Thor Fic: "In the shadows of the crossroads" (Loki, Avengers, R), 1/10
Title: In the shadows of the crossroads (Part 1: Fissure)
Characters: Loki, Thor, Darcy, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Volstagg, Sif, Hogun, Fandral, original characters; mention of and eventual appearances by many others
Pairings: Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane, Volstagg/OC, and many more to come
Rating: R for language, violence, dark magic, alcohol use, sex, death, dubious consent (bodyswap), adultery, violence against children, and angst
Length: 7,710 words
Summary: More than twenty years have passed since Loki and Darcy first crossed paths, since whether they knew it or not they began on the path that led to their life together. Things in their world are happy, idyllic. But in another world trouble is resurfacing...and the consequences will be far-reaching and dire.
Notes: Final story of and chronologically last installment in ongoing series. AU for Avengers in some parts, compliant and set post film in others (trust me, you'll see what I mean); ignores the events of Iron Man 3 but not some of the implications, like Pepper being in charge of the company and Happy being promoted to head of security. Art for this chapter done by machi_neko whose pro website can be found here.
Part 1: Fissure
After every battle was over, there was always the cleanup.
It was rarely ever easy. Depending on how large-scale the fighting was, how long it’d waged, there could be anything from strewn refuse to massive property damage. There were civilians to corral, wounded to be tended to. And sometimes, names had to be gathered from among the fallen.
It didn’t end when the combatants put their weapons down - though sometimes that seemed to be how people imagined it happening. Or maybe they never bothered to think about the “after”, only concerned with the part of the story that was more exciting.
But Steve knew better. He’d served as Captain America through one long war, and though he’d never got to see when it ended, he’d seen the history of what came after. And he knew it had taken more than a generation’s work to smooth over and fill in the marks left on the land and the people. Not all the damage done by a battle was physical.
So maybe it was in memory of all those boys he’d led and left behind, or maybe it was to make up for never having been around for the curtain call in Europe.
Or maybe it was because he could never stop helping, not when there was anything left he could do. But even when he was tired enough he thought he could drop, he always helped with the “after”.
He figured, heroes marched off when their job was done, went away into the sunset. But a good soldier stayed behind to clean up the mess.
This time there wasn’t a lot to do beyond literally picking up pieces. Shattered windows and downed power lines, a few overturned vehicles. A lot of agents had been scraped and bruised but no one seemed majorly hurt.
A more than small mercy, considering what they’d been facing. It could have been a lot worse.
Steve wound up assisting with the wounded, joining others as they helped them onto the planes and carried their stretchers. He finally had to be shooed away back at the Helicarrier by a team of grateful but insistent doctors.
He wandered back onto the bridge which seemed eerily quiet despite rows and rows of young technicians seated at the computer bays doing their jobs. Thor stood before one of the windows by the edge, staring out into the sky while seeming to see nothing.
Steve watched him but kept his distance, quiet, and didn’t interrupt.
Thor and he came from two very different worlds and there was a lot about the other man he didn’t understand. But this? This he understood.
Not all damage done by a battle was physical.
The door slid open behind him and there was the distinctive clank of swaggering metal boots.
Steve shut his eyes, briefly, and offered up a weary prayer that for once, Stark would keep it low-key.
“Good job out there, guys.” Stark - still in the Iron Man armor but helmetless - made a sort of batting motion against Steve’s shoulder. “Have to admit, circumstances being what they are, still it’s kind of cool to have the full band back together, huh?”
“Yeah.” Steve’s response was quiet, trying not to encourage him too much. Even though he found a part of himself was agreeing. “Maybe.”
Stark gave him a smarmy kind of smirk and nodded, and then turned towards Thor…and said nothing.
Who knew. Maybe Steve’s prayer had been answered. Or maybe even Stark could read this situation well enough to know it was time to keep his big mouth shut.
His eyes bounced away from the Asgardian at the window back to Steve again. “You coming back to the Tower later?”
“Not sure.” First he wanted to shower, change…maybe get a start on his incident report while the details were still fresh in his mind. Then, he could make up his mind over where he wanted to sleep that night. Still, he said, “Probably.”
He didn’t ask what the others were doing. For the next twenty-four hours they might not see them at all. Agents Barton and Romanov were back at the action site assisting with the aftermath. And Banner…well, Banner wasn’t quite yet around. Apparently the Other Guy hadn’t got to hit enough things today and was off running to let out some remaining steam.
“Okay,” Stark said, chipper. “We’ll leave a light on for you.” He turned to leave back the way he came, but took another glance at Thor and hesitated.
“Welcome back, Big Kahuna,” he said after a moment, raising his voice a little, maybe so it would be obvious who he addressed. Thor blinked as if he was just coming out of a trance. “Weren’t sure exactly when we might be seeing you again. But I added on a room for you, just in case.” He gestured. “It’s there if you want it; no obligation, of course. I don’t know if you’d made any other arrangements but-”
“Thank you,” Thor cut him off, but slowly. “That is most kind.” He looked away again, attentions drifting. “I do not know if I will need to make use of it; there are -- others, to whom I must speak…”
“Right,” Stark replied, catching on. “Got it, say no more. Like I said, it’s there if you need it. No offense at all taken if you pass. Either way, I’m sure we’ll see you around.”
He took a few steps toward the door and then gave Steve a half-mocking salute with two armored fingers as his parting shot. Steve nodded his head in reply, mouth twitching.
The same irregular numbed silence fell again in the wake of Stark’s departure.
Steve watched Thor watching the skyline for a few moments more before he felt obligated to say something.
“You know, it is good to have you back,” he stated, quiet but fully sincere.
There hadn’t been much use for the Avengers in the wake of their first mission together, but there had been more use than frankly Steve would have liked. They came together again, fought the good fight, but their makeup just wasn’t the same without the demigod.
Of course, his return to Earth had come as part of a particularly unfortunate package deal. One that set off the whole reason they had been out there seeing action today.
Steve remembered the footage Fury had showed them, of the explosion of white-hot energy that had fallen to Earth like a shooting star and then burst, sending a ripple of sickly-tinged green through the surrounding air in its wake.
How Thor had come flying downward in streaking hot pursuit, teeth clenched, voice bellowing and hammer waving.
How once again, in a sight that was vaguely déjà vu inducing, Loki had turned to face him with an angry and sinister smile.
Loki had escaped from Asgard - and the only reason Thor came here was because he had chased after him as he ran. Loki’s actions had been the catalyst behind pulling the team together in the first place, bringing the six of them collected as one. And now here they were again, united fully for the second time, because of what Loki had done.
In a way it seemed fitting.
Thor nodded, weighted down by his own thoughts. “I am glad to see you again, friend Rogers. I missed you, and my other mortal allies. Though, I do not relish the reasoning behind my return…”
He looked to his boots, or perhaps past them at the clouds by the bottom of the window. When he turned and met Steve’s gaze again his blue eyes were troubled and guilty.
“I feel as though I must apologize.”
“What for?” Steve asked, caught off-guard.
Thor breathed out, almost a sigh. “I believed that Asgard could hold Loki. That he belonged there, far more than in any containment your people could devise. I as good as promised Fury when I asked that he turn Loki over for me. That was the deal we made - I could take him, because it was the only way to keep the people of Midgard safe.”
The warrior prince looked away and down again, his disappointment writ into every one of the few lines on his near ageless face.
“But I was wrong. I failed.” He shook his head. “And once again this world pays the price for my recklessness.”
“You made the best call that you could at the time,” Steve countered. He took a few steps closer, fingers absently curling around the sides of the belt on his costume. “It wasn’t arrogance, Thor. You genuinely thought your world had the resources to keep Loki prisoner. Hell, it was what we all thought - and no matter what Fury or his secret council might be willing to admit to, we had no idea what we were even going to try to do if we had to hold him here.” He paused before adding, tiredly, “Frankly, I think we were glad you took Loki off our hands.”
Thor made a faint sound reminiscent of a scoff. “And are you glad now?”
Steve hesitated again before answering, though not from any real uncertainty.
“The truth is, if we’d kept Loki on Earth, they might not have handled him with kid gloves. But it wouldn’t have made any difference. He would’ve broken out again - and I’m sure it would have been a lot sooner than this. Guys like him; they don’t know how to quit.”
And it was the truth, far as he was concerned. Even as he thought about it he realized he wasn’t really surprised to see Loki again. It was like part of him knew all along that Loki would break loose, and come back to Earth, and they were destined to have to fight him once more.
And he was almost completely sure that everyone else probably felt the same. That even as he was carried off, in chains, along with his brother and the Tesseract, they knew it wasn’t the last they’d seen of Loki.
It was just too easy to think someone capable of the things he had been would swallow one defeat and then stop.
The look on Thor’s face was pensive but murky, otherwise hard to read. “No. You may be right.”
That was all he said. But it didn’t take much to guess it wasn’t the only thing weighing on his mind.
“You know,” Steve began, and then cleared his throat awkwardly. “You and I may not be all that close. But, for what it’s worth. Sometimes it does help to talk about it.”
He’d bent an ear for a lot of troubled men in his day. By now it was almost close to second nature.
Thor let out a breath he might well have been holding. “When you and the others look to Loki, all you see is an enemy. A dangerous man that must be stopped at all costs. For me, it is not nearly so simple. I see Loki, all that he is capable of, all the terrible things that he has done…and more. I see what he once was. I see a happier time that no matter what he says I do not think I fully imagined. He is, and will always be, my brother.”
Thor stopped talking and gazed through the window again. Instead of speaking Steve waited.
“I had hoped,” Thor continued eventually, softly, “that in bringing him back to our home, it would help him, as much it would keep the rest of the realms safe. Yes, I wanted to see Loki punished, for it was only just, but also I wanted to calm him, to heal him, to remind him that this is not the way things have to be. I thought that past his anger and madness there still remained more of the brother I grew up alongside.” His voice wavered and nearly broke. “But I am beginning to think it is not so. That all that was good has been swallowed up by darkness. And there is nothing left of Loki to be saved.”
“I’m sorry.” Steve remarked, with rueful humor, “I’m probably the most sympathetic guy you’ll ever find when it comes to the issue of dwelling on the past.”
He couldn’t blame Thor for being conflicted when it came to his own family. None of them could. And no matter what, Thor would always have that history with Loki none of them could touch. Even if they had their own conflicting opinions they still couldn’t argue with what he was feeling.
And right now, it had to be painful to have to keep fighting his brother this way. It had to hurt to be coming to the conclusion it sounded like he was reaching.
“I find that I keep looking back,” Thor told him, “searching my memories of how things were, and looking in vain for where it went so wrong. Trying to find the moment where things might have gone differently, if only I…I do not know,” he finished, faltering. He sounded equal parts resigned and frustrated. “Even now I do not know if there was anything I could have done, to change this.”
Steve frowned slightly.
“Thor,” he tried, “I know you mean well, but I don’t think you can blame yourself. No matter what the situation was your brother made his own choices. Everything he did isn’t on you.”
He took a quick read on Thor’s expression to make sure he was probably receptive, before adding a more honest take on what his thoughts were when it came to Loki:
“Besides, let’s really think about what kind of a man Loki is. Where he’s been. What he’s done. That didn’t come from nowhere. Do you really think there was a remote possibility that things could have turned out so different?”
*
“Three cheers for the king!”
The roaring cry came from somewhere within the dining hall, bellowed out by a particularly exuberant and likely quite intoxicated warrior.
But his call was met with a series of cheers, and within seconds many were echoing the demand with loud shouts of their own. They raised their goblets and pounded their fists against the table, creating a laughing and insistent clamor that their ruler should there and now be honored.
The hour was late. Those assembled were among the finest warriors and most noble subjects that Asgard had to offer, the king’s closest friends and members of the royal court. They had been celebrating - for something of perhaps no real significance, but Asgardians rarely needed more than a pretense to eat, drink and be merry. The food had been good, the company also so, full of stories and jokes and songs. And the drink had been flowing freely.
It really was probably time the party be broken up, and they all head off to a sound and well-deserved rest. But those seated at the table were not about to go quietly.
The stomping and shouting and clapping hands continued, as the dinner guests insisted that their beloved ruler be treated to a hail.
At last King Thor got to his feet, indicating with both hands that they should quiet down, but with a broad grin stretched across his face.
“All right, my stubborn friends,” he chuckled cheerfully, “you win.” He waited for the second round of cheering that broke out to cease, and then looked around at them with an almost mischievous smile.
“Well, then? Which one of you wants to start in praising me?” They laughed as he waved his hands, half-jokingly: “Don’t be shy!”
This persisted for a few moments, but finally a man seated near the middle of the table on Thor’s right side pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.
His thick red hair worn in a topknot, his long beard finely combed, Volstagg cleared his throat austerely and lifted his goblet high.
“To my long-had, dearest friend, Thor,” he began brightly: “A man of many talents, many honors, and many strengths.” He bowed his head slightly, turning to look both ways and take in the others with his gaze; lingering slightly where he met his wife’s eyes. One of the finest-dressed women there, Siún sat with her hands in her lap, a calm and proud smile on her face; dwarfed by her two sons on either side.
Volstagg finished his toast more merrily: “A man who knows how to live well and partake in life’s many pleasures - almost as well as I do!” More than a few laughed. “To the king!”
“To the king!” everyone echoed, lifting their glasses as the robust warrior sat down. He leaned over to exchange a brief kiss with his wife, and then affectionately patted the shoulder of his daughter seated at his other side.
Immediately after Volstagg was finished Sif stood up. She wore not a dress but silver ornamental armor, gleaming fiercely beneath the many lights of the hall, her hair bound in a long tail. Her chair was at the left side of the table almost directly next to the king, a place of highest honor.
“To the mighty Thor,” she announced grandly, with a faint smirk: “A worthy leader and combatant for any battle, victor of countless many, and unmatched across all the realms for both skill and power.” She dropped her gaze in respectful gesture as she finished, “Asgard is proud and honored to call you hers.” There was a briefest pause as she and Thor exchanged a look and he smiled his thanks. “To the king!”
“To the king!” the crowd repeated again, and Sif returned to her chair.
There was a longer pause now than there’d been between the first toast and the second. Those assembled hesitated, looking at each other, not certain how to proceed after. Not only had they been eloquent and high praise indeed, both had been given by Thor’s closest friends. Not many there felt they had room to go last now without feeling out of place.
Hogun silently turned to Fandral and raised his eyebrows, daring him by expression alone to try and follow that act.
But it wasn’t Fandral who stood up to finally give the third and last hail.
Gracefully, purposefully, the king’s brother rose to his feet. Without quite meaning to everyone in the hall fell silent as their heads turned and their eyes went to the prince.
“To my brother, Thor,” Loki stated, his voice even, his face expressionless in solemnity. His wine goblet was upheld poised in one hand, arm outstretched far as it would go. “High king of Asgard for nigh on these past twenty years. A warrior whose name stretches far across the known worlds and beyond.”
Loki had been placed at the table’s left far down along it, towards the middle and almost nearer to the end. This wasn’t out of lack of any respect but mere necessity, to make room for his rather large family.
His two sons looked painfully bored, the second eldest hiding it better than the first. His daughter, still clad in her armor, had attended happily to the merriest part of the feast but looked less than enthused by this long-running ceremony. The two youngest children had been sent to bed hours ago. Only Loki’s wife, bedecked in emeralds, looked to be listening to what he was saying.
The distance between them actually made it easier for Thor to look at his brother without having to turn or twist in his seat. He stole a glance at his own daughter and son, who were doing their best to stifle their fidgeting - Jane had taken their younger boy off herself some time ago, saying she wanted to get up early the next morning and go over some telescope data. Resting his arms on the table Thor quietly watched Loki go on speaking, attentive.
“A hero - both a defender, and a savior,” Loki continued with his calm, meaningful listing. “One who has without hesitance laid down his life at times to protect alike both ally and stranger. He who stands steward to the second treaty of peace with Jotunheim. He who ushered in the glorious age that saw the re-creation of the Bifrost. He who oversaw countless diplomatic exchanges with Midgard.”
“Hey, with some help from his sister-in-law!” Darcy couldn’t seem to resist adding in.
The tense silence was parted briefly by a few titters and murmured chuckles at that. Loki gave it a moment to settle and then went on, undaunted.
“Guardian of Asgard’s stronghold, her riches and her people. Unflagging protector of her interests. With an eye out for any threats, and an ear open to wisdom, upon a cool and tempered head rests the crown.” The words fell articulately from Loki’s lips, as polished as if he had been practicing them. “With compassion, and diligence, and generosity, the strength of your benevolent heart is easily equal to that of Mjolnir itself.”
Having held Thor’s gaze the entire time, at last Loki’s blank expression broke in a faint but warm smile. “Asgard has never known a better king.”
Thor nodded to him, touched, raising his own goblet and taking a quick sip as if giving his own toast to Loki. “Thank you, brother.”
Loki nodded back, smoothly lifting his wine higher. “To King Thor!”
“To King Thor!” the assembly cheered at last enthusiastically, glasses upraised and hands waving. “Hip, hip, huzzah! Hip, hip, huzzah! Hip, hip, huzzah!”
When the last of the toast was drank and everyone finished putting their word in amongst the buzzing din that followed, the king got up and slowly made his farewells. One by one those seated at the table drifted out.
The various young princes and princesses were handed off to servants and scurried off to bed. For a man of both his size and importance Thor had somehow managed the impressive feat of vanishing into thin air. No doubt he hoped to kiss his wife goodnight.
Leaning sleepily against her husband, Darcy turned her head to look further ahead down the hall and spotted her second son in bashful but heated conversation with Volstagg and Siún’s daughter.
“Austen, come on.” The two leapt apart, blushing, as she shooed the youth away. “It’s late. You can talk to her all you want and do whatever else tomorrow.”
“Mom,” Austen protested feebly, embarrassed, even as he headed obediently in the direction of his own bedroom.
The object of his attentions kept his gaze for as long as possible with pale eyes. After he was gone she moved the focus of her vision back to his mother, who she addressed with a respectful curtsey.
“Goodnight, Milady.”
“Goodnight Noor.” Darcy stifled a yawn.
She yawned a second time more openly, waving a hand in front of her mouth. Her feet carried her by habit down the hallways of the palace in a path they’d by now well learned to tread. She brushed one hand against the wall, stroking both stone and tapestries, as she leaned against it for support.
Suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind, trapping her in a tight grip at her midsection.
Darcy giggled drowsily as Loki’s body pressed against hers with his full weight, bending so that his mouth was by her neck as he hugged her securely against him.
“You know I hate it when you interrupt me,” he told her testily. But his voice was low and breathy, almost a purr, his irritation directed more towards taunting her with kisses than with punishment.
“Yeah, well.” Darcy tilted her head back, melting into him, unabashed. “Too bad. I thought you knew me better by now.”
They lingered there in the hallway, her hands rested over his as they held on and rocked into one another. His hands moved along the curves of her torso and sides. The way they fit together was comfortable, well-practiced - and still very promising. Tired as she was Darcy had the feeling this night wasn’t over for them quite yet.
Not that she was complaining.
Loki caressed some of the hair away from her neck with one finger. “I thought that wives were supposed to honor and obey their husbands,” he protested mockingly.
Darcy pulled away just enough that she could twist her head and look at him fully. “I think you need to get yourself a new wife, then.”
Loki laughed, the sound of it still bubbling up from his throat as he kissed her deeply on the lips. Darcy wouldn’t let him pull away, drawing it out, lifting her hand to curl against one side of his face.
When at last they parted they held each other’s eyes for a space, sharing an intimate and loving smile.
Loki made a soft sound, almost another laugh, as he nuzzled her throat again with his eyes closed. “You know, I am so very glad that I met you,” he said vaguely, but full of earnest emotion.
“Yeah,” Darcy agreed, half-focused. “Maybe you could say we both got lucky. Through good times and bad…it was all worth it, in the end.”
Though the truth was neither of them had thought back to how they met with any detail now for years. So much time had passed, and look at all they’d seen and done together since.
That beginning; it hardly mattered anymore.
*
The hour was late. The area surrounding the abandoned stretch of road was pitch black, the only source of light coming from the distant stars.
Dirty and dressed in little more than rags, a haggard drifter picked his way along the uneven track in the ground. He could barely see where he was going and his gait was uneven, shaky.
He had the grizzled face and unfocused eyes of someone who had long ago fallen on hard times - maybe by fate’s mischance, or maybe by his own careless undoing. It hardly mattered now. Either way, he was here.
He’d spent his last money on a bottle that was long ago drunk. Now all he had was an empty belly and no roof over his head to speak of; just him and the empty desert for company. But it was a warm night and there was no sign of rain. He could bed down out here with relatively few worries. He just wanted to pick along his way a little further, see if he couldn’t find any sign of shelter first.
There was the uneven humming of insects and the occasional far off howl from a predator. Other than that the only sound was the dirt scuffing against his feet.
But then suddenly out there in the darkness something moved.
The man came to a halt, looking furtively and listening. Whatever it was it was like nothing he’d heard before. Nothing he could even describe.
It was a sharp sound, and a rumbling one. Like something was being torn apart.
A crunch like bones, a grumble like the earth was moving. And underneath it all, an unearthly hiss.
Not sure what to do the drifter hobbled his way toward the sound, wary. The air felt unusually thicker where he was heading, and charged with electricity.
Something was happening in front of him. Something his eyes couldn’t make sense of. It was hard to pick out in the dark, with his old eyes, but the oily blackness of shadows near the ground seemed to ripple, and pull apart.
He saw a clawed hand and heard a rattling groan. And then suddenly something was there on the ground, crawling.
The man stood dead still, watching. It was barely describable as a person: a skeleton wrapped in pale and desiccated flesh, black tatters and shreds of fabric clinging to an emaciated frame. As the ground became whole again it flopped in the dirt and lay there. But he thought he saw it breathe.
“H-hey.” The voice broke out of the old man’s throat. He licked his lips nervously and then stepped forward. “Hey. Can you hear me?”
There was no response from the shriveled figure on the ground. Overwhelmed by curiosity and a riveted sense of horror he came close, starting to bend down, and he reached to grab for what he thought was the beginnings of an arm.
“What are you? Can you hear me? What-”
The instant he was within reach a hand lashed out and gripped him with unexpected strength. There was an inhuman hiss.
The man couldn’t move or get away. The thing hauled itself up towards his face - the last thing he saw was a pair of gleaming, evil eyes that bore into his own.
Then a fanged mouth opened with a roar. There was no time to scream; within moments, all was silence.
When the smoke cleared and what lingering remnants of the drifter’s body remained floated away, another figure stood alone and tall there beneath the wasteland watched over by a starry sky.
A woman with skin a ghastly white, dressed in the remains of a black leathery dress that had seen better days. Her hair was long and lankly wild, tangled. Her skirt torn, her feet dirty, her nails shaped into broken claws. Her skirt was ripped and burned, her sleeves and bodice slashed. Her lips were bloodless, and her mouth parted unsmilingly to show sharp nasty teeth.
She breathed in through her nose as the life she had stolen and consumed from the drifter filled out her weakened body, making her whole once more.
There was a heated focus to her eyes - a look of animalistic madness.
Selene was back. Clawed her way out of a bottomless pit, crawled on her belly across the abyss of the featureless hell she had been imprisoned to. Fought her way tooth and nail across countless pockets of reality to find her way back to solid ground.
And she hadn’t done all of that without purpose.
Taking another breath, Selene tilted her head back, looking up to the sky far overhead as if she could see something more far past it.
“And now,” she determined out loud, her voice rough and sinister, “to Asgard.”
*
Far down below the palace of the Realm Eternal lay the weapons vault where her most powerful and dangerous treasures were kept. Guarded day and night, few had permission to enter, and none were supposed to be able to remove them without an order from the king.
The objects contained within were mostly ancient, gathered from unknown places scattered across countless different worlds. They had been added there over generations by different kings, and many of their stories were forgotten.
Some had been found, or won as prize after an adventure of questing. Most had been taken by conquest.
At the farthest end of dimly-lit ominous room stood a floor-to-ceiling metal grate, and hidden behind that was the Destroyer. An unfailing, untiring guardian, it stood in silent sentry over the weapons there, some barely more powerful than its own magic. The Destroyer might go a thousand years without ever emerging - and the instant someone tried to remove an item and triggered its spell, it would activate and use the full force of fire and metal to stop anything in its path.
But on the other side of the grate that hid the Destroyer was a small stone plinth, and suspended above that plinth was possibly the deadliest trophy in that room.
It was a sword, long and sharp and unspeakably ancient, the kind of thick blade meant to be wielded by two hands. From hilt to blade it was covered in runes, symbols and writings. The surface fairly glinted with powerful darkest magic.
The very tip of the sword was embedded in the stone. The rest of it was bound by thick black chains, wrapping around and crossing back and forth from either side, and fastened securely to the wall.
There was an aura around it that served as a warning to the corrosive power that emanated from within. Even a layman could sense just by looking that it was dangerous to be touched.
And the sword had hung there for over two decades with hardly anyone coming near it. Its magic purposeless, untapped.
Until in the middle of that night, when it began to minutely but perceptibly vibrate. A strange low, almost inaudible hum began coming from within.
There was no one there to see it when it started, unfortunately. And it would be awhile before anyone noticed - if at all. Even during the changing of their shifts the guards never looked too closely at any of the weapons, out of habit.
But it was as if despite being an inanimate object the sword pulled against its chains, straining, like a caged beast that yearned to break free.
It was if it sensed that out there, somewhere, was the hand to which its hilt belonged once again.
And it longed to be held.
*
It had been a long, long time since Selene used her magic to transport herself across the realms directly. A long time since she had been willing to waste the energy, or felt the need.
But she had changed - grown in different ways both weaker and stronger. Warped, by her time trapped in the dark.
And, perhaps most importantly, she had a goal in mind she was driven to accomplish: revenge.
The circles of enchantment she drew brought her to the ground on Asgard just outside the front gates of the palace.
Selene stepped forward before the golden edifice, her footing uncertain and sliding, her head woozy. She’d drained up most of her power by bringing herself to her far-off destination. But no matter - so long as she was where she needed to be.
Lifting her head she looked at towering peaks and spirals with half-lidded eyes.
“So, this is Asgard,” she remarked in a murmur.
She had never seen it before. Almost funny, considering how many enemies she had drawn from the land and pitted herself against over the years.
There was a commotion and slowly she turned her head. One of the gates had opened, and rushing forward armed with long spears was about a half a dozen Asgardian guards.
They were all tall men, young, strong to look at. They wore armor emblazoned with sunbursts and horned helmets, capes flapping behind them dramatically as they ran.
Selene tilted her chin to scent the air, sniffing deep at the power present between all of them.
The guards reached where Selene was and fanned out in front of her, forming a crescent shape that had her almost completely surrounded. As a one they lowered their weapons, pointed straight at her body. They eyed her with the angry unblinking distrust of soldiers doing their jobs.
“Halt,” one of them ordered her loudly. “You are an unidentified intruder here, and a trespasser on the royal lands. Throw down any weapons you have and declare yourself.”
Selene’s body moved sinuously, almost drunkenly. And when she turned to meet the guard’s gaze her eyes were hazy, like one past the brink of exhaustion.
Still she took one step to the side, spread her arms and drew a slow hissing breath, smiling mirthlessly as she gave her response:
“No.”
“So be it!” The same guard grit his teeth and moved forward, stabbing viciously with his spear.
Selene made no effort to evade. She was impaled through her right side between breast and shoulder, bending backwards slightly from the force behind the blow. She made a pained sound but then she smiled again, and chuckled wheezily.
And then rapidly she yanked one fist over the other, walking them along the length of the spear to pull the shocked guardsman closer to her before he stood even a chance to react.
As the other guards shouted senselessly to one another, panicking, she grabbed her prey by the front of the throat and brought him in close to feed. Her mouth opened wide and there was the deep hollow roar of the vacuum as she began draining him. A golden light flickered off of him, disappearing inside Selene. Before long with an agonized wail that was cut off abruptly his body disintegrated, and Selene ate up every last bit.
She actually licked her lips, briefly, and gave a satiated sigh as with one hand she effortlessly tugged free the spear from her body.
As she snapped it in two, pieces falling to the ground, the hole in her flesh swiftly mended.
And something indefinable had changed about Selene’s appearance too. Her stance was more steady, the cast to her skin no longer sickly. She had grown much, much stronger in an instant.
“The sweet life’s force of an indomitable Asgardian,” she breathed. “How long it has been.” She rolled her head and then refocused on the other men in a snap, her expression manic, energized. “That alone almost makes it worth the trip.”
The guards were white with terror. But still they would not be so easily deterred. Forming a second wave half the men braced themselves and rushed at her.
They did not fare any better than the first.
Selene’s reflexes and strength were far more than human now. She blocked one attacker with a sweep of her forearm, then bounded over the second in a high leap. Landing behind him before he could take in what was happening, she snapped his neck, only pausing long enough to drain a mouthful of energy before tossing him aside.
She snapped her fingers and pointed at another guard in a fluid gesture. A bolt of crackling blue magic struck him and he dropped down instantly, dead. The man that’d been standing next to him was paralyzed and Selene threw herself at him, ripping his chest apart with her bare hands.
There were only two men left. They exchanged a look and then spun around, running back the way they had come to get help.
Selene rushed forward, faster than they had been expecting. She snatched at the edge of one’s cape, dragging him back to her. The other didn’t look back but he heard his screams, then him dying with a gasp and gurgle, before there was that awful roaring sound.
The sorceress let the last one get almost to the gate before she stopped him.
She used magic to change the stone underneath his feet to mud. He sunk in up to his ankles and tripped, falling forward hard onto his face. His weapon fell from his hand and as he grasped for it she walked over and circled around, kicking it out of his reach.
“So much for the grand reputation of Asgard. I thought warriors, even common guardsmen like you, would be made of stronger mettle,” she sneered.
The young man pushed up onto his hands and knees, helmet knocked askew, eyeing her beneath his sweaty brow. At least he seemed bound to face his death with determination.
Selene cocked her head at him. “The thing is, I’m not even here for you,” she told him. “Tantalizing as your power is to me, I could care less.” Her voice became harsher, stilted, purposeful. “I am here with one very specific target in mind.”
She stalked towards him, one foot in front of the other.
“I am going to ask you one question. And if you can give me the answer, I might just spare your life.”
Picking the Asgardian up by the front of his breastplate she lifted him out of the mud, pulling him so that their faces were level, their noses less than an inch apart. Her cold eyes bore fiercely into his.
“Where is the one called Loki?” she demanded. “Where?”
The guard stammered but shook his head, and was unable to give a response. Selene frowned at him.
“No answer?” she deduced, disappointed. “Too bad.”
And within less than a minute she had consumed him too.
Selene stood there, looking around and dusting herself off distractedly. From behind she sensed a flicker of movement.
“Ask and ye shall receive, woman.”
Turning around quickly she beheld a new arrival standing there: a slender male who spread his arms and bowed to her mockingly. Though his clothes were of Asgardian make he wore no armor, but bright colors that made him look something like a jester. His build was slight, his hair was red-gold, and he had an impish, supercilious smile.
Selene frowned, giving the stranger a wary look of scrutiny. “Who are you?”
“Why, am I the one you were apparently looking for!” He had a reedy but musical-sounding voice. He chuckled, apparently amused. “Call my name out loud so forcefully, and what choice do I have to come running?”
She looked him head to toe. “You are Loki,” she repeated, flat.
He laid a hand flat across his chest. “What, does my appearance not live up to my reputation? But yes; I am he. Loki Laufeyjarson, Wordsmith and Trickster, Master of Many Faces, God of Fire, Mischief and Deceit.”
He bowed again, this time with even more of a flourish. The whole time he kept his gaze on the woman standing opposite to him - his smile never flickered, but it was a canny and ominous smile. His eyes sparkled coldly, in a manner that suggested the wheels were already turning, and the ideas they crafted were far more to his amusement than the well-being of any other.
“Laufeyjarson,” Selene echoed to herself in a low mutter. “Not Odinson. I see.”
There was a…certain resemblance to the Loki she had known. Something about the face, and the posture of the body, the way he carried himself. But though they had a name and the generality of an identity in common there was more about them that was different than was similar.
When she had dragged herself out of the shadow realm she had known there was a chance she could end up just about anywhere. Any time, any place.
And it seemed when the cosmic veil finally aligned enough to allow her to break free, it had brought her too far, or not far enough. She was in an entirely different reality than her own.
Well. She had already anticipated, and planned for as much.
The being that this world identified as Loki looked to her with eyes bright, feigning an overdone mask of disappointment and surprise.
“But I confess you have caught me off-guard, my lady. I know not who you are, nor what it is from me that you desire. I, er, know I haven’t seen you around Asgard before,” he remarked, laying a finger aside his mouth, and walking almost around her. He appeared thoughtful as he took in her ghastly pale skin, her ripped and black clothes.
Selene deigned not to notice.
“Oh, but I do have business with you,” she decided out loud. “I seek the one called Loki. And if you’re what’s here,” she rotated back to face him, unblinking, “you’ll just have to do.”
The Trickster laughed. “But I can assure you, there is no other called Loki! For who else would lay claim to that name but me?” He smirked in amusement. “I am the only one of my kind. There can only be one Loki.”
Selene gave a smile of her own.
“On this world, anyway,” she said meaningfully.
The Loki of this dimension was a prankster, a mischief-maker. A feckless roamer who taunted the other gods and mortals for spite. He may have had much in the way of magic, and he may have been powerful indeed, but he had no idea what he was facing.
He was used to beings who would play along with his little games. He never took himself or anything else seriously. He tricked and outsmarted anyone with words. He was woefully unprepared for a real fight.
And it wasn’t long before Selene had permanently wiped the grin off of his face.
As she stood blood-splattered over this Loki’s lifeless corpse, she narrowed her eyes and canted her head to the side as she looked for something.
The Trickster god had died with eyes wide, a look of shock and fear etched into his formerly merry visage. His red-gold curls were ruined by the pool of his own blood that he lay in. But Selene paid attention to none of that - she was looking past it.
Past the physical, through to the energy that surrounded the deceased Loki and was part of his make-up. His life’s force was fading away, melting into someplace beyond. But more than that. In the void it left as it went away there was briefly a ripple in the fabric of space and time.
Selene laced her fingers together, crouching down. Her eyes almost crossed with intense focus she began to chant.
Before it could escape her with her magic she ceased hold of that fraying edge to reality, and tugged at it, and forced it viciously apart.
A small portal was made. Another rift between worlds, incredibly temporary and with a single fixed and unpredictable destination. But it was there all the same, for Selene to use.
And use it she would.
Selene dropped her arms again and straightened up, standing tall. She glanced back at the palace behind her, to the unfamiliar Asgardian sky.
Not the right universe that she was seeking. Not the home to the right Loki, the object of her intended revenge.
But many worlds were connected somehow, strung out along a line. And the parallel life forces of the same beings who existed simultaneously in different dimensions were connected too. Tenuously, in a way that was hard to master, hard to see. But connected all the same, in a way that could be used to one’s advantage.
Selene would kill and kill again. And each time, she would use that connection across worlds to let her go onto the next. And the next. And the next. Until she got it right.
Glancing down she took one last dispassionate gaze at the dead Loki that lay, blood-soaked and maimed, at her feet.
“One down,” she murmured. And then quickly stepping forward she crept inside and jumped through the waiting portal.
“…Who knows how many left to go.”
LINK TO SECOND CHAPTER
Characters: Loki, Thor, Darcy, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Volstagg, Sif, Hogun, Fandral, original characters; mention of and eventual appearances by many others
Pairings: Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane, Volstagg/OC, and many more to come
Rating: R for language, violence, dark magic, alcohol use, sex, death, dubious consent (bodyswap), adultery, violence against children, and angst
Length: 7,710 words
Summary: More than twenty years have passed since Loki and Darcy first crossed paths, since whether they knew it or not they began on the path that led to their life together. Things in their world are happy, idyllic. But in another world trouble is resurfacing...and the consequences will be far-reaching and dire.
Notes: Final story of and chronologically last installment in ongoing series. AU for Avengers in some parts, compliant and set post film in others (trust me, you'll see what I mean); ignores the events of Iron Man 3 but not some of the implications, like Pepper being in charge of the company and Happy being promoted to head of security. Art for this chapter done by machi_neko whose pro website can be found here.
Part 1: Fissure
After every battle was over, there was always the cleanup.
It was rarely ever easy. Depending on how large-scale the fighting was, how long it’d waged, there could be anything from strewn refuse to massive property damage. There were civilians to corral, wounded to be tended to. And sometimes, names had to be gathered from among the fallen.
It didn’t end when the combatants put their weapons down - though sometimes that seemed to be how people imagined it happening. Or maybe they never bothered to think about the “after”, only concerned with the part of the story that was more exciting.
But Steve knew better. He’d served as Captain America through one long war, and though he’d never got to see when it ended, he’d seen the history of what came after. And he knew it had taken more than a generation’s work to smooth over and fill in the marks left on the land and the people. Not all the damage done by a battle was physical.
So maybe it was in memory of all those boys he’d led and left behind, or maybe it was to make up for never having been around for the curtain call in Europe.
Or maybe it was because he could never stop helping, not when there was anything left he could do. But even when he was tired enough he thought he could drop, he always helped with the “after”.
He figured, heroes marched off when their job was done, went away into the sunset. But a good soldier stayed behind to clean up the mess.
This time there wasn’t a lot to do beyond literally picking up pieces. Shattered windows and downed power lines, a few overturned vehicles. A lot of agents had been scraped and bruised but no one seemed majorly hurt.
A more than small mercy, considering what they’d been facing. It could have been a lot worse.
Steve wound up assisting with the wounded, joining others as they helped them onto the planes and carried their stretchers. He finally had to be shooed away back at the Helicarrier by a team of grateful but insistent doctors.
He wandered back onto the bridge which seemed eerily quiet despite rows and rows of young technicians seated at the computer bays doing their jobs. Thor stood before one of the windows by the edge, staring out into the sky while seeming to see nothing.
Steve watched him but kept his distance, quiet, and didn’t interrupt.
Thor and he came from two very different worlds and there was a lot about the other man he didn’t understand. But this? This he understood.
Not all damage done by a battle was physical.
The door slid open behind him and there was the distinctive clank of swaggering metal boots.
Steve shut his eyes, briefly, and offered up a weary prayer that for once, Stark would keep it low-key.
“Good job out there, guys.” Stark - still in the Iron Man armor but helmetless - made a sort of batting motion against Steve’s shoulder. “Have to admit, circumstances being what they are, still it’s kind of cool to have the full band back together, huh?”
“Yeah.” Steve’s response was quiet, trying not to encourage him too much. Even though he found a part of himself was agreeing. “Maybe.”
Stark gave him a smarmy kind of smirk and nodded, and then turned towards Thor…and said nothing.
Who knew. Maybe Steve’s prayer had been answered. Or maybe even Stark could read this situation well enough to know it was time to keep his big mouth shut.
His eyes bounced away from the Asgardian at the window back to Steve again. “You coming back to the Tower later?”
“Not sure.” First he wanted to shower, change…maybe get a start on his incident report while the details were still fresh in his mind. Then, he could make up his mind over where he wanted to sleep that night. Still, he said, “Probably.”
He didn’t ask what the others were doing. For the next twenty-four hours they might not see them at all. Agents Barton and Romanov were back at the action site assisting with the aftermath. And Banner…well, Banner wasn’t quite yet around. Apparently the Other Guy hadn’t got to hit enough things today and was off running to let out some remaining steam.
“Okay,” Stark said, chipper. “We’ll leave a light on for you.” He turned to leave back the way he came, but took another glance at Thor and hesitated.
“Welcome back, Big Kahuna,” he said after a moment, raising his voice a little, maybe so it would be obvious who he addressed. Thor blinked as if he was just coming out of a trance. “Weren’t sure exactly when we might be seeing you again. But I added on a room for you, just in case.” He gestured. “It’s there if you want it; no obligation, of course. I don’t know if you’d made any other arrangements but-”
“Thank you,” Thor cut him off, but slowly. “That is most kind.” He looked away again, attentions drifting. “I do not know if I will need to make use of it; there are -- others, to whom I must speak…”
“Right,” Stark replied, catching on. “Got it, say no more. Like I said, it’s there if you need it. No offense at all taken if you pass. Either way, I’m sure we’ll see you around.”
He took a few steps toward the door and then gave Steve a half-mocking salute with two armored fingers as his parting shot. Steve nodded his head in reply, mouth twitching.
The same irregular numbed silence fell again in the wake of Stark’s departure.
Steve watched Thor watching the skyline for a few moments more before he felt obligated to say something.
“You know, it is good to have you back,” he stated, quiet but fully sincere.
There hadn’t been much use for the Avengers in the wake of their first mission together, but there had been more use than frankly Steve would have liked. They came together again, fought the good fight, but their makeup just wasn’t the same without the demigod.
Of course, his return to Earth had come as part of a particularly unfortunate package deal. One that set off the whole reason they had been out there seeing action today.
Steve remembered the footage Fury had showed them, of the explosion of white-hot energy that had fallen to Earth like a shooting star and then burst, sending a ripple of sickly-tinged green through the surrounding air in its wake.
How Thor had come flying downward in streaking hot pursuit, teeth clenched, voice bellowing and hammer waving.
How once again, in a sight that was vaguely déjà vu inducing, Loki had turned to face him with an angry and sinister smile.
Loki had escaped from Asgard - and the only reason Thor came here was because he had chased after him as he ran. Loki’s actions had been the catalyst behind pulling the team together in the first place, bringing the six of them collected as one. And now here they were again, united fully for the second time, because of what Loki had done.
In a way it seemed fitting.
Thor nodded, weighted down by his own thoughts. “I am glad to see you again, friend Rogers. I missed you, and my other mortal allies. Though, I do not relish the reasoning behind my return…”
He looked to his boots, or perhaps past them at the clouds by the bottom of the window. When he turned and met Steve’s gaze again his blue eyes were troubled and guilty.
“I feel as though I must apologize.”
“What for?” Steve asked, caught off-guard.
Thor breathed out, almost a sigh. “I believed that Asgard could hold Loki. That he belonged there, far more than in any containment your people could devise. I as good as promised Fury when I asked that he turn Loki over for me. That was the deal we made - I could take him, because it was the only way to keep the people of Midgard safe.”
The warrior prince looked away and down again, his disappointment writ into every one of the few lines on his near ageless face.
“But I was wrong. I failed.” He shook his head. “And once again this world pays the price for my recklessness.”
“You made the best call that you could at the time,” Steve countered. He took a few steps closer, fingers absently curling around the sides of the belt on his costume. “It wasn’t arrogance, Thor. You genuinely thought your world had the resources to keep Loki prisoner. Hell, it was what we all thought - and no matter what Fury or his secret council might be willing to admit to, we had no idea what we were even going to try to do if we had to hold him here.” He paused before adding, tiredly, “Frankly, I think we were glad you took Loki off our hands.”
Thor made a faint sound reminiscent of a scoff. “And are you glad now?”
Steve hesitated again before answering, though not from any real uncertainty.
“The truth is, if we’d kept Loki on Earth, they might not have handled him with kid gloves. But it wouldn’t have made any difference. He would’ve broken out again - and I’m sure it would have been a lot sooner than this. Guys like him; they don’t know how to quit.”
And it was the truth, far as he was concerned. Even as he thought about it he realized he wasn’t really surprised to see Loki again. It was like part of him knew all along that Loki would break loose, and come back to Earth, and they were destined to have to fight him once more.
And he was almost completely sure that everyone else probably felt the same. That even as he was carried off, in chains, along with his brother and the Tesseract, they knew it wasn’t the last they’d seen of Loki.
It was just too easy to think someone capable of the things he had been would swallow one defeat and then stop.
The look on Thor’s face was pensive but murky, otherwise hard to read. “No. You may be right.”
That was all he said. But it didn’t take much to guess it wasn’t the only thing weighing on his mind.
“You know,” Steve began, and then cleared his throat awkwardly. “You and I may not be all that close. But, for what it’s worth. Sometimes it does help to talk about it.”
He’d bent an ear for a lot of troubled men in his day. By now it was almost close to second nature.
Thor let out a breath he might well have been holding. “When you and the others look to Loki, all you see is an enemy. A dangerous man that must be stopped at all costs. For me, it is not nearly so simple. I see Loki, all that he is capable of, all the terrible things that he has done…and more. I see what he once was. I see a happier time that no matter what he says I do not think I fully imagined. He is, and will always be, my brother.”
Thor stopped talking and gazed through the window again. Instead of speaking Steve waited.
“I had hoped,” Thor continued eventually, softly, “that in bringing him back to our home, it would help him, as much it would keep the rest of the realms safe. Yes, I wanted to see Loki punished, for it was only just, but also I wanted to calm him, to heal him, to remind him that this is not the way things have to be. I thought that past his anger and madness there still remained more of the brother I grew up alongside.” His voice wavered and nearly broke. “But I am beginning to think it is not so. That all that was good has been swallowed up by darkness. And there is nothing left of Loki to be saved.”
“I’m sorry.” Steve remarked, with rueful humor, “I’m probably the most sympathetic guy you’ll ever find when it comes to the issue of dwelling on the past.”
He couldn’t blame Thor for being conflicted when it came to his own family. None of them could. And no matter what, Thor would always have that history with Loki none of them could touch. Even if they had their own conflicting opinions they still couldn’t argue with what he was feeling.
And right now, it had to be painful to have to keep fighting his brother this way. It had to hurt to be coming to the conclusion it sounded like he was reaching.
“I find that I keep looking back,” Thor told him, “searching my memories of how things were, and looking in vain for where it went so wrong. Trying to find the moment where things might have gone differently, if only I…I do not know,” he finished, faltering. He sounded equal parts resigned and frustrated. “Even now I do not know if there was anything I could have done, to change this.”
Steve frowned slightly.
“Thor,” he tried, “I know you mean well, but I don’t think you can blame yourself. No matter what the situation was your brother made his own choices. Everything he did isn’t on you.”
He took a quick read on Thor’s expression to make sure he was probably receptive, before adding a more honest take on what his thoughts were when it came to Loki:
“Besides, let’s really think about what kind of a man Loki is. Where he’s been. What he’s done. That didn’t come from nowhere. Do you really think there was a remote possibility that things could have turned out so different?”
*
“Three cheers for the king!”
The roaring cry came from somewhere within the dining hall, bellowed out by a particularly exuberant and likely quite intoxicated warrior.
But his call was met with a series of cheers, and within seconds many were echoing the demand with loud shouts of their own. They raised their goblets and pounded their fists against the table, creating a laughing and insistent clamor that their ruler should there and now be honored.
The hour was late. Those assembled were among the finest warriors and most noble subjects that Asgard had to offer, the king’s closest friends and members of the royal court. They had been celebrating - for something of perhaps no real significance, but Asgardians rarely needed more than a pretense to eat, drink and be merry. The food had been good, the company also so, full of stories and jokes and songs. And the drink had been flowing freely.
It really was probably time the party be broken up, and they all head off to a sound and well-deserved rest. But those seated at the table were not about to go quietly.
The stomping and shouting and clapping hands continued, as the dinner guests insisted that their beloved ruler be treated to a hail.
At last King Thor got to his feet, indicating with both hands that they should quiet down, but with a broad grin stretched across his face.
“All right, my stubborn friends,” he chuckled cheerfully, “you win.” He waited for the second round of cheering that broke out to cease, and then looked around at them with an almost mischievous smile.
“Well, then? Which one of you wants to start in praising me?” They laughed as he waved his hands, half-jokingly: “Don’t be shy!”
This persisted for a few moments, but finally a man seated near the middle of the table on Thor’s right side pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.
His thick red hair worn in a topknot, his long beard finely combed, Volstagg cleared his throat austerely and lifted his goblet high.
“To my long-had, dearest friend, Thor,” he began brightly: “A man of many talents, many honors, and many strengths.” He bowed his head slightly, turning to look both ways and take in the others with his gaze; lingering slightly where he met his wife’s eyes. One of the finest-dressed women there, Siún sat with her hands in her lap, a calm and proud smile on her face; dwarfed by her two sons on either side.
Volstagg finished his toast more merrily: “A man who knows how to live well and partake in life’s many pleasures - almost as well as I do!” More than a few laughed. “To the king!”
“To the king!” everyone echoed, lifting their glasses as the robust warrior sat down. He leaned over to exchange a brief kiss with his wife, and then affectionately patted the shoulder of his daughter seated at his other side.
Immediately after Volstagg was finished Sif stood up. She wore not a dress but silver ornamental armor, gleaming fiercely beneath the many lights of the hall, her hair bound in a long tail. Her chair was at the left side of the table almost directly next to the king, a place of highest honor.
“To the mighty Thor,” she announced grandly, with a faint smirk: “A worthy leader and combatant for any battle, victor of countless many, and unmatched across all the realms for both skill and power.” She dropped her gaze in respectful gesture as she finished, “Asgard is proud and honored to call you hers.” There was a briefest pause as she and Thor exchanged a look and he smiled his thanks. “To the king!”
“To the king!” the crowd repeated again, and Sif returned to her chair.
There was a longer pause now than there’d been between the first toast and the second. Those assembled hesitated, looking at each other, not certain how to proceed after. Not only had they been eloquent and high praise indeed, both had been given by Thor’s closest friends. Not many there felt they had room to go last now without feeling out of place.
Hogun silently turned to Fandral and raised his eyebrows, daring him by expression alone to try and follow that act.
But it wasn’t Fandral who stood up to finally give the third and last hail.
Gracefully, purposefully, the king’s brother rose to his feet. Without quite meaning to everyone in the hall fell silent as their heads turned and their eyes went to the prince.
“To my brother, Thor,” Loki stated, his voice even, his face expressionless in solemnity. His wine goblet was upheld poised in one hand, arm outstretched far as it would go. “High king of Asgard for nigh on these past twenty years. A warrior whose name stretches far across the known worlds and beyond.”
Loki had been placed at the table’s left far down along it, towards the middle and almost nearer to the end. This wasn’t out of lack of any respect but mere necessity, to make room for his rather large family.
His two sons looked painfully bored, the second eldest hiding it better than the first. His daughter, still clad in her armor, had attended happily to the merriest part of the feast but looked less than enthused by this long-running ceremony. The two youngest children had been sent to bed hours ago. Only Loki’s wife, bedecked in emeralds, looked to be listening to what he was saying.
The distance between them actually made it easier for Thor to look at his brother without having to turn or twist in his seat. He stole a glance at his own daughter and son, who were doing their best to stifle their fidgeting - Jane had taken their younger boy off herself some time ago, saying she wanted to get up early the next morning and go over some telescope data. Resting his arms on the table Thor quietly watched Loki go on speaking, attentive.
“A hero - both a defender, and a savior,” Loki continued with his calm, meaningful listing. “One who has without hesitance laid down his life at times to protect alike both ally and stranger. He who stands steward to the second treaty of peace with Jotunheim. He who ushered in the glorious age that saw the re-creation of the Bifrost. He who oversaw countless diplomatic exchanges with Midgard.”
“Hey, with some help from his sister-in-law!” Darcy couldn’t seem to resist adding in.
The tense silence was parted briefly by a few titters and murmured chuckles at that. Loki gave it a moment to settle and then went on, undaunted.
“Guardian of Asgard’s stronghold, her riches and her people. Unflagging protector of her interests. With an eye out for any threats, and an ear open to wisdom, upon a cool and tempered head rests the crown.” The words fell articulately from Loki’s lips, as polished as if he had been practicing them. “With compassion, and diligence, and generosity, the strength of your benevolent heart is easily equal to that of Mjolnir itself.”
Having held Thor’s gaze the entire time, at last Loki’s blank expression broke in a faint but warm smile. “Asgard has never known a better king.”
Thor nodded to him, touched, raising his own goblet and taking a quick sip as if giving his own toast to Loki. “Thank you, brother.”
Loki nodded back, smoothly lifting his wine higher. “To King Thor!”
“To King Thor!” the assembly cheered at last enthusiastically, glasses upraised and hands waving. “Hip, hip, huzzah! Hip, hip, huzzah! Hip, hip, huzzah!”
When the last of the toast was drank and everyone finished putting their word in amongst the buzzing din that followed, the king got up and slowly made his farewells. One by one those seated at the table drifted out.
The various young princes and princesses were handed off to servants and scurried off to bed. For a man of both his size and importance Thor had somehow managed the impressive feat of vanishing into thin air. No doubt he hoped to kiss his wife goodnight.
Leaning sleepily against her husband, Darcy turned her head to look further ahead down the hall and spotted her second son in bashful but heated conversation with Volstagg and Siún’s daughter.
“Austen, come on.” The two leapt apart, blushing, as she shooed the youth away. “It’s late. You can talk to her all you want and do whatever else tomorrow.”
“Mom,” Austen protested feebly, embarrassed, even as he headed obediently in the direction of his own bedroom.
The object of his attentions kept his gaze for as long as possible with pale eyes. After he was gone she moved the focus of her vision back to his mother, who she addressed with a respectful curtsey.
“Goodnight, Milady.”
“Goodnight Noor.” Darcy stifled a yawn.
She yawned a second time more openly, waving a hand in front of her mouth. Her feet carried her by habit down the hallways of the palace in a path they’d by now well learned to tread. She brushed one hand against the wall, stroking both stone and tapestries, as she leaned against it for support.
Suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind, trapping her in a tight grip at her midsection.
Darcy giggled drowsily as Loki’s body pressed against hers with his full weight, bending so that his mouth was by her neck as he hugged her securely against him.
“You know I hate it when you interrupt me,” he told her testily. But his voice was low and breathy, almost a purr, his irritation directed more towards taunting her with kisses than with punishment.
“Yeah, well.” Darcy tilted her head back, melting into him, unabashed. “Too bad. I thought you knew me better by now.”
They lingered there in the hallway, her hands rested over his as they held on and rocked into one another. His hands moved along the curves of her torso and sides. The way they fit together was comfortable, well-practiced - and still very promising. Tired as she was Darcy had the feeling this night wasn’t over for them quite yet.
Not that she was complaining.
Loki caressed some of the hair away from her neck with one finger. “I thought that wives were supposed to honor and obey their husbands,” he protested mockingly.
Darcy pulled away just enough that she could twist her head and look at him fully. “I think you need to get yourself a new wife, then.”
Loki laughed, the sound of it still bubbling up from his throat as he kissed her deeply on the lips. Darcy wouldn’t let him pull away, drawing it out, lifting her hand to curl against one side of his face.
When at last they parted they held each other’s eyes for a space, sharing an intimate and loving smile.
Loki made a soft sound, almost another laugh, as he nuzzled her throat again with his eyes closed. “You know, I am so very glad that I met you,” he said vaguely, but full of earnest emotion.
“Yeah,” Darcy agreed, half-focused. “Maybe you could say we both got lucky. Through good times and bad…it was all worth it, in the end.”
Though the truth was neither of them had thought back to how they met with any detail now for years. So much time had passed, and look at all they’d seen and done together since.
That beginning; it hardly mattered anymore.
*
The hour was late. The area surrounding the abandoned stretch of road was pitch black, the only source of light coming from the distant stars.
Dirty and dressed in little more than rags, a haggard drifter picked his way along the uneven track in the ground. He could barely see where he was going and his gait was uneven, shaky.
He had the grizzled face and unfocused eyes of someone who had long ago fallen on hard times - maybe by fate’s mischance, or maybe by his own careless undoing. It hardly mattered now. Either way, he was here.
He’d spent his last money on a bottle that was long ago drunk. Now all he had was an empty belly and no roof over his head to speak of; just him and the empty desert for company. But it was a warm night and there was no sign of rain. He could bed down out here with relatively few worries. He just wanted to pick along his way a little further, see if he couldn’t find any sign of shelter first.
There was the uneven humming of insects and the occasional far off howl from a predator. Other than that the only sound was the dirt scuffing against his feet.
But then suddenly out there in the darkness something moved.
The man came to a halt, looking furtively and listening. Whatever it was it was like nothing he’d heard before. Nothing he could even describe.
It was a sharp sound, and a rumbling one. Like something was being torn apart.
A crunch like bones, a grumble like the earth was moving. And underneath it all, an unearthly hiss.
Not sure what to do the drifter hobbled his way toward the sound, wary. The air felt unusually thicker where he was heading, and charged with electricity.
Something was happening in front of him. Something his eyes couldn’t make sense of. It was hard to pick out in the dark, with his old eyes, but the oily blackness of shadows near the ground seemed to ripple, and pull apart.
He saw a clawed hand and heard a rattling groan. And then suddenly something was there on the ground, crawling.
The man stood dead still, watching. It was barely describable as a person: a skeleton wrapped in pale and desiccated flesh, black tatters and shreds of fabric clinging to an emaciated frame. As the ground became whole again it flopped in the dirt and lay there. But he thought he saw it breathe.
“H-hey.” The voice broke out of the old man’s throat. He licked his lips nervously and then stepped forward. “Hey. Can you hear me?”
There was no response from the shriveled figure on the ground. Overwhelmed by curiosity and a riveted sense of horror he came close, starting to bend down, and he reached to grab for what he thought was the beginnings of an arm.
“What are you? Can you hear me? What-”
The instant he was within reach a hand lashed out and gripped him with unexpected strength. There was an inhuman hiss.
The man couldn’t move or get away. The thing hauled itself up towards his face - the last thing he saw was a pair of gleaming, evil eyes that bore into his own.
Then a fanged mouth opened with a roar. There was no time to scream; within moments, all was silence.
When the smoke cleared and what lingering remnants of the drifter’s body remained floated away, another figure stood alone and tall there beneath the wasteland watched over by a starry sky.
A woman with skin a ghastly white, dressed in the remains of a black leathery dress that had seen better days. Her hair was long and lankly wild, tangled. Her skirt torn, her feet dirty, her nails shaped into broken claws. Her skirt was ripped and burned, her sleeves and bodice slashed. Her lips were bloodless, and her mouth parted unsmilingly to show sharp nasty teeth.
She breathed in through her nose as the life she had stolen and consumed from the drifter filled out her weakened body, making her whole once more.
There was a heated focus to her eyes - a look of animalistic madness.
Selene was back. Clawed her way out of a bottomless pit, crawled on her belly across the abyss of the featureless hell she had been imprisoned to. Fought her way tooth and nail across countless pockets of reality to find her way back to solid ground.
And she hadn’t done all of that without purpose.
Taking another breath, Selene tilted her head back, looking up to the sky far overhead as if she could see something more far past it.
“And now,” she determined out loud, her voice rough and sinister, “to Asgard.”
*
Far down below the palace of the Realm Eternal lay the weapons vault where her most powerful and dangerous treasures were kept. Guarded day and night, few had permission to enter, and none were supposed to be able to remove them without an order from the king.
The objects contained within were mostly ancient, gathered from unknown places scattered across countless different worlds. They had been added there over generations by different kings, and many of their stories were forgotten.
Some had been found, or won as prize after an adventure of questing. Most had been taken by conquest.
At the farthest end of dimly-lit ominous room stood a floor-to-ceiling metal grate, and hidden behind that was the Destroyer. An unfailing, untiring guardian, it stood in silent sentry over the weapons there, some barely more powerful than its own magic. The Destroyer might go a thousand years without ever emerging - and the instant someone tried to remove an item and triggered its spell, it would activate and use the full force of fire and metal to stop anything in its path.
But on the other side of the grate that hid the Destroyer was a small stone plinth, and suspended above that plinth was possibly the deadliest trophy in that room.
It was a sword, long and sharp and unspeakably ancient, the kind of thick blade meant to be wielded by two hands. From hilt to blade it was covered in runes, symbols and writings. The surface fairly glinted with powerful darkest magic.
The very tip of the sword was embedded in the stone. The rest of it was bound by thick black chains, wrapping around and crossing back and forth from either side, and fastened securely to the wall.
There was an aura around it that served as a warning to the corrosive power that emanated from within. Even a layman could sense just by looking that it was dangerous to be touched.
And the sword had hung there for over two decades with hardly anyone coming near it. Its magic purposeless, untapped.
Until in the middle of that night, when it began to minutely but perceptibly vibrate. A strange low, almost inaudible hum began coming from within.
There was no one there to see it when it started, unfortunately. And it would be awhile before anyone noticed - if at all. Even during the changing of their shifts the guards never looked too closely at any of the weapons, out of habit.
But it was as if despite being an inanimate object the sword pulled against its chains, straining, like a caged beast that yearned to break free.
It was if it sensed that out there, somewhere, was the hand to which its hilt belonged once again.
And it longed to be held.
*
It had been a long, long time since Selene used her magic to transport herself across the realms directly. A long time since she had been willing to waste the energy, or felt the need.
But she had changed - grown in different ways both weaker and stronger. Warped, by her time trapped in the dark.
And, perhaps most importantly, she had a goal in mind she was driven to accomplish: revenge.
The circles of enchantment she drew brought her to the ground on Asgard just outside the front gates of the palace.
Selene stepped forward before the golden edifice, her footing uncertain and sliding, her head woozy. She’d drained up most of her power by bringing herself to her far-off destination. But no matter - so long as she was where she needed to be.
Lifting her head she looked at towering peaks and spirals with half-lidded eyes.
“So, this is Asgard,” she remarked in a murmur.
She had never seen it before. Almost funny, considering how many enemies she had drawn from the land and pitted herself against over the years.
There was a commotion and slowly she turned her head. One of the gates had opened, and rushing forward armed with long spears was about a half a dozen Asgardian guards.
They were all tall men, young, strong to look at. They wore armor emblazoned with sunbursts and horned helmets, capes flapping behind them dramatically as they ran.
Selene tilted her chin to scent the air, sniffing deep at the power present between all of them.
The guards reached where Selene was and fanned out in front of her, forming a crescent shape that had her almost completely surrounded. As a one they lowered their weapons, pointed straight at her body. They eyed her with the angry unblinking distrust of soldiers doing their jobs.
“Halt,” one of them ordered her loudly. “You are an unidentified intruder here, and a trespasser on the royal lands. Throw down any weapons you have and declare yourself.”
Selene’s body moved sinuously, almost drunkenly. And when she turned to meet the guard’s gaze her eyes were hazy, like one past the brink of exhaustion.
Still she took one step to the side, spread her arms and drew a slow hissing breath, smiling mirthlessly as she gave her response:
“No.”
“So be it!” The same guard grit his teeth and moved forward, stabbing viciously with his spear.
Selene made no effort to evade. She was impaled through her right side between breast and shoulder, bending backwards slightly from the force behind the blow. She made a pained sound but then she smiled again, and chuckled wheezily.
And then rapidly she yanked one fist over the other, walking them along the length of the spear to pull the shocked guardsman closer to her before he stood even a chance to react.
As the other guards shouted senselessly to one another, panicking, she grabbed her prey by the front of the throat and brought him in close to feed. Her mouth opened wide and there was the deep hollow roar of the vacuum as she began draining him. A golden light flickered off of him, disappearing inside Selene. Before long with an agonized wail that was cut off abruptly his body disintegrated, and Selene ate up every last bit.
She actually licked her lips, briefly, and gave a satiated sigh as with one hand she effortlessly tugged free the spear from her body.
As she snapped it in two, pieces falling to the ground, the hole in her flesh swiftly mended.
And something indefinable had changed about Selene’s appearance too. Her stance was more steady, the cast to her skin no longer sickly. She had grown much, much stronger in an instant.
“The sweet life’s force of an indomitable Asgardian,” she breathed. “How long it has been.” She rolled her head and then refocused on the other men in a snap, her expression manic, energized. “That alone almost makes it worth the trip.”
The guards were white with terror. But still they would not be so easily deterred. Forming a second wave half the men braced themselves and rushed at her.
They did not fare any better than the first.
Selene’s reflexes and strength were far more than human now. She blocked one attacker with a sweep of her forearm, then bounded over the second in a high leap. Landing behind him before he could take in what was happening, she snapped his neck, only pausing long enough to drain a mouthful of energy before tossing him aside.
She snapped her fingers and pointed at another guard in a fluid gesture. A bolt of crackling blue magic struck him and he dropped down instantly, dead. The man that’d been standing next to him was paralyzed and Selene threw herself at him, ripping his chest apart with her bare hands.
There were only two men left. They exchanged a look and then spun around, running back the way they had come to get help.
Selene rushed forward, faster than they had been expecting. She snatched at the edge of one’s cape, dragging him back to her. The other didn’t look back but he heard his screams, then him dying with a gasp and gurgle, before there was that awful roaring sound.
The sorceress let the last one get almost to the gate before she stopped him.
She used magic to change the stone underneath his feet to mud. He sunk in up to his ankles and tripped, falling forward hard onto his face. His weapon fell from his hand and as he grasped for it she walked over and circled around, kicking it out of his reach.
“So much for the grand reputation of Asgard. I thought warriors, even common guardsmen like you, would be made of stronger mettle,” she sneered.
The young man pushed up onto his hands and knees, helmet knocked askew, eyeing her beneath his sweaty brow. At least he seemed bound to face his death with determination.
Selene cocked her head at him. “The thing is, I’m not even here for you,” she told him. “Tantalizing as your power is to me, I could care less.” Her voice became harsher, stilted, purposeful. “I am here with one very specific target in mind.”
She stalked towards him, one foot in front of the other.
“I am going to ask you one question. And if you can give me the answer, I might just spare your life.”
Picking the Asgardian up by the front of his breastplate she lifted him out of the mud, pulling him so that their faces were level, their noses less than an inch apart. Her cold eyes bore fiercely into his.
“Where is the one called Loki?” she demanded. “Where?”
The guard stammered but shook his head, and was unable to give a response. Selene frowned at him.
“No answer?” she deduced, disappointed. “Too bad.”
And within less than a minute she had consumed him too.
Selene stood there, looking around and dusting herself off distractedly. From behind she sensed a flicker of movement.
“Ask and ye shall receive, woman.”
Turning around quickly she beheld a new arrival standing there: a slender male who spread his arms and bowed to her mockingly. Though his clothes were of Asgardian make he wore no armor, but bright colors that made him look something like a jester. His build was slight, his hair was red-gold, and he had an impish, supercilious smile.
Selene frowned, giving the stranger a wary look of scrutiny. “Who are you?”
“Why, am I the one you were apparently looking for!” He had a reedy but musical-sounding voice. He chuckled, apparently amused. “Call my name out loud so forcefully, and what choice do I have to come running?”
She looked him head to toe. “You are Loki,” she repeated, flat.
He laid a hand flat across his chest. “What, does my appearance not live up to my reputation? But yes; I am he. Loki Laufeyjarson, Wordsmith and Trickster, Master of Many Faces, God of Fire, Mischief and Deceit.”
He bowed again, this time with even more of a flourish. The whole time he kept his gaze on the woman standing opposite to him - his smile never flickered, but it was a canny and ominous smile. His eyes sparkled coldly, in a manner that suggested the wheels were already turning, and the ideas they crafted were far more to his amusement than the well-being of any other.
“Laufeyjarson,” Selene echoed to herself in a low mutter. “Not Odinson. I see.”
There was a…certain resemblance to the Loki she had known. Something about the face, and the posture of the body, the way he carried himself. But though they had a name and the generality of an identity in common there was more about them that was different than was similar.
When she had dragged herself out of the shadow realm she had known there was a chance she could end up just about anywhere. Any time, any place.
And it seemed when the cosmic veil finally aligned enough to allow her to break free, it had brought her too far, or not far enough. She was in an entirely different reality than her own.
Well. She had already anticipated, and planned for as much.
The being that this world identified as Loki looked to her with eyes bright, feigning an overdone mask of disappointment and surprise.
“But I confess you have caught me off-guard, my lady. I know not who you are, nor what it is from me that you desire. I, er, know I haven’t seen you around Asgard before,” he remarked, laying a finger aside his mouth, and walking almost around her. He appeared thoughtful as he took in her ghastly pale skin, her ripped and black clothes.
Selene deigned not to notice.
“Oh, but I do have business with you,” she decided out loud. “I seek the one called Loki. And if you’re what’s here,” she rotated back to face him, unblinking, “you’ll just have to do.”
The Trickster laughed. “But I can assure you, there is no other called Loki! For who else would lay claim to that name but me?” He smirked in amusement. “I am the only one of my kind. There can only be one Loki.”
Selene gave a smile of her own.
“On this world, anyway,” she said meaningfully.
The Loki of this dimension was a prankster, a mischief-maker. A feckless roamer who taunted the other gods and mortals for spite. He may have had much in the way of magic, and he may have been powerful indeed, but he had no idea what he was facing.
He was used to beings who would play along with his little games. He never took himself or anything else seriously. He tricked and outsmarted anyone with words. He was woefully unprepared for a real fight.
And it wasn’t long before Selene had permanently wiped the grin off of his face.
As she stood blood-splattered over this Loki’s lifeless corpse, she narrowed her eyes and canted her head to the side as she looked for something.
The Trickster god had died with eyes wide, a look of shock and fear etched into his formerly merry visage. His red-gold curls were ruined by the pool of his own blood that he lay in. But Selene paid attention to none of that - she was looking past it.
Past the physical, through to the energy that surrounded the deceased Loki and was part of his make-up. His life’s force was fading away, melting into someplace beyond. But more than that. In the void it left as it went away there was briefly a ripple in the fabric of space and time.
Selene laced her fingers together, crouching down. Her eyes almost crossed with intense focus she began to chant.
Before it could escape her with her magic she ceased hold of that fraying edge to reality, and tugged at it, and forced it viciously apart.
A small portal was made. Another rift between worlds, incredibly temporary and with a single fixed and unpredictable destination. But it was there all the same, for Selene to use.
And use it she would.
Selene dropped her arms again and straightened up, standing tall. She glanced back at the palace behind her, to the unfamiliar Asgardian sky.
Not the right universe that she was seeking. Not the home to the right Loki, the object of her intended revenge.
But many worlds were connected somehow, strung out along a line. And the parallel life forces of the same beings who existed simultaneously in different dimensions were connected too. Tenuously, in a way that was hard to master, hard to see. But connected all the same, in a way that could be used to one’s advantage.
Selene would kill and kill again. And each time, she would use that connection across worlds to let her go onto the next. And the next. And the next. Until she got it right.
Glancing down she took one last dispassionate gaze at the dead Loki that lay, blood-soaked and maimed, at her feet.
“One down,” she murmured. And then quickly stepping forward she crept inside and jumped through the waiting portal.
“…Who knows how many left to go.”
LINK TO SECOND CHAPTER