy to disbelief to disappointment when he realized this was the wrong Thor- obvious terror wasn't even on the list.
"Loki, wait," Annie said quickly, springing to her feet. Loki cast a complicated glance at her- one that chilled her at the same moment it broke her heart- then quickly returned his attention to Thor, eyes narrowed and body coiled.
Thor, wisely, stopped in his tracks. He set down Mjolnir, then raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Please, Loki, listen to me. I am here to- "
Injured as he was, Annie hadn't expected Loki to be capable of moving very fast.
Then again, she also hadn't expected him to feel like he needed to.
Wrong on both counts, Annie could only watch- and maybe shriek in dismay- as Loki lunged forward. Thor reached out to catch at him, and Loki dove under his arms, sliding on the wooden floor and then rolling to his feet. He didn't pause or look back, just bolted for the front door. In the split-second it took Thor to turn, Loki had the door open and was gone.
"Loki, please!" Annie heard herself call, uselessly, as she ran for the door behind Thor and the others. By the time they were out on the pavement, Loki was halfway down Windsor Terrace, running like it hurt him but he knew he'd be hurt worse if he hung around.
What had been done to him?
Thor didn't waste his breath shouting, or his time whirling Mjolnir to take flight. He pounded down the street after his fleeing… not-brother. Loki glanced back, his expression one of mingled terror and rage, just as he reached the corner at Pyle Hill Crescent, the first place he could get off the terrace. He turned right, and that was when Annie remembered the mosque on the corner where Pyle Hill Crescent met Green Street on the next block.
The mosque held religious classes for children.
Annie and the others got to the corner just as Loki drew abreast of the mosque. He didn't slow down, nor so far as she could tell did he offer any kind of threat to the silent and deserted-looking building.
Annie had just started to feel a flush of relief- nothing bad was going to happen- when a black whirlwind boiled up in the street in front of Loki. Out of it plunged an enormous rhinoceros.
Loki didn't have a chance to either surrender or try to dodge: the rhinoceros lowered her (it had to be her) head and charged into him at full speed. Loki was lifted helplessly off his feet by the force of the collision, sprawled over the animal's head and halfway up her neck. The rhinoceros slung her head sideways and he was thrown clear across the street. He bounced and rolled like a floppy toy, ending in a crumpled heap on the opposite pavement.
The spell must have cloaked them in magic, because no one emerged from any of the houses up and down the street to see what was happening. The rhino turned to face Loki again, pawing the ground and shaking her head. Annie desperately zapped herself forward, landing between the animal and Loki. She didn't have time to check him, could only hope he was still alive. She raised her hands in the gesture you saw on television, when someone came off a showjumper and the ring crew was trying to catch the loose horse, arms outstretched to slow or turn it. The rhino lowered her head and snorted explosively.
Annie held her ground. She wondered, for a second, whether it would hurt when the magical rhinoceros charged her. She was already bewildered by the attack: Loki hadn't tried to get into the mosque, or harm anyone. Why had the rhino- ?
The rhinoceros had quieted, had raised its head and was looking at her. It was a white rhinoceros- Annie had spent enough time around her Loki to recognise the square upper lip. The longer horn on the creature's nose was a graceful scimitar-like curve that looked strangely familiar…
And Annie suddenly realized what was happening here, why the rhino had gone for Loki like that. Why she wasn't charging Annie, too.
"It's all right," she promised. "He isn't going to hurt anyone. It's okay. I've got him."
The rhino lowered her head again, but she didn't look threatening anymore.
"It's okay," Annie crooned, stooping over Loki, who was terrifyingly still, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'll make sure everyone is safe. You don't have to stop him."
The rhino snorted again, more quietly. She took an irresolute step backward- then shone brightly silver and, slowly, vanished.
Annie let out her breath in a whoosh of relief as the rest of the group ran up. She touched her fingertips to the side of Loki's throat, and felt the flutter of his pulse just as he opened his eyes, glazed over in confusion. He was still too stunned to protest or struggle when the others gathered round.
"What the hell was that?" Mitchell demanded, on rather a high note. "Loki's rhinos don't attack anybody unless they're actively threatening someone. Here," he interrupted himself as Loki tried to sit up, "let me help you. Come on."
Thor held back, looking anxious and ridiculously guilty, as Mitchell supported Loki. Annie glanced apologetically up at him, and then hastily answered Mitchell:
"Didn't you recognize her?"
"The rhino?" Mitchell demanded. "Annie, I don't know any rhinos."
"She's the one from Whipsnade Zoo," Annie persisted. "The mother one. Remember when we fought the helicarrier there?"
"I'm not likely to forget that," Mitchell grumbled.
"And there was a school trip there at the same time, and Loki asked the white rhinoceroses to protect some of the children while we dealt with the helicarrier? That was the leader, the big female. She must be part of the spell now: she must be the model for the rhinos that protect the city if something happens to Loki." The rhinoceros charm hadn't activated when Loki was in California, so this had to be an extra level of magic, something that kicked in if Loki was incapacitated the way he was the time SHIELD- or rather the creatures infiltrating SHIELD- had kidnapped him and bound his powers.
"Okay, I can see him doing that," Mitchell said. "But the rhinoceros charm is defensive. The rhinos don't bother anyone who isn't actively dangerous. Why on earth did it- she- attack Loki now? Was he planning something and she somehow knew it?"
Mitchell's eyes widened as the answer suddenly came to him. Thor also looked enlightened. Annie spelled it out anyway, for the benefit of the witches:
"He must have put in an extra level of protection, just in case he went mad or bad or something." Thor started to protest and Annie added, "I know, this Loki wasn't actually trying to hurt anyone, but our Loki wasn't exactly in his right mind when he committed his crimes before. He didn't exactly do them on purpose. And do you really think our Loki would give himself- or any other Loki- a chance to do something awful again?" Her mouth twisted and she added, "Or give himself the benefit of the doubt?"
Of course he wouldn't.
Everyone looked at the new Loki, who was sitting hunched forward, trying not to hold his ribs too obviously. He was staring at the ground, shoulders stiff in anxiety as much as pain, and he must have sensed everyone's eyes on him because he went a little smaller. His nose and ears were bleeding again.
Thor reached carefully out and brushed his fingertips against Loki's shoulder. He was wearing so many layers of leather and padding he probably couldn't even feel Thor's touch, but he recoiled from the movement regardless.
"I promise I will not hurt you," Thor said, and he sounded like every syllable lacerated his throat. "We should return to the house and see whether Catherine and Agnes are able to help you. Will you let me carry you?"
Loki didn't look up. The visible part of his face tightened even further as pain was compounded by anger and shame.
But he didn't object when Thor moved closer. Thor wisely said nothing further, slipped his left arm around Loki's back, his right under his knees, and carefully rose to his feet. Loki's expression was blank and his body rigid as Thor, the others following, carried him back toward the pink house.
~oOo~
Instead of the throne room, the queen received them in a medium-sized chamber. From the doorway there was an expanse of shining marble floor, and then a long table and chairs at the back of the apartment. It was very much like the chamber in which Loki's father was wont to consult with his advisers- the one in which, last summer, Odin had listened to Loki's theories concerning the mysterious aggression of the new Jotun king.
Best not to think of that now.
Best, too, not to dwell on how much this queen resembled his mother as she sat straight-backed and regal at the head of the table. She was not, Loki could tell as much the moment he entered her presence. The signature of her magic was different, and the sense of her personality: there was a sureness, a confidence, here, that felt genuine.
It had taken Loki many years to recognize the uncertainty behind his own mother's mask of serenity- wrapped up as he was in his own fears and insecurities, he had assumed he was alone, in Asgard, in feeling any. That was yet another area in which he had been both unfair and mistaken, and his new understanding of his mother's vulnerabilities had done much, recently, to draw them closer. He was not her son in blood, it was true, but in all the ways that counted he might as well have sprung from her womb.
This queen rose gracefully from her chair as her son, his prisoner (did she still consider the prisoner her son?) and the two guards entered the chamber. She took two steps away from the table and waited as they stopped in the middle of the open floor before her.
Thor's hand was a weight on Loki's shoulder, and it was with feeling of resentment that Loki slipped from under it to drop to one knee before the queen. He knew perfectly well that, as a shackled prisoner, his rightful place was on both knees. He had, once, taken that posture of his own volition, when he was brought into the presence of Odin for the first time since his fall. At that time he had been fully conscious of his own wrongdoing, of his need to demonstrate contrition and to make amends. It had seemed very important to him, that his father knew he regretted his actions and did not seek to excuse himself.
Probably the Loki of this world also needed very badly to demonstrate those things, but Loki was not he. Having done nothing wrong- in this world, at least- an appearance of contrition could only confuse matters. He could hardly assert his innocence on the one hand and display penitence on the other.
"My lady," he murmured, and bowed his head, shackled hands clasped before him. He tensed as he felt, behind him, Thor's temptation to strike him for insolence. Raised at court and well trained in protocol, Loki knew perfectly well his demeanour was appropriate- if he was a visitor from a foreign realm, brought for the first time into the presence of the queen. Which was in fact the case, whatever Thor and the guards believed.
"Loki," replied the queen, and he could not read any emotion in that word. Well, he had for centuries had little skill in reading the emotions of his own mother. Small wonder he failed here.
And then she looked over his head to the guards standing just inside the door. "Captain? You feel I should know of recent events in your cells?"
Thor shifted restlessly, clearly feeling it was his place to speak first. In terms of rank he was correct, but since the captain of the guards was actually present when the bewildering events occurred, the queen's choice was the sensible one.
Without looking around, he could picture the captain's unease as he made his courtesy to the queen.
"Yes, your grace," he murmured. The queen waited, and now Loki could read tension and indecision in her. Perhaps, he thought as hope stirred within him, she really was still attached to the imprisoned Loki. Perhaps she would be willing to hear him out. Perhaps she, too, could feel the difference between the Loki before her and the one she had called son, already realized that something had changed and something was wrong.
Bowing his head, Loki waited for the captain of the guards to speak.
What the man said brought his head snapping up in surprise, to meet the equally startled, and suddenly dark, eyes of the queen.
