10.
Loki knows routes out of Rome that nobody else would ever even know existed; pathways left unguarded, corners and edges of the city that nobody sees or ever looks at. It was one of the first things he made sure to teach himself when his position in Rome began to look anything like secure – to know every available escape route.
Before now he has never used any of them, never allowed himself to have cause to - just taken comfort in knowing that he has them. He has kept quiet, kept himself and his position strong, hidden every little thing he thought or felt that might have betrayed him as anything other than the perfect son of Rome he pretends to be. He has kissed Rome's arse, rather than kick it as he would rather have wished. Even though, if he is successful now it will be at advantage to Rome, it feels like the opposite, when he knows that to consort in secret with its enemies would see him regarded as a traitor whatever the intentions. Not to mention the affinity he feels for this tribe that would defy Rome in spite of all the odds against them. It takes strength, guts – to risk as much as they could lose in this as well he knows. Gods, he knows. Knows too well what could become of their intrepid, and by all accounts dangerous, leader if she were to fall into Rome's hands. He does not know her, does not trust her, but he cannot argue with his instinct telling him he does not want this to happen.
He has thought about this ever since dismissing Thor this afternoon. He cannot regret that – or the knowledge that Thor would have assumed him to be immediately disregarding his request – in fact he is glad of it. The last thing he wants – or has ever wanted – is to look like he is playing the hero or even performing an act of kindness. Amongst the many things troubling him at first had been the idea of doing this for Thor. He had tried both not to consult his own feelings in this matter and then to consult them quickly and efficiently before putting them away as so much unwanted baggage. Neither attempt had worked well.
Why had he even opened himself up to this? He owed Thor nothing, had no regard for him beyond that towards a not – quite – faithful pet. What then was happening to him? It was bad enough when he had imagined himself merely in the grip of some twisted perversion, some bewildering possibly even obsessive desire. Then the desire had mutated, until there was little enough he did not want Thor to do to him. But it was still safe, if complicated lust, even if it had not burnt out as the mere distraction he had hoped it would be, indeed had done nothing but get stronger. But it was still understandable, perhaps, in the face of the gladiator's strength and beauty.
But then – somehow a terrible terrifying need had crept in. not just for him to have Thor with him always but for Thor to care for some reason about him. More and more he caught himself talking to the slave like an equal. More and more he seemed to be catching glimpses of his own self in those eyes and in his company and that perhaps was what scared him most of all.
And now he had somehow allowed himself to become invested in the fates of his slave's acquaintances, if not with The Dacian then the more he had found out about the lady in his subtle search to get news of her encampment's location, the more he had come to appreciate and even share her stand against Rome. If he was still doing this for Thor it was now at second hand, and yet somehow this no longer made it any simpler.
In the dark and shimmer of starlight and night he glances surreptitiously aside at Thor as they ride, slipping through the trees outside the city like they themselves are lengthening shadows. His face in the moonlight reveals nothing, and his perfection in Loki's eyes stings them. He wonders for the thousandth time what is happening to him – better that than suspect that he might know.
In the gathering shadow Thor too glances sideways and is sure he catches the slightest kingfisher movement as Loki looks away. Loki is beautiful beyond measure in this light; highlighted in silver as though the moon was made only to illuminate him. Thor aches like a gods-blasted boy to touch that skin, feeling like silver and stardust might brush off onto his fingertips if he did. He curses his addled brain and orders it to focus on the task at hand.
Except that he is not entirely certain he knows what that task is, and his thoughts stray again before all too easily before he has fully formulated hi suspicion. Loki. If only he had any idea who he really was, though not knowing has done nothing to keep his untameable heart at bay. Not even his knowledge that Loki is sure to break it, or even him, without even batting an eyelid could do that. Loki is as much a mystery to him as ever, despite the long week now of heated nights and the crackling air between them in the day. Oh yes, he can see into Loki as through an exquisite piece of glass, can read his wants and the feelings he is perhaps himself unaware of – but he has no idea where he comes from or what he is – yet somehow he thinks, perhaps, that does not provide the answer to who he is after all – perhaps this at least he does know and know better than Loki does himself. And yes, somewhere along the way he has lost something he never meant to lose and the violent loathing he had first harboured had slithered into lust and then something like love; like a snake headed straight for him it had turned fluidly around until consuming its own tail.
Beneath a gathering of trees Loki reigns in the horses more gently than Thor would have imagined. But Loki does so little other than surprise him it is almost, conversely, to be expected. He drops from his horse so lightly the sound can barely be heard over the cicada's song from the trees. Thor drops down beside him a little less quietly, and he is barely off his horse before there is a cold flash of metal at his throat. He hears Loki gasp very slightly and turns just enough to see that he is in the same position as he is – with a dagger at his throat from one of the four watchmen they never saw or even heard in the shadows. The only relief – if it can be such – is that they are clearly not Roman.
Well, Loki thinks, as they are led at knife point towards the camp, at least they're leading us where we wanted to go. They are led straight through the camp and pushed rudely through the front of the largest tent. They're black, Loki notices, all of the tents are black like somebody has died. Loki almost wants to ask who but instead has pronounced, almost cheerily before he can stop himself –
"Well. This isn't exactly the arrival we had in mind."
He hears one of their captors mutter something in a strange language even he has never heard and then their leader turns around, from looking over a table spread with maps and stratagem, a sword already out in either hand.
"Who are you and what are you doing skulking around my camp?" she snaps.
"We're here to help," Thor says quickly, knowing instantly who she is and very quickly piecing together the meaning of their night – time venture. The Lady does not relax for a second or look any less suspicious of them for this reply.
"Who are you?" she repeats.
"I am Loki, last of the Cimbri of Jutland," Loki states, tossing his head a little, stating himself more proudly than he has in decades, perhaps because for the first time in all those years this comes closest to an honest reply. Thor shoots him the briefest of looks – for this is news to him. He wonders how true it is and looks away again quickly knowing now is not the time.
"The Cimbri are long dead – vanquished," Natasha replies coolly, not phased by the lie, which is after all only half a lie, merely pointing out that she cannot be duped in anything – "I have you as Aduatuci at best. Your people once stood in relation to Rome much as mine do now, am I right? – I'm right." She adds without waiting for a reply, reading it clearly in Loki's shifting eyes – "Besides I was talking to him," she indicated Thor coolly with the tip of a sword. Loki looks affronted but does not stop Thor from replying -
"I am Thor Odinson of the Upper Rhine. I know your husband".
For the first time the green eyes flicker though neither Thor nor Loki can tell with what. Natasha lowers one sword and dismisses the guards. Her lip thins, visibly, as though it is suddenly a greater effort to hold back everything she can, and walks a slow swerve around the table, placing it between herself and the strangers.
"And they all – all this time called me The Widow –" she says ponderously and with just the slightest sneer, not quite losing eye contact though she never looks away – "And I told them it was not so – I told them!" she looks straight at Thor again sharply –
"Tell me."
Thor glances to Loki quickly and Loki nods very slightly.
"He is a gladiator in the Coliseum, he fares well enough but he is a slave of Rome –"
"I can free him –" Loki interjects – "And return him to you, if it will prevent your peoples attack on Rome –"
"You are neither of you Roman, yet you ride from Rome –" Natasha states, as though listing evidence – "You –" she nods towards Thor – "Appear as his slave though you control him even as he gives you your permission to speak and you she turns to Loki – "Appear as a Roman nobleman though you are or were no less a slave than he is and used all the worse by Rome than he, I suspect. Why then should either of you care for Rome or for its fate?"
Loki stares at her steadily, feeling icy and shivering inside at her cool and flawless deduction. She never even once appeared to really look them over and yet she has their measure down to the last drop.
"Oh your accent by the way is perfect," she adds, almost smirking. Loki's eyes narrow –
"One could say the same for yours," he counters, just as unpleasantly. Natasha smiles, eyeing Loki back as narrowly as he regards her.
"Lady, ourselves, and our intentions are our own –" he continues.
"No," she interrupts, holding up a hand to stop him and coming back round to stand nearer –
"Your selves you may keep, but I suspect your intentions at this time are mine to know."
Thor watches them through the candle light; two blazing forces trying to outstare one another. Loki's face, that has somehow grown almost dear to him, is a closed perfect mask rendered alarming in the flickering light, almost daemonic and as for Natasha – Natasha is so intent, so dangerous you could blink and forget she was beautiful if her beauty were not so hypnotic. Pale and strong as a statue, clad in armour, her presence makes her seem so much taller than she is, looming out of the shadow and the reddish light like the first tongue of a forest fire. When she finally blinks and Loki grins it is hard to tell if he has really won or if she has simply chosen to back down this time.
"So what proposal do you bring me?" she asks finally.
"I will buy back your husband –" She frowns –
"You can do that so easily? – but of course –" she corrects herself, half smiling as she glances at Thor – "You've done it before."
Loki refuses to let himself be distracted by her un-nerving ability to piece together apparently his entire life. He suspects his position in Rome would never have lasted five minutes, let alone as long as it has, with someone like her around.
" – and you will come to my house, unaccompanied and in disguise, to take him out of Rome. I do not intend to use my own route twice."
"Neither do I intend to put myself at such a risk. What assurances do you give of my safety in your city?"
"Lady, I suspect you are yourself your own assurance." Loki grins. Natasha smiles back almost nicely, though Loki is not fooled for a minute, nor by the way in which her shoulders relax and everything in her stance drops to signify her trust in Loki's proposition.
"Well then" she smiles – "We have a deal. And where I come from we do not shake on a deal but drink on it. Gentlemen please –"
She pulls the stopper out of a decanter on the table and fills two glasses with the strange pale liquid, shimmering golden in the light. She raises hers and hands Loki the other, they clink in a false display of trust and Natasha drinks. Loki raises his glass and then in the last moment raises his eyebrows at her –did you really think I'd fall for that? – and hands his glass to Thor with a nod at Thor's querying, slightly worried expression, even though he catches the alarm that flares very briefly in Natasha's eyes and tries very hard not to let his concern show. If it was in front of anyone else it would not have shown, but the lady's eyes are in their way as sharp as her husbands' and she misses nothing; still she does not say anything, when Thor, better than to back down before either of them swallows the drink, eyes upon Loki the entire time. She sees the look he gives Loki and reads it well – if this kills me, I do it for you – and sees too Loki's look back that says I'm sorry I'm so sorry but I swear I will not let you die. She can see Loki grimace as though he is the one to taste the poison she herself has long since built up an immunity to and Thor begin to look ill within moments. When Loki drops his mask long enough to even look at her with that frantic concern and Thor staggers with a look of pain, she cracks enough to pour a second glass from a different decanter and hand it to Loki with a sigh –
"Here –" she says – "Your slave looks ill. I suspect he may need another drink."
Loki looks at her angry and distrustful –
"I hope to the gods you're –" he begins, then brushes it away as irrelevant in the face of helping Thor quickly and helps him to the drink though his hands are almost as shaky as Thor's. Thor has no sooner got it down than he is violently sick in a corner of the tent while Loki bends over him, unable to stop himself stroking Thor's hair even though he knows Natasha is watching. When he has heard enough of Thor's laboured but increasingly steadier breathing to know that he is going to be alright he turns back.
"What was that?" he spits, angrily.
"A test," Natasha shrugs – "You passed".
"Exactly how does one fail? By dying? How would that have helped you?"
"I would not have let either of you die," she snorts, as though she cannot believe Loki is so bothered by this – "I wanted to see what you would do. If I thought I could trust you. I will. I am ….sorry I hurt your –" she pauses, not used to saying sorry much more than Loki is and searches for the right word, " – slave," she decides, though it is not the right word to her in the slightest. Loki cocks his head to the side a little –
"Belladonna?"
"I knew you'd know."
"Thor – are you - alright?"
Thor gets to his feet slowly, looking not wholly happy but nodding both to himself and to Loki. Natasha watches the relief wash over Loki's face, and frowns a little –
"I will come," she says.
"Two days from now – this address." Loki writes it down on the corner of one of her maps –
"Now if you would please see us back to our horses. I'd like to say it's been a pleasure but - well -" Loki shrugs – "Next time maybe – hold the belladonna? It's not the most gracious hosting I've ever seen."
Natasha smiles almost apologetically and shouts for two of her guards to come back. She talks to them briefly and Loki correctly judges her to be telling them to return them to their horses.
"Gentlemen," she nods, turning back to them – "I suspect it may have been a pleasure." She watches them turn away before sighing and adding – "And – boys?"
Loki raises an eyebrow at her in silent query for her to continue –
"I don't know what it is between the two of you –" she shakes her head – "But work it out, okay?"
_x_
Quick history lesson if anyone was wondering – Jutland is roughly the area that is now Denmark, it was at one time populated by The Cimbri who fought the Roman Republic in the last century BC but were essentially wiped out before then. Loki wasn't wholly lying about being his heritage though as the Aduatuci who fought Rome in the first century AD were descended from The Cimbri. The Aduatuci were also defeated by the Rome, but some remained split into small groups throughout Belgium and Upper Gaul for some time after that. This will also be relevant in later chapters, hence this very sketchy history!
However before anyone points it out, the Samartian tribes never to my knowledge fought against Rome, but I've written this tribe as so small it probably wouldn't have been noticed by history anyway.
Meanwhile I'm sorry this chapter was so long in coming, I struggle with plot and wasn't sure of Natasha. I hope nobody came across as too much of a douchebag in this, and normal probably explicit service will be resumed shortly!