Chapter 21:
Thor wakes to the sound of rustling fabric and broken whimpers. Choked moans and breathless pleas.
At first he thinks he must be dreaming, half caught between sleep still and the bright light filtering into the room bleeding behind his closed lids.
But as the seconds pass, the sounds come sharper to him, more clear, and at last he forces his eyes open. And as his mind registers the distress in the noises, he lurches up to sitting, panic tearing through him, harsh and unforgiving.
His head snaps in the direction of his brother, eyes widening further as he sees Loki, thrashing wildly, blindly against the sheets and covers of his bed, crying out weakly and desperately, begging someone to stop, to please, please stop.
In an instant, Thor is up, moving across the space between them without thought, reaching out.
"Loki!" He calls, trying frantically to break him from what is very obviously a nightmare. "Loki, wake up!"
His hands touch the younger god, grasping his shoulders and trying to hold him down.
It takes greater effort than should be necessary, his brother's struggles more powerful than one would think him capable of.
"Loki," he tries again, voice strained as he catches sight of the tears, streaking from beneath Loki's closed lids, down flushed cheeks.
He has only a moment to contemplate it. Only a moment to realize his mistake.
There is a surge of what feels like rushing air, violently displaced, followed an instant after by a loud pop in the Thunder god's ears, and in the split second before he's lifted off his feet and thrown like a weightless child backwards, Thor realizes what it is, eyes widening and mouth falling agape.
The rest is just shocked tumbling and the mild pain of crashing and breaking against the rooms thin walls, landing in a tangled heap of limbs as gravity takes its course.
When at last he manages to right himself, pushing himself to sitting and eyes snapping to his little brother, he sees Loki sitting, wide eyed and terrified on the cot's edge, staring back at him like he cannot grasp what he's just done.
His magic, Thor knows.
He should have thought before he touched Loki like that, in the throes of some panicked terror.
The same had happened to him often enough when Loki was a child, before Thor had learned better, and he had tried to wake him from awful dreams.
And he'd forgotten momentarily his brother's seidr was no longer locked away.
He's lucky, he readily admits to himself, that he remains more or less unharmed.
His brother's magic is absurdly powerful, and unchecked like that, released while gripped by such strong emotion…
Thor is lucky indeed…
From here even he can see the glow of Loki's energy, twisting and crackling through his long and trembling fingers, the vivid green of his eyes, almost blindingly bright.
And then, realization lights on Loki's face, and Thor hears him draw in a sharp breath.
And then he's moving, tumbling, uncoordinated and hasty from the bed, staggering towards Thor, expression twisted in plain dismay.
"Oh…" he stammers. "Oh, Norns, Thor… Thor, I'm sorry! I… I'm so sorry! Are you alright?! Are you hurt?!"
Before Thor can even open his mouth to reply that he is well, Loki staggers, crashing to his knees a few feet from him.
"Loki!" Thor startles, eyes widening, but his brother doesn't seem to have even noticed his own, hard fall, crawling the rest of the short space between them, reaching out to Thor with shaking hands.
"Are you alright!?" Loki continues on. "H-have I hurt you?"
His fingers touch delicately along Thor's cheek, eyes wide still and wet with tears.
"Oh, I am stupid." Loki says, face twisting with further despair. "I am so, so stupid."
"Brother," Thor interrupts, catching Loki's thin wrists and holding them loosely. "It is alright. Calm yourself. I am unhurt."
His brother stares back at him for long seconds then, eyes wet still from whatever dream had tormented him, and Thor looks back, trying to convey with as much openness as he can the truth of his words, until at last, Loki sags back, exhaustion seeming to replace the tension of a moment before.
The younger god's shoulders slump, face bowing down.
Thor lets go of his wrists, and watches as Loki lifts a still trembling hand, wiping his palm against his left cheek, brushing away tears, Thor knows.
Silence passes between them for a short while, the Thunderer seeing his brother swallow convulsively a few times, stuttered breath escaping past his lips, and Loki's exhaustion seems to worsen as the seconds wear on, until he's resting his head within his hands.
"Oh Norns," he whispers finally, voice shaking and weak. "my head does hurt."
Thor chuckles lightly, unable to hold it back.
He reaches forward, laying a gentle hand on Loki's bare shoulder, ignoring the discomfort it stirs in him at how meatless it feels.
"You drank your fair share last night brother." He informs, and Loki only nods in reply, clearly remembering.
"It is early yet," Thor goes on softly, moving his hand to Loki's head, brushing damp hair back behind his brother's ear. "you should try sleeping some more. You will feel better for it, and when you wake, we may find food to break our fast and, if you are feeling well enough, mayhap we will venture out to find your friends."
Loki is silent still for a moment, face buried still in his hands. But after a time, he lifts it, peering at Thor uncertainly.
"You are certain you are not hurt?" He asks, voice tentative and even frightened.
It reminds Thor of when Loki had been a very young boy, and he had always sounded as this.
Always been so afraid, of so many things…
"Aye Loki." He answers, pushing the thoughts away. "'T'was my own fault in any event. I should have thought better of it before disturbing you in such a distressed condition."
Loki again ducks his face downward at that, nodding jerkily, and Thor knows he is embarrassed.
He leans forward and presses a kiss to his brother's temple in an attempt to reassure.
"Come." He takes Loki by the arm, beginning to stand and pulling the smaller god up with him. "To bed for a while longer."
And Loki lets him lead him back without further words, and Thor pushes away the unease which comes with every instant of how easily compliant his once rebellious brother has become.
/
It is not until midday that they reach the home they look for, the house of Tionson, located outside the main city, nearer to a thicket of woods, east from the city's capital.
They had lain in bed a few hours longer that morning, but Loki had been unable to fall back to sleep, and eventually, they had picked themselves up and prepared for the days small journey, eating a full breakfast down at the inn's tavern, though Thor hadn't failed to notice how little Loki had touched his food, again.
After that, they had taken turns washing themselves, using their rooms small bathing quarters, dressed, paid the inn keeper for the previous night, and had then been on their way.
They stand now before a tiny, ramshackle dwelling of no particular distinction, sporting a straw-thatched roof and walls made of clay.
The entire thing looks to be no bigger than the entryway to Thor's own quarters back in the palace, and Thor finds himself wondering at the thought of Loki ever having stayed here for the months, sometimes years long stretches that he did.
Thor had always thought of his little brother as something of a snob, accepting only of the finest things. Whether it be in regard to wardrobe, or food, craftsmanship of weaponry, or accommodations. He had imagined Loki would throw a temperamental fuss were he forced to endure anything less opulent than his rooms in the palace for longer than a few days at a time.
Though, thinking back on it, Thor can not quite place why he had thought such things of Loki.
He supposes the perception had formed from his brother's fastidious nature. The way he would spend an inordinate, even ridiculous amount of time preparing his appearance every morning, making certain each article of his wardrobe was well presented, his hair perfectly slicked, his face and body well cleansed. And the way that cleanliness had extended to his quarters. The way Loki would grow so hotly incensed the moment a single one of his rooms possessions was put out of place, or when Thor would thoughtlessly track mud and dirt and other debris across his otherwise gleaming floors.
But had he and his brother not braved the wilderness and all the harsh realities of living in such extremes for months at a stretch? And had not Loki accepted it and adapted to it and even strived in it for all those months? Never once complaining. Never once making a fuss.
Loki's care in his presentation and living spaces, Thor abruptly understands, does not equate to an inability or unwillingness to live modestly.
Like light dawning, Thor finds himself suddenly faced with another realization of his brother, and another dashing of his own false assumptions in regard to him.
Why had he made so many misjudgments of Loki?
Glancing aside, he sees Loki standing there, hands clasped at his front, tightly held and white knuckled, his back and shoulders rigid and straight.
He looks nervous, Thor thinks, as he stares straight ahead of him, eyes fixed to the faded wooden door blocking the house's entrance, face impassive, only the Thunderer can see his jaw clenched hard.
"Are you ready brother?" Thor asks gently, and Loki's eyes shift to him briefly, betraying further his uneasy state.
He gives a stiff nod, hands clasping tighter still, and Thor reaches out, placing a hand upon his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.
"Father has informed them of our coming." He reminds his brother. "Do not worry so. They will be pleased to see you."
Loki looks anything but convinced at the words, his eyes shifting away again, this time fixing to the ground.
He nods again, but Thor knows it is only to placate him, not because he believes it will be well.
The elder god sighs quietly to himself, letting his hand drop from Loki's shoulder and looking again to the door.
There is nothing for it but to knock then, he thinks, stepping forward and raising a fisted hand.
He can feel Loki fidgeting agitatedly behind him, hear him shifting from foot to foot, and he wishes there were something more he could do to calm his brother.
He assures himself with the thought that once Ofia and Aiden come face to face with Loki, their reactions will be enough to quell his brother's worries.
With that, he brings his fist firmly against the wooden door, knocking three times before letting his hand back down to his side and waiting.
For a few, long seconds, there is no sound from the other side, and Thor continues to listen to Loki shifting, the material of his long coat brushing softly against the leaf riddled grounds.
"… Perhaps they are not…" Loki starts, voice wavering very slightly.
His words are cut short when there comes the sound of footsteps, shuffling from behind the door. Thor turns and grins at his brother, wide and sincere, and Loki blinks back at him a moment, before letting his eyes fall back to the ground, hands moving behind his back and clasping together again.
And instant after, there is the noise of a lock being unlatched, and the creak of hinges as the door is pulled slowly open.
And then Thor finds himself looking down upon a tiny wisp of an Elf woman. Perfectly youthful in appearance, though Thor knows readily she is several times older than either he or Loki both, blonde hair braided back and long enough to brush the floor behind her, she comes no higher than his chest, and she is staring up at him with wide, expectant blue eyes.
Thor smiles, bowing his head in respect.
"Lady Ofia," he greets, reaching out and taking hold of her delicate wrist, lifting her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles.
She blinks, and then sucks in a sharp breath.
And a moment later, as he expected, her eyes are looking past him, trying to see beyond his broad frame.
"Is he…" she starts, and then seems to remember her manners, and to whom it is she speaks, her gaze snapping back to him. "Forgive me, my Lord Prince." She says. "It is so very good to see you after so many years. You will excuse my lack of decorum? It is only…"
Thor laughs heartily, shaking his head.
"You are perfectly understood my Lady." He reassures, cupping his palm warmly against her cheek a moment before letting it fall away. "You have someone you would like to say hello to."
He turns then, holding his hand out to Loki, who remains lingering behind him, shrunk back and face still turned down.
"Come brother." He urges softly, and Loki glances up to him a brief moment before his eyes again fall, and with obvious tentativeness, he steps forward, hands still held at his back.
He hears Ofia gasp softly as Loki comes astride him, and as Thor turns back, he finds her staring up at his brother with wonder filled eyes, her hands clasped in astonishment across her mouth.
Loki swallows thickly, and Thor sees his eyes flit up to the woman, holding her gaze a short time before dropping once more, and the younger god nods in acknowledgement, still stiff backed and unsure.
"My Lady Ofia…" he begins softly, formally, and those are the only words he manages before the small Elf is rushing him, and Thor watches with wide astonishment as she throws her arms around his brother, squeezing him tightly and burying her face against his chest.
"Oh, my boy." She cries, and the Crown Prince can hear the muffled tears in her voice. "My sweet boy."
Loki's stance, if possible, goes even more rigid, his own eyes wide in apparent shock as he stares ahead of him, over the woman's head, before he blinks rapidly, several times, moving his gaze down to her, for long seconds standing perfectly, painfully still.
Thor watches, and he feels his heart ache for how plainly awkward his brother is now.
He realizes clearly how Loki has forgotten what it is to receive affection, and how in turn to give it.
And when finally Loki lifts his own arms to return the embrace, when Thor sees the tension drain from his thin frame, almost sagging in Ofia's hold, and he buries his face to the woman's hair, eyes closing in plain relief, the elder god feels suddenly he is intruding on something beyond his right to, and he looks away, casting his eyes to the floor.
There is a history here, he realizes. A part of Loki's life he never really knew of. Was never a part of. Not truly.
He had had only a vague semblance of an idea.
The pang of jealousy which blooms sudden and unexpected in his chest at that thought, he tries quickly to bury.
That is wholly unfair, he knows.
It was, in part, his own selfish desire to have Loki be his constant companion, to always have his little brother at his side and available to his call, which led to Loki's living so deeply within his own, largely cast shadow.
He had not understood at the time how his demands on his brother had kept him from having any semblance of his own life.
Had not even considered then that his own life was something Loki would even want.
He had thought Loki content… happy, even, being always a step behind him.
Had thought it Loki's place, to be there.
Following after him as he had used to.
It is happiness Thor knows he should feel for his brother, with the newfound knowledge that, in all of that, in those periods when Loki would be here, in Alfheim, in the home of this couple, in the home of his friends, he had been able to build something for himself, separate from Asgard, and Thor's own, consuming presence.
After a long, few moments, Ofia is pulling back at last, her hands grasping loosely along Loki's shoulders, gazing up at him with an expression of almost painful relief.
"Oh, oh my boy, let me look at you." She breathes quietly, almost reverently. "Just look at you." Her hands come to his face, cupping it. "Look how you've grown, how tall you've become. And how handsome!"
Thor glances towards them, and he can see the flush rising high on Loki's cheeks at her words, eyes flicking to the floor.
He reaches up, taking hold of the elf woman's wrists and pulling her hands from his face, holding them loosely between his fingers as he brings his gaze back to her.
"And you are beautiful as ever, my Lady Ofia." He replies quietly, smiling tightly down at her. "The centuries have done naught I see to fade your kind heart."
For an instant, Thor sees Ofia's brow crumple, such a wash of anguish coming over her face, before a moment later, it vanishes, and she smiles up at the once Prince, the expression forced and trembling.
"Oh, Loki…" she says.
"The Norns deceive me."
There comes suddenly a deep, robust voice from the back of the hut, and everyone turns to see another elf, a man, standing in the entry way leading from another room beyond. He stands not much taller than the woman, but as he steps forward, Thor sees he is broadly built and obviously strong, his own features sharp and chiseled where Ofia's are soft and delicate, his hair a sun kissed, golden brown, nearly long as her's.
And as he steps nearer to them, Thor sees a grin broad break across the man's face, and at once his strides are long and determined as he makes his way towards Loki.
His brother has nary a moment to react before the man's arms are around his waist and he's lifting him up off the ground and into the air like he weighs nothing, spinning him about and laughing loudly.
A startled laugh escapes from Loki's own lips, hands coming down and grasping hold of the man's wide shoulders, and Thor cannot help but smile himself at the scene unfolding before him.
He could get used to this, he thinks, seeing his brother with a genuine smile on his lips, sincere laughter in his voice.
Aiden, Thor recognizes him then, spins his brother about several times more, before at last letting him back down to his feet, staring up at the young god with a similarly astonished look as had his wife.
"No, they do not deceive me." He says. "By their very blessing, you stand here before me young Prince."
Loki is smiling still, a timid thing, but there well and true, and he bows his head slightly to the elf.
"Aye, good Aiden," he says softly. "as do you before me." He lifts his face, looking down at the shorter man. "It has been a long time."
Aiden laughs again, slapping Loki lightly against the shoulder.
"My wife does not lie. You have grown tall young man. I remember when last I saw you, you were only a small measure taller than me, and now I find I must crane my neck to look upon that gallant face!"
"And you and the Lady remain, as ever, overgenerous in your compliments towards me." Loki replies to that, voice growing softer, embarrassed, Thor knows, eyes glancing away.
Aiden simply cups the side of the young god's face, giving it two gentle smacks.
Both he and Ofia make their apologies to Thor then, she for the second time, welcoming him to their home and expressing their gratitude that a Prince of Asgard would grace them with his presence there.
Thor makes his own gratitude plain, thanking them deeply for allowing he and Loki to come, taking them in as they are.
After that, time is spent simply settling in, Aiden being polite enough to take the chest of Thor's and Loki's meager belongings and bringing it to the single room they'll be sharing. The same room in which Loki had used to occupy in his days spent here.
Ofia, Thor does not fail to notice, dotes on Loki like a mother, taking him by the hand and leading him towards what serves as the homes living space, asking after him in intent, focused tones.
Thor finds himself wondering, as he follows after them, just how much the couple knows of these past, few years.
Of all that has transpired between the royal family of Asgard. All that Loki has done, and all that has been done to him.
All they have lost…
He wonders at their thoughts, though if they hold any judgment upon his brother for the path he has taken, they show nothing of it, and for that too, Thor is grateful.
Loki need face no further scorn from others.
For already it presses too heavy upon him in his own self-regard.
/
AN: As always, all my thanks to everyone whose read and reviewed! I hope you continue to enjoy the story, and if you have a chance, let me know your thoughts on the chapter!