There's a bit of "battle isn't pretty" in this one, but it's not very detailed.
._.
Beneath
Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Two – Rubble
Thor and Loki rode their horses hard, swiftly crossing the city and into the outskirts and beyond, slowing only for the lone Einherjar at the gate to open it for their passage outside the wall.
They reached the site of the battle and Thor asked for a horn to make his voice heard over the distance and din, but by the time one reached his hand a silver-framed portal was opening up behind the attackers – Dark Elves and dwarves – and the battle fell into disarray. Asgard had been losing this battle, clearly on the defensive and being driven back toward one of the towers, with some two dozen of the dwarves having already slipped behind the Asgardians to chisel out bits of the nearest tower and thrust miniature explosives into the holes left behind. But confusion reigned now, with some of the invaders rushing for the portal, some fighting on, and some seemingly indecisive. Until recently, the Asgardians had prevailed in most of the battles, handily at first and then, as the war dragged on, with ever-increasing difficulty. In those battles, when it became clear to those leading the attackers that they would not prevail, one or more portals would open and retreat would be sounded; all fighting would end in less than a minute. This time, it seemed the attackers were receiving conflicting orders. Asgard's warriors seized the opportunity when the assault quickly lost all coordination – the fight just as quickly went from brutal to vengeful.
"Let them leave if they wish!" Thor called out through the horn. "Allow them their wise decision!" Whatever he was supposed to say, he'd forgotten. It didn't matter anymore. His gaze caught on one particularly horrific sight, and he jumped down from his mount and started running, letting Mjolnir carry him up and over a few others to grab a civilian warrior by the shoulder and haul him off of the elf, who the Aesir had been stabbing in the chest over and over again. The body only moved when it stuck on the sword being yanked out of it.
"He's dead!" Thor shouted into the man's face, then drew back a little, shocked at the wild glassy eyes and the blood dripping down the face. He was so transfixed by it that he failed to notice the sword coming for him until it clanged clumsily but hard into his side. "Get a hold of yourself," he said, grasping the man's wrist and squeezing until he dropped the sword. He stood there gasping his breaths, then his eyes rolled and he was falling, his way eased when Thor shifted his grasp to catch him under his arms. Now that he had a better look, he saw that the man was covered in blood, some of it from the Dark Elf, but much of it from what had to be half a dozen wounds.
"We need a healer here!" he called out, but no heads popped up and looked his way, no one came running. Judging from the carnage around him, the healers were all busy. He stood and took a quick survey of his surroundings. A few fights were still underway but the Asgardians had most of them well in hand now; a swift toss of Mjolnir put a stop to the advance of two Dark Elves on a lone injured Einherjar. He crouched down on one knee then, carefully opened up the armor over the Aesir's chest, and tore at the already ripped fabric of his tunic to bind the worst of the man's wounds until a proper healer could get to him.
A shout went out somewhere in the distance behind him, words he couldn't make out; he was twisting around to glance over his shoulder when a low boom sounded, followed by a shriek of rushing gritty wind and a trembling of the earth that sent Thor's other knee to the ground. He placed the arm he'd tended atop the injured man's chest and stood, rumbling groans still reverberating through the air. An enormous dust cloud rose up behind him, in the direction of the city. The tower. Thirteen had already fallen.
He hurled Mjolnir into the air, keeping hold of its strap and letting it carry him toward the thickest part of the haze. He squinted his eyes against the dirt and debris. The Warriors Three he saw approaching on horseback from the other direction. Several others were already there, one, Thor saw as he approached on foot, an Einherjar with a dented helmet – something incredibly heavy had struck him for that helmet to have such a dent – hefting huge stone blocks from an enormous pile and tossing them aside. Fourteen, Thor thought. At fifteen, the gaps in the shield protecting the city would be such that their enemies could open portals large enough for an army to come through, instead of just the small groups of fighters that had made it through thus far. It must end here, or Asgard will fall.
Thor quickly bent over next to the Einherjar and lifted a stone, too. "How many are trapped under here?"
The Einherjar looked up over the stone straining his muscles and registered surprise when he realized it was Thor standing beside him. "Your Majesty. Only one."
Thor nodded and tossed the stone away from the heap. When he started to go for the next stone, he saw that the Einherjar hadn't moved. He straightened, wondering if this man was suffering some kind of poor state, like the man frenetically stabbing the dead Svartalf.
"It's Prince Loki."
/
/
Loki sat back in the saddle and watched, with a certain degree of detachment, as Thor flew off into the madness the battle had devolved into. He couldn't say he was surprised that Thor was unable to simply stand and talk when there was battle to be fought and bluewings to feed. He did find it a little off-putting that it was Thor who'd immediately abandoned the plan instead of him. More like the old Thor and the old Loki, he thought with a frown.
He considered just sitting there, observing. All battle was marked by chaos to some extent – real life rarely fully cooperated with sterile plans – but in this one, Loki suspected that the warriors from the other realms were receiving conflicting orders. Where dwarves had distracted while elves struck, in many of the remaining skirmishes one of the two had fled, leaving the others to be struck down by reinvigorated Asgardians.
But he supposed that wouldn't look good. And, in truth, he wasn't quite as dispassionate about all the dead and dying Asgardians in the gruesome scene before him as he told himself. Thor appeared to be dragging someone off of a corpse the man was valiantly attempting to hack up. "There's an ugliness," Odin had said of war, "a stripping away of basic decencies, not fit for even the darkest sagas." Desecration of bodies had certainly not been taught in any of the many years of training Loki had undergone. He wondered if the warrior had been driven mad by all of the ugliness, if he even realized that the Dark Elf had stopped fighting back. Loki had fought in many battles, but he'd never seen behavior like that. And he didn't care to.
He took a moment to survey his surroundings; he wasn't needed out there, among the few dozen ongoing skirmishes. But in the distance, behind him and to his left, the dwarves that had made it past the broken Asgardian lines to the tower were among those not racing for the portal, and in their zeal at finally gaining the advantage, the Asgardians had not looked over their shoulders and noticed. That would do nicely.
Loki nudged Lifhilda in the right direction, alighting well short of the tower and racing toward it, taking out three of the dwarves before he'd reached it, before they'd even noticed him. None of the three subspecies of dwarves made for particularly good warriors, not against those of the other realms; their talents lay in other areas, including scurrying all over the tower with the help of lightweight collapsible ladders, digging in, and leaving small incendiary devices behind. Loki brought them down swiftly, efficiently, and caught the one who seemed to be in charge, snatching from him the familiar signaling device that powered on the incendiaries and redirecting its energy to disable it.
Several of the dwarves scattered and fled; he couldn't pursue them all so he turned his attention to the tower, now sporting at least a dozen little balls of black gel poking out of freshly-dug holes in the pale stone. Removing them was really a task for someone else, but no one else was lining up to do it and Loki had nothing better to do at the moment. He pulled out one that was around eye-level to examine it, considering the best way to render it harmless. Individually it wasn't very powerful, this little black ball, but fit enough of them onto a structure and they could bring down a building. Ultimately, he decided on the simple way: dropping it on the ground and bringing his boot down hard on it. Black goo oozed out from under his boot, then crystallized and began to drift away in the breeze. He nodded in satisfaction. That would do nicely indeed.
He looked up to seek out the next ball, but instead of the step to the right he'd set a foot out for, he found himself looking through stinging eyes at sky instead of tower, scrambling for purchase on a surface he couldn't find in any direction, and taking a pummeling so severe and constant he couldn't tell where the attack was coming from. Then the wind was knocked from him and everything went dark.
/
/
"Loki! Can you hear me? Say something so we know where you are!" Thor shouted, frantically lifting and removing stones. Their weight was not so great for him, but they were large and awkward, and he could find no way to lift more than one at a time. With Mjolnir he could pound them into dust, but not knowing exactly where Loki was in all the rubble, that was a risk he couldn't take. "Loki! This is no time" – he grunted with the hefting of another stone – "to be stubborn!"
When he bent for the next one, his palms tingled where they gripped at the irregularities in the stone. He was already hurling it away when he realized what he had felt, and the significance of it. "Step back!" he shouted to the others who had made it over to join in the removal. He didn't know what, but he knew Loki was doing something underneath there. That tingling was the feel of active magic.
First came the sharp scraping of shifting stone, then a visible shimmer swept over the slabs as a wave, leaving in its wake crumbled stone breaking into smaller and smaller pieces, filtering down through newly created gaps and slowly collapsing in on itself. The rubble heap fell still for a moment, but then movement returned, minute but clear, and Thor knew where Loki was. He and the others started digging and shoveling with bare hands. It took longer than Thor liked, but eventually one of the Einherjar called out that his hand had brushed something solid. A moment after, Thor's hand, too, brushed something solid. He grasped and pulled and heard a pained groan.
A second later, the back of a gray head emerged through the pebbled stone. Thor gripped harder, pulled harder.
"Let go of my hair!" came a muffled shout.
Thor's face broke into a smile – the voice was distorted but he knew it was Loki's. He pulled harder, anxious to free his brother.
Loki burst free from the waist up, knees slipping and scraping, hands finally atop the stone, and slammed the heel of his palm into the back of Thor's elbow. It was a weak blow – not by choice – but Thor still made a satisfying noise of surprise and hopefully at least a little bit of pain and jerked away. Unfortunately, he still didn't release his grip on Loki's hair and he jerked Loki's head along with him and Loki's noise was louder.
"Sorry," Thor said immediately, letting go of Loki's hair to reach for his arms, but Loki shot him a deathly glare and Thor stood back, motioning away one of the Einherjar who'd also made to reach for Loki. "You're well then? No injuries? I was worried."
"I am fine." He was battered and aching and he would surely have bruises, but his only real concern at the moment was how the gravel kept shifting beneath his feet, packing in around him and preventing him from standing, or even remaining on his knees. His right knee slid and he pitched forward, only just avoiding slamming his face into the rubble as his hands also sank and slid instead of holding him up as he'd intended. Exacerbating the natural fissures in the stone with a burst of energy finely tuned to just the right frequency had seemed a good idea at the time. He would manage, eventually. But rather than look the fool for however long that took, he thrust out his hand and hoped Thor wouldn't make an issue of it. Luckily, he didn't, and a second later he was being heaved up and onto his feet, though still atop the rubble, sunken a bit now by the removal of his body. He was just recovering his balance, and beginning to make his way down to flat ground, when Thor decided to make a different kind of issue of it and Loki found himself crushed against Thor's chest.
People were watching. Not many, but enough. There was a plan, and the plan included appearances, and the plan mattered. Loki stood there, fuming, but allowing it. But into Thor's ear he whispered, "Release me now."
"No," Thor whispered back.
Loki's eyes flared. Thor, never one to give much thought to appearances or even be aware of them, except when he sought to show off before an audience – and even that, Loki was certain, was mostly just natural instinct – knew exactly what he was doing, and that Loki was conscious of appearances and would not physically force him away here.
"I'm relieved you're all right, Loki," Thor said in his normal voice.
"I'll turn Mjolnir into butter," Loki whispered. Loki felt breath against his cheek as Thor gave a silent laugh.
"You've never been able to change Mjolnir's form."
"I was always a little afraid to try too hard. I'm very motivated to try harder now."
"Loki is well!" Thor called loudly as he pulled his arms away, giving Loki a quick squeeze over one shoulder. "Thank you for your help, friends." He picked his way down from the rock pile, accepting the smiles and salutes of those whose eyes he caught and exchanging nods with the Warriors Three, who ceased their approach at a glare from Loki that Thor caught out of the corner of his eye. He was trying not to refer to Loki as "Brother" aloud –it irritated Loki and for Thor it was no real sacrifice since not using the word didn't make it mean "Loki" any less – but he was taking extra care not to say it now. Loki knew that he was taking advantage of the onlookers, but "Brother" he would not make into a name used for show.
His hand was sticky, the hand he'd inadvertently grabbed Loki's hair with, and when he took a closer look he saw the red tinge to the dust and grime. "Your head is bleeding again," he said, twisting around to get a look at the back of Loki's head. He couldn't really see a wound or even blood in the mess that had become of Loki from being buried under the remains of the tower.
Loki slipped a hand around the back of his neck; it came back to him with blood and dirt. "It's nothing," he said, and, probably, it was. He felt like he'd been hit by an exploding tower, but he was up and walking about no real worse for wear; he had never even lost consciousness. He deserved his second head injury of this very long day for using an illusion of a helmet instead of a real one. He had been – and it was rather galling to admit it to himself – lucky. "It's unfortunate that it didn't occur to me that one of the dwarves might have a second signaling device."
"What are you talking about?"
When Loki merely frowned and did not answer, the Einherjar Thor had first found digging at the rubble explained what Loki had done; he'd seen what was going on and had been approaching to assist when the incendiaries were activated.
"Well done! The tower isn't entirely lost; perhaps it can be shored up," Thor said.
"I only removed one of the incendiaries. Don't make more of it than it is."
"But you stopped the dwarves before they could place all of them. Don't make less of it than it is."
"In that case," Loki said, wiping a hand across his face and doing nothing more than smearing the dirt around, "I'm pleased to have somewhat dampened the blast with my own body, too."
"That's the spirit!" Thor said with a grin, then looked out among the growing number of survivors and walking wounded who were gathering around them, including Sif, who Thor hadn't realized was here. His gaze fell on her. "Have they all left through the portal now?"
"Nearly all," she answered, still breathing heavily, and stealing glances at Loki looking uncharacteristically filthy. "We didn't try to stop anyone from going, but a few stragglers didn't make it through before it closed. Those have been taken prisoner, but I would like to let them help tend to their wounded before they're brought in. Our healers are overstretched."
Thor nodded. "We are all overstretched. It's a good idea, Sif. Make sure they're treated well, as prisoners who will soon be freed and no longer our enemy." His eyes swept over the growing crowd again. "My brothers," he began, carefully not looking at Loki – not first, anyway – "and sisters!" Sif, already threading her way back through the other warriors, turned and paused. "I regret that I could not join you earlier in this battle." Cheers went up. Thor's message had been broadcast on Asgard as well, and while it might not have reached every remote area and it might not have been fully heard over the noise of battle, those here had clearly heard enough to know there was new hope that all their fighting may have been for more than merely honor. "Loki and I have been working hard to make plain for the other realms their error in bringing war against Asgard." More cheers. Thor caught a few brief looks of confusion, too. If some who previously suspected Loki had been working against Asgard now thought that perhaps he'd been working secretly for Asgard all along, so much the better. "And I am honored to have fought with you here today, however briefly. For Asgard!"
The following shouts were louder and more jubilant than Thor had heard in some time. They sent his own spirits soaring even higher, and he turned to look at Loki, standing there reserved, even stoic, finally nodding when Thor kept staring, sobered. He blinked, as though the image would change, for in that moment he was struck by Loki looking unsettlingly like Odin.
Loki watched in silent stillness as Thor turned back to thunderous affirmation. It was familiar, and it felt like flames licking up his skin, threatening to engulf him.
/
/
They rode back to the palace as the sun sank below the horizon, actually to the stables just before it since servants were no longer waiting around outside to collect the horses, as Thor explained to Loki.
Loki walked with Lifhilda back to her stall, the same back-left location she'd occupied ever since she was fully grown, though the royal stables themselves had gone through several refurbishments in that time. He closed the door behind her, and when she turned and stood with her head out over the door, he took a moment to rub a hand firmly down her neck to the whithers several times; the mare dipped her head and rubbed her nose against the side of Loki's head. "You rode well," he told her, quietly, with a final stroke. He left her then to the care of the sole groomer on hand – she was unharmed but coated in a fine layer of grime – and was struck again by how familiar it all was. Familiar and yet so distant.
The last time he'd been in here… His neck snapped back, eyes focusing above him. The design of the rafters was different now, but it was right up there, right above him, where the little rat had hidden himself and spied. Because he was a child, Loki had only heard the most important substance of his official statement, without ever seeing him or knowing his name or how exactly he'd managed to see him making the arrow. He turned to face the broad, open doors at the front. There, hiding behind the edge of the door on the right, another person had stood and watched him leave with the arrow, headed straight for Baldur. Not another time-traveling version of himself, as he'd once suspected in one fanciful idea among many, but probably someone who lacked the protection from potential retaliation that a child received in a trial, and feared giving his evidence against a son of Odin. His statement would have been redundant, anyway; the boy had seen the same thing and more.
Loki cast the memory aside and went over to the washbasin closer to the front of the stables. He started out splashing water on his face, then decided to simply submerge his entire face and scrub. His hair was filthy, but there was no drier here and he wasn't going to be seen walking around with dripping hair; he held it out of the way as best he could with one hand.
"I suppose now we wait," Thor said when Loki was upright again. "The Assembly will be gathering, along with the War Council. I'd like for you to join me; we should both hear whatever they have to say. But you should go get your head healed first."
"What happened to your head?"
Loki turned, though he didn't need to see Odin leading his horse in to know who had spoken. "Nothing of consequence."
"Loki stopped the dwarves from getting all of their incindiaries in-"
"It was nothing of consequence," Loki said again, louder. He turned back to the basin, its water already clear again, and gave his hands a final rinse, little more than an excuse to put his back to Odin. "You should have let him make his blatant ploys to show what a good brother he is, it can only help for Odin to know you fought for Asgard," he reprimanded himself even as he heard Odin draw closer. "No," he told himself, setting his jaw, "he needs to see you upholding the bargain, winning this war as single-handedly as possible. Killing a few dwarves in a battle whose end was all but a foregone conclusion and letting half of a tower explode onto you does little to bolster your case."
"Did you stop them with your head?"
"Pardon?" Loki said, turning again, caught off balance. Odin was right in front of him. And was that a smile? It was hard to tell with him. His face betrayed little, and Loki had spent much of his life struggling to figure out the significance of every little movement of every little muscle, paralyzed by the uncertainty. And here he was, after everything that had happened, doing it again.
"It's good to have you back, Loki. We have needed you," Odin said, hand out in a conciliatory gesture.
"You mean you needed to have the third war prize close at hand," Loki retorted. He was certain it was true, but still it felt hollow.
"That's not what I meant. Surely you know that." He sighed, then took a moment to acknowledge the salute of the elderly man who took his horse. He was weary of trying to speak reason to Loki, and not enamored of doing so in front of palace servants, despite their oaths of secrecy. "Go see Eir. She'll find a healing stone for you. Then join us in Assembly. You have accomplished much, it seems. I heard much of what you said, Thor, and Nadrith's statement. Effective. Now that all the battles have ceased, it's time for you to fill us in on what's happened."
The idea of speaking at the Assembly both thrilled and repelled him. Thrilled, because he had rarely been given such an opportunity, and he knew he could control that room with his tale, pulling the strings on Odin's-now-Thor's advisors however he liked. Repelled, because he couldn't stop the growing feeling that it would really be him moving to the tugs of strings controlled by Odin. "Thor is aware of the facts. So is Mother. There's no need for me to be there."
"It would be to your benefit to be there, Loki."
"The terms of our agreement" – he paused to give himself an extra second to think, to reveal nothing to the servant whose presence he had somehow actually forgotten about before – "do not require my presence at Assembly. I believe I have done all I can do for the moment. Now if you will excuse me, I am quite filthy and require a bath."
/
/
Loki headed to the palace, but veered off before entering, instead slipping into the Healing Room through the private back entrance. He waited in Eir's office, advising the woman who took his message that he needed to see the First Healer but it wasn't urgent.
In Eir's office, door shut, despite the clutter that wasn't normally there Loki could easily imagine that this was some other time, some other circumstances. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair he'd taken, then decided to stand. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long.
"Eir, good evening," Loki said even before Eir had closed the door behind her. "You don't go to Assembly?" He had assumed she didn't, since Odin specifically directed him to see her.
"Not these days. There's no time. And I have nothing new to report, not even casualty numbers. About a week ago one of the trainees forgot to wear his log, and we haven't been certain of the official numbers since. They know where to find me if they need something from me. As do you, my prince. What do you need? Besides a bath," she added with a weary smile.
Loki turned around and tipped his head back.
"Hm. You were hit hard for that to happen."
"My opponent lies in a broken crumbled heap," he said with something of a smile himself.
"How long ago?"
"About two hours, I think."
"You should have used a healing stone earlier. They're not easy to obtain now, though, I know," Eir said, nudging Loki's shoulder until he turned. "We're using them as fast as we can make them. Faster. Here."
Loki took the stone she held out from a pouch in her dirtied apron.
"You should clean the wound first, to avoid complications. Normally I would do it for you here, but there are no private rooms – I think you'll be more comfortable doing it yourself. Nothing special, just wash gently with water, pat it dry, then use the stone."
"All right. Eir…it's actually the second time I've injured my head today. This one is worse, I suppose. And I was thinking…I have been feeling… Jane Foster was hit in the head, they call it a concussion. It was only a mild one, but she was still affected by it."
"Yes, I detected that. I healed the last traces of it for her. You're wondering if you could have a similar injury? You don't. The mortals are far more susceptible to that kind of injury than a grown Aesir."
"I am not an Aesir, grown or otherwise."
Eir pursed her lips for a moment. "No. I apologize. I'm accustomed to referring to you as Aesir. To thinking of you as Aesir. And your body is Aesir. This one is, anyway. Regardless, the same is true of the peoples of the other realms, to varying degrees. And you do not have a concussion. But you've felt unwell? What are your symptoms?"
"I haven't felt unwell exactly…I would say I have felt strange. But it's nothing. It's simply been a long and difficult day."
"I see. And what about last night? How was your sleep?"
At that Loki felt a good deal of the tension drain from him. "I slept well, and I had no unnatural dreams. I am grateful, Eir. It was the first time I have slept truly peacefully in months."
"I'm glad I was able to help," Eir said, breaking into a warm smile. "But I imagine that sleeping in your own bed might have helped, too."
"Perhaps," Loki said, mustering a polite smile back as his insides turned cold. "Thank you again. I'll let you get back to your duties." He made a hasty retreat without waiting for Eir's response. With others he would have made a better effort; with Eir he felt little need.
He hurried across the lawn to the palace, trotted up the many flights of stairs, entered his chambers and closed the door. And stopped, back pressed to the door, gaze slowly drifting around him as though every piece of furniture, every decorative item could be planning an attack. Eventually he pushed off the door and started through the rooms, pausing again in the bedchamber to stare at the bed, freshly made by an unseen servant, before continuing on into the bathroom, where he bent over the sink to rinse his hair and carefully wash the back of his head. He welcomed the sting. After patting it dry with a towel he leaned over the counter and broke the stone over his head, repairing the damage done. He drew a warm bath, stripped, and sank into the water for a proper washing, but found himself simply reclining, wondering how many baths he'd taken here over the course of his life. It had to reach tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands. The lightly-scented oil he liked to add a few drops of to the bath water sat there on the ledge within easy reach. The oil he'd used last night without thinking about it; the oil that had been there when the bifrost shattered and he'd fallen into Yggdrasil, adrift.
As though he'd never left.
As though he could just slip right back into his old life, as though nothing had changed and everything that had happened, everything he'd learned and experienced, all of it was unimportant and utterly inconsequential, over and done with. It wasn't just the bath oil. Or his bath, or his bed, or his chambers. Or the stables, or riding into battle at Thor's side, or fighting Asgard's enemies. It was all those things and so much more. It was him. Who he was. Who he used to be. Who he would be.
It would be easy, he thought. To indeed slip right back in. To relent under the pressure of a mother who loved and missed him. A father who insisted that all of this was still his. A brother who would probably stop strangers on the street to sing Loki's praises to them if Loki asked him to. A brother who could not be convinced he was not a brother. Who longed for "the way things used to be."
He had a life, right here. A role. A place. "Know your place, Brother." He did know his place here. It was a place that grated on him like clothing lined with sandpaper, but he knew it, and he knew how to function in it. Outside of here was a great unknown. No place prepared for him, no ordained role. He could take on any role he wanted, of course. He could be a conqueror of worlds, or a Midgardian student researcher, or just about anything else he could imagine. But he wasn't truly any of those things; he could only pretend to them, little different from the dramas he and Thor had created as boys.
He reached around to the back of his head and felt the area. Everything was healed exactly as it should be, and the skin was not sensitive. His head hurt nonetheless. He wished he could blame it on a concussion. He picked up the scrubbing cloth and resolutely began to actually bathe.
Falling back into his old life here was unacceptable. In some ways it would be easier, but it would also require pretense – the same pretense he'd spent so much of his adult life with, and more, ironically enough because the greatest pretense of his life, that he was a true son of Odin and Frigga, had been stripped away. No doubt it was not just Thor, but everyone who missed "the way things used to be." When Loki could be counted on for mischief, yes, but also for doing what needed to be done without fuss and for ceding everything to Thor without complaint.
So if he didn't want to slide inexorably back into those old ways – and to say he didn't would be an understatement – he had to fight it. Constantly. He had to fight the expectations that he would or should or even could be that person again. He had to fight the people who held those expectations. Everyone on Asgard. His false family first and foremost. Even his mother; not even for her could he go back. But he had to fight them carefully, too. With his mother, to never again let himself think that she was anything but his mother, despite the lack of shared blood. With Odin, to never cross a line that could negate everything he had achieved here in the last day. With Thor… Complicated, he told himself. It was complicated.
Thor he had to fight most of all. Thor so quickly and easily disregarded challenges and troubles, seeing things only as he wished to instead of as they were, that if Loki gave an inch Thor would take a thousand miles. Hugs and jests and a return to being called "Brother" directly – instead of only in those contexts Thor obviously considered to be cleverly disguised – would immediately follow. And then the shadows.
But Loki had already fought and pushed too hard. Thor had felt the need to ask for Loki's respect – still galling – and to insist that Loki not undermine him as king. Uncomfortable as it was, Thor was still an ally of sorts to him in this war, in the event that the leaders of the other realms discussed today's events and decided to press on and defeat Asgard, and Loki was hardly above exploiting that to get what he wanted.
He had to fight, but wisely. Perhaps more privately than the open battle he'd been waging before. Resist, more than fight. Besides, it wasn't as though his mocking and insults had affected Thor, and it wasn't as though they ever would. Thor was still king, still the favorite of Odin and of Asgard and always would be; he had the respect and admiration of an entire realm and then some. His moment of self-doubt and hesitation to the point of paralysis had been quite disconcerting, but it was a result of something having not gone in Thor's favor – in such a way that its consequences could not be negated – for the first time in his life. It wasn't because anyone other than Thor himself had actually doubted him.
Loki thought back on that moment as he dried himself. Then he thought back on the whole of the war, how Asgard had managed to remain on its collective feet this long despite the essentially endless supply of fresh, uninjured warriors the other realms had sent against them. Perhaps he will make a good king, Loki thought, reluctance and reservation still firmly attached to the idea. In time. With the right people taken into his confidence to advise him.
He quietly laughed as he looked at his slim frame reflected back at him, so unimpressive next to Thor. It could have been him; Thor had even occasionally said he wanted Loki to advise him. But he could never have accepted that role. He knew exactly what the reality of that would be; after all, he'd been "advising" Thor for centuries. If Thor didn't care for the advice, he would have simply ignored Loki, or mocked him, or pressured him to change his position, in public where Loki's options for pushing back were limited. Thor would go off and do whatever he'd wanted to in the first place, and Loki would be left fuming in the shadows.
Thor had listened to him about the raid on Vanaheim, in the end, though it had taken a good deal of effort and he'd had to resort to manipulating Thor's emotions rather than simply presenting a logical, reasonable argument. It had been one of the least objectionable periods of time he'd had to spend with Thor since the fool had shown up at the South Pole, though that wasn't saying much.
Thor still couldn't see past his own nose. Even his refusal to move up the raid on Vanaheim despite the obvious change in circumstances wasn't about anything or anyone but Thor. Thor's newfound fear and Thor's brief bout of insecurity and Thor's inability to deal with situations that didn't go the way he wanted.
That he was a better leader, a better man than the man who had led his friends off to Jotunheim and started a war within minutes of meeting Laufey, that was undeniable, though. Better for Asgard, if not better for Loki himself. It had been much easier, much simpler, to think little of Thor beyond pure hatred.
Loki stood in his bedchamber now, dressed in soft black sleepwear, staring at his bed. He'd dawdled as long as he could. "Sleeping in your own bed might have helped, too." It was a comfortable bed. He'd had plenty of years to find out precisely what suited him best in mattresses, pillows, and bedding, and plenty of years to ensure he had precisely that. But he didn't want to be too comfortable here. Guest chambers would nicely solve the problem, but he had no idea which were empty, or if any were empty.
Long as the day had been, Loki's mind was still buzzing and he didn't particularly want to go to bed anyway. He told himself that, at least, as he considered his other options. They were frustratingly few. He did not want the stares he would get if he went out, not right now. He could see if his mother was back from Assembly yet – he had taken an extraordinarily long time with his bath so it was possible – but if she was in her chambers then it was just as possible that Odin was, too. Even if he wasn't, after his breakdown this afternoon he didn't especially feel like sitting down for another little chat with her. It was a sobering thought, to put it kindly – there was no one on this entire realm he could talk to.
In retrospect, he wished he had better appreciated what he had at the South Pole. It wasn't even just Jane. It was Gary, the first other person he'd spoken to about any personal matter, awkwardly forced into it initially upon coming across him late at night right after his father had died. And then it was Zeke, and Austin, and Carlo, and Paul, and Ronny, and Tristan, and Brody, and Drew. There was much he couldn't tell them. But there was much he could, and much he did. It might have been indirect or skirting around the edges of truth, but it was honest. He should have appreciated it more. He should have appreciated them more.
They were gone, though, and that time was over.
A chime sounded from the door. Precious few people had access to this floor. Three he had once believed were family, then guards and servants. Most likely a servant, he thought, since he'd returned and not spoken to one; Loki was exacting in his demands and expectations, and they would want to check with him on his needs, lest they incur his wrath for getting them wrong. He didn't mind speaking to a servant now. It was rather late for that, but he'd been gone from well before dawn until well after dusk.
He reached the entryway, a rich black robe with dark green and gold edging on the collar tied about his waist for servants did not get to see him so casually, and opened the door. Instead of a servant, Thor stood there. Loki considered the time again and thought that Thor was indeed a more likely visitor than a servant after all.
"I didn't mean to disturb your rest. We can talk tomorrow," Thor said, taking a step away.
"You didn't," Loki said, stopping him. "I wasn't in bed yet." Thor was an acceptable distraction. Loki merely had to walk that faultline of fighting openly and giving in, or letting Thor think he was giving in. Quiet resistance. "What did you want?"
Thor nodded, trying not to let his surprise show. "I thought you should hear a report on tonight's Assembly. May I come in? Or…my chambers?"
Loki opened the door wider. They were definitely not going to Thor's chambers. The entryway sitting area was meant for perfunctory exchanges or dealing with his boots, so he led Thor back to his more comfortable yet still somewhat formal office, where Thor had spent the night before on his divan with a turtle blanket covering roughly half of him.
"Had Mother brought it?" Thor asked, also thinking about the blanket he'd wound up using without realizing what it was.
"Yes. Who else would have brought something like that here and left it?"
"Good that you returned it to her, then," Thor said, taking a seat where he'd slept last night, while Loki pulled up a leather armchair, instead of the desk chair he'd dragged over in the early morning hours and a servant must have since put back. Even when Loki wasn't being dismissive and outright mean, it still wasn't easy to talk with him, but he hoped that Loki's choice of chair meant he planned to sit for a while.
"You came here to give a report on the Assembly?" Loki had put off holding an Assembly requested by Bragi in his short tenure as king, in order to better focus on planning Laufey's downfall, securing his own rise in his "father's" and the rest of Asgard's eyes, and ensuring Thor was not returned to Asgard by his meddling friends. In retrospect, he probably should have made time for it, and made the effort to win them to his side.
Thor told Loki about the raised spirits of Asgard, and the clamor in the prisons where many Vanir shouted about insurrection – against their own king, not Asgard – and many from the other realms offered their support. Those whose statements had been used by Asgard had been segregated from the others as a precaution against possible reprisals, but Isolfur reported that their names were being chanted now as brethren to rally behind and avenge. There were calls for mead, but the majority impressed upon the rest that it was better to wait until they knew how the other realms planned to proceed.
"There was also some discussion of terms," Thor said
Loki couldn't help a snort of laughter. "Ours or theirs this time?"
"Both, actually. If they press on, they'll have to specify new terms, since the Ice Casket has already been returned. And…"
"Go on," Loki said, fairly certain what Thor was hesitating over.
"There are those-"
"I'm certain you must recall that this is a very vague and imprecise turn of phrase."
"I recall. There are those who have not always supported you. Those who were…less reluctant to consider surrendering you."
"You could hardly have said that in a more vague and imprecise way."
"I know, Loki. I don't want to name names so that you go off planning how to bring about their downfall."
"Why not?"
Thor frowned and looked away for a moment to refocus. "No one called for your head. But earlier, when less was known and there was much confusion and discord, some did suspect your involvement. They know you tried to conquer Midgard, Loki. They know you've behaved erratically. I cannot condemn them for their suspicions."
"That's useful to know."
"Loki…forget I mentioned that. I only wanted to say that those who doubted you are now praising what you accomplished with Nadrith and with Farbauti."
"Let's not forget Gullveig."
Thor tilted his head, wondering whether a response would be more trouble than it was worth. "Some of them were less pleased with that. Though Heimdall confirmed that his guards safely escorted him back to his palace. Back to my point, we don't know what they would demand at this point if they continue to insist on our surrender."
"Fine," Loki said. Resist without fighting. "And our terms? I thought the understanding was that if they walked away Asgard would do nothing."
"It's amazing how quickly moods can change. Some desire retribution. Punitive demands. But I'm convinced that's not the path to peace and reconciliation. The interim decision is that we will seek food and supplies for the housing and treatment of their people held here as prisoners, until that issue is resolved and they are all returned home, and three months of food shipments at reduced cost, to allow us time to at least start repairing some of the damage they've done to our own food supplies."
Loki shook his head. "You cannot pile on demands you never mentioned, not after all of that talk of being brothers and sisters of Yggdrasil."
"They won't be demands. We will ask it of them, and we hope they will agree as our brothers and sisters of Yggdrasil. The Vanir have food going to waste now; they'll be happy to get some return on it by resuming shipments to us, and Alfheim will be glad to stop purchasing food they don't need from Vanaheim. How they all work it out among themselves will be up to them."
What happened after the war didn't particularly concern Loki, so he waved a hand with disinterest, encouraging Thor to continue on to matters that did concern him.
"Recovery won't be quick, or easy. We've lost entire villages, crop fields, swaths of land, so many people. But things could be much worse. We've much to be thankful for."
"I'm sure you do. Now would you mind getting back to the actual Assembly?"
Thor looked at Loki, just looked.
"Oh," Loki said, shifting a bit in his chair and sitting up straighter. "You didn't actually come here to tell me about the Assembly, did you?"
"I did, but…not only that. When that Einherjar told me you were buried underneath the rubble from the tower…you frightened me badly. I don't want harm to come to you at all, but to lose you when things between us are as they have been…it would be unbearable."
Food shipments and destroyed crops suddenly sounded like fascinating subjects. "Well, I would hate for my death to come at an inconvenient time for you."
Thor blinked, momentarily taken aback. Then he wasn't certain if Loki was demeaning him or merely jesting. Then he decided it didn't matter. "There would never be any time for your death that I would find convenient. I have never desired your death. I have never wanted to fight you."
"That's not true," Loki responded with a small chiding smile.
Thor smiled back easily. "All right. I grant you, that's not true. But you know what I meant. Loki…you've always been my brother, and you always will be. Finding out over a thousand years later that we aren't related by birth doesn't change that."
Loki looked away and let his eyes drift closed, taking a moment to steady himself before responding. "I was hoping you were done with that."
"I know it makes you…uncomfortable, I suppose. I've been trying not to push you on it."
"Yet you've managed…perhaps twenty-four hours? Less. 'We are each of brothers and sisters, not by blood, but by being part of Yggdrasil?' 'Trying to restore a broken friendship?' Such an odd feeling, I find myself irresistibly compelled to join you on this 'long and challenging road' after such rousing words." Loki rolled his eyes. "Neither I nor Bragi wrote such sentimental drivel. Did you think you were being subtle? I regret to inform you that you were not."
"I wasn't trying to be subtle."
"That does make more sense. You don't know how to be subtle."
"Do you blame me?"
Loki relaxed back into his chair again, or at least gave the illusion of it. This might actually prove interesting. "You'll have to be more specific."
"Do you blame me for the lie," Thor said, leaning forward. "I never lied to you. You found out the truth before I did."
"It would be irrational to blame you for one of the few things you had nothing to do with," Loki said with an acerbic smile. That it was irrational, of course, hadn't stopped him from blaming Thor, for a while. And part of him still hated Thor just for being Thor. For being Aesir, Odinson, born of Frigga. For effortlessly having what Loki had always strived for in vain. For existing in a space where Loki could not. But he had plenty to blame Thor for without hanging the irrational around his neck, too. He feigned a light laugh. "And I knew you were in the dark, too. You couldn't lie to me if you tried."
Thor echoed Loki's laughter, finding himself relaxing now that Loki had. "Guard yourself, Brother. I have heard a challenge."
"I wish you luck," Loki responded, easing into an unfeigned smile tinged with sadness. For some reason, just this one time, Thor calling him "Brother" didn't grate against frayed and raw nerves, but that didn't make it any more true. "I warn you, though. Lies that you believe to be truth don't count."
Thor's smile faded. He knew what Loki meant. Loki wasn't trying to be subtle. He meant them. Brotherhood. "You aren't the sole arbiter of truth, you know."
"Other than the one glaring exception – which you failed to detect as well, I might add – I'm much better at it than you are."
Thor didn't know what to say to that. Loki was right. But that didn't make him right. And he had no idea how to prove him wrong. At least he'd said what he wanted to say, more or less; he'd told Loki how he'd feared for Loki's life today. Perhaps it was foolish to hope for more. Dejected, he mustered a bracing smile and stood. "It's been a l-"
Afterward, Loki couldn't say why he did it. Or even why he remembered it in that particular moment. But suddenly, his hand was raised, a thin book grasped between thumb and fingers. "Since we have some idle time now, I wonder what sentimental drivel you've been writing in here?"
/
As you may have read on my profile page, I'm already well into Ch. 174 (it just happens to still be in the Ch. 173 document, life has been hectic lately!), so maybe you won't have too long to wait for the next chapter. For now, keepin' it brief here, because I really need to get to bed.
Ch. 173 previews: Well, it sort of depends on how I chop and break the chapter! But let's just start with "Thor and Loki exchange a few words."
Excerpt:
"That's not what I was going to say, Loki. It was a shock for me, too. When Mother told me, I first thought it was some terrible attempt at a jest. I insisted that it could not possibly be true, because I would obviously know if my own brother was a Frost Giant."
"I'm so sorry for your terrible shock, Thor. It must have been a very trying time for you," Loki said dryly.
"It was. You were gone. Forever, we thought. I couldn't believe any of it was true. That you were dead, that you'd tried to kill me, that you'd schemed against me, that you were not my brother by blood, that I would never see you again to try to- What?"