Archive of Our Own

“Am I cursed?”

A pause. There had been a pause before Odin had replied, there was no mistaking it.

“…No.”

“What am I?”

Again that damnable pause, this one even weightier and worse than the first.

“…You are my son.”

“What more than that.”

Loki jerks his head sharply to the side, trying to block out his memory of that conversation, that confrontation that had taken place mere moments before; trying, and failing utterly. It is too recent an injury and too mortal a blow to Loki’s sense of self to be put away so easily, and even in the midst of his increasingly desperate attempts to do so, it’s all he can think of.

“The Casket wasn’t the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?”

There had followed the longest pause yet, as if Odin had been searching in vain for some way to maintain his lie.

“…No.”

Loki isn’t really watching where he’s going anymore, moving in a headlong rush down whatever corridor spins itself out before his feet. He’d gone to the weapons vault to test a theory, to find the Truth, and he’d succeeded in doing both of those things and more. Be careful what you wish for is the slyly cynical thought that twists through his head as he pointedly does not think of his seconds-ago encounter with Odin All-father. The King of Asgard had answered all the questions Loki hadn’t asked, and had forced down his throat every scrap of the truth he’d wished with all his being would prove to be false.

“In the aftermath of the battle, I went into the temple, and I found a baby. Small, for a giant’s offspring. Abandoned, suffering, left to die...Laufey’s son.”

Even now those two words set his mind reeling, beating through his head almost loud enough to drown out the rush of blood, the thunder of his pulse in his ears: Laufey’s son. Laufey’s son. Laufey’s son.

“You could have told me what I was from the beginning! Why didn’t you?”

“You are my son. I wanted only to protect you from the Truth.” Those words had come quickly, easily, as if they’d been well-rehearsed for years and years, countless years on end.

“What, because I, I-I-I am the monster that parents tell their children about at night? You know, it all makes sense now, why you favoured Thor all these years! Because no matter how much you claimed to love me—”

Before he’d gotten any farther, Odin had snarled out that same mangled command that he’d used to silence Loki before back when Thor had been banished, something that could have been hold or halt or—Hél, it probably wasn’t really a word at all. It hadn’t needed to be; it had shut Loki up and rendered him immobile just the same.

The first time he’d used it, anyway.

This time Loki had been too angry, too damaged and distressed to simply stand and accept whatever twisted judgment or empty reassurances Odin thought to render unto him. So although his jaw had shut with a clack on reflex alone, the prince’s feet only quickened, taking him up the stairs, past that ancient being whose most truly-fitting labels were kidnapper and deceiver, and out the door in a matter of seconds. He’d moved staccato-fast, breathlessly swift…and yet not swift enough to escape the All-father’s parting words:

“I had thought we could unite our kingdoms one day. Bring about an alliance, bring about a permanent peace…through you. But those plans no longer matter.”

His mind still caught in the past, Asgard’s younger prince stumbles, but catches himself almost instantly on the nearest wall, avoiding any sort of humiliating pratfall. Still, that unexpected loss of motion seems to have rendered him incapable of any sort of forward movement; he sags there against the cool stone, like a ship’s sail hanging slack when there is no wind behind it. He hadn’t meant to stop, because stopping would mean thinking, and for once that is one thing that Loki does not want to do. Moving through life thoughtlessly was what Thor did, and until a few days ago it had always seemed to serve him well enough—

Thor.

There’s a window on the wall opposite, and Loki’s eyes are ineluctably drawn to it, to the glimmering rainbow bridge that is just visible though a gap in two smaller buildings. He can’t actually use the Bifrost of course (Heimdall will be guarding it, like always, and the golden-eyed warrior has never been averse to showing exactly how little love he feels towards Loki…and now Loki knows why), but then again he doesn’t have to. Just seeing it is enough to inspire his next move.

Yes, he decides, pushing himself away from the wall and slowly drawing himself up to stand ramrod-straight and tall once more. He will use his magic, he will trace out the hidden paths connecting the Nine Realms, he will go to Midgard and seek out Thor. Because slow-witted and heavy-handed as his brother (adopted brother, he corrects himself with a bitter twist of his lip) is wont to be, he is the only person Loki can think of who might genuinely wish to see him right now, and Thor is the only person who Loki knows is, was, and always will be honest with him. Largely because he’s too dense and “noble” to be otherwise, of course, but still. It’s better than nothing, and in a situation such as this, when nothing is precisely what Loki feels has been left to him, that is more than enough.

He isn’t quite certain what to expect when he appears, invisible, beside Thor in the temporary S.H.I.E.L.D. base’s holding room. Loki had used Odin’s scrying pool once or twice to catch of glimpse of where his brother was and what he’d been doing, but even that had done little to prepare him for what he finds on this journey to Midgard.

Loki paces around his brother silently, taking in the scene before coming to a stop in front of him. Thor is dressed strangely, covered in mud, and more battered and bruised than Loki has seen him in ages, even after some of their more ill-advised adventures. The stony set to his face is the same though, that stubborn, arrogant self-assurance present as ever and always, although now…now there is perhaps just the barest hint of a crack, a sliver of doubt nestled close alongside the self-righteous anger simmering in those bright blue eyes. He’d failed to lift Mjölnir, Loki knows, and while Thor still blames everyone but himself for that, and Odin most of all, a healthy dose of uncertainty is beginning to burrow its way into the first prince of Asgard’s peace of mind. With a few subtle nudges in the right direction at just the right time, Thor might actually be forced learn something—namely, humility. All the pieces are in place: all that’s needed is a gentle push.

But for once, Loki isn’t there to deliver that push; not really. At this moment, the only plan he has for this meeting is to speak with his brother and hopefully gain some sort of reassurance through doing so. If Thor can accept him—if Thor can still care about him the same as before—if they remain brothers regardless of the Truth—

If Thor still loves him, then there is one thing in his life that is not a lie, one thing still worth hanging on to. And that is the extent of Loki’s plan: satisfying that burning need to know glowing white-hot in the forefront of his mind is the only consideration there is currently room for in a head that is typically filled to excess with innumerable tricks and tactics and strategies for turning things to his benefit, or else simply disrupting things for someone else.

A rather plain-looking mortal with an unmistakable air of authority steps into the room, standing perhaps a metre in front of Loki as he speaks with Thor, and if this is what passes for an interrogation on Midgard, well. With tactics like this, they’d get nothing from any Asgardian, much less its notoriously intractable first prince. Loki watches and bides his time, waiting until Thor is left alone again, which happens so soon that no expenditure of patience is required. The mortal leaves, the door to the room slides closed, and Thor breaks from his statue-like stillness, looking up with wide eyes as Loki unveils himself, seemingly appearing in an instant.

“Loki! What are you doing here?”

Loki lets a spell whisper silently into place, weaving a magic pocket of sorts out of the trailing threads of time, just to ensure this conversation won’t be interrupted. This exchange is far too important to allow some mortal to blunder in on it and ruin things.

“I had to see you.” Despite his words, Loki isn’t making eye contact, isn’t actually looking at Thor at all, staring at a point on the ground between them instead.

“What’s happened? Tell me? Is it Jotunheim? Let me explain to Father.”

“Nothing has changed between Jotunheim and Asgard: the situation is precarious, but not unsalvageable. Tensions are still running high, though I don’t doubt—” He catches himself before he can say Father, but the result is an odd half-beat of silence before he continues, “—the King of Asgard will secure the peace treaty once again.”

Luckily for Loki (or is it really), Thor doesn’t notice his slight verbal falter. The elder prince is still too caught up in himself and his own personal drama to notice his brother’s dispirited bearing, the slumped shoulders and drawn face and continued total lack of eye contact.

“Then…your purpose here, Brother…have you come to take me home?” Thor’s voice breaks ever so slightly on that last word, an intense mingling of hope and despair in his tone.

Loki feels a flash of frustration at that, a stab of righteous indignation that his carefully-composed face doesn’t betray. How very like Thor to assume that everything was about him. Not that that was wholly his fault: he’d practically been raised to believe that all nine worlds revolved around him, his thoughts, his mighty deeds, and that the sun would rise in the west and set in the east if only he told it to. A great deal of that blame could be laid at the feet of their venerable father.

…A great deal of blame could be laid at the All-father’s feet for many things, it seemed.

“No,” Loki says slowly, pausing to select his words with precision. “Quite the opposite, rather.” It’s juvenile and more than a little cruel, but Loki is still feeling somewhat spiteful over that last question (and its trailing assumption) from Thor; he can’t help but relish his role as the bearer of this particular piece of bad news. “As far as I know, the All-father has no plans of ever bringing you home.”

Thor is plainly dumbfounded by this information, though for now he’s too stunned to sound anything other than numb. “But…but why?”

“An excellent question. Perhaps he believes Laufey will agree to another peace treaty if he promises to make your exile here permanent. Perhaps he grew weary of your many recent battles of will and desired a chance to rule in peace. Or perhaps he truly is nothing more than a foolish old man who cannot manage the affairs of his own house, and who simply took the easiest way out when confronted with that fact.” Thor is looking at him askance now, for never has he heard his brother speak of Odin in this way. Loki pays no mind to Thor’s incredulous stare, just gives a careless shrug and continues as if nothing is at all out of the ordinary here. “Perhaps it is something else entirely. I am not privy to the innermost thoughts of the All-father—and who is, truly?”

Thor’s eyes slide sideways, though of course all he can see are the impassive silvery surfaces of the glass surrounding them. “…What about Mjölnir?”

“For whatever reason, Odin has determined that it will remain on Midgard as well.” He hadn’t intended to push, not here, not now, but it’s always been his nature to cause trouble; even if that’s not who he really is, even if it’s only who Odin had shaped him to be, Loki is too set in his ways to change something as deep-seated as that now. He tilts his head, injecting a faintly mournful tone to his voice. “It was so cruel to put the hammer within your reach, knowing that you could never lift it.”

Thor sags visibly at this desolate pronouncement, and for once he looks every bit as weary and worn-down as Loki feels inside. Gone is the arrogance, the self-assurance, the brightness and optimism and all-consuming strength. All that is left now is a broken, bewildered, wholly heartsick man. It’s like looking into a mirror, the thoroughly disheartened form huddled in the chair before Loki a far closer likeness to himself than anything the walls surrounding them could ever cast back.

“And you?” Thor says after a long moment of strangled silence. “Why are you here? Did Father exile you as well?”

Loki gives a soft, short laugh, though there’s a waver of desperation in the sound, and he’s unable to keep the bitterness from his words when he speaks. “Oh, if only that were all he’d done to me. But no—me, he would never send away. Me, he would grasp ever more tightly, as one holds the neck of a snake to keep it from twisting about to make use of either fang or poison.” There’s an edge to his voice that belies his otherwise flippant tone, and even Thor is not so thick as to miss it this time.

“Brother?” the muddied prince says with an unanticipated amount of caution, concern lining his face. “You are playing at word games again, and you know that I am not nearly so clever as you. What mean you by this? Tell it to me straight, Brother, and you shall have my help.” He looks down at his hands, frowns, and his shoulders slump again. “…However little that may be right now, Loki, I will still give you whatever aid I can.”

For a long moment Loki is silent, contemplating, considering how much he wants to reveal, how much he wants to risk, how he wants the rest of this conversation to go. In the end, he chooses not to gamble, to play it safe and hedge his bets and test the waters, such as they are, first.

“Have you ever felt…lost?” he says, his words slow and careful, his eyes trained on his (not-really) brother like a particularly watchful predator that is growing unsure as to whether it is truly the hunter or the hunted. “Like you aren’t at all the person you always thought you were.”

“Never before these past few days,” Thor answers, steadfast and without pause. “But now?” His smile is faint and crooked, revealing wry interest rather than honest amusement: a perfect mirror-image of Loki’s usual smile. “Now I feel that way all the time.”

“And…what do you do? What do you do if you find that you’ve been wrong about yourself.”

Thor’s jaw squares in determination, and for a flickering moment, he looks princely again. “Then you face it down, as you would anything else.” And just like that, the future king of Asgard is gone, replaced with a muddy, slump-shouldered mortal. “…Or rather, that’s what I had thought before. Now…” He shakes his head slowly, his expression troubled, and makes an empty-handed gesture of helplessness.

Face it down indeed, Loki thinks, and makes a snap decision. He’d come here to see whether Thor would (or could) still care for him on learning the Truth; he’d let himself be slowed in achieving that end, but he will not be swayed, not any longer. And while he fears the outcome, the reaction that they will incite, the words are out before he can really decide whether or not he wants to speak them or seal them away forever:

“Father lied to me. And to you as well. To all of Asgard…for years.”

Thor looks startled, and starts to protest the very possibility of this, but the utterly grim look on Loki’s face stops him. “What?” he says instead, utterly mystified. “Brother, what are you talking about?”

“About me,” the dark-haired prince says, his eyes and voice both gone flat and cold. “Do you remember that story Father always told us? About the day that he conquered the Frost Giants? About how he defeated Laufey? About what he took from them?”

Curious, and still looking completely perplexed, Thor nods.

And so Loki tells him Everything, tells him the Truth, every last scrap and shred of it spilling out of him in a rush like so much flotsam in a violently flood-swollen river. He holds nothing back, and he can’t look at Thor any more than he can stop a pair of tears from rolling down his cheeks and for once he doesn’t care that he’s opened himself to all sorts of mockery, because he cannot fathom being in more pain than he is at this moment. There is nothing Thor could say that will make this worse, except that is wholly untrue, because should Thor reject him—

His thoughts stutter to a halt as Thor suddenly lunges forward out of his chair--but instead of an angry attack, Loki finds himself all but crushed within a fierce, protective embrace. Thor doesn’t move again, doesn’t speak, he simply holds him close, and Loki is startled enough to allow it. More than simply allow it, in fact: his body moves on instinct, on reflex, and he finds himself clutching at the flimsy material of Thor’s strange clothing, clinging tightly to his brother, mud and all. Normally he would scorn such a display, recoil from the very thought of showing any sort of weakness; but right now he feels so off-balance, so utterly unsure of everything and everyone and himself most of all that this, this one person who is still steady and constant in all the ways that matter, is enough to cause him to make an exception just this once. Closing his eyes tightly, he rests his head on his brother’s shoulder, the bridge of his nose pressing hard against Thor’s collarbone, and allows two more tears to trickle down his cheeks.

A prolonged sort of silence stretches between them that neither feels the need to fill immediately. For the space of a dozen dozen heartbeats, Thor just holds him silently, and Loki submits to being held, calming himself and putting his mind and his mask and his very personality back together again to the simple, steady rhythm of his brother’s breathing, the only sound besides his own slightly uneven breaths that breaks the soothing silence of the interrogation room.

Then at long last Thor speaks, his voice as steady as his breathing, but stern as steel and twice as sharp. “Know this, Loki: we two will always be brothers, regardless of blood, regardless of birth, and especially regardless of what anyone else says.”

Relief trickles through Loki at that, though at the same time his hackles go up just a bit, a knee-jerk self-defense mechanism that is rankled by just how much Thor’s words mean to him, how deeply they touch and affect him. And now that he’s starting to regain his usual sense of self, he decides that he’s definitely had enough of this sort of physical contact, too.

Loki eases his way out of Thor’s grasp, and the elder prince lets him go without contest. “This,” Thor continues, reaching out to briefly press one palm flat against Loki’s chest, directly over his heart, “is all that should matter to us, Brother. And this is not something that can ever be changed.”

It’s dramatic and overly sentimental, typical Thor, but even so Loki knows that his brother (he can’t stop thinking of him as such, surely that means something) is speaking from his heart, that his words are sincere. He isn’t lying.

And Loki has his answer, the one he’d wanted so desperately and yet hadn’t dared hope for.

“What will you do now, Brother?” Thor asks--an almost uncharacteristically thoughtful, perceptive question, for it’s unlikely that Loki will want to return to Asgard any time soon, and he says as much.

“I’m not going back to Asgard, if that’s what you’re asking. Not right now, in any case.”

Thor gives him a cheeky sort of grin. “Until now I had thought only of returning there, but now I seem to find my interests turning elsewhere.” A shadow of a frown crosses the elder prince’s face, like clouds drifting across the sun. “Though Father and I shall have words regarding this matter sooner or later.”

Loki flushes a bit, unable to completely repress the flicker of anger he feels on hearing that sort of statement from Thor. “With all due respect, Thor, this matter is between the All-father and myself, and there is nothing you can do to change things. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

Surprisingly, Thor seems to realise what he’s done wrong, how he’s overstepped his bounds, almost instantly. “Forgive me, I did not mean to imply…but you are right, of course. You have my apologies.”

The younger prince quirks an eyebrow at the ease of this apology. The Thor he knows apologises only rarely, if ever, and getting him to do so is like pulling teeth…Fenrir’s teeth. You would have better luck getting a straight answer from the Norns.

“In any case,” the elder prince continues with a good-natured, half-teasing smile, “you did not truly answer my question, Brother. Where do you go now?”

Loki already knows the answer he wants to give to that; it’s simple and clear and utterly logical…and yet, at the same time it almost feels too simple, as if he’s travelling down some sort of predetermined path.

Perhaps all of this was Odin’s plan all along. Perhaps Loki is doing precisely as is expected of him. Clever trickster as he is, Loki is not so conceited as to assume that the All-father hadn’t expected him to go to Thor, his not-really-brother, but the one and only person in his life who had never lied to him. It was the most obvious move, after all. But even if it is the move Odin had predicted he’d make, Loki doesn’t care. Let Odin the Twice-Blind have his fun; for already Loki had in his head the makings of a plan that would weave webs enough to trip up even one so far-sighted as the Hanged God, and for that plan to work, he needs Thor.

So he smiles and forces the usual playful, brotherly affection into his voice…and is surprised at how easily it comes, and how much of it he actually means.

“We should stay together, just as we always have in the past. In fact I rather think that I don’t dare leave your side. Should Laufey ever learn of your presence here on Midgard, the consequences could prove most dire. Particularly since you have been stripped of both your powers and your ability to wield Mjölnir, and are trapped in weak mortal flesh.” As if to prove this point, Loki pushes his brother back down into his chair with two fingers and only minimal effort, then turns a wry smile at Thor’s still-uncomprehending stare as he explains: “The Frost Giants managed to break into a place as heavily protected as the weapons vault on Asgard. It would be a thing of utmost ease for Laufey to send some of his warriors to an unguarded, unwatched Midgardian city such as this to capture you.” Thor’s eyes widen in understanding as Loki continues on musingly, “And what a bargaining chip you would be, for surely the All-father would not turn his back on his own son completely.”

“Do you truly think Laufey would come after me here?” Thor sits forward in his chair, his gaze earnest and apprehensive. “How would the ruler of distant, ruined Jotunheim come to hear of such a thing?”

“There are ways,” Loki says gravely, “And from what I have read and heard, Laufey is not entirely unskilled with magic.” His eyebrows quirk upward, his tone gaining a trace of lightness, and more than a touch of well-placed pride. “Nor am I, as well you know. If it does come to battle, I should count myself as more than a match for any of Laufey’s warriors.”

“Nay, you cannot fight them all, Brother—not forever, and not if they come in force.” Thor clenches his fists, ignoring the way the cuts on his torn knuckles pull and tear themselves open again. “We will leave this place--I would not wish to put the mortals of this city in danger. And if they do come, and the Frost Giants’ numbers prove too great, then you must run and leave me to it. The Frost Giants cannot be allowed to capture both sons of Asgard in one fell swoop.”

“So I am to run and leave you to die? How dramatic.” Loki gives a quiet snort. “If strength of arms is your greatest concern at the moment, you need not worry. I have no doubt that Sif and the Wastrels Three will be along shortly.”

Thor’s brow wrinkles in a consternation, water dripping from the ends of his hair as he gives his head a slight shake. “Nay, they are warriors, noble, honourable, and faithful of heart. They have sworn their oaths: they are truly loyal to the King of Asgard.”

Loki’s lips thin momentarily, but he manages to keep steady eye contact and an even tone despite his vexation with his brother’s perpetual ignorance. Thor has half of Asgard on his side even now, and yet he doesn’t even know it because he hasn’t had to work for it.

“They are truly loyal to you, Thor, more than Odin or the throne.” He hesitates, unsure of himself, but still manages something that resembles a smile closely enough to pass Thor’s consistently nonexistent scrutiny. “As am I.”

Loki doesn’t know whether or not those words are a lie, or who he’s really lying to if they are, but he’s found that he doesn’t know a lot of things anymore, and that even things he thought he’d known are more grey and indistinct than he’d once believed. But the trust and warmth and fraternal love in the gaze Thor turns on him is the same as ever, even now, even after knowing that they are not brothers by blood, and Loki finds that he can’t help but cling to that affection. Part of him wants to feel some sort of bitterness, wants to embrace his jealousy and hate Thor just for being Thor, the true and noble heir of the gods, wants to find some sort of pity in those blue eyes. But looking at Thor as he is now, bedraggled and dispirited, exhausted and fragile and feeble, for once he can’t bring himself to envy his brother. And all he sees in his brother’s face is commiseration, care, concern…and hope.

Thor stands again, and now that sheer emotion isn’t compelling him, it takes a great deal more effort than either anticipated. His first step is more of a hobble due to unexpectedly cold, stiff muscles, but his second is almost normal as he reaches out to rest a hand on Loki’s shoulder. Surprisingly, the Trickster doesn’t flinch away, despite the mud on Thor’s hand. “Thank you for that, Brother. Even if the others do not come, with you by my side, I feel as if the battle is already won.”

Loki’s mouth quirks in a crooked half-smile at that. “Only the battle? With me on your side, you should feel you’ve already won the war.”

As if seeking to make good on those bold words, the younger prince’s hand comes up to grasp his brother’s wrist; a shivering sort of sting runs through the entirety of Thor’s body, an electric type of static tingle that leaves his skin humming, the sensation so faint as to be nearly imperceptible, but still odd nonetheless.

“What did you do?” he asks, staring at his arms, his hands, the whole front of his body in search of some obvious difference.

“Just a bit of magic,” Loki says with a smirk. “As you can see, we aren’t invisible. But unless they’re exceptionally strong-willed and are specifically looking for us in the exact spot we’re in, these mortals will simply look around our edges as we pass.” The Trickster turns an arch glance towards his brother, eyebrows raised mock-innocently. “…Unless of course you’d rather fight your way out as well.”

Thor gets the joke immediately, and throws his head back and laughs; for once Loki finds himself comforted by that hearty booming sound, rather than having his teeth set on edge by it.

“Your jest is well-deserved and cheerfully received, Brother,” the blonde prince says, still chuckling a bit as Loki moves to the door. “Normally I would not hesitate to do just that, magic or no. But sadly, I fear this mortal form has reached the limits of its strength. I will not have you carrying me out like a sack of grain.”

Loki, in the middle of glancing down the mostly-empty corridor outside the interrogation room, turns an arch look back over his shoulder. “A sack of grain? It would be far more like attempting to haul a dead horse off the battlefield.”

“While still in the thick of the fighting, no doubt.”

“Indeed. I’d likely leave you there and get myself out.”

Thor’s smile is openly affectionate and far too knowing. “No,” he says his voice and words both infinitely, almost uncomfortably warm, “you wouldn’t.”

Loki finds himself unable to bear looking at the smile head on, his gaze skittering sideways, because it’s blinding, like looking at the sun. But he glories in that warmth, nonetheless, and he can feel some part of himself thawing beneath it, reaching upwards, leaning closer, in spirit if not in flesh.

He swallows hard. “Come on,” the younger prince says, carefully keeping his face turned forwards. “Brother,” he adds softly, intentionally, not at all an afterthought, even if that’s what it sounds like.

They are out in a matter of minutes, Loki leading them down the winding warren-like passageways with an easy, understated confidence that suggests a certain familiarity with the layout. Thor doesn’t even notice--Loki’s ability to memorise maps and layouts and such near-instantly is yet another thing the elder prince has always taken for granted.

They’re nearly out when something on one of the tables they’re passing catches Thor’s eye: Jane’s notebook. Impulsively he makes a grab for it, stuffing it inside his shirt, either not thinking about or not caring that the item’s sudden disappearance might draw unwanted attention from the surrounding S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives. Loki’s eyes flash, but he holds his tongue. Thor’s strength may have been reduced to that of a mere mortal, but Loki still has full use of his own powers; if it came to it, he doesn’t doubt that he could take on every soldier in this dustbowl of a country singlehandedly…and win. Easily.

The rest of their escape is entirely without incident; the elder prince keeps his hands to himself, and the younger refrains from causing any sort of conspicuous mischief.

“Well,” Loki says as they reach the lip of the crater, the dry, chilly night wind tugging at their clothes, “where to now.”

Thor presses his arm against his body a bit tighter, holding that notebook just a little closer to his side as he thinks of warm brown eyes and shy sideways smiles during a long drive. He hopes Jane will forgive him for not wholly keeping his word, and for only managing to recover her notebook.

“First, I must reassure my new-found friends of my continued well-being, thank them for their hospitality, and keep part of a promise as well.”

The blonde prince scans their surroundings, the scenery dark and indistinct on a cloudy night like tonight; and yet the wind on his face is brisk and fresh, and there’s a sense of openness, of wide, unfettered expanses and endless possibilities. A feeling of boundless freedom, the like of which he’s never known. It’s frightening, the abrupt and utter lack of expectations and looming future responsibilities...but it’s liberating as well.

The desert suddenly seems to stretch out forever before him, and Thor feels a thrill of excitement stir within him, for he knows that, vast as it seems, it is just one (relatively) small patch of this huge, strange, curious new world. And there is still so much more left to see and to explore.

As his gaze settles on the faint, distant glow of a certain far-away town, Thor finds himself smiling.

“…And after that…we shall see.”