It has been brought to my attention that the “/” in the title “Loki/Thor…” typically means a ship. I was unaware of this when I first started writing, so I apologize to any who may have been confused by this. I’m not a Thorki shipper, and this fanfic has none of that. I had been using the “/” to indicate that I’d be doing parts from both Loki’s and Thor’s POV.
On the plus side, I learned this shortly after I decided I wanted to make a banner for this mini-series. So I’ll be working on going back and changing the title/adding the banner/whatnot, and fixing any POV mistakes (I’ve noticed myself slipping into past tense a few times). The new title for this series is “Be Wary of Strangers.”
Also, the font I used for previous posts is not available on the version of Scrivener I’m using, so that’s going to change as well. :P
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Part Twelve
Sharp, icy air drives the breath from his lungs, clings to him like a blanket. Thor struggles into a sitting position. He’s on a mountain range, surrounded by rocks and blocky trees laden in frost. Not snow; frost. Stars glint faintly overhead, covered in a thin haze. He sees no moon.
He laughs. “Did you trap us on Jotunheim, brother?”
A sharp wind, whisking away his laughter, is the only answer.
“Where am I?” He mutters to a pile of rocks vaguely reminiscent of a biped, trying to recall. “I remember doing this before. Waking, finding it hard to remember. Loki. He’s normally here. But where…is here? Not Asgard. Not after Hela…” Memories begin flitting back into his mind, as difficult to grasp as an adolescent bilgesnipe. “Oh. Odin’s beard, I died.”
He stares numbly into the sky. “Father? Heim…Heimdal? Can you hear me?”
“Who’s Heimdal?”
Thor bolts to his feet. Someone stands behind him. Someone female. “I’m sorry, but I don’t quite recall…”
And then he did. Loki’s hirelings. The deaths. Feeding.
His eye widens. Before he can thunder out an apology—he hated not being in control of himself—the girl laughs. “Don’t apologize; it might get annoying if you keep doing it.”
Despite wearing nothing except Midgardian pajamas, she doesn’t seem cold. She skips through the snow to his side and hugs his arm. “I don’t want to get annoyed with you.”
She giggles oddly. Thor chuckles nervously. “Yes. Well.”
He’d been fighting someone. The realization came as suddenly as his memories. He glances down at his torn shirt, at the dried blood on his hands. But that’s old; crusting off, and not indicative of the fight he felt aching in his bones. “Would you happen to know who I fought?”
“Your brother.” She frowns. “You said you saved me.”
“Ah.” As he struggles to recall, Thor’s eye flicks every which way. Then he finds it. As surely as if the thing were standing in front of him, he finds it.
“Get inside. Please,” he says to the girl. She obeys without a word, heading inside the cave hidden among the rocks.
Thors fists clench. He begins striding down the mountain. To the empty air he shouts, “I know you’re there!”
The darkness in his mind coalesces. His senses sharpen to an unbearable degree.
From behind, a wry-sounding female voice says, “I can help, you know.”
Thor whirls on the newcomer. An outrageously tall woman, with dark green eyes and the bearing of a Valkyrie stands before him. He shakes his head. “I could swear that isn’t how you looked during our last encounter.”
She shrugs. “Accept my help, and things will go smoother.” She takes one step, another. The snow makes no sound beneath her feet. Her feet make no imprint upon it.
Thor backs away. “No! You drive me to madness—”
“As does your brother.”
“—and force me to do that which I have no wish to do!”
The woman tilts her head back, lips parted in a dry laugh. “Ah, you flatter me. But I have no power which you do not grant.”
“Then begone, foul creature of darkness!”
“But if you let me help, you’ll have time to mourn.” Her tone turns placating. “Don’t you want that?”
Wary, Thor’s eye narrows. “Mourn?”
“Yes. Everything. The loss of your home. Your friends.”
Pain tears through Thor’s skull. He screams, falls to his knees.
My people…
Thor grits his teeth. The view of trees and rock blur before him. His vision tunnels until all he can see is a village. A village of giants, and beings made of fire.
Murderers. Demons.
Murderers. Demons.
Without realizing it, his voice and the voice of the woman speak in harmony. “And what better way to mourn than to destroy races responsible for death and destruction?”
With a yowl, Thor leaps. Lightning crackles through him. Like a demon himself, he flies through the air, heading towards the village.
