Argr
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The city was flattened.
Not a bit battered.
Not a bit damaged.
Flattened.
Entire buildings were nothing but rubble, only Loki’s memory indicated where they should have stood. The usually bustling streets were trampled by Chitauri, the undead and Æsir, each side fighting the other. Around them, citizens tried desperately to get out of the way, running and holding their children close. These were the ones who didn’t go to the palace for help. They chose to stay, and many were fighting, despite a complete lack of training. With whatever was on hand; Loki saw a woman run past wielding a huge, heavy-looking pan, stained with black Chitauri blood.
Above them, the grey ships darted, different in design to those that Loki led on Midgard, but similar enough that they were recognisable. The blasts which rained down from them were certainly recognisable and he grimaced.
This horror sitting in his gut… Was it what the humans had felt, when he attacked New York? If so… Did he regret it?
No time to answer that inane question and Loki tottered upright, leant with his hands braced on his knees to stare at Thor. When he didn’t move, Loki resorted to kicking him in the side.
Slowly, Thor’s eyes blinked open and he groaned. Then he seemed to focus, “Hey, Loki.”
“If you’re concussed-”
“Not concussed.”
“That’s what you’d say if you were concussed.”
“... Yes.”
Loki sighed, then reached down and grabbed his brother’s arm and yanked him upright, watched for signs of confusion and dizziness. But, other than a cut on his cheek, he seemed none the worse for wear.
“See?” Thor said, “No concussion.”
Loki grumbled.
Somewhere on their right, he could hear a similar conversation between Brunnhilde and Banner. It took a moment of searching before he saw them through the smoke and dust, crouched together. At least they looked about as well as Thor.
“Where’s Banner and Brunnhilde?” Said the not-concussed Thor.
Loki pointed and his brother squinted, looked as if he was about to shrug, then recognition flickered onto his face, “You can actually see them?”
Was it darker than he’d thought? Loki glanced around, but he could still see fine despite the smog… Wait. With the sunset covered almost entirely by Thanos’ army, there may not be enough light for the Æsir to see well. Great.
“See who?” Banner’s shaky voice indicated he wasn’t doing much better than the Asgardians in the sight department.
Loki sighed, “If I had my seiðr, I’d fix this but…”
Thor clapped him on the shoulder, “We’ll be fine.”
“Fix what?” This time it was Brunnhilde and their silhouettes stumbled towards the brothers.
“The lack of light,” Thor said.
She snorted, “You think this is bad? I fought on Jötunheimr, you could barely see your hands,” The two arrived and she scowled at Loki, “I bet you’re doing well, snowman.”
Banner smacked her on the arm and muttered something at which she sighed, “Sorry.”
Loki blinked, “Pardon me?”
“Fuck you.”
Another smack from Banner and she rounded on him, “I’m trying okay, this is hard. I thought those fucking Frost Giants got my girlfri- bestfriend murdered for Norns know how long!”
What was it with newly acquired friends and digging into Loki’s (and Brunnhilde’s, this time) Jötunn issues. Even if he understood, now, that feeling such deep-seated disgust for himself probably wasn’t the best… Why? So he asked.
Banner blinked at him, but the Valkyrie gestured, exasperated, “See?! Why.”
“Because…” Banner tried to answer, stumbling for words, “It’s racism. And that’s really, really bad.”
So they had a name for it, then.
Loki shrugged, “Fine,” He’d prefer it if the mortal didn’t butt in on things that were none of his business.
Banner scowled, “No, not ‘fine’, nobody should think like that-”
Loki turned to Thor, “May I remove his larynx?”
He received a swift ‘no’ in answer, but Banner shut up anyway, thank the Norns.
Awkward silence descended, punctuated by the screams of Chitauri and Æsir alike. Somehow, the three rampaging armies had failed to notice them, but it wouldn’t last. A pile of rubble which seemed to hide them was slowly coming apart.
Banner spoke up again, though far more hesitantly this time, “You worked with the Chitauri before, what should we do to stop them?”
“Those ships?” Loki let a grimace stretch his face, “Are command ships. I employed only one to attack Midgard.”
Thor and Banner’s faces went white as they looked up.
There were enough Chitauri ships to blot out the sun and create night when it should have been dusk.
“Oh,” The mortal whispered.
“Any good news?” Thor asked, still staring up at the amassed army.
Loki shrugged, “If you take out the command ship, all the connected warships and soldiers will die.”
“Warships?” His brother looked back down, concerned.
“Leviathans.”
Brunnhilde cocked her head, “So all we have to do is fuck up the motherships?”
“Essentially,” Loki said.
“Great,” She nodded and sheathed Tyrfing decisively, “Bruce, with me. We’ll be in the Sakaar skiff. That turbo laser should do some damage.”
After a moment of hesitation, Banner followed Brunnhilde, who had confidently set off into the dark without waiting for agreement.
Which left the brothers, hiding behind a crumbling pile of debris.
“Well…” Thor sighed, “Asgard won’t defend itself.”
“Shouldn’t we work out a plan first?”
They shared a look and Thor was smirking, “No need.”
Loki rolled his eyes but didn’t protest.
Together, they stepped out, weapons ready and into the fray.
♛ ♕ ♚ ♔ ♜ ♖ ♝ ♗ ♞ ♘ ♟ ♙
If before it had been dark, now, hours later, it was pitch black.
Not that Loki was affected - he could see perfectly, though colours had faded into greyscale.
Thor, however, stumbled over every little rock or fallen body.
‘Worry’ didn’t do justice to the emotion crawling around in Loki’s torso. Fighting whilst so handicapped wasn’t possible, especially when the Chitauri didn’t show any signs of slowing and the undead had no need for light.
But he didn’t have his seiðr and therefore couldn’t fix it.
Fuck Odin.
Loki snarled and focused his anger into a blow, shattering the skull of a Chitauri soldier that had thought both Princes were almost blind in the darkness. Fucker.
Back to back, he and Thor stood amidst the ruins of Asgard’s market, surrounded by hordes of the beetle-like bastards, Æsir and undead. There was even a Jötunn in the distance, flinging ice and bodies in all directions, defending their miraculously unharmed stall. Apparently, some of his policies from his stint as King were coming in handy. Even if they were only meant for pissing off Odin.
Unfortunately, the darkness gave their enemies an upper hand, but if Æsir knew anything, it was warfare. Those who had worse eyesight were shielded by those who could see a little more and they all stuck together. Even with a disadvantage, the experience and stubbornness of Asgard’s warrior couldn’t go unnoticed.
Loki ducked a sword, dug up into the Chitauri’s stomach with his dagger, the soft chink in its armour gave way without resistance and black blood sprayed from its mouth. With a disgusted snort, he shoved it away and smeared as much of the mess from his face as possible. Not that it did much - Loki was practically covered in gore. And he stank.
Twirl to avoid yet another attack and he rammed his mace forward, which was blocked. A skeleton. He redirected and struck at its side, kicked, then swung for its head. The skull broke open and he was already defending again, holding off a hammer with both weapons, leapt back, disengaging from his block and fished out a knife, flung it. A moment later and the undead was on the floor, hilt sticking from its forehead and no sign of movement.
Behind him, the sound of scrambling and Loki automatically reached back, steadied Thor and spun, knocking a spear aside with his vambrace, then flung the mace. It hit the Chitauri square in its chest with a meaty crunch as the carapace shattered.
A quick nod of acknowledgement from Thor and they were back to fighting. Loki leant down, wrenched his weapon out and came up swinging, the skeleton which had attempted to sneak up got caught on its chin, which promptly shattered into slivers of bone. Another down.
Fluid and without thought, he stepped aside, a poleaxe shot past him and he lashed out, broke the elbows holding it and stabbed the Chitauri, but couldn’t slash upwards into its vital organs to finish it off as there was screeching overhead.
Loki leapt back. He and Thor flung themselves into shelter beside a nearby block of stone, blown from one of the palace walls by the size and occasional glints of gold.
Above, a Chitauri ship swooped down. One of the small ones, manned only by two and spraying blue-white bolts. Colliding with what remained of the buildings and, occasionally, fighters in the melee. The blasts fried everything they touched, starting fires, vaporising organic material and shattering stone, sending already-unstable structures toppling, the groan of tumbling rock pierced by screams as Æsir, Chitauri and undead alike were crushed.
It passed and Loki jumped back up, strode ahead of Thor and kicked a few of the larger rocks away, so he wouldn’t stumble in the darkness.
Immediately, a skeleton launched itself at them. Hearing the creaking of rotting joints and ancient bones, Thor readied himself and Loki ducked in, stabbed up into the thing’s ribcage, twisted and slammed it down onto the cracked flagstones. It flopped and the faint green glow faded from its eye sockets, spinal column severed by the blow. Loki yanked out his mace, only to find its head had come off. He looked down to find it lodged in the stone floor and he blinked. Apparently, he had used more force than intended.
Ominous clicking behind him and he turned, only to see Thor smashing his hammer into the chest of a Chitauri, this one wielding an energy rifle encompassing a whole arm. Carapace shattered and dented, it collapsed and Thor turned to look in Loki’s direction, eyes scouring until they landed on him with a teasing but tired smile, “I’ve got one eye and even I saw that coming. Pay attention, brother!”
Loki snorted, waved his now-useless mace, “Do you want me to not bother lighting things up when I get my seiðr back?”
Unceremoniously, he dropped the weapon and unsheathed another dagger. Thankfully, he’d been collecting them during the battle in every spare moment just in case of something like this. Call it paranoia or hoarding, but Loki wasn’t one to pass up the opportunity of grabbing a knife.
Thor just rolled his eye and didn’t notice the skeleton creeping up behind him. Loki, however, certainly did and flung a knife, right over his shoulder. It hit dead centre in its forehead and the undead crumpled, “I thought you told me to pay attention.”
The older Prince simply laughed. He hadn’t flinched even a little when Loki threw a dagger right at him. Well, not at him, but it must have looked like it.
“I have an excuse,” Thor protested, “One eye and it’s Norns damned dark!”
Loki huffed, “They keep thinking I’m as blind as you are.”
As if to prove his point, a Chitauri stepped towards them with care taken to be silent, but without even crouching? It was almost painfully visible to his eyes. With a swift movement, another blade hurtled through the air and another body flopped down.
Like all the other times, it took about a minute for the combatants who had dived for cover when the ship flew overhead to reappear, but now the battlefield was heaving again, swords and stray bolts glinting, overpowered by the massive explosions lighting up the night further back, towards the palace. Lancing multicoloured beams would shoot out at irregular intervals. They looked like the Rainbow Bridge. Which meant that Heimdall had truly entered the fight and was likely protecting his sleeping King to the best of his ability, bringing Hofund fully to bear.
Now the momentary break was over and the brothers returned to fighting.
Loki moved in, towards the centre and Thor followed. Ducking and twisting, they avoided being hit and struck back, felling assailants along the way until they were surrounded, stood back to back and set to work.
Now without his blunt instrument, Loki resorted to knives and, on occasion, bare hands. Without thinking, he batted aside a thrust and stepped it, stabbed up through the bottom of a skeleton’s skull and shoved it aside, stepped away from a downward strike, one of the Chitauri staffs, the pointed tip aiming for his shoulder. Lashed out and swiped through its neck, which spurted the foul black blood he was already coated in.
Something collided with the dying Chitauri, flinging it off and replacing the juddering body with a skeleton, sprawled on the floor, a huge hole punched in its ribcage. Loki stomped its skull to dust and ducked, a bolt of blue-white singed his hair, only adding to the stench of battle. Seamlessly, he straightened, flung a knife and didn’t even wait to see if it connected, already spinning to avoid another weapon and feint in, wait for the clumsy block and redirect, stab the Chitauri in its side. Shove it against a skeleton and turn again, check that Thor didn’t seem to be in trouble - he wasn’t, using a body to knock his assailants back. Even half-blind, he was more than a match for the two armies they faced.
The battle wore on.
♛ ♕ ♚ ♔ ♜ ♖ ♝ ♗ ♞ ♘ ♟ ♙
Loki had been tired at the start of this.
Now he was exhausted.
If mother had materialised when he had called for her, after discovering Argr’s name, he would have collapsed already.
Thor somehow just looked a bit sweaty instead of about to collapse.
And he was still using the same hammer, unlike Loki, whose mace had broken and now he was working with only two knives. Those that he tried to scavenge had grown fewer and far between as he worked through them, only discarding a blade after it became unusable.
With a puff of air, something stabbed towards his back and Loki swayed away, twirled and sliced his remaining knives through a Chitauri’s neck, ducked away from another, coming up behind him and jabbed at its stomach with one blade, the other aiming for its shoulder. One was blocked and the other wasn’t, causing its weak guard to drop, allowing for a swift stab to the neck.
Which obviously got stuck on whatever bones or other tough internal structures it had and when he yanked it out, the blade was chipped. A serrated edge could get you killed in combat and Loki discarded it with a hiss, leaving him wielding a singular knife.
Great.
The enemy didn’t particularly care he wasn’t armed to the teeth and he was attacked yet again, forced to use his greaves to deflect the blow before stepping in and stabbing. Another Chitauri from the pained clicking. He had been seeing less and less of Hela’s undead; was her army losing to Thanos’? Whilst accosted by soldiers of both sides, it was easy to forget they fought each other, too.
Loki ducked a blue-white bolt, spun and stabbed one Chitauri, punched another in the neck and heard cartilage crumple as it collapsed. A moment to check in on Thor and he was immediately moving.
Without a second’s hesitation, Loki twisted his whole body, pouring every bit of strength he had into the throw and swung his hand as quick as he possibly could, watched the knife screech through the air and-
Lodge firmly into a Chitauri’s temple, piercing the carapace and sending the creature flying.
Thor whipped around in the direction of where he was about to be stabbed by said now very dead Chitauri. The image of that long, chipped sword about to plunge into Thor’s back was stuck in Loki’s mind and he viciously clawed at the next assailant, tearing it apart with his bare hands, then ran to his brother.
“Thor,” He snarled, “You-”
“Noticed,” The idiot dipped his head in thanks then continued caving in the heads of anything around him, thankfully excluding his brother.
“Fuck, I don’t have a weapon,” Loki said. Because that was his last knife and he’d thrown it far too hard for the small distance, meaning that it had probably shattered.
Thor didn’t reply, just kept swinging.
Well, he had always been a quick learner, and his last hand to hand combat lesson hadn’t been too long ago.
Throwing himself back in with a swift punch, he caved in the face of a nearby Chitauri.
Yes, hand to hand would do fine.
A moment later, Loki batted away a staff, brought his knee up and struck hard enough that the creature doubled over and he drove his fist into its neck, breaking through carapace and crushing bone.
He fought and fought, until he wasn’t even thinking about his moves, effortlessly dancing among everything else, keeping an eye on Thor and listening out for the Chitauri vessels, screeching overhead. Noticed when the first command ship fell from the sky, spewing smoke and fire as a familiar Sakaarian craft shot away from it, spewing bolts as it went. A cheer rose from the Æsir, though it didn’t last long.
Slowly but surely, his senses sharpened until yet again, like when he had piloted a ship past that blockade on Sakaar, everything seemed almost in slow motion. As Thor had put it, his abilities returned to an Æsir standard. Yet after so long with a mortal’s senses, it felt odd. Not enough to pull him from his trance-like state as it only came on slowly, but soon he was seeing things previously far too fast to follow. Not that it helped an awful lot. With the Chitauri so dull and slow to react that even mortals didn’t have a problem taking them on and very few skeletons left, most of which were similarly incapacitated by thousands of years of rot and the energy which barely held them together spread thin.
In the midst of this almost-apathy, Loki completely forgot that his seiðr was locked away.
The middle of a fight and without any physical weapons, he would usually conjure them. That ingrained habit was what made him automatically reach for his magic, his bond to Yggdrasil.
And whilst he didn’t find it, he did find something else.
It felt… Buried deeper, somehow. As if nestled in at the core of his being.
Loki hesitated for a moment. But the fog of exhaustion and battle took any caution and threw it to the wind; if he didn’t conjure a knife, he wasn’t going to be able to block this attack and he’d have yet another cut to add to his growing collection, aching and trickling blood.
So, he used it.
Before Loki’s eyes, a dagger grew from his hand and he blinked, shook off the apathy for a moment and watched as he blocked the sword, then twisted, lashed out with a kick which broke carapace and sent the Chitauri flying.
But… Odin hadn’t restored his seiðr-
Oh.
Even as he started to think about what this meant, the icy power began to slip away as he felt the familiar fear and self-hatred well up.
His mother’s words came back to him: ‘you forgot to reject your heritage and used it instead’.
Loki cocked a brow. Perhaps it was worth a try.
A deep breath and he reached again, pushed away the surprisingly mild disgust, which took less effort than he thought it would. When he focused again, the blade grown from his hand had reformed. Whorls of raised skin decorated his arm and Loki didn’t need colour vision to tell that he was blue from head to toe.
Fuck Odin, he’d use Jötnar magic instead.
♛ ♕ ♚ ♔ ♜ ♖ ♝ ♗ ♞ ♘ ♟ ♙
Yet more time had passed.
The skeletons had practically disappeared, Chitauri dominated the battlefield with their strafing ships and leviathans spewing soldiers. Æsir, however, had almost completely disappeared but for tight knots of warriors and Einherjar, the regiment of guards from the destroyed palace mostly destroyed. Such a knot surrounded the two Princes, alternately protecting and hiding behind them as those who were young or old or simply exhausted took a momentary respite in relative safety.
None of them seemed to have really noticed one in their little group didn’t fit. Red eyes and blue skin and flinging icicles in all directions; you would have thought Loki was being quite obvious. Apparently not. With all the dark, he doubted their colour vision was doing much better than his. The world had been reduced to varying shades of grey, but that was more than enough to fight with.
Conjuring spikes and walls and blades from his hands was very useful in a fight, thankfully.
Loki twisted, spinning under a swipe which intended to decapitate him and a shard of ice grew from his fist, lodged itself in the Chitauri’s soft underbelly as he punched, spilling sticky black blood. It juddered once, then again but with more force - something else had hit it. A thought and he was no longer armed, the ice melting away.
Banner and Hon Dör and mother hadn’t been able to sway him from his distaste of the Jötnar and therefore himself, but this?
It felt natural. Like the Æsir magic he usually wielded but better, doing whatever he willed without the need for complex spells or ingredients.
Instinctual.
The Frost Giants were mere animals, but how would he know? Mother had spoken of culture - animals didn’t have culture, not even a brutish one. And if they were incapable of higher thought, how did he explain his own existence?
No, Banner was right. Banner, Hon Dör and mother had all been right.
Loki took all his bitterness and disgust and useless shame, shoved it away and laughed as yet another Chitauri fell. Because it just didn’t make sense to feel like that. He still did, somewhat, but if he thought back… In the dungeon when he had first been forced into it, the shame had been overwhelming. It wasn’t just the burning that had tortured him, though his disgust had faded over time, as the pain became all-consuming. But at the start of it, his hands had been what troubled him most. Lined with the swirling patterns and an unfamiliar colour… He didn’t even know what his face - his real face - looked like, except from tracing the raised lines.
Now, in contrast to that previous overwhelming fear and hatred and shame… This was nothing. He was, slowly, getting better. Better enough that he was fighting using his heritage’s abilities alongside Thor.
Loki grinned, the pointed teeth felt odd in such a familiar expression, but they probably made him look quite terrifying. An added bonus.
A bolt of blue-white and a shield grew from his arm, swallowing up the blast as it fizzled against the freezing cold he emitted. A different Chitauri had gotten too close and he reached out, grabbed its face, squeezed. Clicking screams from it as flesh grew stiff then crumbled beneath the magically induced frostbite.
Yes, he was quite enjoying this.
From the corner of his eye, he saw an unguarded civilian, desperately fighting their way through the throng. Something had noticed them and a bolt was screeching their way. Loki snarled, flung out a hand and a disc of ice shot out, intercepted the attack. The defenseless Æsir flinched at the sound of hissing as ice became water, became steam in an instant, put on an extra burst of speed.
His momentary distraction was costly, a lone Chitauri managed to sneak behind him, the combination of exhaustion and performing more complex seiðr (did it even count as seiðr?) making Loki less attentive. A vicious pain in his shoulder and he hissed, flung an elbow back, barely registering that his ice was flowing to the joint, a sharp point flaring out and it struck deep into the body too close behind him.
Loki whipped around then, his attacker had let go of the blade likely lodged in his shoulder and he didn’t bother with a punch, simply held up his hand level with its face, index finger pointed at its forehead. An icicle shot from his finger, as if it was a nail, with enough speed that all the Chitarui could do was chatter in alarm before a thin hole was punched through its skull.
With an angry growl, he removed the knife - of Asgardian make and it had dug deep, blood glistening from the tip to the base of the handle. Due to his lack of colour vision in the dark, all he could tell was that it was darker than the Æsir blood which was sprayed over the handle. After a while, the Chitauri weapons lost their charge and they resorted to scavenging. It hadn’t been a problem on Midgard, but now? During a protracted battle? The bastards weren’t prepared to still be going at it many hours since the start. Asgard was fighting.
Dealt with another of the chitinous idiots that thought it could sneak up on him, then glanced towards where the civilian had been. Were they alright?
A moment of searching, but Loki soon picked them out of the thrashing bodies, safe in the centre of the protective ring, warriors and Einherjar alike protecting them with vigour. Not that he cared, but good.
Okay, maybe he cared a little bit. He’d gotten stabbed for a stranger, after all.
No time for that. Loki ducked under a swing, kicked at the Chitauri’s knees, sending it falling to the side and onto an icicle he had conjured at the last moment, piercing through its neck as it slumped down. Another Chitauri stumbled over its spasming legs, struggling through its death throes. Loki stepped deftly over the juddering creature, slit this new one’s throat and whirled on, slashing out in all directions, but not straying too far from the knot of Æsir where he had left Thor.
With his superior nightvision, he was far safer fighting in the darkness than his brother. And despite Loki’s worries, Thor was more than capable on a battlefield. That didn’t stop him from searching the throng for him every few minutes, just to be sure. However, Loki hovering over his shoulder the whole battle wouldn’t be helpful. Especially when he could be fighting, unconstrained. If he had stayed with his brother, that civilian would have surely died.
He would probably be getting stabbed less with the Æsir, but win some, lose some.
At which point he spotted another survivor, with blood painting half his face and Einherjar armour hanging half-off his body, dented and battered.
Loki sighed, punched yet another Chitauri - they were getting quite boring to fight - and began to carve his way through the swathes of writhing bodies. Æsir warriors viciously fought for their lives against the overwhelming numbers, many of them in tight groups, but others were alone, like Loki. Hacking and slashing with abandon. Those, he helped for a few moments before moving on to the incapacitated soldier he had glimpsed through the constantly shifting mass of blood and limbs and metal.
Before long, he was there, one last glance back across the battlefield. Thor was taking a rest in the middle of his group, still ready and without dropping his guard, but chest heaving. He looked alright, no new wounds and his face reasonably free of gore. No need to run back, then. With his seiðr, or the Jötunn version of it at least, he could protect his brother from afar. Summoning ice from the floor, throwing knives, creating extra armour and shields. But only if he saw the danger in time. Which was why he kept a watchful eye turned to Thor.
However, this Einherjar was probably going to die if he didn’t step in. And with protracted battles he knew all too well that every life was important. Just one extra soldier could change the outcome.
Loki didn’t have to like it. Something about the man’s face made him want to leave him to his fate, now that he was close enough. Had he been one of the nastier guards when he was younger? Perhaps Loki had pranked him at some point. ‘Pranked’ ranging from filling his room with puppies to some form of barely-legal physical abuse.
But no, neither of those rang any bells. Maybe his face just looked similar to one of those.
Whatever. Loki had come all this way, dedicating about five minutes of his time to getting here. He wasn’t letting that effort - miniscule though it was - go to waste.
A quick flick of his fingers and the Chitauri surrounding the struggling Einherjar jerked, the summoned ice embedded in their necks. Moments later, Loki stepped over the bodies, kicking the still-wriggling ones for good measure, until their bones gave way with meaty crunches.
“Wh-” The Einherjar mumbled, seeming to sense that something had happened, “Who are you?”
More blind than most, then. Loki sighed and stepped closer. Without the glowing eyes of the now-decimated undead army, it was even harder for the Æsir to see.
“Someone who’s helping your sorry arse,” He said, “Come with me.”
Hesitation, but then the Einherjar slowly nodded, sword still held defensively in front of him, as if expecting an attack.
Loki rolled his eyes, “Can you see well enough to follow me?”
“Yes,” Came the answer. So he could make out outlines, then? Just not actual details. He wasn’t too useless, “How can you see?”
“Sold my soul to the Norns,” Loki flung a spear through the nearest Chitauri, glancing around to make sure they were relatively safe. And to check up on Thor. “Ate a Frost Giant’s heart. Performed illegal blood magic. Pick one.”
A snort from his companion, “I take it you are a battle mage?”
“Of sorts,” Did throwing icicles around count? Loki decided it did. Because no way was he losing that hard-won title just because he was using a different kind of magic.
Grunting behind him, Loki turned to see the Einherjar yanking his sword from a Chitauri. Not too useless at all.
There really was something familiar about his face.
Bushy eyebrows, dark eyes and a strong nose. But there was also a beard and short hair - far shorter than common on Asgard, on par with his own or styles popular on Midgard. It looked recently cut, too. Was he trying to hide his identity, for some reason? Look less recognisable?
Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter in the middle of a battle to save the entire Realm. Or maybe it did…?
Loki felt like slapping himself. There was no time for this. They needed all the soldiers available. He had to get this one to a safer area so he could recover for a few minutes then rejoin the fight. That was his self appointed task.
“This way,” He said, terse without meaning to be. Set off, swiftly incapacitating anything in his way, keeping a wide area of safety around him, so that the Einherjar wouldn’t die to a stray bolt or charging Chitauri.
It didn’t take long to return to Thor, who was back in the thick of things, a wordless snarl on his lips and a new cut on his cheek. But it had already stopped bleeding. Loki tried not to worry.
As all the other times he had returned from his drifting off into the battlefield, he slipped next to Thor, helped him until the immediate threats had all died or decided to pick on someone who wasn’t the God of Thunder.
“Loki!” Said God grinned, turning to him, “I didn’t know your magic-”
Oh, right. He hadn’t told Thor. What was it with him and forgetting to tell his brother important information? If this particular realisation had happened in the middle of anything truly dangerous, the distraction could have been fatal.
Thor seemed to be staring at him, eyes darting, searching Loki’s. Then slid over his face, checked him over. Loki stood frozen.
“So…” Thor began softly, a little hesitant, “It’s your magic but icy?”
Loki blinked.
Then snorted. He couldn’t help it. Because wasn’t that an apt description.
“Essentially,” He said, tone carefully blank, “You’re fine with this?”
Thor raised an eyebrow, “I wasn’t a few days ago. I thought I was, but I don’t think I was, not really,” A sigh, heavy and regretful, “But I am now. I’m certain. You’re my brother, no matter what. Being a Frost Giant or betrayal or any of it. We’re brothers.”
Loki wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t.
In the darkness, Thor hopefully didn’t see that his cheeks gained a few tracks of frost. Hopefully.
Behind Loki, the Einherjar he had been guiding called out, evidently happy to find another group of Æsir in the perpetual darkness.
Thankfully, the sound caught Thor’s attention and he squinted towards it, “You found someone?”
“No one important,” He replied.
“They are all important.”
Loki huffed, “I know. You don’t need to lecture me on tactics.”
Their group of Æsir let out a welcoming cheer to the Einherjar Loki had found, drowning out any answer.
“Who is it?” Thor asked once they had died back down.
Loki shrugged, then spoke, “I don’t know... But he looks familiar.”
A concerned look from his brother which was promptly broken off as the Chitauri closed in. Those bugs had no sense of self preservation. None.
They fought again, flinging away any that strayed too near. Behind them, the group of Æsi was doing the same, protecting Thor and Loki’s backs.
“Any-... clue-... why?” The older Prince asked, a little out of breath.
Loki flung another icicle into the back of a fleeing Chitauri, then grabbed a swinging blade, reinforcing his grip with a thick layer of compacted ice so that he was unharmed. Reached in, stabbed between the armour and kicked away the thrashing body.
“No,” He huffed, “Maybe I pranked him.”
“With puppies or mistletoe arrows?”
Loki groaned, “Shut up, Thor.”
“I want to know whether I should be guarding you from him,” Came the teasing reply.
“I was barely a hundred, Thor.”
“You still shot someone with mistletoe.”
“Because they were allergic! It made perfect sense.”
“You didn’t even have a reason to do it.”
Loki glared, then quite literally shot daggers, more Chitauri falling, “It was an experiment.”
“Which required an innocent person to be shot?”
More glaring, “Apparently.”
Thor simply grinned far too innocently. Then glanced back at the group, “The one that just joined, who are you?”
A form quickly broke from the rest, sword clasped tightly but with his face less covered in blood. Someone had even wrapped a bandage over his head, staunching whatever wound caused it in the first place, “No one, my Prince.”
So he recognised Thor but not Loki? Or perhaps it was the voice and his large frame. Even on Asgard, not many people reached two metres in height as well as being that muscular, the kind which spoke of weight lifting instead of battle.
“Then why did my brother recognise you?” A certain steel had entered Thor’s voice and he was studying the Einherjar.
Said Einherjar paled significantly, turned to stare at Loki in undisguised horror, “Your brother?!”
And even as he said it, realisation then disgust came over his features. He’d finally looked close enough to notice the red eyes, then. Unobservant fool.
Loki just grinned, let his teeth do the talking.
From the gulp, they did a good job.
But Thor grabbed the Einherjar by the ear, dragged him back to face him, stared into it, “What’s your name, wretch,” He demanded, voice not cold but still quiet, brimming with crackling rage. The same tone as when he had asked Heimdall who the Einherjar from the dungeons was-
Just as the all too obvious answer came to him, the bastard was answering.
“Argr, my Prince,” He whispered, “ Please don’t-”
Argr didn’t get to finish his sentence.
A fist, Thor’s, smashed into the side of his head with enough force to fling him to the ground, against the rough broken masonry. Had he been mortal, his skull would have become gravel.
“You are a fucking disgrace,” Thor snarled, spittle flying and Loki couldn’t do anything. He was frozen.
Thor reached down, grabbed Argr. Lifted him by his neck, “I hereby strip you of your rank, land and any titles,” Smashed a fist into his stomach, blood splattered onto his lips, “Declare you a traitor, enemy of Asgard, degenerate and fucking despicable cur,” The hand on Argr’s neck tightened, “You may bang on the gates of Valhalla, but shall never be granted entry. The Norns will cast your fate to Hel.”
And, with a crunch, Thor snapped Argr’s neck.
Loki just blinked.
Argr was dead.
The physical proof was right in front of him.
And then a hand was on his shoulder. Then on his neck, clasped there, strong. The burning it brought distant.
Æsir had moved to surround them somewhat, so that there was a modicum of safety.
Loki stared at nothing. He was empty.
Thor was saying something and it was a garbled mess to his ears. When Loki didn’t answer, the hands pulled him into a crushing embrace.
In the safety of it, wrapped in Thor’s cape, muddy and dusty though it was, he knew nothing would hurt him. It was safe.
So Loki let a few of the tears out, face buried in his brother’s shoulder.
“It’s alright,” Thor whispered, like he had when they were children, after Loki had fallen beneath the ice on a lake, gotten trapped, “It’s alright, I won’t let that bastard touch you.”
“You just killed him,” Loki didn’t sniffle, but it was a close thing, “He can’t do anything.”
“That’s the idea,” Thor hissed, grip tightening.
“I’m fine, you don’t need to-”
“I’mnot,” Thor was shaking, “And you aren’t either, Lo. So shut it.”
Loki nodded into his shoulder, “Alright.”
In the darkness, others wouldn’t be able to see the frost on his cheeks and melting into Thor’s cape on his shoulder. He was glad.
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