All the arguments and discussions were finally done; the decision had been made and they were ready to move forward. Time was on the enemy's side; two days passed getting everything and everyone assembled in the right place. Clint's patience was fraying, not that he had much anyway for spidery faded text and cricks in his neck from looking down. He didn't understand Philip's obvious love of the smell of old pages, but then few people could spend hours in one place, waiting for the perfect shot. To each their own, he guessed. Now that he was packing the saddle bags and readying the horses, Clint's mood had improved, and he was able to put away the thoughts that pricked his conscience.
Were they doing the right thing? He couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't have all the pieces to this puzzle. Reacting wasn't the best way to plan a campaign; too easy to make simple mistakes when he didn't know the lay of the land. Loki lied, that was an established fact, so why believe he was telling the truth about the bonding? He could just as easily be manipulating them into trying this too soon without all the right information. And that was really the heart of the matter. Clint had never been one to believe in love at first sight or heart connections or whatever romantics were calling it these days. Yet, here he was, declaring his love after knowing Philip for a little over a month. Lust, yes, he could go with that explanation, but this was much more than just a physical reaction, and there was no denying the magic part of their pairing.
"You overthinking things again?" Jessica asked, dropping a full pack with the others. "I can see your brain working; you scrunch your forehead when you think you're not worth anything or good enough."
"I'm entitled to worry about an ancient ritual that may cause a massive storm or just explode with me at the center." He'd been expecting this, but his money had been on Carol being the first to broach the subject in her usual blunt way.
"That's already a possibility as things stand. I helped clean up the study, you know. From what happened at the McCarter's, I'd say learning how to harness your powers are at the top on our agenda." She put her hands on her hips, and Clint knew she was getting to her most important point; that was Jessica's tell. "My gut is telling me this is the best option, Clint. It's not without risk but all the other paths are darker. You already know that, if you'd listen to your heart."
Clint had long ago learned to trust Jessica's instincts. She had a sixth sense about danger that had saved their asses many times. The more desperate the situation, the stronger her talent became. If she turned left in the middle of battle, Clint would follow even if it meant running right into a wall of swords. "My heart's a traitorous bastard that wants to knock Philip unconscious, drag him off by the hair on his head, and scream 'Mine, don't touch' like a three-year-old. Not sure I trust it to give me rational advice."
That got a smile and chuckle from her, and she relaxed, dropping her hands. "Sometimes, logic fails and all we have left is emotion. Not that I wouldn't love to see you try that, but I imagine all you have to do is ask and Philip would go voluntarily."
"See? Not making any sense." He'd run away without a plan, acting out of hurt and anger. If he hadn't stumbled into Natasha's life, he'd be long dead in some back alley. Emotional decisions had led his mother to marry his father and look how that had turned out.
"You're not a sixteen-year-old girl swept off her feet by a handsome, charming stranger," Carol tossed into the conversation as she led the horses out into the yard. "Nor are you your father either"
Yes, Clint thought, Carol always cut right to the chase. "They knew each other six weeks before the wedding; she thought he was the man of her dreams come to take her to the glitter of court life."
"Do you see Philip as your way out of here?" Picking up a saddle bag, Carol started tying it onto the saddle of her horse, Chewie.
"I married him for money and protection," Clint argued back, but with no heat. Carol was too good at reading him.
"And he knew that, so no comparison there. You didn't expect to go all courtly love on him." She teased. "Nor did you marry him for his magic or to be your bonded partner. Fate can be a real bitch, but she's always right."
"I'm not going to get a break from you two, am I?" His good humor kicked in and he let the ball of worry go for the most part. If Carol and Jessica were onboard then this ship was sailing.
"No. Now go gather up everyone else and let's get on the trail. I don't want to leave the timing to chance." Carol patted Chewie, smoothing out a stray tangle of hair with her fingers.
"Always early," Jessica started the old argument. "We'll get there and have nothing to do but sit around and wait."
"Better waiting than arriving late," Carol came back. Clint left them to it; he could play the whole conversation in his head, and the familiarity of it soothed him. Just like old times, he thought and grinned. The world might hang in the balance, but they were still the same. And, damn if that wasn't a comforting idea.
"You know Carol's not going to let you two stay in that circle by yourselves," Natasha said falling in beside him as he crossed the yard towards the house.
That translated to: I'm not letting you do this alone. Where Carol went with a blunt instrument and Jessica trusted her gut, Natasha was all logic. "I'll be okay."
"Kept telling yourself that, but we both know this is just as likely to blow up in your face as it is to work." She wasn't happy about the unknown elements; she'd merely shrugged at the love part of the whole equation, but the magic was her biggest concern.
"And thus why you need to be at a safe distance." Up the steps, they stopped on the porch. "Nat, if we go up in a blaze of glory, you know that I named you my primary heir, right?"
She shook her red curls, her refusal plain. "Let's talk about the real issue here; you're going to end up naked in the circle and probably having sex. We've all seen you without clothes and can close our eyes, for the gods' sake. You think we don't know what you two have been up to? You forget to lock doors and ride off on horseback? Honestly?"
Heat flushed his cheeks. "Don't say that to Philip. He worries about maintaining a proper level of respectability as a Lord, and he's sensitive about it. Plus, he's, um, pretty vocal."
"Ah, well, then, we'll just step out of sight discreetly so his modesty can remain intact." She raised one eyebrow, her version of a tell – Natasha never gave anything away she didn't want to, so it was a conscious gesture – and scanned his eyes. "You love him."
Might as well accept the one undeniable fact. He might not like how fast it happened or the magical implications of it, but yes, he loved Philip Coulson. "I do," he admitted. A spark jumped the gulf of space between them, static making Natasha's hair rise in individual strands. A counter melody of mellophones faded after only a measure or two, and her green eyes widened in honest surprise.
"I'm not …" she started.
"No. We just … fit … as a team." He needed to get Philip to explain. "Bruce too."
She nodded; she'd already figured Bruce had a role to play. "We'll talk about this later. Carol's glaring at us and you know how she gets if we make her shift her schedule."
Inside, he found Philip and Bruce going over one last text which was really the fourteenth they'd decided they had to investigate before they left. They were both standing at the desk in the study, the book spread out between them; Philip's hands were on the desktop and he was leaning over. His eyes had to be tired; he'd been taking off his lens and rubbing them for the last few hours. Walking over, Clint stepped up behind him, close enough for his chest to brush Philip's back and for his exhale to tickle the back of his neck, a neck that needed kissing. So he did, light little grazes of lips to skin. He didn't miss the way Philip shivered, the slightest ripple that ran down his spine.
"Time to go." Philip pushed up, right into Clint. They lingered for a few seconds, bodies warm against each other then parted. "Let's do this."
Clint knew his bravado hid insecurities; they'd talked about it last night, wound around each other beneath the quilts, words easier to form when they were little more than shadows in the room. Their confessions tied them closer, made them more determined and more secure. Together they were stronger, but that didn't mean they wore blinders to the possible outcomes – just that they were ready to deal with whatever came their way.
Tense and quiet, they rode out of the compound at an easy pace; it was Jessica who broke the silence first, nudging in front of Carol, complaining at the slow speed. As expected, Carol took offense and the two were off on another one of their back-and-forths, made all the more humorous by the fact that Carol enjoyed an adrenaline rush just as much as Jessica. When Carol winked at Clint, he joined in, reminding them both of the time they were stuck in mud during a particularly bad rainy season in the Keys. The mood lightened and the jokes went on as they rode. Bruce told a story about a young clerk he knew who tried to turn water into wine and failed spectacularly. Philip had lots of tales of his brother Peter climbing towers and swinging across the courtyard at Tarian Castle, but the exploits of his sister Darcy made everyone laugh when he told of the time she faced down a very arrogant Lady of the court wearing nothing but her night shift and carrying chain of sausage links. She had been twelve at the time. Even Natasha offered up a very embarrassing tidbit about Clint that involved his distaste for baths and a garbage dump. The time passed swiftly, the approaching ritual not forgotten, but not weighing on them nearly as much.
The stones were as Clint remembered, towering up from their pockets of earth, grey in the late afternoon sun. Spots of moss mottled the surfaces, white and green and crinkled, sharp edges worn smooth from the wind and touch of human fingers. Clint had seen bigger circles with multiple rings – the one on Kaywiss Island still had the henge built up around it, only a small pathway in through the high circle of earth that came up to his shoulders. This circle had only one oval outer ring with a headstone tipped slightly towards the stone table, a horizontal slab of sandstone in the very center. Singer had told them the story that someone or something was once buried under the table, but any hint of whom or what was long gone, looted by thieves. Locals had to keep filling in the dirt to keep it from collapsing because robbers still dug under, expecting to find gold or jewels. Of the twelve stones that formed the outer ring, five of the cross stones, the ones that balanced on top of two stones, making what would have been six square archways, were still in place. One had fallen and cracked, the largest chunk lying inside the circle with a smaller part just outside.
The ground around the circle was free of undergrowth and the grass trampled down into a path that ran between the keystone and the headstone, passing beneath the southern facing arch. Three more paths, one each prime direction, led away from the circle and into the forest beyond. Someone had cleared the weeds from the stone table recently and baskets of harvest offerings still decorated the ground around the base of the headstone, only a few days old.
They sat about unpacking the items they'd brought, most designed to protect anyone outside the circle in case Philip's magic or the ritual was stronger than the stones. Carol laid a ring of salt around the circumference; Jessica followed behind her with a dust that Singer had said would protect from undead incursions and wargs. Bruce drew warding symbols with a piece of white chalk on all the stones, and Natasha placed hex bags underneath every arch stone. Clint laid out a traditional wedding offering around the headstone of rowan branches, a dozen eggs, a glass of whiskey, and dried mountain heather all gathered from these very foothills. Philip's job was to kindle a fire in a small brazier and start the lavender incense, unique to the Midlands where Coulson Hall was located. Both their heritages were represented as part of the union. The others spread out, taking their positions outside the circle, one on each of the paths, covering the compass points.
"Okay, here we go." Philip knelt and touched the salt circle and a shimmer filled the air, enclosing Clint and him inside. Then he touched the dust; this one was hazy, like the thinnest layer translucent fog. Finally, he laid his hands on two stones, bridging an uncovered gap, closed his eyes and concentrated. Clint felt this one click into place, consuming the other two; the air turned iridescent, curving over their heads, muffling the sounds of the forest. He could still see the others, but they were slightly out-of-focus, wavy like in a poorly polished mirror. The light wind dropped; leaves blew past them, sliding over the circle as they tumbled along.
Like shutting a door, Clint grew warmer as the power stopped escaping, held in by the circle. It tumbled over his skin, setting his teeth on edge, and raising goose bumps on the skin of his arms. Philip rubbed his hands over his thighs, nerves getting the best of him. Loosening his belt and tossing off his vest, Clint took his place at the north end of the stone table and waited for Philip to stand opposite. They'd argued about who went first, going in the end with the tradition of the Lord opening the vows.
"I, Clinton Francis Barton, in front of my thanes and witnesses, declare for all to hear that I freely bind myself to you, Philip James Coulson, now and for the rest of my natural born life, to be my partner and husband. All that is mine is yours without hesitation or exception. I give you my heart, my mind, my soul, my very essence to share and hold. Storm nor illness nor whim of fate will come between us. I vow to remain faithful and steadfast until the end of time; you are me, and I am you, and never the two shall be separated."
The specific words weren't as important as the intent, so Clint had gone with the vow he was most familiar with. The air grew more humid, the autumn chill changing to a late summer heat inside the circle as he finished speaking. A thread of melody, easy quarter notes in a simple tune began to resonate in his heart.
Philip had chosen to go with an old vow from one of his favorite tales. "How can I keep my soul in me when it yearns to touch yours? Why would I raise it high, past you, to other things? I once desired to shelter my soul among remote lost objects, in some dark and silent place, but now it resonates when your depths resound. Everything that touches me and you, aims us like a bow, drawing one voice out of two. The music holds us in its melody, oh sweetest song."
Clint breathed in the tension that was building around them, churning inside the boundary. Each phrase on an emotional playback in his mind, he was drawn in by Philip's eyes, memories of the sea blue blurred with pleasure. He loosened the ties on his shirt and relaxed his hands, unclenching them and clenching them again to release the tightness. His cock stirred, half-hard already just from the promises made.
"I, Natasha Romanov, witness and recognize these vows as binding and permanent in the old ways." She spoke clearly, her voice ringing through the clearing.
"I, Carol Danvers, witness and recognize these vows as binding and permanent in the old ways." Carol was the second person who'd joined Clint, earning his trust.
"I, Jessica Drew, witness and recognize these vows as binding and permanent in the old ways." Last of the three, Jessica had rounded out the trio, strong and flexible in her thoughts.
Then it was Bruce's turn. "I, Robert Bruce Banner, Clerk of the Desert Order, declare these two souls bonded in mind and body. May the gods bless them and their future endeavors. Amen."
The power burst from them, rushing from where they stood out, slamming into the barrier; it bowed out, turned translucent, running up from the ground to the apex, a curtain that hid them from the outside. Then the energy rebounded, knocking Clint forward. He threw out his hands and caught himself on the stone slab; the rock was reverberating, humming in harmony with the melody that was playing in his head. Like a bow string, pulled back, muscles shaking with effort to hold it there, the circle was primed and ready for what came next. So were they; Clint was sweating, the heat oppressively humid now.
"Are you okay?" Bruce called; he was nothing but a misty outline as he moved to the very edge of the circle.
"We're good. Ready to move on to phase two," Clint called after Philip nodded his agreement. "We'll give you a ten minute head start to get out of the danger zone."
"If we don't hear from you in an hour, we're coming in," Carol warned; the closer she got the clearer her form became.
"Two hours." They'd had this argument earlier, but Carol never gave up.
"It's okay," Philip said, shaking his head even though only Clint could see him. "I know they're not going far. I think I can …" He closed his eyes and concentrated; the barrier became crystal clear, and Carol stepped back, startled.
"Did you?" She asked. Philip nodded and then sent clouds crawling up the arc until they were completely enclosed and cut off from view.
"Our own privacy curtain." Clint walked around the stone, but carefully didn't touch Philip even though he wanted to desperately. "We'll be fine. Off you go," he said to the others.
"Don't kill yourself," Natasha said as way of farewell. Clint heard them leave, sound having no problem piercing the veil.
"Yeah, I've got too much to live for," Clint replied, his eyes on Philip and the nervous tick of his fingers against the stone. Philip was tapping in time to the music. Giving into the impulse, Clint untucked his shirt and pulled it over his head, folding it up and tossing it next to their pack.
"Don't you dare ask if it's hot in here," Philip joked, trying to lighten the mood. He was undressing too, tugging off his boots, feeling less self-conscious now that he knew the others couldn't see.
"Hey, I already know the answer to that. It's just you." Clint winked, shucking his boots and pants until he was standing naked in the middle of an ancient circle of stones getting ready to perform an untested spell and probably end up having sex within earshot of his best friends. When did this become his life? Not that he hadn't gotten into some strange situations in the past – the brothel in Baisle jumped to mind for some reason – but this ranked as one of the weirdest in recent memory.
Rather than rely upon a written copy, they had memorized the ritual, taking it line by line to alternate the invocation. Clint set the small crock of gel on the stone and it kept rattling when his hand left it there. They'd decided discretion was best served by preparation, and Clint had talked Philip into doing it together, with a rather uninspired idea of taking the edge off, as he'd called it. Not that Philip had bought it, but he certainly didn't seem to mind in the end. So Clint was loose and ready, and his libido was more than primed, aching hard as he stood here and looked at Philip's lean body. A moment of doubt hit him; what did Philip think when he looked at him? Muscles and scarred skin, reminders of his checkered past.
"You're gorgeous." Philip's words drew Clint's eyes up to his. "I can't believe you agreed to be mine."
He closed the distance between them and reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing the crescent shaped scar on Clint's hip. A tiny moan came from the back of Clint's throat at the trail of heat they left, and his cock jumped.
"You're the crazy one. Take on this backwater hold when you could have so much more, anyone at court for your own." Clint spread his fingers over Philip's shoulder and ran them down his arm.
"Why would I want any of those pretentious twits? This is where I belong."
The statement hit right into Clint's heart; someone choosing him over riches or fame or power. He couldn't stop himself from drawing Philip in for a gentle kiss, so close that their bodies pressed together and little jolts of static crossed between them. One kiss wasn't enough and two led to three then four.
"We need to …" Philip murmured, but kept his hold on Clint.
"We should start," Clint agreed, kissing him again.
The ground shifted beneath their feet and a loud crack of thunder sounded directly overhead. They stepped back by sheer force of will, breathing fast.
"Gods, okay." Philip inhaled deeply. He offered his hands to Clint and they joined them, standing back to mitigate the sexual desire that was coursing through them. Locking eyes, Clint started the first line of the invocation.
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments."
Rolls of thunder accompanied the crackle of lightning. They could hear the wind kick up outside the barrier. Inside, the hairs on Clint's arms and back of his neck stood up, charged with the electricity that bounced between them. His cock hardened further, his mouth dried at the images that flickered behind his eyes of Philip, laid out before him, open and ready for him to sink into. He slid his hands up Philip's arms and drew him closer.
"Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove."
Philip's voice shook with emotion, breaking slightly on the word remove. The storm outside intensified; the wind howled as it whipped through the trees and heavy raindrops pattered down onto the protective circle, running down the sides. The marks on Clint's skin, where Philip had claimed him, burned down to the bone, claiming him below the skin, every part of him. As it went, the fire purified, erasing all the symbols of others who went before, every spot and scar and stain, both external and internal. A searing ache that was as arousing as it was painful, Clint felt like he was being flayed and laid bare. He had to drag his focus back to the ritual and spoke the next line.
"O no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken."
The tempest outside matched the one in Clint's core. Every impulse screamed at him to fight the invasion, to protect himself from this cleansing, but the pure bliss of Philip's touch kept him from doing it. Instead he sank into the energy that orbited around them, filling the stone circle like water from the ocean, creating a riptide that pulled him under. He welcomed the pain as it closed over his head, giving up on breathing air, replacing it with Philip instead. Mouth opened and he drank Philip's taste, their tongues twirling and lips pressing and parting until Philip remembered to continue.
"It is the star to every wandering bark whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken."
Clint wasn't falling into Philip; they were rising up, leaving the earth behind. The stars surrounded them as the world fell away. Above the storm, he could hear the music of the spheres, a symphony of the universe, every planet and star singing together in full and perfect harmony. His body split into pieces, his only tethers Philip's hands on Clint's body and his mouth sucking on Clint's neck, leaving scorching pathways that wrenched him back down to earth, into the circle, hollowed out and empty now of everything but the beat of the music and Philip's heart. Above the bass line, he sang the next words, no other option but to make them part of the song.
"Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come."
Phantom wargs gnawed on his arm and leg, a sword swept and left an angry red line down his arm, a burning poker seared his flesh … every memory of every time he'd come close to death replayed, and he could feel each one as if it was happening right now. Crying out Philip's name, he strained for the healing touch of his hands; cool and soothing, fingers ran along his muscles, tracing lines of ownership as they went. They came tougher, bodies and minds, holding each other through agony after agony as they died again and again, only to be reborn in each other's arms. Philip was crying, his tears soaking into Clint's skin, tiny points that cured all his hurts and made Philip's voice tremble on the next line.
"Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom."
The power was inside with them now, jagged purple magic that connected them as Clint laid Philip onto the stone table, just as he'd imagined, and surged into him. Stripped bare on the outside and cleansed on the inside, Clint sheathed himself in Philip's energy and his body, a tight warmth that pulled him in and clenched around him. Philip groaned as Clint's slick hands grabbed his hips to hold him steady as he began to stroke, snapping his hips, taking Philip as his own. They were the storm, sucking it down into their bodies, Clint's thrusts the lightning, their sweat the rain, and Philip's moans the roll of thunder. Philip's legs wrapped around Clint's waist and Clint leaned down, resting his weight on the stone that pulsed with them. In the eye of the maelstrom, Clint sank into Philip with each plunge, sharing his body, his heart, his very soul. Hours past, weeks, years, and Clint moved, stoking them to heights unheard of, a place they'd never been before. Then Philip shouted and came, energy rolling off both of them, rattling the stones in their ancient beds before curling back to consume Clint as he followed Philip over the edge. For a moment, Clint looked up and saw himself, sweat slicked hair, eyes squeezed closed, arms trembling from exertion; he was Philip, they were one, their orgasm shared and more than doubled. Pulling out, Clint realized he was still hard, his climax only a momentary reprieve, Philip in the same condition. Between gasps, Clint whispered the first part of the conclusion.
"If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ … "
The stones levitated as they sang, a melody so old that the notes were words and the words were power. Only the headstone remained firmly in place beneath Clint's hands as he moved, bracing himself, knowing that claiming worked both ways. Philip's fingers spaced between Clint's own, his palms on the back of Clint's hands, his arms bracketing Clint, and his chest along Clint's back. This time, Philip filled Clint, slotting into his body and his soul, taking all the empty spaces and rewriting them with his name. Slippery skin slid easily, and there were no impediments left between them; Philip melted into Clint, Clint welcomed him and felt his own muscles clench Philip tight. The music swelled, Clint's single theme unraveling and knitting to Philip's, their joint tune merging with the stones and the spheres above. Sharing one body, Clint saw Philip's power engulfing them, felt Philip's climax fast approaching.
"Phil," He only had to think to be understood as they hurtled towards the pinnacle. Need and ache and love and magic became indistinguishable as his fingers began to sink into the stone. When he came for the second time, he tumbled into the rock, falling through the solid matter, down beneath the soft dirt, and into a tunnel, a narrow ladder that lead to a passage with long, low stairs made of stone. Zooming through, their consciousness taking the twists and turns, rock walls opening up into a cavern, ledge ending abruptly, nothing but darkness beneath. Far away, a glint of silver and royal blue flashed then Clint was back in his body, Philip's arms around him, holding him so tight he could barely expand his lungs to get a breath. Exhaling as he shuddered and came, Philip whispered the last phrase into Clint's ear.
"… nor no man ever loved."
No barrier could stand against the shock wave that rattled the stones and blast outward, rolling right through the circle without even a flutter of the smoky arc. Expanding outward, the circle grew wider as the swell of magic widened …
Jessica's head snapped up. "Hold on to something," she warned just as the wave hit. Leaping up, she caught a middle branch and swung, flipping on to the next tree with ease.
Carol stood her ground, leaning into it; the magic swirled around her, pulling at her clothes, and she lifted up, feet leaving the earth until she was hovering above the ground.
Natasha simply faded away, disappearing in the wind then rematerializing yards away.
Bruce growled, flexed his muscles and changed, growing in size as the energy passed through him.
… and Philip stumbled back as power poured into both of them. It was an overture of horns and deep brass, Clint's song turned into a thematic movement that stirred passion and the soul. Claiming marks spread the electric jolts through their whole bodies and back through their intimate connection.
Bobby Singer saw Kevin flinch before he felt the force crest over him; the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Books levitated, spun and crashed back down before it passed.
Melinda McCarter was changing one of Andrew's bandages when he gasped and sat upright, spine going straight, hands clenched on the edge of the bed. Behind her, her grandson Hank's wrench he was working with fell from his fingers; it clattered loudly on the stone floor as he dropped his head into his hands.
Annamarie tripped and lost the load of clean sheets she was carrying when William appeared under her feet. A bolt of lightning crackled towards the chatelaine, and she covered her head in a vain attempt to protect herself. Theodore pushed her aside taking the brunt of the strike; it rolled off his skin like he was made of stone, the haze of electricity left hanging in the air.
Samuel Wilson stepped out of his cousin's shop, Luke at his side, both of them concerned with the dark clouds that were rolling in far too fast for comfort. Thunder crashed and a bolt of lightning jumped from sky to ground, striking the metal pole that held the sign for Frasierton Inn; it broke and flew towards them. Jumping out of the way, Samuel looked down and realized he was five feet above the ground, arms outstretched as if he had wings. Below, Luke held the heavy wooden placard in his hands as if it weighed nothing.
Clint pushed himself up, the ground cold beneath his bare skin helping to clear his head. Philip was curled next to him, tremors wracking him. Scooping him up, Clint pulled him close and wrapped Philip in his arms as the music rose to the finale. "I've got you," Clint murmured as he stroked along Philip's spine. "I'm right here."
Maria Hill was sweating despite the chill of the coming evening as she finished sparring with Peter. He always gave her a run for her money, his youth and unending energy a balance for her experience; he was a natural, twisting his body in ways that Maria never could even at his age. Turning to block his attack, Maria felt the wind kick up and the ground shudder, a smattering of rain blowing their way. Then her vision blurred as she moved, dodging Peter's sword when he flipped over her head, landing on the vertical wall of the keep's outer bailey and clinging there.
In the solar, Darcy tuned out her friend Jane's discussion of the book she was reading. Her stomach lurched and the world seemed to spin. All she could see was brown curls wrapped around her fingers and a dark shape looming over the mountains. She heard Philip saying some words, then shouting, his voice echoing in the darkness. But it was Jane, calling her name, shaking her, not her brother, when she opened her eyes.
"I saw it," Philip said. "In a cave, the one I've been dreaming of."
"Stairs under the headstone," Clint added, knowing exactly what Philip was talking about. "Buried, waiting for us to find it.
Anthony Stark was asleep, his head on his workbench; the drawings and sketches of machines scattered about the room rustled and shifted as the magic passed over him, his fingers scrabbling against his chest as he dreamed of armor, two sets, an old and silver one with red and blue accents, dented and rusted, left in pieces, and another brand new one, red and gold with a glowing blue circle in the breastplate.
"Sir," his butler, Jarvis, awoke him. "Virginia Potts is here, the young lady who uncovered your manager's theft. You told me you wished to speak to her."
Janet Van Dyne was in the small garden behind what had been her mother's rooms; they were now occupied by her guardian's mistress, a cold woman who had nothing but pinches and smacks for the teenager. She should run away, would serve them right, but she wouldn't let them win. This was hers, all of it – the castle, the gardens, the surrounding holds – and there was her father's workshop to think about. She couldn't let his inventions be suppressed or forgotten.
A fat, yellow and black bumble bee buzzed by just as the wave hit; she tumbled off the bench and fell flat on her back, staring up into the first blooms of witch hazel as bees and wasps flew away, agitated. A thump, then a concussive boom, and she rolled up and ran for the smoke pouring out of the tower windows.
"It's like ringing a bell; everyone who's the least bit sensitive will know." Clint dragged his pants on, tossing Philip his. "We've got to move."
"We need to get under that stone and follow it to the cave. For that, we'll need shovels and equipment, torches, someone who knows the terrain." Philip had his pants and one boot on before the others got there.
"Clint?" Natasha called.
"Stand back. Philip's going to break …" Clint began. Philip waved a hand and the circle fell without a sound. "… I mean, we found a secret passageway. I think that's where we need to be." He turned to find his three Thanes staring at him. "What?"
"Your scars. They're gone," Carol said, nodding towards his exposed chest.
Running a hand down his side, he felt nothing but smooth skin. Philip's mark tingled when he brushed his fingers across it, little purple sparks jumping into the palm of his hand.
"Well, damn," he breathed.
Prince Thor of Asgard watched as his men cleared the field of battle, severing the heads of each revenant's corpse, a wizard following to cleanse the body of magical aftereffects. His blonde hair was loose and the breeze stirred the tendrils as the storm blew over the mountains, smelling of rain and magic. Fandaral stepped up next to him and turned his head into the wind.
"They've bonded; the power is much more than I expected," he said. Sif's messenger had reached them only late yesterday. "That does not bode well."
"Aye," Thor agreed. "I do not believe father's decision to remain apart from the Midlands is the correct path; this only confirms it." He tossed back his cloak and attached his hammer to its place on his belt. "I must go south, meet these Lords, see the situation for myself."
"Queen Frigga would wish to extend an apology for Loki's behavior," Fandaral suggested. Thor smiled at his Thane and friend.
"Aye, that she would. And as I am already so close, 'tis more expedient if I went." He clapped the other man on the back, his strength pushing him forward. "You are wise in the ways of women, my friend."
"More like I'm a good bullshitter, you mean," the other warrior replied. "I have always had a hankering to see the Midlands; if we leave now, we can meet Sif at this side of the pass."
Thor turned his gaze to the shrouded peaks of the tallest mountains; he did not have the skill of divination like his mother or sister or the eyesight of Heimdall, but a cloud passed, darkening the ground littered with the dead and a clarity settled over him. This was the right course; his destiny still awaited him.
They gathered their things, leaving the offerings to appease the old gods, and struck off towards Singer's at a good pace even though the rain was heavy and the trail muddy. Clint ran various plans in his head, thinking through all permutations and outcomes. They could ride back to Frasierton, gather a force, come back prepared for battle.
"And how will that work? Go down the tunnel one at a time?" Philip asked, Lola following just behind Lucky on the narrow path. He was right; this was a foray for a small group, easier to go unnoticed that way.
"Six or seven, mobile and fast," Clint agreed. More than that, they would need to protect the manor and the towns, maybe even split the guard up, warn all the holders. Once Loki and whoever was pulling his strings cottoned to the fact they were close, Clint knew they'd take measures to stop them.
"They might target the other sites again." Philip was thinking the same thing Clint was; send out small teams to different locations to throw them off the scent. There was no hiding now, just misdirection. Make them split their forces and get everyone prepared. Spread the word of the teams to someone like to blab it loudly to anyone who would listen.
"Garrett." Clint couldn't have agreed more. The Mayor liked to think he was a spider at the center of his web, but he was just a big gossip.
"Um, excuse me, but what are you talking about?" Bruce interrupted. "You do realize you're making no sense, don't you?"
Clint looked at Natasha who tilted her head in agreement. "A one-sided conversation is hard to follow," she said. "Looks like baby soft skin wasn't the only addition from the bonding."
"It affected all of us," Carol reminded them. "But I don't feel safe discussing it out here in the open. Singer has protective spells; let's wait until we get there."
High atop Mount Mitchell, the Red Knight paced, angry at the delay. No one kept him waiting. No one. Behind him, Lord Tarleton lounged on a bench, feet stretched out, eyes closed in an imitation of relaxation. A third man, in full plate armor, face mask closed and long green cloak dragging the ground, stood apart and silent.
"He never should have sent that spoiled child. Loki doesn't wipe his ass without thinking of Daddy," the Red Knight complained. "He doesn't understand the idea of sacrifice or true pain."
"Best he fails first, let us get the lay of the land," Tarleton said as much to be contrary as to make any point at all. "Now we know better what we're up against."
"Of course you would think that way," the Red Knight growled. "Let others do the work for you while you cower in your laboratory."
"You're welcome to take the next stab at it." Tarleton glanced absently at the small mechanical square strapped to his arm. "Or our new friend from across the big sea here. Perhaps he wishes to show us his secrets."
The stony floor vibrated as the torches sputtered in the fierce wind that swirled around the antechamber carved from solid rock. The armored Lord's cloak was caught up; he pushed it back down but didn't move. Tarleton sat up and put his hands flat on the wall, concentrating. The Red Knight cocked his head and listened.
"What was that?" The Red Knight demanded. "Some new deviltry?"
Tarleton shrugged and resumed his original position. "Probably just one of his spells."
"That," the armored Lord said in a heavily accented voice. "Was the bonding of a powerful mage to a Lord."
"Indeed," a fourth voice replied. "Barton and Coulson have completed the bonding ritual and are now virtually unstoppable by anyone but a sorcerer."
Completely shrouded in a red cloak, face nothing but a screen of impenetrable darkness, the slim figure came to a halt. All three of the Lords immediately fell to one knee, averting their eyes.
"I can take them, my liege," the Red Knight assured. "I can have ten thousand men ready to ride by tomorrow morning. Not a single timber will stand of Barton's holding when I'm done."
"And how will we find the shield then when everyone who might provide information is dead?" the figure asked.
"My people are working on a locator, my liege. We can find the resonance of the magic and track it down for you," Lord Tarleton offered.
"And how well does this locator work? Will it find the shield underground? Up in the mountains? Underwater?" the figure asked.
"Allow me to send my magical constructions," the armored Lord asked. "Let me show you how effective they can be."
"Neither men nor machines nor magical tricks will suffice. Force is only useful against force, and it is too late for that." Turning to a robed wizard behind him, the figured ordered, "Wake the sleeper and prepare specific instructions. His primary target is recovery of the shield. Secondary … kill Barton and Coulson. One or the other or both."