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

[wordsworn]

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


{ .VI. } {In Which Our Heroes Are Captured And Loki Orchestrates A Daring (& Rather Needlessly Complicated) Escape, Kind Of}

- ♦ ♈ ♦ -

Unsurprisingly, the location they’d been given for Andvari’s lair is completely wrong. There’s a mountain there, sure enough, but it turns out to be riddled with scores of much smaller holes and tunnels, all inhabited by some sort of beast that looks like some unholy union of a lizard and a boar—all hard scales and razor-sharp tusks and milky-white piggy eyes. There was an entire nest of them in that crag, and once disturbed they’d proved extremely vicious, though their vast numbers and doggedly continuous attacks were the only challenge they presented for real warriors such as Thor and his companions.

They’d also proven to be an excellent distraction.

The Dark Elves had been upon them before they’d known it, their skin dark as the dusk, hair pale as spider-silk--what little of both aren’t covered with intricately-wrought armour, that is. Their numbers are impossible to gauge with any sort of accuracy since the twin suns hover low on the horizon and the shadows cast by the mountain are long and deep, but even so it’s clear that the Asgardians are heavily outnumbered. Several wolfish-looking beasts are circling them as well--the Hounds of the Hunter, Hogun mutters under his breath--and the hours they’ve spent fighting off the lizard-boars have left them well below peak battle-readiness. Even so, they turn to face this new threat with an unshaken determination.

“Hold!” One figure stands out from among the rest, and at a wave of his hand, the shadowy forms circling the six adventurers pull back, slowing and subsiding into a ready motionlessness. The apparent leader of the company of Dark Elves takes another few step forward, fixing them with a steady gaze. “What business brings six Asgardian warriors to trespass upon Dark Elven territories?”

“Our business is our own, and none of yours,” Thor replies immediately. “But we shall bring you and yours no harm, so long as you let us pass without contest.”

The Dark Elf leader cocks an eyebrow at that. “That I cannot do, Thor Odinson, for all too well do we remember your past recklessness and the harm it has caused our people, accidental or no. Turn aside and return to Asgard immediately, or else I, Algrim the Strong, will be forced to take you belowground as my captives, until you settle your debt with us.”

Thor’s grip tightens on Mjölnir, and the Warriors and Sif tense in response, readying their own weapons—

“Wait, Brother!” Loki suddenly cuts in, appearing as if from out of nowhere at Thor’s side and making a grab for his brother’s arm. “I know you’ll not turn back, so let us go with them for now. As they say, we are trespassing, and already they bear a grudge against us. There is no good to be gained by deepening that resentment.” The hand Loki holds pressed against Thor’s shoulderblade is edged with the faintest of green glows, and somehow his words seem far more persuasive than usual, dropping into a pleasant, soothing murmur. “If you trust me in this, I promise to give you a way in which you can all escape with both your lives and your honour fully intact.”

Thor seems to waver visibly, but finally lowers his hammer. The others follow suit, reluctantly sheathing their weapons, which the Dark Elves make no move to take from them, surprisingly enough. Or perhaps not so surprisingly: none of them could lift Thor’s hammer anyway, and Mjölnir is the most dangerous weapon any of them possesses.

In past hostage situations such as this, Loki had always been the one who evaded capture, following at a safe distance and then freeing them when the enemy wasn’t looking. But here there’s nowhere to hide from those watchful shadows, and his magic is at one of those irritating ebbs and suddenly won’t work quite right so he can’t go invisible or magick himself away, and even if he could the Hounds of the Hunter could still smell him and would track him down soon enough. He wouldn’t survive long alone on the planet’s surface anyway. And this time, he hasn’t gone unnoticed: he’s played too large a part in calming Thor to make even a token effort to flee.

Not that he wants to. After all, he’s the one who’d alerted the Dark Elves to their presence here on Svartalfheim in the first place. Because for once, getting caught is part of his plan.

- ♦ ♈ ♦ -

Algrim’s company wastes no time in hauling their captives underground, and within a quarter of an hour, all six of them are hopelessly turned around; they couldn’t escape now even if they’d been let loose. The path they take doubles back, rising and falling and turning without any sort of pattern, and a few times Algrim or one of the others works some magic to widen nearly invisible splits in the rock, which are resealed immediately afterward. Loki watches this closely, and thinks perhaps he could manage it in a pinch, though he hasn’t studied much of this kind of magic, and he’s next to last in line and doesn’t have the best view of the working, so he’s not entirely certain of that.

As always, the tunnels of Svartalfheim are truly a sight behold. The upper levels are bland and boring, nothing on the walls save dripping moisture and thin patches of a faintly-glowing yellow lichen; but as they travel farther down, the air grows warmer, moist and green-tasting. The knee-deep pools of water they wade through and the underground lakes they pass are warm, and lit by long, trailing blue vines that cover entire walls as well as floating lotus flowers that gleam with their own internal radiance. Brightly-coloured birds sing and flicker along the edges of their vision, fish splash and leap and sparkle like living jewels, strange insects buzz in their ears and cluster around strong light sources. And set in the ceilings and along the walls and sometimes in the floor are hundreds and thousands of crystals that flicker steadily, as if containing some inner fire, and when they are of a decent size or there are enough of them, it’s as bright as daylight. All sorts of vegetation grows around these crystals, animals large and small play and prowl through the greenery, and it’s all so lush and jungle-like, it’s hard for any of them to believe that they’re more than a mile underground.

After what feels like hours of travel (and very possibly is), another imperceptible fissure in a relatively smooth rock-face is opened, and instead of leading the way onwards as he’s done every time before, Algrim turns back to face them, gesturing for them to keep moving. Once they file through the narrow gap (which Algrim ends up having to widen an extra foot for Volstagg to fit through), they find themselves inside a smallish, smooth-walled cave. There’s water bubbling in a shallow spring on the far side, and thick clumps of the same yellow lichen from before along with clusters of those luminous blue vines light the place with a dim, eerily greenish-blue glow. It’s not exactly a tight fit--there’s enough room for all of them to stand or sit, though the latter might require some compromise where personal space was concerned--but it clearly wasn’t designed for comfort, or to hold six people.

Or even five.

They all notice at almost exactly the same time, even before the entrance is closed up, and though they exchange wide-eyed worried looks, Fandral is the first to say it:

“Where’s Hogun?”

“Taken for questioning, most likely,” Loki answers, making a good show of looking more concerned about this than he really is. He’s reasonably certain the leader of this clan of Dark Elves won’t do anything rash, that he’ll want to hear what Loki has to say before they harm any of their captives, especially with someone like Algrim in a position of authority, but of course he can’t be completely sure. “Bad luck on their part, choosing him,” he says absently, moving to examine the rock wall they’d come through as best he can by the lichen’s twilight glow. Pressing his hands flat against the stone, he murmurs a few words under his breath, then gives a small shake of his head. “It’s no good. It would seem we have no choice but to wait.”

“Wait?” There’s a loud crunch of cracking, falling stone as Thor slams one powerful fist backwards into the nearest wall. He is nearly shaking with rage and impatience now, and the blood and bruises on his face make his countenance fearsome to behold; he is so tall and the light was often so poor (and their captors so hostile where the older prince was concerned) that he’d bashed his forehead into more than a few stalactites on the downwards journey that’s led them here. “I stayed my hand earlier because you promised us a way out of this with both our lives and our honour, but my patience swiftly wears thin. If you mean this for some kind of prank—”

Loki, who has settled himself cross-legged against the wall beside the spot they’d entered, glances up and over at him, a warning in his eyes. “That promise was made in good faith, and this is not the time for accusations, Brother.” He leans back against the surprisingly warm stone, resting his hands, palms turned up, on his thighs. “Now let me work for a while, and think, and I promise I’ll come up with a way to get us out of here.”

Thor growls a bit over being given another promise, though he and the others acquiesce to his brother’s request for silence, and Loki lets his eyes fall half-closed, focused on the (for now) empty air above and between his palms.

Loki spends the next few hours (at least that’s how long it feels, and there’s no way of knowing for certain) intent on his spellcrafting, forming the framework for a fairly intricate spell. It’s hard work, but then again, mind-control is tricky. He also works out the process for a viable scent-and-sound blocking spell, though that’s for a bit later. He gets it down fairly well, but finds that it’s imperfect: he can’t hold it too long, and it’s still delicate--make too much noise inside the magically-constructed barrier, and it will pop like a soap bubble.

In the meantime the fissure in the wall reopens and Hogun is returned to them, dripping wet and looking even more tight-lipped and displeased than usual. He has mud up past his elbows and a cut on the side of his head that looks exactly like the ones Thor is sporting (which means it was likely unintentional, another point to be awarded to the caves themselves), but he’s otherwise unharmed.

Thor stiffens with obvious anger when Fandral is taken next, but Sif holds his arm tightly, and in turn the prince holds his temper, though only with obvious difficulty.

But when Loki is taken, Thor’s attempts at restraint fail miserably, their previous disagreement forgotten entirely in light of what could well prove a serious threat to his brother’s safety. “Hear me, villains! I am Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard!” he thunders, shrugging away Sif’s hand as easily as one might brush away a clinging strand from a spider’s web. “Heed this well, vile fiends! That is my brother, and should any of you lay a hand on him, I swear on the graves of my forefathers than you shall regret it dearly!”

Their captors appear unmoved by Thor’s threat, which makes sense considering their current situation, and they are none too gentle in dragging Loki to his feet and out into the passageway. Thor’s eyes blaze at even that minor rough treatment, and he makes to move forward, but Hogun and Volstagg are at his sides before he can take more than a single step.

“Peace, my lord,” Volstagg rumbles quietly. “Have some faith in your brother--we all must. If anyone can talk us out of this, it’s Loki.”

Thor gives him a hard look, shrugging away their hands even more easily than he’d shrugged away Sif’s. But apparently he agrees, because he subsides once more, though he continues to stare intensely at the entrance-wall long after Loki is gone.

- ♦ ♈ ♦ -

Seeing that protectiveness from his brother warms Loki a little somewhere deep down, even as it sends a twinge of guilt through him for not being truthful with Thor in this. The fact that he’s only doing what he knows must be done and that it’s too late to change his mind now provides only cold comfort. Still, Loki can’t help but roll his eyes a little at Thor’s display, because announcing who they are like that--the sons and heir of one of Svartalfheim’s strongest enemies--would doubtless have ensured a nasty beating for him.

If the Dark Elves hadn’t already known who they were, of course.

For Loki, it proves to be less of an interrogation session, and more of a diplomatic conference of sorts, though his hands are bound behind his back shortly after he’s dragged from the holding-cell cave. He meets with Malekith, the leader of this clan of Dark Elves, in what looks to be some sort of trophy room--an obvious ploy meant to instill a sense of awe and admiration in the captive-slash-guest, though in this case it fails completely: bound hands or not, all Loki feels when he looks around the room is cunning and greedy. The room itself is a remarkable blend of magically-manipulated rock and exquisitely-detailed masonry, with a starry heaven’s worth of those fire-crystals--sunstones, Loki supposes--set into the walls and glittering from the ceiling.

“Greetings, Loki Odinson. I trust your accommodations are to your liking?” Malekith the Accursed sits on a throne of living marble that looks as if it were carved from the very earth itself, and he surveys his guest with only a passing interest showing on his two-toned face. His eyes, however, both dark as onyx, watch the young prince’s every move .

Even with his hands tied behind his back, Loki manages a passingly graceful bow. “A bit cramped, to be honest, Lord Malekith. But as we have no intention of lingering here, that should be no concern to either of us.”

“As you say. That will be all, Algrim,” Malekith drawls with a lofty wave of his hand towards Loki’s escort. “Return to you post. Our guests are well-known for their ability to find their way out of problematic situations, after all.”

Algrim bows and does as ordered without comment; Loki watches him go, and suppresses a smile. The weak-minded and regularly obedient are among the easiest victims for mind-control, and knowing that Algrim is either one or the other or perhaps even both may prove quite useful.

“Now then,” Malekith says once they’re alone, “your message said something about some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement, specifically in regards to your brother...”

- ♦ ♈ ♦ -

“Brother, I know not how you managed this, but I thank you.”

And you will never know, if I have anything to say about it, Loki thinks to himself even as he inclines his head with a falsely modest smile and protests that it was nothing; he’d simply explained their reasons for being there, and Malekith had agreed that the dragon posed a significant threat and thus let them go.

In truth, their conversation had gone rather differently:

--
“My offer is thus,” Loki had said, meeting the Dark Elf’s flatly black eyes unblinkingly, “My brother, myself, and all four of our companions go free, along with all of our original possessions. In return, we will rid you of the dragon Andvari, and the debt my brother owes you will be considered fulfilled.”

Malekith had slumped back in his high-backed chair a little more. “That hardly seems fair. The dragon is no great concern of ours, and the destruction your brother caused on previous occasions as well as the treasures he’s stolen are not so easily paid for as that.”

“Ah, but you should be concerned about the dragon.” Casually slipping his bonds with the help of just a touch of magic, Loki had begun pacing along the outside of the room, casting his eyes over the treasures lining the walls. “Andvari’s ring has extremely powerful magic woven into it. In a century, I wouldn’t be surprised if he owned every scrap of gold on this planet.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen Malekith bristle--both at his words and the way he’d run his finger over the curving bell of a golden hunting horn--but the Dark Elf hadn’t interrupted or corrected him.

“In any case,” Loki had continued smoothly, though his sharp eyes didn’t miss the further tensing of Malekith’s shoulders as his hand wandered towards a curiously-folded object, “Mighty as you are, I know your people have neither might nor magic enough to match Andvari’s, so I will sweeten the deal. We six go free, leaving with everything we came with, and in return we shall attempt to slay the dragon…and should we succeed, we shall leave its treasure untouched. As…repayment for the misdemeanors of my brother and his friends on their last few visits to your fair homeworld.”

Malekith appeared to turn that over in his head for a moment, then smiled as he got to his feet. “I agree to these terms, on one condition.”

Loki had had to steel himself to keep from taking a step back as the lord of the Dark Elves came to stand before him; as he opened his mouth to ask what that condition might be, there was a blur of motion, and Malekith’s fist crashed into the trickster’s cheek. Off-balance more from surprise than the force of the blow, Loki had stumbled back a step, catching himself on one of the many shelves lining the walls of the room.

“We must make your interrogation look believable, mustn’t we?” Malekith had said with an unpleasant sort of smile, drawing back his fist to strike again.

Only it had never landed.

It was one thing to accept the constant beatings from his brother, and even their friends; to that, Loki would submit to more or less, for a variety of reasons, not least of all because he did care about them and their well-being. With his magic as uncontrolled as it currently was, fighting back at full power could, and likely would, prove more serious and destructive than he was willing to risk.

But it was quite another thing when a stranger--moreover an enemy who clearly had it out for his older brother--badly underestimated his fighting prowess and thought they could get away with it unscathed.

Loki’s eyes had flashed dangerously, and though physically he hadn’t moved a muscle, he’d let loose with a silent magical bitchslap of a spell.

Malekith was not unskilled in sorcery himself; it had been simple for Loki to send him a message via astral projection while the younger prince had ‘practised his magic’ as he’d kept watch the night before. But even a mind as twisted and willful as the Dark Elf leader’s had become soft and pliable as melted wax before the furious intensity of Loki’s magic. There was a brief mental struggle during which Malekith had thrashed and flailed like a fish out of water, smashing backwards into the assorted tables and shelves and display stands, sending more than a few of those priceless objects to the floor with a clatter or a crash. Then the resistance lessened, then faded entirely, and Malekith seemed precisely as he had before…though he made no move to raise a hand to Loki again.

“Excellent,” Loki had said, pushing himself upright and turning his gaze to the trophies surrounding them. “Now,” he’d said with a wicked little smirk, “Why don’t you tell me a bit about all of these marvelous treasures of yours…”
--

“…other! BROTHER!”

Loki is jarred back to the present by Thor’s voice, coming loud and at close-range. Looking around, he sees that their tunnel has come to yet another dead end, and at first he starts to move forward, thinking to attempt the earth-shaping spell again, but then he stops.

“Go on, then,” he says to Thor with a faint sigh, turning his face away, as if so wearied (or annoyed) by the idea of what’s to come that he doesn’t even want to see it.

Thor’s face brightens, disbelief soon replaced with hope that is also quickly discarded in favour of an eager, face-splitting grin. Then with a joyful shout, he hurls himself and his hammer forward, tearing through stone and dirt like they’re nothing more substantial than wet parchment, creating a brand-new tunnel of his own; within minutes they’re out beneath Svartalfheim’s twin suns, and the vast expanse of nothingness has never looked so inviting.

Loki can’t help but smirk a bit as he looks back at that new, roughly-hewn tunnel, finding it all the more laughable since Malekith and his people will doubtless be mystified (or maybe angered) by it. The younger prince has made certain that the leader of this clan of Dark Elves will only remember agreeing to let them go before striking Loki repeatedly, leaving the prince looking rather a mess, then summoning Algrim to drag him back to the others before releasing them all. In actuality, Malekith had struck Loki only the once, and he’s almost entirely forgotten about what had happened before he’d called for Algrim--how he’d shown Loki around his treasure-vault, and how he’d ‘gifted’ the younger prince with a few of those treasures. Loki had taken the Hunting Horn of Faerie, which summoned the Hounds of the Hunter, and had cast it into the deep, underground lake he’d been forced to swim through on his way to his ‘interrogation’ (which explained why Hogun and Fandral had come back from their own interrogations soaking wet); the horn would be found soon enough, but hopefully not before they’d slain the dragon and left Svartalfheim entirely. And as for the other item he’d taken…well, he’d been hoping to find a viable, comfortable means of transportation, and what he’d found had surpassed even his dearest hopes.

And that, the need for transportation for the treasure they’d no doubt find, had been a large part of why he’d planned for them to get captured in the first place. Of course, he’d also wanted to settle the Dark Elves’ grudge against Thor, and then there was also the need to show off his supposed diplomat’s skills to his brother and their friends, the desire to place them all in his debt and earn a bit more of their trust. Needlessly complex as it had been in places, Loki’s plan has done all of that exceedingly well.

He allows himself a slight smile as he follows his companions over the sun-baked rock, still hell-bent on completing their quest.

The first half of his plan, at least.

- ♦ ♈ ♦ -

{Chapter VII}