Disclaimer: I don't own Thor, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

Chapter 9: Those Lonely Nights

Thor sang loudly as they rode down the mountain in a line, tugging the hulking body of the bilge snipe behind them with ropes. He had thought that morning to postpone their trip home for a day, fashion a sort of sled out of the knocked down trees, but Loki, having been very afraid of spending another night in the godforsaken wilderness after all his misery, had stopped him, waved a hand and turned the cracked trunks into the very thing that Thor had sought to build. Looking back to his brother now, wincing with every step his horse took, he could see that Loki was thrilled to be heading home.

Eventually, Loki fell asleep again, and Thor sang with less enthusiasm, contenting himself with quiet hums of the war songs of old, playing out the battles in his mind as he swung an arm, played at slaying imaginary beasts and enemy warriors. Such a battle lust he had, as his mother had often pointed out. Told him that, were he not to get that imagination of his under control, he might end up in a great deal of trouble. And that got Thor to thinking, as he imagined riding across the bridge and onto the palace grounds, that he'd have to tell her that she'd been right; that he had gotten into trouble, and that Loki was banged up because of it.

"We should rest in the village up ahead," Sif told him, and the thunder god replied with a nod, standing up in an attempt to see over the pines.

He smiled when thick smoke filtered up above the tops of the trees, urged his horse to move faster as they cut through the low-hanging branches, singing and cheering and startling Loki into wakefulness again. Thor tried hard not to smile when his brother sat upright in the saddle again, smacked his forehead against one of the branches that the thunderer himself had ducked under seconds before. But he said nothing, pushed the horse further and slowed it to a stop as they trotted into the village.

The people stared in awe, several of them gathering around the body of the bilge snipe as it slid through the dirt on the wooden platform, many of them turning to look between the warriors as if to discern just who had slain it.

One man approached as Thor hopped to the ground, turned around and brought Loki to his feet as well. The trickster shut his eyes and groaned.

"Greetings, travelers," he said, offering Thor a hand. The prince beamed and shook it fiercely. "I am called–"

"We need supplies," the prince said hurriedly, not noting the stunned look on the much smaller man's face. "And quickly, if you will. We ride for the royal–"

A pine cone hit Thor in the back of the head. He turned back and saw Loki doubled over, still moaning.

"Don't be rude, Thor," he chided, steadying himself against the side of his horse. Loki peered around him at the man. "Forgive my brother. He is horribly inept in social situations."

That made the thunderer pout and puff out his lower lip, and he made a face at Loki that involved sticking out a tongue. In turn, the corner of the trickster's lip curled, and Fandral shoved his way past him. Loki looked about ready to drop to the ground and pound his head into the dirt. Thor felt terrible.

Thor turned away from the man completely, allowed Fandral and the others to deal with the various social graces while he grabbed his brother by the shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Loki's pale eyes opened and moved to his left arm, which Sif had set firmly with a splint and bandages, and grimaced. "I want to go home."

The God of Thunder sighed through his nose and motioned to Sif as she looked back at him.

"Yes?"

"We can't stay here," he told her, forcing Loki back up and into the saddle. He fell forward against the horse's mane. "We have to get home. Now."

The woman stuttered, stared at him with confusion and motioned towards the group of villagers that had convened around the Warriors Three. "These people have offered to help us on our way," she said, eyes wide and sharp. "We can replenish supplies here! We can't just–"

Loki nudged the horse forward just enough so that he could grab Sif by her golden hair. She looked to him, silently threatening, but he ignored her.

"Do you have anything else to drink?" he heaved, and turned his eyes to Thor. "This is your damn fault, you know. I knew it was... I knew coming out here would turn out badly... It always does... You always get us... into..."

The hand fell from Sif's ponytail as Loki began slipping from the saddle. It didn't matter if he was broken and tired. They couldn't very well make the day's journey home to the palace if they had to stop and keep Loki from falling off his mount every five minutes. Thor yanked him off the horse and sighed. His brother would be furious once he came into his own again, found that they were still in the village, but Thor wasn't going to ride home at top speed and risk injuring him further. He was going to make the right call this time, ensure that nothing would go wrong and that no one else would be hurt.

Volstagg hurried towards them, eyes wide as he hadn't eaten at all that morning, and explained that there was a great dining hall where they'd be put up and fed until they had rested themselves. But most importantly, as the bearded warrior repeated, fed.He looked like a child in a sweet shop.

If things hadn't been tense and uncomfortable for him, Thor would have laughed at that. Rather, he nodded to Hogun, asked that he and Sif make sure that the horses were fed and rested as well, that the bilge snipe wasn't tampered with, and followed a passive Fandral and overjoyed, and almost skipping, Volstagg to the dining hall, carrying Loki along on his back.

They'd rest for a few hours, Thor told himself. Just long enough to satisfy everyone, and then they'd set off again. And, if he had to, he'd keep Loki with him on his horse, take care of him the way he'd always promised to.

His brother coughed, shifting as Thor jogged slowly, trying not to jostle him too much.

"I hate this," he breathed, and Thor could almost see a teary-eyed little boy standing in the courtyard, blood staining the front his tunic after a hard fall. "I want to go home..."

Thor sighed, trudged up the wooden steps of the building as the sky began to growl again.

"I know..."

# - # - # - #

Rain came down in sheets, threatening the windows as the glass rattled, and Frigga had cause to think that they might burst open at any moment, sent water rushing across the palace floors. But they had been fastened tight as she remembered, and returned to her book. She had sat with it for the majority of the day, skimming through the musty old text and smiling with pride. It was full of stories, tales recounting the greatest warriors in the history of Asgard, and it would soon hold the names of both her boys, clever and daring as they were.

They would not be returning home today, she thought, knowing that the mountain roads must have been full up with mud and water. Too dangerous to run the horses through, particularly with towing home a kill. The river upon the mass of earth was sure to have started overflowing by now, much like the fountains that sat down in the gardens below her balcony, and she gave a thought to the fish Loki had left to live within, hoped that they wouldn't be washed out of the marble pools by the rain and left to dry out when the sun arrived again. But, even were they to be swept right down the steps and into the lake water, when her boys returned, Loki was like to magic them back to where they belonged.

For the past two days, she had wondered about them, hoped that the hunt was going well, all the while trying to push Odin's loud fears from her mind. They were still just boys, he had said, would continue to get themselves into trouble so long as they thought themselves immortal. Why, he'd been at it for the whole of their absence, pacing about the palace halls and fretting all the while, and Frigga had since decided it best not to try and calm him, for it never did any good until their sons had returned whole. She had run off to the library, collected several books and settled back into her private chambers.

One of the tales spoke of the first warriors to hunt down a herd of bilge snipe what had been terrorizing a distant village to the west. Frigga knit her brow and shut the book, sitting back in the chair and remembering that Odin had said that the boys intended to find one of the big, ugly things themselves. They were sure to be massive, the size of a horse if not larger, full of teeth and claws and scales and muscle. Certainly dangerous enough to kill ten well-armed men. That set her stomach to churning, ans the queen swept towards the window, set her hands against the windowsill and stared outside, hoped that they'd come rolling through the rain on horseback, laughing.

They didn't, and she turned her back to the panes of glass with a sigh. They'd only been gone a few days, and, as much confidence as she had in them, it never got easier waiting for them to come back. These past few nights, she noted, had been increasingly lonely without Thor's laughter and Loki's wit.

But they'd be home on the morrow. Of that she was certain. They'd come home, and they'd be just fine.