Don't Leave Me the Way I Am
Chapter Two
They travel far from the golden gates of Asgard's royal city. Thor tries not to look back as the rest of his friends do, watch the palace's tallest spire as it disappears from view. He spurs his horse on forwards, head held high, because this is all that he's ever wanted and he's in charge.
The endless shimmering of the rainbow bridge which turns the sky into a prism slowly fades away.
The people of the villages are different than in the city. The farther Thor and his comrades journey, the more people change. Sometimes they are poorer, sometimes hairier. For a band of adolescents grown up under the protective cusp of Odin's prosperous rule, it's a strange thing to see just how different adults can turn out to be.
Thor likes it.
He enjoys this freedom and often is the first to bombard strangers with questions, a bright smile splitting his lips, floating along atop a carefree happiness that makes the lengthy travel time speed by. He likes this wandering from all he's ever known, discovering the paths unknown. It's a chance to carve out a little piece of himself in places no one else would see.
Vaguely, he knows Heimdall watches them for safety, but it's the thought that counts. Here he can be different because they all are when compared to the odd melting pot of people that simmers with as much fervour as life back home.
Alfheim is the metropolitan region of Asgard known for its native Light Elves. Not yet ready to permit use of the Bifrost, Odin allowed the group of eager young warriors to venture to this place in search of adventure, and maybe even a Bilgesnipe to fell.
Every so often the group of travelling Aesir spot an Elf. They are tall and graceful with long limbs, and interspersed with the less impressive smatterings of Aesir and Dwarves they are a sight to behold. Breathtaking in their strange beauty.
But there are more new discoveries to be made yet and each twist and turn yields wildlife that has never tracked into the shining streets of Royal Asgard, fauna that explode across the countryside in colours that rival the Bifrost. Volstagg swears he even sees a troll swimming in the lake as they ride past, but it was unanimously assumed he'd merely seen his reflection.
Over the past summer the rotund warrior had sprouted an impressive curly beard that nearly touched the apple of his throat. Volstagg paid them no mind however, as he thought his locks were more than fetching.
It is when they reach the city that the travelling group leave their camping equipment packed, horses tied, and check into a tavern.
"Oh, but we're real men now!" Thor grins, has that deep compelling urge to thump someone, and luckily Loki's just within reach.
"Ow," Loki deadpans, but does not put a stop to Thor's good mood.
"I resent that remark," Sif sniffs in an attempt to appear lofty but ends up coughing on the thick smoky air that presses against them from all sides upon entering the establishment. Thor laughs good-naturedly at her and she waves a menacing fist at him in front of her watery eyes. If the city is busy then the tavern is more so, packed to the brim with all sorts of vagabonds.
Men with large fur pelts and weapons slung on the backs of their chairs litter the dining hall, and the walls are covered with the mounted heads of prize animals that stare back lifelessly. Women with low cut gowns of flimsy make flutter around, some dancing with their partners, others holding numerous canteens of mead high upon wooden platters.
They're just finding a seat when music strikes up.
"I might at last have my chance," Fandral croons happily, combing back short coiffed hair.
"At what?" Sif snorts, "You've hardly looked up from your mirror all night."
"Dear Sif, you must take your rest from watching me for just a moment, lest you become jealous." Fandral smiles and shoots her a wink. "Or do become jealous, I would not mind."
Sif rolls her eyes as he sashays away, out into the crowd of dancers. "Please."
Thor chuckles and kicks out the free chair to his left when Loki returns to the table, a half dozen tankards and a pitcher of something frothy and golden fizzing away on a tray.
Volstagg gasps and grabs one metallic mug with a sound of loud glee before Loki's even sat down.
"Do thank me," Loki smirks as he sets the fare on the greasy table with a clank. "I managed to appropriate us a bit of fun."
They all help themselves, excited to celebrate the journey with a very warrior-like pastime. In years to come it will be the norm after all. They will be together for near ever, until Thor is to become crowned and drinking in overstuffed taverns is to be a hazy well-loved memory of the past.
Hogun crosses his arms and stoutly refuses a helping of the beverage.
"Come now, Hogun," Thor crows, "Loki did us a favour, it's rude not to accept. Besides, now we can all experience mead, together!"
"How about magicking up some food too?" Volstagg blubs around his large gulps of mead loudly.
"Pace yourself, Volstagg!" Sif complains even as she chugs her drink too.
Thor shrugs and holds his tankard aloft, watching the froth creep down the side in tumultuous little clouds. Loki knocks mugs with a chink and clunk.
"To our brave indomitable leader, Thor." Loki smiles, that half-smile, the one where it's obvious he's in between making a joke at Thor's expense and genuinely admiring. But Thor has been privy to his brother's looks all his life and knows them inside and out. This one is not something to doubt at all. It is just another star in the sky; the universe of Loki's brightness.
Thor presses his lips together, feels his eyes squint with an answering grin.
"Cheers!"
Male Light Elves are known to cast spells of allurement with merely a look in their eyes.
It is as the gossip says, many women that pass through Alfheim are those who are soon to be wed, looking for a bit of deviance before the duties of married life take hold. Overcome by the enchantments, many find themselves ensnared by Elven men. It is a fantasy, a last bit of wild imagination to be whisked away on until reality pins them down. And far be it any good Aesir go without a little adventure.
Apparently the fun-seekers become so adsorbed in the Elves that they do not realize their desires are transposed from them, as inhibition is ripped from a warrior after every gulp of ale he drinks.
This crumb of information breaks away at the odd little jump in Thor's stomach when he is approached by one such Elf. But most knowledge tumbles from his mind, when in the heat of a moment.
"You sit alone." The tall, very tall, man says. His shoulders are draped in a sheer fabric that shimmers in the low light, shoulder length dark hair catching on its woven texture. "There are no more free tables, may I join?"
Thor laughs suddenly, slapping a hand onto the table.
"Of course! Sit good friend, there is plenty of space to share."
The man sits, looking out into the smoky crowded hall. The music plays on strong, but Thor can't make out the faces. They all bleed into a blur because he's looking into the Elf's eyes. Black, they are, which is strange in itself. It's a deep absence of colour, blacker than the night sky, perhaps blacker even still than the space between stars. It sucks Thor in a little, just a little, until he is searching for light.
He squints. There's a spark there, in the dark.
"What is your name?" The Elf asks, impassive face transforming into one of gentle amusement as he folds impossibly long arms across the tabletop. The ever-dancing shadows of torchlight fall across his face in shades of lavender and blue, illuminating his skin like the moon of some distant world.
"I am Thor, Prince of Asgard." Thor boasts loudly, belatedly knowing that it is probably not wise to tote his lineage in such a place but not caring in the least.
"A Prince." This is murmured. Thor shakes his head, realizing the only reason he can hear this over the boisterous music is because Thor is leaning in close.
Thor belches thunderously and then he hiccups and covers his mouth.
The Elf's lips part in a smirk that is definitely full of laughter and for some reason Thor can feel himself blushing, cheeks aflame. All of a sudden he feels too small, too lost, too warm.
This is the effect of the mead, Thor thinks blithely, nearly ready to scoff away the uncertainty. But there is no one around to shout to on his amazement at this simple flowing drink. His tablemates have wandered off, sampling of the nightlife the tavern has to offer.
Perhaps Thor is drunk on freedom but he knows not of any limit freedom can hit.
Thor leans back, pushing away the near empty tankard. He'd only had three, surely that wasn't enough to addle his mind.
A set of pale fingers softly curl around his forearm.
"Young Prince, you are well."
This makes no sense to Thor. He feels decidedly unwell. Confused, and if he's ready to admit it, even a bit touch starved. The point of contact is like the hot sear of an unforged sword, cutting into him with its heat. It's with a removed sense he knows he shouldn't be reacting this way. Not only is it troubling, but Thor has no idea how to fight this invisible foe. He thinks of falling over to the ground, breathless from fighting something he can't see, black eyes hovering over top.
Thor blinks rapidly, realizing his heart is beating much too fast.
He must be enchanted, somehow. But it's not supposed to work on boys.
It's not supposed to work on Thor.
"Oh, and who might you be?" Volstagg interrupts, dropping a heaping pile of meats and sweet bread at his seat. One roll escapes and goes down the table length before dropping off the edge.
The Elf man pats Thor's arm twice, a kind gesture, before the chair scrapes back and he is gone.
A storm passes through the night and when they wake the next morning it is discovered half their supplies and one horse have been stolen.
The remaining five horses clomp onwards deep into the forest. It's hunting season in Alfheim now and the group does not plan to return home before making some impressive kills. It's necessary, if they want to trade in meat or trophy heads for another horse.
"I don't see why that farmer would not sell us his steed! Not even to the sons of Odin!" Thor is still steaming over this offense.
"The man probably only has the one horse to sow his seeds, of course he would not give it to us." Loki rolls his eyes and Thor tsks.
"I hear they fetch a good price for unicorns around here..." Sif suggests happily.
"I am not riding a unicorn." Fandral complains and then wipes at his sweating brow. "Volstagg, disembark that horse immediately, it is your turn to walk!"
"And he could very well use it," Hogun mutters under his breath.
"My girth is none of your concern! Unless you mean my very handsome endowment. Then all may know if I were to unsaddle I would still have a horse's parts between my legs." But Volstagg does slide to the ground, bending from side to side to get the kinks out of his spine.
"Ugh, yes." Sif is used to hearing bawdy commentary, she spends most of her time with boys after all, but she never misses an opportunity to strike with sarcasm. "Then someone ought to ride you."
There is a moment before they all burst into laughter at Volstagg's red face.
They travel amiably until Thor's stomach growls so loudly Hogun unsheathes his sword, wondering what beast had stalked them. Thor feels a bit sheepish, but knows he is still yet growing. The time that has passed is evident by the length of his golden hair which has begun to cover his red-tipped ears.
It's more difficult to make a comfortable camp with the remaining equipment spared in the theft, but young Aesir warriors are remarkably resilient, and stubborn.
It is only after Loki casts a spell to produce fire when they stop shivering in the cold night air.
"You could have let me do that before," Loki mocks, completely smug.
"Yes, but then who would cuddle you?" Thor laughs elbowing his brother in the ribs and scooting back from his press to Loki's warm side. The fired air passes through the space between them.
Loki turns to Thor, the orange firelight playing off his features in a strange soundless tune. "Not my fault I don't fall prey to the cold so quickly."
The rest of them harrumph and Hogun finally manages to get Volstagg to stop using his cape as a blanket. While it's still attached.
When it comes time to sleep they are exhausted from telling enthusiastic jokes and stories, so it takes Thor a moment to properly understand what's just been said.
"We've only the three tents left. Well, what do you say, Loki?" It is Volstagg who asks this, already gathering up his furs for bed.
Loki does not bother to hide his surprise, and neither does Thor. It is not that the Warriors Three do not like Loki, only the fact that Loki does not like them. He has made it no secret, ever since they were young. He found them dull, he'd said to Thor one day, when it was just the two of them talking a walk behind their parents on the Bifrost. They are so vexing, Thor. Why do you even bother when we have each other?
I'm not gonna replace you, Thor had said, feeling full of determination to make Loki see. But we're to be Kings one day, and every King needs friends.
In high places, Loki had finished, but neither of them knew so well the meaning of that phrase.
Then let's hope they grow very tall.
Thor feels somehow a little betrayed then, when Loki acquiesces.
"If you snore, so help me..." Loki threatens even as Volstagg gives a hearty laugh.
"I will share with you Fandral." Hogun pats the seat of his pants as he gets up, dusting soft soil and foliage from his hands.
"Excellent idea!" Fandral replies, turns to Thor and waggles one eyebrow.
Thor watches the other boys track off, watches as Loki looks back over his shoulder at Thor. His green eyes cut between Thor and Sif and then Loki turns away with a shrug.
"Do you not find it odd?" Sif asks quietly, when they lay down together in the last tent. Her breath is visible in the air, resembling the long curling tendrils of blond hair that fans out underneath her head. Her chin tucks down, nearly touching her collarbone. "That they should want you and I together?"
"I think none of it," Thor gripes. "It is they who do not want me."
"Is that how you see it?" Sif looks at him then, curiously searching his face with and then, smirks. "How vain, Thor."
"Of course!" Thor agrees, knowing he sounds arrogant. Doesn't care. He is arrogant in this, because he doesn't understand why he can be so easily rejected.
The familiar easy humour of the earlier conversation threads its way into even this as Sif snorts. "We must switch places then, so you can see how blessedly annoying it is. Should they want you in the way they do me you'd beg to change back."
"I would not complain."
"No, only introduce them to your fist!" Sif laughs and then slaps his arm. Thor grins, the melancholy mood evaporating from him like each of his ghostly breaths. He tentatively reaches out and pokes Sif on the side of the head. She seems deeply amused by the clumsy affection, but does not stop him.
"Thor," She says just a bit unsurely, the laughter in her voice is a flame that blows out. "You know what they say, don't you? About us?"
He grows still, feels vaguely nervous. "Uh, yes, I do."
"You don't want that, do you?"
I don't want to lay with anyone, Thor thinks.
"Sif, you must know. I don't have... Don't have designs on you. You are my friend, Sif, and a warrior. Same as any other."
"Oh," She blinks, eyes shining in the dark. And then she smiles back reassuringly, looking girlish for just that brief moment. "Good, because I was this close to introducing your jewels to my knee."
"Psst!"
Loki pushes himself up sleepily, elbow nearly giving out underneath him in the slippery soft bedding of the tent. Thor holds in a snicker at his brother's dishevelled appearance. Beside him, the large lumps of furs that make up Volstagg erupt in a loud growling snore.
"Thor?" Loki asks, blinking against the moonlight that streams into his face. Thor nods quickly, gesturing with a cupped hand for Loki to follow.
"I wish to hunt a Bilgesnipe!" Thor whispers as soon as Loki has crawled out of the tent, rubbing at tired eyes.
Loki stares at him for a moment. There's the faint scent of smoke in the breeze, as their fire has died down considerably, leaving behind charred branches. With a wave of his hand, Loki replenishes his spell and the fire crackles back to life, loud and wondrous. Thor tosses on a few more logs of wood but does not sit.
Thor's full of nervous excited energy. There might be something in the air, maybe a smell of impending rain. Or maybe he is merely dreaming, because he feels too awake. He'd laid in his bedding until the soft snoring of Sif pushed him outside, made him peak inside his brother's tent in seek of more adventure.
"Ugh, Thor, no. Tell me you're joking."
"I am not."
"They are repulsive creatures." Loki turns up his nose as if he can smell the offensive beast nearby. "Huge and scaly and trampling everything in their path."
Truthfully, Thor did not know much of the Bilgesnipe except for that they were very large and dangerous, and that their antlers fetched a handsome price. He takes Loki's word for it, however, no one Thor knows reads as much as his brother.
"That is why we will not shed tears when it is slain."
"Shed blood is more like it."
"The beast's blood!"
"Ours."
Thor has the urge to stick out his tongue. So he does. Loki does not look impressed. Sticks his tongue out too. This has Thor grinning, heart soaring somewhere far away, only tethered by the feeling of his feet planted on solid ground.
Loki scoffs and comes close to drape Thor in a fur pelt, wraps it around his shoulders.
"If you insist on standing out here you will need this." His green eyes are sea coloured in the night, and then Loki looks down, fingers curling into the soft warmth of fur's edges. "It's going to storm again. Perhaps that is why you are so restless."
Thor can't help it, drops a kiss to the crown of Loki's bowed head. He can't thank his little brother enough for always watching out for him.
"Come along, we'll go find some small game then. This is the best time to hunt, you know that."
"Thor," Loki complains, rubbing at his forehead but does not back away. Thor folds them both into the pelt and it's a deliciously comforting cocoon of heat, as if they're back home. He leans his cheek upon Loki's head, the soft black strands of hair tickling his jaw and Thor can feel the vibration when Loki speaks.
"The two of us can fell any monster that comes before us. In the morning." Then Loki gets this strange tone in his voice, one that Thor can't readily place. "Besides, why do you need me?"
He supposes Loki means for him to wake one of the others, to think of their skills before Loki's own. But how can he? It's for this reason why Thor had dragged Loki on this adventure in the first place.
Because Loki definitely hadn't wanted to come. Thor had pleaded, annoyed, persisted loudly all over the palace before Loki finally gave in. He's here because Thor asked. Because he knew somehow, that Thor needed him. For him to question that even now just makes Thor try harder.
"Do your big brother a favour." He pinches Loki's cheek and Loki groans.
They take one horse, unwilling to wake and untie another when they could share just as well. Thor rides them out towards a boggy den passed by earlier. Seemed as good as any a place for monsters to dwell.
But Thor never did get to hunt that night.
They ride in silence for so long that the light touch of his brother's hands on his hips becomes heavy when Loki slumps against him and Thor realizes he's fallen asleep. For a moment he enjoys the purity of it, the press of Loki's chest along his back, pointy nose digging in. It's simple, this thing. So trusting, that Loki can give up the usual wariness, the usual snark. Just let Thor take care and drift away. It didn't matter where they were. Anywhere was good, because when they're together, it's safe.
Loki shifts and his arms band around Thor's middle in a firmer embrace.
Thor doesn't mind the change in plans.
The next night, Thor firmly clamps a hand on Loki's shoulder and steers him towards a tent. Let the others worry about their sleeping arrangements. He and Loki have to be up all night, there're monsters to fight.
And so it goes for every day after that, until it's time to go home.
When he sets foot back onto the golden streets of Asgard, Thor is no longer a boy.
He is a man. And he is so proud. Proud of the successful journey and all the sights they've seen. He and his friends have learned so many things not found inside the golden city. They are worldlier now, and there are so many more worlds to discover. Over the course of this great adventure, the last thing on their minds was growing up, but somehow they did it.
Thor is riding a handsome white mare and when he slips from his saddle in the courtyard, Frigga runs an admiring hand over the animal's neck.
"She is beautiful."
"Spoils of victory," Thor explains, immediately launching into the Bilgesnipe slaying tale.
They are bedraggled and dirt-covered from the journey, a thick coating to rival the layers of knowledge they've gained. Frigga sends them off to the baths anyway, to rinse it all down the drain. They are scrubbed fresh and pink, dressed in soft clean garments when they meet the Allfather for supper.
Odin listens over the meal, not quite as excited as Thor to talk with his mouth full, but asking him a question here and there.
Thor stretches his arms and then takes the tie out of his wet hair. The long golden locks fall to stick to his face and neck, curling just before sweeping across shoulders. Thor combs fingers through it, pleased by the clean sensation.
"Thor," Frigga says looking slightly reproachful at the states of the split ends. "Your hair has gotten so long!"
"Keeps my ears warm." He grins back, so happy.
"Do the Elves of Alfheim like that? I wonder."
Odin's unassuming scorn is like a dagger being thrown straight through the bullseye of a target. Thor freezes.
"Nonsense," Frigga says. "Why, back in the day, your hair—"
"Did not crown a waif's body!" Odin's hand slams against the table, rattling dishes and tankards. "Look at him! Glittering eyes and fair skin. He is like a maiden. He is like his friend, that girl!"
Underneath the table, Thor feels Loki put a hand on his arm.
It is too much.
"You know not what you say!" Thor shouts, storming to his feet.
"Oh?" Odin pays no mind to Thor's outburst, in fact he seems delighted by it. An opportunity to turn silent condescension into a lesson. He's leaning forward now in his seat.
"If you have any respect for the throne, you would cease what I have commanded you cease before! You think you could not be seen? Heimdall's eyes stretch where mine does not."
Frigga and Loki are staring between the two of them, eyes shifting quickly from side to side.
Thor's mouth falls open. "But I—I didn't, I have not..."
There are so many things that Thor wishes to shout, to scream, that it all gets stuck in his throat. He can't even swallow, the feeling of suffocation is too strong. He feels sick, sick guilt that Odin would say this in front of his mother, his brother. It makes Thor's heart sink. His good mood forged from the journey's success drifts away like thick clouds, leaving behind something stark and cold, not even a hopeful flicker of a star too far away to reach for. Lobotomized skies.
"You're a fool!" Thor says, of all the things.
Odin turns away and throws his napkin to floor, then sweeps his arm and plates go flying into the stone. It is as if he cannot bear to look upon Thor without seeing something unworthy. And no matter how much he says he loves Thor, he obviously cannot forgive this one thing. Won't bring Thor out of the dark hole he's been cast down. Expects Thor to do it himself.
But Thor can't, he can't. Because he doesn't know what to do. He hasn't done anything.
And too late Thor knows that guilt is the price paid for doing something one knows they are going to do anyway. Knows his guilt comes from some place deep inside, unexplored, but exists all the same. The fact that it's there is more than enough to cultivate more guilt, until it is spinning inside him, ripping at the walls inside his chest, stomach, head.
"RWARGH!" Thor bellows. It takes flipping the table to make it go away.
"I would be alone right now."
Thor does not even bother to move from his sulk, face first in the bedding.
"If I were not here, you might." Loki replies, sits gingerly beside Thor.
It's Loki who tugs at a lock of hair, gently twisting the strands in his fingers. Each twist is a matching twist to Thor's stomach, tying it up in knots. He waits to be laughed at, teased. Or worse, asked the truth. He does not think that he can lie about something he does not know the truth of.
"Is there something wrong with me?" Loki asks after a moment, "Am I different than I should be?"
"What?" The questions are so bizarre that Thor rolls, looking up at his brother's impassive face with great confusion.
"Father barely acknowledged me today. Didn't inquire after my thoughts at all. Even before he lost his head. You two are a lot alike you know." Loki smirks humourlessly at this and it is an expression that Thor could do without.
"Sometimes I wonder where I fit in."
"Brother," He sits up, cups Loki's jaw. He wishes to use his thumb to stretch at the corner of Loki's mouth, stretch out a real smile. Loki leans into his touch so Thor does just so.
"You have nothing to worry about."
It is him who is different, Thor wants to say. Different in not a good way, but says instead, "If you were so estranged from me, I would not care. I'd love you just the same."
"Then you know how I think of you."
Oh, but Loki is a wily one. Thor has to chuckle at that, put his bad mood behind him in the face of Loki's trick. It's not every day that Loki uses his charming tongue on Thor.
Thor sits there, idly stroking a thumb over Loki's bent knee as he ties a few braids into Thor's long hair.
"There," Loki finishes, giving one thin braid a tug. It's like pulling on the rope of a bell, because Thor's ears begin to ring with rushing blood. He feels embarrassed, but comforted. Put back together into something normal.
"It's good like this, I think. Don't fret, Thor." And Loki takes Thor's hand from his knee, holds it for just a second before placing it on the bedding.
"You'll grow into it."
We all grow into things, eventually. It's just that Thor wishes he could grow out of this— Grow out of doing whatever this thing is, the thing he can't see which makes him feel so guilty.
It is after this when Loki cuts off all Sif's hair and turns it black.