A Chaotic Change of Plans
‘If I were not contained in this cell, I would murder you were you stand—‘
You woke with a jolt, reverberation of his words echoing through your mind as if caught in an empty room; bouncing from one wall, from one corner to the next, over and over and over.
By now they indeed struck like a blade.
A groan escaped your throat as you moved to sit, finding yourself resting on a bed once more, Thor next to you with his arms folded on the mattress and his head placed on top with his eyes closed.
For how long had he been sitting here, waiting for you to wake?
He shifted once you had moved, quickly jolting upright in his chair.
“Forgive me, I must have fallen asleep.”
You lightly patted his shoulder before heaving yourself up into a proper sitting position as well.
“No no, I’m sorry for worrying you,” you said, voice laced with guilt for keeping him occupied, “I’m okay now, really.”
The look on his face turned more serious as you caught him straightening further, apparently mentally preparing for another round of questions before he finally spoke,
“Would you mind telling me what happened?”
In but a second the echo of Loki’s words rang through your head again, like the sound of a chinese gong resonating through your entire body, causing a shiver to crawl over your skin and goosebumps to arise. Thor’s eyes were still locked on you and you quickly tried to catch yourself, compose yourself and stow the memory of the Prince’s words far away.
The silence started to stretch between the two of you until Thor decided to break it, clearing his throat.
“Fortunately, the guards had found you rather quickly,” he said, “They brought you up to Eir, who had called on me as soon as she had stabilized you.”
“—Thank you,” you spoke as you found your voice, sorrowful smile twisting your chapped lips, “For your worry and help.”
The blond gave a curt nod, but continued to look at you with concern lining his features, obviously waiting for you to explain what had transpired.
“He...He didn’t do anything if you’re wondering about that,” you said, running a hand through your hair and finding it tangled, “It’s just...just—“
You were at a loss for words, mind running wild in trying to find a method of explaining everything going on in your brain at once. With an exasperated sigh tearing through your mouth you put your hands up to your face, trying to ease the nervousness trailing your body away with a rub.
“Back at the Stark Tower. When I crashed through the window—“
Your eyes were glued on him to gauge his reaction, to collect the strength to continue explaining. You had to tell him. Now.
“I accidentally took a memory of his. Three.”
No.
“Four,” you corrected, remembering the one of your first encounter and averting your attention from Thor’s face to the pattern lining the blanket as you noticed his shocked expression.
“I didn’t want to do this, really. I’ve never used my abilities that much out of instinct either...I barely have any experience, I—“ you paused, thinking, “I want to ask you something. There is a memory—and I want to know how you remember it. If that’s okay.”
“Yes. Of course,” his voice sounded calm, but you knew better.
“Okay.” Your hand found its way back to your hair, lightly tugging on it in anticipation, trying to ease the tangles.
“So, you were both there,” you continued, “It was dark, night most likely. You were on that...Rainbow Bridge outside. It’s uh—a very important memory of his, so—“
“Yes,” Thor’s voice cut through yours, “I do remember.”
“What...What happened?”
It hurt you simply to ask this question. You were most likely correct with your assumption, but you needed to know for sure—Loki had seemed so terribly certain, it weakened any belief you held in your abilities.
“We fell,” Thor began, own hands intertwining on the bed and you watched him as he explained; how his absent gaze was directed at a point seemingly far away, how his lips seemed to tremble in a miniscule movement, how his eyes twitched with unshed tears, reddened and glassy.
“Our father had caught us in the last moment. My brother, Loki, he—He was terribly devastated. I wanted to keep him from doing it, but I couldn’t. He let go. I should have known better, I should have—“
“Thor,” you interrupted him, placing your hands on his arms, “None of this is your fault.”
He was living through the experience of losing him another time and you couldn’t blame him, for as he talked about it you did as well—only with Loki’s feelings twisting your mind, Loki’s emotions from back then feeling like your own. You barely caught the tear rolling down your cheek, not having noticed that you had shed it before you hurriedly wiped it away with the back of your hand.
“Yes,” you continued, voice coming out of your throat much weaker than you would have thought, “That’s exactly how I remember—“
You paused.
“How I see it too. But he—“
Your mind fell back on Loki’s enraged expression, the terror, grief and anger in his voice and posture.
“He doesn’t.”
Thor was quiet for a while, still looking at his lap before his head tilted back and he gazed at you with a purely blank expression. As if the implication of your words had yet to ring through.
“What?”
With more strength than you had intended you bit down on your lip, feeling a metallic taste spread on your tongue and inside your mouth.
“He thinks you’ve pushed him.”
The words felt like a stab coming out of your mouth and you were certain they felt even worse to Thor; the knife in the back coming from a well trusted friend—That might have just about equaled half the agony he had felt. You could practically feel and see the knife protruding from his chest.
“...I would never—“
“I know,” you interrupted him right there, “I know you wouldn’t.”
“—How?”
Your hands—long since clammy with fear and dread—played with the blanket covering your legs, drawing little patterns on it as well as clutching it at times to keep your hands busy.
“I think that whatever happened to your brother goes deeper than we thought. It’s not just...manipulation as in twisting his mind to make him evil and insane,” you spoke, keeping your eyes on trailing the pattern adorning the blanket, “I think something, or someone messed with his memories. Gave him false ones and locked his actual ones inside of him, and when I—“
You had started gesticulating, trying to aid yourself in untangling the mess of thoughts and theories in your head.
“—And when I absorbed whatever that thing was back in the Stark Tower, I unlocked whatever held his memories in place. And took some of his.”
But just who might that someone be? Who would gain anything by this terrific act of invading someone’s privacy? Changing what someone remembered about their own life, what made them who they were?
Yes. You hated yourself for your abilities at times like this, hated them for what they were, making you feel barely any better than the person who caused this predicament. Thor’s eyes were boring into you, but you refused to look up. He surely looked like a kicked puppy—nothing you felt your heart could take at the moment.
“He—He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t listen Thor, I’ve tried. I’ve tried to explain but he didn’t let me, he doesn’t believe me.”
Another silence befell you as the both of you fell deep in thought, mulling over what you had found out. The dread hung above you like clouds darkening the blue sky, tearing you down with its rain; the knowledge of Loki’s unfortunate situation plaguing your lives.
“What can we do?”
Thor’s voice seemed emotionless at best, but you heard the slight shift which made him sound quieter, softer. It was a truly tiny shift, but you had practiced noticing just that in people for as long as you could remember, to refrain from using your abilities whenever the curiosity to another person’s mind outgrew your self control.
“I—“ you interrupted yourself, wondering whether you should perhaps just leave Loki like that. His threats still rang clearly in your head, despite your best efforts to push them away. Thor’s words of being mindful of trusting him aligned with your general apprehension regarding his brother’s possible schemes.
But you continued nonetheless,
“I can give memories back.”
Your hand buried itself further into the blanket.
“I’ve only tried it once before,” you said, pausing to rethink your statement, “Or, rather, it had only worked once. Under one condition.”
You took a deep breath.
“I need to have physical contact to actually give memories back, to get deep enough into someone’s brain. Don’t ask why—I don’t know. But it’s the only possible way to convince him that I say the truth. I mean, I guess I can’t blame him for not believing me. I’d be hesitant too, if I had these memories in my head and people try to tell me something different.”
Oh yes.
You would eventually have to make your way into the alien-god’s subconsciousness; the one place where all memories had been collected since one had been born—locked away even from the person who possessed them, as having full access over all of them might overwhelm the brain. The flood of information and all the pain and other feelings the brain automatically forgot to protect itself would probably force it to permanently shut down and therefore result in death.
Oh no.
You were definitely not keen on being in touch-range with that Princeling anytime soon, not before all of what happened and definitely not after two attempted murders and one death threat.
But apparently it was a necessity to end this entire ordeal, and so it needed to be done.
“So,” Thor spoke, ripping you out of your trance after an agonizingly long moment of silence from him. From someone usually as bold, optimistic and loud as he seemed to be, this much quiet was almost scary to notice.
“You will need to gain access to his cell.”
“Yes.” Your answer lacked the heart behind it, but you decided to ignore that.
“Then I will try to convince my father of its urgency—but it will possibly take a while.”
“Thank you,” you all but breathed, clenching your teeth, unable to keep the broken breath from leaving your throat despite your best efforts.
Thor’s shoulders slacked and you noticed that he was watching you intently, blond brows furrowing.
“Are you afraid?”
You visibly deflated, eyes widening at Thor’s perceptiveness.
“A bit maybe.”
‘...murder you were you stand—‘
Loki’s dark, enraged voice repeated these words over and over in your head again, and it took every ounce of your willpower to make it stop.
“Do not worry,” he said, leaning forward to grasp your shoulders in a calming, reassuring gesture, “I will ensure that he is chained and constantly guarded by Einherjars during the process should it ease your concerns.”
“Thank you, really,” you spoke, letting a soft smile befall your face, “I appreciate it.”
“It is no problem.”
Thor gave you a light, almost brotherly pat on the back before he fully rose from his chair to stand.
“As I have told you before, Aldís and I have prepared a room in which you can stay in. She will return any moment and take you there,” he spoke, expression growing more grim as he paused, “I will leave to start the preparations right away. Should you need me for urgent matters, tell Aldís and she will inform me. Other than that, she will be there for you and your health.”
He gave a quick smile before he turned to leave, heading towards the golden double doors.
“Wait!” you called out after him and he stopped, hand lingering on the door, “—How long was I out this time?”
“Shortly under two days!” he called back, giving you a quick wave before the doors fell closed behind him. Leaving you behind all alone to fall into the vastness of your thoughts.
The pattern apparently beginning to form started to worry you.
Falling into a coma couldn’t be a healthy occurrence—yet nobody here had found any indication of something hostile running through your body. Still, its connection must have stemmed from your encounters with Loki, most likely from the very first one back in Stark’s Tower. Its not like you wouldn’t love a healthy dose of answers, alas, the last time you had tried to ask questions it had brought you right back into the palace’s healing wing.
Perhaps simply giving the memories back would solve everything, free you from whatever seemed to disrupt your normal life.
You didn’t have much time to ponder it though, because the heavy doors swung open once more—or rather pressed open a tiny crack, just big enough for a single person to slip through.
A woman walked forward, steps quick enough to be classified as in a slight hurry, the brown curls in a bun on her head bouncing on her way over, blue dress embedded with silver embroidery matching her blue eyes and accentuating her dark skin. She stopped shortly before your bed.
“I am Aldís,” she spoke, voice soft as she curtsied, “Eir’s apprentice.”