The princes are gone, both of them now. The people, they talk, none so loud nor as passionately as the great sorceresses. They convene the night of Prince Thor's departure in secret, simply so they can scream and cry and fret over it together.
"I just can't understand it," Svanhild is still saying a day and a half later.
She walks through palace halls with Mette, bowling over people as she goes. Mette, being much smaller in stature, has to run to keep up and constantly stops to apologize to those Svanhild shoves aside.
"Uh, if I may, Lady Svanhild," she says with her head bowed. "I-"
"Of course you may not. Honestly Mette, can't you see that I am speaking?"
Mette shrinks back with a whimper.
"Honestly, such nerve you have," Svanhild shakes her head. "As I was saying, I simply cannot fathom why Prince Thor would put so much on the line just to save Prince Loki. Of course I understand the family obligation between the two but really, after everything Loki did to sabotage Prince Thor's coronation, you'd think he'd be happy to have the miscreant gone."
Mette gasps.
"Oh calm yourself, girl, I know what I say," Svanhild says with a wave. "It is no great secret that Loki has never been what Asgard needs in a prince, let alone a king. Someone who spends so little time with proper men's work and instead impedes on our studies, what gives him the right?"
"He is very powerful," Mette whispers. "More than any of us."
"Hmph, he would like to think that. You shouldn't let yourself give in to fear of him, Mette. Assuming he still lives, he is just a single little man who plays with magic. He may have some skill, but we are the most well read and experienced sorceresses Asgard has to offer. Personally, I always thought his attempts at sorcery were a mere front to appear special and compensate for his unfortunate appearance."
They enter the library, people bowing respectfully for them as they pass. Svanhild gracefully receives them, but Mette has never known how to handle high regards. Their table is not empty when they arrive. Runa is flipping through a massive tome and jotting down notes. She looks as though she's been there for hours, rooted to the spot.
"I see you're busy," Svanhild observes.
"I try to remain productive," Runa says, eyes flicking up at Svanhild. "One can only pine for a man for so long before they feel inclined to use their time more wisely."
Svanhild's eyes narrow. "I'm not sure I like your tone, Runa."
"And your lack of decisiveness is amusing as always."
The air changes around Svanhild, growing dense with magical energy. Mette has to inch her chair all the way to the other end of the table just to breathe easy.
"Why don't you tell me what it is you are studying, since it's so very important and worthwhile."
"Merely a new potion," Runa says. She waves a single long finger over her book, the pages turning automatically. She reads through a particular passage, pen at the ready. "I have yet to move on past the theoretical stage, but it's intended function is to combat job related stress in the working man. My hope is for it to promote better work ethic by providing relief during difficult times."
Svanhild's fire dulls, as does her countenance as a whole. Runa smiles slightly.
"So I see you've been discussing our Prince with Mette." She sends the youngest member of their clan a sympathetic look. "Have you made any headway in your task?"
"That is not something I would speak of openly, my dear Runa," Svanhild says sweetly. "And that aside, I wasn't aware that caring for and loving our great prince was now something one is tasked to do, instead of done out of true affection."
"The difference is that you run under the belief that you can love someone and be blind to their faults," Runa responds. "For all that I share your loyalty to Prince Thor, I wish to see him for what he is as more than a prince, but as a man. Perhaps you would benefit from doing the same."
"You say that as one who has denounced his supposed improved character with the rest of us."
"I have done no such thing. I merely expressed my disbelief that any revelations he may have had over the course of the passed few weeks could have been influenced by a mere mortal, and I stand by that. I instead believe that he found his way on his own, like the good man he always has been."
Throughout the whole conversation Runa has not once looked up from her work, and that alone is enough to make Svanhild want to evaporate the blood from her veins and tear apart the rest of her.
Mette has never moved from were she settled herself during Svanhild's initial brush with a full blown tirade, so when she clears her throat and raises her hand, she gets no attention and must speak louder than she'd wanted to.
"If I may, I think it's wonderful that Svanhild has so much love for our great prince. She has always been-"
"Mette please, you have no need to prostrate yourself before your elder and whatever she says," Runa says. "You need only know when not to."
Mette nods her head furiously and turns away from them, too afraid even to apologize.
Not that either of the other two woman cared a mite for what she had to say. Runa was preoccupied with her work while Svanhild took pleasure in peering at her with a frigid gaze, daring another taunt to pass her lips. Runa will not be cowed though, much to Svanhild's chagrin.
"I can see that I am no longer wanted," she says.
Runa hums and turns another page. Mette has been struck mute and is hopeless. Svanhild wishes for a moment that their other sisters were present. Jannike and Øydis may harbor no more admiration for her than Runa did, but at least they knew when to keep their heads down and their mouths shut. It might have given Svanhild some peace to know that humility still existed in some.
She makes a show of leaving, her robes fluttering around her and her golden blonde hair a wave around her face. Wherever she goes, men have flocked to her. Today is no exception, as soldiers of both high and low ranking eye her as she passes and warmly greet her by name. Svanhild answers them all with the same neutral smile and nod, she doesn't know who any of them are. It would be quite amusing for them to find that the great and well-known sorceress they all wish to court has long since given her heart to another: and the crown prince of Asgard no less. Some day they will, on the day Prince Thor comes to realize that the only woman who could ever love him the way he deserves has been there at his back for centuries, waiting for the day he would turn around and see her.
Svanhild enters her chambers and throws aside her day clothing first thing. Clad in a simple white nightgown she sits upon her bed with no desire for sleep and shifts through the mess of parchment and books that have been laying on the opposite side for ages. Tidying up is such dull work to do on one's own, but the idea of some simple minded maid laying a hand on her work is a more ghastly concept than putting Loki on the throne.
With a flick of her wrist the books and loose parchment sort themselves into separate piles. The work is neat aside from a few loose corners and Svanhild must massage her wrists when it is done. She takes the parchment rolls first and reads to herself the title of the first one. It's an old espionage report from the third war with the dark elves. Why did she still have it after all this time? Svanhild takes the next one, another old assessment from a battle long since passed.
The third is the only one to evoke any sort of response: they are the plans she drew up for eliminating that nuisance of a mortal, Jane Foster. Svanhild smirks, skimming through the lines of incantations and runes. She puts it aside in a special spot to re-read later on and remember.
A satchel falls at Loki's feet while he's enjoying a late breakfast of leftover venison. Angrboda has been standing in front of him for some time before this, probably waiting for him to look up and ask what she wants. If so, she should have let him finish eating. As he's ripping another piece of meat off the bone the bag sags and spills a bit of it's contents out at his feet. He swallows.
"What is this?" He takes the slime covered scale in his hands and turns it over.
I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT NEED SOME MORE, BUT SINCE YOU HAVEN'T ASKED ME FOR ANY, I TOOK SOME PRE-EMPTIVE MEASURES.
Loki's lips part, releasing nothing but air as he switches back and forth between the satchel and Angrboda. For some reason, he doesn't feel so hungry anymore.
"That's... very good. Thank you. I will need these."
THERE'S MORE THAN JUST SCALES.
Loki stares at her, trying first to discern the meaning behind that tight-lipped gaze of hers, but there is nothing. Wordlessly, he reaches into the satchel and digs through the unsharpened edges of her scales until he finds something different. The feel of it is warmer than the scales and dryer. It has creases and a triangular frame that her scales cannot boast. The tip is pointed, as if he needed anymore confirmation that she's ripped out one of her teeth and given it to him.
He holds it to the light. It's wide enough that he can't wrap his whole hand around the thicker end and weighs at least several pounds. A mortal might have some trouble holding it like this.
"When did you have time to remove this?"
She moves her head from side to side, simulating a shrug.
IT WAS ALREADY LOOSE, SO TAKING IT OUT DIDN'T HURT THAT MUCH. EVEN IF IT HAD, IT'S A SMALL PRICE TO PAY FOR BECOMING HUMAN AGAIN.
Loki purses his lips as he turns it on every possible angle. At the top there are tiny, almost miniscule specks of blood and tissue. Again she thinks she can lie to him.
"Yes," he says. "I suppose it is."
She finds a comfortable spot in the cave to rest. That it's five feet away from his untouched work table is no coincidence. Loki licks his lips; he turns the tooth over on it's axis once more and then drops it back into the bag.
"I think I'll save this for later."
She gives an approving hum when he places all that she's given him beside his empty cauldron and scales. She rolls her long neck, removing all of the kinks, and then lays down. Her chin is pointed up and she's staring at him. Her eyes are soft, but he knows in his gut she's not going to close them or look away any time soon, and that's fine. He takes one scale from the bag. They're all mostly dry now, the moisture having hardened into a thin white film that cracks at the gentlest touch. Loki drops it in the cauldron, followed by four or five more. They all make a resounding plunk when they hit the empty bottom. Loki waves his hand and the cauldron fills an inch to the top with tap water.
"This may take some time," he says, eyes flicking to her. "And it's very dull work."
IT'S NOT I HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO.
"Oh, that can't be. There must be some new trinket out there you have your eye on."
NOT AT THE MOMENT.
Loki purses his lips. He pulls a vial from his pocket that's filled with colored water and pours it in. Stirring it together creates a red sheen around the cauldron, and she looks on with decided interest.
"May I ask why?"
She looks surprised that he would ask. Loki can relate, he is too.
I JUST DON'T FEEL LIKE IT
Her tail flops down on the final letter; she's forgotten to punctuate. Loki respects her need for silence as his own as he puts on a show of experimentation and tests, never giving away anything positive or negative by way of expression. Let him keep her guessing. He takes his time with everything from setting up to eliminating the unusable. Hours pass and she surely must be growing tired. She never does, she is immobile. Loki is no more tired than she is, he could continue the game all night if he has to, but there is something to be admired in such determination and stoicism, especially when facing him.
As soon as he's had that thought he wishes he hadn't. His hands tighten automatically and nearly snap an entire scale in half. She sits there before him, impossible to miss, and something in her eyes and unchanging expression comes off as horribly smug, like she knows exactly what he's thinking and why.
Whether she does or she doesn't, this is no longer fun.
Being in the lab again is disorienting. Darcy feels dizzy even before she steps inside and sees the level of disarray the place has fallen into. The gaping hole in the roof is still there, covered by a blue tarp that is heavy with rain water. Fandral makes her walk around it just in case. The faded yellow tape has long been broken by vandals, graffiti covers up more than half of the big CONDEMNED sign taped to the window. The walls are in a similar state, with all kinds of crude drawings and vulgar language Darcy shouldn't be sensitive towards. This is Jane's place, though, the place where she (sometimes) ate and (barely) slept and (constantly) worked and dammit, it deserves better than this.
Darcy had a lot of time to prepare for seeing this place again during the two and a half day drive, but still she feels an invisible wall in front of her whenever she takes a step. Dust is gathering at her feet and on her fingertips when she runs them along broken down equipment made by Jane's own hand. Those rotten ass SHIELD agents had descended upon the place a day after the attack, led by Mr. Personality himself, Agent Coulson. With him had been a redheaded woman in a black jumpsuit and some guy in archery gear (who was admittedly kind of hot, not that Darcy had been in the mood to flirt), obstinately for 'protection' in case something else showed up. Within twenty minutes, all of Jane's data had been carted away to Random SHIELD Secret Hideaway Place Number Two while Darcy could do nothing but shout it Coulson's face.
"You know it's been a day? A day since she died? Don't you guys know you're supposed to wait a week out of respect?"
Coulson had been infuriatingly impartial to everything she said.
"Ms. Lewis, I understand that this is a time of major grief for you, and you have my condolences. That fact remains that Jane Foster's research is extremely important to us, and highly unstable. We need to bring everything to a controlled environment for Dr. Selvig to look over ASAP."
That was all Darcy could get out of the man. He wouldn't even give her Erik's new cell phone number so she could complain to him about it. He had to be taking this even worse than she was. Jane had been like a daughter to the single and childless Erik, and now she was gone. Thinking back, Darcy was sorry she hadn't tried harder to keep in contact with him, but if he was anything like Jane, he was working through the pain, literally. It might take years and whatever virility he had left, but he'd finish what Jane started. Darcy couldn't ask for anything more, except maybe for him to give that doucherocket Coulson a nice big fist in the face.
"Are you alright?" Fandral asks.
Darcy brushes him off and goes further in, careful to avoid the area below the tarp. What hadn't been taken by SHIELD agents or stolen by vandals to be pawned off for parts was dirty and looked like they'd aged ten years. She catches sight of a telescope Jane assembled for a failed experiment a week into Darcy's internship. Beside it is an old logbook, discarded for containing nothing of use. Darcy looked inside of it once and found an old love note from her ex, Donald Blake. It was unspeakably plain and unromantic and Darcy couldn't blame Jane for thinking him an uncommitted workaholic after reading it.
"There doesn't appear to be anything of value here," says Volstagg as he shifts through some rubble. He then looks apologetically at Darcy. "That is to say, I have not seen anything that might aid us in our quest."
Darcy waved it off. "Well, it was just a hunch."
She touched Jane's old worktable, now devoid of the many laptops and scanners Jane had once piled up on it.
"Come now, we have only begun to search," Fandral said, clapping his hands together. "What would Thor think if we left the scene of the attack without finding at least something of use?"
"He's right," Sif says. She wanders around the center of the room beneath the tarp, so far the only one to try it. She stares into space, going in circles that get smaller with each rotation.
"What's she doing?" Darcy hisses to Fandral out the corner of her mouth.
Sif stops in the middle of the room, getting to her knees with her hands flat on the ground. She traces an imaginary circle in the dirt, all the way around.
"There is magic here," she says.
She is met with silence, as assured with herself as she sounds. It might be presumptuous of her to say, but Darcy is without a doubt the most baffled of the bunch.
"What?"
Sif looks up at her, dead serious.
"In this room, I can feel that magic has been performed here."
If she expects that to explain everything, it doesn't. Fandral isn't providing much help, nor are Hogun and Volstagg (aside from the former nodding along with everything she says).
"Okay," Darcy says carefully. "So there's magic. You mean like that robot that destroyed everything? That kind of magic?"
"Not quite," says Sif. She lowers her ear to the floor and shakes her head. "No, this is something else. Something I can't quite pinpoint. It's faded, though. Whatever happened here, it was not recent. Several months at least."
Darcy feels an icy coldness drench her.
"Like maybe six months?"
Sif frowns, giving Darcy the kind of sympathetic face she's been seeing all along and if Sif wasn't a super powered alien goddess, Darcy might want to hit her for that.
"It's possible," she says after a beat. "Very possible in fact. I can't say for sure. My knowledge of magic is nowhere near Loki's level."
"If you look here," says Hogun as he gets down to the ground beside them, "there is a faint curved line in white."
He traces the line into a half circle, pressing the pad of his finger ever so lightly down. He brings it to his nose and sniffs, face scrunched up in deep thought.
"Chalk residue..." he determines. "The kind made in Asgard for magical purposes."
"Magical purposes?" Darcy cries. She starts pacing around the circle Hogun continues to draw out in the air. She can't be bothered to measure it, or note anywhere but in the back of her mind that it covers half of Jane's floor. "Like what? Like someone from Asgard came and did magic here? That's what you're telling me?"
"Well, for now it's just a theory," Hogun says, "until we have a better idea."
"That's great," Darcy says. Her legs are getting tired and her head hurts. She reaches around for a chair that she can't find. Then one is pushed up to her legs and Fandral stands over her with his big 'I'm the most charming dude in the universe so love me' smile.
"So lets brainstorm. What kind of magic was performed in here?"
"It's difficult to say," Volstagg says with a shrug of his shoulders. "But when we consider what has happened here, there is a chance someone on Asgard harbored a grudge against Jane Foster."
"That could very well be true," says Sif. She's abandoned studying the floor for now, leaving it to Hogun. She takes agile steps around him so that he isn't disturbed.
"I cannot imagine how someone could have slipped past Heimdall," says Fandral.
"It wouldn't be the first time," says Hogun softly. "Do not forget how the whole mess of Thor being banished began."
The four warriors give venomous sneers, which are nonetheless tempered by their hesitance to revile the one they are trying to save.
"I suppose if Loki could do it, anyone could," says Fandral.
"Not just anyone. It would require magic of the highest caliber, the kind very few possess," says Sif.
"But even that makes no sense," says Volstagg. "The only ones who could possibly have that kind of power aside from Loki are the five great sorceresses, but why would any of them do something like this?"
"Loki wouldn't," Sif mutters. "The scene is far too sloppy, too much has been left behind. If it were him, there wouldn't be a shred of evidence. We all know firsthand how meticulous he is."
"Which only leaves the sorceresses," says a pensive Fandral.
"Okay, hang on a second!"
Directly following Darcy's shout is the skittering of her chair falling on it's side. She is on her feet, something that probably won't intimidate these guys the way it does pimply faced Uni students. Before Fandral can ask if she's alright or anyone else can question her, she brings up her hands in a 'cease and desist' order.
"Let me get one thing straight: you guys are suggesting that someone from Asgard came here without anyone knowing and did... what?"
"That's why it's still a theory," mutters Hogun.
"But a sound theory nonetheless," says Sif. "We all know the unfortunate tendencies of our people to be blinded from goodwill by envy and greed, and it is no secret how the five sorceresses pine for Thor."
"One of them could have seen Jane Foster as a threat to their imagined claim," says Fandral, eyes going wide as it all comes together.
"I can see what appears to be runes drawn into this circle," says Hogun, though it's hard to tell since he has his face even more crushed into the ground than Sif had. "One of them resembles a teleportation charm. If so, that would explain how the dragon appeared so suddenly. We should take time to try and decipher them."
"So the assumption right now is that because Jane once macked on Thor, some psycho fangirl with magic powers came and set a dragon on her?"
"Do you think such pettiness beneath us?" says Fandral solemnly. "I wish I could say it was so, but we've had our share of drama in the courts."
"Just look at what happened to Lady Hessa," Volstagg puts in.
Darcy furrowed her brow. "Who's Lady Hessa?"
"She was a very wealthy and renowned noblewoman," explains Fandral after a beat. "She attended a banquet one night and made the mistake of boasting her dress to be of a finer quality than that of Lady Freya."
"Let's just say there is a reason your books contain no account of her," says Volstagg.
"I see," Darcy says, voice going flat. "Well, I'm hungry. I have had nothing but half a kit-kat bar and three gatorades since we left, and now I'm starving. Who's with me?"
"I!" shouts Volstagg, raising his fist like he's shouting a war chant. "I am absolutely famished."
"Knew you would be, big guy!" cries Darcy as she gives him a 'you're okay' gesture.
"I would prefer to stay here and keep working," Sif says, to which Hogun silently agrees.
Left with nothing to do, it isn't long before Fandral walks out after Darcy and Volstagg. A trio of little old ladies and a soccer mom with her two screaming kids are the audience as a college aged girl and two man of varying, yet considerable size and build in their medieval war day best walk down the street in a line. Darcy would love to tell them to take a picture, but it's not like she can blame them for staring.
"Izzy's place is right down the road, just re-opened," she says, directing them to the white, corner building up ahead. "And then we should think about getting you guys some clothes."
Loki sits before a kindling fire with Angrboda's latest kill roasting over it. The lack of wood isn't an issue when one has magic at their disposal, but she made sure to bring some back anyway, obstinately to take some of the burden off of him. All she really wants is to make sure he has enough to fix her, and why wouldn't she?
She's back following another hour of hunting, her shortest trip yet which bore no fruit except for what he is about to eat. She's has been rummaging through her junk pile ever since her return. It doesn't take long for Loki to understand that she's not looking for anything, she's just not talking to him. The only thing that bothers Loki more than her silence is that it bothers him at all.
"You must be getting bored of all these useless objects," he calls out. He waits for defensive growl and punishing smoke to hit his face, but it doesn't come. "I expected you to return with more of a bounty than this."
That gets her tail moving, though she maintains her vow not to meet his eye.
I'M THINKING ABOUT STARTING A NEW TOWER. I NEED TO FIND SOME EXTRA SPACE FOR IT.
"Do you?" Loki says as if he actually believes her. "Might I suggest taking what you already have an dividing it into two groups?"
WHAT WOULD THAT DO?
"Give you a better idea of how to organize your belongings for one," Loki says. "You might also avoid the threat of something toppling over due to your single towers rather alarming height."
THAT STILL DOESN'T SOLVE THE PROBLEM OF ACTUALLY FINDING SPACE FOR A SECOND PILE.
"I could save away one half in one my pockets. They are bottomless, you see."
BOTTOMLESS POCKETS? IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?
"For me it is," he replies with a grin. He notes the way her spine straightens and her eyes light up. It's a shame that she won't allow herself to ask any of the questions she has. There's a chance he would've answered.
"The only other thing I could suggest is to knock out a few walls to create more space," Loki says. "But I'm sure we both know how risky that would be."
WE COULD WIND UP BRINGING THIS WHOLE PLACE DOWN.
Loki nods. "Indeed."
He drops to the ground and she joins him, the unlikely pair sitting side by side by the fire. Loki leans his head up, eyes closed. The smell of cooking meat wafts off the flames, a mouth watering aroma that makes him want to forget about waiting the additional five minutes necessary to get just the right flavor. He is a patient man, though. He knows the benefits of waiting. Delayed gratification and all that.
To pass the time, he counts the number of scales visible on Angrboda's back. He's into the hundreds by the time she senses his eyes on her.
"What do you think of removing a few rock formations?" he asks offhandedly.
She hums.
"It's just a thought I had," he elaborates. "I could remove some of the larger and more obstructive ones and give you more space that way."
WHY DO YOU KEEP BRINGING THIS UP?
'Why so aggravated about it?' Loki mentally asks.
"Can I not have a friendly discussion with you that doesn't end in a brawl?"
I DON'T KNOW. CAN YOU?
"Don't get smart," he warns with no edge to it at all. He smiles coyly at her, not that she can see it.
WELL, AS MUCH AS I'VE ENJOYED TRADING DECORATING TIPS WITH YOU, I THINK YOUR RABBIT IS STARTING TO BURN.
The next ten or so minutes are spent trying and failing to fix the crispier portions of the meat. More is spent afterwards trying to simultaneously keep it down and maintain his dignity. Angrboda just makes her happy laughing grunts while she inspects her home for which rocks she wants to remove.
The calm of the desert is shattered by the light and winds of the bifrost. It lands like a cyclone on the ground and then fades away into air. Left in it's wake is a single-minded man whose goal is in sight.
This is the very place where Loki was taken. Thor silently thanks Heimdall for knowing just where to send him. His friends will be far away by now, but he'll find them in due time. He hates to admit it, but they are not important to him right now. Only Loki is. Finding him alive and granting the monster who captured him a slow and painful death is all that matters. Visions of the future be damned. He will make a happy future for Loki. He'll bring him home, make him see once more how loved he is, maybe he'll even leave the dragon's corpse intact so Loki can study it.
Thor walks against the wind, in the direction the dragon left in. He swings Mjolnir, letting it slowly gain momentum. Power flows from the mighty hammer to his body, propelling him into the air the way he should have let it that day. Now is his time to make up for his mistakes. All of them.
He'll have Loki back by first light.