Chapter Text
Chapter Seventeen
Bucky didn’t scare easy; his stellar 50 year career as Winter Soldier should be sufficient proof, yet the sight of his boss, mangled and broken, nearly made him lose his shit and plagued him with paralysing fear as if the noxious reaction had been directly injected into his veins.
Ever since Williams wrested him from the control of Department X, he had only ever known his boss as Lachlan Williams or the Gatekeeper. Of course, there had been some other choice names from competitors and hindrances he had steamrolled over to establish his monopoly as earth’s sole traffic warden, and none of that was flattering, but no one had ever addressed him as Loki. In fact, no one had ever hinted that his boss was some freaking Norse god and brother of big-blond-and-intimidating. He didn’t look like them to start off with, no beach bod and all, and never identified himself as Loki (Bucky thought that if it was Boss’ real name, his closest confidante, Fenrir, would always call him by such) and he certainly fell off no bridge two years ago. Although Bucky didn’t live with the Boss at his apartment or Tower, with Williams’ full schedule, running interference for Oberon, administering and maintaining the ever burgeoning network of shadow highways and rest-stops for the dark elves, and shipping people in from Jotunheim and Nidavellir, he wouldn’t have had had time to also moonlight as the second prince of Asgard.
No, Williams definitely could not be Loki of Asgard. But that thing Steve picked up at the Hydra base looked just like him, and worse, that thing looked like it had been there for a long time.
Bucky gulped as he handled the phone receive, and the polymer casing began to crack under the pressure of his grip. The muscle memory in his fingers dialled Boss’ number, and he tried to focus on the dial tone above the roar of the rush of blood pounding in his brain.
He almost sobbed with irrational relief when he heard the Boss’ voice. Boss dominated space and time like it was his personal playground and slapped kings of realms around just because they were pricks and deserved it. Boss could never be captured and dissected by Hydra goons.
“Barnes, where have you been?”
There was the sound of metal being hammered into place above the low whines of Fenrir in the background.
“Boss, is now a good time to talk?” That was their code for this call is being recorded so watch what you’re saying.
Williams gave an impatient harrumph which was followed by a short burst of static, and then the line was crystal clear again. “Speak freely. I need you at the Tower in thirty minutes.”
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to deal with one thing at a time so that the torrent of questions he had for his boss didn’t just come gushing out in one incomprehensible tidal wave. “I can’t. I’m on a SHIELD helicarrier and it’ll be another three hours at least before we dock at the Triskelion.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Barnes sucked his bottom lip on hearing his boss’ foot stomp. “What on earth are you doing? Has your cover been blown?”
“No,” he hissed, making sure his back was turned to the surveillance cameras so that they couldn’t try to read his lips later. “I’m here as James Barnes. Steve went missing you see, I went looking for him – ”
“So you played at being an Avenger with America, huh?”
“Absolutely not!” Bucky was desperate to reassure. There was an unbearable pressure building up behind his eyeballs and he felt a trickle of sweat slide down the side of his cheek. His grip on the receiver tightened still until bits of plastic came away in his hand. “Look Boss, I just came from a Hydra base where Mal and his darkies were being held captive with a couple of dwarves and a walking flamethrower. There was also another person. Another you! I swear to god, he had your face and everyone’s now calling him Loki, another prince of Asgard, and shitting themselves thinking Thor’s going to end the world. Are you Loki? Are you his evil twin no one talks about?”
“Barnes, calm down, you’re hyperventilating.”
“How can I calm down? I just saw you as someone’s Frankenstein, and you know how much I hate human experimentation. Makes me see not just red, but my hands itch to make them scream and scream and scream so they know what it’s like to be poked and prodded and –”
“James, that’s Plan B.”
The world started to spin and Bucky slid down to the floor, his back to the cold unyielding metal wall and clutched at the receiver like a lifeline. “This is making no sense, Boss. You can’t be Loki because that guy didn’t die until only two years ago and you’ve been on earth all this time. And how does making Thor upset help us in any way?”
“Soldier, if everyone is worrying about stopping Thor from cracking earth open like an egg, they’re not trying too hard to look for me, are they?”
Bucky was stunned. “That’s it? You riled up a god, spat in his eye, fucked his tender emotions and put this planet in the bloody firing line just to throw SHIELD off your trail?”
“My, my James, you sound upset.”
“Course I’m bloody upset! I happen to live on earth!”
“Don’t worry about Thor,” Williams cut him off sharply. “He will take my doppelganger back to Asgard and won’t be coming back too soon. Without him sticking around, our biggest worry is the Hulk, and he’s a green imbecile with a 50-word vocab range that Fenrir can outsmart in five minutes.”
Bucky was ready to explode at the sheer idiotic rationale. He clambered back onto his feet and almost yelled down the line, “Thor’s not going anywhere in a hurry!”
“What do you mean? The Asgardians will just beam him back to his realm like they did with Scotty – ”
“They can’t beam him up like Scotty because the bifrost is apparently going to tear him apart!”
Williams made another sound of irritation like he was trying to teach Bucky very simple, basic trick that you could teach a toddler, and he just wasn’t getting it. “Really, Barnes, it’s not multi spell class specialising. They’ll send healers from Asgard to patch him up so he’s well enough to travel and then the Thunderer and She-ra will be out of our hair.”
It was Bucky’s turn to be annoyed. The words nearly tripped over each other as he rapidly explained, “No one’s coming from Asgard, no, correction, no one is allowed to come from Asgard. The King sent a freaky pre-recorded message saying this Loki guy was a traitor, tried to kill his brother, tried to start a war, and the councillors are not only stopping the doctors from helping, even their frigging queen can’t come or else people are going to rebel or some shit... Boss…boss…hey boss, are you still there?”
Bucky held his breath, horrified that the line had gone dead, but then a low, hollow chuckle began to build until he couldn’t tell whether Williams was laughing or crying. “Oh, this is so bloody rich. Even on the brink of death, they still want to fuck me over, those pernicious, petty little cunts. They’re upset with pixie dust? I’ll flood them with pop teen sensations and pre-pubescent boy-bands and their catchy girl power anthems and break-up tunes.”
“You wouldn’t!” Bucky gasped, appalled.
“Perhaps I’ll finally unleash Miley Cyrus and her Wrecking Ball!”
“Have some mercy, boss!”
“No, she’s too good for them. They deserve Justin Bieber, who’ll corrupt all their youth into rabid Beliebers!”
“Lachie-boy, you said you wouldn’t wish him on your worst enemy!”
“And Five Seconds of Summer without their auto-tune!”
“The inhumanity!” Fenrir howled in the background. “Oh gods, the inhumanity!”
“Whoah, boss! Breathe! Just breathe! Fen, you there? Do something!”
Explosions went off in the background, glass shattered, metal creaked and groaned and shelves laden with tomes crashed to the ground. Above it all, Fenrir yipped and whined, and Bucky could just imagine the great wolf sticking his cold nose at Williams’ face, switching between licking and burrowing his head into Williams’ chest.
“Lachie-boy, don’t be angry. Tummy rub? Wanna give me a tummy rub?”
“That place is cursed! I can’t trust those half-wits to ever get anything right! Burn! Let it all burn! I’ll see that realm reduced to dust and less than dust and then I’ll sell that dust as kitty litter for cats to piss and shit in, see how they like that!!”
“Lachie-boy, don’t cry. Don’t cry. I love you. I love you. I love you. Wanna pat my head? Tummy rub?”
“Oh, Fen,” Boss sighed, and sounds of minor pandemonium died down, most likely because judging by the soft contented rumblings, Fenrir was having his tummy rubbed.
Bucky released a long, shuddering breath he forgot he was holding. “Boss,” he tentatively ventured, “you…you gonna be all right? Want me to go shake down some of these Asgardian earls and bigwigs with extreme prejudice and my biggest fuck-off grenade launcher?”
There was another period of silence, punctuated by the intermittent thump of Fenrir’s wagging tail hitting the floor reminding Barnes that his boss had not hung up on him. “I’m fine,” Williams eventually replied, voice wooden and flat. “It’s just been a stressful day with people banging on my door demanding this and that like I owe them money. Did you say Mal’s with you on the helicarrier?”
“Uh, yes sir, he is.”
“Good. We can still patch this up, but I’m going to need you to play your part. Now listen carefully, here’s what you’ve got to do.”
~*~*~*~*~
Rogers may have disproved of her methods, but Danvers knew she made the right call. Based on every stereotype of dwarves Jarvis could source off the internet, she settled with the strategy of using Tony to befriend the stout folk with booze. Good booze. Fury’s best. Anything to get a permanent rise in his blood pressure. Plus, all dwarves loved drink, right? And they didn’t seem to be the type to take humans in sharp, form-fitting suits all that seriously, if their own fashion sense was anything to go by.
It was unfortunate Sif overheard Tony’s epiphany through the earpiece, although Danvers could sympathise with the Warrior Princess’ sentiments. After all, they were here on earth to conduct their own recon of the Gatekeeper after a number of their own overdosed on drugs now running rampant throughout the realms. The universe smells a bit better each time a drug smuggler is shot; pegging one as a hero may provoke extreme reactions.
Danvers watched Black Widow’s interrogation of the dark elves through the monitor, and would have liked to have paid greater attention but for the cozy blanket of apathy that had cocooned itself around her mind and increasingly muffled out the orders that Fury was giving. Give the man some credit, he was a duck in water when it came to matters of international security and keeping a lid on things, but for the sake of all that was precious and holy, keep that man far, far away from intergalactic relations as much as possible. She was the one who induced Ceroden to talk when Widow’s Red Room interrogation methods got nothing more than a yawn out of the dark elf. She was the one got the dwarves to spill their life story and manifesto in minutes by instructing Stark to play the bumbling idiot and playing him off against the straight and narrow Captain America.
Widow’s interrogation with two of Malvavan’s younger sergeants was yielding a great big fat nada, and Fury became increasingly agitated with the lack of results. He wasn’t interested in dwarven politics, you see, or global freezing on Jotunheim, and spurned everything that was not direct intel on the Gatekeeper. Well would you look at that, one of the dark elves just yawned.
Danvers bet she could get the dark elves to talk; about their origins and upbringing, their trade, their creed hand what they liked about earth. What Fury couldn’t see was that, somewhere entwined in the struggles and aspirations of these people, the Gatekeeper had a part to play, and how his actions have intentionally or otherwise influenced and shaped the destiny of these aliens said so much more to Danvers than direct answers to who he is, what can he do, and what does he want.
People don’t rebel for no good reason. They don’t risk their lives to make a jump light-years across the universe into a stranger’s realm for something that wasn’t worth so much more. Danvers bet there was a story to the dark elves as well, but Widow wasn’t angling for it in the interview, and Fury would have tossed it onto the heap deemed ‘irrelevant scrap’ in any event. What a wasted opportunity.
She made some weak excuse to leave the interrogation, and headed towards the entertainment room because that’s where Hawkeye hid the best cookies on the ship.
Danvers gave a tight lipped smile as she passed Jarxanth and pointed towards the cookie jar, signalling her non-threatening intent. Never once did he tense or display even a flicker of anxiety as she plucked the largest choc chip cookie out of the jar and slotted a pod into the Nespresso machine for a cup of wake-me-up. She cocked her head as he blatantly studied her with serene calm, and decided, what the heck, he’s a kid, she could have a casual conversation with him. What harm could that possibly do?
“We don’t know much about the Nine Realms, only what little Thor has told us, but I take it you’re somewhere up there on top of the cosmic food chain?”
Jarxanth blinked. His gold and copper hair swayed gently like wheat field being consumed by fire, and the thermostat suddenly shot up ten degrees. Danvers began to sweat.
“I too have little knowledge of Midgardians.” She had to strain to catch the soft voice but dared not step closer. “The Gatekeeper had suggested to my uncle that Midgard would be a good realm to take refuge. He tells me that humans believed fire was a gift from the gods and that we would be welcomed.”
Feeling a little weak in the knees, Carol leaned back against the kitchen bench, and played it cool by taking a sip of her coffee before responding. “Fire has indeed been integral in our history, and was one of our earliest discoveries. Fire gave us light and heat, fire cooked our food, fire helped us create weapons, fire helped us build civilization. None of us would be here today if we didn’t discover fire.”
Jarxanth’s smile widened a fraction. “A gift from the gods,” he repeated, and Carol detected a note of pleasure. “So the Gatekeeper has chosen well for us. But those other Midgardians, the ones who abducted me and warded my powers, who were they?”
“They’re an organisation known as HYDRA. Bad men, poisoned by bad ideas. Please don’t think all humans are like that.”
“Are there more of them?”
Danvers blanched at the crackle in the elemental’s voice, like overheated rock splitting apart. She wiped the sweat off her brow and noticed that the oxygen in the room was thinning out because there was a fire somewhere that was burning it faster than it could be replaced, and holy, was that wisps of smoke emanating from his hair?
“Yes,” she swallowed, hard, and it was painful when her throat was dry like the Sahara. “They have this saying; cut off one head, and two more will take its place.”
“I know hydras,” Jarxanth said archly, every inch the princeling he claimed to be. “They know to steer clear of us, because no heads can regrow where we have seared the wounds shut. Once my brothers and sisters arrive, we will repay Midgard’s hospitality by cleansing it of this filth.”
Oookay, Danvers, maybe talking to the kid wasn’t your finest moment. Now how do you tell Fury that you’ve accidentally started a blood feud between Hydra and the fire elementals? Yes, neo-fascists are evil, but they should be imprisoned, not spit-roasted.
“Um, hey, Ms Marvel, you got a minute?”
“Yes! I have plenty of minutes!” she prayed her desperation to get out of there wasn’t so obvious, and she clung to whatever life-saver was thrown her way and redirected all her attention on Barnes, who inclined his head into the hallway. Danvers internally whooped with joy as she broke into a near run for the door.
When Barnes detected that Jarxanth had turned the entertainment room into a sauna, he pursed his lips and deliberated on whether to comment. “Yo, buddy, you got everything you need? Anything I can get you?”
“No, I am all right. Perhaps I was becoming passionate. I see that human have a low tolerance for heat.”
“That’s about right. Now are you going to be ok getting home after we land? I could give you a lift.”
A sudden spike in temperature turned the room into an inferno and the plastic coverings on the chairs began to slowly drip and run. “You are well mannered and considerate. I will commend your services to the Gatekeeper, but I will be capable of returning to my domicile by myself.”
Barnes hastily nodded and slammed the door shut, wiping the sweat off his brow and raking a hand into his hair to push it out of his face. For a man who met aliens for the first time today, he seemed to be taking it all within his stride.
Now that Danvers wasn’t fretting about being cooked alive and put aside the impending genocide of HYDRA for the moment, she drank in Barnes’s visage as she took her time to get her breath back and liked everything she saw. He was in that glorious period of life in his mid-twenties where his body was at peak conditioning and there was still enough youth left to fuel fantastic adventures and dreams. The cobalt hue of his eyes was mesmerising and his shy boyish grin made her want to pinch his cheeks. The spare set of sweats he’d pulled on was half a size too small, thereby clinging to every chiselled inch of his upper body and captured every ripple of muscle as he moved. As for the slacks, they fit Barnes like sin, and if she surreptitiously craned her neck…sweet Jesus, the soft material moulded around those tight, perfect, round cheeks…
“Damn, Barnes, if you weren’t Cap’s boyfriend, I would seriously ask you out on a date,” she purred, smiling prettily at him, and feeling her smile split wider as a flush so handsomely spread across the cheeks. She could just spend the whole day looking at him.
He was making all sorts of protests and denials when she found some kindness to put him out of his embarrassed misery by returning to his original topic at hand. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”
He rubbed the back of his head, unable to make eye contact, and Danvers didn’t blame him; try as she might, she was probably still perving at him with bedroom eyes like Samantha from Sex and the City. “It’s…er…two things actually. Mr Williams, I spoke to him just now, and he said he’s got some emergency business back in London that he’s gotta take care of and he’s flying out tonight, and he’s wondering whether you could dog-sit RiRi for the next two weeks or so.”
Barnes carefully lifted his gaze back towards her to judge any negative reaction, and he breathed out in relief when she didn’t vigorously object. “I’d love to, James, but with all that’s going on, Loki and the extinction of the human race, I don’t know if I’ll have time.”
“I’ll walk him!” he offered straight away. “He’s a quiet dog. You can just let him mope about the Avengers Mansion, and I’ll take him out every day for walks so Jarvis doesn’t end up having to clean after him. Please. I’d take him, but I’m just crashing at Steve’s pad and I think building management said no pets – ”
Poor boy was almost distraught, and it made her almost want to mother him. “It’s ok, James. I’ll take RiRi. And I do appreciate your offer to walk her.”
Danvers did hope that Barnes would hug and kiss her in gratitude, but alas, that was just modest wishful thinking and instead, she was rewarded with a smile that could charm the pants off any woman, which was just as good. Why didn’t she have her phone with her so she could capture this moment forever?
“And what’s the second thing I can help you with?” she asked, and again, modestly hoped it may have been somewhere along the lines of can you help me out of this shirt? Can you give me a back massage? Can you perhaps cuddle me to sleep?
Barnes had worked up the courage to make his second request when Steve strode down the corridor, as if he had been looking for Barnes. Yup. The way Steve’s focus zeroed in on James as if Carol didn’t exist confirmed it all. The way Steve almost licked his lips as his eyes raked up and down Barnes’ body and mentally stripped him bare was just to sickeningly sweet that Danvers reminded herself to check her blood-sugar levels later to make sure she didn’t just get diabetes.
Cap’s steps quickened and Barnes gravitated towards him until they stood facing each other with no respect for their personal spaces. Cap frowned when he noticed the steri strips over a laceration just under Barnes’ hairline above his left eye and reached out to cup the face with one hand and sweep the hair back with the other so he could inspect the wound more closely.
Danvers wondered whether the two men realised their lips were only a centimetre or two apart, and clobbered back the unprofessional urge to yell out get a room.
“You sure you don’t want the doc to take a look at that?”
“It’s nothing serious. Just a few harmless scrapes and bruises here and there. I’ll get my mechanic to look at the arm later.”
Steve’s hands dropped to Barnes’ shoulders in a solid, grounding grip which coaxed another one of those shy grins meant only for Steve, and Carol had to break up this saccharine performance before clothes did start flying off right in the middle of the corridor.
She coughed to distract Barnes from his reverie, and then crossed her arms and looked expectantly at him.
“Oh, yeah,” he flustered, as though realising only just now that Carol had front-row seats to Steve being handsy and touchy with him, and Barnes absolutely letting him do it. “Um…how do I put this without sounding weird? You know that...Loki guy?”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“He…I don’t know if you noticed it, but…he freaked me out big time.”
“He’s been horrifically abused,” Steve jumped in to comfort his boy-toy before Carol could even open her mouth. “Anyone seeing a person like that should be appalled.”
“Not like that. Well yes, that…but Ms Marvel, I thought that Loki guy was Mr Williams for a moment and…I mean, you gotta admit it, there’s a spooky resemblance, almost like they could be brothers or something.”
“Lachie?” Danvers echoed, not having drawn any comparisons herself, but was now admittedly curious.
“I mean I don’t mean to gawk or anything…but could I just take one more look at that guy and convince myself it’s not Mr Williams lying half dead in there? Also, I heard what Thor’s servant said and all that and…just wanted to offer him my condolences so you know…he doesn’t hate us all and smash us to rubble.”
“I think that’s an incredibly compassionate thing to do, and I’m just heading to the medic bay myself. Come on, I’ll show you the way.”
Steve’s hand snaked around and settled comfortably on Barnes’ shoulder as he steered them away, and though Carol should be irked that Steve hijacked the conversation and had the privilege to feel up Barnes, she had no complaints about being given the opportunity to savour and burn the image of Barnes’ pert, perky ass-cheeks in her mind as she trailed behind them.
~*~*~*~*~
Banner had taken over Loki’s care in the medic bay and operated a stripped down version of the Regeneration Cradle as Dr Cho looked on and gave a stream of instructions through the monitor. She was already at the Triskellion with her team of scientists, ready to receive Loki as soon as they arrived. For the time being, the nano-molecular technologies were able to pick up enough of a reading on Loki’s cellular make-up and began targeted tissue replication to repair organs which Banner believed were damaged the most.
Thor was forced to sit some distance away from the machines, flanked by Sif and Amora, and none of them acknowledged their arrival as they sidled up to Janet and Hank, who were busy running trace and obscure energy signatures from Loki to see if they could synthesise another magical core.
There were dark bags under Janet’s eyes, but she still gave them silent wave in greeting. Then she went statue-still and stared at Barnes in his tight t-shirt, and Danvers could totally sympathise.
“The condition is critical, but at least it’s stable,” Hank informed them in a whisper just a hair above mute. “If there is no deterioration, I don’t think there’s any immediate risk of death. We might have bought ourselves a few more hours, a day or so?”
“Anymore holograms from Asgard?” Carol enquired. “News there will be a medical evac crew coming?”
“If only,” Janet grumbled. “It’s been radio-silence ever since Heimdall’s message to us in the quinjet.”
Meanwhile, Barnes had taken some halting steps towards the cradle and studied the expressionless face that could pass off as an embalmed corpse ready for burial. Now that he mentioned it, there were quite a number of similarities between Loki and Lachie; the prominent cheekbones, tapered chin, wide forehead and hawkish nose all set on delicate fair skin. No wonder the kid got a fright the first time he saw Loki.
“A prince of Asgard is not a spectacle for mortals to gape over!” Sif shot out of her seat and stalked towards Barnes, gripping him by the front of his shirt and would have thrown him across the room had not Steve pulled her back.
“I meant no disrespect, ma’am. Your prince just reminded me a lot of my boss, that’s all,” Barnes choked.
“Your boss?”
“My ballroom dance partner,” Carol said coolly, and put herself between Sif and Barnes. The Valkyrie had already punched out one Avenger today. She wasn’t going to put another one down.
“I mean, this is real sad,” Barnes spoke up with big baby blues overflowing with contrition that it sapped Sif of her outrage. “You find your prince two years after you thought he died, and now he’s badly injured, and his parents can’t even come to earth to see him because your people won’t let them.”
“See him…Freya’s pearls, why didn’t I think of it earlier?” Amora exclaimed with a large dose of self-chastisement. “See. Of course! I need a mirror, a large one. Quick!”
Still not comprehending what realization had struck Amora, Hank fished out Janet’s compact mirror from her purse, sprinkled a few pym particles on it until it was as tall as he was and manoeuvred it next to the cradle. Amora immediately set to work, etching symbols into the metal frame with a scalpel while muttering incantations under the breath. She then nicked the tip of her index finger with the keen blade until blood was running freely and traced a complicated rune on the surface of the mirror.
The moment she settled her palm on the bloody sigil, their reflections gave way to a darkness illuminated by coloured lights that danced and swirled like the formation the Milky Way before another image, a room embellished in gold, began to flicker into existence.
Amora screamed in ear-splitting pain as sickly red arcs of lightening jumped from the mirror surface, lanced up her naked forearms and sizzled till the room smelled faintly of burning flesh. “My Queen!” she gasped, refusing to retract her palm from the rune even as another barrage of electricity from the silver surface and left long, ugly red-purple cuts that split apart skin and muscle until the ivory of bone was visible. Globs of crimson, a mix of blood and meat, splattered thickly onto the sterile floor. “My Queen, I am with Prince Thor and Loki. Please….please remove your magical barriers.”
Sif held up Amora as the enchantress’ knees buckled. The defensive spells which the queen of Asgard had installed to kick out spies and peeping toms chewed up what was left of Amora’s right arm, and black, charred skin began to peel and flake, but never did it look like Amora was tempted to break contact with the rune. After what seemed like eternity, the mirror surface rippled and suddenly, there was the All Mother herself, looking back at them all.
The title of All Mother conjured images of a middle-aged female, regal and refined, radiating waves of nurture and care as befit the mother of all things. The Queen of Asgard did not live up to that image, and appeared to have been faring poorly. Her hair hung down in loose, tangled braids that had not been tended to all day. Her palour was grey, eyes red and puffy and her tears, long dried, had left streaks in her foundation.
“Amora? Sif?” the queen’s voice was hoarse, on the verge of breaking after what must have been hours of shouting and crying. “Is Thor there? Loki?”
“Mother! We are here, on a Midgardian aircraft. Loki is alive. He is alive!” Thor exclaimed.
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks following a ragged, raw cry of pained delight, and she hastily mopped the wetness away with the back of her sleeve. “Let me see, let me see.”
They adjusted the mirror so it was facing Loki. The rags they had found him in were replaced by clean white scrubs that concealed the most devastating of disfigurements. They were able to remove some of the dyed surgical markings which had been drawn down the side of his face and up the top of his skull, but two hours in the cradle had done little to erase the undeniable signs of torture and experimentation, and the lines of scars showing where scientists had repeatedly cut to remove the flaps of skin to bore holes through Loki’s skull.
The All Mother let loose a wail of grief at having seen something no mother should have to see, and Carol dipped her head low in shame at the atrocities that her kind were capable of inflicting.
“My poor baby,” Frigga mourned, pushing her strained voice to the limit. “Let me get your father. Keep the channel open.”
Still propped up by Sif, Amora gave a weak nod and gestured elaborately with other, undamaged hand whenever the image on the other side of the image wavered.
Odin’s stunned silence was equally devastating as Frigga’s cries of agony. The two gods, looking down-trodden and weary like any old couple helpless to do anything for their child, huddled to view their lost son from the other side of a mirror millions of light years away when their most desperate desire was to touch and hold their children.
“Your Majesty,” Carol said, daring herself to hold the one-eyed god’s gaze. “Is there absolutely nothing you can do?”
“I have all my scribes reviewing every single case in the archives for a precedent which may overturn the Security Council’s decree. Farnarr is speaking individually to the earls to shore up our numbers.”
“I’ve sent word to Hogan. He is headed to the Observatory and Heimdall has been instructed to deliver him to the Avengers Mansion.”
Odin regarded his wife, horrified. “Frigga, what have you done?”
The All Mother tried to still her trembling and the hand clutching her handkerchief was white knuckled. “Thor has done no wrong, and Hogan is being sent to Midgard to offer support to his prince in his time of need,” she declared, then in a quieter voice, added, “and he’s taking some of our most powerful rejuvenation potions as a precaution in case he encounters…bilgesnipes in Midgard.”
Odin planted a wet one on his missus’ cheek. “Oh Frigga, my cunning queen, at least one of us has kept their head during these dark times.”
“Your majesty, I am afraid those potions will have no effect,” Amora spat out in anguish. “The humans have plundered Loki’s seidr. There is no magic left in Loki to activate the properties of any healing potion.”
The King and Queen’s silence was a crushing weight that bought the doom of earth one step closer to reality. Barnes gave a polite cough and kept his head respectfully bowed. “Really? Are you sure you don’t have any other potions that don’t require the recipient to know magic? Sounds awfully limiting.”
“Quiet, you insignificant insect!” Amora hissed. She would have bore down on him like Sif had done had not the All Mother’s security spells half killed her. “What would some pathetic, short-lived mortal know about…know about…”
“What is it?” Sif urgently asked, holding Amora up a little higher and closer to her.
Blinking like an owl in daylight, Amora grasped Sif’s hand and her pink lips stammered, “There is a formula for a powerful restorative potion. It will put Loki back together so that he will be well enough to travel the Bifrost when His Majesty has convinced the council to reverse their decision, and then he can have the care and attention of the masters of the healing arts back on Asgard.”
Sif swallowed, and she looked like she dared to hope. “How soon can you gather all the ingredients?”
There was a flash of realization and panic in Amora’s eyes as she realised she had offered something that she could not deliver, not with time against her.
“You’re looking to brew Nestarion’s Elixir?”
Carol nearly had a heart attack.
Malvavan was suddenly among them, standing tall and proud in his tattered black robes like an unwelcome shadow that stalked you in the labyrinths constructed by your subconscious to stow away your terrors. The King of Beggars bowed, low and insulting, at the King and Queen of Asgard. It wouldn’t be until much later, when they studied all the footage, that Carol learned that dark elven magic included camouflage on par with military grade cloaking devices which took them off radar until such time as they removed the camouflage.
Amora recoiled, stung, and she failed to conceal her desperation as she tried to address the dark elf in her most authoritative snarl. “What do you know of it?”
Malvavan chuckled, unperturbed by all the attention that was suddenly heaped on him. “Darling, what do you think I do? Who do you think I have connections with? The Light Elves and dwarves are waging civil war; I help source components for their medical supplies too.”
Odin’s face dominated the mirror. “What is a Dokkalfar doing amongst Midgardians? Who are you?”
Malvavan’s smile was sharklike and tainted with eager malice. “Just someone who would offer aid, your majesty, in return for your goodwill,” he said smugly with another small bow.
Suspicion stole across the fragile hope that had begun to buoy in the two Asgardian females. Amora was back in her element, her confidence bolstered by her belief that her knowledge of the arcane was greater than the smuggler. “As if there are any skilled practitioners amongst the ranks of the rebel trash,” she sneered the last two words. “There are only a handful of alchemists in all nine realms with the gift and subtlety of touch to concoct this elixir.”
This got Carol’s attention. “Are we talking like an instant healing serum or something?”
“Short of raising the dead, Nestarion’s Elixir can cure any ill.”
Malvavan snorted. “And as if a witch like you who has only been around for eight hundred years would even know where to begin. So you managed to get your hands on a copy of the formula; are you certain it is not some hackneyed forgery? Do you have the skill to put it together? Did you know that that the ingredients have to be stirred, thrice clockwise and seven times anti-clockwise under the eclipse bought about by the alignment of all the planets in this solar system?”
Amora’s nostrils flared. She was psyching herself up to tear Malvavan a new one until Sif, in full Valkyrie mode with a harsh glare and an even harsher scowl, took up the baton change. “Amora is an extremely talented enchantress. Do not underestimate her abilities.”
Janet caught Carol rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath, “First they want to gouge out each other’s eyes, and now they’re besties.” Then, raising her voice to address the two Asgardian females, “Hey, honey, Tony has got advanced labs back at Start Tower. Whatever you need, I am sure he is more than happy to provide. SHIELD will also offer whatever facilities or equipment you might also need,” Danvers added. Now was the time for humans to play the good guys, prove they weren’t a bunch of murderous dickbags that ripped open aliens and prodded them with needles and god knows what in the name of science.
Malvavan tsked, shaking his head in condescension and pity at their naivety. “Ambition is not a bad thing, but that’s all it is, ambition. Have you even seen a grand master alchemist whip up the elixir and the incredibly high level white magic spells that needs to be woven? You have some art in illusions and charm, enchantress, but this elixir is beyond you.”
“And a bottom dwelling drow like you is in a better position to put it together?”
Malvavan hissed at the insult and bared his yellow teeth and his hand moved to where his weapons once were before they were confiscated by SHIELD when he boarded the ship.
Steve had enough of the bickering. “Settle down!” he barked, a tone of voice he used to use to break up the ruckus and food fights in the mess hall when soldiers were trying to release the tension in between battles during the war. “Name calling helps nobody, least of all Thor and his family. Now, sir,” he addressed the dark elf with an uncompromising tone, letting him know that the time for pointless banter and one upmanship was over. Steve meant business. “By the sounds of it, you know someone who can make this potion?”
Malvavan’s smile was all teeth and no humour. “Maybe.”
“You deal with Oberon, the wood elf lord.”
The cocky self-assuredness in Malvavan’s demeanour was wiped out and in the mirror, they heard Odin’s sharp intake of breath. Intel that Oberon was a wood elf lord must have been news to him too.
“There…there are no such things,” Amora stammered, moving into Steve’s line of vision as if she could divine the truth by being able to study his face. “Wood elf lords passed into legend long before Odin became king of Asgard.”
“Your prince Loki knew one. His name was Othorion, who became his mentor of sorts.”
Amora’s eyes crinkled with disbelief. She turned to Sif, as if to verify Steve’s assertions, and the dark-haired warrior simply closed her eyes and gave a small nod. “It was a long time ago, when he was exiled to Vanaheim. We believe Othorion is the elven rebel king, Oberon.”
Against all expectations, the corners of Amora’s lips stuttered up into a timid, hopeful ruby smile, and relief washed away the tension in her voice. “But that is wonderful news, is it not, my King and Queen? I will beseech Oberon, ask him to show mercy and grant us his aid.”
“Amora,” Odin said, his voice unbearably strained, his one good eye downcast and wet with anguish, “We cannot deal with Oberon. He is a close associate of the Gatekeeper, the harbinger of ruin to all the realms. King Syrnalorn has a bounty on Oberon; if any of us of Asgard were to deal with him, Alfheim will likely consider it a hostile act and it will affect our alliance.”
There was a stunned silence as Amora worked her mouth open and shut a few times, but no sound came out.
“This is unacceptable,” Thor roared, glaring at them all and daring them to overrule him. “Loki’s family! If there’s a way to heal him, we should take it, whatever that might be, and let my hammer deal with any bloody consequences”
Odin pinched the bridge of his nose. His face was stamped with despair and guilt. “Son, there are things beyond us, greater than the individual. At precarious times of chaos, Asgard cannot afford to be seen to – ”
“Hey, this is just an idea, but if Asgard must be seen not to be dealing with this Gatekeeper guy you people keep yapping on about, how about using earth as an intermediary?” James suggested with a shrug and toss of his hands in the air.
Carol caught on straight away, and she could have almost rushed James into a bear hug and kissed him for the genius. “Of course! SWORD will deal with Oberon through the dark elves and pass on the elixir to Thor. That’d work, wouldn’t it?”
Malvavan’s ghostly chortle, softer than the footsteps of an assassin in the dark, put a serious damper on Danver’s rising spirits, but she reigned in her temper and forced herself to hear what the dark elf had to say. “Everyone here assumes I will proffer this legendary potion out of the goodness of my heart. There are two fallacies with that assumption; one, that there is any iota of goodness in me, or two, that I have a heart.”
Thor reared up from Loki’s side, Mjolnir in hand, murder in his eyes. “You would barter with the All Father of the Nine Realms?”
“What better time than now when all circumstances are in my favour?”
“Name your price,” Janet got right to the chase, levelling her ruthless boardroom executive gaze at the dark elf. “Between Stark Industries and Van Dynne Technologies, there isn’t a ransom we can’t afford to pay. So what is it?”
“Ah, that’s the language I want to hear. I am not interested in your coin, Lady Wasp, for I have plenty of my own, but these are my conditions: You will cease all interrogation of my men and the dwarves from this point forward. When we arrive at the Triskelion, we will all be escorted to the Avengers Mansion, where the exchange will occur once we are released. The transaction will be conducted entirely through Ms Marvel, and no SHIELD agents are to be present within a hundred kilometre radius. These terms are non-negotiable.”
Carol didn’t bother consulting with Fury and unilaterally made the decision on behalf of SWORD, with Steve, representing the Avengers, agreeing to the deal. Sure, they were releasing their biggest and most significant capture, the putative leader of dark elf smugglers after a solid year and a half of investigation, but hey, the alternative was Loki dying in the next 48 hours and earth ceasing to exist.
“So, how do you dark elves seal a deal? No sacrificing of any first-borns I hope.”
~*~*~*~*~
“You actually went for Plan B?” Othorion barked as he burst into the apartment, shaking the water out of his umbrella, courtesy of the sudden torrential downpour that had started since midnight and shown no signs of abating, casting a thick, ominous blanket of grey clouds over all of New York City. The elf’s hair was not like its usual sleek silver brocade, having been disturbed by the gale-force winds, and Othorion grimaced as he wrung out the excess water from his clothes and hair.
A sudden clap of thunder sounding as if a timpani had been struck right next to his ear made Lachlan’s heart skip a beat. Fenrir whined and prowled along the length of lounge room, up and down the row of floor to ceiling glass windows, his eyes never leaving the sky.
“Of course I activated Plan B,” Lachlan replied, using that tone as if every reasonable man in his position would have done the same, although judging from Othorion’s aghast look of horror mingled with panic might have suggested no sane man would have touched Plan B with a ten-foot barge pole.
The wood elf lord was not deterred by his nonchalance. “Plan B has every single realm hearing the damned and piteous cries of the Thunderer! The eye of everyone and anyone who matters will be fixed on Midgard. Do you welcome this scrutiny?”
Lachlan drew a deep breath to steady the hands which were frantically loading up his pocket dimension. “Everyone will be focused on the Asgardians,” he corrected, pleased by how even his voice sounded despite the desperate pounding of his own heart in his ears. “Imagine: Loki, second prince of Asgard, found mutilated and crippled two years after his own realm had presumed him dead! It will occupy gossip for the next year, and the Gatekeeper and the Alfheim rebellion will fall away from front page news.”
“If you truly believe that, then I have failed miserably as your mentor. That’s not the naivety that has kept you alive and prospering for the past five centuries.” Othorion’s tongue lashing had only just started, but he stiffened and frowned when he finally noticed Laufey, bound in the body of a long-deceased and nameless mortal girl-child, laying down on the couch and watching re-runs of season two of The Walking Dead. Othorion blinked. “What. Is. That?”
Lachlan did not have the courage to meet his mentor’s accusing glare. Instead, he did one final check of his belongings, and satisfied he had everything he needed to survive a thousand years in a life-sucking blackhole, he snapped his pocket dimension shut. “That’s Laufey, former king of Jotunheim.”
There was a long, tense silence, punctuated only by harsh panting from Fenrir who was feeling the strain of Orthorion’s building wrath. The warg sidled up to Lachlan with his ears flat against his skull and tail between his legs as he nosed Lachlan’s palm for some comfort.
Finally, the old wood elf lord cracked, and in his anger, his power outlined his form in a searing blaze of white that reduced whatever it touched to dust. Lachlan flinched from the powerful light and heat.
“Necromancy?” Othorion stormed up to Laufey, who didn’t move from his prone position and merely shifted his gaze from the flat-screen up to the elf. He was already dead and had faced the abyss and the boundaries of oblivion; nothing, not even a legendary and mythic figure from fairy tales Laufey was told when he was a frostling, could faze him now. “Of all the challenges we face, you thought it was a good idea to disturb the fundamental principles of life and death?”
Shrinking into himself, Lachlan held up two open hands in a placating gesture and tried to give his most reassuring smile. Othorion’s frown darkened, and Lachlan cleared his throat and pushed the whimpering Fenrir behind him. “What can I say, I had mastered every other school of magic and thought I’d try my hand at the darker arts?”
The laser sharp glare made Lachlan swallow hard. His dry lips quirked again into another smile, hoping, perhaps in vain, that his charm might take the edge of his mentor’s anger, but to no avail. “Please mentor, you’re radiating so much energy that every magical doweling rod on earth is going stir crazy. Can we…can we not discuss this like calm adults?”
He eventually talked Othorion down into a hot cup of tea and some muffins he had purchased earlier that morning for a chat that Lachlan didn’t have time for. Not because Thor had just found his supposed-lost brother, but because of an urgent call from Muspelheim. His mentor wasn’t in the mood for sweets but accepted the steaming beverage, palming his forehead as his ancient mind tried to rue over the ramifications of Lachlan’s actions.
“I cannot possibly fathom not one, not a single reason, why it would be in anyone’s interests to revive Laufey as you have done. For what purpose does this not-living not-dead thing do?”
Laufey merely raised an eyebrow. He’d heard worse, mainly names that he had given to himself in his unnatural state. “I ask myself that question every day too,” he dourly added.
“I can explain this, mentor, I can explain everything. Except time is not on my side at the moment. As you can see, I’m – ”
“He’s heading off to Muspelheim!” Fenrir blurted out. “And he’s not taking me with him. Tell Lachie-boy that’s stupid and make him bring me!”
As whole-heartedly as Lachlan loved his companion, and as much as the warg had been taught the common tongue and bestowed with intelligence for the last four and a half centuries, Fenrir’s animal nature to love, defend and protect would ever be overriding. Now, when Lachlan needed to keep his secret side-trip to the fiery realm from Othorion of all people, his faithful hound just couldn’t help pouring oil to the fire.
His mentor blinked once, then twice, and went awfully quiet, which was worse than a hailstorm of eldritch fire, because Othorion’s disappointment hurt twice as much as his wrath.
Laufey bolted off the sofa, his jaded affect and tv show abandoned, and he stared at Lachlan as if he had just volunteered for a suicide mission. “That is impossible. No jotun has set foot in the lands of fire since the Accords were signed and the boundaries of the realms were established. Neither shall encroach upon the other’s land, or else face instant annihilation. That is writ and immutable.”
Lachlan rolled his eyes. If he got a gold coin for every time someone told him something was impossible, and he proved otherwise, he could singlehandedly fund the Nidavellir revolt without having to peddle Asgardian wildlife to bored Midgardian millionaires.
“Sutur’s palace contains an archive, the oldest in all the nine realms. He has an original copy of the Accords, and the drafts of those Accords, and memoirs from the architects of the Nine Realms. He has promised me access in exchange for my services.”
Laufey crossed his arms. “You expect me to believe that you’d put your life at risk for a mere scholarly pursuit or intellectual curiosity?”
The dead girl’s quip was ignored as Orthorion steadily held Lachlan’s gaze with knowing and trepidation. “This…this theory of yours,” the wood elf lord sighed as if it was an argument that they had had many times, “you are intent on proving it.”
Lachlan helplessly shrugged. “You know me best, mentor. Of all the things that I have accomplished in these past five hundred years, this may be my most important work yet. I am on the verge of a breakthrough, and those original texts….they may hold the key.”
“What you have done and continue to do is important to many, many people already. There is a lot on your plate right now, with the Asgardians being here on Midgard and all, you do not need the added stress of dealing with the fire princes.”
Going against his Orthorion’s wisdom was not to be done lightly, but Lachlan had long made up his mind. “I have already agreed to go, and was going to beg a favour of you, mentor,” he said with a hopeful glint in his eyes. When the old elf kept quiet, Lachlan continued, “Winter Soldier is occupied at the moment, and I need some muscle just in case.”
Orthorion’s eyes narrowed, and he moved closer to the edge of his seat. “You think Syrnalorn’s agents will follow you Muspelheim?”
“No.” Lachlan nibbled on the dry skin of his chapped lips, and his fingers fidgeted with the jewelled rings on his fingers. “I told you the House of Surtur was experiencing some instability, but I have not been entirely honest. Muspelheim is under attack, from creatures beyond the nine realms. Now more than ever, I need to prove my theory, otherwise everything we have worked so hard to achieve in these last three centuries will be for nothing. I need to go to Muspelheim. Please.”
Plan B, his doppleganger and the attention of Asgard were just a blip in the radar that hardly rated to Lachlan at the moment. Because ever since he started travelling and exploring the realms, he uncovered a truth buried in ancient history that should not have been allowed to be forgotten, and those few crumbs of knowledge he had been able to salvage thus far outweighed everything he had, even his own life.