Chapter 3
Loki followed the little wise-woman back to her consulting chamber. He didn’t know why she wished to speak to him in private at this time, but he wasn’t really thinking about her at all. His head was still clanging with Captain Rogers’ loud and many protests.
Loki was sure that holmgangs and suchlike ritualized combats had been quite common on Midgard not so very long ago. Even mortals were not so forgetful that they didn’t know what their own great-great-grandfathers had gotten up to, surely? So why was Rogers acting as if he had never heard of such a thing and it was barbaric beyond belief? Just four “movie nights” ago, the Avengers had all enjoyed a recorded saga upon the subject, something about “gunslingers” and buried gold. Loki remembered that the very unheroic hero was enacted by a player sharing the same first name as Agent Barton. Steve Rogers had seemed to take the events of the saga in stride, so why was he now telling everyone who would listen that this was an atrocity and couldn’t be permitted?
Loki sighed. Midgardians were so strange. He wished that he could assure the Captain that Agent Barton would not be harmed, but of course to hint at anything of the kind would be a grave affront to Barton’s honor.
The Levitt turned a corner and ushered Loki into her pleasantly dim chamber. He seated himself on the couch where he had seen the Avengers sit when consulting her, and she lowered herself into the large armchair across from him.
“Loki,” she said, looking him in the eye, “First, I have to ask you if this duel is something that you want to participate in. If it isn’t, or if you’re unsure, I promise you, we can put an end to the whole thing now.”
Ah, yes, this was familiar. It was customary, before any balancing-by-blood, for some older, wiser warrior to speak to the combatants privately and make sure that they understood the solemnity of the occasion – and that they had fully sobered up from the night before. Loki would have expected Director Fury to be the one giving this speech, but no doubt he was giving it to Barton even now.
“Doctor Levitt, you may rest assured that if this was not what I wanted, it would not be happening.”
“Yeah,” she nodded thoughtfully, “I kind of figured it was like that. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you were the one to bring it up in the first place. Clint never would have thought of a duel. You know – or maybe you don’t know – they’ve been illegal on Earth for, oh, a hundred and fifty years now.”
“That’s a shame,” said Loki, “They can be very useful.”
The Levitt eyed him keenly. “And may I ask what use you expect to get out of this one?”
“Doctor, you should know, I am not in the habit of explaining myself,” Loki smiled one of his halfway-alarming smiles at her.
“That’s fine,” she said, not at all put out, “How about I make some guesses, and you tell me when I get close?”
Loki let his smile relax into something more genuine, “That might be amusing, I suppose.”
“Okay, here’s one,” she cast her eyes up, as if thinking for a moment, “You want to drive a wedge between the Avengers by making them choose sides in this.”
Loki adopted a bored look. “Quite the contrary. Next.”
“You’re hoping to kill Clint without any repercussions.”
“I would have to be very stupid indeed to believe that was possible. Look at all the trouble that came to me from killing Agent Coulson, whom these people hardly knew. No, if I chose to kill Barton, it would only be because I wanted the repercussions.”
“And do you?”
Loki was beginning to enjoy this game. “Not today. Next.”
“You’re looking to test your recovering strength against the weakest of the Avengers. You’ve been observing all of their battles for several months now, and you want to see how you measure up.”
“You do Agent Barton a disservice,” Loki told her seriously, “He is very far from weak. Next.”
The crone gifted him with a warm smile.
“You wish to show off your fighting abilities to the Avengers, in the hopes that they might consider taking you on as a team member.”
Loki frowned at her. “Absurd. They would never consider such a thing. Next.”
She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, as if she knew something he didn’t, but she said nothing further on the topic. There was a pause, as she seemed to search for another hypothetical reason.
“Ah. You are genuinely sorry for what you did to Clint, but instead of using your words to just tell him so, you would rather let him beat the crap out of you and hope that he gets the message.”
Loki looked at her appraisingly. “A portion of that statement is correct.”
“You like getting the crap beaten out of you?”
“Not that portion, no.”
Her gaze softened. “You are genuinely sorry.”
Loki didn’t answer for a long moment. “Barton didn’t deserve what was done to him. He was the least deserving person present; that is in fact why I chose him.”
The Levitt tilted her head. “Have you considered telling him that? You know, instead of cordially inviting him to a bloodbath?”
“Without a pledge of my sincerity, he would, quite rightfully, spit upon any apology I could offer.”
The crone wrote something in her notebook. “Asgard must be a hell of a place.”
Loki shrugged and nodded. “I would not have you carried away with notions of my contrition, however. Making my restitutions to Barton is only a means to an end. If it didn’t serve my purposes, I certainly wouldn’t bother.”
The Levitt gave a dry chuckle, “Of course. You are the legendary Loki; you have five plates spinning at any given time.”
Loki displayed his darkest, curliest smile, and the Levitt laughed outright.
*****
In fact, though Loki flattered himself that he had given no sign of it to the Levitt, he was afraid of the upcoming fight. Oh, not of the pain and damage that Barton could inflict, even wearing one of Stark’s suits. The very worst that any magicless Midgardian could do, under any circumstances, would be as a gnat’s bite compared to what he had already endured. No, his fear was of his own mind. It had only recently begun to be trustworthy again, and it still interfered with his doings occasionally, in strange and unpredictable ways. He did not wish to humiliate himself in front of Thor and the humans by unaccountably beginning to shake and weep or, Norns forbid, scream. The very thought made him grind his teeth.
The most inconsequential little things could crack his composure to pieces these days, it seemed. Watching Stark lose his composure, having his offers of sex rejected by Rogers, being embraced by his moronic whilom-brother – it was absurd! Masks were Loki’s bread and butter, but lately they had become detestably apt to crumble.
He didn’t know what terms Thor would settle upon with Selvig. If fire was permitted–
Loki took measured breaths, and tried very hard not to think of the finger of fire that Stark had held before his face only yesterday. It was unendurable that such a small thing should rattle him so profoundly.
To distract himself from the mental image of that slender blade of flame, Loki looked up and down the hallway outside of the Levitt’s chamber. Thor might still be arranging matters with Selvig, and until they finished, Loki had no particular desire to see anyone else.
He wandered around the halls for a few minutes, glancing into rooms that he had only ever seen with his spirit-eyes before; the council chamber, the miniature kitchen, the supply closet.
Loki was spinning in the spinnable chairs of the council chamber when Thor strode in.
“There you are, brother. I have concluded negotiations with friend Selvig.”
Loki spun to face him, and raised his eyebrows curiously.
Thor looked somewhat abashed. “I am afraid that he was most firm in his demands. I told him that your condition was greatly weakened and your health compromised, but he argued that the same had been true two years ago, and you had nevertheless proved nearly impossible to injure.”
“Yes, yes,” Loki twirled one hand impatiently, “Simply state the terms of combat, Thor. Whatever they may be, I shall turn them to my advantage.”
Nodding nervously, Thor set them forth. The battle was to be held in a vast underground chamber, designed for the containment of Banner’s monstrous ogre-form, so that no non-combatants would be endangered. Loki approved. Barton was to be clad in Stark’s enormous new suit of armor. Loki glared. Neither fighter was to be armed, and all special capabilities of the armor were to be turned off, including flight, projectiles of all kinds, powers of electrocution, and fire. Loki heaved a silent sigh of relief. The battle was to continue, as was standard with balancings-by-blood, until the challenger declared himself satisfied. Loki shrugged.
“I greatly fear that only your death can satisfy Barton,” Thor said heavily.
“I doubt if he could compass it, though we fought for months,” Loki replied, “He will have to satisfy himself with my suffering.”
Thor’s jaw was clenched, and he wouldn’t meet Loki’s eye.
“What?” Loki demanded.
Reluctantly Thor spoke, “Brother – the humans are not like us. They have not our notions of a warrior’s honor. Holmgangs are no longer practiced here; indeed, such proceedings are greatly frowned upon in these days…”
“Yes, so Captain Rogers has been loudly informing everyone, all morning.”
Thor finally met his eyes, suddenly impassioned. “There is no punishment here for calling off a balancing. Only say that you have changed your mind, and you will not be executed nor exiled. Your possessions, if you have any, will not be forfeit. Brother, you can simply call it off! I will stand by you-”
Loki got to his feet in a towering rage. It was one thing to hear this suggestion from Midgardians, who obviously had a very different code of honor, but to hear it from an Aesir who knew what it meant?! “This you would ask of me?” he hissed. “You think me capable of such cowardice?”
“Not cowardice, no, brother; mercy!”
Ah, well, that was a little better. At least Thor thought that Loki would win this fight. Somewhat mollified, Loki still frowned. “You think me argr, and seek to profit by it for the sake of your little mortal friends. My affairs of honor are my own, and I shall settle them as I see fit. You have served me well as a representative in this matter, but if you suggest such a thing again, I shall never ask you to represent me in future.”
Thor looked aghast. “I do not think you argr, brother, whoever told you so-”
Loki leaned towards him, snarling, “Do not lie to me, Odinsson! I sat in this very room, not two days hence, and heard you call me so to all of your little mortals.”
Now Thor got to his feet too. “You heard no such thing,” he stated definitely. “I reported only what others had said of you, on Asgard.”
Loki bared his teeth, “I saw the look upon your face, Thor. You are ashamed of me.”
Thor reached out and gripped Loki’s arm, innocent surprise and hurt in his expression. “Never! If you saw shame upon my face, it was shame of Asgard, that they should treat you poorly and whisper behind your back for no other reason than that you are yourself. Since I have lived on Midgard, I have come to see Asgard’s ways as intolerant and narrow.”
It was Loki’s turn to be surprised. Unless his ears or his understanding deceived him, Thor had just said that he was ashamed of Asgard and unashamed of Loki. It would be an obvious lie, if the speaker were not ever-honest Thor.
They stared at each other as Loki tried to think of some response.
The wise-woman, holding her phone to her ear, interrupted. “Alright guys,” she called through the open door, gesturing, “They say it’s time.”