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

[wordsworn]

~

A/N: …And as I wrote this chapter, I discovered that there was a LOT more story here than I’d first thought. I was planning on sort-of glossing over their ~GREAT QUEST~ but…I liked the idea so much that it took off and carried me with it. So apparently we’re gonna have this crazy ZOMG YEY ADVENTURR detour, and then have a go at the more crack-y aspect.

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


{ .IV. } {In Which Thor Has An Idea}

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Loki has always been particularly good with all kinds of magic, but in the days following that seemingly insignificant incident on the training grounds, he finds that his sorcerous abilities have gone from excellent to exceptional. That moment of mind-blanking panic when he reacted reflexively, entirely without thinking, seems to have jarred something loose within him, like striking a tiny crack in a dam only to have the whole thing suddenly shatter and give way, letting everything that had once been held back pour through in a raging torrent.

And now all those hours and days and months and years spent in the darker corners of Asgard’s libraries or in reading through eldritch tomes in the safety of his own quarters have finally paid off: not only does he have the knowledge, now he has an incredible amount of power to back it up. No other in Asgard can match him in this, of that he’s certain…at least, that will be the case as soon as he manages to get his abilities under his full control. The power increase is so sudden, so unexpected, and thus tends to be difficult to control, with flares and ebbs that have thus far proven irregular and unpredictable.

Going to the All-father for aid, or at least advice, crosses his mind many a time, but it is an idea that he always sets firmly aside. Odin has an impressive amount of skill when it comes to magic, but this power is his, his own, and he alone will teach himself to harness it properly. Then, and only then, will he show Odin what he’s capable of: that what he may lack in muscle and warm charisma, he can and will more than make up for with intelligence, sheer raw magical power, and sorcerous ability.

But like those extra inches in his physical frame, it’s new, something to which he’s not fully accustomed just yet, which means he’s still awkward and a bit uncertain with it. The power is there, but using it--and more importantly, controlling it and holding back from letting it all go--is nothing short of exhausting. The only answer is frequent, extended use of this new power, along with further studies, researching the correct spells to weave to help him gain and keep total control of his magic.

Attempting either by itself would be draining, but Loki’s determination to fulfill both objectives leaves him slump-shouldered and hollow-eyed with weariness, as well as ravenously hungry. For the first time in his life, he eats as much as Thor--maybe even more on days when he’s skipped a meal or done some particularly taxing spellwork--and yet he doesn’t gain so much as half a pound. If anything he loses some weight, since every scrap of extra energy he can find is focused on or funneling into his magic.

And slow though it is, he’s making a considerable amount of progress. All Loki really wants or needs is a secluded area to study and practise in, some peace and quiet, and time.

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And it just so happens that Thor doesn’t intend to give Loki any of those things if he has his way. (And since it’s Thor, he will have his way.)

When the blonde warrior looks at his brother, he doesn’t see any magical breakthrough--there’s nothing particularly special or different about him outwardly (save the enormous appetite, which doesn’t strike Thor as the least bit strange since he considers it normal); all he sees is Loki looking more tired and worn down than ever, losing sparring matches right and left when he even bothers to come at all anymore. He hasn’t won since that strange bout with Sif over a month ago, but he hasn’t tried to win in just as long, and what’s more he hasn’t even seemed to care.

Which is something a natural (and egotistical) fighter like Thor can’t even begin to comprehend, forget understand or try to make sense of. True, Loki typically lost far more of those matches than he won, but at least before he’d always put forth some sort of effort. And Loki had done so well in that last fight against Sif, and yes perhaps he’d nearly died and no it wasn’t exactly a normal win and yes Thor did rather think that using magic like that was sort of cowardly if he really thought about it, but his brother had still done well. Honourable or no, Loki had defeated Sif soundly, and in Real Battles that was what mattered. They’d all gone on enough adventures and faced enough danger to know that much.

And thinking about that, about Real Battles and all those past adventures, is what gives Thor The Idea.

So after paying another anxious visit to Odin (who again claims that even though he’s losing fights, there is absolutely nothing wrong with Loki--his talents just lie elsewhere) Thor makes his way down to one of the seedier taverns he sometimes frequents with the Warriors Three. Loki typically manages well enough when they go out on adventures, when the stakes are for real and they are all playing for keeps. So Thor sits and drinks his way through several tankards of ale, remaining surprisingly quiet (for him, anyway) as he listens to the rumours and the stories being traded all around him, hoping to hear of something dangerous or interesting or, best of all, both.

It had taken a (possibly) serious life-or-death situation (sort of) for Loki to fight at the utmost of his abilities; perhaps all his younger brother needed to realise his full warrior’s potential…was the right sort of inspiration.

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It’s fairly late in the night when Thor calls his friends together for a private meeting. The night air has a nip to it of late, so they gather in the fire-pit room, settling into seats around the constantly-burning blaze before looking to Thor expectantly.

And as usual, he does not disappoint.

He tells them a tale of a magic ring, strikingly beautiful, and forged with a spell woven into its very substance that caused it to attract vast amounts of gold to it like iron to a magnet. It was a hoard-maker, the keystone to wealth beyond measure. He tells them also of how the ring first belonged to a certain dwarf, and though it was taken from him once, rumour had it that the enchanted trinket had found its way back to him once again. And what’s more, this time the dwarf had used magic to transform himself into a terrible dragon, to ensure that he would not so easily lose the pride of his collection a second time. Already his hoard was reputed to be one of the largest and richest in existence, and many a brave hero had ventured out seeking to slay the dwarf-turned-dragon and claim the glory and gold for himself, never to be heard from again.

By the time he’s finished telling his story (which in fact is all of the information he has so far), all four of his comrades are sitting up a little straighter, an eager light of interest and wanderlust shining in their eyes. It’s been a while since their last adventure, and though they’ve faced down and slain fell beasts of all shapes and sizes, so far a dragon has never been one of them. There will be countless tales told of a quest such as this, especially since the dragon is becoming something of a menace, even though all the information Thor overheard places it in one of two mountain ranges on Svartalfheim, meaning it is no immediate threat to Asgard itself, if it’s any sort of threat to them at all.

“I’m in.”

“As am I.”

“And I as well.”

“And I.”

“Of course you’re in, Hogun,” Fandral chuckles, giving the dour-faced warrior a dig in the ribs with his elbow. “It’s Svartalfheim, and if I remember aright, you’ve something of a score to settle with those Dark Elves.”

“Oho, that’s true, isn’t it!” Volstagg chortles, ignoring the withering look Hogun turns his way. “I seem to recall that the last time our travels took us there, you left with an arrow in your—”

“Excellent,” Thor interjects, grinning at them all with pride and gratitude and a fair degree of excitement of his own. What had started as a search for a quest that would provide pressure enough to force out his brother’s latent combat talents has become a full-fledged adventure that he’s itching to start off on this very minute. “Then on the morrow, we six shall make our preparations and venture forth!”

The other four exchange subtle glances, though they anticipated this from the moment they knew what Thor had in mind. On the whole, they consider Loki an acceptable companion, and often appreciate his quick hands and sharp wits and silver tongue--it’s indisputable that he’s gotten them out of as much, if not more, trouble than he’s gotten them into over their many years of journeying across the Nine Realms. But he’s been even more withdrawn and inaccessible of late, his behaviour cold and thoroughly incomprehensible, and for all his past aid and assistance and the fact that Thor clearly thinks the world of him, they find it difficult to trust him.

“We shall look forward to it then,” Fandral remarks carefully, with a slight acknowledging dip of his head.

“Although,” Sif adds after a moment’s pause, “I’m not certain that Loki will feel the same.” She doesn’t sound too sorry about the idea of excluding the younger prince, either; of all of them, she’s the only one Loki does still show a spark of interest in when they spar, though it isn’t enough to make him fight her in earnest. And that’s a blow to her pride, for though she’s bested him a dozen times since then, it’s plain that he’d let her win, which made those victories seem anything but.

“Normally we wouldn’t doubt that he would want to come along,” Volstagg pipes up in support, both of Loki and his present companions. “But…well, of late, he’s been…” He gestures aimlessly, searching in vain for the right words before looking to Fandral and Hogun for help.

“Not himself.”

An almost palpable silence falls, and every eye turns toward the speaker with varying degrees of surprise, ranging from curiosity to confusion to outright concern, because those words had come from none other than Thor himself.

When, even after the space of several dozen heartbeats, their stares don’t waver, Thor breathes a heavy sigh and waves them off with more than a hint of exasperation. “Nay, t’was not truly what I meant. Loki is Loki, as always, and I doubt not that he will wish to accompany us on our grand quest.”

But Thor isn’t like Loki. He can hardly tell a lie to save his life, and if he feels even the faintest flicker of emotion, it is telegraphed clearly through his every word and movement and expression, his face a perpetually open book. (Yes: a picture book, Loki would have said flatly, perhaps one with three or four words on every page, at most.) Thor’s unease is obvious, the intensity of his worry visible to all four of the warriors seated around him, and the fact that he’s so noticeably troubled makes them feel apprehensive by proxy.

“Are you certain you shouldn’t simply leave him be for once?” Fandral muses, rubbing one cheek absently. “Wanting to include your brother is all well and good, but with the way he’s been of late, I think I’d rather face down the dragon alone than try to drag him out of his quarters to face it with us.”

Fandral hasn’t forgotten their last few encounters with the younger prince. Loki had evidently decided to put up more resistance where his involvement in those private sparring sessions was concerned. Once, the familiar hallways leading to Loki’s room had somehow shifted into an entirely new set of corridors that seemed to stretch on for ages, void of doors, branch passages, windows, or any other way of marking distance travelled. Turning around made no difference whatsoever, and the door they finally came to had opened into what proved to be one of the royal library’s closed-off and long-abandoned levels…where some of Odin’s guard just so happened to be posted, as if waiting for them. Or as if Loki had known precisely where the guards would be, and thus sent Thor and his three companions there to keep them out of his way for a while.

Another time, opening his door had loosed a deluge of hand-sized spiders with a terrible sting to their bites that lingered a good while even after the spiders themselves (which proved to be nothing more than smoke and illusions when crushed) had vanished.

Attempting to knock on his door rather than simply open it had resulted in, on separate occasions, temporary paralysis, sudden inability to make or perceive any kind of sound, and a thrice-redoubled return of however much force they’d applied to the door. (Fandral, who had given only a light rap with his knuckles, had merely been forced back a few steps; Hogun had been hurled backwards into Volstagg, their combined weight leaving a sizeable indent in the wall across from the door. Fandral had held Thor back from even trying, and Sif, who hadn’t come along for any of their other ill-advised efforts, declined to make an attempt, instead simply speaking through the door, calling for Loki to open it himself. When he’d complied, the quick blink and raised eyebrows the Volstagg-shaped crater in the opposite wall had elicited made all of them briefly wonder if perhaps none of these traps had been intentional on Loki’s part…but then again, he was Loki. He could have easily feigned that surprise, and none of those tricks were out of character for him. They needed only look at Sif’s midnight-dark hair to remember that.)

“Every attempt at socialisation has angered him,” Hogun says with a nod of agreement towards Fandral. He hasn’t forgotten--or forgiven--any of those unpleasant attempts either.

“Leaving my brother behind while we, his closest friends and companions, journey afield would anger him even more,” Thor states firmly, in what they all know to be his most steadfast no arguments tone. “Loki comes, or none of us shall go.”

The others bow their heads slightly in acquiescence, Sif and Hogun perhaps a bit more reluctantly than the other two, but when it comes down to it, Thor is their leader, and they will follow him in spite of their own personal opinions. He is reckless and overconfident, ruled by emotion rather than logic, oftentimes thoughtless, and inclined to challenge the odds regardless of how precarious their situation may be; but for all of that he is strong and brave and good, and they trust him implicitly, for impulsive as he may be, he has never once steered them entirely wrong. He stands by them, and no matter how deep the trouble his arrogance and straightforward nature land them in, he always gets them out again somehow. They are unswervingly devoted to him, and if he wants Loki to come, they’ll do everything in their power to make it happen.

“Thank you, my friends,” Thor accepts their compliance to his terms with one of his broad, infectiously bright smiles, clapping a hand on each of the two closest shoulders (Sif’s and Fandral’s) and briefly pulling them in against his sides before releasing them again. “Dangerous though it may be, the quest is a worthy one, and my brother will not refuse such an invitation. I know it. And though I do freely admit that additional information would not be amiss, that can be seen to easily enough. Remarkable as this venture promises to be, surely Loki cannot think it the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

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{Chapter V}