Chapter 9
The three-pronged landing struts of the Blackbird touched down in the Gateway's hanger bay. There was plenty of room to choose from, the entire fleet had been evacuated so they might defend the ship and the city below. Clint found one of the more difficult places to unload, set the ship down, and accessed the hanger bay door. The safety harness fell away from his shoulders and, for a time, he just sat in the co-pilot's seat and let himself relax. He could feel Loki's eyes boring into him.
"Stop giving me that look." Clint said.
"I am trying to determine whether or not you intend to walk off of this death trap of a ship, or if you plan to be carried; Of which, I am not lending my aid."
Clint snorted. He had a hold full of Elves he had to help unload, a king suffering from a potentially life threatening injury, he was bleeding, and most likely the ship fires on the Gateway required assistance. None of that could be done by sitting on the Blackbird. Clint shoved himself to his feet. Loki already stood by the open cockpit door and waited for him. Clint's hands were shaking.
"Adrenaline." He said before Loki brought it up. Clint passed ahead of him and entered the back of the cabin. The Elves who could walk had already evacuated the back of the ship. Those who couldn't, were being assisted by their compatriots. Haladarrel himself had already been whisked away. Some saw Clint's approach, and suddenly straightened quite tall. Their normal height of over six feet swelled only higher. It was an Elven sign of anxiety. Linnor stood at the bottom of the landing, but came up again at once when he caught sight of Clint. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't seem to manage it at first. He swallowed.
"Ackarae," Linnor paused, then began again. "It does not befit me to continue to call you simply archer. It is impersonal to a station that you have elevated to. Hawkeye, in the Elven tongue, is Rellya. Would you object to it?"
Always formalities, Clint thought. He wondered what was so wrong with his own name that no one in the Nine Realms could find the heart to use it consistently. "No, Linnor, I wouldn't mind that."
Linnor seemed relieved. "Rellya, my people owe you a great debt for what you have risked in our rescue." He stepped forward, the Elves around him watching the exchange in the gravest support of his actions. Linnor extended a hand in the typical human handshake he had been introduced to. "Thank you, is not enough to express our gratitude."
Clint accepted Linnor's hand. To refuse it, would insult him gravely. "I think my people would say the same thing of Alfheimr. I will thank Rinon when I see him for the support he has given us today."
Linnor didn't release his hand at first. He continued to press, the emotion he tried to hide failed to remain beneath his skin. "Thank you for my life. For my brother, Faraday. For Grenya and Trili and everyone else. Thank you for not abandoning us, and for rescuing our king. I owe you, not just my life, but my heritage. Faraday and I are all that remains of our kin."
Barton was too tired, too shaken by everything that happened to really absorb the depth of Linnor's appreciation. He accepted it regardless, and nodded a little to the other Elves who obviously supported Linnor's firm opinion. Clint never did like to be the center of attention. He tried to move forward and down the ramp with Loki trailing behind, but another fit of dizziness smacked into him. The room began to spin. His shaking hands reached out to steady his torso, and a set of arms grabbed him around the waist. A shock of pain thrust through him from the wound Clint neglected.
"Rellya!"
"Barton!"
Clint heard Linnor and Loki both call out to him. One of them shifted their grip, and he felt a torrent of blood dislodge down his pant leg. Strong arms held him steady while someone shouted for help. Clint forced his eyes open, and tried to swallow down the nausea his tossed-around skull created. When he did lift himself up, Loki's hovering form was torn very swiftly away. He watched as Tony Stark appeared, grabbed the off-guarded Frost Giant, and hurled him into the side of the ship's inner hull.
"What did you do to him!?" Tony roared.
"Tony!" Clint tried to call him off. Linnor sat at his back, with his hands pressed against Clint's bleeding side.
Stark turned fiercely, letting Loki drop back onto his feet again. "What were you thinking, Clint? Why did you take off on us like that?"
Clint might have responded, but Linnor beat him to it. "He has risked his life and saved our own. My people were trapped, and would have suffered death had he not refused to abandon us. He carried our king on his own shoulders to safety before being buried himself."
Tony listened to these revelations as his eyes never left the look he shared with Clint. He seemed to know the archer would be all right, and he wasn't surprised in the very least by what Linnor relayed.
"You've been busy." Tony said.
"You don't know the half of it." Clint replied.
A crew of medical personnel appeared up the ramp from where they helped tend the Elves. Seeing Clint bleeding on the floor, a few diverted to him. Tony leaned back, and allowed them better access.
Loki folded his arms. "You see, I had nothing at all to do with this."
:(:):(:):
"Your kidney is bleeding. Specifically, the left one. Congratulations, that's one I haven't seen before in your kidneys." Bruce set aside his report, and dragged the glasses off of his nose. He considered the patient unwillingly sitting in a bed of the medical quarter. One of the first real patients Bruce had enjoyed since opening the medical bay to customers. Clint, apparently, didn't appreciate the new crowning achievement.
"So, you're saying I'm in this bed for how long?"
"Technically speaking? Fourteen days. For you? I should say a month."
Clint scoffed, and tried to get out of bed.
To the side, Thor reached over and deposited him right back down . . . for the third time.
"Just because you can't feel the fact that you are bleeding internally doesn't mean that you aren't. It's not bad, I put a wrap on to help it clot and, while you were unconscious, I did a few other things to keep you alive that I'm sure you won't exactly appreciate the depth of. Now, do me a favor, clear out the peanut gallery. I don't mind a few people hanging around, but Clint, this is a little much, don't you think?" Bruce indicated the no less than three hundred Elves pressed in around his bedside. None of them spoke, or moved. They stayed, standing very straight and tall like statues, and watched all that happened with the keenest of interest. Beside their watchful gazes, Loki held up his own wall.
Thor addressed his brother first. "I have to say, this curious attention of yours has me baffled, brother. Since when have you cared so much over my friend?"
"I never said I cared over him at all." Loki replied.
"And yet, you piloted that ship with him. Found another, and escaped together. That is not the Loki I know, but it is the actions of a brother I once did. What has happened to you?" Thor continued to prod.
Loki's fingers balled into fists, though the likelihood of him striking out remained small. "Words such as that, never left my lips. To imply that I have found some sort of morality, is the words of a child holding onto a foolish dream!" Loki spun around, pushed his way through the crowd of Elves and left.
Thor lifted his eyebrow at Clint. "What have you done to him?"
"He's your weird brother. You take care of him. He keeps following me around." Clint replied. To the rest of the Elves waiting around, he said, "You all heard. I'm going to be fine. Bruce gets a little twitchy in crowds, if you know what I mean. Go on, I'm all right. Maybe someone can bring Natasha by, too."
As a single body, the Alfheimr nation filed away together. Only Bruce, Clint, and Thor remained.
"Did everyone else make it out all right?" Clint asked.
"Steve wanted off the bridge, but he ended up trapped there. Tony nearly broke an arm. I went through a window. Apparently the Hulk can survive in open space. He enjoyed smashing a few Kree ships together. Natasha's all right. The cut wasn't bad, but it bled enough to give her a little shock." Bruce went down the list, reporting on all the friends Clint had in life. When it came to Haladarrel, however, his expression changed. He moved to Clint's side, set himself down on the edge of the bed, and sighed.
"Hal's in a bad way, Clint."
"How bad?" Clint asked in disbelief. He saw Haladarrel dragged into the ship, the blood covering his face and arms. There was so much wrong with him, but as an Elf, he couldn't have imagined this. The species was as strong as Asgardians, and more noble than any race. He'd never been to a funeral or knew of one, beside the civil war between the Southern and Northern Elves twelve years before. Clint had been introduced to Haladarrel then. For some reason he never knew, C;int was stolen off of a mission in Germany, and dragged through the Bifrost with Tony and Steve. The three of them were thrown into the midst of an onslaught. Clint took an arrow from a Southling Elf through his shoulder. It was laced with a deadly venom, and in two days, he nearly died from it. King Rinon, the regent at the time, sent his best scouts into all of Alfheimr to find Clint. Haladarrel got to him first. He spent an entire night helping Clint breathe. He rushed Barton to an uncle, and another former regent of Alfheimr they knew as Doodle. A battle broke out at Doodle's tree home, and even then, Rinon came riding to their rescue, sparing their lives. The Southlings were hunted down and exiled, their leader disappeared into the great Woodrenkell forest, never to be uncovered again. He'd been struck himself with the same venom that nearly killed Clint.
Haladarrel survived the sprint through the forest, encountering the Southling force on his own, falling from hundreds of feet up, and the final battle. He threw caution aside to ensure Clint's survival, and Barton always felt a kinship to the Elf for that sacrifice. If Clint died then on Alfheimr, so soon after the murder of Queen Frigga by the Dark Elves, all of Asgard would have fallen on Rinon and his people. Alfheimr quaked at the very notion of it. When the fighting ceased, Thor and Rinon spoke about all of the events that happened. They agreed that, for as long as Thor lived, a truce would exist between the two races. Rinon pressed the issue that for Clint to have even been placed in harm's way at all, some traitor on Asgard must have ordered it. For years they searched out the guilty party, but nothing was ever solidified in stone. During that search, they discovered Loki had overthrown Odin and taken his adoptive father's place. When exactly the switch occurred, they didn't know. Some speculated it was he who caused the tensions on Alfheimr though he denied it.
It was difficult to believe that, after all they had been through, Haladarrel may not survive the onslaught by the Kree.
"I'm sorry, Clint."
"Does Rinon know?" Thor asked gently.
"He's here already sitting with him. They've sent a message to the queen to bring her here. I'm not sure he'll have enough time for her to arrive."
"That dire?" Thor whispered, absorbing it all.
Clint tried to stand again, Thor automatically kept him down.
"I want to see him!" Clint cried. "I'm not going to sit here and let you tell me he could be dead in a few hours, and not go see him!"
"I know, Clint, and I figured that. We'll bring you to him. All right? Besides, he's already asked for you. He's just next door." Bruce nodded at Thor, and the two gently eased Clint out of bed.
Knowing he planned to make a run for it later, Barton allowed them to carry him off now. At least he was good at pretending to be cooperative. Whether he fooled Bruce or not, remained to be seen. They passed through the adjoining door together, and arrived in a new room that Clint didn't recognize. When he entered a place for the first time, he made it a point to comb through every inch of the area and develop a lay of the land. Should emergencies arise, he would know a thousand ways to get around. He thought he'd seen every inch of the medical bay, but apparently he didn't.
There were surprisingly few Elves in the room. Only Reylano, a few of his fellow elders, and Rinon stood watch around about the king. Reylano and his compatriots sat on the floor in a small cluster by the end of the bed. Some of them sang an unfamiliar, beautiful, Elven song. Rinon stayed by his fellow king's side. His hand remained on the exposed flesh on Haladarrel's arm. He heard the entrance of the others and lifted from his position. Rinon inclined his head at Clint. "My friend."
"Don't let me move you." Clint replied. Bruce and Thor helped him forward, and Rinon abandoned his seat for the archer.
"I do not mind. You have given me this time by his side. It is right that I should return some again to you." Rinon said. He retreated from the bedside with Thor and Banner. He sent a little motion to the others, and the Elven song came to a close. The Elves stood and left through the main door together. Clint and Haladarrel were left alone.
Someone took the time to clean Haladarrel's face of the blood and grime that once overtook him, leaving the milky skin behind. His hair was black, paling toward its long ends in the way the king's hair would. It set him apart from the other Elves for none beside a male royal had the white hair to show. Given a few more decades on the throne, Haladarrel's hair might have been as white as Rinon. Now, that time would never come. Unlike other patients in Bruce's care, Haladarrel had no lines of fluids, attachments to machines, or any of those other elements a dying man may possess. Elves didn't like to prolong death when there was nothing to be done. If Rinon thought, or had any inclination, that bringing Haladarrel to another realm might save him then he would have been gone already. Elves bodies might have been infused with all the strength of an Asgardian, but they were also fragile creatures. A wound may take months or years to heal. A shotgun wound that Clint might survive, placed over an Elf's chest might always prove fatal. In this case, Haladarrel's entire side had been crushed beneath half a ton of concrete. No medical intervention in the world would be enough to spare his life. Seeing something as hopeless was never easy for Clint.
In the silence left when the singing stopped, Haladarrel opened his eyes. They'd been a different color once, but like his hair, they too lightened. He smiled a little when he saw Clint. "If it is not my troublesome fellow." He said.
"Le suilon." I greet you, Clint replied.
"Me en pedhelen gereletri." I forget your talent in Elvish. Haladarrel whispered.
"Metri mi anesthru." I should have come sooner.
"And been buried among my people? No." Haladarrel replied in basic. "No. No, your warning saved us without sacrificing your own life."
"I'm sorry."
Hal might have lifted his hand, placed it over Clint's in a way to reassure him, but his fingers lay beneath the cover of his blanket. There, the fact that they'd been smashed beyond recognition, went unseen by his visitors. Clint waited for him to catch his breath again. He could tell attempting to speak was taking a considerable effort.
"I should let the others back in." Clint tried to say, but a little protestation stopped him.
"No, it's all right. I – " Hal closed his eyes and winced. His teeth came together, and a hiss escaped his tight lips. Clint set a hand on his arm the way he'd seen Rinon do, and it seemed to help for a moment. After a time, the moonlight irises appeared beneath their shades. "My queen – "
"I'll see to her, I give my word. But you won't need it, because you are going to live to see her. Don't listen to them, they're just doctors. What do they know? Look at me; how many times did I cheat death, huh? I was dying just last year, and I'm still here. We can do something. We can fix this!"
"Some things cannot be fixed with words and hope. You've saved my men, their allegiance they pledge to you, ackarae. Oh, forgive me, Rellya."
Clint gave him a sad smile. The longer he spent around other realms and races, the more names he had to keep up with. "I don't want their allegiance, I have plenty of that. I want them to do something. Hal, you kept me breathing through my worst days. Why can't I do something for you now?"
Haladarrel kept silent while he contemplated his thoughts. He was a young Elf, not even a thousand years yet. He was also a young king. His reign was the shortest in all of Alfheimr's history. His queen, would take over in his stead and she deserved the opportunity to lead her realm. Not having an chance to share that future with her cut deep into his heart. Doodle, his only living kin and a former regent himself, would be mortified to hear of Haladarrel's death. Knowing that brought him more pain then the fire of his wounds. "We are made strong so that we might survive longer. When our bodies fail us, there is little we might do to save it." Haladarrel said. "I am sorry."
"Sorry," Clint pulled his hand away and hung his head. Haladarrel never ceased to surprise him. "You're the one lying there, and you're sorry."
"I should have acted sooner. Brought the fleet faster. Changed a thousand things that now I regret." Hal shifted, gasped. Clint shook his head furiously at him.
"Don't say that! It's not Alfheimr's job to bail us out. We should have known about the Kree, prepared more, done more. This was our fault, not yours."
"The Dark Elves' technology – "
"Left to be scavenged by Asgard and us. We should have done something."
"Rinon knew it, not I. He has always known." Hal leaned his head back, gasping as he breathed. Clint tried to get him to stop, but Haladarrel kept on. "Did I not say what sort of Elf my predecessor is?"
There were many sorts of Elven clans in the realm of Light Elves. There were the banished Southlings, Outer and Inner Glencove, Skydale, Blueskin Mountains, Woodrenkell, Earthenden, Blanklands, and Lakeheed. Each clan had their own ability to communicate with the natural world at their fingertips. Outer Glencove Elves, like Haladarrel, worked on the waters of the sea. They could speak to the wind and manipulate it like one might form clay from the earth. It was that ability which helped Clint live. The Elves that went to Vanaheim were mainly from Blanklands, as they were masons and builders of the greatest degree.
"No, you never said where Rinon came from." Clint said sadly.
"He came to Lakeheed a thousand years ago from the peaks of the mountains. He lived in isolation there, a student of many great things. He tired of his solitude, and came to the kingdom's court to seek something more."
Clint sat and listened as Haladarrel told him the story of Rinon's past. It took him many pauses and long minutes to form the words he wanted to speak, but Clint waited patiently to hear them.
"He is not a mason, or an air talker, or even a wood maker. Rinon sees." Haladarrel whispered. "Things no other could possibly imagine. So much, it takes his very voice away. He saw that, one day, Alfheimr would need a fleet, and ever since that day where you and I first met, he has left the throne to prepare for it."
"Wh – Wait, what? He knew this would happen?" Clint asked, stunned.
"What Rinon knows, no man may understand. Yet here he is. He left the throne to me, so that he could see his armada built, to preserve all of Alfheimr. I fear - him. I . . . I fear-"
Clint thought about Steve. The captain was stretched thin between commanding the army, training the fleet, building the ships, sending men through portals, and all those other necessities that came with being at the helm of a raging war. Rinon might have found himself in the same position had he not turned over the throne to Haladarrel instead. Clint knew there must have been a reason a king such as he would have given up his throne so swiftly. He left the ruling to become a general. Clint didn't understand how or why he'd done it. If Rinon knew what was coming before the Sarhorn did, why wasn't that information shared? Why had he kept it private?
"Hal, what does Rinon know?" Clint asked.
"I've missed our time together." Haladarrel said unexpectedly. "You were the most troublesome man I have ever known."
Something changed. Clint felt it in the air like a vapor or mist. A cold chill rushed up his arms with a dread to follow. He clambered to his feet, and a rush of dizziness nearly threw him to the floor. He grabbed the wall for support, hit the key on the door, and opened it to the men waiting outside.
"Something's happening!" He exclaimed, leaning away so they could enter.
The Alfheimr leaders came first, filing in to surround Haladarrel's bed. Thor and Bruce took a step inside, but came no further. Thor didn't speak. Bruce slipped against Clint's side to help keep him up. Rinon alone came last. His eyes were a pale pearl, like lavender jewels. He dressed like a soldier in intricate leather tooled in gold and clasps of Elven silver. A silent, knowing look passed between them, as if somehow all this time, Rinon had listened to the story Haladarrel shared. He slipped inside and returned to his place by Haladarrel again.
Bruce whispered, "Did I miss something there?"
"Take me out." Clint said.
"Are you sure?"
Behind him, the Elven songs began again, singing their king to his final rest.
"This is their place, not mine."
:(:):(:):
" 'Love is for children. I owe him a debt.' I believe those were your exact words at the time." Loki said, leaning on the wall across from the window.
"It was true." Natasha muttered back. "I thought you were going to let him kill me. 'Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows I fear.' "
Loki smiled, shifting his shoulders in delight. "Oh, that was quite clever. I hadn't even rehearsed."
"And look who got thrown into an Asgardian prison. Not me."
"I wasn't there for long, and therefore it does not count."
"Escaping the prison doesn't mean you weren't ever in it."
"Of course it does, otherwise, what is half the fun of getting arrested at all?" He watched as Clint was brought back to bed. Tony had arrived to wait for him and took up a chair, propping his feet up beside Clint's. Bruce had already left to be at Haladarrel's call should he be needed.
"It's midnight, shouldn't you be off sucking someone's blood?"
"Being devilishly handsome does not make one a vampire." Loki pointed out, "You haven't even spoken to him."
A famous death glare zeroed in on the side of Loki's face. He flushed a little blue under the weight of it. "His friend is dying. What am I supposed to say?"
"Oh . . . I don't know. I'm usually the one killing people."
"Why are you even here?!" She exclaimed. "Seriously, explain that to me. It isn't some misguided hope that this is all going to work itself out. You don't care about Clint at all. You care even less about anyone who isn't yourself. So what is it then? What are you hoping to get, by being here?"
"Well, you did say it. I care of little beyond my own skin, and I will not refute it. If that means I will survive these years by sticking to someone who I know will do the same, then I will swallow what pride I must, and subject myself to enduring his existence."
"You're looking for something." Natasha said suddenly.
"I am not!" Loki refuted.
"What is it?"
"If I were in need of discovering anything, then the last place I would expect to find it is here." Loki replied smoothly. Before he had the chance of being trapped in another one of her incredibly astute deductions, he beat a hasty retreat back the way he had come.
Natasha watched as the Frost Giant stole away back to whatever hole he found for himself on the ship. She didn't like him staying so close to Barton. Firstly, he never brought good news with him. Trouble clung to his coat sleeves the same way it did to Clint. Having the two of them together was a sure fire road to a dangerous path. Loki also had his own ulterior motive, whether they knew what that may be or not. Finished with her prodding for now, Natasha went into the medical room. She smiled at her husband.
"Mr. Romanov." She said coyly.
Tony snorted.
"You're the one who became Mr. Potts, so you get no sympathy from the peanut gallery." Clint said, putting an end to Tony's laughter.
Natasha climbed into bed beside Clint. "Loki wants something from you."
"Didn't you figure it out yet?" Clint asked.
"Not yet, but give me a little time."
"I thought you really nailed him out there. His face turned blue." Tony said, flipping through pages on his digital notepad. He took out a stylus, and made a few corrections before moving on to the next endless lines of equations.
"Not quite. He's keeping his cards close, this time." She reported.
Clint shrugged. "I'll leave that to you. Any word from the Kree after the attack?"
"Nope." Tony said.
"None at all?"
Tony lowered his screen. "No, as in, no we aren't talking about that. I've been up on that bridge since the minute those blue-skinned traitors caught us with our pants down. I've been flying around in space with Thor for the past few hours, and even had the Hulk out there too. Who knew he could survive that? I didn't until I saw Bruce get sucked out a wall. So, no, we are going to talk about something else for the next few hours and give me a chance to work out these equations Pym's been screwing up."
Clint appeared hurt. Tony had worked endless hours on his scientific contribution to the mission at hand. His ship, the Bethlehem Star, was supposed to be retrofitted as the containment vessel for Galactus. His energy would be funneled into a consistent loop, causing the creature to feed on himself for the rest of time. None of it worked without Tony's scientific research. "Aww, Hank messed up all that hard work?"
"In only the most frustrating of ways. How hard is it to recopy a thousand high math symbols from an alien race who has since decided to never speak to me again?" Tony scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. Whether he admitted to it or not, he was looking for any excuse to ignore all that had just occurred. Clint requested the casualty lists. He saw the names of friends and loved ones who would never even see the Great War still to come. There were calls he had to make to their families back home, and explanations to give. That could wait.
Natasha interlaced her fingers with Clint's. Only a wall away, he could hear the Elven songs rising in the air. They sang their king's great victories, his gentleness, and his love. Clint closed his eyes and imagined those love songs fading through him with the mist of Haladarrel's detaching soul. Clint thought about Rinon waiting by his successor's side, and feeling the weight of all that had occurred fall on his shoulders. The Elf would never voice his opinions, but Clint seemed to feel it in his bones. Rinon blamed himself. Had he still been regent, he would have been in Haladarrel's place. Did he feel that as keenly as the others? If Haladarrel was right and Rinon saw this all coming, did he also anticipate Haladarrel's looming death?
"How long until Arahaelel arrives?" Clint asked no one in particular.
"Should be here already. I thought I saw her on my way over." Tony said, setting his equations aside. "Is it true that he's not going to make it?"
Clint nodded a little. He squeezed Natasha's hand. His minimal response was enough for Tony to understand the truth of the matter. He'd watched as Clint's ship entered the docking bay, and had hurried to get down there and meet him. He never expected to encounter the hundreds of Elves pouring out of the hull, half of which were nearly charred to death in whatever fires they just barely managed to escape. His heart had thudded in his chest as he rushed closer. Then he saw them carrying Haladarrel away, and he'd stopped breathing. Tony had difficulty recognizing the king at first. He'd been covered in ash and blood, his entire chest caved in on one side as if a thousand pound slab had come down to bisect him. Tony had mounted the ship, looking desperately around for Clint. Seeing Barton in Loki's hands, with the blood covering the floor . . .
"I thought he'd killed you." Tony admitted.
"I know you did." Clint replied.
"You can't trust him."
"I know that, too. And I'm not. But all of us are safer if he stays with me. Peter needs help looking for the Infinity Gauntlet. I'm thinking about going to do that."
"Probably what Loki's hoping for." Natasha added in.
"A chance to control the Infinity Gauntlet?" Tony asked, considering it.
"Valid." Clint said.
"You trust him to stick with you then? What if Star-Dork and you actually find it, and Loki decides to run off with it?" Tony said.
"I don't trust him, we will find it, and I can handle Loki."
Natasha was surprised by his cocksure attitude over the matter. He had an illustrious history with Thor's brother. Clint and Loki met for the first time only in passing. Clint was dispensed to New Mexico when Thor first came up on SHIELD's radar. Loki, at the time commanded the Destroyer armor, a defense machine that leveled a small town. The next time they met, Loki used an Infinity Stone-infused staff to control Clint's mind and body. Barton spent a week out of SHIELD hands in Loki's service. Coming back from that, he was never the same man again. Later Clint and Loki faced off again in a one-on-one battle that went down in history as the greatest fight in all the Nine Realms. Defending Thor's life, Clint found the will to lift the hammer Mjolnir and, with it, proceeded to bash Loki into submission. In respect for Clint's ability, Odin gave him the Sleiphner Bow. Later still, Clint met up, and even teamed up, with Loki. An invasion, manipulated by the hand of an Asgardian woman known as the Enchantress, urged a temporary alliance between the two mortal enemies. Natasha remembered them fighting side-by-side so vividly. She'd been Clint's partner for nearly two dozen years, but watching him fight beside the Frost Giant brought a different sort of man out of him. One could tell they had a history, one they may have hidden from the entire world.
"Is there something we need to know?" Tony asked, considering the same history as the others.
"You? No. It's – " Clint stopped. He could hear the increase in tempo from the elven songs, but he could feel the change too. Tony slid to his feet, his tablet fell off his lap to clatter on the floor. A cold wind passed over their faces, leaving a chill behind that shouldn't exist in a vacuum sealed, and heavily regulated, artificial environment. The spots of exposed skin on Clint's face prickled. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. Without having to ask, they knew that Haladarrel was dead. Before the news could fully sink in, the door across from them slid open. Surprisingly, Rinon himself stood in the doorway. His face was taut and serious. Why he had come at such a time as this? They assumed, as any rational being would, that Rinon must stay at the departed king's side. Clint sat up a little more, though Rinon extended a hand to stop him.
"Fel leselli." Good health to you, Clint said.
"May we speak?" Rinon asked.
"Of course, if you want." Clint glanced at the dividing wall where, just next door, the songs began to slide into a depressed crescendo. The grieving had begun. The notes rose and fell in the quiet of the halls. The entire ship seemed to understand the depths of what occurred, and a mighty stillness overcame it. Rinon didn't show the signs of grief that Clint had seen so often in the past with Elven friends. He was simply tired.
"Tasha, Tony, give us a minute?" Clint asked, sensing whatever Rinon had to say he wished to keep between them alone. The others understood that too. They approached Rinon, and offered what quiet condolences they could manage, and together slipped outside.
WHAT? WHAT! Haladarrel Dead?! WHAT!
I'm so sorry. I liked him too.
What is Rinon going to say? What is possibly going to happen? Stay tuned!
Please review!