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 19: September's Children
A/N: Quick question for all of you comic fans: Who can give me recommendations to comics that thoroughly cover Thanos? If you can, that would be fantastic, because I haven't been able to find any myself. Maybe I'm just not looking in the right places. I would ask at the only store nearby that sells comics, but nobody there knows anything. And their website doesn't help me any, either.
I have also started a sequel to "Like Pulling Teeth," though I will not be posting it until "The Glory Days" is finished. Oh, and as for "The Devil Of Asgard," I had chapters through 15 laid out, and somehow lost them. So, I have to rewrite those. I'll try to get at least one of them up before the weekend, because you guys have been asking.
Loki had been content to fall into a partial state of sleep upon the grass, say nothing, do nothing, as Thor, having dragged him readily out of bed, set to work saddling the horses with their belongings. Most of it was water, as it should have been, for with Muspelheim being a realm of heat and raging flame, they'd need all they could get. Particularly the trickster, who couldn't even handle the scorch of Asgardian summers.
The air was cold and slightly foggy, but Loki sat quietly under a blanket and ended up falling backwards into the dew and greenery, and soon found himself dreaming again. But when Thor nudged him with a foot, all those pleasant colors and sights and sounds died out, and his eyes opened to see his brother smiling down at him.
Saying nothing, Loki made a face, grunted and rolled away from Thor, keeping the warm fabric wrapped tightly around himself. Of course, Thor would have none of that, and knelt down to grab him, set him on his feet, and pushed Loki until he was forced to walk. He scowled as Thor tugged the blanket away, replaced it with his cloak instead as he set to folding the thing and tying it to his horse. Loki sighed, shook his head and hopped up onto the beast's back, wrapped the reins about his wrists and leaned forward to shut his eyes.
Getting up early was fine. But getting up before dawn just to pack supplies for a lengthy trip was just annoying. Unless, of course, it was to beat Thor at a bet. Competition always changed everything. For both of them.
"Are you not speaking to me today?" Thor chuckled, and fastened a thin rope to the horse's bridle before mounting himself.
Were he to answer, to insist that he were just tired, Thor would keep prodding him with questions, keep nagging at him to share what was really on his mind. Loki didn't want that. So he said nothing, pulled the hood of the cloak over his head and sighed, pretended to close his eyes as Thor nudged his mount along, caused Loki's to follow. It was a gentle motion, to sit back and allow his horse to be led along through the grass and, eventually, onto solid pavement. It was like a boat ride, being tossed lightly about at sea, wondering where the waves would take him. It was almost enough to rock Loki back to sleep again.
His tired eyes watched the ground as it passed by, knowing well that it moved much more quickly than did the horses. A trick of the mind, it was, the sort that Loki was proud he could project upon others.
That got him to thinking, about turning Fandral into a toad, causing all of Volstagg's meat to taste like fruit, projecting a feigned smile upon Hogun's face with which to scare them all. What a treat that would be, to watch the Grim parade around with a toothy grin that was not his own. He'd have to remember that one. He remembered Sif then, the disgusted way she had looked at him, as though he'd crawled in from the muddy outdoors.
Thor screamed at him then, from deep within his head, startling him into an upright position.
"Don't you ever think yourself less than me; than anyone!"
What a ridiculous idea. He'd never thought himself to be less than Thor, than Sif, than any of them. In fact, Loki had always believed himself to be a great deal better than those fools he had called friends. He didn't have to be stronger than them; his craft alone outdid them all. Intellect didn't even need to be factored into the equation.
Thor was the only one he'd ever cared to impress. Loki frowned. No, that wasn't quite true. For years he'd longed to see that glimmer of pride in Odin's eye, to see himself reflected in that.
"Do you really believe that dribble?! That you have no skill save your tricks?! That you are empty?!"
He didn't. Not really. But Odin hadn't helped to keep the thought out of his mind, and it was clear that in their father's eyes, Thor was everything a king of Asgard should have been. A little rough around the edges, but sure to be the next heir to the throne. And it always made Loki wonder: What was he doing wrong?
Loki sighed, and dared to peer towards Thor as they wandered through the streets of the city. His brother looked back, smiled, and said nothing.
"If it's any consolation... I'm proud of you."
Well, that did it. Thor was a fool, but he was a genuine fool. And, even if he didn't earn their father's favor, perhaps that could be enough.
# - # - # - #
They had not spoken at all for the whole of the journey. Not during the ride through the city, nor the expanse of the Bifrost bridge. Nothing. Not one word. And though Thor had continued to smile, to grin and bear it, the silence was steadily eating him alive. He didn't like the feeling, especially not now with the way Loki had looked at him the day before. With the hammer hanging at his side, bumping against his leg every now and then, Thor felt his guilt increasing tenfold.
Why had he been rewarded? It had been his fault that they had nearly been killed by the bilge snipe, his foolishness that, a few years prior, had forced their father to rush in on the back of Sleipnir to save them from demise upon Svartalfheim. So, why? What had he done to deserve such a gift? Thor knew he could never be as dashing as Fandral, or as valiant as Volstagg. Why, he couldn't even stand to be quite as serious as Hogun, not even for a moment. He wasn't cunning or quick like his brother, and he had no talent for spells and illusions whatsoever. He was a warrior through and through, made of nerve and brawn and perhaps a bit of iron. He was tall and solid and golden, much like he imagined his father had been in his youth.
Thor bit his lip, wiped his brow with the back of a hand. Perhaps that had been the reason. He reminded Odin very much of himself.
He quickly drained half a waterskin, poured the rest over the head of his horse to keep it cool, and turned back to look at his brother, now slumped over on his mount and still wearing the cloak. Thor tugged on the reins, caused the animal to stop, and hopped quickly to the ground. Loki must have been dying under that thing.
His hand closed around the fabric, tugged it away from his brother's body, and laughed out loud as Loki groaned, threw a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. Unlike the stories of Jotunheim, the land of the Fire Giants was bright, consistently lit by a blazing star. The air alone appeared to have a bright, yellow glow.
"Still sleeping?" Thor laughed, and Loki reached out to push him away and missed.
Leaning against the horse, he smiled, tugged on the ends of his brother's hair knowing he'd be slapped for it. Thor didn't like this, didn't like feeling that something was always amiss, that something would go wrong. He'd always known to be suspicious of his brother, to know that, when he smiled, there was only one of two ways it could go. Soft and genuine, or sharpened like the edge of the knives he so favored. The former was just the way it looked, while the latter was full of mischief, always plotting trouble. But both had disappeared, giving way to a third look that Thor had never seen on his brother's face. Envy. Perhaps it was because Loki could hide his feelings better than most, and that confused him.
The god flinched as the horse shifted, opened his eyes and looked to his brother. He'd grown to hate that look, the almost longing way Loki had taking to staring at him. As though Thor had gone and done something to wrong him, to make him question himself and everything that their people knew he was.
Thor frowned slightly, turned away and moved to lead the horses along the heated terrain. To distract himself, he thought on his words to the Gatekeeper, hoped that Heimdall would not out them to their father, would not tell their friends where they had gone were they to ask. But it made him wonder, as well, what would become of them were trouble to come. Would they be left to die in the scorching sun of Muspelheim, or would Heimdall go against the wishes of the prince and inform the others?
With the way he was feeling now, Thor wasn't sure what he wanted. Would it be better to live with the tension that hung so eerily between himself and his brother, or to suffer and die together, just let everything go?
Thor sighed, urged the horses on towards a rock face and a cave, probably the coolest point they'd come across upon the land, and turned to look back for a moment.
Even worn out and overheated, his brother still stared at him, and Thor did not know why.