"Did you see? They had LIGHTS! From Muspelheim! The eternal ones that you don't need fuel for. And they're so BRIGHT!. I want one! Can you imagine? I'll be able to work on embroidering goat-skin vests all during the darkness of winter, and we can sell them at the spring fair with a nice profit! I tried for that last year, when a bit of extra gold would have been nice after our cow died of winter-fever, but with only with candles and firelight' to see by, I ended up turning my fingers into pincushions and the patterns looked like twisted sheep entrails and not like the elegantly knotted vines they were supposed to look like!"
Meara fairly danced as she walked, kicking up puffy clouds of powdery snow, which glittered in the bright sunlight like diamond dust.
It made a pretty picture, the blue-skinned girl prancing in the middle of the seemingly endless white, the tone of her skin mirrored in the infinite cerulean expanse of the cloudless sky above.
In the distance, the rising morning sun painted the jagged, monumental grey of the surrounding mountains, which were streaked with the everlasting milky blue of glaciers, in fantastic hues of golden orange and deep purples.
And yet, despite the beauty surrounding him and Meara's exuberant mood, Loki's insides couldn't have felt colder and more jittery if a hunting dragonfly had taken up looping around in the pit of his stomach.
Still, despite this, he couldn't suppress a wry little smile.
Who would have thought that the ordered, carefuly crafted golden beauty of Asgard would pale by comparison with the silvery majesty of Jotunheim?
Certainly not him.
Meara rushed a few steps ahead, up the path towards the lake and then turned around, flashing him a grin as words continued to tumble from her mouth like coins from the purse of a fair maid out on a shopping spree and his wry little smile turned into a full on chuckle.
Who would have thought that one day, a blue skinned "monster" would wrest smiles and even laughs from him with greater ease then his "friends" in Asgard ever had?
Meara was bouncing from one foot to the other as he caught up with her and she hooked her arm under his, which would have been awkward if she had been as tall as, say Eistla, but apparently, her final growth-spurt was yet to come.
He prayed that that day was still a long way off.
"What do you think? We could invite some other crafters too and then we could spend all those long nights telling tall tales, gossiping like magpies and getting all those things done that require light good enough to see with. Angrboda could finally get to tinker with all her ancient toys, she's always complaining that she's limited to forging and assembling cruder and more graceless constructs during the dark months, because there's not enough light for working the finer, delicate ones...and she might even be able to buy some of the more exotic parts she needs to finish that Hunter. You know, she salvaged the most parts she needed from the ruins of her mother's keep hidden in the depths of Ironwood... but she never could find the last pieces that she needed to get it to come alive. Sutur's tits, she's been dreaming about getting it to work ever since we were old enough to recite a ballad!"
By now, Meara was more or less pulling him along, forging a way for both of them where snow-drifts as high as his head had obscured the trail, and he was thankful that she was so caught up in the excitement of an off-planet trader coming to Jotunheim that she didn't seem to mind that up until now, he had been dragging his steps a bit.
He was pretty sure that apart from his slightly hunched shoulders and him dragging his steps, he was also sporting a bit of a hangdog expression, a dead giveaway that he wasn't even half as enthusiastic about this outing as she was.
Thankfully, she hadn't pushed it when, a few minutes ago, she had given first his footsteps and then the way they'd come so far a quizzical look, a slight frown narrowing her brows, letting him know without a doubt that she'd noticed.
He'd just shrugged and smiled apologetically, and she'd nodded briefly and given him a quick hug before walking and chattering on as if she hadn't just caught him waffling on his decision to tag along.
In similar circumstances, Thor wouldn't even have noticed, Fandral would have mocked him and Sif would have just rolled her eyes at his indecisiveness.
For a moment, another wry little smile curved his lips and he gave Meara's arm a short squeeze before unhooking his arm from hers and giving a small push so she could scamper ahead once more.
They were headed for the lake this fair morning, where they were supposed to meet up with Meara's friends, all of them youngsters that so far, he had seen mostly from afar and only spoken to when they came to his stand at the market to buy some cheese.
When Meara wasn't looking, he wistfully glanced back at the steading that lay behind them once more, wondering if Meara would believe him if he pleaded a headache or some such so he could go back home.
Probably not.
She wasn't some dumb Asgardian to take his pithy excuses at face value.
No, if he really wanted to go back, he'd have to own up to it, plain and square. She deserved as much.
The idea of returning to the farm and finding a quiet corner where he could let his mind, piggy-backing on one of his shades, wander all the way back to Midgard was truly almost too tempting to resist and the need to obtain wares that they could trade next evening be damned.
On the other hand, visits to Midgard came with their own set of challenges.
Today was Eric Selvig's day off and Loki usually made some time to tag along, as Selvig would invariably head for the library to catch up on some reading.
Selvig's preferred seat in the reading room was a solitary, huge, comfy arm-chair covered with well-worn brown corduroy, right in front of the windows that made up the west side of the library and overlooked the pale umber expanse of the Mojave desert.
The gray-haired scientist has a marked tendency to lean to the left, resting the book or journal that he was reading on the arm-rest on that side.
It was almost as if he intentionally left enough room for Loki to settle down on the plush back-rest of the chair, his feet resting on the empty armrest to the right, leaning his body to the left too so he could more or less comfortably read over Selvig's shoulder.
Last week-end, Selvig had started a story centered around a mermaid joining the "adult conspiracy" during her quest for a perfect pair of panties, then switched midway to a herpetology journal featuring an article on the mating habits of tuataras, browsed a bit in a book on negotiation tactics called "Getting to Yes" and flipped through the pages of what Loki now knew to be the pages of a franco-belgian comic called "Asterix".
It was a selection pretty much par for the course and for all that Selvig's eclectic and erratic reading tastes have introduced Loki to a wide array of pop-culture references, commentary on midgardian history and politics as well as what passed for cutting-edge advancements in the sciences on Midgard….and fashion advice. Scarves were considered a must-have accessory to suits this year, something he personally approved of whole-heartedly. Not that he'd get to wear a suit in the forseeable future. And they'd look strange with his now blue-tinged skin anyway.
The downside to joining Selvig in the library lay with the fact that the astrophysicist rarely finished what he started when reading, and more than once, he had closed-up on a book or an article right at the moment where they got to the bits that interested Loki the most.
And of course, he himself couldn't very well pick up the reading material on his own and finish it, because his shades' ability to interact with physical objects is limited both by the energy required and by his need for secrecy.
So until he could figure out a way to persuade the Tesseract to somehow unobtrusively grant him access to the knowledge held in books and papers he could hardly browse on his own, he would have to resign himself to Selvig's occasionally frustrating reading habits…..and keep in check his own deep-seated desire to throw all caution to the wind and expend enough energy to grab the man by the lapels of his suit and shake him until he finished what Loki had been reading over his shoulder….and then closed-up before they got to the best parts.
To bad that his other favourite past-time on Midgard had become fraught with its' own set of challenges since the incident in Barton's shower-stall a fortnight ago.
Up until then, following Barton around to learn what he could about NASA, SHIELD, the Pegasus Project and all the security measures in place in the underground research facility as well as the Archer himself had been all fine and well, but…
Loki sighed and with a quick gesture made some snow that had drifted across the path shift to the side, a frost-giant skill he was still working on perfecting, then furtively adjusted his leather kilt, thankful that Meara was a bit ahead now and didn't witness the bulge that had suddenly sprung up at the front of the short leather garment, and which would hopefully deflate once more quite soon since they were nearing the goal of their little expedition.
But even if she had noticed…..the young Jotun woman would not pry into his affairs or make lewd jokes like the Warriors Three would have done and he would not have to try and dodge rude questions with the help of some glib, evasive jokes…..no, it was much worse.
She'd just quietly observe for a while and then, without mentioning a thing, he'd probably just find some additional bed-linens in his cupboard, which would come in handy, since he was getting tired of sneaking them out of the storage closet.
And here he had been thinking he had outgrown having wet dreams like an immature youngster.
He could feel his cheeks grow hot as he realized that he had not shown such a mortifying lack of restraint and self-discipline since Hogun's quite voluptuous elder cousin had visited Asgard's court, and had teased him quite mercilessly with revealing glimpses at her shapely calves and well-rounded ass.
His ardour hadn't cooled either until one afternoon, she had called him in for a truly mortifying little chat, where she'd made it plain that, while she was amused by the calf-eyed adoration he lavished on her, she considered him no more than a mere youth, too young to truly share her bed.
Now, he no longer was a mere youth and he suspected that maybe, Agent Barton might be a lot more amenable to truly sharing his bed than Hogun's cousin had been….IF he could figure out a way to steal the Tesseract….IF he found a way to reach Midgard so he could implement that plan….IF he could lure the Archer back with him to Jotunheim…and IF he could get Barton to forgive him for making him fail his duty to guard the Tesseract for SHIELD, something that a deeply loyal man like him was not wont to do quickly or easily.
Until then though, he suspected that he would only start to sleep more restfully once he found the opportunity for a repeat performance (or several) of the unexpected and furtively stolen intimacy he had shared with the somewhat oblivious Archer.
However, so far, all hopes of catching the sharp-eyed warrior in a moment of distraction where he could get close to him without the Archer becoming aware of it had been in vain.
Loki hung his head a bit as he plodded along and blew at the strand of hair that kept getting loose from his shoulder-length braid and falling into his eyes, then yawned.
He wasn't sleeping well either.
At night thoughts of regaining the Tesseract, the only bit of heritage he could still call truly his, and fevered visions of one Clint Francis Barton in all his nude glory, his skin slick with water droplets that shimmered like diamonds chased each other in his head until he'd wake up in the mornings, overtired, with dark shadows beneath his eyes and in desperate need of a little clean-up.
Maybe it was for the best that he got out of the house for a while.
And did he not owe Tjalar and Meara a bit more of a contribution to their household than just tending the goats, doing odd jobs around the house and helping them to sell their goods come market day?
They kept him clothed, kept him fed and welcomed him into their steading with kindness and good grace.
Meara wished to trade with the off-planet visitor, the first one after Laufey's death and the destruction of his army and his stronghold.
Laufey had rigidly controlled all trade with outside worlds, keeping his people in a constant state of need, with access to civilized utilities like healing chambers, constructs like Hunters or Muspelheim lights reserved for those that faultlessly toed the line.
The sole official space-port had been controlled by the nearby stronghold, both now destroyed by the Bifrosts' might and his own mad, painful folly.
Was it not a good thing that traders were showing up on Jotunheim once more so that what remained of a once proud people could freely trade and barter for much needed goods once more?
And was it not opportune to team up with others in this quest?
Meara, far ahead by now, turned and waved at him, having reached the summit of the mountain flank from where the path descended all the way to the lake.
The village youngsters were planning to go pearl-diving in the briny waters, so they'd have something to trade tomorrow night, when the trader would set up shop in the villages' tavern.
The man, a faintly reptilian looking creature, reminded Loki of the garden lizards that lounged on the stone-walls surrounding the palace's pleasure gardens, quietly basking in the sun so they seemed to become one with the stone beneath them, only to break out into lightning fast movement when they sought to catch a fly or a cricket.
As Loki had watched him on market day, he seemed affable enough, handing out a few free samples of his wares to those who would approach him for some preliminary negotiations, but somehow, his presence made Loki's neck itch and his palms sweat and freeze over, so they'd creak with hoar-frost as he cut up and packaged his wares.
Maybe it wasn't the trader himself though.
Maybe it was because the trader was an unwelcome reminder of what lurked beyond the borders of Jotunheim.
Every once in a while, he would wake from a nightmare, shaking and his cheeks wet with tears, still thinking he'd been found out and dragged away from Tjalar's holding, back to Asgard, where Odin, on Frigga's insistence, would make a few sanctimonious speeches about forgiving his wayward, mind-addled son and where the golden, never-ending corridors echoed with ugly whispers as he hurried down them, always under the watchful and aloof eyes of endless rows of guards, always rushing towards a mindless and inconsequential court duty that he never seemed to be able reach, no matter how fast he ran.
Save of course for the times where he dreamed of Odin locking him in the treasure vault, one of his many trophies, gathering dust, only to bring him out once he'd found a way of turning him into a figurehead that he could make use of to expand his influence over the now leaderless realm of Jotunheim.
What little news trickled in from the other realms gave not even a remote indication of anybody looking for him and rumour had it that Asgard still believed its' fallen prince dead.
Still, each night, he triple checked the wards and spells that hid him from Heimdall's and anyone else's gaze.
And what if what little news he had from Asgard was false?
After all, was not Jotunheim's connection to the other realms tentative at best?
Laufey had made sure to keep his people ignorant of what was going on outside its' borders, making a big show in the first years of his rule of destroying any world-mirrors he could find and of having anybody found to be in possession of a speaking crystal with enough reach to connect the realms broken on the wheel.
Still, some people had managed to hide such items and now, with Laufey and his henchmen gone, people would set them up in taverns' taprooms and the main halls of the bigger steadings and would listen to the news floating in the ether.
It wasn't much, but it was more than people had had before.
And there was another thought niggling at him.
The markings on his skin betrayed his parentage and his identity to each and every Jotun he met, just like they had on that faithful morning when Meara had found him sleeping in Tjalar's barn.
After Meara's initial outburst and Tjalar inviting him into his home, not a single person has said anything about it.
Nobody acknowledged him as anything other than as what he presented himself as: a simple farmhand.
A casual observer with no knowledge of who he was or of what had occurred just a few short months ago would have thought him no less than just another village youth, albeit one of the shyer ones.
And yet, not short after the elders' council had passed judgement on him, all and sundry must've known what he had done, that he had almost killed them all.
After their fateful little chat while ice-fishing, he'd only asked Eistla about it one more time and she'd patted his hand and told him not to worry and then asked Tjalar for another cup of tea.
So what if indeed the council had weighed his misdeeds against the circumstances under which they had occurred and had declared the burden Odin's lies and scheming had placed on his shoulders too much for him to bear, thus exonerating him at least partly for his acts?
So what if the outcome of his attack on Jotunheim had proven more beneficial than harmful, for Laufey the Tyrant and most of those who followed him lay dead now?
Either sounded like a good reason why no one had offered violence in retaliation, nay not even so much as a harsh word.
As far as his spells could ascertain' not even behind his back.
What was that merry little tune he'd heard in one of the movies the guards at the SHIELD complex had been watching in the break room?
"Ding Dong the witch is dead! Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch!...Ding Dong' the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low."
And Laufey certainly had been a harsher ruler than the Wicked Witch of the East.
And yet, despite all these reassuring thoughts, he still had to take a deep breath and force his steps across the gate every time they entered the village on market day.
Who was to say that people might not wise up one day and find that they had been mistaken?
For now, what was foremost in their minds was the memories of Laufey's tax collectors bleeding the people dry, of his soldiers being thugs of the vilest sort, casually taking whatever caught their fancy, be it livestock, food or company.
But time would dull those memories, soften the hardships suffered, and one day, would they not recall that the warriors who had died when he had aimed the Bifröst's full force on Jotunheim had been their fathers...brothers...sons?
After the terrible defeat at Odin's hands, when Laufey could not keep his promise of bountiful Midgard becoming the new home of his people and his popularity had waned even amongst the privileged warrior class, a lot of Laufey's soldiers had been men conscripted against their will.
Taking the strongest and most healthy men of each town and village had served a double purpose: it had swelled the ranks of Laufey's army and had hamstrung any attempt of his people to raise a fighting force that would'st have mounted a rebellion against him.
Most of the men left behind in the towns and villages were not much of a threat.
Tjalar had a gimp leg that gave out on him when he ran for too long or moved the wrong way. Aegir and his friends were barely old enough to go courting. The village head-man had only one arm. Vanik, who ran the local tavern, was blind on one eye, courtesy of a firebrand being rammed in his face when he couldn't pay his taxes in full.
The men pressed into service in Laufey's arm were drilled mercilessly; each inkling of rebellion beaten out of them, each show of mindless loyalty lavishly rewarded, until they couldn't tell up from down anymore, let alone right from wrong and their loyalty belonged to Laufey and Laufey alone.
And how many tales had he heard of those who had not joined Laufey's troops out of their free will being the cruelest and harshest of his troops?
The lady running the sausage stand beside their cheese stand on the market, Ingra, was someone with whom he'd sometimes chat a bit when business was slow.
She had a keen sense of observation as well as a wicked sense of humour.
She also had a crooked left arm which she couldn't use properly and she never ever crossed the area in the middle of the market, even when she was carrying heavy crates and taking that particular route would have made more sense.
At the end of a long market day, Ingra would wince whenever she had to put a strain on her arm in order to pack up her things, and one day, Loki had pitched in without a word, lifting the beams from the supports and loading the crates with what was left back into her little goat-drawn cart.
They had worked in silence at first, a silence that she broke when they were half-done.
"His name was Svern" she had said with an easy smile that didn't reach her eyes and a lighthearted tone that bore sharp barbs beneath its' soft petals. . "And ever since we were younglings, I'd hide him in a cave near my house each time there was a rumour that Laufey's soldiers were near, looking for new soldiers to bolster their ranks.
I am one of the few that still have the old magic run strong in their veins, and so I'd transform myself into a snow-spider and spin a thick icy web at the entrance of the cave, a web filled with what little magic I could weave, a web that told everybody who looked upon it "Nothing here. The cave is empty and has been unused a long time. Nothing has entered, nothing has come out...for if there had been, would there be an unbroken web covering the entrance?".
And for a very long time, it worked. We were hopeful. We married. We decided to risk it and I bore him a child. It didn't last. One of Laufey's hunting parties surprised him as he was gathering wood in the forest nine score years ago...and they took him."
She hadn't looked him in the eye when she told him about how she hadn't seen Svern after he had been taken until one fateful day twenty years ago, when some of Laufey's tax collectors passed through the village, accompanied by Laufey's soldiers.
Ingra had run to her husband, weeping for joy at seeing him again, only to fall to the ground as she reached him and he backhanded her.
He'd then proceeded to offer her as a bed-mate to his superior officer, so all would see and know where his loyalties lay these days, and when Ingra had wept and refused, he'd beaten her until she lay helpless and without resisting on the frozen ground in the middle of the market place.
The officer as well as a good number of the soldiers had then proceeded to make good use of the offer Ingra's husband had made.
Ingra had been playing with her daughter while she spoke, had ruffled the young girl's curls, so unlike Inga's own straight hair, and Loki had felt himself stand straighter as Ingra nodded at him, her lips gently curved in the first honest and happy smile since she had started her tale…..while at the same time feeling himself wilt inside beneath the thoughtfully bland gaze of Ingra's daughter.
Once the little girl grew old enough to fully understand, what would she think of him, knowing he had slaughtered her father in an act of mindless hate and a selfish need to prove himself?
And what of Ingra herself?
Ingra's husband had vested unspeakable horror upon his wife...but how heavily did that one act, committed under the mind-breaking coercion of Laufey's henchmen, weigh compared to the centuries he had loved her?
Time softened memories and made scars fade.
Thinking that there might come a day where Ingra would mourn the killing of her beloved more than the death of the man who had hurt her sent jittery dark wings aflutter in Loki's stomach, making him nauseous.
She didn't blame him now, wouldn't blame him tomorrow...but what about the day after, the week after, the year after?
If Loki had not killed Ingra's wedded husband, there would have still been a chance that one day, the man might have broken free of Laufey's influence, might have returned to her, his heart full of teary regret and ready to make whatever amends were necessary to soothe the pain he had caused.
Loki's actions had robbed her and her daughter of that ever happening.
From that day on, each time he met Ingra and her daughter at the market, he would watch them warily from the corner of his eyes, searching for that first bit of blame in their eyes, arranging and re-arranging the cheeses at his stand until he was sure that there was no trace of it.
Each market day, as he exchanged pleasantries with his customers and watched people bustle around the town square, all of them caught up in their chores and their lives, he wondered who else had lost somebody first to Laufey and then to his own machinations.
Each market day, he wondered when people would start making snide remarks behind his back.
When would they begin to stare at him as if they wished that he dropped dead?
How long would it take for them to insult him openly and spit in his face?
How long until he outstayed his welcome?
And now Meara wanted him to meet other people.
Not just fleetingly and casually as he did at the market, but for a whole long day, working together with them, planning the dives into the lake with them, eating his meals with them.
Meara was still waiting for him at the top of the slope , already waiving at the people below, and with a sinking feeling, he realized that no matter which way he turned or what he did, he'd gotten too complacent, too hopeful and it was only a matter of time until his life went awry, as usual.
For Guest
Well…..I'm not quite done with the Jotunheim / Shield Complex in the Mojave Desert part, but there's be some more factors coming into play, so the events in the "Avengers" movie are going to go pretty much the same way they went in canon (with a few added extras and bits of background that shake things up a bit).
But after that? Who knows? ^_~
For Nyx811
Wow. That was one hell of a short comment. I take it though it means you like the story?
For whovian42
*g*
I hope not so badly that you can't put yourself together again (if that's not the case, let me know and I'll try to send a first-aid kit over).
As you probably noticed by now, I'm a bit of an erratic updater, but yes, this story is still being written (and no, I have no hopes at ALL of shutting up my muses ^_~)
I hope you like the new chapter.
For werehere101
At first scrolling by stories and only reading them much later and finding out that I loved them has happened to me too. ^_~
I'm pleased as punch though that you decided to give it a try and that you found it to your liking. Especially the very nice compliments you made about character-development and plot put a big smile on my face, so thank you.
As you have probably noticed by now, I'm a quite erratic updater, so yes, there will be more (hopefully soon), but I have a job, a family and a house to see to, so yeah….erratic updating schedule.
Concerning your questions:
About Farbauti and King Ymir:
Well, I'm a mom myself, and I always asked myself about how Farbauti could have allowed her son to be left out at the temple to die (and Odin to find him). And why did she never try to contact her son?
I know I (and most other mothers) would have moved heaven and hell to protect my child and to find it again…..so yeah, something had to be up with Farbauti, and her an Laufey's relationship and how it ended grew from there.
Ymir's story grew from the fact that according to the marvel database, Ymir is the oldest and most powerful of the Frostgiants, so it made sense for him to have been the king before Laufey. Plus, I wanted Loki's claim to royalty to come from his mother's side and, since Farbauti met such a tragic end, I wanted her to have a good life before she married Laufey….and so Ymir ended up being one of the good guys. ^_^
About how I organize my chapters:
For me, a story starts with the ending.
What do I want the characters to learn / achieve / experience? What's the goal?
The next question is: what kind of events would promote my characters to change that way?
What are their innermost fears / wants / weaknesses / hopes that I would have to play on to get them to change?
From there, I dream up some key scenes that would achieve exactly those ends, and after that, it's pretty much just "connect the dots" writing.
Some of those key scenes might get written right away, if they're particularly intense, others will get a few quick notes and others stay in my head until I get there.
Of course, along the way, I might come up with some more details and embellishments that are needed to give the story and the characters' experience more depth, but those often turn up as I write. ^_^
For Sister of Gallifrey
Glad to hear that you're enjoying this story so much.
And yes, the world definitely needs more frosthawk!
About updating: I update as often as I can, but life being what it is, my updating schedule tends to be as you no doubt noticed) rather erratic. I hope though that you'll still keep reading. ^_~
For Sunnygirl13
*chuckles* Glad I could expand your horizon where showers are concerned. ^_^
I'll try for expanding horizons some more in later chapters (which, quite frankly, will be quite a feat, since Loki can't even touch Clint for now and even talking to him is a dicey affair).
For TheNaggingCube
Oh my…..knowing that you liked the last chapter that much still makes me grin like a Cheshire cat.
And yes, that particular chapter is one of my favourites too.
For greyheart
There are so many incredibly cute and well done artworks of Loki with kitty-ears, I just had to work that imagery in somehow. ^_^
Concerning Clint and Loki's status quo:
Loki has the hots for Clint and knows it.
He also thinks that he and Clint could have a really nice little romance, nothing to deep but certainly fun for both. And the ways things stand, that certainly sounds like something that could totally happen.
Loki has major trust issues though where loving people is concerned (thanks Odin!), so he is blinding himself to the fact that he's actually falling for Clint…..hard.
As the story progresses, other factors are going to come into play though and Loki will find himself in a situation where there are no good choices left….and then, he'll have to makes some truly ugly decisions. And it will completely devastate him.
And where Clint is concerned?
Well…those other factors that are going to come into play that I mentioned? They're something Clint doesn't know about (and won't know about for a good long while), but if he knew about them, to him they'd count.
As for the scene in the movie, where Clint and Loki meet up in person for the first time and that one look might be interpreted as Clint recognizing Loki?
YES, I saw that too.
And in combination with the fact that we saw Loki having a strange connection with Selvig the moment Fury presented him with the Tesseract, and that both Loki and Hawkeye were present when Thor tried to get his Hammer back, it makes complete sense that on some level, Clint already "knows" Loki long before he makes a physical appearance.
Where Selvig is concerned:
Loki doesn't realize this yet, but there's a reason he finds it so easy to connect to Dr. Selvig. It doesn't work with anybody else so far. *g* And the key to that lies in the first "Captain America" movie.
Loki thinks it's because he doesn't know enough about how to handle the Tesseract yet, but he's in for a little surprise soon.
About how far the connection reaches when Loki gets into Clint's head:
It's a bit like browsing in a book. You can open the book up anywhere you want, but if you're looking for a specific information, you have to know which page to go to. Thankfully, you have an index to help you with that.
Basically, Clint will give Loki any information he wants, but Loki has to ask for it…and the more Clint thinks or talk about something, the more insight Loki gets into Clint's memories of/ perspectives on the subject.
When Loki asked Clint about "bringing low a hated enemy soldier" he was actually feeling Clint out, trying to gauge his reaction and the options he had.
Basically, from all the people whose mind Loki had subverted, Clint was fighting it the fiercest and the hardest, and it was tearing his mind apart. Loki needed to find an excuse to let Clint be himself for a while, so he wouldn't break, for a broken archer would have been useless to him (plus, personal reasons for wanting Clint to come out of this as o.k. as possible.).
And yes, writing wise, the info about that one mission to Balkans came a few sentences later, but Loki pretty much got a few memory flashes of it the moment Clint answered his question, plus some feelings about how Clint had learned how to cope with the issue.
If that hadn't been the case, Loki would have made some noises about how human sex was gross and how humans were disgusting and he'd have come up with something more palatable to Clint.
Unfortunately, the ways how Loki could let Clint be himself without anybody catching on that he was doing Clint a favour by doing so were incredibly limited.
For example, one option would have been to deeply humiliate Clint.
It would have required a bit of a complicated set-up, e.g. making Clint lick unspeakable things from the bathroom floor, sending a video of this to SHIELD….and then hacking the SHIELD computers so an aware Clint gets to watch people's reactions to that video.
However, thanks to his abusive father and his equally abusive mentor at the circus, Clint reacts real badly to humiliation, especially in front of people he cares about. Plus, Clint's status as a respected and slightly feared field agent means a lot to him and there's always a few dickheads around who would have used such a video to spread ridicule about Clint….or, even worse, there would have been the "nice" people who pitied him.
Another option would have been for Loki to have Clint to kill innocent bystanders (a la: "kill the mother and you get to make her death quick and painless, but if you don't, I'll kill her child in front of her, and I'll make it slow and painful"), but that would have been something Clint would never have been able to forgive himself for (he's having a hard enough time forgiving himself for killing other SHIELD agents, police officers and security guards while mind-controlled by a power-hungry psycho).
So yeah, strangely enough, considering the circumstances, Loki picked the least harmful alternative, something he knew Clint would be able to get over.
Concerning the question about how much Clint can see and feel from Loki over the link:
It's not entirely a one way street, though Clint's access is usually a LOT more restricted. All he can read on his own are sometimes flashes of emotion (especially if Loki is distracted) or the faint echo of some especially strong thoughts.
Loki can "push" specific thoughts or emotions Clint's way though, but he's the one in control of what Clint gets to see and what he doesn't.
It also means Clint (and anybody else with blue glowy eyes) doesn't need the usual com-link though, which is pretty practical. ^_^
For killing u with umbrellas
Thanks! I'm very happy that you're enjoying the story. ^_^