Chapter 4

The flight to Wakanda was peaceful enough, since S.H.I.E.L.D.'s aircraft were state- of the art and hadn't been damaged by the collapse in New York. He hadn't spoken to her at all yet, despite their close proximity. The silence was stifling, and it seemed like she could tell he was troubled. The Wakandan prince T'Challa was accompanying them, to see if any compromise could be made before the melee began, but it was unlikely.

The prince's head was down. What is it like to care about the pains of your people? Loki himself had been king once, but it had been more of a statement than a true reign. He had wanted the last laugh, and he'd gotten it, until that blasted Sif uncovered him and Thor made her queen by marriage. But to be fair, while ruling, he'd been a good king, just like Odin.

Nay, I remember what it is like to care. His home had been destroyed and his people slaughtered before he was even old enough to remember it. To feel that he was neither of Asgard nor of Jotunheim had pulled him apart. And now this mortal princeling waged the same internal war, that of the Mutates he loved and the humans he belonged to.

"It'll be all right." The comfort surprised him. Irene was the first person to speak, which was unlike what he knew. She continued: "As long as you don't die and the world doesn't end, it'll be all right."

The only thing he said was "I could have prevented this," before getting up to talk to the pilot about how long it would be until landing. Loki wished he could do the same, but soldiers and agents were strapped in around him, making movement awkward at best. Gone were the days when he'd have blasted them out of the sky for being in the way. What was the point? And where would he go where he wouldn't be noticed? He was the son of the Fárbauti the striker and Laufey the slender tree, a giant of firestorms and glaciers and sorcery, born of lightning. He attracted chaos with his very being.

"What will you do after this?" he asked. The woman was surprised by his question.

"Why do you ask? I thought I'd made it clear I'd stay." The word 'stay' has multiple meanings. She could stay with S.H.I.E.L.D., she could stay with the Avengers, she could stay with him… Inconceivable. Who wants to stay with this world's enemy and the other worlds' freak?

He looked away, tempted to look into her thoughts, but respectful enough of her privacy not to. Not only is she beautiful, she is intelligent and self-sufficient. The females of Asgard are not half so clever. He realized then that he wanted this woman at his side, for however long she could be there. To so entice her, he cast several signs: gyfu (as it was a gift), tyr (for victory in battle), and bjork (for the beautiful woman and prospective mate). Anyone who had experience reading runes would have deciphered the shimmering purple blossom as a present inappropriate for a stranger, but what could she know? It was but a beautiful little spell in the shape of atropa belladonna. Of course, it wasn't a real love spell, but deep in his soul he hoped it would have the same effect.

He passed it to her without preface, avoiding eye contact. "What's this?"

"I hear it is traditional to carry a companion's tokens into battle here on Midgard." She smiled a little condescendingly.

"That was at least six hundred years ago."

He chuckled. "What, a mere blink and your traditions die? I would have been…about nine hundred then. A young man."

"And you are not young now?"

"Not young, not old," he answered airily. He watched from the corner of one eye as she tucked the purple blossom into the v-neck of her gear.

"You look about thirty-five. Like me." Their small talk had to come to an end, however, as the agent beside them cleared his throat. Clearly he was uncomfortable with their verbal affection. Loki was further charmed when Irene cheekily stuck her tongue out at the man, just to show she didn't care.

Still, she was not visibly affected by his token. After all, he had propositioned her. Twice. And she was a woman who did not easily love, he felt, especially not her captor. He eyed the flower tucked into her shirt.

The plane touched down in a sandy lot. It was bare- or so they thought. A look around the arid area soon revealed they had landed in a battlefield, with troops on both sides of them.

"Well," Loki said with a grim smile. "This looks like a fun party."

…

It was not a fun party, however. While Irene had hoped to see some action, to spur her being into self-preservation, it was not to be: T'Challa had met with the leaders of the two forces, and they had agreed to a summit scheduled for a fortnight later. For now, the ceasefire was held. And, as a gesture of trust, S.H.I.E.L.D. was now leaving these opposing forces to themselves. They were an advanced enough group not to murder each other after the compromise, they thought.

"You could have had any bed; why mine?" They were leaning against a tank's solid hull, out of the heat of the sun. This was the first he'd spoken in a while. The stillness of the land felt ready to burst, but still he conversed.

"I doubt you need me to answer. Do you think I didn't feel you roving around in my head last night?"

"My apologies." There was a pause.

"Apology accepted." And another. "I went back to your room because everyone else's was locked with Stark's pesky scanners."

"The ones he installed when S.H.I.E.L.D. decided to work from his earthbound castle? You could have asked me for a key. I am a sorcerer after all." He still wasn't looking at her directly, which meant he was insecure about something. She was finding that the best way to alleviate her own miseries was to focus on his.

"No need, as long as you feel no inclination to take liberties with me." What makes this man tick? With his history, why would he choose to let me choose? He could destroy me on a whim solely by this chain that binds us.

Does he find me interesting, like a pet? I find him intriguing. After all, who else in the world gets to share a room with an immortal from another dimension? She swept a stray lock of hair from her forehead. The heat was beginning to leach moisture from her skin in the form of oil and sweat. She could feel his gaze on her like a cat on prey.

"I couldn't touch you. It is Asgardian custom never to touch a woman unless she so chooses."

"You've already violated that," she said in a rather snarky tone.

"Again, my apologies." Despite the gentlemanly tone, she was still sure he was less than gentle in most other aspects.

A buzz and then a voice over the comms screamed. It was one of the men, crying for help. Irene's heart leapt into overdrive.

"Help me, please! Someone send backup!"

She cursed and looked at Loki. He'd heard it too. "Where are you?" she said very clearly, ensuring he heard her. That question was answered by the sound of gunfire- the Mutates had no need of guns, being a feral, powerful people. It had to be the humans that had started the skirmish. Thinking quickly, she started running.

She didn't want to die, but she also didn't want other people to die. A cold hand yanked her back. "Hold, Ms. Adler." Loki was grinning. He obviously looked forward to the fight. Perhaps it was his Asgardian heritage taking hold. "I have a better way to get there."

She stared for a moment. "Do you have my riding crop?" With a flick of the wrist, he produced it. She swiped it from him, leaving the air hissing. "Thank you." He smiled.

"I knew you had the makings of a hunter in you." The smile was swiftly removed, and before even he could react, his cheek was burning. It wouldn't raise a welt due to his immortal nature, but it still hurt.

"Shut up." He grasped her arm and prepared to teleport.

"As you wish."

…

As much as the fight made blood pump hot in her veins, simply defending the Mutate chieftain from gunfire and huddling behind rubble and tables wasn't enough. Loki was fighting full force as well as he could with as much magic as he was allowed, and the agents were being forced into the defensive under the onslaught. He was allowed to use defensive magic only, redirecting bullets and occasionally wading into the fray himself while communicating to her why he did not simply eradicate the enemies with a single blow. If I raise my hand in offense, Heimdall will transport me back to Asgard for reprimanding.

Irene was too busy to be impressed with Loki's handle on magic. After all, the unconscious bodies were beginning to pile up, and the stench of vomit and blood was beginning to induce her own nausea. The needles she was armed with were coated with poison, but she was running low and they were useless after a few uses. Where are reinforcements? Did Fury send us here to die? She hadn't been allowed to carry a gun. They had come as a peacekeeping force.

This will certainly end in a political mess, if not a full-scale war. The chieftain was looking out constantly, and thinking to save him from a bullet to the head, she yanked him back. He grinned at her. She did not like that grin. She thought back to Loki, Who is this chief? He looks less than friendly. I have a feeling this is really his doing. She turned away to stab another soldier in the leg. The poison was diluted, so she had to spar with him a few moments.

You would be correct. He is N'Jadaka, christened Erik Killmonger, Black Panther's rival for the throne.

Hmmm. I didn't know you were so informed about Midgard's political scene.

Royal rivalries hold a certain interest for me.

Distracted with their mental conversation, she failed to see a man with a gun creeping over the barrier. The gun clicked. She whirled about in fear. I am going to die.

He pulled the trigger.

No, you're not.

And in a flash of light, everything disappeared.

…

After the initial dizziness wore off, she stood, still covered in dust and sweat. "Sorry again," Loki was saying. "The trip can be disorienting for some." They were in a golden room, domed and geared every which way, with light emanating from below. "Heimdall, good to see you, old friend." The way he said it told her that Heimdall was not a friend.

A gigantic hand, dark and callused, hauled her up the dais by the arm. Heimdall struck her as a very stiff fellow, with his bulging muscles and golden…everything. "You have broken your deal, Loki Laufeyson."

"Deal? That was extortion," he spat, dropping the facade.

"You have killed again. You have broken the law." Irene wished she was far away from this bridge's keeper. His voice vibrated the air around her ear, and it was very uncomfortable.

"He saved my life!" she said, coming to his aid. It was if she'd never spoken.

"The Warriors Three are come to escort you." Somehow she knew she wasn't allowed to argue. With great clanking and whirring, the half-domed room slid open, and three men of varying sizes (one giant, one troll, and one goblin, in her eyes) pointed their weapons at Loki.

"Now, gentlemen, why such hostility?" Loki asked. Despite his words, she could see he was tense. "Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral," he said, nodding at each of them in turn.

"Shut your mouth, serpent," the one called Fandral said, brandishing his toad-sticker. "What have you done now that our king couldn't stop you?"

Hogun just narrowed his eyes. The largest of the three, who was probably fonder of eating than fighting, shoved his way in and bent down close to Irene. "We'll let Sif decide what to do with this one." He looked at Loki, then back at her. Hmph. Maybe this one's smarter than he looks. She instinctively covered her wrist. These people might not take kindly to her link with Loki.

Then she looked out at the rainbow bridge, the glassy, shimmering road that led into a golden citadel, dropping off on either side into oblivion. She had only heard of this place in stories and briefly in files and secret documents. Her mind reeled with the realization: I am on Asgard.

The march to the citadel looked a long one, but due to the dimensionally stretched nature of the road, it was a short one. Irene felt they could have traversed the long journey and that perhaps the path had been shortened for her. "So, this is your old place?" she queried lightly.

"I supposed one could say that, yes." Though it was never really my place, he thought back at her. Their telepathic communication was becoming more and more natural. It thrilled her, comforted her, but it also made her wonder if her mind would be her own again.

Why?

Asgardians are distrustful of those who use magic instead of hand-to-hand combat. He sniffed disdainfully, though she could tell he wasn't sincere. Morons.

I'm sorry. It must have been hard growing up in a place where people don't understand you. Before he could push her away, she shared with him her upbringing: a strict, unloving home life in New Jersey, her abandonment as she took to the stage as a singer, and her ruin as the media found that she was a dominatrix. Then she'd moved to the UK for a life undercover. It was just so nice to know that someone wanted me for more than a trophy.

You know my story, don't expect me to pull your heartstrings now, he said drily. Well. Perhaps she'd said too much. The gates were opening anyway. Her eyes widened as warm air rushed to meet them, with the smell of ocean, greenery, and sweet perfumes.

Your old place is…nice.

You should see my ancestral hall.

You have an ancestral hall?

She noticed, even with her eyes forward, that men and women and children had taken the time to watch them go by. Some were jubilant, toasting the Warriors Three for their catch of the dastardly trickster. Some were curious about the frail human's presence in the home of the gods. Here, in the jeering crowd she dared speak aloud.

"I see your stint as king and conqueror didn't end well." He replied with a smart-aleck smile.

"Oh, but I did Asgard plenty of good, didn't I, Hogun?" The burly warrior shouldered his mace in obvious discomfort.

"What did you do?" He was smug, but his upper lip was curled slightly with disgust.

"I prevented my idiot brother from becoming king. Before that, I saved them from their own foolish deals with giants, and I gave them their weapons and their beauty."

"You killed Balder and your spawn are our mortal enemies," Fandral argued back, unable to resist the baiting.

"My children are the subject of your torture and humiliation," he snarled. His children? I suppose he must have children. After all, he's millennia old. What have they done to hurt his offspring? I can see why he would hate these ignorant people.

The guards at the palace gate didn't bother to announce them. The barrier only swept open silently, disturbing only the air around them. They walked up the polished steps into a hall lit with both torches and sunlight, gilded and jeweled at every column and buttress and balcony. Irene couldn't help but stare at all the wealth. Just a chestful of the stones would have paid the U.S. debt to China.

At the end of the great hall was a throne, with great golden wings protruding from either side. A bit overkill, don't you think?

Hardly. While the throne is gold, it is only metal. It is they who sit upon it who are far more valuable. From the way he said it, the queen might have been livestock to sell at market. They approached the throne, Volstagg behind and Hogun and Fandral on either side. Apparently, they would not break formation, even while she posed no threat. Of course, it was Loki who posed the real threat.

Queen Sif was most definitely not livestock. She was tall, sturdily built, and apparently wore battle armor to everyday functions. And she was very, very blonde, to the point where her hair almost blended in with the gold of the throne she sat upon. Her head was bare except for a dainty silver circlet. This was a small detail, however, compared to her double swords and gladiatorial shield. About her shoulders hung a gold-plated chain mail mantle that must have weighed at least several stone, yet she carried herself as if it weighed no more than the lightest silk. Irene felt that if the Thor himself had tried to strike her down, he would have found himself flat on his face with a blade at his neck. But that won't happen, since he married her.

What are you doing? Loki was grinning a very conspicuous grin, the one she'd seem him use just before doing something reckless (insulting her).

The queen is not particularly tolerant of us outsiders, less so of people involved with me. Take care she knows naught of our link. Then, with some timidity, Irene looked at her wrist. As she moved her fingers away, its gentle light vanished; but Loki was still in her mind.