Chapter 24: Devil May Care
"As far as I know I have never given birth, and yet, I can quite clearly recall the experience," Loki said through clenched teeth, half hunched-in on himself in reaction to the pain in his abdomen.
"No. You cannot be pregnant!" Clint snapped.
"I knew that I should not have mentioned it," Loki reflected, more to himself than to either of his companions. He wrapped both arms around his middle and shut his eyes, riding out the next contraction. Clint was right, Loki was fairly positive that he couldn't be pregnant, and yet he was now feeling just as certain that he was going into labor.
"This can't be!" Clint decided. "This is a joke. This is the most fucked up-"
"In what possible way do you find this amusing!" Loki snapped at him, his temper flaring. Then a whole new wave of horror washed over him. His magic was gone. "No..."
"Don't tell me. I'm done. This is my limit," Clint said, pacing away from him. "I don't know what Steve was thinking. I'm out."
"Where are you going?" Loki asked incredulously, watching his only tangible support stalk away toward the mouth of the alley.
"I'm out," Clint reaffirmed.
"Wha... You can't just leave me!" Loki called in disbelief.
Clint tuned him out and kept walking. He didn't believe Loki. He couldn't. He had finally decided to try and give the alien a chance to prove his trustworthiness, as difficult as the idea still was for him. Still, this- He was stopped in his tracks by a tortured whine coming from the alley behind him. Clint bit his lip.
"No. Let it go. You aren't falling for this," he told himself, not quite managing to regain his previous confident pace despite his own assurance. The lingering doubt nagged at the back of his mind. He's different. What if he really needs help? Clint knew that he didn't owe Loki any favors. The ex-invader himself had stated on more than one occasion that he expected one day to die by Clint's hand. "Don't turn back."
A horrified scream wrenched him out of his internal conflict.
"Fuck it."
Loki collapsed back onto the snow, shaking, while his body began to push the nothingness out of him. Reflexes and foreign muscle-memory had taken control. Someone skidded into a seated position and leaned over his head, but Loki's vision was too blurry to make him out at first.
"Kinda thought that you were faking it," Clint confessed, moving to support the convulsing Trickster's head.
"If only I had the strength to kill you," Loki hissed out, half-conscious.
"Yep." Clint winced, flinching away as, with another scream from Loki, more of the lightless, somehow-living nothing squirmed out of him, pulling and wrenching itself toward freedom. "Augh. God. I'm pretty sure that I will never sleep again!" It was infant-sized, even technically baby-shaped despite its featureless face, but Clint highly doubted that a real, hu- Jötun infant would be this aggressively involved in its own birth.
"Help me!" Loki demanded.
"How!" Clint shot back as loudly as he dared. "And keep your voice down. I am not going to get fried by a Sentinel while helping you push this out!"
"Oh, yes. Forgive me for being an imposition to you," Loki gasped. He gave another trembling push and Clint had to clasp a hand over his mouth for fear that the Trickster's pained exclamation would give them away.
"Fine!" Clint whispered sharply, pulling him up into his lap in a more natural position. "We will never speak of this."
Loki turned his head to the side and bit down on the sleeve of the archer's leather jacket rather than reply. The darkness pouring out of him began to take on a more mature form. It reared up onto its knees, gaining more humanlike features as it moved until it fell forward, catching itself on darkly-perfect hands with -his?- mannequinesque face a mere foot away from Loki's. The darkness of his coloring was gradually masked by too-smooth, flesh-colored skin and closely-cropped, jet black hair formed out of his head to match his beetle-black eyes.
The Void-thing grinned down at him with unnaturally perfect teeth and spoke. "Now that's what I call a magic trick!" The Void-thing placed his hand on Loki's chest with entirely-unwelcome familiarity.
Loki tried to summon a pulse of magic to force it away. All that happened was a brief golden shimmer over his tired body. "Mara..." Loki gasped out barely more than a frightened breath.
The Void-thing tutted. It pushed it's not-strictly-solid hand through to grasp- or rather, caress Loki's rapidly-beating heart. "What do you think? Is the tenor voice working, or should I go a little deeper? I mean, you've got that whole smooth and silky thing going, but it's not as menacing as it could sound, is it?"
Loki gasped, unnable to speak with the creature's hand still imbeded in his ribcage.
"If you're going to be rude, I'll just be done with y-"
Clint shot a crossbow bolt through the thing's head before he could finish his sentence. The shot knocked him off of Loki's chest, and the intangible stranglehold released his heart back into it's natural rhythm.
Clint reloaded his no-longer-secret weapon without missing a beat. The first projectile vanished into the Void-thing's forehead. His features reversed and he pushed himself up off of the blackening snow, staring back at Clint over his shoulder. The ragged black hole that had blown out of the top right quadrant of the monster's head reassembled into its previous flawlessness, like a macabre eruption played in reverse. Clint patted Loki's cheek with the back of his hand.
"Let's go!"
The monster smiled, watching Loki try to stand up only to fall onto his hands and knees. Clint kept his weapon aimed, even if it was useless.
"We gotta move and I won't carry you," Clint urged taking a step back as their grinning adversary rose to his feet.
Here. Allow me. Charles initiated an extra concentrated surge of adrenaline in Loki's system to boost his strength.
"You can't carry me," Loki corrected as he finally managed to stumble to his feet. Clint let off another shot and wrapped his arm around the weakened god's middle, virtually dragging him out into the street.
"Got to find cover..." Clint thought aloud.
There was a loud sucking sound from the alley, accompanied by an unholy racket as the contents of said alley were pulled into the living singularity. Clint took a second to stare at it with a fed up sort of fear. Loki quickly snapped him back to his search.
"You may wish to know, I am bound to collapse sooner rather than later."
"Don't!" Clint snapped.
"As you command it, Agent Barton," Loki replied sarcastically, "It will become possible."
"Just shut up, Smartass. I'm thinking!" Clint led him across the street and more-or-less dumped Loki against the inner wall of an abandoned boutique. The place was not an ideal refuge, the windows had been blown out months ago and everything smelled of mildew, gunpowder and -to Loki's more sensitive nose- old blood. He watched Clint hunch down on his left to peer out through the window, trying to fight down the urge to vomit. The archer flicked his gaze over Loki's practically-translucent face.
"Huh. Your lips aren't blue anymore," he observed, reloading his crossbow.
"You came back for me," Loki's eyes threatened to close. He was fading fast.
"I don't know what I was thinking. You're making me do all the work."
"I have just given birth," Loki articulated with an exhausted attempt at a scowl.
Clint snorted. "Yeah. Congratulations, it's a Thing!" He raised his crossbow towards a sign of movement, but it was only a passing drone.
"How m-ny mo..." Loki's eyes fluttered shut, and he shook himself awake. "Many bolts?"
"If you pass out, you can't come with me," Clint reminded, keeping his eyes on the street outside.
Loki watched him expectantly.
"Two bolts left. My gun has five rounds left," Clint answered. "Oh, sh-" He ducked down, pressing himself against the wall to hide from the Void-creature's searching eyes.
"Good," Loki breathed. His eyes fell shut. After the pause went on for too long, Clint punched him in the shoulder.
"Hey! That isn't funny."
Loki smiled wanly. "No. It isn't." He sobered. "Thank you-"
"No. We're not doing that," Clint dismissed.
"You need to run," Loki flopped one hand up to touch the data chip dangling from Clint's neck. His eyes were fluttering shut again. "Good luck."
Clint watched Loki's eyes fall shut and his whole body go slack, then with a muttered curse, the Avenger turned and escaped out the back door.
CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK
Agent Romanoff shoved her hands in the pockets of the frayed, patchwork jacket she'd bought off the first female ragamuffin that she and Sif had run into. She kept her head down, passing off her hunched posture as a reaction to the cold while she tracked the 'bike messenger' riding by behind her, with her peripherals. The guy was a plant; she knew it the moment she saw him. So were the two homeless people hovering around the trashcan-firepit up ahead. The Black Widow knew a setup when she saw it. Natasha pulled up her handwoven, charcoal grey cowl better to hide her face and fiery red hair, then knocked out a stacatto rhythm on the side of the abandoned white van she was passing.
This was too much of a coincidence. SHIELD had known where she was in advance, which meant she was carrying a tracer. Natasha took stock of the situation, calculating the best chance of completing her mission. She had taken Sif here in hopes of sending her to garner help from off world, after which she would head out to meet with contacts in the Black Market and go to ground. Natasha surveyed the area. There were two more agents in the park, and the supposed derelict car she'd spotted when she scouted their perimeter was a camoflaged armored car. They were surrounded.
Natasha crossed over to stand on the patterned ground where Thor and Loki had departed with the tesseract after the Battle of Manhattan. She took a deep steadying breath, preparing for the battle ahead, mentally recounting her mission details. Priority one: protect the mainframe. SHIELD would get no leads or access to Avengers intel from her. Priority two: gather allies. Odds were she and Sif wouldn't both get out of this unscathed, if at all. The ex-assassin let her hands hover over her hidden Glock 26's while she listened to the crunch of Lady Sif's boots marching up behind her.
"I am uncertain whether this will work. I thought we planned to part ways after you passed me," Sif told her in a muted voice turning to face her side-on, taking her place in the center of the mandala.
"We did," Natasha confirmed. Sif looked from her to the Agent grasping the M16 concealed under his oversized coat. "The plan changed." The Black Widow concluded, spinning around to shoot him before he could even point his weapon at her. His partner was almost fast enough but he missed his rapidly moving target as she charged forward into the street, shooting out both his knees.
"Behind you," she informed Sif without looking. The two Agents lingering by the water were just turning her way. Their bullets bounced harmlessly off Sif's armor before the warrior turned towards them. Natasha shot one in the shoulder, but was then sidetracked by the armored car speeding towards her. Lady Sif threw a dagger into the other Agent's thigh while Natasha retreated into a crouch on the edge of the sidewalk between Sif and their attackers. "You need to go."
"I cannot simply abandon you here!" Sif argued, sounding offended.
"One of us needs to make it out of here. This is a no win senario. Grab the data chip and get help." Natasha emptied the clip of her right gun into the car's windscreen and reloaded in record time. "This is my last clip."
Sif turned away, muttering angrilly under her breath, then glared up at the cold grey sky. "Heimdall! Heimdall, please, I know that I am outlawed but there is much at stake! Do not forsake me!"
A rumble answered her seconds later, accompanied by a loud crackle of charge rippling through the sky. Rainbow light cut through the bleak, smog overhead.
Natasha stood to clear the area, but Sif grabbed her and pulled her close just before the Bifrost touched down.
"Hold on to me. A good warrior never abandons her sister," Sif explained.
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
The psuedo-human from the void, now fully-formed, strolled into the dilapidated boutique. An all-black three piece suit and tie melted into existence over his body like ink over rubber. He paused in front of a broken mirror set up at the end of the shelf by Loki's feet and adjusted his tie. He let out a satsfied hum, pointed and winked at his own reflection. Then he turned to look the reclining Trickster over with a reflective air.
"Mmm. Look at you, Sleeping Beauty," he remarked, lowering to squat over Loki, eying the luminous blue and gold pendant peaking out from under Loki's trenchcoat. "So trusting... You trust him to protect you, even now. The Void-thing reached out to run his fingers over the curve of Loki's cheekbone, then leaned in closer and whispered, "Your special friend is going to die. Charlie never told you, but he's about to go-" He let out a descending whistle while he pulled away, finishing off with a mimed explosion. "Bet that'll just ruin you. Ah..." The Void-thing sniffed and settled again, then blew out a huff and walked away to fetch a chair. The first one he found was a basic, black wooden kitchen chair. The Void-thing picked it up, then relinquished it just as quickly upon finding a dead pigeon lying in the seat. "Pardon me, Madam. Ooh! Yoink." He flitted over to grab the blue and white silk apolstered antique chair from behind the counter and set it down opposite his sleeping subject, despite the black mold invading the right side of the backrest. He kicked his feet up to rest on the windowsill. "And now, we wait." He intoned precisely.
The pigeon did not reply.
ASGARD
Lady Sif released her tight grip on Agent Romanoff, falling forward into a crouch in front of her brother's dais as the rainbow light of the bifrost faded out of the chamber. Natasha was somewhat less fortunate. She stumbled aside and tripped, landing on her hands and knees on the stone floor battling against the impulse to vomit. The sudden shift in gravity wasn't doing her any favors. Sif looked up and saw that the guardian's stoic expression was a tad more grave than usual.
"Good eve, Heimdall," she greeted carefully, rising out of her crouch. "Thank you for heeding my call."
Heimdall inclined his head in acknowledgement.
Sif looked around the chamber at the two guards posted at the inner archways. "Am I to be arrested?" she verified.
"No, Milady. But your trespasses will be reported to the Allfather in due time," Heimdall answered.
Sif arched an eyebrow at the guardian's odd choice of words. "I see."
"You'd best see your ally to sanctuary." Heimdall continued.
Sif bowed respectfully. "I understand." She and Natasha exchanged a conspiratorial look. The ex-SHIELD Agent nodded in affirmation. They were in this together now. "What of Sir Fandral?" Sif inquired, of her stoic half-brother.
"He resides in Prince Loki's previous cell."
Sif nodded curtly, helping Natasha up off the floor and heading out of the observatory. Her hand slipped into her pocket to grasp Loki's concealed message.
"And Sif," Heimdall's voice stopped them just short of the arch. "I suggest that you proceed with caution."
Sif turned to look back at him. He knew. "I will," Sif said, trying to keep her voice steady. She doubted that he was referring to Fandral.
Once they were alone in the palace corridor, Natasha put a hand on the other woman's shoulder to stop her and checked the area for any sign of prying eyes.
"Loki slipped you something, back in Stark's lab. What was it?" She interrogated.
"You do not believe that he could care for me?" Sif hedged.
"He cares about you, but you're not attracted to each other. The kiss was a tactic."
Sif grasped the item in question without revealing it to her new co-conspirator. "How did you determine that?"
"Female intuition," Natasha deadpanned. Sif smiled, deciding to trust the other warrior maiden. She led Natasha behind one of the pillars that lined the corridor and slipped the paper-wrapped trinket out of its hiding place. Sif wasn't sure if she understood the purpose of the little glass and metal box, but Natasha seemed to.
"A Starkphone. It hasn't been activated." She slipped it into her inner coat pocket for safe keeping. The paper was folded over with writing on the underside. "What does it say?"
"Whatever happened to Mr. Wolf?" Sif read aloud, her brow furrowed.
"Any idea who that is?" Natasha asked.
Sif shook her head. "I should have guessed that Loki would turn this into another one of his riddles." She tucked the note away again, letting out an exasperated sigh. "It matters not at the present time. First I must see you to safety."
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
An imposing, cloaked figure strode purposefully in through the back of the boutique towards Loki and the Void-creature, unaware of the shadowed figure who watched him from the fire-escape above. The Void-thing licked his finger and turned the page in his dog-eared magazine. The newcomer stopped a few paces behind him and yanked down the hood of his cloak. Clearly, Odin the Allfather was not a man who took being ignored lightly.
"It took you long enough," the Void-thing acknowledged casually. "Pfft. I don't agree at all. That is entirely the wrong color for her." He remarked upon a celebrity photo in his outdated Cosmo.
A muscle in Odin's jaw twitched. "I have little time for your games, Monster."
"Hmm. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," the Void-thing responded, closing his gossip rag and tossing it aside as he rose from his seat to face Odin. "Give it a minute, Allfather. And please," he stole another glance at the sleeping Loki, smirking to himself. "Call me Mara."
Odin's eyes narrowed. "Listen well, you may have gotten the better of my son, but you will not succeed-"
"Ah u-uh!" Mara singsonged, cutting the Aesir's tirade short. "But he's not your son. Ze's not even your childe, adoptive or otherwise." He grinned up at the Allfather's tightening expression. "Yes. I know what you've done, you naughty man." He leaned forward into Odin's personal space. "Soon, he's going to figure you out, too." Mara scrutinized Odin's face. "You don't have a plan, but I. do. So Odin, do you have time for me now?"
ASGARD
Sif descended into Asgard's dungeons, wrapped in a billowing dark green cloak that she was borrowing from the Trickster's chambers. When she reached her destination it took Fandral far too long to register her presence. He was too caught up in the worn old leather notebook that he was reading. Sif smacked the barrier to expedite matters. Fandral's head jerked up to look at her in surprise. Sif rolled her eyes at his thickheadedness and lowered her hood. Fandral hastily tucked the journal away under his pillow.
"Sif! You're back!" He cleared his throat, collecting himself. "I thought that you were guarding Prince Loki."
"He is safe enough in Thor's care," Sif said easily. "We have little time. I have yet to face the Allfather."
"Why have you returned at all? Considering recent events, I imagine that your work is not yet done." Fandral stood and walked up to stand opposite her on the other side of the golden barrier.
"I have a new goal to pursue, now," Sif revealed.
Fandral studied her face, pensive. "The truth," he observed. "You've seen things. You want them explained."
Sif's eyes narrowed. "What do you know of it?"
The last remainder of the knight's playful, happy-go-lucky demeanor vanished to be replaced by a calm sobriety more typical of warriors his age. "I know what I have witnessed, for furthur reference check the magic box."
Sif gave a sarcastic arch of her brow.
The corner of Fandral's lip quirked upwards the slightest bit as he conceded. "That matters little to us at present. The heart of the matter is: how much does he know?"
"Loki?"
Fandral watched her expectantly.
"He met his brothers... The Jötun king and his Lieutenant. He has grown curious, but I don't know what buisness that is of yours."
"He's curious. He's asking questions!"
"I- Yes. Fandral, what has gotten into you?" Sif demanded.
"Any other sign?"
"Fandral. Tell me! Why are you behaving this way?!"
"I cannot. You must trust me, Sif. What have you seen?"
"I don't know what this is about!"
"It doesn't matter. We are shieldmates, and friends. You know that I will not betray you."
Sif thought back, trying to remember anything out of the ordinary. "Jane Foster."
Fandral straightened up, arching his eyebrows at her.
"They became closer after her imprisonment, nearly friends. I noticed her scribbling during the evening hours, and once when we were waiting for the others to join us in the common room. Her drawing... it almost looked like one of the old war runes. Come to think of it, I saw-"
Fandral pulled down the left sleeve of his tunic and pressed his hand flat against the flickering forcefield. Instead of the usual repelling shock, the energy sparked and flowed into his skin and a dark green tattoo bled into existence over his pulsepoint. "This?"
"What is happening?" Sif breathed, taking a step back from the sparking forcefield and her suddenly-unfamiliar old friend.
"It is almost time," Fandral pronounced with a smile, looking as though he had been waiting far too long for this moment.
"Time for what?!" Sif demanded, not liking this madness at all, with a number of questions and revelations competing for dominance within her flustered consciousness.
"For the sleeping wolf to awaken."
Sif's head snapped up, focused once more. "The wolf?"
Fandral's smile faltered and his indigo eyes flicked to the opposite cell.
Sif followed his gaze to the prisoner across the way. He was watching them with cold, blank blue eyes. Sif knew those eyes, she turned back to see Fandral retreating from the barrier.
"Little time indeed. It seems that our conversation has found its end," he remarked with a hint of the usual playful spark returning to his eyes, even in retreat.
Sif hesitated, looking uncertainly up at him. "You have not explained anything," she told him as if she didn't recognize the spy listening to their every word.
"Another time." Fandral plopped down on the cot and caught her eye. "The food in here is terrible. Perhaps you can bring me something after dinner."
Sif nodded to him, hiding her smile as she left, in response to the memory of the code that Fandral and Loki had made up one night when they were far too bored with camping. It had mainly been Fandral's doing. At the time, Sif had been annoyed by his silliness, watching judgmentally while the boys played around during a serious quest.
"So when I say dinner. I don't mean dinner, that much is certain," Fandral proclaimed, gesturing with his spoon as he spoke.
"Ingenious. What do you mean? Does dinner mean lunch, then, and breakfast means dinner?" Loki suggested happily, taking a bite of the honeyed bread that Sif was still suspicious of hir having. She and Hogun had been in charge of provisions for this trip, and they had taken care this time not to pack anything so perilous as honey or sweetbread.
"Ooh, I like that. It's more confusing, but it should change sometimes. That way no one else knows when we're meeting, even if they get ahold of the code," Fandral decided. Loki giggled and suddenly had another, fresh piece of honeyed bread in hir hand. Sif squinted accusingly at Fandral. She knew he'd been the one slipping the childe sweets! The nerve of him! Fandral wasn't the one who had to share a tent with the little menace!
"And supper?" Loki asked, taking a bite of hir sweetbread.
"Supper! An exellent point! Naturally, it cannot mean the same thing as dinner," the Knight considered. "If dinner means breakfast and breakfast means lunch... Hmm- that is a riddle, is it not?"
"No. It isn't, Fandral," Sif interjected flatly. "You are the oldest of us and yet you insist upon floundering in this utter foolishness. If your code constantly changes regardless of the users' knowledge, then what good does it do? Should the unlikely need for it arise."
Both of them looked at her blankly for a moment, then Loki took another bite of hir honeyed bread and they both dissolved into laughter.
"Oh, my... so serious!" Loki exclaimed between bursts of mirth.
"Lady Sif, you are a treasure," Fandral said fondly. "Would you like a sweet treat?"
The exchange had ended roughly, when she proceeded to punch the blond in the arm and chase him around the camp fire. Loki lay there egging them on and occasionally throwing things until Balder tromped sleepily out of his tent. He paused to survey the scene, then threw the giggling young Trickster over his shoulder and stomped back into his and Fandral's tent, oblivious of Sif's victorious grin. Those had been good days.
Sif stiffened and looked up, like a startled deer, upon hearing two pairs of footsteps descending the winding starcase towards her. An unfamiliar, male tenor was speaking confidently about nothing in particular with the other visitor, enjoying the sound of his own voice. Sif bit her lip and ducked out of sight just before Odin strode by, apparently growing tired of the strange-looking little man accompanying him.
"You are certain."
"Yes, I am always certain. They are conspiring, in collusion, cahoots. Oooh! Cahoots! I quite like that word. Cahoots." The strange one savored the word, luxuriating in the sound of it. "I like that word. Such a shame I won't get to use it often."
"I have little faith in a man who treats everything as a game. This is a serious matter," Odin admonished. He was in a foul mood indeed.
"Don't be sexist," Mara corrected airily. Odin frowned.
"Oh, we both know how much you used to depend on your dear sibling."
Odin's jaw clenched as he reached Fandral's cell. Mara walked right up to lean against the closest border column. Fandral squinted at the odd creature. Mara winked at him. Fandral shifted his attention to his king, dismissing the Void-thing.
"Your Majesty," he bowed his head respectfully.
"Fandral the Dashing, you stand accused of treason. You have betrayed your king and endangered all of Asgard," Odin accused.
"I beg to differ, Sire," Fandral calmly disagreed. "All that I have done, I have done for the good of our people."
"I know of your betrayal, Sir Fandral. I know about your deal with Fenris. You have been witnessed cooperating in a conspiracy against the crown," Odin countered angrily.
"We've seen your fancy little tat," Mara gloated. "There's no point playing dumb... If you were playing."
Fandral continued to ignore him.
"I am willing to grant you leniency in this matter, but you must reveal the others involved in this plot."
"I am sorry to hear that, Allfather. I cannot betray my morals."
"Your morals! You claim to be loyal and yet you have betrayed me to the beast below! Speak now, Sir Fandral, or you shall pay for your deceit in blood!" Odin threatened.
"I am loyal. In time you will see that I have not broken my vows. I must do what I know is right." Fandral cast his gaze over the Void creature who was smirking at him from the other side of the barrier. "Lord Fenris is not the enemy of Asgard."
"Do not preach about matters you cannot possibly comprehend!" Odin objected, stepping closer to the forcefield. Mara stepped closer to him and rested a bony hand on the Allfather's chest.
"Easy now. Calm down, Biggun'," Mara coaxed, then leaned in closer when Odin's wrathful eye snapped to his face. "Give us a moment? I can handle Blondie."
They stayed staring at each other for a tense moment, then Odin nodded and retreated from the dungeon. Mara smiled darkly to himself, spinning on his heel. He strolled confidently straight through the glowing gold barrier, undaunted by the way the magic pulsed brightly and warped around him. He bent down in front of the seated knight to meet his eyes.
"Well now, let's get going then," he stretched out his arms in a wide, theatrical gesture and with a snap of the fingers of both hands at once, the entire cell was encompassed by impenetrable darkness.
Sif slipped out of her hiding place and ran up the stairs. Whatever her old friends had gotten her into, whether it was a conspiracy or not, it tasted of rebellion. There was little chance now of turning back, and despite her previous expectations upon entering the prison, Sif wasn't entirely sure that she would want to.
ONE KILOMETER BENEATH THE PALACE OF ASGARD
A fair-skinned young man wearing nothing but a pair of tight, leather leggings, lay on his back in a dark, dank cavern hidden well beneath the dwellings of his Aesir kin. He looked to be in his early-to-mid-twenties by human standards, and downright petite by Asgardian standards. He was fast asleep, still as the dead, covered in an assortment of formidable chains which anchored him to the waterslick ground. The rune-engraved collar around his neck, and the cuffs adorning his wrists and ankles were forged out of the same rare metal as Mjölnir. The runes glowed golden at the slightest hint of movement, the same golden light that flickered in the surrounding air.
Powerful magic was keeping him suspended, not truly frozen in time, but years behind, out of sync with the rest of his world. The gods had taken great pains to keep the outwardly-harmless young man trapped. The only sign that he might ever even have seen a battle was the slash mark bisecting the flesh around his right eye, a delicate pink line marring his otherwise flawless face.
Suddenly the golden light flashed blindingly-bright and flickered out. The unnatural stillness of the chamber was broken by a trickling sound. The water leaking in from above was finally able to finish its path to the ground. The thin layer of cool water over the stone floor began to flow around the prisoner once more.
The prisoner sucked in a sharp breath and his piercing blue-green eyes snapped open. They were wide and pale and fierce, focused with cool intensity on the stone pendulum suspended from the ceiling above him. It swayed back and forth betwixt the stalactites that dripped more water onto his face. An echoing pat, pat, pat, intersected the rich, steady rhythm of the pendulum, seeming at first to be a natural part of the rhythm until it ended with a light splatter of water. He tracked the motion of the pendulum, counting to himself in an ancient tongue, then smiled. His pale eyes shifted to meet those of his grim guest. It wouldn't be long now.
A/N: Thank you for reading this. Here's some related trivia: Mara(Old Norse) or Maere(Old English) was a mythical creature believed to be responsible for night terrors. Back in those days, a person who suffered from nightmares was said to be 'Maere ridden' much like the Void-thing was riding Loki's chest. Alright, nerdiness acheived. This round of special thanks goes to icanhearthedrums and GriffNoir for their reviews. As always, feel free to let me know what you think.