Title: Forbidden Fruit.
Author: Teofse
Rating: probably NC-17 by the time it's done.
Pairing: Fandral/Loki
Genre: Slash. Romance.
Word Count: 2455
Warnings: Unbetaed. This is a WIP. Post Avengers AU. Disregards Thor: The Dark World in its entirety.
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. No money is being made out of this work.
Summary: He is forbidden fruit to me. He is hopeless longing. He is the most bittersweet dream I've ever dreamed and the one treasure my status as a lowly warrior of this golden realm will never allow me to grasp.
Forbidden Fruit.
Despite the healers' best efforts Loki does not wake on the day of his trial. He does not wake the next day, the one after that, or even the next one. He remains 'stable' but otherwise unresponsive and the lack of either improvement or deterioration is slowly, but certainly, throwing the entire realm into chaos.
The king is constantly enraged, barking at his cowering aides and snarling at his high commanders to make themselves useful and find as much information as possible about his son's tormentors without alerting them to the seriousness of Asgard's intentions against them.
Scores of soldiers have been subtly re-called from their current far off posts over the last five days and the palace is abuzz with a million mighty warriors literally chomping at the bit to be let out into the field once and for all. The council's words of caution have fallen into deaf ears and with every sunset that arrives without bringing with it news of Loki's longed for recovery Odin's determination to obliterate the entire Chitauri race off the face of the universe grows like a visible cancer meant to consume all of us.
Frigga's attempts -and failure- to untangle the ruined threads she insists belong to Loki have been viewed as a bad omen for his recovery and her beautiful blue eyes dim just a little bit more every time her fingers pick up her loom with the intention of weaving some sort of image featuring her child, only to produce something else entirely.
"Why can't I bring him forth when he's right here, beside me? What is happening to him? Why isn't he waking?" Her increasingly desperate questions echo everyone's thoughts on the matter but there are no answers to be had. The healers are stumped. Odin can't find a solution, either, and the brightest minds of Asgard have been woefully unable to shed any light on the matter, despite their best efforts.
It's the eve of my sorcerer prince's eighth day back home when his brother finally snaps at dinner time. He suddenly growls in rage and throws his still full tankard of ale against the gleaming wall beside the high table, making the entire hall jump with shocked dismay at the kind of loss of control that only ever ends in the foulest of storms and the irreversible loss of hundreds, if not thousands, of painstakingly sowed crops.
My heart aches for the misery that haunts my best friend's eyes, but I have no reserves of sympathy for anyone right now. I'm barely holding onto my own dignity as it is. I can't afford to lose my head to sorrow when Loki isn't here to map our way out and no one else among us has a single hope of matching him bar Hogun and myself. I will not lose myself to the rage of the berserker if there is a single chance that my doing so will hinder my already limited ability to devise a way to bring Loki back.
In the wake of my failure to raise to the task of calming the hotheaded heir to the throne, Sif steps into the breach, her hand settles ever so gently over Thor's arm and nobody dares to even breathe when her understanding, but chiding plea for him to calm down reminds us all so much of the one whose job has always been to stay his brother's hand in moments just like this that we can't help the flinch that betrays our thoughts aloud.
Odin's grip on Gungnir tightens and I can only thank the Norns that the queen has remained behind, guarding Loki's bedside while we all dine, for he would have so despised seeing his mother's wretchedness raise in her breast like it is raising in our hearts right now.
"'There must be something we can do!" Thor explodes into the unbearable silence, attempting to force the rest of us into the kind of action he doesn't want to see we would have already taken, if only we knew what it was.
"Loki will not heal on our will alone, my friend." Hogun's words are wise, but ultimately useless, and therefore are dismissed out of hand without even warranting an answer.
"If magic is what he needs then there must be a way to force some into his body, Father. We already know the manacles can take it away and if those monstrous beasts found the means to drain it out of him, then it follows that there must also be a way push it back in."
Odin's lips tighten into the same grim line they've been sporting since it was discovered that Iddun's apples can't find enough magic inside Loki to restore him to his former levels of power. His body has recovered to the point that all physical signs of the torture he endured remain nothing but a memory that haunts those of us who were present in the healing room when the extent of his injuries was revealed by the examination scans. But his mind is lost to a coma he's unable to overcome while his magic remains a fragile, dying wisp inside of him.
"Loki's magic does not follow the same patterns as the other sorcerers of Asgard. We have tried every avenue known to us already, Thor. Your brother's power is so... unique... that we can not understand it and the fact that we never had the foresight to study it before now has left us without both: knowledge and options. I will not consent to having what's left of Loki's dying magic tampered with. That may kill him for good. Or cost him what he holds most dear. You know as well as I do that he'll never forgive us if he recovers to learn that we've taken his power from him, no matter how accidentally it was done."
"I don't want to take his power. I just want him to wake up!"
"Do not imagine for a second that I don't want the same thing, child. But there are times when our desires count for nothing and the only thing we can do is stay strong for long enough to be of use when our chance to strike gold finally arrives. Loki may not be as safe and sound as we wish right now, but he's still safer than he was. He is right here, with us, and he's not worsening. Let's not make hasty choices on his behalf while he's in our care, for he will not willingly give us another chance to prove our worth to him. We must strive to do the best we can. The absolute best, Thor."
Thor's rage reaches its pinnacle at that point and the entire palace shakes with the loud boom of thunder that threatens to split the suddenly rain-laden sky in half.
"Is this our absolute best then, father? Because if it doesn't look like much to me then it certainly won't impress Loki!"
Horror spreads through the high table as we all hold our breaths, waiting for either the king to vanish his heir anew or Ragnarok itself to start unraveling. I sit back, widened blue eyes staring at my dearest friend while my heart pounds in my chest and there is something so very akin to sorrow crawling down my gut that I'm convinced I'll shatter if I so much as take another breath. Loki would have loved to see this. He'd have smirked like a circus loon at the spectacle before him, feeling nothing short of chuffed by the idea that he's finally driven a wedge between Thor and their father. Destroying in one single second of thoughtless frustration Thor's never-ending willingness to walk down the same path as his stern progenitor.
Whatever thoughts cross both their minds as we remain pinned to our seats, gaping at them like witless cattle at the sight of the slaughter house, their exchange is thankfully cut short by a young page who runs into the hall with the news that Frigga has finally made a breakthrough. She's managed to weave an image of Loki onto one of her tapestries, but the scene is so small, her grasp on his form so flimsy, that she dares not risk disclosing its content. She's sent a single thing to her husband instead, a clue of sorts. A hint that is supposed to aid us in figuring out what to do next.
Odin's relief at the news doesn't wane when the page comes forwards but refuses to expose the item that lies between his tightly clasped hands with a stammered explanation.
"The queen wished you to know that she's certain you'll appreciate being told to let no eyes but your own rest upon what I carry, your Majesty."
Thor bristles at the idea of leaving. His huge body lurches sideways, massive chest arching over the empty space that separates his chair from his father's to stare right into his sire's lone blue eye with obvious challenge.
"He. Is. My. Brother!" He hisses softly enough for the words to remain trapped at the high table, but I still frown with unease at the strange undercurrents I sense in that simple statement. There's a strange inflection, an unnecessary possessiveness to the familiar claim of brotherhood that bothers me as much as it rattles his father, for the king's hand closes into a fist and bangs the table with a mighty clang that makes every plate and tankard upon it rattle like small change in a pouch.
"He is my son, too, Thor. Do not dare imply I would willingly harm him, for I'd rather lose my remaining eye than fail your brother again."
Something frighteningly like mistrust flashes between the two of them as their gazes battle one another in the brief silence that follows. I sit very still and watch them in puzzled silence, conscious of the fact that I'd have happily sacrificed my best sword without a single regret just to earn the chance to understand what in the name of the Norns is happening here. Thor blinks before I gather enough courage to request an explanation and a single rough command escapes his lips, meant for each and every occupant of both the hall and the high table:
"You may leave the room at once. I'm certain the kitchens will be happy enough to accommodate those of you who are mid-meal with whatever nourishment pleases you."
The loud screeching of chairs that follows masks the king's next words from me as I turn my attention to both Sif and the other two thirds of the fabled Warriors Three with the intention of following them out of the hall. It is not until I've come to a full standing position and I'm preparing to bow playfully before Sif in mocking invitation for the lady among us to precede me that Odin's beringed hand curls around my wrist, pinning me to the spot not with the strength of the contact but with the shock of it.
"You will remain, Fandral the Dashing."
"Father..."
"He saved your brother at great cost to himself. I wish I knew how many noble warriors prized their sterling reputations higher than my youngest child's life, but I do not. I know only of this man's sacrifice and he will be honored for it with full disclosure. It takes more than respect for a past lover to put one's life on the line like that, son. Fandral stays. He may yet prove to be Loki's salvation. I hope your brother has grown wise enough to recognize love when he sees it, even if he doesn't care for ours at this point."
My wrist jerks inside the loose circle of the Allfather's fingers, but he doesn't let me go until the last straggler has abandoned the room, leaving just the three of us with the young page. My cheeks burn a fiery crimson with the shame of the exposed but I dare not utter a word either in acceptance or denial of the king's perceptive words. Thor throws me a look that hovers between reluctant hope and heavy suspicion and I realize in this instant that he'll only ever support me if I manage to prove to him that I've got no intention of breaking his brother's heart. As if I could. As if Loki would ever consent to give me that sort of power...
The young messenger fidgets on his knees, drawing our combined attention back towards him and the king motions for him to stand up and come around the table, all the closer for us to see whatever it is that hides between his palms. I do not know what I was expecting to see, but it certainly isn't the single thread of bright blue silk that meets my eyes. I can't hold my gasp of utter puzzlement, just as my companions can't contain their own anguished groans. The three of us look at each other for a long, interminable moment in which my pounding heart reaches the worrying conclusion that both my king and his heir know exactly what this flimsy-looking string is supposed to mean. There is something in their eyes that speaks of untold sorrow and I pray with all the faith I can lay claim to for that sorrow to have, somehow, spared my sorcerer prince.
Thor's trembling hand reaches out to pluck the blue thread from the page's sweaty fingers and the boy is dismissed with strict instructions never to reveal the nature of the message he just delivered. The door bangs shut with a heavy bang behind the child and I'm uncomfortably aware that I remain the only man who is still clueless about what, exactly, has transpired. My eyes are drawn as if of their own volition towards that delicate filament of the brightest blue I've ever seen and I realize that this meager strand is, somehow, meant to be Loki. This is a Loki whose fate has managed to shed his former colors of green and gold and black. A Loki who has changed in ways I can't yet comprehend, but that frightens those who love him the most.
"What does this mean?" I whisper, suddenly afraid of the answer, but unable to leave the question unspoken.
Odin must have aged three centuries in the last second alone, but his lone eye is fixed on Frigga's message with the kind of grim determination that usually precedes Trouble with a capital T.
"It means we part for Jotunheim as soon as our horses are saddled." He explains curtly and my pounding heart falls all the way to the gleaming floor, shattering with sheer terror upon contact.
TBC