Oh, no. I'm sorry it's been so long. Not that I'm uncertain that you all have lives in between each chapter update, but still. I think I had multiple quarter/mid-life crises since Chapter 16, which I had to reread several times to remember what the hell I've even been writing about.
Anyway. As always, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy.
What does he think he's doing?
Thor's thoughts erupt in rage at his brother as he flies.
Idiot, idiot, idiot boy. Thinking he can do this alone.
(Has he not been telling Thor, warning him, that he would, in fact, try?)
But Loki can't do this alone.
(Do you really doubt him?)
Despite the warnings, Thor never truly thought he would. Thor had assumed Loki would stay.
(It was never doubt –)
Not because he is Loki, but because – Thor had assumed – they are Loki and Thor.
Thor sends wave after wave of lightning through the atmosphere as he flies. For the first time in a long while, he wishes his lightning were capable of words – that he could imbue it with a direct message, the way Odin sends off his ravens, or Frigga her tracer magic, or Loki his illusions. He wants the lightning to spellSTOPfor his brother to read before Loki races off on a foolish journey that will take him away from his family once more.
But his lightning and thunder, for all their clamour, are quite literally dumb. As he flies, he is forced to rely on volume and frequency as he fires up the sky like a forge.
Hoping Loki will pause, and wonder why the arrows of light are all aimed at him.
WAIT FOR ME, Thor wants the thunder to say. As it is, it can only howl.
Thor knows this will reopen old traumas, going on another perilous quest. He is still the almighty Thor, but afterwards. He had done his utmost through life – and now death – to buy himself time to heal in between each apocalypse, each loss, but it had been a debt fated to remain with him seemingly forever.
What else is making him hurry – fly – to find his brother now?
Loki is alone, Ylfa had said. But, Loki is accustomed to solitude, a part of Thor cannot help but snip back.
Loki himself sought out this solitude of his own accord often enough. Thor had been there for him when he could, when Loki permitted. It had been so for centuries. Does Thor not deserve respite from being always soneededat the whim of others? It that not why he is in Valhalla?
Loki's alone. Why does that matter so much now?
Thor had not been so used to solitude. It had been busy, being constantly needed.
Thor had sought out his friends, sought out his brother when his brother permitted.
It had been that way for centuries. Centuries and centuries.
(And when he was alive, and everyone around him was dying, and Loki was gone, Thor had never felt so alone.)
As he flies, the voice of the tempest cranks higher and higher, yet no words are formed. He prays it still makes Loki pause.
BROTHER, he wants the thunder to say. WAIT FOR ME.
He tries to fly faster.Wait for me.
He does not want either of them to feel that alone again.
You're not alone this time, he wants it to say.
Odin looks up.
All around him, people are murmuring; the lightning has set every hair and feather on every limb tingling. The youngest beings amongst them chatter with excitement at the change in weather that resembles the belly of a bonfire. None of the swirling clouds fall – whatever squall his eldest is conjuring is purely dry and electrical.
As far as Odin is concerned, there is little in these storms that lets he and Frigga distinguish between Thor's fury, heartache, or celebration. He is not overly worried for now. There is much for Thor to celebrate in Valhalla, after all. It is Loki that stirs Odin's concern these days.
Nonetheless, he nods to his ravens. They faithfully flutter away to investigate.
Thor remembers asking his brother if he had discovered any doorways out of Valhalla before Thor had arrived. The disappointment in Loki's answeringNonehad been palpable. However, Thor is suddenly certain his brother had been lying, or at least, had caught some whiff of displaced magic that he later tracked down on one of his solo treks throughout Valhalla, the same way he had discovered the scrying window into Hel in the caves.
Thor hopes he will be fortunate straightaway – perhaps Loki needs to recalibrate himself to relocate this doorway.
Thor is nearing the mountaintop where they had first hiked. He lands heavily onto the very place he had stood that day, already cursing as he sees it is deserted. Although, as nice as it would be to find Loki so swiftly, he had doubted it would be that convenient.
He is unsure where to try next. Perhaps he can spot something – Loki's magic, an opening portal, anything really – from his new vantage point. He subdues the storm clouds that are threatening to burst; he needs a clear outlook. His brother's gaze had picked its way across the land like carrion birds, trying to unearth some hidden doorway that evidently he has now found.
Thor would take a deep breath and pause if he had time. It really is a nice view.
The direction he is currently facing offers him a view that is more of the sea than land; he swears that whirlpool on the horizon has grown. He nearly smiles at the fact that he can make out Loki's pier even from here.
A tiny figure stands there.
Thor stills. He cannot see who it is, but they too are unmoving. Waiting?
He does not hesitate another second. Thor sends another wordless ripple of light and noise through the sky before launching himself toward the dock.
They both ride the gusts in Thor's wake.
Hugin and Munin adore flying in Valhalla. The air currents are like waves of silk even when they are hacked and hewed by these recent changes in weather. Hugin angles away from its twin to give the Allfather a wider view.
As loyal as ever, they had followed Odin into the afterlife without blinking. Although they are no longer in danger of bodily harm, out of habit they keep well behind the tail of fire that the eldest son leaves behind. They had learned long ago – with many singed feathers, among other more obscure side effects – that it is best to maintain some distance when watching over the Allfather's children.
Right now, Thor is oblivious to his trackers, entirely fixated on some target Hugin and Munin cannot see upon the expanse of the beach below. The unbroken shoreline offers no clue as to what has him so focused. Hugin and Munin might be confused if it were their place to be so. As it is, they leave the interpretations up to the Allfather.
Perhaps they are enjoying the view of Valhalla too much, or their senses have dampened after death. Because, despite that they had flown only half a minute behind Thor, it takes several long moments before Hugin and Mugin realise that he is inexplicably gone. They allow themselves nine searching sweeps through the air before their bewildered shrieks fill the otherwise empty sky.
If someone had been able to observe the events at the pier, they would have seen someone preparing to climb into a tiny rowboat. An electrical storm would roll in, in its heart a figure like a meteor that blisters its way forward and collides into the would-be sailor, with enough force to send them skipping across the water like stones before they plummet into the brine. They would have heard the meteor roar something in anguish before the moment of impact, and it might have sounded like someone's name.
She has moved herself far away from the road where Ylfa had met her, but still Frigga waits for some sign in the distance that the woman has upset her son somehow. It is Thor, after all. If something bothers him, he will tell his mother eventually, if not directly but with signs of fire and water he casts over a realm. Dyrvordr's message had not revealed much, only her wish that Frigga meet with this Ylfa on the road from the stables, but Frigga could tell that the younger woman means to incite unrest in her family.
Nonetheless, Frigga had helped her to call for Thor. She has to trust that this will be an unrest that they need. She hopes Thor will trust, too.
It is not long before she sees him scorching an arc above the trees, the floating network of carriages, and the outline of mountains painted into the skyline. For an instant, Frigga still contemplates intervening, or at the very least accompanying him. She holds her own hand as she plants her feet firmly to the ground.
As she watches the electricity right up until it vanishes from sight, she says so only she can hear: "You can tell me one day."
In the distance erupts the cawing of ravens.
it is not as dark as everyone says
, But itiscold
Imagine being in a large box ;
imagine being here for longer than you( thought they would leave you here
Imagine one side of the box is opened a crack, for a single moment , just long enough that fresh air enters, before it is shut again
I:magine being here for so long that )you do not realise that that sensation was fresh air and not a curse sweeping over you
Here in her memory vague .concepts still exist _like boxes and fresh air, long after she forgot what they ever felt like to her personally, because she and the others had found a window
, It is too murky for them to see through well { The glimpses are too fleeting to distinguish between the realms that produce them, but they still offer scraps that sustain some memories of another life
; Mold in a corner, creases in leather
things like that
. a hand,
placed over another)
The sense of the box :opening makes she and the others turn
There is no clear direction to look to_ however
' so everyone looks to the Shadow at the head of the black mountain presiding over them
Even from below, she can tell It also notices the ( change, and was not responsible
every surface is so caked in grime and dried bodily fluids that no one can tell the difference between the walls of the "box and their fellow residents
Only when someone moves .or the cloying green light of their infection shows itself across their bodies
.Here there are so many of them crammed together ,at the base of the black mountain
why are they all looking up again
?
The )Shadow laughs
howea_ does not really remember why
She opens her maw to laugh back
like from an hourglass
sand pours in
Thor has his knees drawn up to his belly.
"You couldn't have made a bigger boat?"
Loki looks up from steering. This seems to mainly involve scanning the waters ahead and hanging onto the bow, which had taken on a strange sheen once Loki unfastened them from the jetty.
"This boat is made from my magic, Thor. It takes a lot of energy to maintain, as well as hide from other magic-wielders, let alone lug you around with me."
Thor tries to find a more comfortable way to shift his weight against the hard seating. "I just thought you're a master of illusion, so surely you could at least make itseemmore spacious – "
"That would make little difference to the painful angles of your legs right now," Loki says. "Now stop complaining and make the tea."
Two teacups are suddenly occupying the almost nonexistent space on the middle seat between them. Steaming water fills them, somehow not sloshing everywhere.
Thor looks down at the glass jar in his hands that his brother had tossed to him before they boarded the rowboat.
"What the Hel is this?" Thor had asked.
"An apple."
"I didn't know we needed to pack snacks."
"I'll need you to make it into tea." Loki had rolled his eyes.
"What?"
"A witch told me." Loki had then added, "You remember the stories of the golden apples of youth."
After knocking his brother clean off his feet into the sea, their conversation is considerably lighter than it could have been.
The mention of the golden apples had caught Thor off guard; the fables had not crossed his mind in centuries. But he had nodded, even though the mere mention of ancient myth and legend is digging a strange pit in Thor's stomach.
(There it is – the feeling of being dragged along by his hair once more into adventure)
Tea. Thor can do that.
(Being dragged by stranger forces outside of himself, that need him to fight even after he is utterly spent from his lifetime of war and secretly wishing he could plug his ears against whatever news and plans his brother has for him today)
Thor can make tea.
The look his brother had given him when he tossed him the jar makes Thor wonder if Loki knows exactly what he is feeling.
Thor carefully tears the withered lump in two; it seems ludicrously unremarkable, and too small and delicate between his fingers. He is about to add an apple half into each cup when a sudden rock of their vessel nearly makes him drop the lumps at his feet.
"Sorry." Loki squints at the waves. "I'm starting to get interference from another source of magic. We're getting close."
"Remind me why we could not have done this on stable land before setting sail, Brother."
"Well, we had to leave immediately, considering your little lightshow has likely piqued the attention of our parents and friends."
"I was trying to piqueyourattention."
"A little late of you," Loki says offhandedly. "Don't you agree?"
Thor bites his tongue.
(Despite themselves, they are both still hurting)
He is suddenly grateful for the roar of the sea that fills their silence. When his brother turns to face forward like a decorative prow of the boat, Thor concentrates on keeping the skies above them clear and mild.
"I'm coming with you."
"Pardon me?"
"I won't let you march into Hel alone."
Loki narrows his eyes.
"Did Frigga and Odin send you?"
"No."
"Sif, Heimdall, Brunnhilde – "
"No one, Brother." Thor hauls his brother out of the water. "I'm not doing this for them."
"You haven't told me how exactly we enter this doorway into Hel."
Thor wants to dig his heels in and tell Loki to turn the boat around; he knows it is all the more important he keeps himself moving forward. And that he only has however long in this boat to catch himself up on his brother's plan.
How do we enter, how much strength will I need, how much will it hurt –
(How long have you been working on this,
How did you realise you were alone,
For how long did I let you down – )
"It doesn't lead directly there." Loki does not look at him. "Connecting the two realms of afterlife requires a pathway through the trunk of Yggdrasil, from tip to root – there should be a second gate at the end that opens into Hel."
Thor thinks about this. "Passing through the trunk means – "
"Yes." Loki finally glances back at him. "We'll be giving the living realms an encore."
The pit in his stomach gnaws itself deeper.
"But we remain dead," Loki continues. "We won't exactly get a chance to mingle."
He adds something that makes Thor frown deeper.
"I should also warn you that we won't retain our current forms either."
"What does that mean?"
Loki cocks his head. "I'm not quite sure yet."
They have arrived.
Seeing the whirlpool so close for the first time, it is as though an artist of a bigger universe than theirs has pulled the plug from the bottom of Valhalla's ocean, which must be flooding into the worlds below. Their boat bobs on the lip of the colossal vortex, steady enough that Thor thinks Loki's magic must be straining to hold its own against the strange lurches of energy emanating from what seems to be the beating heart of the sea. The eye of the whirlpool seems to fix itself onto Thor.
In their precarious position, they are balancing in a standstill in time – one last chance for Thor to say something before they resume their ever-forward motion.
He nearly flinches when it is Loki who speaks up first.
"Really, why the sudden change of heart?"
At Thor's side, he looks suddenly too young once more.
Thor says, "I just didn't want you to feel so alone again."
Loki narrows his eyes against the salt spraying their faces. He says, offhand, "There were a few good moments."
Without looking at Thor, he flicks a finger toward the twin cups of golden tea, which are suddenly replaced with a sealed flask that Loki fastens to his belt.
"Are you ready?" Loki asks. He reaches a hand over the edge of the boat. His brow furrows in concentration and his palm begins to glow.
Even without Loki's Eye, Thor can sense the door ahead of them beginning to open.
With one last deep breath, they prepare to dive.
The stinging slap of brine as Thor hit the water is not the most shocking part.
He feels himself being drawn irresistibly towards the doorway. He makes sure to put up no fight. Thor was once young enough that he tried to resist the currents of things saturated with magic; he knows that this new sensation of being stuffed down a narrow tunnel will hurt far less.
And then, suddenly, it is like he is flying through a Bifrost.
Although he can sense very little coherently as he – his soul? – travels, Thor wonders why he cannot sense Loki next to him. He can only hope that if they are not both speeding in the right direction, they are at least going in the same one.
He flies for what is both a single instant and an eternity.
And then something in the fibres of his being starts to shift.
There is something spooking the dogs.
The boy looks around nervously as he dashes toward the front gate, wheelie bin rumbling over the rough path as he drags it behind him. He hates taking the bins out every Tuesday evening, because he is terrified of the cherub garden sculptures at the bottom of their garden, even without the sunset transforming their features from babyish to goblin-like. His parents refused to move them to the backyard – or throw them under a passing bus, as the boy had first requested – and so every Tuesday evening, once the bins are parked dutifully at the curb outside their house, he darts back up the garden path and through the front door as swiftly as he can. But tonight, Oakly and Doug's whining makes him hesitate before turning the deadbolt behind him.
He had irritated his father earlier that evening – using up the rest of the 'good' chocolate in a monstrous ice-cream sundae for dessert, and spilling a little on the couch – enough that he knows his father will only grunt if the boy asks him what is bothering the dogs. His mother is in another room. So, reluctantly, he reopens the door a sliver and peeks out at the two frantically pacing silhouettes on the lawn. As far as the boy can tell in the ruddy light, there is no snake or toad invading the yard, or anyone passing through the street outside.
The only thing out of the ordinary is the sky. As soon as he notices it, something about it makes him want to retreat inside.
Where there had been clear bands of peach and tangerine overhead only minutes earlier is now a roiling of dark red and yellow, like an oozing wound. As dark clouds start to form, he thinks it must be a storm building, until he realises it seems to be forming atunnel.
He stammers, "Dad?"
His father harrumphs from the living room.
Normally, the boy is someone who waits for permission, for things such as scary movies, second helpings, and allowing the dogs inside the house. Tonight, he overrides this habit that his parents seem to take pride in telling his aunts and uncles about, and calls until Oakly and Doug bound across the threshold, full of panting, whimpering, and loose fur.
With the door tightly shut behind them, he misses the strange shadows that move behind the clouds like giants on horseback stampeding across the sky.
Thor finds himself spinning and twisting through freezing air while his bodily senses are reestablished. It is the strangest sensation, as though he is suddenly seeing in sharp focus through a corrective lens after years of not realising he needed them. And yet, the way he interfaced with the world around him had made just as perfect sense, passing through the corridor in a form that had no need for his physical body.
The thought is interrupted as he realises the ground is eagerly rushing up to meet him and he braces himself for the impact.
When he brushes himself off, a few things claw at his attention.
Firstly, the land. Of all the realms he dreamt of exploring as a child, Hel had been the absolute lowest on his list. Like Valhalla, at first glance it seems to be just as he had always heard it would be: dark, bleak, and incomprehensibly cold, as if he were trapped at the bottom of a well. More than that, however, is the feeling ofdeaththat fills every pore. Except that deathis not the right description so much as lifelessness – the sense that nothing matters, that nothing has weight, feels like an impossible weight in itself. Thor finds himself struggling to stay on his feet rather than to lie down and let the feeling smother him like a wet blanket while he closes his eyes.
But, secondly, he is still reeling from the journey he had just taken.
He has left behind Valhalla.
More thanthat,Thor had passed through Midgard.
He had glimpsed it from above, the red dirt and shining waterholes. His footsteps had been so heavy he worried he would level the silvery trees and tabletop mountains, but also strangely disembodied, it was almost as if Thor had turned into –
Thor shakes his head. He has no time to marvel now. He would ask his brother what exactly had happened to him.
Speaking of whom, thirdly, and perhaps most immediately concerning, he cannot see Loki.
He strains his ears against the wind crossing the land. It is a different kind to Svartalfheim or other dark worlds Thor has visited; it does not howl and whistle, but snarls like a starving beast.
"Brother?" He keeps his voice low.
Movement on his left makes him blink against what seems like the sheer thickness of the air, and Thor watches as Loki clambers gracelessly to his feet.
When Loki turns to him, his face is so ashen that for a second Thor mistakes him for a corpse and nearly yelps.
"You look terrible."
Loki only rasps a laugh. Thor realises: if the grim magic of the realm feels like a wet blanket to him, it must feel like layers upon layers of chain mail to his brother.
Despite this, Loki turns in a slow circle, face upturned as he takes in a world that appears both endless yet claustrophobic.
Loki mutters to himself, "I did it."
He smiles widely like a skull.
He asks Thor, "Ready, Brother?"
NB: Yes, we still have wheelie bins and garden statues several thousand years into the future.