Chapter Nine:

Loki woke up on the couch to the afternoon sun bright in his eyes. His fingers were still tangled in threads. He frowned when he saw that they were grey. Not that he had really expected them to last the whole night.

The best he had done was when the thread stayed green for five minutes without him having to manipulate them.

It was slow progress, but progress none the less.

He hadn't struggle with learning a new spellcraft in centuries. It was simultaneously pleasing and frustrating.

After untangling himself from the threads he went to his room and got cleaned up. He was once again startled by his blue appearance. The surprise wasn't accompanied by his usual disgust though. It seemed that he was getting used to this form.

There was a hardy sandwich waiting for him after his shower. He had no idea how Ms. Cook seemed to always know what he wanted to eat. It should concern him, but considering the fact that Stark had been in his mind multiple times he wasn't too worried about Stark's creation doing any damage.

He decided that once he learned how to strengthen his memories he would ask Stark about what combination of spells came together to create such a being. Where ever he went after this, surely a cook would be useful.

Loki stared at the Tesseract as he ate. He was tempted to examine it properly, but wasn't sure how it would react to his magic, or for that matter how Stark and Jarvis would react to him touching it.

The runes that he could read seemed to be unrelated to each other. Runes for binding, protection, absorption, restraint, longevity, growth, patience, and even one for hope. He couldn't decipher what they could mean all together.

Loki had used the Tesseract as a means of opening a portal, but he now doubted that was its intended purpose.

He shook his head and went on to his exercise with the threads. The weaving aspect had become almost therapeutic and had long ago become automatic. Weaving required the same amount of thought as it took to blink. The threads were an extension of himself and he made them dance while they slowly began to glow green.

Loki's whole attention was on the task at hand as the sun set so when a flash of red and loud crack emanated from right in front of him. He automatically went into battle mode summoning four throwing daggers. He threw the first two at the dark elf as he vaulted over the back of the couch. The elf quickly blocked them with his long axe, which was covered with blood. He was about to toss the other two when the elf spoke.

"Relax, Lokes. It's just me." The elf's features shifted back into Stark's. Loki let out a breath remembering that the older god had left disguised as a dark elf yesterday. "Geez, talk about a warm welcoming." Stark made a sweeping motion with his hand and the blood on the axe disappeared.

"Sorry. You startled me." Loki said while displacing his daggers.

"Evidentially." Stark plopped down onto a chair with little grace, letting the axe rest on his legs. "How goes the weaving?" Loki stared at the axe admiring its fine crafting.

"It is progressing. I understand the concept. It is only a matter of time before I master it." Loki said confidently and Stark grinned. "How did your hunt go?"

"It was a success. Asgard has a few holes in her security that the dark elves know about. If you ever decide to go back there I can make you a list."

"That could buy me a bit of good will, but I doubt I'll be going there anytime soon." Loki shrugged, not really wanting to think about his home, his former home.

"Either way." Stark summoned a pen and paper and wrote for a few minutes. He let go of the paper and it glided to Loki's hand. The younger god glanced over it and was surprised by how many weaknesses the dark elves had known about and how many he didn't know about.

"Aren't you worried that I'll use this for some sort of mischief?"

"Mischief isn't necessarily a bad thing. Besides I think you'd much rather help that realm than hinder it." Stark examined the edge of his axe as he spoke. His eyes were discerning.

"Perhaps," Loki stored the note away, undecided on what to do with it. Stark seemed unconcerned. Loki figured that if he had seen whole realms grow, flourish, and then be destroyed multiple times that he wouldn't be concerned by a bit of mischief.

Stark pulled out a whetstone from his pocket and began sharpening the axe. Every few strokes he would stop and examine the edge.

Loki idly wondered if that was the reason Stark was the God of Fortification. The man never seemed to stay still. He was always tweaking something, making it sharper, stronger, faster…

He continued watching the other god while working on the threads. Loki found the slight distraction to actually be useful. With more than one thing to focus on the whole act of imbuing the threads felt more natural to him.

As the night dragged on Ms. Cook set down two plates of food for the gods, both of which ignored the food instead focusing on their own endeavors.

Stark seemed to have a whole vault of weapons somewhere. When he finished adjusting one weapon he went onto the next. Many of the devices Loki didn't recognize. One in particular looked odd to him. It was a long chain with a small weight on the end. Each link was sharpened into a blade. He didn't see any way someone could handle the weapon without cutting themselves. Stark only took off two links and changed the weight on the end, all the while gathering knicks on his palms.

"I was told," Loki said, looking away from his weaving, "that in this realm you once were a weapons manufacture. That you came from a long line of weapon manufactures." Stark did not look away from the three barreled hand gun he was pulling apart, but he did respond.

"The realm that is situated in the very middle of the tree always lacks magic. The last seven iterations I decided to spend time slowly developing their weapons so that they can have a fighting chance when they encounter outside forces."

"So I would have won if not for you?" Loki joked, glancing at his work. He was pleased to see that it was still glowing strongly.

"It would have been a hollow victory and short lived. This realm is always the first one to be destroyed by Ragnarök."

"You sound so certain of that." Loki may not be the sanest of creatures, but he was hoping to live a very long life.

"Statistics, Lokes. They're a bitch." Loki frowned. The fact that the other god had quantifiable evidence on the subject matter was disturbing. Loki was still trying to figure out just how old the God of Fortification was. He spoke of iterations the way the Aesir spoke of centuries. Loki could see the faint glowing on Stark's chest. The media attributed it to a kidnapping, but Loki doubted anyone could kidnap Stark unless he wanted to be taken. "Lokes."

"Hm?"

"Your concentration is slipping." Stark pointed towards the threads just as they turned grey.

"Damn."