A/N: I've actually given myself a deadline to finish this story and it only seems natural that I have it done, edited and posted before Thor: The Dark World hits the screens worldwide. Of course, this story is already AU (anything remotely Loki and Jane here is, really) but the thought that there's going to be some inevitable comparison between this story and the film still makes me cringe somewhat.
Deadlines for me however, will probably translate as good news to those who're reading. Once again, thanks for your support and reviews. I've a fair bit written so think of this as an early treat/update. As always, my storyline and characters are a mix of the Marvel canon storyline, Norse Mythology and our beloved actors who have brought them all to life.
The heat sears through skin and muscle, but still, Thor holds on and shuts his eyes as the waves of fire cackle below. There is little there but darkness and never-ending mist, a veneer of emptiness that barely hides the realm of fire, shrouding his inner sight of his beloved weapon.
He strains to look, the effort whiting out the sides of his vision.
Yet, he sees nothing.
With a roar of frustration, Thor tries again, ignoring the dangerous tilt of his own body as he sways and struggles, disoriented by the copious amounts of noxious vapour that coat and blacken his face.
Hidden deep within a dimension, Mjolnir sleeps too soundly.
His energy momentarily spent, Thor exhales noisily and slumps against the hard rock. The small ledge is his only refuge from the temperatures of the raging heat. Even then, aftershocks widen the chasm daily. As each hour passes, the bedrock that holds his considerable weight chips off by the thumb-ell. If Mjolnir does not respond to his call before the ledge breaks off entirely-
It is best not to consider what is yet hypothetical.
Yet on the edge, pushed to the brink, it is his brother's face he sees. Was this how Loki felt as he fell into the void, only to end up in the forgotten branches of Yggdrasil, until Thanos and the Chitauri army found him? What had he endured…even as their family mourned his death too prematurely?
With sweat pouring off his face, Thor takes a deep breath and starts his search anew.
oOo
The dawn breaks over Svartalfheim with the faintest sliver of light over the horizon, then winks out so quickly that unpractised eyes cannot perceive the atmospheric shift. Yet another day has gone by and a holding pattern of sorts has been established, an outcome so outlandish and incalculable that Loki had not foreseen it.
By his estimate, ten cycles have passed since his unfortunate fall from the ravine into the river. It is also the longest period that he has spent in another's company and with one who isn't an Aesir. He is however, quick to tell himself that the mortal still lives and breathes only because he will not be beholden to someone of such inferior a stature when it had been her dagger that had averted a grievous injury.
With a slight flick of his wrist, her elegant blade appears in his hand. Carved out of the finest Asgardian metal, it is a weapon fashioned for a lady's hand, though he cannot possibly imagine how it has landed in Jane Foster's possession.
Immediately, Loki knows that it is a gift as well as an unspoken challenge, for the mortal to rise beyond her bodily limitations to prove her worth before she is granted a place among the Aesir.
Yet it seems as though Jane Foster has no qualms about failing. Perhaps she is resigned to it? Not once has she spoken about wanting a part of Asgard as Thor's consort; neither has she spoken of the immortality and powers that await her should she pass Odin's and Frigga's tests. Instead, her random babbles that come at the oddest times of the day are piece-meal offerings of her life out in the desert wastelands of Midgard and a snippet or two about the days she spent as a scholar in the libraries immersed in books.
Often, he pretends not to hear what she says. But Jane Foster talks on anyway, whether as a means of filling the silence or combating her own loneliness.
And it leaves him more than a little intrigued.
For once in his entire life, he thinks he has attained a measure of understanding of…mortal weakness, as much as it pains him to admit that. But he is far from accepting it in his own body. Subject to an equivalent measure of fatigue, hunger and dulled senses as Jane Foster probably is, Loki finds such an existence too cumbersome for his liking.
And Thor finds an affinity with that damnable realm because…?
Shaking his head, Loki puts Thor out of his mind, uncaring of the outcome of the idiot's skirmish with Algrim. There is bigger game to hunt and as far as he is concerned, he will do this on his own terms. Not at the behest of Odin and most certainly not because Thor's precious Midgard has been razed by Malekith's ambitions of conquest. A part of the reason he'd like to think, is for Asgard, a place for which he feels so deeply, yet isn't accepted in.
And for the rest of it, whoever said that everything needed to be quantified and justified?
Although it has taken far too long, his wounds have healed and he is ready to move on, eager to explore the ways in which the Svartalfar travel between realms without the equivalent of a Bifrost.
The sudden sound of rustling behind him doesn't make him snap around in surprise as he used to.
Jane Foster rises from her slumber as shaky as a newborn foal and as ill-tempered as a bilgesnipe. Her daily ablutions and routines are patterned in such a way that allows him to read her like an open book.
Stepping over to her as she washes her face in a shallow pool of water, he takes the opportunity to catch her unawares.
"We will move on today," he announces without warning.
Predictably, she jumps at the sound of his voice. Then she whips around and glares at him, the angry stare turning up a notch when he simply raises a questioning brow in mock-innocence. Only when she emerges from her little pool does he hold out the dagger towards her, moving under her nose such that it enters her field of vision. But she is staring at it like an entirely foreign object, making no move to take it.
Impatiently, he pushes it forward until its hilt nearly touches her nose. "You are now fully healed, are you not? You can now defend yourself with this dagger."
"You can keep it," she tells him dully.
Loki rolls his eyes and sighs, "Consider us even, Miss Foster. You have thrown me the dagger to defend myself against the Svartalfar and I have used it to provide all the sustenance that you need. You should reclaim it as yours."
She snorts and moves past him to the small, communal vat of food that she has carefully watched over for the past few days. "Lots of good it does when the only thing I can do with a knife is to slice vegetables and chicken to throw into the cooking pot."
His brows nearly hit his hairline. "This blade is forged by the sweat and blood of Frigga's own smiths, handpicked by Fjörgynn himself. It is a treasure to behold in all the realms and their wielders carry them with great pride."
He is unprepared for the cynical chuckle that he hears. "Exactly."
"You would reject a gift from Frigga herself?"
Finally, she raises her eyes to meet his, and cautiously takes the dagger from his outstretched hand. Turning it around to examine the finely carved runes on its hilt, she tells him with a small grimace, "I'm no warrior. Everyone knows that. I don't need any more reminders of that fact. So maybe it's better it stays in the hands of someone who actually knows how to use it."
He remains silent, contemplating that statement and she takes it as an invitation to go on.
"My presence on Asgard hasn't been a vacation, despite what you probably think," she sighs. "I was supposed to 'prove my worth' to Odin and Frigga if that's what you can even call it, with the help of this little dagger. And whether it's magic or not, trust me when I say I failed all the tests spectacularly."
Now that is an interesting revelation, another knot to frustrate the Norn's perfect weave of destiny's fabric. Loki wonders how Thor must have dealt with this particular trip in his step.
"There is little mortals can do without failing," he says patronisingly.
She glares at him again, but there is little heat behind that look as she motions to his bound hands. "Yeah, you should know, right?"
Loki stamps down the flare of anger at her goading, recognising all too well that the wounded set baits as much as they take them. "So you accept your failure."
"Let's just say I'm no stranger to it."
He gives her a long, hard look. "And what of your pledge of loyalty to Thor?"
"Pledge?" She repeats the word incredulously. "I think you're not getting the full story here. I'd all but given up seeing Thor again. Then he appears out of the sky one day, long after the Avengers are gone, just as Earth's getting destroyed, then he whisks me off to Asgard. Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered that he thought of me, and Asgard's such a great place, but the next thing I knew, I've been turned into a bird, asked to fly, and next I was facing some large beast out of mythology with that dagger. It was about ready to eat me and all I could do was scream. The All-father is convinced that these tasks have shown me up and frankly, I agree with him."
"So the taste of failure is bitter," he comments sardonically.
She makes no response to that and merely straightens her shoulders a bit more at his prodding.
He will not deny that the mortal's embittered stance surprises him and with it comes unbridled satisfaction in hearing that that oaf of his once-brother has yet gotten it wrong again. It is expected that the paths for a mortal in an immortal realm would not be without trials, but these would already be sufficiently trying in a realm that prizes valour and every outward show of physical strength.
Everything else that falls outside these clearly defined expectations is simply called…weak.
The memory of his hands turning icy-blue springs unbidden into his memory. Laufey's son…small for a giant's offspring…abandoned, suffering, left to die…the monster parents tell their children about at night…
With a grimace, Loki banishes the memory into a place where forbidden emotions reside. At present, it isn't too hard with the dulling effect of his bindings; it is in fact, easier than what he's ever had in centuries.
A traitorous part of him wishes it'd stay that way for a while longer.
A deprecating sigh from Jane Foster breaks the silence and he watches as she clumsily twirls the blade once. "As I said, you'd probably do better with it than I ever will."
With a shrug, he takes the dagger out of her hand and vanishes it back into the seamless dimension that forms part of the air that surrounds him.
"Well then. I thank you for the precious blade. Goodbye, Miss Foster," he tells her with some finality.
"What? That's it? After all that I've said? And you're leaving me here?" Disbelief colours her voice and Loki smirks inwardly at her rising pitch.
"Why shouldn't I?" He replies nonchalantly as she sputters in indignation.
Her mouth hangs open rather comically and he enjoys the look of shock for as long as it lasts. "I thought that I…we-"
"I don't know why you assume that there's any charity on my part simply because I-"
"I'll just follow you, you know? I'll walk where you walk, because I know you want to get out of here as much as I do," she interrupts him quietly. "And without your magic, I might just be able to keep up."
Her audacity makes him clench his fists just as her tenacity goes a way to impress him. With this mix of foolish bravado and misplaced determination rolled into one, he sees why Odin had set such lofty targets for her to meet before granting her an Aesir's body and powers. Sighing loudly, Loki simply turns his back to her and begins walking, but not before he hears her own sigh of relief as she follows.