"Growing Pains" - Loki + Thor (AU movie!Marvelverse) - {Chapter III}

[wordsworn]

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A/N: ...This is going to be WAY longer than I'd first thought. Probably ten chapters, total. And this is the chapter that outs me as a total fight h0r. |D

Cross-posted in the comments of Round 1 @ norsekink.


{ .III. } {In Which Loki Is Nearly Killed With Kindness, Also Known As Brotherly Concern}

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Years later, Loki's skill as a wordsmith is unmatched and uncontested, and his inclination for finding--or causing, and then evading--trouble is nearly of equal repute (or infamy, depending on who you asked and what Loki had done to them within the past few years) when for the first time, his Jotun lineage begins to make itself known. In just about the worst and most inconvenient manner possible.

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Brotherly concern is what first causes Thor to seek out the wisdom of the All-father. Of course, in truth, “asking for Father’s advice” just means the warrior-prince wants to say his piece and then be told what he wants to hear: that he’s right to be worried, that it is good and responsible of him to look after his younger brother so, and that whatever plan of action he comes up with is the best one.

And as ever, Odin is not so gracious as to grant him any of that. His oldest son has allegedly come seeking wisdom, and he will get it whether he actually desires it or not. For though the King of Asgard has sworn not to reveal all (and he would not even if he were not bound by oath, for it’s obvious that Thor still isn’t ready), what he can and will tell the boy should be more than enough.

That is, if Thor would actually listen for once.

“I tell you, Father, it is not right! This behaviour is not befitting a prince of Asgard! Why does he so often seek to avoid battle by trading words instead? Why does he not take more joy in slaying things?”

Thor’s years of awkward adolescence are long past: pushing six-and-a-half feet tall now, his body is several hundred pounds of solid, rippling muscle. His three boon companions are much the same, though somewhat less impressive in stature and musculature; and despite her much smaller frame, the Lady Sif has proven herself many a time, and stands with them as an equal, proud and strong and of womanly face and figure, a worthy and fully-fledged comrade-in-arms.

Not so Loki.

Although the younger prince has grown a good bit, it’s obvious he still has yet to truly come into his own. His build is slight and leanly muscular, albeit inclined more towards the lean part of that than the muscular thus far--that growth spurt is still fairly recent after all, which leaves him a little oddly clumsy at times. But the framework is there, the promise of filling out at least somewhat, someday, though he’ll doubtless always be built for speed rather than brute strength. And while Thor and his four closest companions would voluntarily spend hours on the sparring grounds even after completing their daily training sessions, Loki’s interests clearly lay elsewhere.

“—And he’s still so scrawny, Father,” Thor goes on, bluntly stating things that, had he heard anyone else say of his little brother, would like to have sent him at them with blood in his eye and Mjölnir in his hand. “Decent stature he has now, at long last, though it does not match mine, but still his appearance seems scarce more sturdy than a maid! He cannot be eating near enough at mealtimes, I believe Mother regularly drinks more at the feasts than Loki, and he simply does not care for improving his swordplay! And yet despite lacking strength of arm, he does well enough in combat during those times he truly sets his mind to it, so in truth I know not what to make of it. Perhaps he is ill--some wasting sickness or some such.”

Odin, who has listened without comment to Thor’s lengthy discourse, only gives a faint, crooked little smile at his son's passion and obvious concern. “I assure you, your brother is hale as ever, Thor. Loki will come into his own soon enough,” he says evenly, and when Thor opens his mouth to protest, an eyebrow raised in warning is enough to make the prince close it again in grudging silence. “Just as it is beyond you to compel the mighty Yggdrasil to grow more quickly, you can neither hasten nor force Loki into realising his full potential.”

Wise, knowledgeable, and perhaps even somewhat clairvoyant as Odin is, Thor has to know that his father is probably right.

But that still doesn’t stop him from trying.

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Loki is tired. Hardy as Asgardians are, even they have their limits, and all things considered, right now Loki’s are lower than most. But Thor doesn’t seem to understand that; he’s been pushing his brother hard of late, all but forcing him to spend extra time at the training hall, sparring until his whole body shakes with exhaustion and he can scarcely lift the sword Thor places in his hand. The younger prince gives the best excuses he can think of whenever Thor comes for him to start another of these irritating sessions, but even those most carefully-crafted explanations and justifications fail more often than not. For Loki knows all too well that when his obnoxiously stubborn brother is truly bound and determined and so intensely focused on something, he never backs down, to hell with the consequences. (…Now, if only he could think of a way to turn this latest bullheaded fixation to his advantage…)

Still, despite the inevitability of it, Loki really isn’t in the mood for this today. He already works himself as hard as he can during the regular training sessions he’s required to take by order of the King himself--he does so desperately want to make himself into a warrior that Odin can be proud of, unpromising and unlikely as that seems looking at himself now, especially in comparison to Thor. And to make things worse, nearly half of these special private sessions of Thor’s are usually spent with his brother trying to ‘teach him’ new moves, the majority of which seem to end with Loki flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him as Thor demonstrates how each move should be used.

Today, Loki wants only to be left alone to pore over an intriguing set of spellbooks he’s just liberated from a dusty room on one of the palace library’s lowest levels. He’d gone alone, having learned years ago that theft, however petty or temporary, is something of which his (oftentimes selectively) noble-minded older brother tends to disapprove (especially when the ‘prize’ is something boring like another old book). Even if reaching the item promised to be an adventure of sorts, Thor was the type to make it all the way to the whatever-it-was, then turn right around and go back, empty-handed but for the thrill of possible danger and the satisfaction of knowing he’d beaten another challenge. And he made sure Loki came back empty-handed as well, levying the always-worrisome threat of Telling Father should Loki take what wasn’t his. Thus, he’d decided that taking Thor was just more trouble than it was worth, and dangerous as some of the things he’d encountered in the most shadowy parts of the city were, they’re nothing compared to some of the foes they’ve faced on their adventures outside the city, and Loki is quick-witted and capable. Here in Asgard, at least, he doesn’t need anyone else’s protection.

This time had actually been a little more challenging, however, with three locked doors, a special guardian who told devilishly complicated riddles, and several tricky ward-spells just to get onto the desired floor. He’d only just returned from his venture when Thor had come around, knocking on his door and asking (funny how it came across more like demanding, really) that Loki come spar with him and their friends. Loki had scarcely changed out of his dusty, cobweb-coated clothing and gotten the worst of the ash and grime off his face before Thor had let himself into the room and dragged his reluctant brother off to the training hall. But Loki could tell that today was One Of Those Days when nothing he could say would change Thor’s mind, and in truth his own mind was still too entranced by the idea of reading through those new books to come up with a decent lie anyway.

But once he’s put on his fighting gear and stepped into the training hall, all that changes. What he wanted so badly a moment ago is irrelevant, the present is all that exists for him, that burning desire to prove himself, both to others and to himself.

And yet, at the same time this is but another game, and Loki very much enjoys playing games. Especially when he just might win.

Loki is the youngest of the six warriors present, so he’s constantly had to work harder than any of them just to come close to keeping up. But he’s always fought so fiercely that he’s managed to beat all of them (save Thor, who he’s never really won against) at least a few times through a varying combination of speed, misdirection, and general combat pragmatism. Lady Sif and the Warriors Three had all learned the hard way to take Loki very seriously; nowadays they keep their guard up and fight him full-on whenever their turn comes to face him.

Sif is Loki’s opponent today, and while some might think that means that he’s getting off easy, the exact opposite is true. For although the shield-maiden wins her share of these supposedly-friendly bouts against each of her comrades (aside from Thor, of course, who wins nearly all the time regardless of his opponent), and although it’s been years since any of them have dared make even a passing quip about female warriors in general or her own skills in particular, Sif always gives not just 100%, but 130% of everything she’s got in every match, regardless of who she’s fighting. Sometimes Loki thinks she actually tries even harder when she’s facing him (about 140% usually), though he isn’t entirely certain why she would. It’s possible she’s never quite forgiven him for what he’d done to her hair (it looks better black anyway, he thinks)...or perhaps, he thinks as he watches her sneak a sideways glance at Thor, she is jealous of how his brother dotes on him, how the older prince would rather spend time with Loki than anyone else, including her. Or it could be her own strange way of showing him respect—not pulling any punches because she knows what it is like to be coddled and ignored and underestimated, and she doesn’t want to put anyone else through that.

Well, he thinks as he takes up a guard position across from her, option number two certainly sounds like the most fun. But if he wants to know the truth (and of course he does, simply for the sake of knowing), he’ll have to test it. He readies his spear--he’d insisted on using the weapon of his own choosing today, and fighting with a spear instead of a sword gives him range enough that he can strike without necessarily having to deal with close-quarters fighting, where brute strength often wins the day--and the game begins in earnest.

“Begin!” Fandral calls from the side of the room; it’s his turn to officiate, but he’s already keeping well out of the way of a fight that will almost certainly prove to be fairly nasty. Loki had managed to win his last two bouts against Sif, but only just, and both of them had come out of those matches much the worse for the wear. They’d unquestionably end up in the Healing Room again today, since none of them doubted that this time, Sif would be serious about going for blood.

The instant the word leaves Fandral’s mouth, Sif is already circling, buckler raised and sword held low, set for a powerful upswing that would open him from hip to shoulder should it land. Loki merely shifts his weight and holds his polearm at the ready, keeping himself facing her head on, his eyes tracking her every move.

He surprises them all a little by being the first to take the offensive, a lunging step forward paired with a half-feinted jab with the head of the spear, which swiftly turns into a sweeping blow with its haft that would have shattered Sif’s nose had she brought her buckler up just half a moment later. Forcing the spear up and away with a jerk of her arm, Sif ducks in to loose a horizontal slash at his midsection, which he avoids by twisting away and to the side with impressive speed, bringing his spear to bear again even as he turns.

For a time they trade blows in silence, both too focused on the fight to spare any attention for speech; but for someone like Loki, that can only last so long. He lets her close, taking a glancing blow from her buckler on his forearm to give himself an excuse to put some space between them and slacken his own constant stream of attacks. Making a show of both keeping his distance from her and giving himself a chance to recover from his supposed ‘injury,’ Loki gives a quiet, thoughtful hum of confirmation.

“…As I thought.”

Already circling once more, Sif looks at him warily, and with annoyance. She’s personally and painfully familiar with his penchant for talking circles around his opponents in the middle of combat, and she has no desire to fall for the same trick yet again, so she answers only grudgingly. “What?”

“When I am your opponent, there is a marked change in your fighting style.”

Sif doesn’t halt her attempts to engage him, though he slips away from her every time, like water through cupped hands, and her reply is flat and immediate. She doesn’t care and she doesn’t really believe him either. “Really. How so.”

“You strike harder and faster for one—” This time when she comes at him, he doesn’t move back an equal distance; instead he holds his spear like a quarterstaff to deflect every aspect of her assault. “—And you strike to kill with nearly every blow.” Her final move is a fully-extended thrust aimed just slightly below his heart, which he has to scramble a bit to avoid, and she couldn’t have proven his words more true if she’d tried. “Watching you, one would think you might truly wish to kill me.”

A bit put out over proving his point so neatly, albeit unintentionally, Sif pauses to snap out a reply. “That is what is expected of us--we fight as we would any foe, else we teach ourselves to hold back when we should not.”

“Indeed. And yet when last you fought Volstagg, you did not press him on his left, though surely you know as well as I that it is his weaker side. Perhaps you’re going soft. Or perhaps…a part of you does desire my death.”

Sif exhales in a scornful huff and redoubles her efforts to draw first blood and win the match. “To say that I seek the death of one of the royal family--why lay such an insult upon me? The very notion is absurd!”

Her sword fairly whistles as she brings it down, irritation and slight injury at his not-quite-accusation lending additional power to her already considerable strength. But Loki catches the heavy overhand blow, then takes a quick step forward, pressing back just so before she can pull her sword away, keeping their weapons temporarily locked. “Is it?” he says, his voice dropping to a half-murmur. “When I have something that you desire?”

“What are you—”

“Thor.” Surprise flashes across Sif’s face, and she shoots an anxious and very telling glance towards the older prince to ensure he hasn’t overheard that, or any of their conversation. But even as she looks away, and well before she can sputter a denial, Loki speaks again. “It’s obvious which of his companions he most cares for: one only need look at our past adventures, and see who it is Thor rushes to protect first and foremost above all.” He pauses a half-beat, allowing himself a brief, superior smile. “Me.”

Sif bristles visibly, wrenching her sword free to aim a (rather sloppy, admittedly) flurry of slashes at Loki’s legs that the prince easily sidesteps. “I neither desire nor require your brother’s protection—”

“And yet I doubt you desire that he see you only as another companion. ‘Lady Sif and the Warriors Three’--perhaps instead it should simply be the ‘Warriors Four’?” Sif has to bite back what is quite literally a growl when he gives an unmistakably mocking chuckle, quiet though it is. “Isn’t that what you’ve always claimed to want, after all?”

With a snarl, she comes at him in a fury (she’s putting 160% into this fight now, at least, he finds with amusement--that last comment must’ve been a bulls-eye), and he’s hard-pressed keeping up with her onslaught. But even this is a part of his not-so-intricate plan: his true aim in all this has been to distract her, to mentally throw her off-balance and cause her to get angry and make mistakes she wouldn’t otherwise make. One good opening could be all he needs to win this--it’s happened in the past, several times, and not just with Sif but with Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral as well. Though her temper is second only to Thor’s, Sif is generally smarter than this, usually knows better than to give in to his baiting…which means this must be a particularly sensitive subject. Which makes it an even more useful psychological lever, and while Loki is fully aware that emotional attacks can backfire in a big way, it’s a chance that he has no real choice but to take if he wants to win. Sif has matured physically and is in prime fighting trim while he’s still playing catch-up, and he knows he can’t beat her in a straight-up fight at this point in time.

The gambit is working particularly well today, he thinks with a smug inner sense of pleasure--the match will be his in the end, just like the two before it, he’s certain of it--when the unexpected happens.

As he moves to deflect a glancing blow of her sword, the clumsy, coltish stage he’s going through rears its head, and Loki stumbles. A set of quick sideways steps helps him regain most of his balance--which is precisely when Sif puts that buckler to good use and hits him with a shield-bash. It forces Loki back a half-step, wobbling and fighting to keep his already-tenuous balance and hang onto his spear, the parry he’d been planning to use to catch her subsequent sword-strike now thoroughly impossible.

Leaving him off-balance, unable even to evade her next attack, and utterly defenseless at the absolute worst possible moment.

The follow-up slice of Sif’s sword will tear through his throat, and she can’t check her swing, can’t stop her plunge forward--she’d expected him to dodge, not all but fall on his royal ass--and her eyes fly wide on the realisation that there’s absolutely nothing she can do to stop this from happening. Thor is shouting something somewhere off to the side but he doesn’t have Mjölnir in hand and Sif is too fast and no one else is close enough to interfere and what will clearly happen in the next three seconds is horribly unavoidable. She’s going to spill the blood of a prince of Asgard and maybe hopefully she won’t kill him but he’s young yet and not as strong as he should be and what if she does? The All-father will demand repayment in kind, or worse he’ll banish her and Thor will hate her and never speak to her again and she’ll be dishonoured and her whole family will suffer and in spite of all of that there’s still just no way she can stop herself—

And then, the instant before her blade takes off his head, there’s a blurring, a flickering flash of green, and with a curling puff of smoke, Loki vanishes entirely.

Sif takes a couple stumblingly oblique steps through those faint green wisps of vapor, still caught up in her unsuccessful, and now unnecessary attempt to wrest herself and her weapon from her original headlong line of attack, then spins on her heels to sweep an incredulous glance around the room. She meets the equally stunned and startled gaze of Thor, then Fandral, then Hogun and Volstagg, but though all five of them cast about the room, they can find naught to contradict what their eyes tell them: Loki is simply gone, nowhere to be seen.

Until he reappears directly behind Sif in another blurred flare of green light and smoke and, with a sweep of his spear, smashes her legs out from beneath her, dumping her onto her ass.

Sif is caught flatfooted, and goes down without the slightest bit of resistance, too surprised to catch herself or turn her fall into a roll or anything even vaguely warrior-like, her sword spinning across the floor out of reach. Loki lightly paces around her to stand in front of her once more, letting the sharp tip of his spear hover just below her chin, wary and watchful and inwardly a bit taken aback himself, because never has he won one of these fights so obviously and easily.

“This match is my victory, I believe,” he says, voice calm and cool, with only the barest traces of a smirk about his mouth—though his eyes are a different story. There burns realisation, long-desired satisfaction, an almost giddy sort of glee at what he’s done, along with the portentous glint of a hunger for more. “Do you yield, Lady Sif?”

Sif’s eyes narrow at that deceptively civil tone, her jaw muscles clenching as she fights the urge to slap the spear away, sharp edges or no, or better yet grab hold of it and give a jerk hard enough to throw Loki off-balance—

There’s a faint, needlelike prickle against the soft flesh of her throat, and Loki raises his eyebrows just a fraction, his expression unruffled and intently observant. By all means, try me, it says.

Much as she wants to do just that, Sif doesn’t miss that too-bright gleam in his eyes, that desire to see how far she’ll press him now that he might actually be able to do something about it, and she knows better. And he has beaten her, though she can’t say for certain if he’d done it fairly or not. So she swallows her pride and the remnants of still-simmering fury and admits her defeat.

“…I yield. The bout is yours, Loki Odinson.”

The spear-tip doesn’t move for an endless fraction of a second; then Loki abruptly lowers it, that hint of a smile still just barely turning the corners of his mouth, looking first at her, then unhurriedly around at the other four. Something about that expression puts Sif on edge, makes the skin on the back of her neck crawl: subdued as it is, it’s very much a predator’s smile.

“Well then,” Loki says, offhandedly tossing the spear sideways at Hogun, who happens to be standing closest; Hogun catches it reflexively, but keeps staring, shocked and silent. “I suppose that’s enough for today, isn’t it.”

It’s tempting to try to magick himself away again, but he’s not certain he’s fully grasped the trick of it just yet and he doesn’t want to risk it and ruin this moment of victory. He gets so very few of them, especially those that are solely his own, and not at least half Thor’s.

Besides, he can feel those five awestruck stares following him as he placidly makes his way out of the room, and Loki wants to enjoy them for as long as possible.

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{Chapter IV}