"Growing Pains" - Loki + Thor (AU movie!Marvelverse) - {Chapter V}
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A/N: And since this is movieverse!Thor and therefore there IS no “canon” RE: Svartalfheim and the Dark Elves …I really just Did What I Want. |D In Norse mythology most of the time the Dark Elves seem to basically = Dwarves, but that’s not the case in the Marvelverse, so I went with that. Dwarves have their own planet, Nidavellir.
Cross-posted in the comments of Round 1 @ norsekink.
{ .V. } {In Which Loki Learns Of Thor’s Idea & Has The First Of Several Bad Days, And Thor Plays Whack-A-Mole}
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“This is easily the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
In actuality, Loki only thinks it’s the worst idea Thor’s had since breakfast, when he had decided that porridge was an acceptable finger-food (Loki’s fault really, since he’d been annoyed at Thor for closing the book he’d been reading and losing his spot, and had magicked away every spoon that got within six feet of his older brother in revenge); but as always with Thor, everything is relative. But it’s still a really, really bad idea.
And he’s not just saying that because he’s still aggravated over the book thing at breakfast, though maybe it does influence his mood somewhat towards the negative.
Of course, it isn’t the first time Thor’s made him lose his page in the middle of reading something, nor will it be the last, but Loki is more irritated over it than usual because the book in question was a book of magic in more ways than one, and one of those ways happened to be that the pages inside were different every time it was opened. He’d been on the cusp of understanding an intricate new twist to invisibility magic, something that made the user selectively intangible as well. And while he thought he’d probably gotten enough of the outline of the magical structure to make up the rest of the spellwork on his own, it was more effort than he should have had to put forward for something like this, and he had little enough time and energy to waste these days. Lately, it had been all he could do to keep his magic from taking on a life of its own, and it had still got away from him more often than he’d expected over the past few weeks.
His friends have borne the brunt of this, he knows, and he actually hadn’t meant for the various trials they’d encountered to take place…well, at least not for the most part. The endless hallway leading to the old levels of the library and the subsequent arrest by the All-father’s guards had been deliberate, as had the knock-back door, but the soundproofing and paralysis had been completely unintentional. Near as he can tell, he’d been so focused on his work that some mostly-subconscious part of his mind had taken his intense desire to not be disturbed and worked it into reality.
The spiders were a slightly different case. He’d only meant for them to be illusions, which would pass right through his friends like shadowy eight-legged ghosts, startling and cringe-worthy but entirely harmless; however, the spell had twisted itself somewhat as he wove it, and even on realising that slight shift, Loki had seen no reason to correct it. Those three idiots had no-one to blame save themselves for so thoughtlessly following Thor’s lead all the time, and if they had to learn the hard way (and literally) that blind faith could sometimes bite you in the ass, so be it. Besides, he’d found the fantastically puffy and distinctly greenish welts the ‘bites’ had left behind amusing, especially since the most prominent ones had ended up on Fandral’s cheek and Volstagg’s nose.
As expected, Thor had glowered thunderously and forced him to draw out the poison, but even so, recalling their aggrieved and shamefaced expressions brings a thin smile to Loki’s face even now.
But he is still in a bad mood.
“Brother, please. I beg you, reconsider.” It is uncommon and more than a little strange to see Thor beg for anything (though there isn’t much humility to the plea at all, so it isn’t all that strange). The fact that his brother is trying and failing rather spectacularly to hide what is (in Thor’s opinion, at least) quite a clever plan to get Loki to accompany them on this adventure, coupled with the others having taken the younger prince aside after breakfast to personally ask him to come along…well, Loki can’t help but be somewhat interested in spite of himself.
“Or if you will not,” Thor presses on, all traces of ‘begging’ now absent entirely, “at least tell me the reasoning behind your refusal.”
Loki releases a faint sigh of exasperation, but already he can sense that he’s doomed to be dragged along on this quest. Their father will approve of it, if he hasn’t already, and Loki simply cannot bear being left behind by his brother. He might as well tell them all what he knows.
“I recognised the dwarf and the ring in question when you first mentioned them to me at the table this morning, though I thought to confirm it so as to be absolutely certain.” After breakfast, Loki had told Thor that he would consider going if, and only if, Thor agreed to wait a day and leave on the morrow instead. Once he had secured Thor’s reluctantly-sworn agreement, Loki had gone information-hunting, paying a visit both to the libraries and a few of the more disreputable ale-houses in the lower reaches of Asgard (cloaked in his new invisibility spell, of course, though he’d not quite had the time to work out the intangibility part). His investigative skills were considerably superior to Thor’s, and he’d been back in the palace with a new wealth of information well before sundown, calling them all to the fire-pit room to outline their plan of attack.
“Unfortunately, it would seem that I was correct.” He paces along one side of the fire-pit before turning back to look at them all, hands tucked primly behind his back. “The dwarf’s name is Andvari, and the ring itself is called Andvaranaut. The tales told of this ring mention both it and its owner residing on Midgard, and all those who have possessed it have come to a bad end--dwarf, man, and Asgardian alike. For all its magical power, it bears a terrible curse, woven into it when the ring was created, alongside the spell that calls gold to it. Andvaranaut was supposed to have been lost forever, cast into the sea or simply destroyed, but in truth it has been reclaimed by its maker Andvari, who as you know has taken up residence in Svartalfheim.”
The others shift a little uncomfortably at the mention of so deeply-rooted a curse, especially one that had proven effective enough to earn its own legend, exchanging uncertain looks, but Loki continues without pause: “It’s apparent that Andvari has no small skill in magic, and of old would turn himself into a pike to protect his treasure. But that proved to be insufficient protection, so this time Andvari sought to change himself into a dragon…but the working of that spell went awry, and now he is unable to resume his original form.” He sweeps a glance around the group, meeting every eye for a fraction of a second but settling, lingering on Thor, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in something that is meant to be, and yet isn’t quite a smile. “It would doubtless be something of a mercy to slay him. After all…surely no one ever wishes to be a monster.”
If there’s an oddly flat tone to his voice, it goes unnoticed, or at least unremarked upon; they’re all looking down at their hands or the floor, even the eldest prince, too concerned about what he’s told them about the ring and its curse to spare any attention for Loki himself, with his hard eyes and wry expression.
“Merciful, yes, perhaps,” Fandral says at last, and none of them are particularly surprised. Egotistical and eternally optimistic as he tends to be, he’s also the moralist of the group, always concerned about Doing What Is Right, regardless of the consequences. “And yet, do we really have the right? He has made no move against Asgard itself, and certainly sounds content to stay closeted away with only his hoard for company. Is there really any need to put an end to him?”
“Dragons are agents of Chaos, one and all,” Thor says curtly, brawny arms crossed over his chest in what is not exactly a sulk, but is almost stubbornly huffy enough to be one. He already has Odin’s blessing to venture forth for just that reason, and there isn’t a line of argument in existence that will change his mind about this now. And though the elder prince of Asgard is not a schemer even in the loosest sense of the word, he knows from past experience and gut instinct that Loki will come with him if he goes. “It is inborn, their desire to plunder and destroy, and this one is no different, whatever his form once was. Maybe not now, maybe not for a hundred years, but one day he will give in to his true nature. Thus we strike now, before his strength grows any greater.”
There are nods all around, and even Fandral has to agree to that, so instead they fall to discussing what weapons and supplies and such to bring.
Again, none of them notice Loki, who is still standing at the farthest edge of the firelight and has gone oddly quiet, face pale and pensive even for him. Thor’s words, inadvertently thoughtless as they were, don’t sit well with him for more than just one simple reason. For what feels like the thousandth time, he wonders ruefully if he’ll ever be able to tell his brother The Truth, and moreover what that truth really means for himself. He can feel the magic, his birthright, buzzing beneath his skin even now, his hands are shaking with it, and he has to work to clench them at his sides and breathe deeply for a moment to hold it all in. He spends a short time weaving a few small spells of restraint, and bleeding off some of the power into some of the semi-permanent spells he’s already set in place for just that purpose. It is the work of a few minutes at most, yet as he finishes, he feels the by now familiar and fully anticipated pang of hunger. But for the time being, he pushes it aside, turning his attention back to his brother and their friends and the task at hand.
“-And it’s said that he’s claimed to be richer than the gods,” Thor finishes with a ominous scowl, clearly still talking about Andvari. That sort of claim, speaking of his people, his kingdom that way, is a sting to Thor’s pride (not that it’s especially difficult to sting his pride--there is just so much of it, it makes a very appealing target). Loki recalls having heard that rumour as well: its inherent foolishness made it memorable. But when Sif and the Warriors Three don’t point out the obvious flaw in this piece of gossip, Loki takes it on himself to do so.
“Blasphemy, clearly…if it’s true,” Loki speaks up, his faint smile twisting more towards the sardonic this time. “But answer me this, brother: who could he have said such a thing to? After all, he cannot change back to his original form, and undoubtedly he is too jealous of his gold’s safety to allow anyone near enough to exchange words with him. I imagine few would be able to understand such a complicated tongue, and fewer still would be willing to risk conversation with a dragon in any case.”
“But you would,” Hogun says, speaking for the first time all evening, and the look he gives Loki is neither kindly nor forgiving. Either he’s still put out over the recent magical mischief, or he doesn’t like how Loki is actually arguing in favour of the dragon somewhat. “Wouldn’t you.”
It’s not really a question, and Loki’s smile grows a touch wider, a shade more cunning. “Perhaps,” is all he says, and keeps smiling.
“This curse,” Sif says, getting them back on-track. “I do not like the sound of it. How can we be certain that we know everything about it that may be of import?”
The others are quick to add their voices to the conversation, though as they only have their opinions, not any actual facts, it’s a rather pointless discussion until Loki (the only one who really knows anything about the subject) interrupts what’s shaping up to be an argument over whether they should lay claim to any of the gold at all.
“The treasure itself is untainted by the presence of the ring. Only the ring itself is cursed,” he says simply. “Thus, you may take what you like from the treasure-trove, so long as that ring is left with Andvari, or destroyed. But…”
“...‘But’…?” Volstagg repeats inquisitively, without bothering to mask his hesitance.
“Making a journey to Svartalfheim at all is foolhardy,” Loki says with a shake of his head. “The Dark Elves are intelligent, crafty in word and deed as well as with precious metals. You know they bear no love for Asgard, and after our past exploits there, they are no friends of ours. Should they find us-”
“Brother, you worry too much,” Thor interrupts with a deep chuckle. He closes the distance between them with three quick strides and wraps one thickly muscled arm around Loki’s slender shoulders, pulling him in for a roughly affectionate sort of half-embrace that is about half-headlock as well. “Adventures are not meant to be things of safety. They are quests to find your true mettle, mighty deeds undertaken to prove the depths of your strength and the heights of your valour to yourself and to others! If there is no danger, no bravery required, no chances taken, what then is the use of venturing forth at all?”
Impossibly, Thor squeezes his brother against his side even more tightly as he straightens to address their friends as well, all but crushing a swift, startled exhale out of the younger prince; Thor doesn’t seem to notice his brother’s sudden difficulty breathing, and raises his free hand in a clenched fist, beaming with pride and passion and a joy intense and brilliant enough to rival a sun.
“So it is decided! We six leave at dawn on the morrow-for Svartalfheim, and further glory!”
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The next morning they ride out of Asgard as the sun breaks over the horizon, the Bifrost a radiant, gilded prism beneath the clattering, thundering hooves of their horses. And yet, regardless of the visible excitement on the faces of the others, and despite the wind rushing through his hair as his horse tears down the bridge, rainbow sparks flying from its hooves as it seeks to match pace with Thor’s, Loki is finding it difficult to repress a sigh.
Normally, the younger prince thrills at adventures-it’s something out of the ordinary, something interesting and generally fairly unpredictable, and despite his earlier arguments, once he’s actually out on one of these grand quests, he can hardly contain his eagerness for something to happen, for an opportunity to do a bit of life-or-death gambling…so long as it’s not his life that he’s gambling. And it never is really; for the most part, he knows he can talk or magick his way out of things, and rely on Thor to smash down all comers if that fails. So far, that plan of action has worked perfectly every time.
But he can’t deny that a part of him is already disappointed. They have the All-father’s full permission in this, and getting past Heimdall so easily is a rather lackluster way to start out a supposedly grand adventure. Additionally, his magic had given him trouble in the night, disturbing his sleep, so he’s starting out tired, which is never a good thing. Also, there’s that niggling doubt, that nagging sense of knowing that he’s not fully in control, that he’s not really ready for this.
But what Thor had said the day before, about nature always winning out in the end bothers him profoundly, on a level so deep he can scarcely stand it. He’s determined to prove that wrong, to show Odin that he was in the right, that Loki is his son, in mind and spirit if not in body and blood. He will be Loki Odinson, and he will be ready to protect Thor with everything in him should it come to that…no matter what kind of sacrifice that requires, be it his blood or honour or his very life itself.
Grim as those thoughts are, it causes the beginnings of a convoluted little plan to slither their way through his head; by the time they reach the end of the bridge, the guardian, and the teleportation room, Loki knows precisely what he needs to do, how to make this quest a truly successful one that they will (most likely) all return from.
And there’s a certain smug satisfaction to be found in striding past Heimdall without pause, being required to meet that open animosity and mistrust with nothing more than a falsely-polite nod and a superior smirk. Still, the Gate-Keeper’s golden eyes linger on the younger prince for an uncomfortable amount of time--he must have seen the chaos Loki’s magic has been creating lately, of course he has. Loki’s smirk turns a bit frosty under that continued scrutiny, and he makes a mental note: his next project, the very first thing he’ll do on his return to Asgard, is to look into ways to block that all-seeing sight. Knowing he could be under that sort of surveillance at any time is off-putting, and unsettling and bothersome besides. What is life without its secrets, after all?
But Heimdall knows his duty, at least, opening the way and sending them along to Svartalfheim without any sort of challenge, just a solemn warning rife with double meanings to watch their backs.
On the surface, Svartalfheim seems inhospitable. Nothing but rust-red rocks and winding canyons and distant iron-grey mountains and the odd stretch of sand meet the eye, no life, no greenery of any sort is visible. But below the bloody stone dwells a wondrous world: for everything that lives is hidden beneath the planet’s outer shell, in the tunnels that run beneath its surface like blood vessels, arteries humming with life, veins gushing with crystal-clear water, all life literally embraced by the very substance of the world itself.
Those tunnels have proven to be death-traps for many would-be heroes. There are no maps to be had, at least no maps for Asgardian hands, and many of the tunnels often seem to change at random--a combination of the planet’s natural geologic processes and the earth-magic of the Dark Elves, no doubt. And yet, travelling on the surface for extended periods is impossible. All the water, all the possible food-sources, all the shelter from the sweltering heat of the days and the bone-gnawing chill of the nights, is to be found underground. Still, that’s Thor’s Great Plan for avoiding any encounters the Dark Elves: they’ll travel at night, they’ve brought all the provisions they can carry, and they should only be a few days’ travel from the tunnels where Andvari has allegedly made his home. Supposing that information is correct, it could work…but Loki is doubtful, and the information he’d gotten on where exactly this dragon dwelt was inconclusive, spotty at best and clearly erroneous at worst.
But if Thor’s plan fails (if, that’s a laugh), Loki has a much more intricate one in reserve, a masterful construction that’s bound to work, one way or another.
They set off on foot--much as it would increase their speed, the ring of their horses’ hooves on the stone would give them away. They’d’ve been swarmed by Dark Elves before they’d gone more than a mile. Thor, ever impatient and always up for a fight, had been all for bringing the horses anyway, but Loki had managed to talk him down on that point, insisting that in this case, caution was the better part of valour; they were here for the dragon, not the Dark Elves.
Asgard’s morning coincides with Svartalfheim’s evening, so they pick their way up, over, and across stony slopes and rock formations still warm from the heat of the planet’s twin suns, their glow still visible over the jagged peaks of far-off mountains. It’s not the easiest going, but it’s not too difficult either, and with his speed and agility, Loki keeps pace easily, second only to Thor himself. An hour passes without incident, then two, and Loki is starting to think that perhaps it won’t be so bad…
…And then, just three steps ahead of him, Thor suddenly leaps forward with a shout, bringing Mjölnir down with a mighty clang…atop what looks to be a scaly, oversized rodent of some kind, lurking in the opening of its tunnel-home. The creature expires with a low-pitched, cut-short squawk, and soon Thor is grinning and holding up the smashed remains like some sort of bloody, gruesome trophy. Fandral makes a joke about going home now that they’ve slain the dragon, Sif rolls her eyes at both of them, and Volstagg cheerfully adds the flattened whatever-it-is to the bulging bag of provisions slung over his shoulder as Thor and Hogun (and Sif, though she’s less obvious about it) hasten onwards, keeping an eye out for more small, defenseless things to kill.
Loki closes his eyes, suddenly feeling weary beyond measure, and supposes that he should just be grateful that Thor hasn’t got it in his head to doom them all and journey to Niflheim to slay the mighty Nidhogg.
Yet, anyway.
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{Chapter VI}
A/N: And since this is movieverse!Thor and therefore there IS no “canon” RE: Svartalfheim and the Dark Elves …I really just Did What I Want. |D In Norse mythology most of the time the Dark Elves seem to basically = Dwarves, but that’s not the case in the Marvelverse, so I went with that. Dwarves have their own planet, Nidavellir.
Cross-posted in the comments of Round 1 @ norsekink.
{ .V. } {In Which Loki Learns Of Thor’s Idea & Has The First Of Several Bad Days, And Thor Plays Whack-A-Mole}
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“This is easily the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
In actuality, Loki only thinks it’s the worst idea Thor’s had since breakfast, when he had decided that porridge was an acceptable finger-food (Loki’s fault really, since he’d been annoyed at Thor for closing the book he’d been reading and losing his spot, and had magicked away every spoon that got within six feet of his older brother in revenge); but as always with Thor, everything is relative. But it’s still a really, really bad idea.
And he’s not just saying that because he’s still aggravated over the book thing at breakfast, though maybe it does influence his mood somewhat towards the negative.
Of course, it isn’t the first time Thor’s made him lose his page in the middle of reading something, nor will it be the last, but Loki is more irritated over it than usual because the book in question was a book of magic in more ways than one, and one of those ways happened to be that the pages inside were different every time it was opened. He’d been on the cusp of understanding an intricate new twist to invisibility magic, something that made the user selectively intangible as well. And while he thought he’d probably gotten enough of the outline of the magical structure to make up the rest of the spellwork on his own, it was more effort than he should have had to put forward for something like this, and he had little enough time and energy to waste these days. Lately, it had been all he could do to keep his magic from taking on a life of its own, and it had still got away from him more often than he’d expected over the past few weeks.
His friends have borne the brunt of this, he knows, and he actually hadn’t meant for the various trials they’d encountered to take place…well, at least not for the most part. The endless hallway leading to the old levels of the library and the subsequent arrest by the All-father’s guards had been deliberate, as had the knock-back door, but the soundproofing and paralysis had been completely unintentional. Near as he can tell, he’d been so focused on his work that some mostly-subconscious part of his mind had taken his intense desire to not be disturbed and worked it into reality.
The spiders were a slightly different case. He’d only meant for them to be illusions, which would pass right through his friends like shadowy eight-legged ghosts, startling and cringe-worthy but entirely harmless; however, the spell had twisted itself somewhat as he wove it, and even on realising that slight shift, Loki had seen no reason to correct it. Those three idiots had no-one to blame save themselves for so thoughtlessly following Thor’s lead all the time, and if they had to learn the hard way (and literally) that blind faith could sometimes bite you in the ass, so be it. Besides, he’d found the fantastically puffy and distinctly greenish welts the ‘bites’ had left behind amusing, especially since the most prominent ones had ended up on Fandral’s cheek and Volstagg’s nose.
As expected, Thor had glowered thunderously and forced him to draw out the poison, but even so, recalling their aggrieved and shamefaced expressions brings a thin smile to Loki’s face even now.
But he is still in a bad mood.
“Brother, please. I beg you, reconsider.” It is uncommon and more than a little strange to see Thor beg for anything (though there isn’t much humility to the plea at all, so it isn’t all that strange). The fact that his brother is trying and failing rather spectacularly to hide what is (in Thor’s opinion, at least) quite a clever plan to get Loki to accompany them on this adventure, coupled with the others having taken the younger prince aside after breakfast to personally ask him to come along…well, Loki can’t help but be somewhat interested in spite of himself.
“Or if you will not,” Thor presses on, all traces of ‘begging’ now absent entirely, “at least tell me the reasoning behind your refusal.”
Loki releases a faint sigh of exasperation, but already he can sense that he’s doomed to be dragged along on this quest. Their father will approve of it, if he hasn’t already, and Loki simply cannot bear being left behind by his brother. He might as well tell them all what he knows.
“I recognised the dwarf and the ring in question when you first mentioned them to me at the table this morning, though I thought to confirm it so as to be absolutely certain.” After breakfast, Loki had told Thor that he would consider going if, and only if, Thor agreed to wait a day and leave on the morrow instead. Once he had secured Thor’s reluctantly-sworn agreement, Loki had gone information-hunting, paying a visit both to the libraries and a few of the more disreputable ale-houses in the lower reaches of Asgard (cloaked in his new invisibility spell, of course, though he’d not quite had the time to work out the intangibility part). His investigative skills were considerably superior to Thor’s, and he’d been back in the palace with a new wealth of information well before sundown, calling them all to the fire-pit room to outline their plan of attack.
“Unfortunately, it would seem that I was correct.” He paces along one side of the fire-pit before turning back to look at them all, hands tucked primly behind his back. “The dwarf’s name is Andvari, and the ring itself is called Andvaranaut. The tales told of this ring mention both it and its owner residing on Midgard, and all those who have possessed it have come to a bad end--dwarf, man, and Asgardian alike. For all its magical power, it bears a terrible curse, woven into it when the ring was created, alongside the spell that calls gold to it. Andvaranaut was supposed to have been lost forever, cast into the sea or simply destroyed, but in truth it has been reclaimed by its maker Andvari, who as you know has taken up residence in Svartalfheim.”
The others shift a little uncomfortably at the mention of so deeply-rooted a curse, especially one that had proven effective enough to earn its own legend, exchanging uncertain looks, but Loki continues without pause: “It’s apparent that Andvari has no small skill in magic, and of old would turn himself into a pike to protect his treasure. But that proved to be insufficient protection, so this time Andvari sought to change himself into a dragon…but the working of that spell went awry, and now he is unable to resume his original form.” He sweeps a glance around the group, meeting every eye for a fraction of a second but settling, lingering on Thor, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in something that is meant to be, and yet isn’t quite a smile. “It would doubtless be something of a mercy to slay him. After all…surely no one ever wishes to be a monster.”
If there’s an oddly flat tone to his voice, it goes unnoticed, or at least unremarked upon; they’re all looking down at their hands or the floor, even the eldest prince, too concerned about what he’s told them about the ring and its curse to spare any attention for Loki himself, with his hard eyes and wry expression.
“Merciful, yes, perhaps,” Fandral says at last, and none of them are particularly surprised. Egotistical and eternally optimistic as he tends to be, he’s also the moralist of the group, always concerned about Doing What Is Right, regardless of the consequences. “And yet, do we really have the right? He has made no move against Asgard itself, and certainly sounds content to stay closeted away with only his hoard for company. Is there really any need to put an end to him?”
“Dragons are agents of Chaos, one and all,” Thor says curtly, brawny arms crossed over his chest in what is not exactly a sulk, but is almost stubbornly huffy enough to be one. He already has Odin’s blessing to venture forth for just that reason, and there isn’t a line of argument in existence that will change his mind about this now. And though the elder prince of Asgard is not a schemer even in the loosest sense of the word, he knows from past experience and gut instinct that Loki will come with him if he goes. “It is inborn, their desire to plunder and destroy, and this one is no different, whatever his form once was. Maybe not now, maybe not for a hundred years, but one day he will give in to his true nature. Thus we strike now, before his strength grows any greater.”
There are nods all around, and even Fandral has to agree to that, so instead they fall to discussing what weapons and supplies and such to bring.
Again, none of them notice Loki, who is still standing at the farthest edge of the firelight and has gone oddly quiet, face pale and pensive even for him. Thor’s words, inadvertently thoughtless as they were, don’t sit well with him for more than just one simple reason. For what feels like the thousandth time, he wonders ruefully if he’ll ever be able to tell his brother The Truth, and moreover what that truth really means for himself. He can feel the magic, his birthright, buzzing beneath his skin even now, his hands are shaking with it, and he has to work to clench them at his sides and breathe deeply for a moment to hold it all in. He spends a short time weaving a few small spells of restraint, and bleeding off some of the power into some of the semi-permanent spells he’s already set in place for just that purpose. It is the work of a few minutes at most, yet as he finishes, he feels the by now familiar and fully anticipated pang of hunger. But for the time being, he pushes it aside, turning his attention back to his brother and their friends and the task at hand.
“-And it’s said that he’s claimed to be richer than the gods,” Thor finishes with a ominous scowl, clearly still talking about Andvari. That sort of claim, speaking of his people, his kingdom that way, is a sting to Thor’s pride (not that it’s especially difficult to sting his pride--there is just so much of it, it makes a very appealing target). Loki recalls having heard that rumour as well: its inherent foolishness made it memorable. But when Sif and the Warriors Three don’t point out the obvious flaw in this piece of gossip, Loki takes it on himself to do so.
“Blasphemy, clearly…if it’s true,” Loki speaks up, his faint smile twisting more towards the sardonic this time. “But answer me this, brother: who could he have said such a thing to? After all, he cannot change back to his original form, and undoubtedly he is too jealous of his gold’s safety to allow anyone near enough to exchange words with him. I imagine few would be able to understand such a complicated tongue, and fewer still would be willing to risk conversation with a dragon in any case.”
“But you would,” Hogun says, speaking for the first time all evening, and the look he gives Loki is neither kindly nor forgiving. Either he’s still put out over the recent magical mischief, or he doesn’t like how Loki is actually arguing in favour of the dragon somewhat. “Wouldn’t you.”
It’s not really a question, and Loki’s smile grows a touch wider, a shade more cunning. “Perhaps,” is all he says, and keeps smiling.
“This curse,” Sif says, getting them back on-track. “I do not like the sound of it. How can we be certain that we know everything about it that may be of import?”
The others are quick to add their voices to the conversation, though as they only have their opinions, not any actual facts, it’s a rather pointless discussion until Loki (the only one who really knows anything about the subject) interrupts what’s shaping up to be an argument over whether they should lay claim to any of the gold at all.
“The treasure itself is untainted by the presence of the ring. Only the ring itself is cursed,” he says simply. “Thus, you may take what you like from the treasure-trove, so long as that ring is left with Andvari, or destroyed. But…”
“...‘But’…?” Volstagg repeats inquisitively, without bothering to mask his hesitance.
“Making a journey to Svartalfheim at all is foolhardy,” Loki says with a shake of his head. “The Dark Elves are intelligent, crafty in word and deed as well as with precious metals. You know they bear no love for Asgard, and after our past exploits there, they are no friends of ours. Should they find us-”
“Brother, you worry too much,” Thor interrupts with a deep chuckle. He closes the distance between them with three quick strides and wraps one thickly muscled arm around Loki’s slender shoulders, pulling him in for a roughly affectionate sort of half-embrace that is about half-headlock as well. “Adventures are not meant to be things of safety. They are quests to find your true mettle, mighty deeds undertaken to prove the depths of your strength and the heights of your valour to yourself and to others! If there is no danger, no bravery required, no chances taken, what then is the use of venturing forth at all?”
Impossibly, Thor squeezes his brother against his side even more tightly as he straightens to address their friends as well, all but crushing a swift, startled exhale out of the younger prince; Thor doesn’t seem to notice his brother’s sudden difficulty breathing, and raises his free hand in a clenched fist, beaming with pride and passion and a joy intense and brilliant enough to rival a sun.
“So it is decided! We six leave at dawn on the morrow-for Svartalfheim, and further glory!”
- ♦ ♈ ♦ -
The next morning they ride out of Asgard as the sun breaks over the horizon, the Bifrost a radiant, gilded prism beneath the clattering, thundering hooves of their horses. And yet, regardless of the visible excitement on the faces of the others, and despite the wind rushing through his hair as his horse tears down the bridge, rainbow sparks flying from its hooves as it seeks to match pace with Thor’s, Loki is finding it difficult to repress a sigh.
Normally, the younger prince thrills at adventures-it’s something out of the ordinary, something interesting and generally fairly unpredictable, and despite his earlier arguments, once he’s actually out on one of these grand quests, he can hardly contain his eagerness for something to happen, for an opportunity to do a bit of life-or-death gambling…so long as it’s not his life that he’s gambling. And it never is really; for the most part, he knows he can talk or magick his way out of things, and rely on Thor to smash down all comers if that fails. So far, that plan of action has worked perfectly every time.
But he can’t deny that a part of him is already disappointed. They have the All-father’s full permission in this, and getting past Heimdall so easily is a rather lackluster way to start out a supposedly grand adventure. Additionally, his magic had given him trouble in the night, disturbing his sleep, so he’s starting out tired, which is never a good thing. Also, there’s that niggling doubt, that nagging sense of knowing that he’s not fully in control, that he’s not really ready for this.
But what Thor had said the day before, about nature always winning out in the end bothers him profoundly, on a level so deep he can scarcely stand it. He’s determined to prove that wrong, to show Odin that he was in the right, that Loki is his son, in mind and spirit if not in body and blood. He will be Loki Odinson, and he will be ready to protect Thor with everything in him should it come to that…no matter what kind of sacrifice that requires, be it his blood or honour or his very life itself.
Grim as those thoughts are, it causes the beginnings of a convoluted little plan to slither their way through his head; by the time they reach the end of the bridge, the guardian, and the teleportation room, Loki knows precisely what he needs to do, how to make this quest a truly successful one that they will (most likely) all return from.
And there’s a certain smug satisfaction to be found in striding past Heimdall without pause, being required to meet that open animosity and mistrust with nothing more than a falsely-polite nod and a superior smirk. Still, the Gate-Keeper’s golden eyes linger on the younger prince for an uncomfortable amount of time--he must have seen the chaos Loki’s magic has been creating lately, of course he has. Loki’s smirk turns a bit frosty under that continued scrutiny, and he makes a mental note: his next project, the very first thing he’ll do on his return to Asgard, is to look into ways to block that all-seeing sight. Knowing he could be under that sort of surveillance at any time is off-putting, and unsettling and bothersome besides. What is life without its secrets, after all?
But Heimdall knows his duty, at least, opening the way and sending them along to Svartalfheim without any sort of challenge, just a solemn warning rife with double meanings to watch their backs.
On the surface, Svartalfheim seems inhospitable. Nothing but rust-red rocks and winding canyons and distant iron-grey mountains and the odd stretch of sand meet the eye, no life, no greenery of any sort is visible. But below the bloody stone dwells a wondrous world: for everything that lives is hidden beneath the planet’s outer shell, in the tunnels that run beneath its surface like blood vessels, arteries humming with life, veins gushing with crystal-clear water, all life literally embraced by the very substance of the world itself.
Those tunnels have proven to be death-traps for many would-be heroes. There are no maps to be had, at least no maps for Asgardian hands, and many of the tunnels often seem to change at random--a combination of the planet’s natural geologic processes and the earth-magic of the Dark Elves, no doubt. And yet, travelling on the surface for extended periods is impossible. All the water, all the possible food-sources, all the shelter from the sweltering heat of the days and the bone-gnawing chill of the nights, is to be found underground. Still, that’s Thor’s Great Plan for avoiding any encounters the Dark Elves: they’ll travel at night, they’ve brought all the provisions they can carry, and they should only be a few days’ travel from the tunnels where Andvari has allegedly made his home. Supposing that information is correct, it could work…but Loki is doubtful, and the information he’d gotten on where exactly this dragon dwelt was inconclusive, spotty at best and clearly erroneous at worst.
But if Thor’s plan fails (if, that’s a laugh), Loki has a much more intricate one in reserve, a masterful construction that’s bound to work, one way or another.
They set off on foot--much as it would increase their speed, the ring of their horses’ hooves on the stone would give them away. They’d’ve been swarmed by Dark Elves before they’d gone more than a mile. Thor, ever impatient and always up for a fight, had been all for bringing the horses anyway, but Loki had managed to talk him down on that point, insisting that in this case, caution was the better part of valour; they were here for the dragon, not the Dark Elves.
Asgard’s morning coincides with Svartalfheim’s evening, so they pick their way up, over, and across stony slopes and rock formations still warm from the heat of the planet’s twin suns, their glow still visible over the jagged peaks of far-off mountains. It’s not the easiest going, but it’s not too difficult either, and with his speed and agility, Loki keeps pace easily, second only to Thor himself. An hour passes without incident, then two, and Loki is starting to think that perhaps it won’t be so bad…
…And then, just three steps ahead of him, Thor suddenly leaps forward with a shout, bringing Mjölnir down with a mighty clang…atop what looks to be a scaly, oversized rodent of some kind, lurking in the opening of its tunnel-home. The creature expires with a low-pitched, cut-short squawk, and soon Thor is grinning and holding up the smashed remains like some sort of bloody, gruesome trophy. Fandral makes a joke about going home now that they’ve slain the dragon, Sif rolls her eyes at both of them, and Volstagg cheerfully adds the flattened whatever-it-is to the bulging bag of provisions slung over his shoulder as Thor and Hogun (and Sif, though she’s less obvious about it) hasten onwards, keeping an eye out for more small, defenseless things to kill.
Loki closes his eyes, suddenly feeling weary beyond measure, and supposes that he should just be grateful that Thor hasn’t got it in his head to doom them all and journey to Niflheim to slay the mighty Nidhogg.
Yet, anyway.
- ♦ ♈ ♦ -
{Chapter VI}