Two months after I got the prompt, I finally finished @shine-of-asgard‘s fic from my 666-follower giveaway. Jeezy Chreezy.
Thor
and his companions made camp on the glacier. They ate from the travel rations
they had packed because there was no hunting or forage to speak of. The sun
scarcely seemed to dip below the horizon for an hour, and it never truly grew
dark. Thor’s friends seemed to be able to sleep, shielded from the unrelenting
light by the thick fabric of their tent, but Thor could not.
He
left Volstagg’s snoring and Sif’s quiet nonsensical muttering and sat alone on
a fur blanket on the snow-covered ice, watching the sky slowly change from light
blue tinged with pink at the horizon to a deepening lilac. As the sky darkened,
a ribbon of acid-green light became visible, like a great serpent wrapped
around the Earth. Thor remembered this from his visits to Midgard in his youth:
the Northern Lights. He remembered asking Loki if he had cast some sort of
illusion, and Loki had shaken his head, his mouth slightly open in awe, and
said, “No, it’s just the sky.”
The
sun was well above the horizon again when his friends emerged from the tent and
began busying themselves with rebuilding the fire. None of them asked Thor
whether he had slept at all, for which he was grateful. After a light
breakfast of toasted waybread and slices of cured meat, they quenched the fire
with snow and headed toward the cluster of black tents where Coulson’s
comrades—the “agents of Shield,” he had called them—had made camp.
They
met Coulson and a few of his black-clad agents partway between their two camps.
“Loki has agreed to meet with you,” Coulson said. “I’ll escort you to the Jötun
encampment.”
“Just
‘Loki’?” Volstagg asked, sarcastic. “Not ‘King Loki’? ‘Emperor Loki’?”
Coulson
frowned at him. “He didn’t specify a title. He did specify that he wanted to
talk to Thor only, without his… ‘lackeys’ was the word he used.”
“Do
you think we’re stupid enough to leave our prince alone with that snake?” Sif
demanded.
Coulson
raised his eyebrows. “They won’t be alone. I have two of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best
agents monitoring the Jötnar constantly, and I’ll stay nearby, along with
Agents Triplett and Mackenzie.” He gestured to the imposing men who flanked
him. The larger one nodded in greeting; the slimmer one smiled and gave a
little wave.
“I’ll
be fine, Sif,” Thor said. “Loki will not harm me.” He wished he believed that,
aside from the presence of the human warriors. Not that they could truly stop
Loki and his Jötun soldiers if he wanted to hurt Thor; but Loki was playing
some longer game, and would not wish to endanger his truce with the humans.
Thor
followed Coulson and his agents toward the coast, where the glacier seemed to
pour between gray stone cliffs, stopping just short of the sea. The Jötnar had
made crude shelters of ice—though perhaps they did not need much in the way of
shelter—and laid down furs in the lees they formed from the wind. Some had been
sitting on these furs, talking or perhaps playing games with rune-stones, but
stood when they saw Thor approaching with Coulson.
Loki
was impossible to miss. He was flanked by two giants of normal height, but
stood between them as proudly is if he were half again their height rather than
scarcely half of it. Thor’s fear that he would be unable to recognize Loki by
anything but his height turned out not to be entirely justified: though his
features were hard to make out when carved from lapis rather than marble, Thor
recognized his posture and the cut of his hair, which he had not shaved in the
custom of his Jötun compatriots, but had adorned with a simple circlet of the
pale jade that the Jötnar favored for jewelry and armor. Nor did he, who in
Asgard had always covered himself from neck to wrist, wear the loincloth
customary among Frost Giants; instead he wore a tunic of soft gray hide that
came to his knees, with a collar high on his chest and a belt around his waist
ornately carved of the same jade.
“Prince
Thor of Asgard,” Loki greeted him, very formally; then, turning to his escort,
“Agent Coulson.” His careful, correct tone never changed, nor did his
calculating scarlet gaze.
“Prince
Loki,” Coulson replied, just as polite. “How have you been getting along with
Agents Romanoff and Barton?” At that, a red-haired Midgardian woman in black
looked up from where she was sitting, playing at rune-stones with one of the
Jötnar, and waved.
“They
have been fine guests,” Loki said. “Agent Romanoff has quite taken to our games
of strategy. Barton is less proficient, but has been learning to throw blades
made of ice.”
Thor,
finding this ritual small talk maddening, bulled his way through it. “Loki, brother,
why have you done this?”
Loki
turned that cold gaze back on him, and did something flicker beneath the ice,
or was it only contempt? “Done what, precisely?”
“All
of it!”
Loki’s
eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, and Thor could see his moody,
condescending brother beneath the veneer of diplomatic calm. “All of it? Well,
I took the Casket from Odin because he had no right to it; I returned it to
Jötunheim because the realm was dying without it. I killed Laufey because he
tried to kill me and showed no remorse. I waged war against Asgard because it
has waged unjust war against all of the realms in its dominion. I came here
because… because Jötunheim still has no place for those like me. I will make a home
here for those who have no place in Jötunheim—those born small; those
dispossessed by the war, or left homeless by the latest attack from Asgard. Our attack.” He stopped; his voice had
been rising, his breath quickening, and he needed to collect himself. Loki
could never let himself be seen losing control of his emotions.
“Your
home is in Asgard, not here—not this frozen wasteland, in this backward realm.”
Loki
flicked his eyes over to Coulson, who had backed away to stand at a polite
distance, and murmured, “Don’t let our good host hear you. And yes, it is all
that, but… a little corner of it can be mine, to shape and cultivate as I wish.
There is nothing for me in Asgard.”
“That
is not true, Loki. You have a family that loves you.”
Loki
raised his eyebrows in a show of cool skepticism; Thor was unsure whether the
disgusted twist of his mouth was voluntary. “Yes, I’m sure Odin All-Father’s
demand to ‘turn over the traitor Loki Laufeyson’ was only so that he could show
me how much he loves me, name change notwithstanding.”
Thor
flinched, but refused to be put off so easily. “He is very angry with you, but
that does not mean he no longer loves you.”
“No,
indeed. ‘No longer’ presupposes that he once loved me.”
“Of
course he did, and does,” Thor protested, but Odin’s brittle voice echoed in
his head: “Blood will out. The boy was always
a liar and a sneak.” “He was angry enough to cast me out—you saw it—but he
has welcomed me back.”
“Yes,
because he needed his true son to vanquish the false one… and because you
suddenly seemed a model of loyal obedience once he saw what real rebellion was.”
Thor
shook his head; this was going nowhere. “Loki, please, come home. Mother has
not been herself…”
“Then
perhaps she should have come to treat with me, as invited. But instead Odin
sent you—I think not as a peace envoy.”
“No,
but… Loki, I do not wish to fight. You are my brother; nothing can change that.
I want my brother at my side again.”
“Ah,
there we are. After all the deflection—‘Mother’ this, ‘Father’ that—at last you
speak for yourself.”
Thor’s
anger flared at that—but part of what fueled his anger was the knowledge that
Loki was right. So he quashed it and said, “I speak only for myself when I say:
you have a brother who loves you.”
At
last a hint of softness came into those strange yet wholly familiar red eyes.
But they quickly hardened again and Loki said with a bitter laugh, “Of course
you’d only get around to showing it when you saw there was a real chance you
wouldn’t have me at your back anymore. That’s quite the improvement from ‘Some
do battle, others just do tricks’ and ‘Know your place, brother.’”
Shame
burned in Thor’s gut to hear his own words thrown back at him. “I’m no longer
the reckless, arrogant boy who took all his blessings for granted. I’ve
changed.”
Loki laughed again, ironic and pitying. “And so have
I. I’ve learned a great deal about myself, not least of which is this: I’d
rather rule in Hel than serve in Valhalla.”


