Mercy (part 4)
Fandom: Thor
Title: Mercy
Length: 6,622 up to this part
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I'm not associated with Thor or Marvel.
From his station at the edge of the Rainbow Bridge Heimdall could turn his eyes to anything. Or so he had thought. So everyone had thought.
Loki, the Trickster, had confounded him on occasion, cloaking himself and slipping between realms without the aid of the Bifrost. But Loki was a special case. A Jotun raised by Aesir, he unwittingly lived between worlds. He could sniff out secret places that those firmly entrenched in one realm could not. Places so secret that even Heimdall could not see them until he knew they were there.
He had almost missed the Frost Giants. How they had found the path by themselves he did not know. Maybe Loki had shown them once before. Maybe it had been pure luck and coincidence. What he did know was that Loki had not had a hand in this attack. Heimdall had kept an eye on his exiled existence and saw merely a man with little more strength and power than a mortal, desperately finding ways to survive a now harsh, lonely, and painful existence.
He watched as Loki fashioned rope from torn strips of his tunic, and then caught rabbits in the snare he was able to create with his coarse rope. But with a rabbit caught it now became a struggle to cut into the skin to get at the meat. He watched Loki building fires, burning rabbits, tearing into them for just a little bit of sustenance. He managed to poach a few pheasants without being caught. Their feathers were easier to remove than fur and they made a better meal. He watched when Loki began making simple tools, carving bones with rough rocks, sharpening them into small knives. The trickster used all his wits to survive.
He also watched when Loki lay down under the shelter he had built beneath the roots of a fallen tree and curled up for the night, hugging himself and whispering in soothing tones as if he could offer himself the comfort that no one else would. He never let himself sleep deeply and was on a constant alert for any predators that might be prowling near where he slept. Lack of food, company, and sleep made him irrational and moody. He swung between manic energy and depressed lethargy. Heimdall watched the tears and the fits and the despair.
He watched it all in silence. Thor, though a frequent visitor, had yet to ask after his brother.
But today Heimdall could not watch in silence as one eye turned to Loki.
He watched as Loki snuck into the city, a not unusual occurrence. For all the days he spent outside Loki did not tan. His skin was pale, the blue creeping over his limbs and face. He walked hesitantly, but seemed to have a purpose to his direction. He turned on to one of the busier roads and quickened his steps. The cloak was pulled tight to his body and the hood low over his face, but everyone recognized it by now and knew who hid underneath. Their stares were colder than normal and they spit as he passed.
“Hey!”
Loki continued walking, ignoring the shout, though he knew it was directed at him. He kept his head down so as not to accidently make eye contact. He did not even know what color his eyes were at the moment.
So focused was he on the ground that he was surprised when he bumped into someone’s chest. He glanced up quickly and found himself becoming surrounded by a group of drunken men. The one he had bumped into caught his wrist in a painful grip, but Loki kept his face carefully blank and forced his muscles to relax. He tried to look unconcerned as the man opened the cloak to inspect the rune carved into his chest. He had found that well placed submission was often the smartest tactic that one could employ. Most people let him go after a few curses and some slaps, their anger finding no kindling in his passivity.
“How dare you come here,” the man growled. He grabbed Loki’s other arm and shook him for emphasis. “After all you’ve done, you dare show that monstrous face of yours?”
Loki allowed himself to be thrown to the ground. He curled up and stayed down as he took a few kicks. Then he was hauled back up and the man’s stinking breath was in his face.
“Get out, traitor. Trickster. Lying serpent.” Each name careful emphasized and spat out like a curse. The man gave Loki a shove, while his friends began to group around him. He recognized the formation. They were about to run him out of the city, beating him and throwing whatever they could lay their hands on until he was well into the woods. But he could not leave yet. First he needed an answer.
“Please, I must know,” Loki let himself plead, with so little dignity left he hardly cared if he threw it all away. “Is my- Is Odin alive? And - Frigga, Thor, are they.... Please tell me, are they all unharmed?”
The man regarded Loki with narrowed eyes and then spit in his face before replying. “Aye. They’re all fine. Looks like you failed to kill them once again.”
“But I-”
“Traitor,” the man spit again and Loki had no time to wipe it away before he was pushed against the nearest wall. “You and those other monsters failed to murder the royal family, yes, but what about my wife? She worked there, maybe you saw her in years past. A handmaid to the queen. Blond and bright as a summer day. Delicate and beautiful. Do you remember her? Do you?!”
Loki choked out a sound that might have been a reply. The man’s arm was pushing into his neck, pushing dangerously into his windpipe and cutting off his ability to breath.
“You killed her. You and your schemes, you’d kill us all if you could. A bastard and a traitor. Why did they even let you live? Why, when my sweet and innocent girl is dead?”
The arm was removed from Loki’s neck and he coughed and sputtered as he breathed in much needed oxygen. He had no time to recover as he was spun around, his face pressed into the wall. He turned his head and felt his cheek scrape along the stone. The man was doing something behind him and the other men who had been watching up to this point suddenly joined. They held Loki in place while the man tore off the cloak and ripped at Loki’s clothes.
“I loved her,” the man whispered in his ear, slurring the words in alcohol and grief, breath hot and ragged. “I loved her more than anything could ever love a monster like you. She would have come home tonight. Her night off. The only night we were allowed to spend together.”
Loki felt something pressing against him then. With his trousers ripped off he felt exposed and vulnerable and he was beginning to understand what was about to happen.
“Now how shall I spend it?” the man’s rasping voice brought shivers to Loki’s spine. He tried to push away from the wall, but the man’s friends held his arms and spread his feet apart. He felt hands on his hips warming his Jotun skin, but gripping hard enough to leave black and blue bruises on that unblemished Aesir pink.
If Heimdall could unsee half of what he saw he would be a much happier man. But he was stuck witnessing the best and the worst of people. He watched Loki fight and he watched Loki give in. There was no reason to send a message out. There was no attack on Asgard. No danger to it’s king and subjects. So why did he feel the desire to send for help?
“How does she?”
Both of Heimdall’s eyes had turned to Loki and so intense was his gaze that he did not notice Thor’s arrival. He turned one eye to his prince, but there were none to spare for the Lady Jane today.
“They have him,” Heimdall answered calmly. “And they will kill him. You must hurry.”
Thor’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in confusion. But before he could question Heimdall’s words, realization dawned.
“Where?” Thor asked urgently. He made an aborted movement as if about to place a hand on Heimdall’s arm to shake the answer from him.
“In the city. An alley along the north side, close to Fandral the Dashing’s house.”
Thor and his horse were a blur upon the bridge, so fast did he urge his steed to run. He wished for Moljnir that he might fly, quick as the wind and crush those that would hurt his brother.
Heimdall’s coordinates, though nonspecific, were enough for Thor to follow. When he reached the north side he followed the noise of an angry crowd. As he dismounted he saw his friends, the Warriors and Sif and for a moment his heart broke that they would be a part of this. But as he strode forward he saw Hogun pull a raging man up and throw him out to the fringes of the crowd. The others were similarly shoving people away, keeping them back from the center of the mob where Thor could see a figure curled defensively on the ground.
“Hrrrraagggghhhh” Thor cried in an imitation of one of his father’s scarier sounds. He threw whoever was in his way to the side like they were mere dolls that had gotten in the way of a child having a tantrum. The townsfolk began to fall back, but they continued with the angry shouting and hissing spitting. The men at the center of the turmoil were busy kicking and punching something on the ground. Thor picked them up, lifting them fully off the ground and tossed them down the street, not caring where they would land.
His friends formed a circle around him as he knelt beside the battered form of his little brother. Loki was just barely conscious enough to flinch at Thor’s touch.
“No, no. Shhhh,” Thor murmered. He kept his fingers gentle as he ran them over Loki’s crushed cheek, assessing the damage to the bone. There were gashes, deep and shallow in his skin and dark red welts forming along his back. He sought out the other damages done by fists and boots, one hand ghosting over his brother’s now perfectly Aesir body, now broken into bits. The other hand pet his head, avoiding the knots tangled into his hair.
“Thor,” it was Volstagg. “What would you have us do?”
Thor did not look up. He knew of his friends distrust of Loki. They could not forgive the trickster as could Thor. But they were a loyal bunch and would do as he asked of them, even when they did not agree. He could hear them as they kept the spitting crowd back. They did enough. More than he would ask from them. It was Thor’s job, as it had always been, to keep Loki safe.
Loki’s clothing lay in tatters around his prone form. The cloak that he had hidden himself in was ripped in two and discarded. In a graceful movement Thor removed his cape and covered his little brother. Carefully, ever so carefully, he wrapped Loki up, a body stained with dark, ugly blood, now protected within his pure and brilliant cape. Red upon red. How Thor wished instead to see that frosty blue.
With Loki’s less injured cheek resting against his shoulder, Thor lifted his limp body, eliciting a weak groan. His steps were measured and confident as he passed the now quiet crowd. He spared them no glance as he took his brother home.
Author's Note: The story will continue (it's turning epic), but may veer off a bit from the OP's original wishes. So I'm counting these four parts as the fill and if you choose to continue reading, please do so.
Go to Part 5
Title: Mercy
Length: 6,622 up to this part
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I'm not associated with Thor or Marvel.
From his station at the edge of the Rainbow Bridge Heimdall could turn his eyes to anything. Or so he had thought. So everyone had thought.
Loki, the Trickster, had confounded him on occasion, cloaking himself and slipping between realms without the aid of the Bifrost. But Loki was a special case. A Jotun raised by Aesir, he unwittingly lived between worlds. He could sniff out secret places that those firmly entrenched in one realm could not. Places so secret that even Heimdall could not see them until he knew they were there.
He had almost missed the Frost Giants. How they had found the path by themselves he did not know. Maybe Loki had shown them once before. Maybe it had been pure luck and coincidence. What he did know was that Loki had not had a hand in this attack. Heimdall had kept an eye on his exiled existence and saw merely a man with little more strength and power than a mortal, desperately finding ways to survive a now harsh, lonely, and painful existence.
He watched as Loki fashioned rope from torn strips of his tunic, and then caught rabbits in the snare he was able to create with his coarse rope. But with a rabbit caught it now became a struggle to cut into the skin to get at the meat. He watched Loki building fires, burning rabbits, tearing into them for just a little bit of sustenance. He managed to poach a few pheasants without being caught. Their feathers were easier to remove than fur and they made a better meal. He watched when Loki began making simple tools, carving bones with rough rocks, sharpening them into small knives. The trickster used all his wits to survive.
He also watched when Loki lay down under the shelter he had built beneath the roots of a fallen tree and curled up for the night, hugging himself and whispering in soothing tones as if he could offer himself the comfort that no one else would. He never let himself sleep deeply and was on a constant alert for any predators that might be prowling near where he slept. Lack of food, company, and sleep made him irrational and moody. He swung between manic energy and depressed lethargy. Heimdall watched the tears and the fits and the despair.
He watched it all in silence. Thor, though a frequent visitor, had yet to ask after his brother.
But today Heimdall could not watch in silence as one eye turned to Loki.
He watched as Loki snuck into the city, a not unusual occurrence. For all the days he spent outside Loki did not tan. His skin was pale, the blue creeping over his limbs and face. He walked hesitantly, but seemed to have a purpose to his direction. He turned on to one of the busier roads and quickened his steps. The cloak was pulled tight to his body and the hood low over his face, but everyone recognized it by now and knew who hid underneath. Their stares were colder than normal and they spit as he passed.
“Hey!”
Loki continued walking, ignoring the shout, though he knew it was directed at him. He kept his head down so as not to accidently make eye contact. He did not even know what color his eyes were at the moment.
So focused was he on the ground that he was surprised when he bumped into someone’s chest. He glanced up quickly and found himself becoming surrounded by a group of drunken men. The one he had bumped into caught his wrist in a painful grip, but Loki kept his face carefully blank and forced his muscles to relax. He tried to look unconcerned as the man opened the cloak to inspect the rune carved into his chest. He had found that well placed submission was often the smartest tactic that one could employ. Most people let him go after a few curses and some slaps, their anger finding no kindling in his passivity.
“How dare you come here,” the man growled. He grabbed Loki’s other arm and shook him for emphasis. “After all you’ve done, you dare show that monstrous face of yours?”
Loki allowed himself to be thrown to the ground. He curled up and stayed down as he took a few kicks. Then he was hauled back up and the man’s stinking breath was in his face.
“Get out, traitor. Trickster. Lying serpent.” Each name careful emphasized and spat out like a curse. The man gave Loki a shove, while his friends began to group around him. He recognized the formation. They were about to run him out of the city, beating him and throwing whatever they could lay their hands on until he was well into the woods. But he could not leave yet. First he needed an answer.
“Please, I must know,” Loki let himself plead, with so little dignity left he hardly cared if he threw it all away. “Is my- Is Odin alive? And - Frigga, Thor, are they.... Please tell me, are they all unharmed?”
The man regarded Loki with narrowed eyes and then spit in his face before replying. “Aye. They’re all fine. Looks like you failed to kill them once again.”
“But I-”
“Traitor,” the man spit again and Loki had no time to wipe it away before he was pushed against the nearest wall. “You and those other monsters failed to murder the royal family, yes, but what about my wife? She worked there, maybe you saw her in years past. A handmaid to the queen. Blond and bright as a summer day. Delicate and beautiful. Do you remember her? Do you?!”
Loki choked out a sound that might have been a reply. The man’s arm was pushing into his neck, pushing dangerously into his windpipe and cutting off his ability to breath.
“You killed her. You and your schemes, you’d kill us all if you could. A bastard and a traitor. Why did they even let you live? Why, when my sweet and innocent girl is dead?”
The arm was removed from Loki’s neck and he coughed and sputtered as he breathed in much needed oxygen. He had no time to recover as he was spun around, his face pressed into the wall. He turned his head and felt his cheek scrape along the stone. The man was doing something behind him and the other men who had been watching up to this point suddenly joined. They held Loki in place while the man tore off the cloak and ripped at Loki’s clothes.
“I loved her,” the man whispered in his ear, slurring the words in alcohol and grief, breath hot and ragged. “I loved her more than anything could ever love a monster like you. She would have come home tonight. Her night off. The only night we were allowed to spend together.”
Loki felt something pressing against him then. With his trousers ripped off he felt exposed and vulnerable and he was beginning to understand what was about to happen.
“Now how shall I spend it?” the man’s rasping voice brought shivers to Loki’s spine. He tried to push away from the wall, but the man’s friends held his arms and spread his feet apart. He felt hands on his hips warming his Jotun skin, but gripping hard enough to leave black and blue bruises on that unblemished Aesir pink.
If Heimdall could unsee half of what he saw he would be a much happier man. But he was stuck witnessing the best and the worst of people. He watched Loki fight and he watched Loki give in. There was no reason to send a message out. There was no attack on Asgard. No danger to it’s king and subjects. So why did he feel the desire to send for help?
“How does she?”
Both of Heimdall’s eyes had turned to Loki and so intense was his gaze that he did not notice Thor’s arrival. He turned one eye to his prince, but there were none to spare for the Lady Jane today.
“They have him,” Heimdall answered calmly. “And they will kill him. You must hurry.”
Thor’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in confusion. But before he could question Heimdall’s words, realization dawned.
“Where?” Thor asked urgently. He made an aborted movement as if about to place a hand on Heimdall’s arm to shake the answer from him.
“In the city. An alley along the north side, close to Fandral the Dashing’s house.”
Thor and his horse were a blur upon the bridge, so fast did he urge his steed to run. He wished for Moljnir that he might fly, quick as the wind and crush those that would hurt his brother.
Heimdall’s coordinates, though nonspecific, were enough for Thor to follow. When he reached the north side he followed the noise of an angry crowd. As he dismounted he saw his friends, the Warriors and Sif and for a moment his heart broke that they would be a part of this. But as he strode forward he saw Hogun pull a raging man up and throw him out to the fringes of the crowd. The others were similarly shoving people away, keeping them back from the center of the mob where Thor could see a figure curled defensively on the ground.
“Hrrrraagggghhhh” Thor cried in an imitation of one of his father’s scarier sounds. He threw whoever was in his way to the side like they were mere dolls that had gotten in the way of a child having a tantrum. The townsfolk began to fall back, but they continued with the angry shouting and hissing spitting. The men at the center of the turmoil were busy kicking and punching something on the ground. Thor picked them up, lifting them fully off the ground and tossed them down the street, not caring where they would land.
His friends formed a circle around him as he knelt beside the battered form of his little brother. Loki was just barely conscious enough to flinch at Thor’s touch.
“No, no. Shhhh,” Thor murmered. He kept his fingers gentle as he ran them over Loki’s crushed cheek, assessing the damage to the bone. There were gashes, deep and shallow in his skin and dark red welts forming along his back. He sought out the other damages done by fists and boots, one hand ghosting over his brother’s now perfectly Aesir body, now broken into bits. The other hand pet his head, avoiding the knots tangled into his hair.
“Thor,” it was Volstagg. “What would you have us do?”
Thor did not look up. He knew of his friends distrust of Loki. They could not forgive the trickster as could Thor. But they were a loyal bunch and would do as he asked of them, even when they did not agree. He could hear them as they kept the spitting crowd back. They did enough. More than he would ask from them. It was Thor’s job, as it had always been, to keep Loki safe.
Loki’s clothing lay in tatters around his prone form. The cloak that he had hidden himself in was ripped in two and discarded. In a graceful movement Thor removed his cape and covered his little brother. Carefully, ever so carefully, he wrapped Loki up, a body stained with dark, ugly blood, now protected within his pure and brilliant cape. Red upon red. How Thor wished instead to see that frosty blue.
With Loki’s less injured cheek resting against his shoulder, Thor lifted his limp body, eliciting a weak groan. His steps were measured and confident as he passed the now quiet crowd. He spared them no glance as he took his brother home.
Author's Note: The story will continue (it's turning epic), but may veer off a bit from the OP's original wishes. So I'm counting these four parts as the fill and if you choose to continue reading, please do so.
Go to Part 5