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Who here has enjoyed Guardians of the Galaxy?
When he awoke, Loki knew he was alone. The smell of a freshly extinguished fire thickly filled the air as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. The last thing he had felt was Thor's weight lifting off him and in a blind moment of panic he turned on his side, eyes frantically searching around the room.
But his brother was no longer there.
Loki jerked. Where was Thor? Where was…
His mind slowed as the memories caught up to him. It had only been two days since...
Loki pushed himself into a sitting position on the side of his bed, his movements sluggish against the numb feeling in his chest. He felt his feet touch the cool stone floor of his dark room but he barely even registered the feeling. He had awoken here, alone, without any indication of what had happened. Even among the dwindling chaos, Loki knew Odin would forbid his venture within the palace; such was the will of the Allfather. He did not have to test the entrance to his chambers to feel the slight twist of Odin's wards against his own.
They had just... left him here.
He sat there for a few moments, his grief unable to blossom beneath the crushing weight of denial and guilt. He lowered his gaze to his garments and noticed he still wore his loose fitting tunic and casual coat from his time in the library. Thick ribbons that held the fabric of his tunic firm around his arms were torn and wreaked of fire. Loki opened his hands as they rested on his legs numbly and stared at the dried and cracked blood which stained his hands. He moved his gaze further to himself, and stared at the vast amount of blood that had soaked onto his chest and through the fabric. It was a stark contrast against his usual colour, the deep maroon that was a reminder of what had happened. It coated him, and the more he thought about it the more he could feel how much of Thor's blood had bled onto him.
Loki could not distinguish which blood belonged to Thor or which belonged to Frigga.
He stood with great difficulty and straightened as he remained in his chambers, his mind on auto pilot. He swayed for a moment before moving towards his washroom. Pushing the door open, he wandered in and placed himself in front of his grand mirror. With much hesitation he raised his gaze to his reflection.
Specks and smears of blood paint his face as he looks at himself. He is frozen, mind still unable to process what is so clearly apparent on his face. Loki grips his large basin until his knuckles turn white. Swallowing he reaches for the jug of water placed before him and pours it slowly into the ceramic set, watching quietly as the basin fills with clear liquid. With stiff movements he lifts his arms and removes his tunic. It falls to the floor without a second thought as he stares at it for a while.
For the briefest of moments he thinks,
Is death my companion?
But the quiet thought fades away and he inhales deeply and picks up a cloth, dipping it into the clear liquid. He lifts his head and gazes once more at himself, bringing the damp cloth against his face and letting it set on his skin. Exhaling, he cleans himself slowly, routinely, without thought, wringing out the cloth each time.
The water turns red almost immediately, but Loki continues at his own pace.
The greatest difficulty Loki finds after a while is cleaning the red that has stained his hands.
Loki looks up as the vehicle comes to a stop. He looks to Natasha underneath her disguise and she nods. They follow their division, silently opting to remain at the back. Loki stares at his surroundings in curiosity. An entire gathering of warriors surrounds them; setting up what Loki assumes is a long term encampment. He observes Midgardians as they prepare their weapons, pointing each tip in the same direction, and Loki follows their assumed targets. He sees nothing but the base of a vast mountain range before them, peaks capped with snow surrounded by what remains of an overnight storm. The vast mass of stone towers into the sky and Loki merely looks on with inquisitiveness. Most of the Midgardian land he has seen thus far has been dense with mortal cities and villages.
It is almost refreshing to the god to see untouched land.
A noise brings his attention once more to Natasha as she nods her head to the edge of the encampment. The earth here is thick and disturbed in the early hours of the morning as dew and mist cause the ground to soften with mud.
Once they are well clear of the encampment they move into the tree line once more, making as much distance between them as they can. As they come to a stop Natasha turns and faces him.
"You can drop the illusion now." She says, almost out of irritation.
Loki raises an eyebrow in gentle amusement as his form shimmers in emerald green. His features fade back into the familiar while the Widow's form remains as she was.
"I'm serious."
"But you look rather handsome as a man." Loki remarks casually.
Knowing he cannot goad her into a taunt he waves his hand absentmindedly and her form reverts quickly. He hears her sigh in relief.
"We're not gonna do that again." She murmurs.
Loki turns his head in the direction the warriors were fussing over and hums.
"Such commotion over a mere mountain range, yet I saw no enemy." He says looking back at her.
"The base of that mountain range marks the border of Hungary. We need to pass those and then we will be in Latveria."
Loki turns his gaze once more, through the tree line to the tips of the mountains. He frowns. It will be easy to pass them; while they appear large at a distance, he has seen larger.
"Those mortals did not pass the border, not even by a mere foot." He says aloud. "Yet their weapons were drawn, as though they were waiting for something."
It takes a long moment for Natasha to reply.
"Tensions between Latveria are high." She says with much seriousness. Sighing she turns to Loki and thins her lips. "We needed the intel that Clint was sent to retrieve, but he was compromised."
"What are you trying to tell me, Agent Romanoff?" Loki lowers his brow, slightly pleased that the mortal was giving him information.
"In there is Doom's country and the Security Council has deemed the situation at high risk. If we aren't careful, Doom may start World War III."
Loki snorts and immediately he tries to mask himself, but the simple notion seems so ridiculous.
"Something funny?" Natasha asks seriously.
Loki merely raises his hand, trying to placate the situation as he manages to control his emotions.
"Do forgive my abruptness, but you've only had two great wars? It seems your realm will always remain in its infancy..." He remarks as he regains his composure.
"Oh, I'm sure you're used to war by now..." Natasha says sourly and pulls her uniform closer to her body. "Weren't you born in one?" She murmurs.
Loki's features fall immediately as her words strike him more than he expected.
"Careful." He hisses at her, eyes darkening with rage. "My being here is under no obligation... you would do well to remember that, mortal." Loki flexes his fingers once more, letting her words slide over him like water.
"Well then," Loki says, breaking the tense silence. "Shall we?" Spreading his hands he bows forward, letting the mortal go first.
It does not take long to enter the border into Latveria, their keen eyes being able to find a pass between the towering stone mountains, and by nightfall they are well traveled into the country. Loki muses at the sudden contrast he is placed between: from the city lights to sudden calm wilderness. The forests here remind him almost of Asgard, and a sharp pang causes him to lower his head. Even as he remains quiet, he can sense the disturbance here more prominently than before. It is strange, he thinks, to encounter something like this on a mortal realm. As he follows behind The Widow, he lets his hands brush against the forest around them. Loki ignores the frost that creeps upon bark, leaf, and moss alike while he concentrates.
The wilderness is coated in it, and Loki closes his eyes while he still follows Natasha. He lowers his brow in slight focus as he slips in between the coating and tilts his head as he dissects the enchantment around them.
He cannot place it, and curiosity burns within him.
A simple tracking spell, Loki hums softly as he opens his eyes; it reeks of something strange, something... foreign.
Natasha turns slightly as she hears him mutter to himself. She raises an eyebrow, but when Loki merely stares back, she returns to leading them further from the border.
"Doomstadt should be another day's walk... If we don't encounter trouble."
"What knowledge do you have that causes you believe your Hawk and Captain are there?" Loki asks, not really caring.
"Because nothing happens in Latveria without Doom's knowledge."
Loki briefly raises his gaze to the oncoming night sky.
"That may be so but it does not help how you came to this conclusion, surely there are other fortresses elsewhere in this land?"
"Well, if you had spies who had classified information," Natasha turns her head slightly, "You would want to keep them close."
"Experience, I assume."
"Of course." Natasha says flatly. "Also quicker to dispose of them if you're compromised."
Loki does not respond after that, and together they continue walking. The night falls upon them quicker than they expected but Natasha continues walking. Loki looks down, noticing the slight markings she makes on the ground as her tired feet drag. He frowns for a moment as confusion covers him. He had always had keen vision within the darkness, but looking down upon the dirt it was as though his vision had tripled in accuracy. He could see the details of the ground beneath them as though he were looking at it in pure daylight. Loki's pulse raced as he brought his fingers to his eyes. Unable to touch, but he knew.
He knew.
His Jotun form had spread to his vision. He knew his eyes would show the sickening red against his cerulean skin.
"We should camp here for a few hours." Natasha says, breaking him from his panic.
He snaps his head upwards and lowers his hands to his chest. Through the darkness he watches as Natasha fumbles around for some wood, not realising and unable to see how his form has progressed. A brief worry flows through him.
Natasha knows his form is changing, but still... the thought of her gaze bearing down onto his blight strikes raw fear through his heart.
No one should see him like this. So open, his true hideous self, a lesser being against the pale skin of those better than him.
Natasha piles dry wood together and strikes stone against stone. Each spark sends concern into Loki and the sound of forming ice causes him to look down. Frost creeps from him and expands in a perfect circle around him. Loki widens his eyes.
Not now, not now, not now... he thinks over and over. Control it! He screams in his mind, but the frost continues to creep towards Natasha and even in the darkness he can hear her breathing shake.
The sound of a warm body shivering against the cold, his cold.
"I will..." Loki thinks quickly, "fetch more wood." He says trying to keep his voice smooth.
Natasha hums and continues to strike the stones together impatiently as Loki quickly departs the immediate area.
Control it. He repeats to himself, willing his heart to calm.
Once he is cleared of the area surrounding the mortal, Loki inhales deeply, raising his hands and pressing them down before him. A simple calming technique he learned centuries ago before practicing his craft. After a few minutes his breathing falls back into its regular pace and his heart calms. Loki relaxes momentarily, thinking he has the ice under control until once more his attention is brought down towards the ground. The tips of the grass glint with a fresh coat of evening dew as they freeze into a thin sheet of ice. Loki's face contorts in anger and he balls up his fists, thrusting them to his side as it becomes too much.
The sound of a chilled wind brushes through him and it is then that Loki hears it.
He snaps his gaze to his left hand, all of his anger leaving his side as he watches a perfect symmetrical spear form from ice between his fingers. He watches in concerned curiosity as it grows, builds upon itself, fitting neatly within every part of his hand as if it were his own. Loki raises his arm in trepidation, letting the moonlight shimmer through the deep blue weapon as he inspects his accidental creation.
How in the nine? He thinks as he stands still.
Loki extends his other hand and uses his free fingers to touch the smooth surface. It thrums with his own energy as his red eyes see into the ice. His finger traces upon the edge but a small pain causes him to retract it quickly.
So sharp, he stares at the small drop of blood bloom on his fingertip. He looks at it in wonder, but the feeling soon fades and he shakes his head quickly. He lets go of the weapon and shakes his hand as though it burns. It shatters on the ground, leaving nothing but hundreds of fragments on the earth.
Loki stares at it despairingly.
A brief longing for his brother, for home, fills his mind as Loki stares at all that is foreign before him.
Loki swallows it down with difficulty as his feet begin to move.
As he returns, with frozen branches within his grasp he is forced to squint against the harsh light of the fire. Natasha sits against a tree, close to the warmth. Through the corner of his eye, Loki sees her head turn to his direction.
But Natasha stays silent.
He sits slowly, turning himself away from the burning light, his back to the flame and the gaze of Natasha.
It remains this way for the rest of the night.
An alert lets you sit next to our companions campfire a review lets you help Loki understand his little, ice problem.
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