Thor Fic: "We Are Our Own Folklore" (R, Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane), 7b/7
LINK TO BEGINNING OF CHAPTER
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All his life Loki had been raised on stories of war. Ballads and history lessons; boasts and bedtime tales full of weapons and fire and felled enemies.
Asgard was a realm obsessed. Its children were raised and trained for generations to be hungry for battle; in preparation and all eagerness for an invasion.
But for thousands of years that battle they stood ready for, searching for, had never come.
Until today.
The door to the throne room was left open. Out in the vast hallways of the palace, a kind of controlled chaos had emerged. From that perspective one could see clear out to the edge of the grounds, to the start of the rainbow road - and everywhere there were soldiers arming themselves, servants running for cover and commanders gathering their troops.
Horns blew, distant and echoing retorts that told those even far away now was the time for action.
Voices shouted between men. Weapons were grabbed, armor was looked for. Everyone was in a hurry, and most of them were rushing towards the fight.
It was a grim day, the Realm Eternal under siege, enemies already within her gates - but everywhere Loki looked he spied grins and excitement. The Asgardians saw before them a chance to fight for the honor of their land, to face a woe worthy to fuel their bloodlust, to take part in a war story of their own.
This was what they lived for. In the ages to come, there would be songs sung of this day, and these men could say they were there when it happened.
Assuming, of course, there was anyone left to sing the songs, or to listen. Assuming this day ended in victory.
Canny and often cynical as he was, Loki knew better than to begin at the start thinking it was certain.
There would be blood spilled this day. Now that was a certainty. Fate willing, it would mostly be Jotun. But everything had a price, and no doubt by the time it was over there’d be a few Asgardian bodies scattered in among the rest- the glorious fight these warriors oh-so longed for paid for by the heads of their brothers.
Loki joined the disjointed torrent that moved inevitably forward. From every direction came the sounds of metal clanking, the pounding of booted feet. His eyes darted as he took in the allies scattered around.
The All-Father had gone to speak, quickly, to his advisors. Still in his mail Thor held Mjolnir aloft as he yelled out commands for someone to bring him his helmet. The Avengers had joined the cause without hesitation - Loki caught just a glimpse of Iron Man far ahead and vanishing, flame bellowing from his armor.
As soldiers ran towards the Bifrost he spotted Sif among them, shield on her arm and glaive in her hand, moving with determined stride.
He darted after her, catching up and stealing her attention by grabbing her shoulder. She stopped and spun back to look at him.
“Sif,” he breathed, anxious, “how many are there?”
“More than we fought on Jotunheim,” she answered him, clipped. Loki sagged, matching tone to the flinty look in her eyes - enough Frost Giants was not a foe so easily dismissed, especially if they were headed for the Bifrost. There could really be trouble. “They must have called for reinforcements.”
Loki sighed, even knowing there was no time for recriminations. He had been careless, and not hidden their trail or taken steps with his magic to seal off Yggdrasil behind him. But it had never occurred to him the Jotun they’d stumbled over would follow the path they’d so helpfully left for them.
The exact way a group of Jotun had followed a path of his before.
Once more his history was his own worst enemy, speaking out against him.
“Sif,” he said again, begging her with heart sinking, stopping her when he saw she was impatient to leave, “please, you must believe me. I did not intend for this.”
The look Sif gave him in response was genuinely, if dismissively, confused. “Never did the thought occur to me,” was her reply.
And without wasting any more time off she ran to find her place on the battlefield.
As Loki stood there, briefly numb with a feeling of relief and surprise, there came more familiar voices. Head turning, he watched the Warriors Three as they gamboled about.
“Volstagg. Volstagg!” Fandral rushed to catch up to his companion, voice a mixture of laughter and urgency. Silent Hogun stalked the two as a shadow. “Friend, you’re going the wrong way!”
“No,” Volstagg called, not looking back as he gave his response, words curt alongside huffs of his breath. “I am going to stand guard outside my wife’s chamber.”
“What?”
Fandral finally caught up to the other man, all bewilderment as he was able to bring Volstagg to a halt long enough to speak with them.
“You heard me,” the broader man grunted, with a seriousness that banished the errant smile off his friend’s face. “Right now the greater duty is to my family.” His voice was briefly choked: “My Siún. My newborn son…”
“In all odds the Jotun will never make it that far,” Hogun stated, toneless.
Fandral took up the cause more feelingly, nodding and gesturing expansively. “If you cower back here, you’ll miss out on all the fighting! What kind of a story would that make: when we defended Asgard mightily under siege, Volstagg the Valiant hung uselessly in some corridor, ax in hand though he had no one to wave it at?”
But Volstagg’s face was grim, harsh. “And if the front lines fall, and the giants do make their way into the palace?” he demanded. “Who will defend my family then?”
Loki stood aside, unnoticed witness to this tableau. Neither Fandral or Hogun said anything - partially because they had been stunned into somber silence by the possibility Volstagg painted, but partially for something else.
Not noticed at first by her husband, Siún had appeared from wherever she had been hiding, her sleeping child still held firmly in her arms as she walked behind Volstagg, having heard everything he said. The other two men eyed her warily, waiting with bated breath for her to speak.
“If the enemy reaches that far, what difference does it make if there is no one to guard us?” Siún countered without introduction. Volstagg started, and turned to face her. She met her husband’s eyes, frowning. “By then it will already be too late.”
Volstagg kept his chin up but his shoulders dropped. There was nothing to say - anyone warrior enough to understand the circumstances knew she was right.
If the Frost Giants were many and strong enough to defeat all those gone out to face them, to fight their way through scores of able-bodied Asgardian warriors and reach the innermost rooms of the palace unhindered, then there’d be no stopping them. By then the best would be dead, and there would not be numbers of defenders enough to hold them off for very long.
If Volstagg insisted on standing lone protector to his family and the Jotun troops did come, there would be nothing left for him to do at that point but sacrifice himself, dying bravely defending them.
After a moment Volstagg intoned as a solemn vow, “So be it, then! If I should fall, it’s only right that my last breath should be given for those I love-”
“No.” Siún stepped closer, her expression fierce, her voice commanding him. “If you want to protect us, then you should be where you can make a difference. Stop these invaders from coming anywhere near our son.”
Her husband gazed at her in a mixture of wonderment and disbelief. But he listened, and he grew tall under her words.
“Go,” Siún finished. She clutched Saemund tighter to her breast as she made to turn and go back whence she came. “A warrior such as you is needed at the front. We will be waiting, when you return.”
“Until then, my love,” Volstagg called after her, almost wistfully.
But there was a renewed fire in his eyes, a zeal for battle as he turned back to his two friends and crowed, “Well then, what are we waiting for! Let’s show those brutes what it means to face the fury of the Warriors Three!”
Hogun smiled as he clapped him on the back, and Fandral laughed in excitement.
“You know, if you had insisted on staying, we would have remained back as well and stood with you,” he told Volstagg earnestly.
Hogun nodded his agreement. “We fight together, no matter what.”
Volstagg gave a happy, repressed sob and hugged his friends to him. “Oh, if only every man could be so blessed, in having such true companions.”
Thankfully, the interlude was brief. Almost immediately he released them, gave a manly sniff, and gestured before them.
“Come now! Into the fray.”
As the Warriors Three charged off together, Loki looked back in the direction Siún had gone. Though she was by now too far away for him to hear, he watched as she gathered Darcy and Jane to her, hurrying them as they went out of sight. It looked as if the women intended to hide together.
Good. One less thing to worry about; between the three of them, they could take care of each other.
He looked again ahead, at the rapidly disappearing figures of his warrior companions.
Loki was torn. He of course intended to join in, but he knew not where to make his stand. The members of his regular band were scattered.
Should he scurry his way to the front where no doubt his brother and the Avengers were and try to find a place among them? Or should he hang back and fight alongside the ranks of soldiers, with Sif, with the Warriors Three?
Time was brief, however, and even in the throes of a decision there was no space to hesitate. Even as Loki considered he was running, closer and closer to where the battle was, legs moving swiftly and mind too as his thoughts turned multiple directions.
He weighed whether there was enough time to go to his room and gather his full battle armor. It was definitely called for in this situation, and he knew he could make it there and back in only minutes…
But minutes could make all the difference, in the harrowing split-second action of war. At least he was still wearing his travelling gear. No helmet or extra weapons, but chainmail and his throwing knives; yes, needs must, and it would have to do.
He reached the final gateway that overlooked the road leading out of the city. If he stopped and listened, he could hear the roars of giants and the sound of weapons swinging. But there was no time to stop.
The All-Father stood with tall helmet on, cape billowing and Gungnir in hand. Surrounded by armored generals on one side and common guardsmen on the other, he held out his hands to his queen as they made their farewells.
Yet again watching a scene he had no part of, this time Loki hid on purpose. He was reluctant at best to be drawn into their parting. But he peered out from behind a column, watching intently.
“Do not go straight into the thick of things if it can be avoided, my king.” Frigga squeezed her husband’s hands gently. “Your warriors are strong, and will defend your kingdom mightily.”
“Aye, I’ve no doubt.” Odin gave a wry chuckle as he reluctantly freed himself from her grasp. “I will end this quick as it can be done, though not without denying those both young and old their chance at the pleasure. But what a king would I seem, if I sent my people to fight and was not there to lead them?”
Loki understood. The All-Father’s power was great enough that if he wanted, he could ride Sleipnir to the center and destroy all the Jotun with a few well-placed blows. But old as he was, and as great a drain his powers could be on him at times, it was foolishness for him to sacrifice himself over a fight the ordinary soldiers might easily be able to handle. He would be present and aid where he could, but stay back - a secret weapon should it be needed if times grew dark.
“I will pray for your safe and speedy return.” Frigga’s voice seemed almost lighthearted. But it was a very common saying for a wife to give to her husband on the eve of battle. “For you, and all our children.”
Loki ducked back on reflex guiltily, pointlessly afraid she had spotted him - knowing she referred to the metaphorical ‘children’ of their subjects, and otherwise.
Hadn’t they been given cause enough to worry over both Thor and him especially at times? He seemed all too aware of it at present.
“Do so. And remain vigilant, until our return.” Odin turned his head to take in the assembled men that would be standing at the gates just in case they were needed. “There’s a chance some of these invaders may slip through our lines and try to find their way into our city.”
Frigga nodded, and despite her serene expression and folded hands there was steel in her gaze. “They will have to get through us, first.”
Another queen might retreat to safety; it was clear Frigga intended to remain right where she was, shoulder to shoulder with the guards, watching the battle.
Loki had no doubt if it came down to it, his mother would seize a weapon from one of the men to arm herself.
The king and his men parted. But in the vacuum they left Loki was suddenly able to catch a curious, feeble whimpering sound - and as Frigga turned her head aside sharply he followed her gaze and understood.
A short distance away from her sister-in-law, Nanna stood, half-crouched as she clung beseechingly to her recently restored child. Balder moved, restless; his mother tried to hold him back, and when she failed she clung to the edges of his clothes, pleading with him.
“Balder, please…no…stay here with me where you’ll be safe!”
“What good is my being returned to Asgard if I do not my part to defend it?” Balder insisted. He successfully pulled free from his mother’s grasp, the look on his face resolute. “I am a warrior like any other. I will not shirk my duty. Not now.”
“This is not your fight,” Nanna cried. She reached for him again, tripping in her haste and horror. “You can’t…you can’t do this!”
“Forgive me Lady Mother, but I must,” he told her with gravely serious formality. “This is my fight, no matter what you say. I know it in my heart as I know little else.”
He turned his head aside, already looking towards what he would be facing. He truly cast a poetic figure, dusky hair over his solemn brow, jaw set with ready determination. He drew his sword in a fluid motion, grasping hilt tight in his gloved hand.
“All must do their part this day, and I will not be the least among them.”
And with a whirl of his cloak and a faint clink from his mail Balder turned and ran, feet carrying him towards the rainbow bridge with the stride of the truly noble and righteous.
Fool, Loki cursed at him, despairingly, what are you thinking? Able and strong you may be, but what advantage do you hold over foes you refuse to kill?
Nanna lost whatever last bit of composure she had over herself. Her legs gave out under her, and two handmaidens tried in vain to soothe and help hold her upright. Even Frigga was moved to intervene.
All to no avail. Nanna thrashed in their arms, clutching with fingers gone white at the knuckles. Her face contorted in grief as she wailed. Her sobs were unrestrained, violent, in the most alarming way - in her anguish she was made ugly.
She gazed at the path of her son’s flight, eyes screwed up with tears but unblinking. No doubt she was already picturing, and remembering, the sight of Balder’s corpse.
Without pause for reflection or needing another backward glance, Loki slipped from his hiding place and followed his cousin.
Now that he knew Balder’s intention to participate, his role was clear. He would follow the other warrior, stand with him, keep him safe as he fought and make his return certain.
Certainly he owed a debt of that much.
Funny how the mind, the soul even could change. If the same circumstances happened but a few scant years before, Loki knew he would’ve felt differently. When he was cold in isolation, and forcibly unemotional to hide his rawness, a debt had been a stark thing, cut and dried.
He had cost Balder his life once, and he’d once restored it. The balance of his actions was intact, no more, no less.
But things were different now and he knew he could not let it be this way. Bringing Balder back to life and then heedlessly standing aside to let him get killed again - it was a foul, cruel thing to do. No; he could not leave it at that. Not if he considered himself as having any remaining scrap of honor.
As he crept stealthy but rapid in Balder’s footsteps, Loki could not help thinking on his relationship with fate.
Once he had felt it his fate to be wicked, to be Asgard’s enemy. And with bitter resignation he had thought, so be it. He had given in and let himself be a plaything of what he believed was his destiny. If he was to be a monster then oh, he would be monstrous. If it were his fate to fall then he would do it hard and fast, destroying everything he could on the way down around him.
Let him be cursed, despised; he was only playing the part he was meant for.
Now…it was not that he had lost his belief in fate. No, what he’d lost was that sense of resignation.
It didn’t matter what fate wanted, what destiny was meant for him. It could be said, in fact, that he’d declared himself against it, an enemy of fate. He would fight it, stubbornly, unrelenting. If he was supposed to be alone, then he would cling ever more tightly to those that loved him.
And if fate wanted Balder dead, then Loki would do everything in his power to keep death from him.
It didn’t matter if in the end it did any good or not. It didn’t matter if he could make any difference. Because no matter what, he was Loki - and he would not let fate dictate what he was or control his actions any more than he would anything or anyone else.
They were closing in on the bridge. “Balder! Wait!” he called out, catching up as his cousin hesitated, surprised.
As Loki reached him the look Balder gave was narrow-eyed, suspicious. “I hope you don’t intend to talk me out of this,” he stated. His voice carried a note of bitterness. Not a day back on Asgard, and already he was probably tired of being treated like he was helpless.
Loki took a breath and managed an enigmatic smile.
“Of course not,” he answered, bright. “I’m here to fight with you.”
Balder took that in and then grinned immediately, enthusiastic. He outstretched his arm to Loki, offering a warrior’s grasp of solidarity.
It was with only slight trepidation, a sinking feeling he batted away, that Loki reached out in return, watching the happy gleam in Balder’s eyes as they clasped each other’s forearms tight.
Together they stood at the entryway to the Bifrost’s bridge, pressing their backs to a pillar they took shelter behind. As one carefully they looked around it.
Unfolding across the bridge was not the orderly rank and file of soldiers lined up to face one another. It was the sprawling, senseless melee of the battlefield in full thrall. The enemy was not many but neither were they few, and they were spread out all over the rainbow road, some practically at the Bifrost’s citadel and some much nearer to the palace. On all sides they were surrounded by warriors determined to stop them.
The cacophony was unending, hypnotizing, almost strangely melodious. Made up of the sounds of agony, and resolve, and death.
Balder’s weight shifted as he held both sword and shield, swallowing as he readied himself, and his skin grew pale. Loki watched him from the side.
“This is nothing like a quelling tavern brawl, cousin,” he pressed home, quietly. “This is war.”
“I know that it is.” Balder swallowed again, but he nodded to himself firmly, before he looked back at Loki. It was clear from his eyes there was no swaying him. “But an oath is an oath.”
Loki gave out a small sigh. “I know.”
They looked again. Within sight there was a Jotun knocking aside a group of mounted soldiers as if they were naught but toys. As the giant bellowed the soldiers stabbed up at him with staves, uselessly - he stomped his foot and was done with half of them, then sent out a wave of ice to finish the rest.
Together Loki and Balder slid around the pillar, still pressed to the side for shelter as they moved forward, getting ready to strike. Balder had his sword up and Loki curled his fingers, magic dancing around one uplifted hand.
Even at a distance the Jotun was directly before him. Though he probably didn’t see them he appeared to be looking directly at them as he faced forward. By wordless accord they tensed to charge: the Jotun took one step and-
And out of nowhere he was felled, by a large arrow that pierced him directly through the throat.
Loki whirled to the side, startled, and spotted Agent Barton kneeling behind the next pillar closest to them.
“Oh, sorry,” the Avenger said, offhand. He didn’t move a muscle to face them but remained in his position, bow taut. “Was that one supposed to be yours?”
“You,” Balder said, even more flummoxed than Loki himself. “What are you doing back there?”
Loki couldn’t really blame him - he was only surprised because he hadn’t bothered looking, but Asgardians were unused to seeing ranged weapons used in a full-on battle. Most learned archery or how to throw daggers as part of early training, but it was thought to be less exciting, less honorable compared to barreling into the thick of things and bludgeoning an enemy to death with your own hands.
Never mind that a ranged attack meant you could fight without getting anywhere close to your foes, and avoid putting yourself in danger. That would make too much sense.
“Should you not be out there, with your fellows?” Balder finished, quizzical.
Hawkeye still didn’t so much as blink. “My aim’s better from a distance.” Taking stock of the scene before him, he added, “If you two want to get out there, I’d say now’s your window.”
Balder exchanged a look with Loki, bemused.
When they didn’t respond at first the mortal drew one arrow from his quiver, then another. Loki could see both had the odd metallic heads that meant that’d been fitted with one of his various trick devices.
Hawkeye slid them against the bowstring. “Go on,” he urged again, coolly. “I’ll cover you.”
They probably wouldn’t get a second chance. Loki nodded to Balder.
“Come on.”
They ran; dodged past another Jotun, sliding underneath his swinging arms. From behind them they heard Barton fire. Though there wasn’t any time Loki half-wished he could look back to find out what the archer had shot, that it caused the Jotun to make such a strange gurgling sound as it fell.
There was no moment to exalt over the fact that they made it. In fact “made it”, as such, seemed an impotent term - the two of them scrambled, moving through gaps between friend and foe alike as they dodged mostly errant blows. The surface of the bridge was less certain and smooth than it was usually, encumbered in places by spilled blood, discarded weapons and the occasional felled body.
Loki stayed close as physically possible to Balder, hell-bent to not let him out of sight. His cousin lifted shield overhead to cover them both from a grasping giant’s clutches, bashing the hand away; they ran, and they kept running, and all the while Loki looked everywhere around them, picking out what details he could amongst the chaos.
Most everywhere it was variations on the same sight. A cluster of Jotun towering over those that fought them, surrounded by a much larger group of Asgardian warriors, with pockets of indeterminate action in between where motion was too thick and the bodies too close for the mind to get a read on.
It was ice and blood, metal and leather and flesh and bone. Trying to take in the entire bridge and everything happening on it at once would make one impossibly dizzy.
Far ahead, more than halfway along the road’s length, Loki could see the glinting silver of the Shieldmaids’ distinctive armor. He was completely unsurprised that even in so little time Freya could rally her troops to her side and then lead them so far forward.
The Avengers were at the front of the fighting, standing just behind the group of Jotun that’d gotten the closest to the Bifrost, attacking with all their might as they tried to stop them. Sif had beaten her way through the assorted forces to join in, and she stood sure-footed between Thor and Captain America, her sword moving in an unending blur.
Mjolnir came down with a bone-shattering crash and the captain’s shield sang as it sliced through the air. Nearby, Iron Man rained down assault from above, zipping in and out to attack the giants before they could even notice him.
At the other end of the battle stood the All-Father and his conglomeration of generals and personal guard. True to his word he was staying out of it, surveying all from horseback and occasionally shouting out commands.
Whenever a Jotun came too close he would lash out with Gungnir, but other than that he was motionless. They were holding the line, ensuring the invaders couldn’t retreat the way they came.
Somewhere between one edge of fighting and the other were the Warriors Three. Hanging close together they darted through the giants and moved in mostly unison, following a strategy formed by centuries of experience and a close-knit bond.
Rarely did they have to call out to one another, communicating through body language and a glance. Fandral fenced with his rapier at full length, and Hogun battered away with his mace. Sometimes the three surrounded a Jotun soldier and took him on together and other times they grew more spread out. But always they returned to be together as one.
Volstagg gave a bold laugh as he found himself face to face with a giant. “Ho,” he called up at his opponent, crowing; “You may be bigger - but I’m wider!”
He swung his axe with brutal speed and strength, as if chopping down a tree. In the space that opened up, the other two rushed in to meet him back to back.
Loki saw everything and kept moving. There was no chance to join any of them.
At last Balder found a gap in which they could pause for breath. As both stopped he looked around them searchingly.
Their space between was no more than a few feet long, with a surging fight they could join in any direction. A precarious calm within the storm around them.
“Where do we stand?” Balder called keenly, looking to Loki in inquisitive need.
“We don’t,” Loki said in reply, curt. Before he could continue a Jotun lurched forward, and swiftly he unhooked a knife from the back of his belt. He threw hard, his aim true, and the Jotun staggered back as he clawed in agony at the blade buried in his chest.
Loki turned to face his cousin, closely. “We stay on the move,” he explained, hurried but no less certain for it. “Strike fast, and hard, wherever we can do damage and be of most use.”
There were only two of them - and Loki’s forte would always be with speed and stealth, and Balder was hampered by his refusal to use deadly force. Making a stand would not end well. No; they would be at their best weaving in and out, hitting their enemy unexpectedly while not giving them a target.
He half-expected Balder to argue, but the other only nodded, moving shield aside quickly to grip his sword two-handed.
“All right,” he panted. His eyes were wide and ready as he moved to match Loki’s stride. “Lead on; I am with you.”
“Stay close by me,” Loki urged needlessly, unable even in the midst of the fog of war to shake his fear for his cousin’s life. “Ready - now.”
Together they lunged.
There was no time to think, to examine, but distantly Loki was able to appreciate they made a good team - far better than he would’ve anticipated. Balder could be fast when he needed, and though his blows were nonlethal they were expertly placed. He’d leave a Jotun damaged in one limb or another, easy pickings for other Asgardian soldiers to move in and take them down.
And Loki had no such compunctions about killing. With a well-placed blade or a sizzle of magic he tore through one after the next. He was too focused to remember his hatred, his cursed history that attached him to these monsters. There was only room for the task at hand: he was helping Balder, he was protecting him.
In tandem they struck, did what they could, and moved on. The battle kept going around them as their zigzagging, unplanned path took them further and further up along it.
They grew ever closer to the Bifrost and though they were nowhere near it Loki could make out the sight of Heimdall clearly. Armed with his massive sword the golden-armored warrior had stepped down from the door to his watch, and with thrusts from his weapon taken out two giants with misleading ease.
But more giants were coming. As Heimdall stood at the ready, sword still held sideways near his waist as if mid-lunge, he watched the three, then five Jotun that formed a line together, bearing down on him.
At the front was the same Jotun that Loki recognized as the would-be rebellious leader. He was sneering, teeth showing, a gloating look already in his eyes.
Preoccupied as he was with Balder there was nothing Loki could do - but surely Heimdall could handle this on his own?
Heimdall didn’t move any further from his post as he gazed out at the giants, waiting patiently for them to draw closer. The leader made a gesture with his hand, pointing, and two of his soldiers pulled away, moving to form a half-circle and try to surround Heimdall.
Still Heimdall waited. The Jotun held their stances, not giving him any sign as to what their move might be. One Jotun swung a club, suddenly, and got slashed across the hand for his trouble.
This proved to be an intended distraction as, as one, three of the others blasted at Heimdall with ice.
“Fool,” the leader of the Jotun hissed in his harsh gravelly voice, “to think you could stand in the way of my destiny. The time of Asgard is over! Now begins the time of Thrivaldi.”
But his victorious speech was interrupted before it could truly begin. First, Heimdall leapt out from behind the ice, swinging his blade with a roar - he had dodged before he could be frozen and crept down, using the giants’ attack against them as he hid.
Second, there was a percussive, steady, growing sound. The Jotun leader turned to find the Shieldmaids suddenly marching on him from every side, the rhythmic sound from their trademark shields as they walked, with Freya at the forefront.
There was no time for the Jotun to change tactics or make an organized stand. Their rank was broken as Heimdall swiftly cut one down then whirled to tear his sword into another.
And from the other side Freya and her troops strode forward unrelentingly. They closed in, bodies tight, weapons ready, and then - Freya lifted her spear and yelled at the top of her lungs, a wordless order to charge.
It rippled through the Shieldmaids like lightning. As one they picked up the battle cry and went from marching to running forward, swords and spears pointed, shields lifted, surging on their enemies in a tidal wave.
It was a cavalcade of resolved eyes and opened roaring mouths on all sides: a barrage of fierce women, boots pounding, armor clattering, gleaming and majestic and utterly unstoppable.
And Freya herself went straight for the leader. Without any hesitation, the instant she was in range she raised that massive shield, taller than she was and unspeakably heavy; and with one arm in a single motion lifted it to strike the Jotun full-on in the face and chest.
The full weight of the metal shield rammed into him, Freya’s arm swinging as she pushed forward and through. In that one movement the towering giant was thrown back and knocked down, landing painfully on his back at her feet.
Freya’s mouth was still open in a warrior’s scream as she stomped down, holding him in place with her foot, and stabbed downward with her spear.
And just like that, that was the end of the one who had called himself Thrivaldi.
But the battle didn’t end. The Frost Giants were too spread out. Most wouldn’t realize their leader was dead, and even those that did had to know surrender wasn’t an option. They’d opened with hostile actions and in return cast all protections of a treaty aside.
From far away came the booming voice of the All-Father, echoing loud for all to hear:
“No quarter! Hold nothing back!”
So be it. The giants would in desperation try taking as many Asgardians as they could with them to their graves, and the fighting wouldn’t stop until every Frost Giant was dead.
It became a true melee then. The scene turned even more chaotic as ranks closed in; Loki lost sight of all their major allies. He leapt over a dead giant in a frenzy to catch up to Balder, heart pounding.
But his cousin was fine. In fact he hung back, watching in clear admiration as the Shieldmaids practically tore the opposition to pieces.
A young warrior slipped and fell to one knee, the breath knocked out of her as a Jotun closed in. One of her sisters tried to rush to her aid - but before she could get there, there was a blur of red and white.
Captain America’s shield ricocheted off the Frost Giant’s head, and while the enemy was stunned, he jumped in to finish him off with an uppercut bash from his weapon.
Wordlessly, the Avenger knelt to offer the Shieldmaid a hand back to her feet. She accepted with an odd brightness in her eyes. She and the other Shieldmaid that had been about to defend her exchanged a meaningful look.
The very next thing Captain America was flanked on both sides by Shieldmaids, fighting with him in unison as they molded their tactics to fit his.
Loki’s faintly amused attention was torn from this sight by a nearby sound, and he spun to find Balder readying himself to face another Frost Giant that was advancing on him, growling.
Loki shoved Balder out of the way before the warrior could form a protest. In the blink of an eye he cast his magic, causing the lines of his image to flicker and dance before resolving into a small army of doubles. With a matching set of taunting grins, Loki and his illusions moved to surround the giant, standing in a ring at his feet.
The Jotun growled again, this time in frustration. Even this brute was smart enough to realize the many versions of Loki weren’t real, but he had to find the right one in order to attack.
Making a fist the Jotun swung at random and smashed down on first a Loki nearest his left front, then one to his right side.
Both dissolved into nothing, and the real Loki (front side, right) used the distraction to leap forward and stab the giant deep in his calve.
The giant bellowed in pain. Angrily he reached for Loki with one clawed hand, tearing at his side. Thick frost spread out from his touch, eating through the fabric of Loki’s clothing, even twisting his chainmail until it fell apart.
The Jotun was trying to freeze him to death. He had no way of knowing it wouldn’t work, but even still panic worked its way up Loki’s throat. If the chill reached him here and now and his skin started to change in the middle of the battlefield…sheer terror ran right through him at the very thought. His secret revealed was bad enough, but in the mix of war one might see blue skin and ask questions later. He could be killed by one of the other Asgardians, initially unrecognized.
Frantically he pried himself away, frozen cloth and armor coming off him in shreds. On Loki’s left side, from beneath his arm all the way to his boot, there was nothing left covering him but a single useless layer of clothing. No matter - he could worry about that later.
Right hand still gripping tight the knife in the giant’s leg, Loki flipped a curled blade into his left palm. His fingers wrapped around it as he coated the blade in magic, and he plunged it swift and sure into the Jotun’s skull. Making a garbled sound the beast was dead before he hit the ground.
Catching his breath, Loki dismissed the rest of his lingering illusion spell and stepped away, taking stock of himself. The ruined armor was no good, but at least his skin hadn’t changed.
And then he remembered who he was supposed to be protecting.
Alarm swept over him as he turned rapidly and looked around. His head swiveled, barely taking stock of anything but the fact he didn’t see Balder.
“Balder,” he cried out, taking a few more steps away from the dead Jotun as he looked one way then another. “Balder!”
He stumbled forward on the battlefield. Searching the sea of warriors around him he tried desperately to find that familiar face.
And in doing so, he became utterly careless, and completely forgot himself.
Normally even distracted it was nigh impossible to catch him off-guard, but Loki was so consumed by his worried fixation on Balder he stopped paying true attention to everything else around him. The only warning sense he had that another Jotun had moved in behind him came about when it was almost too late.
Loki turned around, feeling as though his normally pristine reflexes were sluggish and dulled as he looked up, up at the Jotun that stood directly over him. His hands were empty, his guard was down, and at first the only thing he could do was gape idiotically.
The Jotun’s face was twisted in hatred, either over Loki’s killing of his comrade or perhaps simply in principle. Out of ice he had formed a massive spiked war-hammer and had brought it high over his head, muscles taut as he prepared to smash it down onto Loki.
And maybe Loki would’ve recovered enough to step out of the way in time. Maybe his reflexes would’ve taken over and he’d have found some last second way to defend himself.
He’d never know. He never got that chance.
Just as the Jotun’s arms came down, ready to bring in the killing blow, a broadsword suddenly erupted from the middle of his chest as he was stabbed from behind.
A spray of blood hit the side of Loki’s face. He flinched, instinctive, then watched as the sword continued sideways and cut the Jotun nearly in two. Slowly, heavily, the giant fell down dead.
Standing right behind him was Balder, his blade still uplifted in both hands, covered in the Jotun’s blood.
Loki stared at him, dazed. Balder’s mouth was half-open, gasping, the rush from his lethal action still fading. At first he looked back at Loki, and then he looked down at his hands and his gore-coated sword.
His face was dotted in flecks of red. The front of his doublet was splattered. The blood dripped gradually down his still half-raised sword and was beginning to fall onto his gloves.
Onto his hands - the blood of a life he had taken, Frost Giant or no.
An oath is an oath, he had said.
In dismay Loki started to move closer to him, ready to reach out, to try and find the words to say. But before he got there something strange happened.
Balder began to glow. A bright, white light began emanating from his being, growing stronger until it blocked out the very sight of him.
Loki raised a hand to shield his eyes. The light faded in a few seconds, as sudden and unexpected as it had come on.
Balder still stood there in his blood-covered armor. But he had changed. He looked leaner, stronger, more well-muscled, maybe even a little bit taller. The unnatural white of his hair had gone, replaced by the fair brown of his childhood.
And there was something else about him - something undefinable. An aura, an air, of confidence and beauty and youth.
The shadows had gone from him. He was truly Asgardian again. He was Balder the Bright.
Loki’s move moved in the spasm of a smile. Still grasping what he’d witnessed he made a sound, a prelude to trying to speak. Balder looked up at that and met his gaze, his blue eyes wide, vaguely overwhelmed: with sudden knowledge and understanding.
And Loki knew at once, the change hadn’t been physical only. Balder’s memory had been restored in full.
Balder looked slowly down at himself, as if struggling with grasping what’d happened to him. Loki shifted his weight and crept a small step back, feeling a twist within from his own warring emotions.
He was glad for this. Truly. Now everything was right. But it also meant that Balder would remember him for who and what he was. He would remember why he should have nothing to do with him.
Remotely Loki became aware that they were surrounded by the sound of cheering.
While the two of them had been distracted, the fight was finally over. All the Frost Giant rebels were dead.
Thor spotted his brother and picked his way over to them. But his grin of triumph fell in amazement as he noticed immediately what had happened to Balder.
He looked the other warrior head to toe, raking in his changed appearance, momentarily speechless. “Balder?”
The other man’s head jerked up at the sound of his name - no hesitation, no air of sad confusion now. He saw Thor and his eyes lit up with full recognition and warm emotion.
“Cousin!” He grinned and Thor laughed, happy.
Balder went to him and they embraced as if they were seeing each other only for the first time. But it could be said, in a way, they were.
Thor clapped him on the back as they pulled apart. “You are whole again,” he noted, easily as astonished as he was pleased. “You have been returned and become your true self. How is this? What happened?”
“I do not know,” Balder admitted, haltingly.
Loki rotated to face them, his expression carefully composed. “Balder became what he was meant to be,” he told them, both men turning to listen to him quizzically. “A warrior, a son of Asgard. Somehow the key lay concealed in his pacifism. When he broke it, when he spilled life’s blood, so too went the spell.”
Though he still smiled Thor’s demeanor became more solemn. He placed a hand on Balder’s shoulder.
“Your first kill,” he remarked. “It is something to be both celebrated and, perhaps, privately mourned.”
“Yes,” Balder said, voice and gaze both far-off and inscrutable.
Thor brightened again quickly, however. “But either way, this fight is over. We stand together victorious.” He drew Loki to him, other hand going to his brother’s shoulder. “Our home is safe!”
“Yes,” Loki had to agree, and though his other feelings were complicated, for this he was quietly relieved.
The battle had ended. Men helped carry off the wounded and the few that’d been killed. Leaders were regrouping their troops to them.
Iron Man was using the blasters of his suit to melt away some damage to the bridge itself. Hawkeye had appeared to support an injured soldier as he limped back home. With somber gravity Captain America had joined the Shieldmaids as they lined up each of their fallen sisterhood and placed their bodies on their shields.
At the steps leading to the Bifrost, Heimdall and Freya stood, shaking hands in a warrior’s grip of camaraderie.
Loki had a feeling, though, that the Watcher would not be offering Freya a boon of his again - and that even if he had, the Lady would not accept it.
The Warriors Three and Sif had found each other. The men laughed uproariously, slapping each other on the backs, while the lady stood there and looked both smug and tired. There was talk already of going to a tavern to share stories and battle scars and celebrate living to fight yet another glorious day.
The All-Father had dismounted his horse and stood by the end of the bridge as his people filed past him, watching, silent.
It was the listless peace that came after chaos and destruction, the quiet of the battlegrounds after all the battles were done.
“Someone fetch me a sword,” one man suddenly called, boisterously. He stood over the body of a half-dismembered Jotun, smirking vicious as he grabbed onto it by the scalp. “We can keep these heads as trophies!”
Some of his fellows laughed and sounded their quick agreement, and headed eagerly towards more of the corpses.
“No.”
Thor’s one word firmly echoed across the space of the rainbow road, and all turned to look at their prince. He raised his voice higher, tight with anger and finality, and moved so that he would be easier to see.
“They may have been our enemies but they were sentient beings, and we owe them more respect than that.” Some of his audience made disbelieving sounds but he continued, undaunted. “They were warriors and worthy opponents, and they fought bravely for what they believed in, even if that cause was corrupt. We are men, and women, of Asgard - a home we all just fought valiantly to defend. It is beneath us to partake in such desecration.”
He canted his head and looked over the side of the road into the abyss, black and seemingly endless.
“I would say send them back to Jotunheim but alas, their rulers probably would not welcome them there.” He nodded, indicating the empty space. “So let us deliver them to this expanse, where hopefully they may find peace.”
There were grumbles and mutters from the soldiers, who at first didn’t move to obey him.
Then, there was a rushed parting in the crowd, the sound of eight mighty hooves falling softly as the All-Father walked his way over among them, leading his horse by the reins.
“You heard my son,” the king said, calm. “Do as he commands.”
So one by one, with suppressed grunting and grumbling, the Asgardians worked in groups to lift the heavy lifeless bodies and carry them to the edge, where they rolled, slid, or simply hurled them down.
Thor helped. So did most of his friends.
Loki silently took a position by the bridge’s end, one foot braced on the railing, and he watched as one by one the Frost Giants fell down into the black and out of sight.
Oblivion swallowed them whole, embracing them, just as firmly as it had once embraced another fallen monster.
There was a faint cheer behind him, and Loki looked to see a sheepish Balder being carried triumphantly on the shoulders of half a dozen warriors, as a crowd gathered around, eager to see and touch him.
It seemed his glorious return was at last at hand.
Loki slipped away and began making his way back, unnoticed. All of a sudden he felt weary, and so very alone.
Asgard had her victory. Thor had his honor and his bride. Balder had everything that was coming to him.
All Loki wanted was to find Darcy and rest with her, lay his head in her lap and hold her in his arms.
*
A few days after the battle for the Bifrost, word of what happened was sent back to Jotunheim.
Though it was hoped that what became of the giants would serve as fitting warning for any who would think to try something similar, the All-Father let the two kings of Jotunheim know he held them not responsible for what happened since the defeated invasion was led by a rebel, and that he had no intention of reprisal for actions in which they played no part.
The ruler of Asgard wished the rulers of Jotunheim well, and was content for their two worlds to remain at peace.
(After the message was delivered, the Jotun kings held a conference alone together, where they discussed matters with surprising civility considering it was upheld they hated one another.
“So,” said Helblindi, “Thrivaldi is dead.”
“Aye,” his brother, Býleistr agreed. “Far from a great loss for us, or the realm, considering he posed the greatest threat of usurpation.”
“Indeed. How very kind of the Asgardians to conveniently remove him for us.”
“Certainly so.”
“Do you suppose that anyone has wondered how there was an active passage through Yggdrasil that neither of us knew about, and that Thrivaldi was able to march his entire forces into without us doing anything to either stop or follow them?”
“Of course not,” Býleistr exclaimed. “After all, it is it widely known that I’m far too slow-witted to notice such a thing.”
“True. And for my part,” Helblindi chimed in, “it’s known I am far too rash and hot-headed to notice anything of the like, either.”
And the two sons of the Laufey exchanged a grin.)
The next affair before Asgard’s king concerned the unsuccessful plot to replace the crown prince’s betrothed with an imposter. This too was handled as quickly, and simply, and quietly as possible.
Though the repercussions of the plot had been quite public, the involvement of the leaders of Vanaheim in it was not. And it was decided in the interest of not causing a scandal, it was best this remain unknown.
The Enchantress was blamed for everything, and prevented from speaking out in her defense so she couldn’t reveal she did not act alone. Her magic was stripped, and she was banished again, this time not just from the palace but all of Asgard - cast out in the middle of the night and sent forcibly on her way.
Loki knew not where she was sent, and he didn’t care to know. Still he had to admit, part of him felt sorry for Amora. She had ultimately ended up in over her head, used and betrayed, and took the full weight for a scheme that had only been part hers to begin with.
But then again, he didn’t feel all that sorry. Wherever she did end up, she was sure to find some way to survive. And if she was half so clever as she thought herself, she would’ve known better than to choose the coconspirators she had and think it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the end.
Even when the people involved despised one another, nobility always ended up looking out for its own - if there was one thing rulers hated, it was being embarrassed by their own family.
Nanna was also banished from ever returning to Asgard but it was done so in secret. Quietly she left the realm, so that no one outside the family would know of her shame.
Freya of course went with her, still acting as her escort. It was uncertain if she would ever return herself since the one she served was banished.
Balder promised that he would one day return to Asgard, to visit, hopefully very soon. But for now, he said, he felt he needed to go home to Vanaheim - to attempt to reconnect with his mother.
It cast a small cloud over Thor’s continuing engagement festivities, since all the young warriors and nobles had hoped their beloved, resurrected Balder would be there to share in the feasting and dancing and tourneys with them.
Great was the crowd that came to see Balder and the rest of the Vanaheim conclave off the day they went to the Bifrost.
It was said the air rang with the weeping of maidens who had already fallen in love with Balder and hoped he would court them for his bride - it was only in part an exaggeration.
Most had to contend themselves with waving from a distance, though the royal favorites got the honor of saying goodbyes in person.
Sif bowed to Lady Freya one last time, fist clasped over her heart, eyes averted respectably. A slightly pink in the face Steve was surrounded by a gaggle of Shieldmaids that fawned on him admiringly, and he needed Tony’s intervention to keep them from possibly trying to carry him home with them.
Frigga and Nanna exchanged a frosty, civil farewell. Nanna was in something of a daze now, seeming at a loss without the grief and rage that had supported her for so long. Frigga, on the other hand, was quietly mourning the rift that had been permanently created between their families.
“Have a safe journey,” Jane told everyone, waving politely. She stood next to Thor with his arm around her, and despite the smile on her face it was clear by the half-concealed manic gleam in her eyes that she was more than ready for all these people to be gone.
Loki was perhaps more surprised than he ought to be that, after bowing to the king and queen and Thor, and exchanging warrior’s farewells with Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral and the Avengers, Balder came over to give a special goodbye to him.
“Be in good health, cousin,” Balder said to him earnestly, reaching for his hand. “Hopefully my affairs will not keep me from visiting again for too long.”
“Perhaps; but Vanaheim has changed, no doubt, in all these intervening centuries,” was Loki’s reply. “I’m sure you will have much to keep you occupied. Perhaps more than you realize.”
“Maybe. But all the same, I will not let it make us strangers.” Balder paused and gave a deep gaze into Loki’s eyes. “I owe you so much,” he said at last, soft, voice awash in gratitude.
Loki started, a bemused chuckle passing his lips. “You give me too much credit,” he demurred, shifting uncomfortably under so much thankfulness he felt he was not qualified to receive.
“I would not be here right now if it weren’t for you,” Balder insisted. He cupped Loki’s palm between both of his own.
“No, perhaps you wouldn’t.” Loki thought of all the ways that was true, bleakly. “I feel as though I should tell you I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Whatever for?”
“I…I don’t know.” Loki laughed again, this time more bitterly. “It’s clear you’re better off now than you were before, and yet.” He shook his head. “Until you met me, you took an oath never to kill another. You had to break it defending me. It may have been what was needed to free your memories - but still, I can’t help feeling as if I have done you some harm.”
Briefly the set of Balder’s expression turned sorrowful. For better or worse, becoming a killer in battle was something he could never take back. If his innocence had been restored with his rebirth, then he had lost it again once more.
But he shook his head, banishing whatever thoughts haunted him, and smiled at Loki once more, wistful though still genuinely happy.
“As I told you once before, Loki, the past is the past. I believe that you are a good person, and that you could never hurt me intentionally.”
“Be well, Balder,” Loki asked of him as a final parting, his voice heavy and sincere with his desire that it should be so.
“Of course.” Balder turned abruptly, bizarrely timid, almost shy. “I’ll write you,” he promised, and Loki was struck dumb by the realization that he truly was going to be missed.
He could only begin to imagine what the people watching this somewhat emotional parting from a distance must think. But between Thor and the Avengers, and now Balder, it occurred to him he was having an oddly hard time keeping sworn enemies.
Perhaps he truly had gone soft.
Darcy waited until Balder, and the others, had gone completely. Then she sidled back over against Loki, watching his cousin’s retreating back with her brow raised impressively high.
“Wow,” she said, very slowly. “He has got such a crush on you. And not even a manly mancrush, either. That was thoroughly non-platonic longing gazing I saw going on there. ”
Loki closed his eyes. “Darcy,” he entreated her, annoyed. She ignored him.
“I guess it’s not that weird.” She screwed up her nose. “I mean, okay, he is your cousin. But maybe that’s not such a big deal for you guys, considering how many royal families were into that whole intermarriage thing. Like; thanks for the hemophilia, Queen Victoria. Because what Europe needed at the time was another raging untreatable disease.”
“Darcy…”
“Just for the record, though? If you are into him, I might be open for, you know…discussion. Inviting him over to hang out sometime. With just the three of us.” He gaze narrowed and moved sideways. “He is pretty cute. Especially now that he’s not fat anymore.”
“He wasn’t fat!” Loki fairly exploded in exasperation.
Darcy fell instantly silent, turned her head, and simply looked at him.
Despite his better judgment Loki felt his face slightly heating up. Inwardly he cursed.
Her mouth moved in that way that meant she was poorly concealing a smirk.
“Uh huh. I knew it.”
“Darcy,” Loki slipped his arm through hers and twined her hand with his, “you know that I love you, but for right now, do kindly shut up.”
“Make me,” she told him, sweetly, lifting her chin as she tilted her face closer to his.
And so he did.
*
All his life Loki had been raised on stories of war. Ballads and history lessons; boasts and bedtime tales full of weapons and fire and felled enemies.
Asgard was a realm obsessed. Its children were raised and trained for generations to be hungry for battle; in preparation and all eagerness for an invasion.
But for thousands of years that battle they stood ready for, searching for, had never come.
Until today.
The door to the throne room was left open. Out in the vast hallways of the palace, a kind of controlled chaos had emerged. From that perspective one could see clear out to the edge of the grounds, to the start of the rainbow road - and everywhere there were soldiers arming themselves, servants running for cover and commanders gathering their troops.
Horns blew, distant and echoing retorts that told those even far away now was the time for action.
Voices shouted between men. Weapons were grabbed, armor was looked for. Everyone was in a hurry, and most of them were rushing towards the fight.
It was a grim day, the Realm Eternal under siege, enemies already within her gates - but everywhere Loki looked he spied grins and excitement. The Asgardians saw before them a chance to fight for the honor of their land, to face a woe worthy to fuel their bloodlust, to take part in a war story of their own.
This was what they lived for. In the ages to come, there would be songs sung of this day, and these men could say they were there when it happened.
Assuming, of course, there was anyone left to sing the songs, or to listen. Assuming this day ended in victory.
Canny and often cynical as he was, Loki knew better than to begin at the start thinking it was certain.
There would be blood spilled this day. Now that was a certainty. Fate willing, it would mostly be Jotun. But everything had a price, and no doubt by the time it was over there’d be a few Asgardian bodies scattered in among the rest- the glorious fight these warriors oh-so longed for paid for by the heads of their brothers.
Loki joined the disjointed torrent that moved inevitably forward. From every direction came the sounds of metal clanking, the pounding of booted feet. His eyes darted as he took in the allies scattered around.
The All-Father had gone to speak, quickly, to his advisors. Still in his mail Thor held Mjolnir aloft as he yelled out commands for someone to bring him his helmet. The Avengers had joined the cause without hesitation - Loki caught just a glimpse of Iron Man far ahead and vanishing, flame bellowing from his armor.
As soldiers ran towards the Bifrost he spotted Sif among them, shield on her arm and glaive in her hand, moving with determined stride.
He darted after her, catching up and stealing her attention by grabbing her shoulder. She stopped and spun back to look at him.
“Sif,” he breathed, anxious, “how many are there?”
“More than we fought on Jotunheim,” she answered him, clipped. Loki sagged, matching tone to the flinty look in her eyes - enough Frost Giants was not a foe so easily dismissed, especially if they were headed for the Bifrost. There could really be trouble. “They must have called for reinforcements.”
Loki sighed, even knowing there was no time for recriminations. He had been careless, and not hidden their trail or taken steps with his magic to seal off Yggdrasil behind him. But it had never occurred to him the Jotun they’d stumbled over would follow the path they’d so helpfully left for them.
The exact way a group of Jotun had followed a path of his before.
Once more his history was his own worst enemy, speaking out against him.
“Sif,” he said again, begging her with heart sinking, stopping her when he saw she was impatient to leave, “please, you must believe me. I did not intend for this.”
The look Sif gave him in response was genuinely, if dismissively, confused. “Never did the thought occur to me,” was her reply.
And without wasting any more time off she ran to find her place on the battlefield.
As Loki stood there, briefly numb with a feeling of relief and surprise, there came more familiar voices. Head turning, he watched the Warriors Three as they gamboled about.
“Volstagg. Volstagg!” Fandral rushed to catch up to his companion, voice a mixture of laughter and urgency. Silent Hogun stalked the two as a shadow. “Friend, you’re going the wrong way!”
“No,” Volstagg called, not looking back as he gave his response, words curt alongside huffs of his breath. “I am going to stand guard outside my wife’s chamber.”
“What?”
Fandral finally caught up to the other man, all bewilderment as he was able to bring Volstagg to a halt long enough to speak with them.
“You heard me,” the broader man grunted, with a seriousness that banished the errant smile off his friend’s face. “Right now the greater duty is to my family.” His voice was briefly choked: “My Siún. My newborn son…”
“In all odds the Jotun will never make it that far,” Hogun stated, toneless.
Fandral took up the cause more feelingly, nodding and gesturing expansively. “If you cower back here, you’ll miss out on all the fighting! What kind of a story would that make: when we defended Asgard mightily under siege, Volstagg the Valiant hung uselessly in some corridor, ax in hand though he had no one to wave it at?”
But Volstagg’s face was grim, harsh. “And if the front lines fall, and the giants do make their way into the palace?” he demanded. “Who will defend my family then?”
Loki stood aside, unnoticed witness to this tableau. Neither Fandral or Hogun said anything - partially because they had been stunned into somber silence by the possibility Volstagg painted, but partially for something else.
Not noticed at first by her husband, Siún had appeared from wherever she had been hiding, her sleeping child still held firmly in her arms as she walked behind Volstagg, having heard everything he said. The other two men eyed her warily, waiting with bated breath for her to speak.
“If the enemy reaches that far, what difference does it make if there is no one to guard us?” Siún countered without introduction. Volstagg started, and turned to face her. She met her husband’s eyes, frowning. “By then it will already be too late.”
Volstagg kept his chin up but his shoulders dropped. There was nothing to say - anyone warrior enough to understand the circumstances knew she was right.
If the Frost Giants were many and strong enough to defeat all those gone out to face them, to fight their way through scores of able-bodied Asgardian warriors and reach the innermost rooms of the palace unhindered, then there’d be no stopping them. By then the best would be dead, and there would not be numbers of defenders enough to hold them off for very long.
If Volstagg insisted on standing lone protector to his family and the Jotun troops did come, there would be nothing left for him to do at that point but sacrifice himself, dying bravely defending them.
After a moment Volstagg intoned as a solemn vow, “So be it, then! If I should fall, it’s only right that my last breath should be given for those I love-”
“No.” Siún stepped closer, her expression fierce, her voice commanding him. “If you want to protect us, then you should be where you can make a difference. Stop these invaders from coming anywhere near our son.”
Her husband gazed at her in a mixture of wonderment and disbelief. But he listened, and he grew tall under her words.
“Go,” Siún finished. She clutched Saemund tighter to her breast as she made to turn and go back whence she came. “A warrior such as you is needed at the front. We will be waiting, when you return.”
“Until then, my love,” Volstagg called after her, almost wistfully.
But there was a renewed fire in his eyes, a zeal for battle as he turned back to his two friends and crowed, “Well then, what are we waiting for! Let’s show those brutes what it means to face the fury of the Warriors Three!”
Hogun smiled as he clapped him on the back, and Fandral laughed in excitement.
“You know, if you had insisted on staying, we would have remained back as well and stood with you,” he told Volstagg earnestly.
Hogun nodded his agreement. “We fight together, no matter what.”
Volstagg gave a happy, repressed sob and hugged his friends to him. “Oh, if only every man could be so blessed, in having such true companions.”
Thankfully, the interlude was brief. Almost immediately he released them, gave a manly sniff, and gestured before them.
“Come now! Into the fray.”
As the Warriors Three charged off together, Loki looked back in the direction Siún had gone. Though she was by now too far away for him to hear, he watched as she gathered Darcy and Jane to her, hurrying them as they went out of sight. It looked as if the women intended to hide together.
Good. One less thing to worry about; between the three of them, they could take care of each other.
He looked again ahead, at the rapidly disappearing figures of his warrior companions.
Loki was torn. He of course intended to join in, but he knew not where to make his stand. The members of his regular band were scattered.
Should he scurry his way to the front where no doubt his brother and the Avengers were and try to find a place among them? Or should he hang back and fight alongside the ranks of soldiers, with Sif, with the Warriors Three?
Time was brief, however, and even in the throes of a decision there was no space to hesitate. Even as Loki considered he was running, closer and closer to where the battle was, legs moving swiftly and mind too as his thoughts turned multiple directions.
He weighed whether there was enough time to go to his room and gather his full battle armor. It was definitely called for in this situation, and he knew he could make it there and back in only minutes…
But minutes could make all the difference, in the harrowing split-second action of war. At least he was still wearing his travelling gear. No helmet or extra weapons, but chainmail and his throwing knives; yes, needs must, and it would have to do.
He reached the final gateway that overlooked the road leading out of the city. If he stopped and listened, he could hear the roars of giants and the sound of weapons swinging. But there was no time to stop.
The All-Father stood with tall helmet on, cape billowing and Gungnir in hand. Surrounded by armored generals on one side and common guardsmen on the other, he held out his hands to his queen as they made their farewells.
Yet again watching a scene he had no part of, this time Loki hid on purpose. He was reluctant at best to be drawn into their parting. But he peered out from behind a column, watching intently.
“Do not go straight into the thick of things if it can be avoided, my king.” Frigga squeezed her husband’s hands gently. “Your warriors are strong, and will defend your kingdom mightily.”
“Aye, I’ve no doubt.” Odin gave a wry chuckle as he reluctantly freed himself from her grasp. “I will end this quick as it can be done, though not without denying those both young and old their chance at the pleasure. But what a king would I seem, if I sent my people to fight and was not there to lead them?”
Loki understood. The All-Father’s power was great enough that if he wanted, he could ride Sleipnir to the center and destroy all the Jotun with a few well-placed blows. But old as he was, and as great a drain his powers could be on him at times, it was foolishness for him to sacrifice himself over a fight the ordinary soldiers might easily be able to handle. He would be present and aid where he could, but stay back - a secret weapon should it be needed if times grew dark.
“I will pray for your safe and speedy return.” Frigga’s voice seemed almost lighthearted. But it was a very common saying for a wife to give to her husband on the eve of battle. “For you, and all our children.”
Loki ducked back on reflex guiltily, pointlessly afraid she had spotted him - knowing she referred to the metaphorical ‘children’ of their subjects, and otherwise.
Hadn’t they been given cause enough to worry over both Thor and him especially at times? He seemed all too aware of it at present.
“Do so. And remain vigilant, until our return.” Odin turned his head to take in the assembled men that would be standing at the gates just in case they were needed. “There’s a chance some of these invaders may slip through our lines and try to find their way into our city.”
Frigga nodded, and despite her serene expression and folded hands there was steel in her gaze. “They will have to get through us, first.”
Another queen might retreat to safety; it was clear Frigga intended to remain right where she was, shoulder to shoulder with the guards, watching the battle.
Loki had no doubt if it came down to it, his mother would seize a weapon from one of the men to arm herself.
The king and his men parted. But in the vacuum they left Loki was suddenly able to catch a curious, feeble whimpering sound - and as Frigga turned her head aside sharply he followed her gaze and understood.
A short distance away from her sister-in-law, Nanna stood, half-crouched as she clung beseechingly to her recently restored child. Balder moved, restless; his mother tried to hold him back, and when she failed she clung to the edges of his clothes, pleading with him.
“Balder, please…no…stay here with me where you’ll be safe!”
“What good is my being returned to Asgard if I do not my part to defend it?” Balder insisted. He successfully pulled free from his mother’s grasp, the look on his face resolute. “I am a warrior like any other. I will not shirk my duty. Not now.”
“This is not your fight,” Nanna cried. She reached for him again, tripping in her haste and horror. “You can’t…you can’t do this!”
“Forgive me Lady Mother, but I must,” he told her with gravely serious formality. “This is my fight, no matter what you say. I know it in my heart as I know little else.”
He turned his head aside, already looking towards what he would be facing. He truly cast a poetic figure, dusky hair over his solemn brow, jaw set with ready determination. He drew his sword in a fluid motion, grasping hilt tight in his gloved hand.
“All must do their part this day, and I will not be the least among them.”
And with a whirl of his cloak and a faint clink from his mail Balder turned and ran, feet carrying him towards the rainbow bridge with the stride of the truly noble and righteous.
Fool, Loki cursed at him, despairingly, what are you thinking? Able and strong you may be, but what advantage do you hold over foes you refuse to kill?
Nanna lost whatever last bit of composure she had over herself. Her legs gave out under her, and two handmaidens tried in vain to soothe and help hold her upright. Even Frigga was moved to intervene.
All to no avail. Nanna thrashed in their arms, clutching with fingers gone white at the knuckles. Her face contorted in grief as she wailed. Her sobs were unrestrained, violent, in the most alarming way - in her anguish she was made ugly.
She gazed at the path of her son’s flight, eyes screwed up with tears but unblinking. No doubt she was already picturing, and remembering, the sight of Balder’s corpse.
Without pause for reflection or needing another backward glance, Loki slipped from his hiding place and followed his cousin.
Now that he knew Balder’s intention to participate, his role was clear. He would follow the other warrior, stand with him, keep him safe as he fought and make his return certain.
Certainly he owed a debt of that much.
Funny how the mind, the soul even could change. If the same circumstances happened but a few scant years before, Loki knew he would’ve felt differently. When he was cold in isolation, and forcibly unemotional to hide his rawness, a debt had been a stark thing, cut and dried.
He had cost Balder his life once, and he’d once restored it. The balance of his actions was intact, no more, no less.
But things were different now and he knew he could not let it be this way. Bringing Balder back to life and then heedlessly standing aside to let him get killed again - it was a foul, cruel thing to do. No; he could not leave it at that. Not if he considered himself as having any remaining scrap of honor.
As he crept stealthy but rapid in Balder’s footsteps, Loki could not help thinking on his relationship with fate.
Once he had felt it his fate to be wicked, to be Asgard’s enemy. And with bitter resignation he had thought, so be it. He had given in and let himself be a plaything of what he believed was his destiny. If he was to be a monster then oh, he would be monstrous. If it were his fate to fall then he would do it hard and fast, destroying everything he could on the way down around him.
Let him be cursed, despised; he was only playing the part he was meant for.
Now…it was not that he had lost his belief in fate. No, what he’d lost was that sense of resignation.
It didn’t matter what fate wanted, what destiny was meant for him. It could be said, in fact, that he’d declared himself against it, an enemy of fate. He would fight it, stubbornly, unrelenting. If he was supposed to be alone, then he would cling ever more tightly to those that loved him.
And if fate wanted Balder dead, then Loki would do everything in his power to keep death from him.
It didn’t matter if in the end it did any good or not. It didn’t matter if he could make any difference. Because no matter what, he was Loki - and he would not let fate dictate what he was or control his actions any more than he would anything or anyone else.
They were closing in on the bridge. “Balder! Wait!” he called out, catching up as his cousin hesitated, surprised.
As Loki reached him the look Balder gave was narrow-eyed, suspicious. “I hope you don’t intend to talk me out of this,” he stated. His voice carried a note of bitterness. Not a day back on Asgard, and already he was probably tired of being treated like he was helpless.
Loki took a breath and managed an enigmatic smile.
“Of course not,” he answered, bright. “I’m here to fight with you.”
Balder took that in and then grinned immediately, enthusiastic. He outstretched his arm to Loki, offering a warrior’s grasp of solidarity.
It was with only slight trepidation, a sinking feeling he batted away, that Loki reached out in return, watching the happy gleam in Balder’s eyes as they clasped each other’s forearms tight.
Together they stood at the entryway to the Bifrost’s bridge, pressing their backs to a pillar they took shelter behind. As one carefully they looked around it.
Unfolding across the bridge was not the orderly rank and file of soldiers lined up to face one another. It was the sprawling, senseless melee of the battlefield in full thrall. The enemy was not many but neither were they few, and they were spread out all over the rainbow road, some practically at the Bifrost’s citadel and some much nearer to the palace. On all sides they were surrounded by warriors determined to stop them.
The cacophony was unending, hypnotizing, almost strangely melodious. Made up of the sounds of agony, and resolve, and death.
Balder’s weight shifted as he held both sword and shield, swallowing as he readied himself, and his skin grew pale. Loki watched him from the side.
“This is nothing like a quelling tavern brawl, cousin,” he pressed home, quietly. “This is war.”
“I know that it is.” Balder swallowed again, but he nodded to himself firmly, before he looked back at Loki. It was clear from his eyes there was no swaying him. “But an oath is an oath.”
Loki gave out a small sigh. “I know.”
They looked again. Within sight there was a Jotun knocking aside a group of mounted soldiers as if they were naught but toys. As the giant bellowed the soldiers stabbed up at him with staves, uselessly - he stomped his foot and was done with half of them, then sent out a wave of ice to finish the rest.
Together Loki and Balder slid around the pillar, still pressed to the side for shelter as they moved forward, getting ready to strike. Balder had his sword up and Loki curled his fingers, magic dancing around one uplifted hand.
Even at a distance the Jotun was directly before him. Though he probably didn’t see them he appeared to be looking directly at them as he faced forward. By wordless accord they tensed to charge: the Jotun took one step and-
And out of nowhere he was felled, by a large arrow that pierced him directly through the throat.
Loki whirled to the side, startled, and spotted Agent Barton kneeling behind the next pillar closest to them.
“Oh, sorry,” the Avenger said, offhand. He didn’t move a muscle to face them but remained in his position, bow taut. “Was that one supposed to be yours?”
“You,” Balder said, even more flummoxed than Loki himself. “What are you doing back there?”
Loki couldn’t really blame him - he was only surprised because he hadn’t bothered looking, but Asgardians were unused to seeing ranged weapons used in a full-on battle. Most learned archery or how to throw daggers as part of early training, but it was thought to be less exciting, less honorable compared to barreling into the thick of things and bludgeoning an enemy to death with your own hands.
Never mind that a ranged attack meant you could fight without getting anywhere close to your foes, and avoid putting yourself in danger. That would make too much sense.
“Should you not be out there, with your fellows?” Balder finished, quizzical.
Hawkeye still didn’t so much as blink. “My aim’s better from a distance.” Taking stock of the scene before him, he added, “If you two want to get out there, I’d say now’s your window.”
Balder exchanged a look with Loki, bemused.
When they didn’t respond at first the mortal drew one arrow from his quiver, then another. Loki could see both had the odd metallic heads that meant that’d been fitted with one of his various trick devices.
Hawkeye slid them against the bowstring. “Go on,” he urged again, coolly. “I’ll cover you.”
They probably wouldn’t get a second chance. Loki nodded to Balder.
“Come on.”
They ran; dodged past another Jotun, sliding underneath his swinging arms. From behind them they heard Barton fire. Though there wasn’t any time Loki half-wished he could look back to find out what the archer had shot, that it caused the Jotun to make such a strange gurgling sound as it fell.
There was no moment to exalt over the fact that they made it. In fact “made it”, as such, seemed an impotent term - the two of them scrambled, moving through gaps between friend and foe alike as they dodged mostly errant blows. The surface of the bridge was less certain and smooth than it was usually, encumbered in places by spilled blood, discarded weapons and the occasional felled body.
Loki stayed close as physically possible to Balder, hell-bent to not let him out of sight. His cousin lifted shield overhead to cover them both from a grasping giant’s clutches, bashing the hand away; they ran, and they kept running, and all the while Loki looked everywhere around them, picking out what details he could amongst the chaos.
Most everywhere it was variations on the same sight. A cluster of Jotun towering over those that fought them, surrounded by a much larger group of Asgardian warriors, with pockets of indeterminate action in between where motion was too thick and the bodies too close for the mind to get a read on.
It was ice and blood, metal and leather and flesh and bone. Trying to take in the entire bridge and everything happening on it at once would make one impossibly dizzy.
Far ahead, more than halfway along the road’s length, Loki could see the glinting silver of the Shieldmaids’ distinctive armor. He was completely unsurprised that even in so little time Freya could rally her troops to her side and then lead them so far forward.
The Avengers were at the front of the fighting, standing just behind the group of Jotun that’d gotten the closest to the Bifrost, attacking with all their might as they tried to stop them. Sif had beaten her way through the assorted forces to join in, and she stood sure-footed between Thor and Captain America, her sword moving in an unending blur.
Mjolnir came down with a bone-shattering crash and the captain’s shield sang as it sliced through the air. Nearby, Iron Man rained down assault from above, zipping in and out to attack the giants before they could even notice him.
At the other end of the battle stood the All-Father and his conglomeration of generals and personal guard. True to his word he was staying out of it, surveying all from horseback and occasionally shouting out commands.
Whenever a Jotun came too close he would lash out with Gungnir, but other than that he was motionless. They were holding the line, ensuring the invaders couldn’t retreat the way they came.
Somewhere between one edge of fighting and the other were the Warriors Three. Hanging close together they darted through the giants and moved in mostly unison, following a strategy formed by centuries of experience and a close-knit bond.
Rarely did they have to call out to one another, communicating through body language and a glance. Fandral fenced with his rapier at full length, and Hogun battered away with his mace. Sometimes the three surrounded a Jotun soldier and took him on together and other times they grew more spread out. But always they returned to be together as one.
Volstagg gave a bold laugh as he found himself face to face with a giant. “Ho,” he called up at his opponent, crowing; “You may be bigger - but I’m wider!”
He swung his axe with brutal speed and strength, as if chopping down a tree. In the space that opened up, the other two rushed in to meet him back to back.
Loki saw everything and kept moving. There was no chance to join any of them.
At last Balder found a gap in which they could pause for breath. As both stopped he looked around them searchingly.
Their space between was no more than a few feet long, with a surging fight they could join in any direction. A precarious calm within the storm around them.
“Where do we stand?” Balder called keenly, looking to Loki in inquisitive need.
“We don’t,” Loki said in reply, curt. Before he could continue a Jotun lurched forward, and swiftly he unhooked a knife from the back of his belt. He threw hard, his aim true, and the Jotun staggered back as he clawed in agony at the blade buried in his chest.
Loki turned to face his cousin, closely. “We stay on the move,” he explained, hurried but no less certain for it. “Strike fast, and hard, wherever we can do damage and be of most use.”
There were only two of them - and Loki’s forte would always be with speed and stealth, and Balder was hampered by his refusal to use deadly force. Making a stand would not end well. No; they would be at their best weaving in and out, hitting their enemy unexpectedly while not giving them a target.
He half-expected Balder to argue, but the other only nodded, moving shield aside quickly to grip his sword two-handed.
“All right,” he panted. His eyes were wide and ready as he moved to match Loki’s stride. “Lead on; I am with you.”
“Stay close by me,” Loki urged needlessly, unable even in the midst of the fog of war to shake his fear for his cousin’s life. “Ready - now.”
Together they lunged.
There was no time to think, to examine, but distantly Loki was able to appreciate they made a good team - far better than he would’ve anticipated. Balder could be fast when he needed, and though his blows were nonlethal they were expertly placed. He’d leave a Jotun damaged in one limb or another, easy pickings for other Asgardian soldiers to move in and take them down.
And Loki had no such compunctions about killing. With a well-placed blade or a sizzle of magic he tore through one after the next. He was too focused to remember his hatred, his cursed history that attached him to these monsters. There was only room for the task at hand: he was helping Balder, he was protecting him.
In tandem they struck, did what they could, and moved on. The battle kept going around them as their zigzagging, unplanned path took them further and further up along it.
They grew ever closer to the Bifrost and though they were nowhere near it Loki could make out the sight of Heimdall clearly. Armed with his massive sword the golden-armored warrior had stepped down from the door to his watch, and with thrusts from his weapon taken out two giants with misleading ease.
But more giants were coming. As Heimdall stood at the ready, sword still held sideways near his waist as if mid-lunge, he watched the three, then five Jotun that formed a line together, bearing down on him.
At the front was the same Jotun that Loki recognized as the would-be rebellious leader. He was sneering, teeth showing, a gloating look already in his eyes.
Preoccupied as he was with Balder there was nothing Loki could do - but surely Heimdall could handle this on his own?
Heimdall didn’t move any further from his post as he gazed out at the giants, waiting patiently for them to draw closer. The leader made a gesture with his hand, pointing, and two of his soldiers pulled away, moving to form a half-circle and try to surround Heimdall.
Still Heimdall waited. The Jotun held their stances, not giving him any sign as to what their move might be. One Jotun swung a club, suddenly, and got slashed across the hand for his trouble.
This proved to be an intended distraction as, as one, three of the others blasted at Heimdall with ice.
“Fool,” the leader of the Jotun hissed in his harsh gravelly voice, “to think you could stand in the way of my destiny. The time of Asgard is over! Now begins the time of Thrivaldi.”
But his victorious speech was interrupted before it could truly begin. First, Heimdall leapt out from behind the ice, swinging his blade with a roar - he had dodged before he could be frozen and crept down, using the giants’ attack against them as he hid.
Second, there was a percussive, steady, growing sound. The Jotun leader turned to find the Shieldmaids suddenly marching on him from every side, the rhythmic sound from their trademark shields as they walked, with Freya at the forefront.
There was no time for the Jotun to change tactics or make an organized stand. Their rank was broken as Heimdall swiftly cut one down then whirled to tear his sword into another.
And from the other side Freya and her troops strode forward unrelentingly. They closed in, bodies tight, weapons ready, and then - Freya lifted her spear and yelled at the top of her lungs, a wordless order to charge.
It rippled through the Shieldmaids like lightning. As one they picked up the battle cry and went from marching to running forward, swords and spears pointed, shields lifted, surging on their enemies in a tidal wave.
It was a cavalcade of resolved eyes and opened roaring mouths on all sides: a barrage of fierce women, boots pounding, armor clattering, gleaming and majestic and utterly unstoppable.
And Freya herself went straight for the leader. Without any hesitation, the instant she was in range she raised that massive shield, taller than she was and unspeakably heavy; and with one arm in a single motion lifted it to strike the Jotun full-on in the face and chest.
The full weight of the metal shield rammed into him, Freya’s arm swinging as she pushed forward and through. In that one movement the towering giant was thrown back and knocked down, landing painfully on his back at her feet.
Freya’s mouth was still open in a warrior’s scream as she stomped down, holding him in place with her foot, and stabbed downward with her spear.
And just like that, that was the end of the one who had called himself Thrivaldi.
But the battle didn’t end. The Frost Giants were too spread out. Most wouldn’t realize their leader was dead, and even those that did had to know surrender wasn’t an option. They’d opened with hostile actions and in return cast all protections of a treaty aside.
From far away came the booming voice of the All-Father, echoing loud for all to hear:
“No quarter! Hold nothing back!”
So be it. The giants would in desperation try taking as many Asgardians as they could with them to their graves, and the fighting wouldn’t stop until every Frost Giant was dead.
It became a true melee then. The scene turned even more chaotic as ranks closed in; Loki lost sight of all their major allies. He leapt over a dead giant in a frenzy to catch up to Balder, heart pounding.
But his cousin was fine. In fact he hung back, watching in clear admiration as the Shieldmaids practically tore the opposition to pieces.
A young warrior slipped and fell to one knee, the breath knocked out of her as a Jotun closed in. One of her sisters tried to rush to her aid - but before she could get there, there was a blur of red and white.
Captain America’s shield ricocheted off the Frost Giant’s head, and while the enemy was stunned, he jumped in to finish him off with an uppercut bash from his weapon.
Wordlessly, the Avenger knelt to offer the Shieldmaid a hand back to her feet. She accepted with an odd brightness in her eyes. She and the other Shieldmaid that had been about to defend her exchanged a meaningful look.
The very next thing Captain America was flanked on both sides by Shieldmaids, fighting with him in unison as they molded their tactics to fit his.
Loki’s faintly amused attention was torn from this sight by a nearby sound, and he spun to find Balder readying himself to face another Frost Giant that was advancing on him, growling.
Loki shoved Balder out of the way before the warrior could form a protest. In the blink of an eye he cast his magic, causing the lines of his image to flicker and dance before resolving into a small army of doubles. With a matching set of taunting grins, Loki and his illusions moved to surround the giant, standing in a ring at his feet.
The Jotun growled again, this time in frustration. Even this brute was smart enough to realize the many versions of Loki weren’t real, but he had to find the right one in order to attack.
Making a fist the Jotun swung at random and smashed down on first a Loki nearest his left front, then one to his right side.
Both dissolved into nothing, and the real Loki (front side, right) used the distraction to leap forward and stab the giant deep in his calve.
The giant bellowed in pain. Angrily he reached for Loki with one clawed hand, tearing at his side. Thick frost spread out from his touch, eating through the fabric of Loki’s clothing, even twisting his chainmail until it fell apart.
The Jotun was trying to freeze him to death. He had no way of knowing it wouldn’t work, but even still panic worked its way up Loki’s throat. If the chill reached him here and now and his skin started to change in the middle of the battlefield…sheer terror ran right through him at the very thought. His secret revealed was bad enough, but in the mix of war one might see blue skin and ask questions later. He could be killed by one of the other Asgardians, initially unrecognized.
Frantically he pried himself away, frozen cloth and armor coming off him in shreds. On Loki’s left side, from beneath his arm all the way to his boot, there was nothing left covering him but a single useless layer of clothing. No matter - he could worry about that later.
Right hand still gripping tight the knife in the giant’s leg, Loki flipped a curled blade into his left palm. His fingers wrapped around it as he coated the blade in magic, and he plunged it swift and sure into the Jotun’s skull. Making a garbled sound the beast was dead before he hit the ground.
Catching his breath, Loki dismissed the rest of his lingering illusion spell and stepped away, taking stock of himself. The ruined armor was no good, but at least his skin hadn’t changed.
And then he remembered who he was supposed to be protecting.
Alarm swept over him as he turned rapidly and looked around. His head swiveled, barely taking stock of anything but the fact he didn’t see Balder.
“Balder,” he cried out, taking a few more steps away from the dead Jotun as he looked one way then another. “Balder!”
He stumbled forward on the battlefield. Searching the sea of warriors around him he tried desperately to find that familiar face.
And in doing so, he became utterly careless, and completely forgot himself.
Normally even distracted it was nigh impossible to catch him off-guard, but Loki was so consumed by his worried fixation on Balder he stopped paying true attention to everything else around him. The only warning sense he had that another Jotun had moved in behind him came about when it was almost too late.
Loki turned around, feeling as though his normally pristine reflexes were sluggish and dulled as he looked up, up at the Jotun that stood directly over him. His hands were empty, his guard was down, and at first the only thing he could do was gape idiotically.
The Jotun’s face was twisted in hatred, either over Loki’s killing of his comrade or perhaps simply in principle. Out of ice he had formed a massive spiked war-hammer and had brought it high over his head, muscles taut as he prepared to smash it down onto Loki.
And maybe Loki would’ve recovered enough to step out of the way in time. Maybe his reflexes would’ve taken over and he’d have found some last second way to defend himself.
He’d never know. He never got that chance.
Just as the Jotun’s arms came down, ready to bring in the killing blow, a broadsword suddenly erupted from the middle of his chest as he was stabbed from behind.
A spray of blood hit the side of Loki’s face. He flinched, instinctive, then watched as the sword continued sideways and cut the Jotun nearly in two. Slowly, heavily, the giant fell down dead.
Standing right behind him was Balder, his blade still uplifted in both hands, covered in the Jotun’s blood.
Loki stared at him, dazed. Balder’s mouth was half-open, gasping, the rush from his lethal action still fading. At first he looked back at Loki, and then he looked down at his hands and his gore-coated sword.
His face was dotted in flecks of red. The front of his doublet was splattered. The blood dripped gradually down his still half-raised sword and was beginning to fall onto his gloves.
Onto his hands - the blood of a life he had taken, Frost Giant or no.
An oath is an oath, he had said.
In dismay Loki started to move closer to him, ready to reach out, to try and find the words to say. But before he got there something strange happened.
Balder began to glow. A bright, white light began emanating from his being, growing stronger until it blocked out the very sight of him.
Loki raised a hand to shield his eyes. The light faded in a few seconds, as sudden and unexpected as it had come on.
Balder still stood there in his blood-covered armor. But he had changed. He looked leaner, stronger, more well-muscled, maybe even a little bit taller. The unnatural white of his hair had gone, replaced by the fair brown of his childhood.
And there was something else about him - something undefinable. An aura, an air, of confidence and beauty and youth.
The shadows had gone from him. He was truly Asgardian again. He was Balder the Bright.
Loki’s move moved in the spasm of a smile. Still grasping what he’d witnessed he made a sound, a prelude to trying to speak. Balder looked up at that and met his gaze, his blue eyes wide, vaguely overwhelmed: with sudden knowledge and understanding.
And Loki knew at once, the change hadn’t been physical only. Balder’s memory had been restored in full.
Balder looked slowly down at himself, as if struggling with grasping what’d happened to him. Loki shifted his weight and crept a small step back, feeling a twist within from his own warring emotions.
He was glad for this. Truly. Now everything was right. But it also meant that Balder would remember him for who and what he was. He would remember why he should have nothing to do with him.
Remotely Loki became aware that they were surrounded by the sound of cheering.
While the two of them had been distracted, the fight was finally over. All the Frost Giant rebels were dead.
Thor spotted his brother and picked his way over to them. But his grin of triumph fell in amazement as he noticed immediately what had happened to Balder.
He looked the other warrior head to toe, raking in his changed appearance, momentarily speechless. “Balder?”
The other man’s head jerked up at the sound of his name - no hesitation, no air of sad confusion now. He saw Thor and his eyes lit up with full recognition and warm emotion.
“Cousin!” He grinned and Thor laughed, happy.
Balder went to him and they embraced as if they were seeing each other only for the first time. But it could be said, in a way, they were.
Thor clapped him on the back as they pulled apart. “You are whole again,” he noted, easily as astonished as he was pleased. “You have been returned and become your true self. How is this? What happened?”
“I do not know,” Balder admitted, haltingly.
Loki rotated to face them, his expression carefully composed. “Balder became what he was meant to be,” he told them, both men turning to listen to him quizzically. “A warrior, a son of Asgard. Somehow the key lay concealed in his pacifism. When he broke it, when he spilled life’s blood, so too went the spell.”
Though he still smiled Thor’s demeanor became more solemn. He placed a hand on Balder’s shoulder.
“Your first kill,” he remarked. “It is something to be both celebrated and, perhaps, privately mourned.”
“Yes,” Balder said, voice and gaze both far-off and inscrutable.
Thor brightened again quickly, however. “But either way, this fight is over. We stand together victorious.” He drew Loki to him, other hand going to his brother’s shoulder. “Our home is safe!”
“Yes,” Loki had to agree, and though his other feelings were complicated, for this he was quietly relieved.
The battle had ended. Men helped carry off the wounded and the few that’d been killed. Leaders were regrouping their troops to them.
Iron Man was using the blasters of his suit to melt away some damage to the bridge itself. Hawkeye had appeared to support an injured soldier as he limped back home. With somber gravity Captain America had joined the Shieldmaids as they lined up each of their fallen sisterhood and placed their bodies on their shields.
At the steps leading to the Bifrost, Heimdall and Freya stood, shaking hands in a warrior’s grip of camaraderie.
Loki had a feeling, though, that the Watcher would not be offering Freya a boon of his again - and that even if he had, the Lady would not accept it.
The Warriors Three and Sif had found each other. The men laughed uproariously, slapping each other on the backs, while the lady stood there and looked both smug and tired. There was talk already of going to a tavern to share stories and battle scars and celebrate living to fight yet another glorious day.
The All-Father had dismounted his horse and stood by the end of the bridge as his people filed past him, watching, silent.
It was the listless peace that came after chaos and destruction, the quiet of the battlegrounds after all the battles were done.
“Someone fetch me a sword,” one man suddenly called, boisterously. He stood over the body of a half-dismembered Jotun, smirking vicious as he grabbed onto it by the scalp. “We can keep these heads as trophies!”
Some of his fellows laughed and sounded their quick agreement, and headed eagerly towards more of the corpses.
“No.”
Thor’s one word firmly echoed across the space of the rainbow road, and all turned to look at their prince. He raised his voice higher, tight with anger and finality, and moved so that he would be easier to see.
“They may have been our enemies but they were sentient beings, and we owe them more respect than that.” Some of his audience made disbelieving sounds but he continued, undaunted. “They were warriors and worthy opponents, and they fought bravely for what they believed in, even if that cause was corrupt. We are men, and women, of Asgard - a home we all just fought valiantly to defend. It is beneath us to partake in such desecration.”
He canted his head and looked over the side of the road into the abyss, black and seemingly endless.
“I would say send them back to Jotunheim but alas, their rulers probably would not welcome them there.” He nodded, indicating the empty space. “So let us deliver them to this expanse, where hopefully they may find peace.”
There were grumbles and mutters from the soldiers, who at first didn’t move to obey him.
Then, there was a rushed parting in the crowd, the sound of eight mighty hooves falling softly as the All-Father walked his way over among them, leading his horse by the reins.
“You heard my son,” the king said, calm. “Do as he commands.”
So one by one, with suppressed grunting and grumbling, the Asgardians worked in groups to lift the heavy lifeless bodies and carry them to the edge, where they rolled, slid, or simply hurled them down.
Thor helped. So did most of his friends.
Loki silently took a position by the bridge’s end, one foot braced on the railing, and he watched as one by one the Frost Giants fell down into the black and out of sight.
Oblivion swallowed them whole, embracing them, just as firmly as it had once embraced another fallen monster.
There was a faint cheer behind him, and Loki looked to see a sheepish Balder being carried triumphantly on the shoulders of half a dozen warriors, as a crowd gathered around, eager to see and touch him.
It seemed his glorious return was at last at hand.
Loki slipped away and began making his way back, unnoticed. All of a sudden he felt weary, and so very alone.
Asgard had her victory. Thor had his honor and his bride. Balder had everything that was coming to him.
All Loki wanted was to find Darcy and rest with her, lay his head in her lap and hold her in his arms.
*
A few days after the battle for the Bifrost, word of what happened was sent back to Jotunheim.
Though it was hoped that what became of the giants would serve as fitting warning for any who would think to try something similar, the All-Father let the two kings of Jotunheim know he held them not responsible for what happened since the defeated invasion was led by a rebel, and that he had no intention of reprisal for actions in which they played no part.
The ruler of Asgard wished the rulers of Jotunheim well, and was content for their two worlds to remain at peace.
(After the message was delivered, the Jotun kings held a conference alone together, where they discussed matters with surprising civility considering it was upheld they hated one another.
“So,” said Helblindi, “Thrivaldi is dead.”
“Aye,” his brother, Býleistr agreed. “Far from a great loss for us, or the realm, considering he posed the greatest threat of usurpation.”
“Indeed. How very kind of the Asgardians to conveniently remove him for us.”
“Certainly so.”
“Do you suppose that anyone has wondered how there was an active passage through Yggdrasil that neither of us knew about, and that Thrivaldi was able to march his entire forces into without us doing anything to either stop or follow them?”
“Of course not,” Býleistr exclaimed. “After all, it is it widely known that I’m far too slow-witted to notice such a thing.”
“True. And for my part,” Helblindi chimed in, “it’s known I am far too rash and hot-headed to notice anything of the like, either.”
And the two sons of the Laufey exchanged a grin.)
The next affair before Asgard’s king concerned the unsuccessful plot to replace the crown prince’s betrothed with an imposter. This too was handled as quickly, and simply, and quietly as possible.
Though the repercussions of the plot had been quite public, the involvement of the leaders of Vanaheim in it was not. And it was decided in the interest of not causing a scandal, it was best this remain unknown.
The Enchantress was blamed for everything, and prevented from speaking out in her defense so she couldn’t reveal she did not act alone. Her magic was stripped, and she was banished again, this time not just from the palace but all of Asgard - cast out in the middle of the night and sent forcibly on her way.
Loki knew not where she was sent, and he didn’t care to know. Still he had to admit, part of him felt sorry for Amora. She had ultimately ended up in over her head, used and betrayed, and took the full weight for a scheme that had only been part hers to begin with.
But then again, he didn’t feel all that sorry. Wherever she did end up, she was sure to find some way to survive. And if she was half so clever as she thought herself, she would’ve known better than to choose the coconspirators she had and think it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the end.
Even when the people involved despised one another, nobility always ended up looking out for its own - if there was one thing rulers hated, it was being embarrassed by their own family.
Nanna was also banished from ever returning to Asgard but it was done so in secret. Quietly she left the realm, so that no one outside the family would know of her shame.
Freya of course went with her, still acting as her escort. It was uncertain if she would ever return herself since the one she served was banished.
Balder promised that he would one day return to Asgard, to visit, hopefully very soon. But for now, he said, he felt he needed to go home to Vanaheim - to attempt to reconnect with his mother.
It cast a small cloud over Thor’s continuing engagement festivities, since all the young warriors and nobles had hoped their beloved, resurrected Balder would be there to share in the feasting and dancing and tourneys with them.
Great was the crowd that came to see Balder and the rest of the Vanaheim conclave off the day they went to the Bifrost.
It was said the air rang with the weeping of maidens who had already fallen in love with Balder and hoped he would court them for his bride - it was only in part an exaggeration.
Most had to contend themselves with waving from a distance, though the royal favorites got the honor of saying goodbyes in person.
Sif bowed to Lady Freya one last time, fist clasped over her heart, eyes averted respectably. A slightly pink in the face Steve was surrounded by a gaggle of Shieldmaids that fawned on him admiringly, and he needed Tony’s intervention to keep them from possibly trying to carry him home with them.
Frigga and Nanna exchanged a frosty, civil farewell. Nanna was in something of a daze now, seeming at a loss without the grief and rage that had supported her for so long. Frigga, on the other hand, was quietly mourning the rift that had been permanently created between their families.
“Have a safe journey,” Jane told everyone, waving politely. She stood next to Thor with his arm around her, and despite the smile on her face it was clear by the half-concealed manic gleam in her eyes that she was more than ready for all these people to be gone.
Loki was perhaps more surprised than he ought to be that, after bowing to the king and queen and Thor, and exchanging warrior’s farewells with Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral and the Avengers, Balder came over to give a special goodbye to him.
“Be in good health, cousin,” Balder said to him earnestly, reaching for his hand. “Hopefully my affairs will not keep me from visiting again for too long.”
“Perhaps; but Vanaheim has changed, no doubt, in all these intervening centuries,” was Loki’s reply. “I’m sure you will have much to keep you occupied. Perhaps more than you realize.”
“Maybe. But all the same, I will not let it make us strangers.” Balder paused and gave a deep gaze into Loki’s eyes. “I owe you so much,” he said at last, soft, voice awash in gratitude.
Loki started, a bemused chuckle passing his lips. “You give me too much credit,” he demurred, shifting uncomfortably under so much thankfulness he felt he was not qualified to receive.
“I would not be here right now if it weren’t for you,” Balder insisted. He cupped Loki’s palm between both of his own.
“No, perhaps you wouldn’t.” Loki thought of all the ways that was true, bleakly. “I feel as though I should tell you I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Whatever for?”
“I…I don’t know.” Loki laughed again, this time more bitterly. “It’s clear you’re better off now than you were before, and yet.” He shook his head. “Until you met me, you took an oath never to kill another. You had to break it defending me. It may have been what was needed to free your memories - but still, I can’t help feeling as if I have done you some harm.”
Briefly the set of Balder’s expression turned sorrowful. For better or worse, becoming a killer in battle was something he could never take back. If his innocence had been restored with his rebirth, then he had lost it again once more.
But he shook his head, banishing whatever thoughts haunted him, and smiled at Loki once more, wistful though still genuinely happy.
“As I told you once before, Loki, the past is the past. I believe that you are a good person, and that you could never hurt me intentionally.”
“Be well, Balder,” Loki asked of him as a final parting, his voice heavy and sincere with his desire that it should be so.
“Of course.” Balder turned abruptly, bizarrely timid, almost shy. “I’ll write you,” he promised, and Loki was struck dumb by the realization that he truly was going to be missed.
He could only begin to imagine what the people watching this somewhat emotional parting from a distance must think. But between Thor and the Avengers, and now Balder, it occurred to him he was having an oddly hard time keeping sworn enemies.
Perhaps he truly had gone soft.
Darcy waited until Balder, and the others, had gone completely. Then she sidled back over against Loki, watching his cousin’s retreating back with her brow raised impressively high.
“Wow,” she said, very slowly. “He has got such a crush on you. And not even a manly mancrush, either. That was thoroughly non-platonic longing gazing I saw going on there. ”
Loki closed his eyes. “Darcy,” he entreated her, annoyed. She ignored him.
“I guess it’s not that weird.” She screwed up her nose. “I mean, okay, he is your cousin. But maybe that’s not such a big deal for you guys, considering how many royal families were into that whole intermarriage thing. Like; thanks for the hemophilia, Queen Victoria. Because what Europe needed at the time was another raging untreatable disease.”
“Darcy…”
“Just for the record, though? If you are into him, I might be open for, you know…discussion. Inviting him over to hang out sometime. With just the three of us.” He gaze narrowed and moved sideways. “He is pretty cute. Especially now that he’s not fat anymore.”
“He wasn’t fat!” Loki fairly exploded in exasperation.
Darcy fell instantly silent, turned her head, and simply looked at him.
Despite his better judgment Loki felt his face slightly heating up. Inwardly he cursed.
Her mouth moved in that way that meant she was poorly concealing a smirk.
“Uh huh. I knew it.”
“Darcy,” Loki slipped his arm through hers and twined her hand with his, “you know that I love you, but for right now, do kindly shut up.”
“Make me,” she told him, sweetly, lifting her chin as she tilted her face closer to his.
And so he did.