I should probably apologize in advance for this chapter, too...
Thank you all for being so wonderful.
I own nothing. There is dialog here straight out of Thor: The Dark World. I really didn't write that.
And big thanks to my lovely betas!
1st beta: Heather
Final beta: Erica
Part II: In the Dark
Chapter 13: The Only Plan
Loki has tossed the inkwell only seventy-nine times consecutively when there is a knock at the door. He catches the item an eightieth time before scrambling up from his position on the floor to answer.
"Finally," Loki says to whoever is behind the impressive stack of books. The tower of tomes blocks the servant from view and Loki is practically vibrating from excitement.
For the first time in the year or so he's been confined to these rooms, Loki has purpose again. New knowledge awaits him and Loki gleefully removes the books from the servant's arms.
"Excellent," Loki says, grinning around the stack at its deliverer. When he sees the young guard, the books fall to the floor around him. "Ido!"
The insipid Einherjar backs away into the hall, out of Loki's reach. He flinches at Loki's murderous tone.
"My Prince, apologies. Apologies, my Prince. There were no available attendants to deliver these volumes and Princess Eleanor said she would bring them up herself but the Queen did not wish to be late, so Princess Eleanor instructed that I bring you the collection. I—"
"Enough," Loki says, holding up a hand. "Do you not have more pressing matters to see to? Such as an incessantly bossy half-mortal princess to protect with your very life?"
Ido squeaks and stumbles off.
Loki tries to rub away a headache at his temples and hates that the bumbling Einherjar reminds him of himself at that age, insecure and without confidence. Loki was much better at hiding it than Ido.
He rubs absently at the golden ring on his left hand as he collects the books, pleased that it is cool, satisfied that Eleanor is safe despite Ido's side trip back to this tower.
The books are spread before him and he takes a moment to gaze upon them, suddenly as ravenous as Volstagg at a feast, before sorting through the titles. He bypasses the history books that often abandon fact to pontificate on glorious battle and the glorious victory won by glorious Asgardian warriors.
Instead he focuses on a very old text on the Aether, written in the language of the Dark Elves. Unfortunately, he does not fluently speak this ancient dialect, but it is similar enough to modern elven language patterns that it takes only an hour or so for him to decode the work.
There is a chill in the air so Loki takes his selection on the Aether to the balcony in order to enjoy the winter weather, focusing on newfound purpose rather than the possible fruition of old fears.
The crash is so distant Loki would hear nothing if he chose to study in his library as he usually would, but the day is bright and crisp so he glances up, thinking perhaps he hears incorrectly.
There is dark, twisted metal smoking on the rainbow bridge. He blinks as if this will change the strange view back into the familiar and pristine landscape he grew up with, but rubble continues to sully the bridge. Loki can make out a hull of some sort.
Discarding the book, Loki slowly rises and leans over the edge of the balcony, trying to understand the inconceivable vision before him.
And then it gets even more unbelievable as long, dark craft shimmer out of invisibility and into existence, stark and ominous against the clear sky.
With them comes terror.
"Eleanor!"
Loki is helpless, held to these rooms and the small courtyard below by his wife's command. It is the single most frustrating and petrifying experience of his long life and he paces the length of the balcony, eyes fixed on the foreign craft ruining the sanctity of his sky.
Much like earlier when he was so needlessly cruel to his mother, Loki's fear manifests as blinding, thrashing, gnawing rage, and he has no means to expel it from his system. He longs to give into the desire to cause hurt, but there is nothing here to destroy.
The craft does not venture near and Loki paces the boundary of his cell, pushing and struggling to get out in the courtyard and then through the door. There is little hope of success, but idleness will cause him to lose his mental faculties once more so he tries, even as the golden globe goes up around the palace.
Loki marvels at the protection. The dome is something he's seen only in books, as it has not been activated in his lifetime. He calms somewhat because Eleanor is within the gleaming bubble. She was with his mother, the Queen, and there is no one more equipped to keep his wife safe.
But then the dome dissipates before his eyes, falling away as he looks on in horror.
Hatred fills him anew, so intense that he stumbles, leaning against the railing of the balcony to keep himself upright. For one appalling moment, Loki hates Eleanor, hates his wife, for trapping him here, for leashing the very monster that would keep her safe no matter the cost.
Fuck the universe. Fuck the Aesir. Eleanor is his sole concern and he would tear worlds apart for her, but he is useless, trapped, without power.
It has been years since Loki resented their bond as he did in the beginning. He started thinking of it as theirs rather than Odin's, something connecting them in profound and innumerable ways. It is a comfort when she is away, something within himself that gives him access to her as well. He can touch their bond and know that she is truly his, not a vision from the Tesseract or a titan-induced mirage, but a flesh and blood woman that willingly bonded her soul and life to his.
But now he hates the bond as he once did, for with it comes the command that traps him here.
Once more the bond belongs to Odin and oh, how he loathes the Allfather.
If anything is to happen to Eleanor in this assault, Loki will stick his dagger through Odin's throat, pushing the blade in with such slowness as to prolong the sweetness of the moment. He will gleefully watch the blood drain from the Allfather's body as the life slowly flickers from his eyes.
But above all else he wants his wife, here with him and whole.
Loki can hear screams from the city below. He wonders for a moment if this feeling of dread, disbelief, and powerlessness is what the Midgardians felt when he unleashed the Chitauri on New York.
He moves inside, back to the doorway to yell into the hall, demanding answers, demanding his wife, but he is met with silence only. Ido is the only regular in this hallway – besides Eleanor and his mother and the night guard whose name Loki did not bother to remember – but Ido is with Eleanor.
Loki hopes.
He screams into the deserted hallway for a bit longer and then looks within himself, attempting to touch the bond, but he cannot focus. Their connection is temperamental and intangible. It is only accessible when Loki can concentrate all of himself on the love he holds for Eleanor, but hate is hitting him in waves and his ring burns hot on his left hand and he cannot find her.
Loki seeks to calm his breathing and let go of his malignity, using a ludicrous mortal technique of meditation that he's found surprisingly helpful in the past, but he is too sick with fury and dread. He yells once more into the hallway and pushes fruitlessly against the barrier Eleanor created that traps him here.
With a start of surprise, Loki finds himself crouched in the doorway, head in his hands. It seems as good a place as any, and he squeezes his eyes shut, desperately searching for Eleanor, trying to force access to the bond. It gives him a headache, but as long as he presses forwards against the invisible barrier keeping him in these rooms, Loki knows that she lives on.
If she dies, the invisible barrier will die also and for the first time Loki wishes to remain trapped.
He pushes and claws and demands within himself, but the bond stays tucked away in the recesses of his psyche, where it will linger while this rage consumes him so.
And then hot hands are on his face, tilting his head up. Despite the pain in his head, Loki opens his eyes. Eleanor's face fills his vision and he breaks with relief. He will be content to simply stare at her face for the rest of eternity, but her lips form words that his ears do not process. He cannot hear anything but a distant ringing and he shakes his head. It takes extreme focus, but he manages to get his ears back in working order for his wife's sake.
"Loki." Her voice is so quiet. "Please, come back. Loki. Please."
There is such sorrow in his wife, written in her expression and apparent in the hitch in her voice as she speaks, but in his relief Loki cares only that she is alive and here.
"You're safe," he murmurs, stroking her cheeks as she strokes his. All at once he becomes aware of the supreme discomfort of his crouched position, so he rises, pulling Eleanor up to stand before him. He knows not how long he remained kneeling at the doorway.
"Loki." She says his name as if it is the only word she knows. He studies her face, noting her haunted expression and messy hair before pushing her cloak from her shoulders to better run his hands down her arms, checking for injury. He meets smooth skin only.
"You're safe," he says again, trying to convince himself. Something dark is splattered on her dress, smeared over her hip and side. He frowns. "Is this blood?"
"Oh," says Eleanor, dazed. "It's not mine."
"I know," he replies. "It is purple."
"Loki, I…" Her voice breaks and Loki cannot stand the pain in her expression. In this moment he cannot know what she saw, what she was forced to do to return to him whole, what Loki was not able to protect her from.
"Hush," he says, pulling her into his chest. Her little hands fist in the fabric of his thick winter tunic. "You are safe, Eleanor. I'm here. All will be well."
"No," she says, shaking her head and pushing him back. "No, Loki. It won't."
"Eleanor? What do you mean?"
"I'm so sorry," she says, tears spilling down her cheeks, finally breaking free from the mask she always wears in times of great distress.
"Sorry?" he repeats as Eleanor takes another step back. His hand drops to her hip for he cannot bear to not be touching her.
"I… She, oh." Eleanor loses her voice and sends a beseeching look over her shoulder to the hallway.
Loki is surprised to see a battle weary Thor loitering in the entryway and wonders if his brother has been standing there since Eleanor came back alive. In all likelihood Thor escorted his wife back and the thunder god did not even take the time to wash away the blood and sweat of battle.
For this Loki is thankful, but there is sorrow in Thor's face, an expression so similar to the one Eleanor wears with the addition of a rage Loki understands all too well.
"Brother," Thor says. It is not a tone Loki's heard before and dread twists in his gut.
"What is it?" Loki snaps, taking a step away from Thor and closer to a quietly sobbing Eleanor.
Thor opens and closes his mouth four times, and still he does not manage to form words.
"Tell me!" Loki demands, unable to keep the hysteria out of his voice. The words are familiar and Loki knows something is coming that will crush him as thoroughly as the last time he made this demand of a member of his false family.
"It's Mother, Loki," Thor finally manages. "She… they… She was stabbed. She is gone. They killed her."
He reels. He is wrecked.
He nods once at Thor and stumbles back, dropping his hand from Eleanor's side
"Loki." Thor's voice is far away and the name he speaks does not sound real.
"Don't," Loki whispers as Thor approaches.
"Brother—"
"Do not touch me!" He clutches at his chest, awaiting the familiar constriction of panic, but there is nothing. He feels nothing.
Eleanor is looking at him with big sad wet blue eyes. Thor stays rooted in the doorway, hand still stretched out towards Loki. There are tears in his eyes, too. Loki should cry too but he cannot because he feels nothing.
"No," he hears himself say. The voice is small but it doubtlessly comes from his lips. "I saw her this morning. We are to have dinner together on this night. I promised to keep from fighting with you, if you would promise also."
"Loki," Eleanor says. Her voice breaks and he knows this horror to be truth. "I saw it happen."
"Oh," he says, taking another step away from his wife and his brother.
Thor is reaching out once more, but Eleanor stays still.
The hatred builds once more into something raw and blinding. He would surely destroy any who touch him in this moment. He would unwittingly freeze the life right out of them.
"She… she died honorably," Thor murmurs.
"Fuck your honor," says Loki.
"She died protecting our… she died protecting Jane and Eleanor!" Thor says, rather angry himself.
Loki looks at Eleanor, so utterly ruined, and knows not what he feels with the exception of his rage. He longs to expel it, to release his hatred, and he does not particularly care how or who he hurts as he seeks relief. Vengeance is too specific for this moment and he cares not what he does with this rage as long as he can feel the satisfaction of destruction.
"Loki," Thor says again.
Loki's fingers turn blue and he turns away from his brother. "I said do not touch me! Leave. Now!"
"But, brother, I would—"
"Leave!" The command is shrill, not like his typical intonation at all. Without looking to ensure that Thor follows his command, Loki flees to the balcony. The cold is a relief against his skin and allows him the focus to purge the blue from his hands.
Loki paces, attempting to kill the urge to destroy with every frantic step.
He hears Thor murmur something and then a door shuts. His brother is gone, listening to Loki for once in his life, and it is a relief and a disappointment.
Loki paces and paces, walking the length of the balcony, down the stairs, around the courtyard, and back up the stairs before starting again and again and again.
On his fourth pass he notices his wife, sitting on the cold stone floor of the balcony, with his fur cloak pulled around her shoulders and over her head. A flagon of wine is clutched between her hands and she drinks heavily, not even glancing at him as he passes.
Loki is momentarily tempted to join her in the indulgence of alcohol, partially to ensure that she does not consume too much, but drinking is Eleanor's coping mechanism while destruction is Loki's. He fears this urge will be magnified by wine and there is nothing here to destroy, save for Eleanor.
And he will not hurt Eleanor, not again, so he does not alter his route, as much as he longs to soothe his hurts by touching her skin.
On the fifth pass he calms slightly.
On the seventh pass his rage returns, far more potent than before.
On the eighth pass he screams at his wife as he continues to pace, blaming her for trapping him in these rooms. If he were free, he could have saved Mother. If he were there, he could have prevented Eleanor from doing whatever she did to smear blood on her dress. He accuses her with a thousand possibilities and Eleanor simply watches him with big sad wet blue eyes.
On the ninth pass, Eleanor is no longer in her spot in the floor, but the empty flagon of wine remains.
On the thirteenth pass, Eleanor is back but her attire is clean and Midgardian. She does not speak and Loki's hatred is directed inward, burning low in his gut for he cannot mollify her hurts, just as he could not prevent them from occurring in the first place.
Eleanor watches him, her gaze glassy, her mask slipping. She's found a new flagon of wine and Loki should really confiscate the drink – the majority of his memories of thoroughly intoxicated Eleanor are not pleasant – but he does not dare approach her and he will not as long as the urge to turn blue and pull apart worlds tickles his hands.
Frigga is dead.
Loki paces as night falls black and oppressive. The palace and the city beyond are far too quiet, collectively shocked silent by the first invasion in thousands of years and the death of a most beloved royal. He resents the Aesir for their grief, for placing a claim on Loki's mother. It is irrational and he hates himself anew for his weakness, for his inability to change what he feels.
Eleanor continues her silent vigil and Loki is somewhat relived to see her there, silent, distraught, alive, each time he crests the staircase after completing the loop around the courtyard.
As a couple, they have faced great hardship in the past. Eleanor was Loki's strength as he slowly, painfully regained his sanity and accepted his devotion to her. Loki attempted to ease her woes through the turmoil that Bragi wrought. They understand how to provide what the other needs in times of distress, but this is beyond anything they have dealt with in the past.
Loki's mother is dead and all he needs is beyond Eleanor's capability to provide. His wife needs what he needs as well. They both need Frigga to sweep into their room, gently teasing them both for believing she could possibly perish and reassuring them with motherly, loving embraces.
It will not happen for Frigga is dead.
He does not begrudge Eleanor her grief as he does the rest of Asgard. Eleanor does not love easily, but she loved his mother like Frigga was her own.
Eleanor saw it happen, an image that will haunt her for the remainder of her days and one more trauma Loki failed to protect her from.
On his sixty-third pass, Eleanor is no longer there. His footsteps falter and he diverges from his comforting path without thought, searching out his wife, heart rate rising as he irrationally fears for her life even with the ring on his hand cool and calm.
She sits in their golden bathing basin, curled as small as possible into a ball with her knees tucked under her chin.
Loki spent a day when they first arrived on the Realm Eternal installing a shower head over the bath, something generally not done but a small Midgardian comfort that he hoped would make Eleanor's transition here less unpleasant.
She utilizes it now and the rain of water disguises her tears, but Loki knows that his wife cries by the shaking shoulders. Her face is turned away from him as he debates for a moment what action to take. What a terrible husband he is, unable to protect what is his from such suffering, for fear that his hate will destroy them both.
Eleanor lifts her head but Loki is fleeing back to the balcony and his route before she can know he was ever there.
Loki paces and loses count of how many laps he completes. He paces until the first hints of light creep over the horizon and he is numb to the despair. The hatred still sits in his chest, simmering and dangerous, aching to explode outward, but he is calm now, even if it took hours to reach this state.
He understands now that his true failing as husband is his inability to comfort his wife in this time of great heartbreak. It is not what Frigga would have him do, so Loki trudges inside, his guilt growing when he sees Eleanor lying flat on her back in their bed, wrapped in his cloak. Her eyes are open and staring at the ceiling. Loki does not doubt that she has not moved from this position since climbing out of the bath.
He slides in next to her and Eleanor turns her head to look at him.
He knows not where to begin.
"I saw it happen," Eleanor says, her voice croaky and tired. It is obvious that she has not slept this night. "It was the Dark Elves. And Malekith. And some crazy powerful smoldering rock monster thing. I don't know. Kursed, I think Thor said."
Loki tugs at the cloak, unsurprised to find her naked underneath, until they are wrapped up together, faces close, but still not touching. He does not quite trust himself to touch.
"Do you want to hear this?" she asks.
"No," he murmurs. "But I am afraid it is necessary. Continue, if you have the strength for it."
In a flat, dead monotone, Eleanor gives excruciating detail of his mother's final moments. Frigga's trick with the projections does not come as a surprise, but Eleanor's recklessness does. As terrifying as it is, Loki is also somewhat proud to hear how desperately Eleanor fought to get back to Frigga, even if it was deathly foolish and too late. His wife is now a killer, like him but also nothing like him, and it is another thing Loki failed to spare her from.
Eleanor's tale ends with Frigga impaled, bleeding out on the floor in a matter of moments just as Thor arrived to drive away Malekith and his creature. The leader of the dark elves was injured, but will come back for Jane the moment he is able.
When Eleanor's voice breaks and the tears come, Loki finally gives in to the urge to hold her through the pain.
Shockingly, the world does not end with his touch.
He does not recall falling asleep, but somehow everything is worse upon waking. As he remembers, it is like hearing the news all over again.
For a long moment he is still, faintly aware that the quiet voices he hears in the main room in all likelihood have something to do with the fact that he is alone in bed.
As he sits in silence he is assaulted by a feeling much worse than rage. He pushes it down and forces himself to get up. He glances at his body, noting the same clothes he wore yesterday but not having the energy to change. Dragging his feet, he follows the voices.
"He didn't sleep all night, Thor," murmurs his wife. He can tell by the lifeless tone alone that she's turned it all off again. But she speaks at the very least. That is more than she did when her father perished. "I'm not waking him unless it's important."
"It is in regards to the funeral, scheduled for tomorrow after nightfall," Thor replies, causing a sharp pain to Loki's chest. "But I suppose he can sleep on. This does not involve him."
"What doesn't involve him?" Loki snaps, standing behind Eleanor where she is seated from across the thunder god. Thor nearly stands but then remembers Loki's unwillingness to be touched yesterday and abruptly sits back down.
"Brother," Thor says. "I was just discussing arrangements with your wife."
Loki says nothing and reaches down to rub Eleanor's shoulders. She leans back into his touch, but does not turn to look at him.
"Not until tomorrow?" Loki asks. "You do realize there is still the very pressing matter of the Dark Elves and what is inside Jane? You disappoint me, brother. I thought you would focus on what is important, focus on vengeance."
"Mother's funeral is of great import," says Thor. For the first time in a long while, Loki feels like the chastised younger brother because of course their mother's funeral is of great import. "As for the rest, I fear grief has blinded Father. As it blinds us all."
"Your father," Loki hisses. "And I see clearly enough. They will be back, Thor. Sooner rather than later, and it is Jane they will take next. Or, even worse, Eleanor."
"I am aware of the situation," Thor says, maintain an uncharacteristic and infuriating calm. "Now, allow me to finish my business with Eleanor so I can resume discussions with Father—" Thor clears his throat. "With my father on how best to proceed. Does that suit you, Loki?"
Loki simply glares, but Thor takes his silence for agreement.
"Dear sister," says Thor, turning back to Eleanor. "There is a traditional funeral dirge. Here are the lyrics."
"Is this Old Norse?" Eleanor says, squinting at the words as she accepts the parchment.
"Indeed," says Thor. "I have faith that you can manage it by tomorrow night."
"You want me to sing it? I don't speak Old Norse! I can't even say meow meow."
"Mjolnir," Loki and Thor correct as one.
"I have the utmost confidence that you will manage," Thor says. "This is a great honor, and convincing Odin that said honor belongs to you as Mother's protégé and daughter-in-law was no easy task. I am afraid I did not have near enough success when attempting to get the Allfather to allow Loki to attend the funeral."
Despite the raw pain he feels at this announcement, Loki is unsurprised.
"What?" says Eleanor, on her feet and furious. "You best be fucking kidding. She is his mother! He's fucking going to the fucking funeral."
"He is not, Eleanor," Thor murmurs, shaking his head.
"I'm going to have a talk with Odin," Eleanor says, making a move towards the door. Both Loki and Thor block her path. "Are you two really fucking teaming up against me on this? Really?"
"Odin is not overly fond of you, Eleanor," Loki says. "I will not allow you to risk your tenuous position here, made even more tenuous by… recent events."
"This is a battle already fought," Thor says. "I lost and for this I am truly sorry, but it is done."
"But, but, but," stutters his wife, looking back and forth between the brothers. "If Loki's not going then I'm not fucking going."
"You are going and you will sing," Loki says, rubbing his temples and sighing heavily. He is ignored as Eleanor advances on Thor
His wife is brimming with righteous indignation on his behalf and perhaps this latest slight should cause a similar reaction in Loki, but he is far too exhausted to feel much of anything at all. Someday, the fact that Odin has banned him from his mother's funeral will be the source of pain, but for now he will linger in his apathy, drained from the effort of constantly containing his rage. By focusing on his wife's hurts, Loki himself is able to maintain a blessed – though thoroughly exhausting – numbness.
He does not have the energy to fight as Eleanor fights, nor can he even enjoy the shock on Thor's face as Eleanor yells at him. Her ire threatens to crumble Loki's barely-controlled calm and when he speaks this time it is with such a demand that Eleanor listens.
"You will attend the funeral and you will sing," he says again. His wife turns her scowl on him now.
"But—"
"No, Eleanor. Do not make this about me. She would want you there."
"I don't want to leave you alone," she whispers, tears collecting in her eyes once more. Loki snags her wrist and pulls her close to his chair.
"I will endure," he murmurs.
"Loki."
"Please. Please do this for me, for her. It's important that you attend and that you sing."
She stares at him for long, drawn out moments, as if she expects him to unravel before her and he is undeniably close, but not in the way she would expect.
He is not on the precipice of some great emotional breakdown, but rather a violent episode that will fulfill his need to destroy everything.
"Okay," Eleanor whispers, squeezing his hand.
Loki nods.
"Okay!" booms Thor with boundless relief.
Loki teaches Eleanor the traditional funeral dirge.
They start with written lyrics on parchment that Loki dutifully translates. The song speaks of the honor in death and the glory of Asgard. Eleanor is unimpressed and Loki is not overly fond of the song either as it is utterly devoid of any real meaning, but is it tradition.
Eleanor then proceeds to totally butcher the language.
"How is it that you can memorize any piece of exceedingly complicated music at a glance but my language baffles you so?" asks Loki, genuinely confused.
"Music makes sense," Eleanor replies, braiding her hair. He reaches out to still her hands, attempting to calm her nervous energy. "Hearing it helps. Hey! Sing it for me."
"No."
"Please?"
"Absolutely not."
They bicker for a few moments until keeping his rage at bay becomes nearly impossible, so Loki gives in for the sake of peace.
For the first time in the history of their relationship, Loki sings for the songbird. He is self-conscious and quiet, and by the time he is done his wife is weeping once more. Her tears enrage him and he locks his jaw to keep from saying something foolish or hateful.
"That was beautiful," she murmurs.
Loki scoffs.
"Someday you are singing for me again," she says.
Before he can argue, Eleanor lifts two fingers to the slender column of her neck and opens her mouth. Her rendition is flawless as she once more harmonizes with herself, three of Eleanor's voices projected to fill the entirety of their room. In her capable hands, the funeral anthem is no longer impersonal, instead becoming meaningful and powerful. Even without knowing the exact meaning of the words she sings, her pronunciation is nearly perfect. She shifts the focus of the song from the glory of Asgard to a painfully personal goodbye and she does it all through expression, through feeling, as none of the words are altered.
She will once more stun the public for the better.
Her final notes hold a promise to remember and suddenly Loki's hard-fought control is slipping once more as Eleanor looks to him to pass a verdict on her rendition.
"Yes," he manages. "Good."
"I pronounced everything right?"
"Yes." Being near her is unbearable and Loki scrambles to his feet, desperate to work out this feeling in his chest without destroying or hurting. "Excuse me," he mutters, returning to the well-worn route he carved out yesterday after his mother was murdered.
He paces and paces, until the sun sets, until Eleanor falls into a restless sleep, until he can no longer feel his feet.
She dresses in all black, save for the golden braided tiara Frigga bestowed upon her. Loki assures his wife that the rest of the attendants at the funeral will be in their ceremonial best, Eleanor will not be dissuaded from upholding this one mortal tradition.
Thor arrives to collect her – a condition of Loki allowing her to leave his sight now that Ido is deceased – and it is unsettling to see the Crown Oaf so grim. Once this grief was something they would share, but their fragile truce does not extend so far.
At the doorway Eleanor cradles his jaw, pulling his face close to hers. "My voice is going to fill the whole city," she murmurs. "You taught me how to do that. Promise you'll go out on the balcony and listen? Like you did last summer?"
Loki nods absently.
"I brought you a lantern," murmurs Thor from the hall.
Loki says nothing.
Eleanor kisses the corner of his mouth. "I love you," she says before leaving him alone.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone he does not have his wife to focus on. Alone he cannot use her grief to keep himself numb. Alone he can no longer deny the miserable truth of his mother's untimely demise. It hits him with a suddenness that has him staggering.
Frigga is dead.
Never again will his mother walk through the door to fuss over him or to order Eleanor about or to join them for dinner because she simply missed his company. There will be no opportunity for redemption, nor will he ever be able to apologize and tell her that he will always return her graciously given love, despite his pride and his petulance.
She will never see her sons make peace or hear Eleanor sing. Some vile creature robbed her of several millennia of memories to be made, robbed Loki of a chance to prove himself worthy of her affection.
The rage explodes out of him without conscious thought, a magical wave of destruction that upends furniture and shatters glass.
His first instinct is to leash his fury, to control his emotions back into that blessed apathy, to protect Eleanor and hide his hatred from his grieving wife, but she is not here.
Loki is alone.
And so he lets go.
Silent tears run down Eleanor's cheeks from the moment she gathers with Thor, Odin, and a handful of important nobility by the water. Jane is absent, locked away by the Allfather. It is something to worry about after the funeral.
The Aesir are silence criers and Eleanor can't bring herself to look down at the queen in the boat.
No one speaks for there is nothing really to say, but Eleanor needs to sing.
Frigga is sent to sea, her boat set aflame. She is followed by Ido and the other four hundred and two warriors and civilians who also fell in the attack.
Thor nods at Eleanor and she steps forward to the shore, water lapping at the toes of her shoes. She lifts two fingers to her neck, infusing magic into her vocal cords that will project her voice into every inch of the battered city, down to the white cells and up to Loki on their balcony.
She sings and four hundred and three more flaming arrows are sent to four hundred and three more boats.
From all corners of the city lanterns are released into the night sky in a sight that seems too beautiful for an event so painful. She wonders which one of the thousands of lights sent to honor the dead is Loki's.
When Frigga's boat floats out over the edge of the realm, Eleanor's voice wavers, but she manages to finish the song before her hand drops to her side. The city watches in heavy silence as the other flaming boats follow Frigga's path, floating over the edge and dissolving into thousands of bits of light.
When the lanterns and the lights are all gone, Odin turns to Eleanor. Tears fall steadily from his remaining eye. The King of Asgard sees her and his face twists into something murderous and mean.
Eleanor can't help but take a step back, recoiling in her shock. Odin has never been a fan of hers but this blatant hate is a recent development.
"I know what you've done," he says, voice low and chilling. "The love of the people won't protect you forever, Eleanor Bragadóttir, and I will have my revenge."
"Uh, what?" she manages, at a complete loss.
"This was your doing. I should have seen it months ago. You've been aiming to take her place since the very beginning, you and your traitorous husband. You did this, you took her from me!"
"No, Odin—"
But then the Allfather is gone, sweeping away.
She shakes it off. Between Frigga's death and Jane's infection, she can't take on any more. Odin's crazy gets forgotten.
Thor wraps an arm around her shoulders, leading her on a strange winding path back towards the palace. Eleanor is too emotionally drained to question their route or to wonder why they are alone. It is not until they reach a heavy wooden wall that Eleanor thinks to be suspicious.
"Where the hell are we?" she asks, glancing around at the unfamiliar and weirdly abandoned section of the city.
"Quiet," Thor demands, reaching out to knock a specific pattern onto the wood.
The door swings open a moment later to reveal a frowning Fandral. Thor hustles her inside, securing the door behind them as Eleanor settles in a chair at a circular table where Sif, Volstagg, and Heimdall are gathered.
She takes a seat between Sif and Fandral. From across the table Volstagg offers her a piece of jerky, but Frigga is dead and that makes eating difficult so she shakes her head.
"Good. We are all here. Eleanor, I have a plan," says Thor.
"A treasonous plot is more accurate," drawls Fandral.
"There is the door!" hisses Sif.
"Oh, do be quiet."
"Enough!" barks Thor. "Time is of the essence. Stop wasting it. Now, I must inform my sister of our plans for the morning as her consent is critical."
Eleanor's eyebrows go way up at this.
"In the days since my mother… since the Dark Elves laid waste to this city, my father has reacted irrationally. He has locked away Jane, closed the Bifrost, and done little to rebuild our utterly devastated defenses. When Malekith undoubtedly returns for Jane with the undefeatable kursed, Asgard will burn and then the universe with it. The only way to prevent this deadly fate is to remove the Aether from Asgard."
"Okay," Eleanor says, shrugging. She has no idea what this has to do with her.
"With the Bifrost closed, only the secret paths between worlds will allow for this."
Eleanor stares blankly.
"Only one knows these inroads."
And Eleanor gets it.
"Oh, shit."
"I hate to put you in further danger, Eleanor, but I see no other option, despite the risks involved," Thor says as they approach the rooms that are both home and prison for Loki. "And there is no way to keep you safe here should the Dark Elves return for Jane."
"I get it," she replies, pausing with her hand on the door handle. "And I think you're right, but Loki isn't going to like it."
"I shall need your help convincing him that this quest is our best chance, our wisest course of action."
Eleanor nods and holds open the door, closing it behind her after following him in to their rooms. Glass crunches under the soles of her shoes and Eleanor freezes as she takes in the destruction in their living quarters.
Not one piece of furniture remains intact and the floor is littered with shards of woods and scraps of torn fabric. Loki leans against the wall next to their bedroom door, legs stretched out in front of him where he sits. One bare foot is bloody and shattered glass at his side is the most likely the culprit.
"Oh, Loki," Eleanor murmurs. This might be the worst she's ever seen him, maybe not as bad as when she got him out of the white cells but definitely worse than Stark Tower.
'Thank you for returning my wife home late," says Loki, sounding shockingly unbothered. The tone does not match his shattered appearance. "I was not concerned in the slightest. You may go. I prefer to grieve in peace."
Eleanor looks around at the destruction of his solitary grieving. It hardly seems peaceful. Violent is a more accurate description, surely.
"I am not here to share our grief," replies Thor. He is turned away from Loki, talking in the direction of the library directly opposite the bedroom. He seems oblivious to the mess and Eleanor blinks at him in confusion before turning back to Loki, throwing him a puzzled frown. He shakes his head, but Thor's already noticed where Eleanor is staring and has a moment of realization.
"Loki, enough," he murmurs. "No more illusions."
With a humorless chuckle and a wave of his hand, a ripple of magic flows through the room and Thor's eyes go wide.
"Now you see me, Brother," says Loki, self-deprecating and exhausted.
Eleanor's had enough and she picks her way to his side, trying not to break anything further. She slides down the wall to sit next to her husband after clearing the floor of rubble. His head lolls on his shoulders as he blinks down at her.
"Hi," she murmurs.
"Hello, my dear. Are you about to ask me how I fare?"
She shakes her head and leans forward to examine his foot, wincing when she sees a shard of glass stuck in the drying blood.
"You saw me straight away," Loki muses. The fatigue is apparent in his tone and Eleanor feels heavy. "Did you simply see through the illusion or were you unable to see my duplicate?"
"I didn't see any illusion. Just you." She attempts to get up to collect water and washcloths from their bathroom, but Loki grabs her wrist, pulling her back down to lean against the wall. The movement is shockingly quick, given his current state. He looks like it is taking unprecedented amounts of energy to simply keep his head up.
"Fascinating," Loki continues. "Our bond is developing new features all the time, it seems. I very much doubt Odin is even able to sense it. This connection is ours now, Eleanor, not the Allfather's."
It's a nice thought but a strange moment to discuss the changing state of their magical bond.
"I'm just going to get a few things to clean you up. And maybe a broom for the floor."
She frowns out at the destruction, certainly not looking forward to clean up but otherwise unbothered by their broken things. There isn't any item in this room that she cares about but then her heart sinks.
"My music room?" she squeaks.
Loki rolls his eyes. "Untouched."
She can breathe again. "I'm getting a broom."
"No."
"Loki, there's glass everywhere."
"No."
"You're bleeding."
"Damn, woman," he mutters, snapping his fingers. In a flash everything is repaired and the wound on his foot is cleaned of dried blood. Gone is all evidence of his grief-induced rampage. "Happy?"
Eleanor nods.
"Loki, there is much we must discuss," Thor says. For a moment Eleanor forgot that he continues to loiter awkwardly by the door.
"Still here, are you?" Loki sneers.
"I am here to offer you a far richer sacrament than grief," says Thor.
Loki squints at the thunder god, glances at Eleanor, and then goes back to squinting at his brother. "Go on."
"I know you seek vengeance as much as I do. Help me escape Asgard and I will grant it to you. Vengeance, and after, these rooms."
"No," Loki says, closing his eyes once more.
"No? That is all? No!" Thor is thoroughly dumbfounded.
"Without the Bifrost or the Tesseract, there is but one way off Asgard, and that is through my guidance. Where I go, Eleanor goes. And I will not subject her to this."
"Loki—" Eleanor tries to persuade her husband to at least hear Thor out.
"No."
"At least listen!" she insists.
Loki sighs, turning his head to glare at his brother. "Apparently, I need to at least listen."
So Thor shares his plan to keep the Dark Elves from Asgard by bringing Jane to Svartalfheim. When Malekith inevitably catches up with them, Thor will allow him to draw the Aether from her veins, saving her life. At this moment of transfer, he'll bash it up with his hammer.
The whole thing sounds rather farfetched to Eleanor, but she was sold on the somewhat suicidal plan the moment Thor said "the only way to save Jane."
"Even for you, Thor, this is an atrocious plan." Loki makes no move to get up and his brother sighs, dragging over a recently repaired chair to sit facing them. Eleanor watches silently, braiding her hair and nibbling on her lower lip.
"It is the only plan, brother. What would you suggest we do?"
"I am but a lowly prisoner. My opinion has no value."
Eleanor rolls her eyes.
"Loki! You try my patience. This is the all-consuming evil of Eleanor's dreams. Be serious."
"Asgard, even in ruins, even with all defenses stripped away, is safer than the four of us committing treason and tromping off to Svartalfheim," Loki says, letting his head fall back against the wall. He closes his eyes.
"But if they return thousands will be slaughtered. There is no killing the kursed, Loki, as you well know. The reports from the dungeons where this beast infiltrated our defenses are sure to match what you yourself have read in those books," Thor says, eyeing the tower of tomes stacked next to the couch.
"I care not if all the Aesir perish." Eleanor winces because this is most likely the truth. "So long as my wife is safe. And she is safe here."
"I care if the Aesir get slaughtered," Eleanor says.
Loki sighs. "Fine. Apparently I am being required to care about the people who call me monster. But I still will not risk your life, Eleanor."
"If the universe dies, so dies Eleanor!" Thor booms, leaping to his feet. His chair falls backwards and Loki chuckles. "She will be safer with us on the Dark World. Malekith cares only for the Aether. One small woman will be beneath his notice when we hand it over to him on a silver platter. He will ignore her on the Dark World, but here, where he will be forced to slaughter his way to Jane, Eleanor could easily perish in the next attack."
Thor is making an awful lot of sense to Eleanor. Loki clenches his jaw, obviously annoyed by his brother's rational argument.
"This might be the only way to save Jane," Eleanor murmurs, pleading with her husband. This is the only argument that matters, as far as she is concerned, even if Loki would not agree.
He says nothing, simply glancing back and forth between Eleanor and Thor before closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall once more. "You have no way of knowing if you will be able to destroy the Aether."
"It is our best chance."
"How will you smuggle me from this prison unseen? Or Jane? I imagine she is much more heavily guarded," Loki says, opening his eyes again to glare properly as he comes up with a new round of arguments.
"Jane is my concern, Brother. Leave it to me to get us safely out of the city. All you must focus on is our transport to the Dark World."
Eleanor closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the wall because she knows that was very much the wrong answer.
"'No, Thor, you mindless oaf!" Loki hisses. "You are asking me to drag my wife into the unknown, into certain death. To make her a traitor! To turn Odin completely against us. So no, Brother, I will not be leaving anything to you. If we do this, we will do so flawlessly and you, great fool that you are, are incapable of flawless."
Thor pouts, obviously offended.
"Now, tell me. How do you plan to distract the Einherjar long enough to slip away undetected!"
"Perhaps I can assist in this."
All heads turn to watch Bragi himself stroll in from the balcony, wearing nothing but a scaly, red loincloth, strutting as if this is the most normal of circumstances. His pale skin is covered in soot and he messes with his beard.
"Holy shit," says Eleanor, gaping up at her bio-daddy. "Where the fuck have you been?"
"I was detained," Bragi replies, frowning. "My apologies. There was a slight miscommunication involving some gambling debts on Muspelheim. Not to worry. All taken care of now."
Loki is up and moving, his stride powerful. Where a moment before he looked barely able to hold up his head, now he storms across the room in a way that reminds Eleanor of how he was in the bunker, barely containing his rage and need to hurt.
The back of Loki's extended hand connects with Bragi's jaw and his other fist hits Bragi squarely in the gut. The sperm donor does not fight back as Loki pushes him back into a walk.
"Did you know!" hisses Loki, his forearm pressed into Bragi's throat. The song god's eyes bulge out. "Did you know they would come here? That this is the someplace safe I would surely bring my wife?"
"Wife?" Bragi gurgles as Loki's arm pushes against his throat.
"Did you know what would happen to her?" he demands.
"Loki," Eleanor says, getting up to tug on her husband's elbow. He doesn't notice.
"You were at the start of this, you criminally negligent barbarian. You abandoned your daughter again, with no instruction, no guide. I see no reason to allow you to go on existing."
Loki is scary and cold. As much as he's changed in the last six or so years since she first met him in that club, there is a mercilessness about him, a rage that will never truly go away.
Under normal circumstances Eleanor can handle it, can help him handle it, but now she is tugging ineffectually on his elbow and he doesn't even notice.
"I loved her too," Bragi wheezes out, fingers clawing at Loki's forearm.
In response Loki lets out a desperate growl, full of his anger and his sorrow.
"He spawned me, Loki," Eleanor says, getting between her husband and her wayward father. "He said he can help and he spawned me. Let's listen, okay?"
Loki drops his arm from Bragi's throat. The God of Song doubles over, coughing and sputtering. Eleanor pushes Loki a few steps back and he glares down at her.
"Brother," says Thor from somewhere behind them. "We must do this. I know you hesitate to put Eleanor in danger, but Asgard is no longer safe. When the Dark Elves return they will face a disheartened army, a grieving populace, and a vulnerable palace with no working defenses. Please, Loki. No other understands the paths between worlds as you do."
Loki is back to Bragi, shoving him into the wall once more. At least this time Loki's hands dig into his shoulders, leaving his neck be.
"You world walk, Bragi," Loki snaps. "Can you get Thor and Jane to Svartalfheim?"
Bragi hangs his head. "There is nothing on the Dark Would to interest me and as such I have never walked there. I cannot do this. I do not know the way."
"I will very much enjoy snapping your neck."
"But I can help!" insists Bragi, glaring up at Loki. At least her sperm donor is brave. Eleanor will give the guy that. "It is a good plan. You must go to the Dark World. I've dreamed it."
"I have had more than enough of your dreams!"
"I can help," Bragi repeats.
"How? Speak now while I still allow you the breath to do so," Loki says.
"You want the Einherjar distracted and I am a wanted man on this realm."
"Wanted for what?" Eleanor asks, feeling weary.
"Small gambling infraction. That charge is only a few years in the white cells itself but I've foiled custody for centuries, so my punishment will doubtless be much longer."
"Why would you risk that?" Eleanor asks, struggling to understand.
"It is long past time I did something for you, Daughter."
Eleanor looks away and leans into Loki because she can't. Frigga is dead and the end of the world is upon them and she just can't.
"What is your suggestion?" asks Loki. He wraps an arm around Eleanor's shoulders even as he continues to glare at Bragi.
"I shall dance naked on the rainbow bridge," Bragi declares, standing up to his full height and proudly puffing up his chest.
Thor lets out a shocked snort and Eleanor frowns at the image.
"Given your attire you are very nearly there," Loki says, stepping back.
"Loki." Thor sounds nervous. "What say you?"
Loki stares down at Eleanor for a long moment, appearing scared and indecisive and so unlike himself. He holds her a bit too tightly and then sighs heavily.
"When do we start?"
Gah, that was a rough one. I need to lie down now.
And I'm trying to move pretty quick through the movie. Another chapter or two should do it. I'll try to post as quick as possible, but my hands/wrists are killing me. Probably because I write too much.