A/N:
SORRYSORRYSORRYSORRYSORRY
Really though, I think that was three months. That's terrible - and extremely unfair to you all, you've been so supportive and kind, and have allowed this story to live past a year!
I'm gonna be stepping up the writing. Expect the next chapter in two weeks or less, okay? Send me angry notes if I don't.
Allicat (Guest) : *sweats* Sorry about that. I'm glad you like it!
anon (Guest) : No fears, this story won't stop! I'm really happy you like the Norse myth figures. If you haven't read it already, I recommend the story with Kvasir in it! And Lokasenna, which is the bomb.
jamie207 (Guest) : Thank you! *hugs*
Anon (Guest) : I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT
bluescarfman (Guest) : you reviewed on October 14th. It is now the 28th of December. *wails forever* sorrysorrysorry
Gemma (Guest) : Thank you! Sorry about the wait.
TWENTY-TWO
When thunder clouds start pouring down
Light a fire they can't put out
Carve your name into those shining stars
He said, "Go venture far beyond these shores.
Don't forsake this life of yours.
I'll guide you home no matter where you are."
- "The Nights," Avicii
She had dressed herself in roughly woven black breeches and a sleeveless dark blue shirt that would cushion her slightly from the metal and leather. She was strapping on brown leather gauntlets, her back to him, as he entered Kvasir's hut.
She turned, showing him her gauntlets, and he nodded appreciatively, noting the circles of hammered gold on either one.
She opened her hand to reveal a small golden charm. "This is all that's left."
He picked it up, looking at it closely, then moved behind her, unclasping her necklace, his fingers brushing her neck, and slid the charm next to his fingerprint.
He looked from the charm to her gauntlets and back again. There was something strange about the circles on the gauntlets… something he couldn't quite pin down…
Kvasir entered the hut, his eyebrows raised. "Well?" he asked.
Alana said, "They're beautiful, but…"
Kvasir smiled and said, "It has – how would Midgardians say? – all the tech." He pointed at her left gauntlet. "Look at the dial."
She stared at her gauntlet, and he stepped closer as well– on second thought, the circle of gold did look like a dial of some sort. She twisted it to the right once and heard a click.
The new charm on her necklace seemed to unravel - she gasped in surprise - as small strands of brown and gold and blue snaked from it and wrapped around her chest and torso. In a few seconds, she was garbed in armor like he had never seen before.
The leather seemed to be braided through with metal – he touched her shoulder tentatively, noting the strength and flexibility. It was streaked through with blue, creating a layered effect. A gold triangle swept down from each shoulder, stopping below her rib cage, and bands of leather mixed with blue, overlapping each other down her torso.
He could not speak.
She looked down at herself. "This is incredible."
Kvasir chuckled. "That's not all it does. Turn it again."
She did so and her armor shimmered and darkened, turning to black, darker than night.
"Stealth mode," Kvasir said. "Turn it again."
She twisted it again and the armor's usual color returned, but this time the tendrils wove golden plating over her upper arms and torso, and a deep blue cape swept down from her shoulders to the ground. The high neck of the armor retreated, curving down to expose her collarbone, much like a ball gown; and a skirt wove itself out of blue and gold from her hips to the floor.
Almost as an afterthought, the tendrils snaked up to her temples and formed a circlet of gold, gently curving down into a V on her forehead.
"Formal wear," Kvasir said. "And I really can't stop you, but I would highly recommend not fighting in this one."
She lifted the circlet off her head gently, turning it over in her hands.
"You look like a queen," Loki said to her softly, a faint smile on his face.
She seemed to stand taller, her eyes to pierce his soul more deeply, and when her hand found his, he stared at their intertwined fingers – they seemed too powerful and lovely to hold his hands, tainted with blood and fear and terror as they were.
And yet her hands still touched his, she had chosen him, over and over, and even when he had filled her with hatred and fear she had still chosen him.
He did not deserve her.
Kvasir pointed at her right gauntlet. "That one only has two settings."
She twisted it and the gauntlets dissolved, tendrils snaking around her biceps to form two slender golden bands.
"The dials are still there," Kvasir said, and they were, two small circles, slightly raised. "They control your armor – make sure you always know where your gauntlets are, understand? The charm gives you the armor, but the gauntlets control the charm."
She twisted the dials back and the tendrils regressed, flowing up her body to the charm, which lay against her shirt, unassuming, unobtrusive.
A twist on the other dial and her gauntlets reappeared.
She looked the same as when he had walked into the hut, and yet she seemed so different.
What would it have been like if she had been born an Aesir? How much sooner would he have found her?
She smiled at Kvasir. "Thank you so much. I wish I could – " but Kvasir stopped her, saying, "You have already paid."
She yawned deeply again, and sat down on the cot.
"I can take the floor, Loki, you were on the couch last night," she said, but he could see her eyelids growing heavier, the weight in her bones that told him she needed to sleep.
"It's all right, love," he said softly. "I'll be fine."
She lay down on the cot, pulling the blanket over her. He kissed her softly on the forehead, stroking her hair lightly.
"Sleep well," he whispered.
She smiled sleepily up at him and closed her eyes.
He stood next to her for a moment, watching her breathe, then lay down on the floor next to her.
She lowered her hand down from the cot and touched her fingers to his. He kissed her hand. "Goodnight," she said softly.
He awakened once in the night to find Kvasir standing over them, his face shadowed.
Kvasir moved his hands slightly, whispering a word, and pale silver tendrils appeared in the air, emanating from Alana, stretching out across the darkness.
One drifted down to him and caressed the top of his hand – he could not feel it – and she shifted and murmured faintly, "I told you it works in my sleep."
Kvasir smiled slightly, his gaze fixed on Alana. "She is dream-reading."
He stood up slowly, gazing at the tendrils swirling around the hut. "What does that mean?"
"It is relatively rare, among telepaths. Her connection to others' minds is not lost even while she sleeps."
Loki looked down at her. "She has done it before."
A tendril turned towards Kvasir and moved towards him, reaching towards him questioningly.
Kvasir raised his hand and the tendril stopped, hesitating for a moment, then cautiously touched the center of his palm.
Kvasir's eyes widened in surprise and – was that fear? - and he shut his eyes intently.
Loki looked to Alana, remembering how she had flinched away from Kvasir's mind in pain, but she seemed peaceful now, her brow only furrowing slightly.
Kvasir inhaled sharply, turning his head to the side. "Out," he whispered fiercely.
Alana smiled faintly, and said, "You said it would hurt. It doesn't."
"Yes, it does," Kvasir said, "Armustar, it hurts."
Alana frowned and the tendril slowly retreated, curling away from his hand. Kvasir opened his eyes, one hand rubbing his head.
"What was that?" he asked Kvasir softly. "How did she get into your mind?"
"She found a path into my mind," Kvasir said, looking down at her with something close to wonder, his brow knitted, his eyes deeper than he had ever seen them. "She could not have, and she did."
He took Alana's hand suddenly, and now Loki could see his tendrils too, bright and shining in the air. His did not float with uncertainty as hers did – they drifted to Alana, touching her mind, gently but insistently repelling the tendrils that rose to meet them.
Alana's eyes squeezed a bit tighter shut.
"Mmm," Kvasir said. "She is strong. And she is different."
He hesitated, and then said softly, "She is like me."
"What did you call her?" Loki asked.
"I called her the telepath," Kvasir said.
Alana's lips curved up slightly, and she murmured, "Mi'ri sh'armustar. Mi'da khasar sha'faraek dei Kvasir."
Kvasir smiled faintly. " 'I am the telepath. I will take the place of Kvasir.' That is what she said."
Loki furrowed his brow. "I do not understand."
Kvasir clapped him on the shoulder. "Sleep. This is a conversation that can wait."
He paused. "She must hear it, too."
She woke up in the morning warm and too content to bother to open her eyes.
She regressed into her mind and found a light – Loki - on the floor next to her, still sleeping. She smiled slightly but refrained from touching his mind.
She felt different here, less afraid. Removed from Earth and S.H.I.E.L.D. and Coulson, she felt a little stronger, a little braver.
Her side throbbed suddenly and the feeling of strength seeped away, replacing her with a sense of trepidation.
His eyes, wicked and bright, staring into hers; his hand, latched tightly around her arm; the mouth that she has kissed, saying words she has heard before – "Hello, love" – but it isn't him and she is so afraid; she draws her gun and fires and the light leaves his eyes; claws, raking through her, burning, and she screams –
She opened her eyes hurriedly, drinking in the sight of his body sprawled out on the floor, peaceful and still, his face content. He is safe. I am safe.
Come here, a voice whispered in her mind - Kvasir. Do not wake him.
She sat up, stepping lightly over Loki's sleeping form, and joined Kvasir at a rough wooden table, vials and fabric and scraps of metal pushed to one side to form a small space.
Kvasir held out a bowl to her; she reached to take it.
He smiled slightly. That is good.
"What – "
Don't speak. Think, and I will hear.
She looked at him, quizzically. Why is that good?
You are not dependent on your powers, he responded. You do not use them for menial tasks. That is good.
Isn't talking in our heads a bit menial?
He smiled again. No. It is training.
Loki stirred in the corner of the room. Kvasir's eyes flicked to him. Go to him.
She glanced at Kvasir, then moved across to Loki, crouching down beside him, touching his cheek gently. His eyes opened and focused on her, and she smiled. "Good morning."
He sat up and stretched, kissing her cheek lightly.
His eyes touched hers again – but there was something there that she could not read, some mix of curiosity and wonder as he looked at her.
"Last night – " he started, but Kvasir cut him off. "Breakfast before stories, Loki."
She looked to Kvasir. "Did something happen last night?"
"The same goes for you," he said, ignoring her question. "Eat."
Loki stood up and made his way to the table, sitting down next to Kvasir. She followed and they ate together silently, but her mind was whirling, full of questions.
Kvasir noticed and smiled faintly at her. Peace, child. You will know soon.
Loki set down his spoon and merely looked at her with that same curiosity.
She looked at Kvasir, who opened his mouth and began to speak.
"I found my telepathy when I was about Loki's age. I did not conceal the news, and my father noticed quickly that I had also been gifted with magic."
Loki looked interested as well, as though he had not heard his mentor's story before.
"It was relatively easy to find out what had happened to me, living on Asgard. There were legends and such, and the last armustar – " and here Kvasir looked at her intently.
Translate, his voice whispered.
"Telepath," she said automatically, then frowned. "Wait, what language is that?"
Kvasir smiled and continued, "The last armustar found me, eventually, and told me about the lineage."
He looked at her before saying, "As I have found you."
Loki scoffed a little, quietly muttering, "I ripped my armor. I don't believe that qualifies as finding."
Her head was whirling – what could Kvasir mean? A lineage of what? Of telepaths?
"Yes," Kvasir said simply. "A lineage of telepaths, sworn to defend the realms. You are the first from Midgard. No two have yet been from the same realm."
She struggled with words for a moment, trying to comprehend his meaning.
"But how do you know it's me?" she asked. "How do you know I'm the next?"
"Dream-reading," he answered. "Your telepathy is not lost while you sleep – you can read minds, even if you do not remember it once you awaken. That was one sign." He paused. "And you entered my mind."
Her brow furrowed – she remembered the pain that Kvasir's barriers had caused her, their strength.
He smiled. "You found a path that only one could have found. Only I was able to enter the last armustar's mind, and only you are able to enter mine."
"So we're the only telepaths?" she asked finally.
Kvasir shook his head. "No. There are others. But their telepathy is less – how would you put it – developed, strong. They cannot reach the limits that we can; they cannot touch entire worlds like you or me; they cannot fight within their mind, or another's mind; they simply do not have that power."
She could hear her heartbeat pounding fast in her ears, and Loki was looking at her concernedly now, his hand reaching to touch hers, but she barely felt it – she was different, she was a part of a lineage, there was a reason, a reason for the powers that she had never understood, she was no longer a stranger or alone in these feelings – and Loki's hand was soft and cool in hers, and he was a god, and she was the telepath.
Kvasir smiled. "You are the next. And I must teach you, before I die."
Loki gripped her hand involuntarily, his eyes flicking to Kvasir, who looked at him knowingly. "It is almost my time, Loki. Six thousand years is far too long for an Aesir to live – even me. And her arrival proves that. I will train her, and then, I will die."
She held Loki's hand firmly, feeling his fingers trembling slightly.
Kvasir sighed softly and addressed her, saying, "You will not have long to train. Chaos is creeping through the realms, and it will not be long before it erupts. Thanos and his forces - " and here Loki's hand clenched hers again – "are sowing fear and terror. It will not be long before war erupts."
His eyes turned to Loki. "And Asgard's king will need your help."
She smiled incredulously. "Odin?" She looked to Loki. "Would he accept it?"
Loki raised his eyebrows. "I would not count on it."
Kvasir coughed. "I did not mean Odin."
She sat there in silence for a moment more. "Thor, then?"
Kvasir shook his head, his eyes fixed on hers. "Loki will be king."
Loki said exasperatedly, "Kvasir - " but he was interrupted as Kvasir said, "And now that you are the armustar, it will be much easier to convince the Allfather to trust you. It will be much easier to convince him to lengthen your lifespan."
She looked at Loki in confusion. "My lifespan?"
"Kvasir, he'll never allow it," Loki said fervently, and she could practically see the words about to rise to his lips, do not let me hope it could be real.
Kvasir smiled faintly. Did you hear that?
Yes, she replied.
No small wonder. He was practically screaming it.
Loki cleared his throat, snapping her back to reality. "He'll never allow it," he repeated.
Kvasir shrugged and smiled. "One never knows."
He stood up, collecting their bowls. "I imagine you two need to talk."
"Yes," Loki agreed, his eyes turning to hers. "We do."
Kvasir raised his eyebrows. "Good. Then get out."
She sat with him on the edge of a cliff, high above a lake, dark and deep, the skies above them a pale and foreboding gray.
He gazed at her, noticing the calmness in her brow, the quiet in her eyes, and when the wind rustled loudly in the trees, she did not flinch but tucked her head into his shoulder.
"Kvasir showed me your truth," she said quietly. "While you were asleep."
He closed his eyes briefly – ACCEPT IT – and she murmured, "I'm so sorry."
"It's all right," he said, stroking her hair. "You deserved to see it."
"It's not true."
He smiled slightly. "I am still afraid. But I am not alone."
She touched his cheek gently. "Not yet."
Her eyes drifted down from his, her fingers pulling away from him.
"One day, I will die," she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper. "And I don't want to, Loki, I don't want to leave you."
Her eyes reached desperately for his. "I don't want to die."
He enfolded her tightly in his arms, feeling her warmth, and if she died he would be lost again, he would turn again – he could not let her go, he could not let her die – to never feel her in his arms again would be the greatest terror of them all, and who would he become, without her? And he could not accept her mortality, he could not, because for a liar and a trickster – or perhaps because of it – he could not accept the truth.
"Odin will trust you, in time," he said eventually. "He trusts Kvasir's judgment – mostly – and since you are the next armustar…. I will not lose you again. I swear it."
She tucked her head against his chest.
"It's weird," she said. "It feels like – I don't know – but it's right."
She smiled faintly. "I'm special now."
He stroked her hair. "You were always special, love. Always."
They sat there for a while longer, the sky whirling gray.
"Kvasir said you would be king."
"Alana – " he started, but she pressed a finger to his lips. "You would be a good king, Loki."
He kissed her fingers lightly, and the tenderness in her eyes caressed him and lifted him through the sky.
"It will not happen," he said softly, "but thank you nonetheless."
She sat there with him for a second more, then stood up, stretching briefly, and walked to the edge of the cliff, spreading her arms wide. The wind whipped around her fiercely, blowing her hair back and she smiled slightly and closed her eyes.
He stood up. "Alana?" he called out to her – there was something in her eyes that he could not read, and it made him nervous.
She turned around and smiled at him, her arms still outstretched, and then took one step backwards – he lunged for her but she slipped from his grasp, falling through the air, disappearing off the edge of the cliff.
He scrambled to the edge of the cliff, watching her plunge towards the dark water, feet first, her arms still outstretched and still smiling.
She stopped suddenly, a small figure above the surface of the lake. He shook his head in amazement, his heart still pounding fast.
He saw her raise her arm towards him – he lifted a hand in acknowledgement – but then an invisible force gripped him tight and pulled him off the edge of the cliff as well, hurtling towards the water, a thousand feet below, wind streaming past his face and the sensation of falling all through his body – and the dark water was rising towards him, closer, and closer and closer –
He stopped suddenly, inches above the water, hovering there, his heart racing.
Alana slipped her arms around him from behind. "A little revenge for making me jump off a cliff."
He smiled and turned slightly, his feet inches from the water. Her hair was tangled and her eyes were sparkling bright. "That was much worse than last time," he responded. "Don't jump off any more cliffs without me."
She shrugged. "No promises." He tucked a windswept lock of hair behind her ear – she pressed closer to him, eyes closed, as he traced his fingers down her upturned face, brushing her cheeks, her lips – his hands holding her tightly to him, soft and warm and he could smell the water around them, feel the cold wind rushing past and the warmth emanating from her. He kissed her fiercely and suddenly, and she let out a small noise of surprise - they dropped suddenly, plunging into the water – cold even by his standards – and she laughed against his lips, her hand finding his and guiding them up to the surface.
"You distracted me," she said, brushing her wet hair out of her eyes as they broke through the surface of the lake.
He spat out lake water. "Good thing Kvasir will be training you, then."
She pressed close to him, and shivered, burying her head in his chest. "Cold. Very cold. I probably should have thought this through."
He wrapped his arms around her, and she closed her eyes intently as they began to lift out of the water and slowly ascend to the top of the cliff once more.
Once they were back on the top of the cliff, Alana let go of him and wrung out her hair, and he did the same.
She looked ruefully at his armor, soaking wet, and smiled sheepishly at him. "Is Kvasir going to murder me for ruining your armor again?"
He shrugged. "I believe that would be to the detriment of the realms, so, no."
Alana shivered again, chills running down her spine, arms locked tight across her chest, and he noticed, his brow furrowing, pulling his hand away from hers gently. "I can only keep you cold, Alana."
She smiled faintly at him. "No, I'm all right. I just need to get into some dry clothes."
She took his hand again and walked with him back in the direction of Kvasir's hut.
Kvasir raised his eyebrows when he saw them soaking wet, but said nothing and merely pushed them towards the fire.
She spread her hands towards the fire, feeling the warmth of the flames – Loki passed her a dry blanket and she toweled off her hair, wrapping the blanket around her tightly.
Loki had shed his armor, piece by piece, and was crouched down by the cot, rifling through the backpack that she had brought from Earth. He pulled out the shirt he had taken from the cottage and smiled in satisfaction. "Found it."
He pulled out the bottle of painkillers as well, handing it to her, but she shook her head. "I'm all right."
His brow furrowed slightly and he stripped off his shirt, pulling the dry one over his head.
He walked to her and offered the painkillers again, wordlessly this time, but she smiled faintly and shook her head again, pressing close to him instead.
"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked quietly. "Let me see."
His hands gently pulled up her shirt to reveal the bandages, his long fingers making her shiver again – and he peeled the wet bandages from her skin, his eyes darting away briefly as her scars were revealed.
He sighed softly. "If only I could heal you," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.
"Loki - " she started, but he had turned away from her and was crouched at the backpack again, pulling out more gauze.
He knelt in front of her and began to bandage her wounds again, covering them from sight, his pale fingers running across her stomach, and she shivered – not from cold – but he pressed the tape against her skin and his hands left her as he stood up quickly.
She pressed close to him, her hands against his chest, feeling his chin resting on the top of her head and his arms wrapped around her.
"I like this shirt," she whispered.
She could feel him faintly smiling.
Loki woke up in the cot – he frowned slightly, he had made Alana take the cot again last night – and sat up, but the hut was empty.
He pulled on his armor, walked outside, and smiled, leaning against the side of the hut.
This was the fifth day of Alana's training, and she had progressed by leaps and bounds.
She was up against a legion of Einherjar – products of Kvasir's magic – and was darting quickly between them as they tried to slash and stab her.
Loki knew from experience that the swords would not kill her – he remembered the bruises covering his body after practice when he was young – but she was doing much better than he had.
Her armor flashed as she leapt up into the air, using the Einherjar's helmets as a springboard. She ran nimbly across their heads as they collapsed below her – her telekinesis at work – and somersaulted down to land firmly on the ground. The remaining Einherjar charged, and she lifted her hands, but Kvasir yelled, "Shield first!"
She pulled her hands closer to her chest, and the Einherjar attacked with fervor, hacking at the energy barrier.
She closed her eyes and spread her arms out suddenly – the shield expanded quickly, throwing the Einherjar a hundred feet away.
They shimmered and faded and she opened her eyes.
He applauded.
Kvasir glared at him, then walked towards Alana. She stood up, brushing off her armor, and Kvasir pressed two fingers to her temple.
Her brow furrowed slightly – he was replaying her fight from his point of view, highlighting mistakes and pointing out things she should do differently – all without words.
It was a bit strange, watching them stand there in silence.
She opened her eyes and nodded, and he heard her voice in his head. Come on, Loki. Kvasir says you need to practice too.
He walked towards them and Kvasir began to speak – obviously for his benefit.
"The object of this exercise is mainly for Alana to practice her telepathy, but also for you to practice your magic. I will suppress Alana's telepathy while you duplicate, and she will have to find the real Loki."
Alana's eyes grew wary. "Suppress my telepathy?"
Kvasir smiled. "Don't worry, child. I could not hold it back for long."
He touched his fingers to her head again and her eyes closed. "Go," Kvasir said, nodding at him.
He let the magic flow through him, and the illusions came, taking his form – a hundred Loki's standing haphazardly around him.
Alana's eyes opened and he concentrated hard, trying to make each one as real as possible.
She began to move among them, touching each of them lightly – a few dissolved into green light, but he concentrated more intensely, making them solid.
"Good," Kvasir said softly and Alana removed her hand, staring them in the eyes – she was three away from him now, two, one, and he was looking down into her grey eyes, which sparkled with amusement as she kissed him.
"Good morning," she whispered. He smiled and the illusions faded around them as he held her in his arms.
Kvasir rubbed his temples. "I can't get anything done around here," he mumbled.
He awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, and saw that Alana was gone.
He stepped outside and saw her there, lying on the ground, looking up at the night sky.
She patted the ground next to her, and said softly, "I don't know any of these stars."
He lay down next to her, her hand twining in his, and said, "Neither do I."
She smiled slightly and closed her eyes, snuggling closer to him.
He kissed her on the forehead. "You've been doing wonderfully."
"It's so different now," she said quietly. "Before, I could choose when I wanted to use the telepathy, but now – on a smaller level I'm always listening."
She opened her eyes, distant and gleaming. "It's like shapes of light, all around me – I can feel what they are." She pointed towards a tall tree. "There's three birds in that tree and" – pointing to another space in the forest – "I have no idea what that is, but it's got fur and a lot of teeth."
Her eyes focused again, tracing his face. "And you."
She smiled. "Always you."
He pulled her closer to him, reveling in her warmth, and she let out a little sigh of contentment, her fingers still locked in his.
It was the eleventh day of training and she was absolutely exhausted.
She hadn't been this tired since S.H.I.E.L.D. training – and that was easy compared to this.
Kvasir was pushing her hard - twelve hours of training a day – and only after dinner did she have a little time to spend with Loki. This evening they were lightheartedly sparring in a meadow about five miles from Kvasir's hut – the day was rainy and gray, but that didn't matter to her.
Kvasir was training him too – she always watched when Kvasir worked with him, training with sword and spear and dagger and magic.
Loki's body flowed from movement to movement, raw grace, fluid and changing and deadly, years of experience touching his movements as it did not touch hers – but she could feel herself changing too, her mind leaping quicker, her body responding to the faintest touch of her mind. With her telekinesis, she could practically fly, and the range of her telepathy was increasing every day.
She startled a bit when Loki held his hand out to her. "Lost in thought?" he asked, only half teasing, and she frowned playfully at him. "You want to get beat up again?" she asked, sighing dramatically.
He laughed and pulled her up into his arms. "Remember the first time we sparred?" he whispered into her ear. "You said you were going to beat me up then too."
She smiled and twisted her hand – he dropped to the ground and she leisurely stepped over him and crouched next to him, playing with his rain-soaked hair.
"That's cheating," he said disgruntledly, still trying to move his limbs from where they were – pinned to the ground.
"I never play fair," she said with a smile. "Want to know who taught me that?"
She kissed him lightly, her lips soft against his. The telekinesis retracted from his body and his hands caught her cheeks and wound into her hair, damp from the rain.
They stayed like that for a moment more – she could have stayed like that forever – but the light rain turned to thunder, and she raised her head, frowning slightly. "I guess we should go back – " she started, but something in the wind was off, something was different – and her face blanched, a hundred bright shapes whirling down from the sky – no, a hundred and one.
"What is it?" Loki asked, sitting up, his face concerned.
"Einherjar," she whispered. "And Thor. They're coming."
He tensed, then cursed, leaping to his feet, grabbing her hand. "Hurry!"
She ran with him, feet slipping slightly on the wet grass, but – "Loki, the hut is the other way!"
"We can't go back there," he shouted over the thunder, rumbling louder. "That's where they'll go – "
"But what about Kvasir?" she asked furiously. "We can't leave him!"
"He'll be fine, Alana – " and a stream of light shot from the sky on the horizon – near Kvasir's hut and she skidded to a halt. "Loki, I have to go back!"
"You can't," he shouted, his hand clenching hers tighter as he stopped too. "Alana, you can't!"
She pulled her hand from his. "He needs help!"
"The Einherjar won't hurt him, Alana!"
She stiffened and tensed, her hand automatically pressing against her side, against her scars, and she felt weak and faint, terrified again.
"Alana?" Loki shouted, his hands reaching out for her. "What's wrong?"
"N'itouri," she whispered.
Thor and the Einherjar had tracked Loki here, to Vanaheim and to Kvasir, and they landed in the forest in the rain.
Loki was not dead.
That was the first hope, the one that Alana Cooper had given him, months and months ago – before Sokovia, before Ultron.
That hope had quickly turned into bitterness. He lied to me… again. He let me think him dead… again.
He had no hope that Loki had changed since then.
He emerged near the hut – it had changed little since the first time he stepped out with his newly fashioned armor.
Kvasir opened the door, his face impassive. "Hello, Thor."
"Where is Loki?" he asked, his voice a little rougher than was perhaps necessary.
Kvasir was about to speak, but the Einherjar began to shout and the clash of swords began to ring through the air and he whirled around – scaly gray aliens – N'itouri, damn it – were attacking them, slashing at his men, and they were falling.
An explosion lit the sky as he flew towards the N'itouri, Mjolnir guiding his swings – three, four dead, but the Einherjar were still falling, some of them turning on each other – damn it, the N'itouri are shapeshifting – seven, eight dead, but they outnumbered them.
He swung Mjolnir again and again, drawing the fight away, slowly, from Kvasir's hut. He is a fool for harboring Loki, but he was a friend.
And then two dark shapes skidded into the battle – he turned, Mjolnir raised to strike, and froze.
Loki and – Alana? – were there, and Loki was fighting with a fervor he had never seen before, smiting N'itouri, one after the other.
And Alana – how in Hel did she get here, and – was that armor made by Kvasir? - was flying into the sky, her fingers moving slightly, and wherever she pointed a N'itouri hissed and died.
He flung himself back into the battle, and slowly, the tide began to turn – they were winning.
The last N'itouri fell at the hands of Alana, who dropped lightly down to the ground facing him, Loki by her side.
He strode towards Loki, not sure if he intended to murder him or embrace him, and was a foot away when another explosion lit the night – coming from the direction of Kvasir's hut.
Loki and Alana turned rapidly, Alana's hands flying up to her mouth.
Loki turned back to him. "Look after her," he said desperately, and he spun and ran off towards the fire.
"Loki!" Alana shouted after him, tears in her eyes. "You can't – there isn't – " but she paused, a tear slipping out of her eye, and ran after him.
He followed.
He stumbled through the smoke, searching frantically, shouting Kvasir's name until his throat was raw.
He reached the hut – smoking and burnt, reduced to timber and rubble, studded with the vials of glowing light – of all the things to make invulnerable - but there were specks of white against the dark and the smoke.
Bones.
He sank to his knees and screamed, rough and raw, the way he had when Frigga died, and Alana was there, suddenly, her arms holding him tight as he shook, the grinning skull seared into his mind – her arms around him, and he could feel her tears dropping onto his head as she pressed her lips to his hair.
He held onto her for a long, long time, clutching her like a drowning man a raft.