Chapter Text
It started after he had defeated Dormammu and been appointed Sorcerer Supreme. The scale of his use of the Time Stone had attracted attention beyond Earth. That was the price of what he had done and Doctor Stephen Strange was prepared to face the consequences. What choice did he have? And not every consequence was necessarily a bad one.
The tapping on the Seal of Vishanti window drew Stephen’s attention as he passed. It was a raven. An intense black eye stared him down before it tapped more insistently. He approached the window, considering shooing it away until he glimpsed a bundle of paper clutched in its foot.
“A crow with a scroll? Why do I get the feeling I know where you’re from?”
The window wasn’t one that could open. Magic it would have to be. Sling ring on his finger, he twirled his hands and opened a tiny portal beside the crow.
“I have no idea if you can understand me, but drop it in there. If you don’t, I’ll just have to put the portal under you instead.”
A few seconds passed where the bird continued to stare at him. Then it picked up the scroll in its beak and held it over the portal.
“That’s it. Just drop it and – no!”
The raven had jumped down into the portal and was now flapping around the room. It landed on the floor and hop-skipped up to Strange’s feet where it placed the scroll. It fluttered its wings and hopped backward before looking up at him expectantly.
Sighing, Stephen bent down and picked up the scroll. “All right, you can go now. Back through the portal, go on.” The bird didn’t move. He shook his head, untied the gold ribbon on the parchment, and unravelled the scroll.
Master of the Sanctum,
Your efforts to defend this universe have not gone unnoticed. Impressive for a Midgardian. It could be in our interests to exchange knowledge for the mutual benefit of our worlds.
Please give your response to the raven who has brought this message.
An admirer from the court of Asgard.
Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Exchange knowledge? Yeah, sure. I’ll just hand over the secrets of Kamar-Taj to a complete stranger on an alien world. No way that can possibly backfire.” It would be a lie to say he wasn’t curious about what the other side had to offer in return, however. Asgardian technology could go a long way to helping defend the Sanctum and Earth from further threats. “What does it mean ‘give my response’?” he asked the bird, with no expectation of getting an answer. “You want me to write it down? My handwriting’s not so great these days. Kind of why I’m in this whole business.”
The raven cawed. A golden quill popped into existence beside it and floated up to the scroll in his hands. A glimmer upon the parchment caught his eye and he watched as the writing slid upward. The quill drew a line beneath the message and then hovered in readiness.
“A scroll that scrolls?” he remarked. On top of how impressive this was already, the quill miraculously didn’t write what he had just said. “Okay, let’s see if I can word this before you leave me a nice present on the Sanctum floor. Dear Admirer…”
The quill scribbled out his intended words in beautiful calligraphy.
“Your compliments are appreciated. However, I cannot agree to your offer without discussion with the other Masters of the Mystic Arts, particularly not knowing with whom I would be sharing information. I’ll need a name and more details on what it is exactly you want from us and what you would be willing to give. Sincerely, Doctor Stephen Strange.”
He rolled the scroll up and used magic to reattach the ribbon. The quill vanished. Not knowing exactly how this would work next, he furrowed his brow and offered the scroll toward the raven and flinched when it swooped up and grabbed it in its beak. Off it went, back up through the portal, and soared away through the city streets.
Stephen went about his day. He said nothing to Wong for now about what had happened. He wanted to know more and to sound a little less insane when or if he brought it up. Studies and maintenance of the Sanctum resumed until once again he wandered through the upper level and heard a tapping. This time it was at one of the openable windows.
“All right, just leave the scroll on the ledge and I’ll pass it back to you when I’m done. I can’t keep having a bird in here.” Did it even understand him? Whatever the case, he nudged the window up so that only the scroll could fit and not the bird. “Come on. Pass it here.”
The raven stared. It did nothing else. Stephen huffed and made a grab for the message. The bird flapped backward, taking the scroll with it, and cawed angrily.
“For crying out loud, you little feathered bag of bones. Give it to me.”
Resisting the temptation to cast a whip lest he harm the creature, Stephen watched it taunt him for a few more seconds before finally caving and shoving the window wide enough for it to fly inside.
Dear Strange,
I understand your reticence. Please find enclosed a few charts and pieces of historical interest in good faith. Knowledge is whatever you are willing to divulge, however little. Even if it means sending nothing, I would ask you not to involve the other masters. I only trust one who has resisted corruption as you have. Consider me a bored courtier who thinks communication between our two worlds should not be so closed. I would hear more of Midgard and/or yourself. In return, I will share items about my home, if you are curious enough.
In anticipation, Beund Heksson
Wide-eyed, Stephen glanced over the shining documents that tumbled out of the opened scroll, magical lettering and diagrams shifting as though each piece of paper were a screen. He was suspicious of the author not wanting him to make this correspondence known but it also made sense they would want to keep things quiet if what they were doing wasn’t strictly allowed on their end either. Stephen made a soft laugh. “I seem to have got myself an Asgardian pen pal.”
It felt good to have a secret from Wong and Strange was confident he wouldn’t put the Sanctum in danger with anything he gave up. He decided to play a bit of a game to see how put off his ‘admirer’ would get if he wrote about things that were nothing to do with the magical side of his life. What irritated him about people at the coffee shop; which vendor sold the best hot dogs; the controversy of Pluto; favourite jazz tracks of the 90’s; the Palmer-Strange technique. Bafflingly, the letters kept coming and not once did Beund seem to become annoyed by the content. The man seemed especially interested in hearing about music and entertainment, about people, and about books. Did they have an mp3 player on Asgard?
Back and forth the raven went. Stephen worked out its pattern and started to make sure he could be near the window at the same time it was due to arrive each day. His responses got longer. He learned that he didn’t have to speak aloud to have the quill write, though it usually pleased him to hear his own voice. It was a good voice. He knew that. A sort of relationship began to develop between Cloak and the raven. He was sure it was the same raven each time. A trusted pet belonging to Heksson to deliver these secret messages. Cloak had drifted off of its own accord to poke the raven one day, earning a surprised snap of its beak. This progressed to the bird allowing its feathers to be gently stroked by Cloak’s corner hem and then the two became more playful still. Many a time Stephen had to warn the bizarre pair not to knock any artifacts over as they swooped around the room, chasing and wrestling, and just as importantly not to keep interrupting his thoughts.
“Scratch that last part,” he muttered as the quill accidentally recorded a curse. It was obligingly deleted from the scroll.
A month passed quickly. It was safe to say his communication with Beund had become an obsession. At times their letters were far longer. Those days, he would invite the raven into his room and bid it wait for him to have time to complete his reply. Sometimes he would have to seal it in there while he did his Sanctum duties but it never made much complaint. He offered it seeds to begin with when he knew it might be left for a time. They went untouched. As did the toileting tray he put out for it. He was pretty sure he got a look of disdain about that. When he offered it fruit, that changed the game. It accepted nuts, too, and one morning the little bastard stole a piece of bacon from his plate.
Stephen felt he knew a lot more about Beund now. The man loved horses, music, and theatre. He went on at length about how Asgard was investing more in the arts since tributes had been put up to the fallen Loki. Sometimes he wrote of things Odin had been doing for good or ill, but it was kept to a minimum compared to general gossip about the rest of the court. This guy loved to bitch. It would have been petty to read if it weren’t so goddamn funny. He gave the impression of both loving and hating the masculine warrior culture of his world, sometimes boasting of the great hunts he had been on, other times deploring that it was all the other men cared for. Stephen found himself giving his own snide opinions on the things that frustrated him on Earth and it was met with delight from Beund.
At some point it occurred to Stephen that SHIELD hadn’t come knocking at his door about excessive Bifrost energy. The raven had to be getting here somehow and with how often it visited there would surely be energy readings spiking on an almost daily basis. Curiosity and suspicion became too great. When the bird next flew back with a message, he ran down to the front door and bid Cloak take him after it. Never mind being spotted by random New Yorkers, he had to know how it was getting in and out of the city. Keeping as far behind as he could to avoid being spotted by his target, Stephen sped on. As they left the edge of the inner city, it began to concern him how far the raven might fly each day. Maybe even from another state. They flew out across the sea. He was too stubborn to give up now.
Several miles out over the Atlantic and suddenly the bird vanished. Stephen experienced a few brief seconds of confusion before the entire ocean gave way to a sprawling golden city surrounded by mountains. He cried out in panic, taking in the astounding sight with mouth agape. He couldn’t be here. This could cause all manner of diplomatic incidents. Giving up the chase, he flew backward and was relieved to be back above the ocean again on his own world.
“Well, that explains that.”
It was a worrying security breach. He would have to keep an eye on that. Surely this gap wasn’t common Asgardian knowledge or there’d be visitors popping up on the daily. He had appeared high up and close to one of the mountains so it wasn’t as if you could march people through on foot. Asgard had air and spacecraft but they would have to know the exact point, if it were even big enough, to get through.
In his next letter, Stephen made a comment in passing about the security between their realms. Beund assured him that any rogue Asgardians would be dealt with, whilst adding that any full-scale invasion would be done via the Bifrost and Midgard would certainly know about it. So that was reassuring…
Another month rolled by and Stephen realised he spent most of his days wanting to tell Beund about everything he experienced. They were clearly as lonely as each other and it felt as though no one else understood him quite the way this mysterious Asgardian did. It prompted him to ask questions he hoped would not offend.
Dear Beund,
This might be a little personal, so know you’re not obliged to answer (not that you would anyway if you didn’t want to), but I’m curious about your family life. Are you married? Do you have kids? I’m assuming not since you’ve never mentioned them, but equally you have no obligation to tell me. You probably already know from my previous letters that everything I have is here at the Sanctum. I had someone once, a long while even before the accident. I treated her terribly and things just kinda fell apart. Haven’t really tried to get back in the game since.
Do Asgardians have arranged marriages? Do you get choices when you’re a noble? Come to think of it, I don’t even know your title. Do people have to swear fealty to you or some shit?
Sincerely, S. Strange
P.S. Your bird is still eating my bacon.
Dear Stephen,
I’m afraid I’m going to be even more personal because I have consumed an inordinate amount of wine, so you must forgive me if I say anything distasteful to your eyes. I am not married, no. I am quite possibly the loneliest bastard in this whole realm. For most of my life I’ve been quite at peace with it but these days I find it less than appealing. There was a time I might have been expected to marry for the good of my family. Not anymore. War and disagreements have claimed them and I sit in vast halls, surrounded by sycophants, hardly ever without company but always alone.
Yes, people swear fealty to me but it is the title they see and not my true self. You could call me a ‘Jarl’. I suppose I might let you call me a number of things this many cups down. I confess I live for the receipt of your letters. They are the highlight of my day and sometimes I wish we weren’t a world apart. I don’t expect you to be interested in the way I could offer. I don’t know if your preferences extend to males. Pray do not abandon me if you only wish to keep friendship. I am a drunk, needful fool. Better I suggest it now than never know. I will drop the subject at once if you desire it. But if you feel the same, well, our letters might yet take a different turn.
Inebriatedly, Beund
P.S. Terribly sorry about the bird. He has refined tastes.
Stephen blinked at the scroll he had just read. He read it again. His hands felt clammy and his heart began to hammer in his chest. Was this somehow deep down what he had wanted to happen when he asked about Beund’s relationship status? He searched his feelings and found shock but definitely not revulsion. This was weird. He didn’t even know what Beund looked like. All he had was imagination and the sense that he really liked this guy’s mind. Stephen chuckled to himself. He should reply quickly so as not to leave Beund agonising over his drunk … he really wanted to call it a ‘tweet’ with how it was delivered by bird but Beund wasn’t going to get the joke. It was also a bad one.
Dear Beund,
Hate to say it but I’m not abandoning you yet. Sure, why not spice these letters up a little? Like I said, I’ve not been in the game, especially not with an alien. Worth testing things out though, right? I’m getting used to dictating these silently. Can’t have Wong listening in on whatever’s going to get said from here on out.
Anyway, how do these things go again? Basic stuff. You could send me a picture or describe yourself. How old are you in Asgardian terms? How tall are you? Eye colour? Hair colour? Got a beard? Other distinguishing features? Be nice to have an idea of you in my head going forward. As for me, if you don’t know, I’m 40 years old. That’s prime adult Midgardian. 1.82 metres tall. Blue and green eyes; got a thing called sectoral heterochromia. Slightly weird but undoubtedly handsome face, goatee beard, dark hair with stylised grey at the sides.
Call me interested.
Curiously, Strange
Dear Strange,
I almost didn’t dare open the scroll to read the reply. Your answer is a pleasant surprise. Those are very personal questions. Very well. I am a little over a thousand years, which makes me perhaps a touch younger than your human maturity. I believe I am an inch taller than you. Blue eyes. Dark hair. No beard. Exceptional good looks.
You do sound like something pleasant to wake up next to. I wonder just how vulgar you are willing to go in our correspondence? How much will you admit? I think, like me, you are a man who craves control. But does that extend to the bedroom? Would you like to be taken by a god, Stephen? Or do you think you would tame him and claim him for yourself? What filthy little fantasies lie in your mind? Or are you going to tell me a man like you wants for only simplicity?
I have taken the liberty of sending a second scroll should you wish for a copy of these letters of ours. It will transfer a duplication so that you may enjoy reading over our shared words. If you dare continue them, that is.
Teasingly, Beund
Cheeks flushed with excitement, Stephen knew he was hooked. He thought he should feel appalled, but he wasn’t. Replies to Beund happened exclusively in his chamber from now on. Sometimes the raven would hop onto his bed while he worked on his response and he had to shoo it away. He told himself it couldn’t read. It was still weird to have it so close to him when he was crafting what had devolved into love letters. They started as sharing fantasies and what interested them in bed. Then they became little more than attempts to shock and arouse one another. Eventually the raven was delivering pure filth back and forth between the worlds and Stephen spent his nights with one hand clutching his copied scroll and his other aching as he touched himself.
This started to be a problem as time went by. He was desperate for sex with so much constant promise of it and yet relieving the pressure so often only served to hurt his damaged hands. A little of it could be solved with magic and toys but it wasn’t the same. He wished for what he could not have. Temptation broke him to ask.
Do you think we could meet?
Beund’s answer only brought disappointment.
I wish that were possible.
Stephen resigned himself to clinging to what he had. How long this could go on, however, was another matter. He needed more. The need was driving him to distraction during his Sanctum duties now. He was unfocused and prone to mistakes. Wong asked him repeatedly what was wrong and he made excuses or snipped at him each time.
Then there came the most unexpected day. A blip on their radar. An Asgardian energy signature in New York. Heart in his throat, Stephen had insisted he would handle it. Maybe it was only Thor dropping in to see an Avenger.
It was not Thor.
The All-Father himself had woken in Shady Acres, his once suppressed and addled power revealed as it broke a spell that had been placed upon him. Placed upon him by Loki, who Strange now learned was very much not dead and presumably at large on Asgard. Odin was weary but did not seem angry about his son’s antics. Perhaps the fact he had not been killed counted for something. The old man asked to be sent to Norway rather than back to Asgard, stating that he had his reasons. Stephen obliged him with a portal and returned home.
The raven was waiting with another scroll.
Would you still like to meet?
Stephen swallowed when he read the words. It couldn’t be. Of all the people on Asgard, he couldn’t possibly have been communicating with Loki, could he? There were surely plenty of lonely, dark-haired, beardless, intellectual narcissists with a penchant for drama and sexual deviance. Right?
Oh, god.
He needed not to panic. There was still every chance this hunch was wrong. Nothing had been given away that couldn’t be gotten over. But if it was him, what was he after? The Time Stone. It had to be. That was what had started it all off. He had saved the world with an Infinity Stone and next thing he knew he was getting ravens from Asgard.
Stephen paced his room, the scroll still in hand, the raven perched on the coffee table. It didn’t make sense, though. Why keep this game going so long? Months without pressing for anything about the Time Stone, without trying to persuade him to give any knowledge. It had been somewhat probing at the beginning but these last months had been nothing but the chatter of long-distance lovers. Was it a slow seduction? Lulling him into falling deeply enough to spill out anything Loki wanted if he were patient enough? He wanted to believe Beund was real, yet the idea of it being otherwise wouldn’t leave his mind. Of course it was too good to be true. It made him furious and his heart ached. Before they had started writing the dirtier letters, there had been a different sort of intimacy. Something so secret and wonderful. The thought of losing this connection with Beund was far more devastating than he had expected. This had to be handled delicately.
Opening the scroll, Stephen bid the appearing quill scrawl his reply.
I’ve been neglecting my duties as Sorcerer Supreme. I need some time to think. You’re right that it’s not practical for us to meet. Don’t send any ravens again for a few weeks. My focus has to be on my studies and the protection of the realm.
Strange.
A week passed. And another. Once or twice the raven returned and tapped at a window. Strange turned away and ignored it. The lack of letters from Beund did not help his focus as much as he had hoped. He missed them, his loneliness only brought into sharper clarity. The ache in his heart was sufficient to make his mind wander during a sealing incantation against a succubus and to doom himself to her notice. So strong were his desires that it was easy for her to get inside his head and to pin him where he lay one night. The only thing that woke him was his Cloak’s frantic attempts to wrap around the half-corporeal creature and wrench it off, unsuccessfully.
Stephen barked out a cry of fear and tried to call on his magic to push her off. Her own power was formidable. He succeeded only in a frail stalemate, holding her in place with every ounce of effort he had. It wasn’t going to last.
“Cloak… get… Wong…”
Maybe Cloak had been damaged. Maybe it didn’t listen. Or maybe it listened to something beyond what he had asked. It fled the room faster than he had ever seen it fly. As Stephen’s muscles trembled, his tortured mind screaming back at the pleasure demon of false promises, the Cloak of Levitation shot out of the city and across the sea. Piece by piece, he could feel his thoughts being picked apart, her influence spreading tendrils. They called to him to let go, to give in; that succumbing to her wouldn’t be so bad. She would make him feel everything he craved and his death would be a small price to pay for that, wouldn’t it? No. He was strong. He would resist. He had stood against Dormammu. He could hold on. He had to. The Cloak fluttered through golden halls, evading shouting guards, until it found an old king. Stephen stifled a sob as the succubus whispered in Christine’s voice, spectral fingers pushing the barrier to touch his thighs. It seemed like an age of keeping her at bay, his will close to broken.
Then Cloak crashed down through the chimney, soot extinguishing the fireplace. Something else followed. A flurry of angry, black feathers burst out of the hearth and smacked into the demon sitting on Strange. The succubus’s smoky form billowed onto the floor, screeching with rage beneath an onslaught of beak and claw.
“What the f-?” Stephen sat bolt upright, his gaze snapping to his hovering artifact amid the chaos. “I told you to get Wong!”
Compelled to look again, mandala shields forming about his wrists as his robes sheathed themselves around him, Strange’s jaw dropped. He watched as the striking wings and avian shrieks became the descent of knife-wielding fists and the snarls of a man, dark hair wild as he fought with the barely tangible demon. Bolts of green energy burst from the newest arrival’s hands, allowing the blades to bury deep into the howling succubus, dispatching her at last.
Gasping, Strange’s rescuer slowly rose to his feet. His divine and monstrous shoulders rolled as he regained his composure. He dusted soot from his Asgardian robes and finally settled his gaze upon the sorcerer on the bed.
“Well, she was a poor substitute for me, don’t you think? You’re lucky I came at all. In the flesh, I imagine it comes as no surprise, your erstwhile and far-off lover, Beund Heksson.” Beund gave a mocking bow. “Alias…”
“Loki.”
“Undoubtedly the reason you ceased answering me. Something tipped you off.”
Stephen raised his shields. They sputtered as his body shook. The succubus had sapped nigh all of his strength. He had no chance against a god in this state. Some of his trembling was beyond exhaustion. It went hand-in-hand with the ache in his chest. “You were using me.”
“I tried to. In the beginning. But then we were using each other. I came because you needed me, Stephen. If I wanted you harmed, I could have left her to it and availed myself of what this Sanctum holds.”
“And why don’t you? You expect me to trust you that you’re not here to steal power?”
Loki paced slowly toward him. “I don’t expect anything. I only know what I want.”
“Yeah? My surrender? My obedience?”
The god rested one knee upon the mattress. “I miss you. Even if you can’t forgive who and what I am, I have not regretted a moment as Heksson. Tell me to leave and I will leave right now, never to return. I don’t ask you to belong to me. I know you refuse to be corrupted. I just had to see you. Tell me you don’t want to know how it would feel. All the promises I could not make lest you realise who I was.”
“And now I know.”
“Now you know.” Loki shifted closer still.
Orange sparks continued to hiss at Strange’s fingertips. “I think you’re wrong,” he murmured. “It’s not that I refuse to be corrupted. The fate of the world was easy. But you? You’re everything I’m going to regret.” His hands lowered, the shields dissipating. “I wish you weren’t him.” His voice cracked brokenly. “But I don’t want for simplicity.”
“I want nothing but you.”
Stephen let Loki draw in close, arms snaking about him, pulling him into a kiss far better than he had dreamed of. It was cruel that it should be so good.
He sank back into the pillows, surrendering, and he would face the consequences.