Chapter Thirteen

As consciousness returned to him, Loki could feel that he was sitting up, pinioned to a chair, wrists and ankles immobilized. The position was familiar, as was the sensation of giddy weakness, not to mention the cold finger of claustrophobic dread that immediately tingled up his spine. It took all the self-control his dazed mind could muster not to panic and struggle, but Loki was an old hand, as the mortals would say. This was not the first time he had been in a tight spot. If he was to have any chance of getting himself out of this mess, to say nothing of helping his companions, he needed to keep his wits about him.

His head was bowed and he permitted his eyelids to slit open, just enough to show him a slice of the world through a hedge of eyelashes. Yes, he was back in the restraints, all right. By the way he felt, he had been in them for some time. Excalibur still pulsed in the scabbard at his side, apparently immune to SHIELD's technology.

"Do not pretend you are not awake," a voice hissed from close range. Loki suppressed any reaction, for of course he knew he could not be alone. He blinked a time or two and attempted to raise his head enough to see the speaker. A large hand, presumably that of the bewitched guard, grabbed him from behind by the hair and jerked his head upright- the room danced and bobbed before his eyes for a moment, then settled down enough for Loki to focus.

Sitting across the table from him, a scrawny figure in a rough tunic and green cloak, dark hair matted and gray eyes burning, was Mordred. Based on TH White's account, Loki had expected him to be blond. He did not look much like any sort of a ruler, although of course Midgardian standards of both fashion and hygiene had changed a great deal in fifteen hundred years. Loki was not quite so stupid as to make personal remarks about someone who looked as though he would take the greatest of pleasure in killing him.

Well, not when he was bound to a chair and completely defenseless, at any rate.

However, that did not mean he was in any way inclined to be meek.

"I would offer to shake hands," Loki said politely, "but, as you see, I am somewhat indisposed."

Mordred's eyes took on a flat glitter, and he leaned forward. "Do not mock me," he warned. "I am not a man to be trifled with."

"Oh, no," Loki replied, with all the sincerity he could fake. "I would not dream of it."

"I believe you have something of mine," Mordred said now, in a purring murmur that did not so much alarm Loki as remind him of villains in Mitchell's favourite films about Mr. James Bond. The remark told Loki something important: Mordred had apparently not made any effort to take Excalibur while Loki was unconscious. Had he done so, he would have been foiled by the protective spells and would be demanding now that Loki remove them, not making preliminary statements like this.

That gave Loki an insight into Mordred that might be very useful. Morgan Le Fay had told Loki that Mordred knew he was a sorcerer, and knew now there was no help to be had from him. The practical course, and the one Loki suspected he would have favoured himself, would have been to slit Loki's throat while he was unconscious and take the sword- well, try to take the sword. The rather more merciful option, the one Thor might have chosen, would have been to take the sword, then truss Loki in the restraints and leave him to eventually be found by the others, after presumably using magic to temporarily confuse them.

Again, Mordred could not simply take Excalibur and walk away, not unless he could break the wards. But he spoke as though he had not even tried.

And that indicated that Mordred not only wanted to win out over Loki- he wanted Loki to knowhehadbeenbeaten. With an opponent like that, one at least had a chance: to stall for time, to throw him off-balance, to trick him into accepting some sort of challenge. A practical opponent would have focused on what he was trying to accomplish, but Mordred had too much to prove to be practical. That gave Loki a chance, if not to survive, then at least to disrupt Mordred's plans and give the others a chance to stop him.

The Mordred depicted in TheCandleIntheWind was insecure, resentful, a toadying stirrer of trouble. If he was in the mood to be honest with himself, Loki would admit that Mordred sounded very familiar indeed. This was hardly the time to abuse himself for failings he liked to believe he had managed to mostly overcome, but he thought that insight could be helpful to him.

For instance, though Mordred had warned Loki not to trifle with him, Loki now suspected that might actually be his best course. Admittedly, Loki was not inclined to beg an enemy for mercy even if he thought it would work, but he now thought the best plan was to make Mordred angry enough to want to prove to Loki what he could do. This might well end in Mordred killing him anyway, eventually, but it would buy time for the others to organize themselves. Even if Loki was dead, Thor could wield Excalibur, and George could advise him, and they could still defeat Mordred.

Accordingly, he flicked a glance downward, toward the sword slung across his shoulder, resting against his hip. "Be my guest," he offered, letting his lips curve into the smirk that centuries' worth of adversaries had itched to backhand from his face.

Mordred looked suspicious for a second, seemed to remind himself that his prisoner was helpless, and gestured to the ensorcelled guard standing behind Loki. The hands let go of his head, which drooped annoyingly forward like the film character who had been mostly dead all day. He couldn't see exactly what the other was doing, but he felt hands fumbling with growing frustration at the baldric supporting Excalibur. Across the table, Mordred watched with rising irritation, then snapped,

"Leave it, fool," and rose from his chair. As he bent next to his prisoner, diffusing a smell of rotting greenery, Loki tried not to breathe through his nose and wondered whether a personal remark might actually be useful at the moment, or would simply frustrate Mordred enough to lash out.

He was frustrated enough when he realized his hands simply passed through both the baldric and Excalibur itself. The first couple of tries should have convinced him he could not take the sword from Loki, but he continued to try for long enough to make it clear he was thinking even less rationally than Loki had imagined. Even raving mad, Loki had been able to adjust his iniquitous plans to suit the developing situation, at least up until the point when madness had been all there was to him.

There was, he supposed, a difference in the cases: Loki had spent half his life festering in jealous rivalry toward Thor, but it had always been liberally, confusingly, mixed with love and the wish to honestly earn favour instead of steal it. And he certainly had not been egged on by his mother or father, at least not intentionally.

When his mind snapped, it had happened in the aftermath of multiple blows he had not had the resources to deal with and, in the crisis, madness had spiked like a fever and then burned itself out of him. One of the reasons he had let himself fall from the wreckage of the first Bifrost was, with the return of his sanity, he had recognized the impossibility of ever being forgiven for or brought back from the things he had done.

Although forgiveness had, in fact, eventually been extended. As he had said to Tony Stark, one does not necessarily have to deserve another chance in order to be given one.

Loki's madness had been an acute illness, attacking rapidly and then passing away. Mordred's seemed to be chronic, which made sense when one considered the hatred he had been raised with, the knowledge of the crime committed against him as an infant, and the resentment and anger he had apparently kept as his companions for fifteen hundred years in the land of the dead.

Loki was not especially inclined toward mercy- he honestly admired the trait in others, despite the fact it could get in the way of accomplishing necessary goals, but he did not consider it part of his own short list of virtues. But he truly felt compassion for Mordred now, understanding exactly what it felt like to be trapped in a mind that spun and twisted, trying to accomplish something both impossible and indefensible.

It was compassion that caused Loki to make what he knew perfectly well was a tactical error when Mordred stepped back and shouted, "Remove the spell! Give me that sword. It was my father's, and is mine by right of inheritance."

Abandoning all smirking provocation, Loki said quietly, "The sword does not belong to you, nor did it ever truly belong to your father. It was a lending only, and was returned to the realm. Even if you could wield it, its power could never be yours, because it has not been given to you." If he could only see this, if he could only accept it, there might be a chance-

Mordred's response was predictable: he struck the blow Loki had earned earlier with his smirk, hitting him across the face with all the strength he had. Loki's head snapped sideways on his unsteady neck, leaving him on the blurry edge of consciousness. Apparently, Mordred retained sense enough to recognize this, because he refrained from striking again, allowing his prisoner to recover sufficient clarity to listen to him.

"Do not presume to tell me what has or has not been given to me," Mordred raged. "All that I have is what I have been able to take, and this has ever been so. Do not speak to me of what truly belongs to me or to my father."

Loki, blood running from his nose, pushed back. "There comes a time when you can only accept what is or is not, Mordred. Railing against what is will not help you."

Mordred gestured and the hand from behind pulled Loki's head upright again, causing the blood from his nose to drain into his throat but permitting him to see Mordred's face. The gray eyes were filled with tears of madness, impotent rage, and centuries of heartbreak. Loki found himself wishing he could move simply so he could throw his arms around Mordred and... and embrace some sense into him. The impulse was not rational, and Loki was perfectly aware it would probably not work, but had he been free he would certainly have tried it.

Mordred stared at him for a moment, mind obviously whirling. Then he went very still.

"You have spoken to my mother's sister, Morgan Le Fay," he said, and his expression was that of one who realizes he has been betrayed yet again. Loki immediately knew his prospects for getting out of this alive had just decreased drastically, and also that there was no point at all in trying to lie.

"I have," Loki replied. "She cares for you, Mordred. She does not want harm to come to you." There was little chance this would have any effect on Mordred's state of mind, but it was the kind of thing he should be aware of, whether he was capable of believing it or not.

Mordred leaned close into Loki's face and hissed, "Do not speak. Stop talking." He paused, and then his lips curved into a cruel smirk of his own. "In fact, I will stop you myself." He extended his hand and suddenly there was a ball of heavy black thread and a thick, wickedly-pointed needle in it.

Loki tried not to suck in a ragged breath as he remembered the terror of his dream and imagined the utter helplessness of being not only bound and powerless, but unable even to speak. Even the fact he was sure Mordred would leave him alive to experience the terror was not much comfort.

He was apparently not quite able to suppress all traces of alarm, because Mordred's expression reflected the satisfaction of at least passing some of his pain on to another. It was an expression Loki remembered well from the inside.

"Of course," Mordred remarked, "I will need assistance, since you cannot possibly be expected to remain still for this. Perhaps you would like to know who has been helping me so far." He gestured, and the hand that held Loki's hair let go, so that his head fell forward with sickening abruptness. Loki could feel someone moving around the chair he was bound to, and he registered familiar-looking boots in his line of vision just before a hand was placed under his chin and his head forced up again.

To find himself looking, instead of the face of some unknown guard, into the dull-eyed and clearly ensorcelled face of his brother.

Loki's heart jerked so violently that he almost gasped, and Mordred's spiteful smirk grew wider. Thor's expression did not change, and he barely looked at Mordred when his master ordered him to return to his previous post and hold Loki's head still. A moment later, a pair of large hands took hold of Loki's head from behind, the heels of his hands pressing into Loki's temples, palms covering his cheeks and fingers curling underneath his jaw to hold his head still and his mouth mostly closed.

And, Loki realized with profound relief, the hands were wrong: too cool, not calloused, not his brother's. This was not Thor, it was that same poor guard under a shapeshifting spell. Of course it was: no enchantment had the power to make Thor do something so utterly alien to his own character as what Mordred intended. Not to anyone, and certainly not to the brother Thor defended and protected so resolutely. Given a moment to think on it, Loki would have realized it without the evidence of the hands.

If he simply told Mordred he did not believe in this Thor, the other would assume Loki was merely comforting himself. Instead, he tried a little test.

"Oh really, brother," Loki said, with what probably looked like forced bravado, "this is worse than the time you left me on Muspelheim in the form of a rabbit."

"It was your own doing," the false Thor said dully. The correct response was, "Do not be so silly, brother, no such thing ever happened." Loki, figuring things could hardly get much worse anyway, did not bother to suppress a glint of triumph as he looked up at Mordred.

"Nice try," he taunted, borrowing the Midgardian colloquialism. For a moment he thought Mordred would hit him again.

Instead, the sorcerer snarled at him, and the hands on Loki's head turned back into those of the bewitched guard.

"Enjoy your small triumph while you can," Mordred advised viciously. "You will soon have little enough to say."

Then he threaded his ugly needle and went to work.

Having his lips sewn together was far from the most painful thing that had ever happened to Loki. Indeed, it was not even the most painful thing that had happened to him recently, since his not-too-distant past included having his throat ripped open by vampires and a wooden stake being driven through his left lung.

However, that was not to say it did not hurt a great deal: lips are sensitive structures, the needle and thread were obviously intended for crude sewing on roughly-spun garments, and Mordred made every effort not to be gentle. Loki, half-choked anyway on blood from his nose, clenched his teeth and eyes shut but still felt tears squeezing through his lids. It was not so much he was weeping as that his eyes were watering from the pain, and he accepted that as an involuntary physical reaction.

What he could control was whether he made any noise, so he clamped down with all his remaining pride on the urge to whimper. Just when he thought, with the beginnings of relief, that Mordred was finished, the needle pierced him again and Loki realized his attacker was going back the other way, neatly crossing his stitches. Loki clung grimly to consciousness, knowing if he fainted he would surely drown in his own blood.

He had long since forgotten his original goal of distracting Mordred to give his companions a chance to mount a counter-attack. He remembered it only when, at the edges of awareness, he heard the whoosh of the cell door opening, a roar of rage that meant his real brother was really here, and the hoarse sound of a pulse rifle firing. The hands on his head were torn away, and Mordred's on his mouth vanished at the same moment.

Loki opened his streaming eyes and blinked rapidly. When his vision cleared, he saw Thor and Agent Coulson before him, Thor cradling his chin in a rough, warm, blessedly familiar hand and looking at him in horrified concern.

"It's all right, Loki, you are safe now. Coulson, go release the restraints. He will be able to remove the stitches with magic once he is free, won't you, brother?" Loki nodded as well as he could with his chin in Thor's grasp. "Coulson, hurry."

"No," Coulson said calmly, looking up from his examination of the unconscious guard. Loki felt his eyes widen, and Thor opened his mouth to repeat his suggestion more forcefully. Coulson stood, shaking his head. "No. Remember the last time? It was two hours before he could stand up straight, let alone use magic. We're not leaving him in this condition for another minute. Besides, if there's magic in the thread, it'll be easier to deal with if the restraints are draining it, too."

Coulson's words made sense, except of course he had forgotten that Loki could call upon the magic of Excalibur to help him. Apparently, Thor had as well. In the current situation, Loki was not exactly capable of complicated explanations, so he gave in. Coulson reached into his pocket and produced his little red folding knife. Loki heard himself make an inarticulate noise of protest- one does not saw through stitches- but the sound died in his throat as Coulson unfolded what turned out to be a pair of sharp little scissors from the body of the knife.

The agent pulled up the second chair and Thor turned Loki's so they faced each other. "Thor, you hold his head steady. I'll be as careful as I can. Okay?" Coulson's eyes met Loki's. He waited for the nod of assent, and then for Thor to take up his position.

"Careful" was apparently as close as the impassive agent could come to offering to be gentle. Which he was, delicately snipping the stitches and then clipping the thread close to the skin. There turned out to be a pair of tweezers built into the little folding knife as well, and Coulson used them to pull the ends of the thread free, reaching carefully into Loki's mouth to take hold of them from the inside. That process hurt enough to start Loki's eyes watering again, but he managed to keep quiet. He was not quite able to stop himself from trying to pull away. Thor wiped the tears away with his thumbs and murmured soothingly as he held Loki's head still.

"Okay. Done," Coulson said, putting the tweezers back where they belonged and handing Thor a clean, folded handkerchief, which Thor carefully pressed to Loki's bleeding mouth. Coulson looked over at the guard, who was sitting up by now leaning against the wall, decided he was in no condition to perform errands, and left the cell himself, carrying the pulse rifle in one hand.

A few minutes later, the restraints opened and Thor lifted Loki bodily out of the chair. Loki got his arms around his brother's neck and held himself upright as Thor patted his back.

"We must take you to the barracks until your strength is restored," Thor fussed. Loki patted his brother's chest, then unsteadily pushed away from him.

"Have I ever told you how much you remind me of Mother?" Loki asked, words mumbling painfully through his torn lips. "I mean that in the most affectionate manner possible."

Coulson came jogging back into the cell, accompanied by two more uniformed guards.

"You going to be okay, Loki? You had better lie down or something, we can leave you guarded- "

Loki made a face at Coulson that represented his effort to smile without moving his lips. Then he lifted Excalibur out of the scabbard.

"Oh, right," Coulson said, looking disgusted with himself. Thor made a face of his own, the one that meant he felt like an idiot. Loki had always loved to see him make that face.

It took all Loki's remaining strength to lift the sword, and then he felt magic flowing through his body. The light-headedness went away first, followed by the weakness, and then he was able to focus on the wounds in his lips, concentrating on healing them. Between Excalibur's power and the fact the injuries were painful, but not serious, he was healed almost immediately.

"Well, that was a lot easier than what I did to you," Coulson remarked apologetically.

"I appreciate the care you took," Loki assured him, which was true. It was worth the extra discomfort, really, to have Coulson exhibit such concern. "And besides, you were probably right about the magical status of the thread, which might indeed have presented a problem. Is everyone else all right? What about the guard Mordred ensorcelled?"

"We'll have him looked at. Things are in a hell of a mess, all the surveillance cameras are screwed up and he seems to have messed with most of the guards' minds. It took us longer than it should have to realize nobody had seen you and start looking for you. Sorry about that." Coulson looked disgusted. "Anyway, when we busted in Mordred disappeared, the cowardly little- and I had to blast Renfield there a little to make him let go of you. Can you tell whether Mordred is still on the ship?"

Loki shook his head. "At the moment I am afraid I am experiencing a real jumble of magical influences, and nothing is clear to me. However, Mordred did realize I had spoken to his aunt, Morgan Le Fay, and it made him extremely angry. I suspect he intended to sew up my lips regardless, but he did it with perhaps a little extra spite after that realization."

Coulson whistled. "Do you think he'll go after her?"

Loki shrugged. "It seems likely. Since she appears to be the source of his power in the first place, she may be able to take it away from him again, but I am not certain of that. It appears to me in character that she would give, rather than lend, power, for him to do with as he will."

"So you think she might be in trouble?" Coulson persisted.

"It is not so much that I think she is, as that I am not at all happy at the idea of Mordred having a magical tantrum in a site as powerful as Avalon. Particularly since Avalon probably represents yet another distinct type of magic, and may not reject Mordred's efforts to control it as the realm's did." The more he thought about the situation, the worse Loki liked it.

"So we should betake ourselves to Glastonbury Tor without delay," Thor said. Loki nodded. Thor looked embarrassed. "Would you object- it may be difficult for you to find a shape that enables you to fly while carrying Excalibur- I was thinking- "

Loki took a moment to decode his brother's stammering. "Are you asking whether I would object to you carrying me? I think, under the circumstances, I will not stand upon my dignity, brother."

Thor looked relieved, then reached out and unexpectedly touched Loki's jaw with a gentle hand. "I do wish we had time for you to wash your face."

Loki had almost forgotten about the blood drying around his mouth. "Remind me to do that before we rejoin my housemates, will you?"

And then he ran after his brother to the flight deck of the helicarrier.

~oOoOo~

The flight to Glastonbury Tor was brief, but gave Loki time to deliver a warning to his brother:

"Remember, Mordred uses our fears against us. I believe the dreams he has visited upon us have enabled him to learn something of... what lurks in the dark for each of us. In Mitchell's case I believe he did hit upon his greatest fear, because that cannot ever be far from the surface. In mine- " Loki stumbled over his words, lest he let too much out, then finished awkwardly, "It was probably not the worst thing that could have happened to me, but I really am afraid of those restraints. And I had a perfectly dreadful dream about lip-sewing, probably as a result of Stark speaking of it while I was imprisoned that first day."

The detail about Thor's role he kept to himself. That had merely been an ugly fantasy Mordred mistook for a genuine fear. Not for a moment had Loki really believed Thor would do such a thing to him. He resolutely did not think about the aftermath of the dream, when he had eavesdropped partly because he did not want to directly encounter Thor yet.

"I will remember that, brother," Thor assured him. Loki allowed himself a moment to wonder what Mordred could do to a being who, as far as Loki knew, was afraid of absolutely nothing. Then he forgot it as Thor went on, "I should also make clear: Heimdall will not intervene to help us, if things go badly."

"I never expected he would," Loki assured him. It was not the Guardian's role, to rescue them from situations of their own making. He had done so, once, for Loki, for reasons Loki still did not completely understand, but Loki had the sense to be grateful while not ever expecting a repetition.

And then they were landing on the summit of Glastonbury Tor. They separated to look for anything that might indicate Mordred's presence. Loki started down the terrace in the direction from which Morgan Le Fay had approached them.

Once again, Loki could sense a jumble of magical influences, but was unable to pick Mordred out of the clutter. He was casting about for the entrance to the faery world of which George had spoken when he heard, distantly, his brother's voice. He could not make out words, but Thor sounded distressed. Loki, heart beating faster, turned to look up the tor.

And saw Thor, standing perfectly still, hands at his sides, facing a figure that had to have been conjured by Mordred: a tall, thin figure in green-and-bronze armor and an elaborate horned helmet.

Just for a moment, Loki really felt like crying. What was the point- ? Why should he even try to earn back the trust of others, when it was so clearly impossible, when not even Thor could ever forget, when the thing his courageous brother turned out to fear was- ?

Loki knew that Mordred was not to be trusted, but he also knew the fears he used to torment his victims were real, drawn from their minds and hearts. And here was Thor, facing what had to be one of his very few fears-

- And it was, of course, a vision of Loki, Loki at his worst, Loki raving mad and evil. Loki, the brother Thor loved but would never, ever trust again.

Loki drew a sharp breath and stopped himself before self-pity could take a further hold on him. Of course he was not trusted, at least not yet. It had not been so very long, after all, since he had done everything possible to prove himself untrustworthy. He had killed Thor- it was hardly unfair that Thor should, deep in his heart, retain reservations about Loki's intentions, about truly believing in his change of heart and mind.

And yet, despite all that, Thor had charged into the holding cell on that first day, insisting that Loki be freed. He had defended Loki's person, and his intentions, to the others, had comforted him during the removal of the stitches, had worried for him when he disappeared for those three days...

Loki had spent centuries loving a family he did not believe returned his affection, had loved them despite his conviction their hearts were elsewhere. He had loved them, but he had not trusted them. He had eventually been convinced he was wrong, not in the affection, but in the doubt. Was he really going to hold it against Thor, that he felt the same mixture of love and misgiving? Particularly since the source of his doubt was not the imaginings of an oversensitive mind, but the fact of what Loki had actuallydone?

No. This was no time for self-pity. This was time to go help his brother. Loki started back up the hill at a run.

As he came closer, he could see the tears on the face of the illusion, could almost feel the twist of its lips as it spewed bitter, angry words. He could see the pain and helplessness on Thor's face.

And then he was close enough to actually hear what the illusion was saying.