Chapter 7: The Sword and the Shield

I'm so sorry for the delay, but these chapters are getting increasingly harder to write. I had three versions of this floating around before I decided to put my foot down and move on with my life.

I would like to apologize beforehand in some free (and probably inaccurate) depiction of details in Norse mythology.

It hurt—as if suddenly his blood had turned broiling hot, burning him from the inside. Loki's eyes water, but he doesn't scream, voice caught in his throat from the sheer shock of it all.

"Five seconds, Loki," Khan's voice is but a echo from the ear piece the human had given him, "You have to get out now."

Loki barely registers the warning beneath the ringing of alarms, until he finally, finally manages to wrench his hand away from the golden sword. A choked sob escapes his lips just as he collapses before the display. He hears footsteps approaching—many of them—but he does nothing in response; he could barely move. Every nerve in his body is on fire, and his right hand, charred black, twitches weakly by his side.

"Don't move—" he hears a man speak, but the unmistakable whistle of a fired weapon cuts him off midsentence. More shots are fired before blows were exchanged, until Loki hears nothing but the breaking of bones and groans of agony.

"What happened to you?" Khan says, suddenly very close and without the distortion of machines.

Loki feels a hand at his waist, supporting him, and he hisses in protest. It hurts to be touched, to be moved. He hears more footsteps approaching just as golden swirls dance at the corner of his eyes.

Khan reaches for Hofuo, but before Loki can tell him that it's a trap, the human's hand makes contact. Nothing happens; Khan appears fine. And the next think Loki knows, they are back in the hotel suite.

Khan drops the sword onto the floor and eases Loki onto the couch, and the god feels frustrated—embarrassed, even—at how uncharacteristically gentle the human is being.

"A trap I had regrettably overlooked, it seems," Loki rasps as Khan distances himself. "A curse bound to Hofuo, to spite those of Jotun blood." It's an old spell, originated during the Great War under Odin, that prior to this day, Loki had only encountered in books. There had been no need for such a curse during times of peace—as tentative as it might have been. But perhaps, Loki should applaud the Heimdall of this world in his astuteness, especially when the rivalry between Asgard and Jötunheim literally endured to the death.

"Now, aren't you glad at times like these, that I have my own transporter on hand?" Khan remarks from the kitchen, opens a cabinet before turning on the tap.

"What do you expect, gold stars?" Loki says dryly, and Khan responded with a throaty chuckle, before returning with a glass of water.

"Here, drink," the human offers, but receives instead a look of utter incredulity from the god.

Khan sighs before taking a drink himself in demonstration, and only then does Loki deem the offer acceptable, taking the glass from the human and swallowing the contents within seconds. He glares at Khan as he wipes a stray droplet along his chin, in anticipation of further inquiries.

"May I ask, is there a purpose then, of stealing a sword that you cannot wield?"

"For the purpose of not wielding it," Loki speaks with as much defiance as he could muster, but even leveling his chin took an effort when he wants nothing more than to collapse onto the couch.

"A sword without the purpose of wielding." Khan speaks as if he's testing the water. "At least, not for you."

He looks at Loki for further clarification, but the god simply scowls. "You seem to have your theories. Why not share them?"

Khan smiles thinly, almost amused. "Perhaps, this is a conversation for another day."

"Why, do you deem me compromised, because of my state?" Loki narrows his eyes, because surely, if Khan did think him weakened, shouldn't he jump at the opportunity to extract information from the god? Without a doubt, this is what Loki would do had the tables been turned.

"Only wished to cater to your preferences, that is all."

"Ask your questions," Loki responds coolly. Despite his physical exhaustion, his mind is perfectly clear, and he'd rather converse with the human until he knows for sure, that his legs can support his full body weight in his journey to his own chambers. Showing any more signs of weakness tonight is wholly unacceptable. "Or better yet, entertain me with your theories."

"Very well." Khan's shoulders sag in compliance, as he takes a seat an the armchair, his long legs crossing in the process. "The sword, Hofuo, once belonged to the Guardian Heimdall, did it not? The current leader of Asgard."

"Correct."

"Do you plan on returning it?"

"I do."

Khan leans into the cushions, the corners of his lips rising. "And I don't suppose this is simply a rare act of kindness."

"Surely, you know me better than that," the god manages a laugh, sharp in contrast to the human's deep echoes, "As ill-managed as they may be, the Asgardians are not without military. Heimdall commands a small army—regulated by the Federation and serves the sole purpose of defensive precautions. They do not have the means of declaring their own wars, but of course, that can all be changed. "

"You wish to liberate their army."

"A war cannot be fought without soldiers."

"So I assume the sword will serve as an incentive for Heimdall, to side with you instead."

"He has far greater incentives," Loki declares, "I highly doubt the threats of the Federation would override his loyalty to Asgard, to his former kings. Heimdall and I have had our fair share of disputes, but I will admit, he had been the most loyal general under Odin's rule, the rightful commander of the Bifrost. And now that Asgard lay in pieces, how can reject my offer when there is nothing left to lose, but everything to gain."

"Will it be enough?" The human lofts a brow, fingers crosses below his chest. "A diminutive Asgardian army, and the Bifrost which have remained inoperable for hundreds of years. Will it be enough to challenge the Federation?"

"Of course not." The god waves a dismissive hand. "There is still much left to be done."

###

Loki isn't sure when he drifted off—perhaps when he demanded Khan to explain the new modifications to the USS Enterprise that the human had been seething over for the past few days (they were his designs, apparently).

But when the god comes too, the entire suite is dark, save for the ethereal glow of Khan's machines. The human is sitting a few feet away, eyes transfixed to the screen and fingers tapping rhythmically against his keyboard.

Loki frowns. So much for not showing any more weaknesses.

He is now spread out on the couch, and wonders if the human had moved him. His questions are soon put to rest when he realizes that his boots and jacket are gone, and there is a pillow beneath his head and a thin blanket over his shoulders. His hand still ached with each beat of his pulse, but his wound has been bandaged with precision and care.

Loki frowns at the other man, who remains completely oblivious that the god as awoken. The glow of the machines cast soft shadows to Khan's face, and the human appears sadder, more tired—as if the weight of the whole world is on his shoulders.

For the past weeks or so, despite living in the same general quarters, they had worked independently for the most part—Loki in deciphering the Scrolls of Ancients and Khan in penetrating the Federation security system. They only converged twice to infiltrating the university, and then the museum, and needless to say, Loki found immense joy in stealing those artifacts. So perhaps, deciphering Khan's true intentions has slipped on his list of priorities since realizing the immense possibilities within this Midgardian realm. But Loki will not make the same mistake of underestimating humans, especially when Khan appears more enigmatic, more cunning, than anyone he has ever encountered. And whatever this is—these undisguised, blatant acts of kindness—could all be a ploy to gain the god's trust—too uncharacteristic to be sincere, but then again, too obvious to be a trick conjured by someone of Khan's caliber. How does he even expect Loki to respond?

The god closes his eyes and draws on what he knows of the human. Khan is considered a genocidal tyrant to most of Midgard, a war criminal condemned to infinite sleep. He is without a doubt remarkable, in both intelligence and savagery, so that even the former leader of the Federation—the late Admiral Marcus—sought Khan's expertise in preparation for war. He had one weakness, an easily exploited weakness, and Loki almost finds it almost tragic that such a blatant Achilles' heel could be found in an impressive specimen like Khan. Khan had been a leader—a captain of a crew—loved and revered by his kind. He had been part of a family, and he had cared for them—he still do. And now that his family is dead, there is nothing holding him back, and it's certainly one of the deciding factors that made their alliance possible.

They are both equally alone, but Loki prides himself in his solidarity. He wants nothing to do with his former life—whether Odin and Thor is alive or dead. While Khan, the memories of his family, and his vow to avenge them, is the only thing driving him forward.

So perhaps—Loki muses, eyes glinting with mischief—there is still something left in that void for him to exploit. Khan might think Loki as one to share his anguish, his regrets, but Loki is nothing like him. Loki chooses to be alone.

The human brings a hand to his eyes, visibly tensing. The rhythmic typing ceases in an instant and is replaced by a few stuttering exhales. Khan bears his teeth, his entire body shaking, as if he's focusing every fiber of concentration on not lashing out. Everything about him—in that moment—appeared raw.

Loki flutters his eyes shut and steadies his own breathing. He very carefully does not move.

###

Svalin, the god muses at the scattered scrolls before him, the ancient writing pulsing rhythmically with the ebb and flow of his magic, The shield of the shining god; mountains and seas would be set aflame, if it fell before the sun.

And surely, the crude metals of the Federation would be no match against such ancient, powerful defense—if it were manipulated to serve that purpose. But the question is how?

Loki brings a finger to his temples, soothing a looming headache. He had spent almost the entire day in the seclusion of his chambers, deciphering the cryptic symbols of the ancient scrolls. The instructions must be within these texts, Loki is sure of it, but even then, the Mischief God casts his doubts on whether he alone would possess the magical prowess to accomplish such a feat.

Svalin is the shield. Bifrost is the sword.

Perhaps, he will need to form certain alliances sooner than convenient.

It has been three days since, and Loki has unraveled the web of spells guarding Hofuo. The sword no longer burns to the touch, but their incompatibility is nonetheless evident; the sword practically reverberates in protest every time Loki's hand draws near.

All in all, Hofuo had been disappointing. Loki never had high hopes in wielding the sword himself—there are much more formidable weapons for him to choose from—but he wanted to understand its properties at least, before forgoing it to serve its true purpose.

The clashing of metal beyond his doors snaps Loki out of his thoughts, and he assumes it must be Khan, rearranging his machines and vast array of weapons, which are gradually forming a small mound in the center of their luxurious suite.

Loki emerges from his room, feeling restless and in need of a distraction. Khan is seated on the couch, in the center of the living area, surrounded by his belongings.

"What is it, that has you occupied for so long?" Loki requests, and Khan's quicksilver eyes dart to his briefly.

"What's the matter? Bored already with your new toy?"

There is a touch of humor in his voice, which Loki is beginning to find typical, although not to say any less infuriating. If Khan truly wishes to gain the god's approval—sincerely or not—he surely could come up with a more impressive tactic than vexing him every chance he gets. Loki scowls, but before he can unleash a scathing remark of his own, Khan interjects, almost in reconciliation.

"Your hand. How are the burns?"

Loki frowns thinly, narrowing his eyes. The burns from the curse couldn't be cured with magic, and it had been a nuisance, waiting for his body to heal itself. His right hand is still bandaged, a minor setback in the grand scheme of things, but it certainly shouldn't warrant any concerns from the human.

"Did you manage to undo the curse on the sword?" Khan asks after receiving no response.

"Yes."

"How can I be of assistance otherwise?" the human smiles rather enigmatically, "Surely, you've come to me for a reason."

Loki does his best to remain blank-faced, knowing well enough that any interaction with the human would denote constant assessment, on both of their parts. Khan is not one to remain compliant, mentally at least. His mind is a constant race towards understanding, and Loki can tell from the way approaches his technologies and machines, that maybe the human is too arrogant in his intellectual display to reveal such a fact to the god.

"Are you aware of Svalin?"

"No," the human responds smoothly, parting from his machines to clear a spot, perhaps for Loki to sit. The gesture appears almost gallant. "Enlighten me, if you will."

"The shield that stands before the sun—Asgard's sun—protecting the realm from the full intensity of its heat." Loki watches the other with steady eyes.

"Now that you've mentioned it, I vaguely remember coming across a shield in the libraries," Khan says as he sits in the center of the sofa, gesturing Loki to the armchair across from him. The god accepts without too much skepticism. "I had thought the shield was figurative."

"It protects Asgard from being obliterated to cinders. It is hardly figurative."

"And you believe this shield can work in our favor?"

"The instructions are in the scrolls, I am sure," Loki reclines into his seat, brows knitted in thought. "Svalin was created when the realms were young, when the sun had be far away, but loomed closer to Asgard with each passing decade. Furthermore, it served as a wall when Asgard once feared of threats beyond its borders, but as the realm rose to glory, such precautions were replaced more direct approaches and destructive weapons. And Svalin, for thousands of years, simply served as a barrier to the sun, and nothing else. And the means to command the shield are immortalized in texts, but forgotten in the minds of the people."

"Is that why Thor couldn't use Svalin to his advantage?" Khan asks.

"Even if he knew of Svalin's abilities, I doubt he had the means of controlling it. Only the most skilled sorcerers can command Svalin, without the fear of destroying the kingdom altogether."

"And you believe you are above that," Khan smiles, half-taunting, and Loki straightens in his seat, taken aback by the human's lack of faith.

"Very few in my time could rival me in skills, and judging by the current state of affairs, none can rival me now. Do you fear your life, mortal. Is that why?"

"No," Khan responds, "I simply want to live long enough to avenge my crew."

"You are well aware of my true lineage," the god frowns, "If Svalin were to fall, I will die first, and I do not plan to do so before liberating Asgard. And if you are to believe in anything I say, let it be that."

A long moment passes before Khan finally relents, sinking back in to his seat. "Very well. What else do you need to ensure your success? Particularly from me."

"Gungnir, the spear of Odin," Loki says as the human speeds his fingers across his keyboard, "If anyone could have commanded Svalin in recent times, it would have be him."

"The Metropolitan Museum in New York," Khan clicks his tongue as images of the city dance before their eyes, "Looks like lightning will have to strike twice."

Thanks for reading! Once again, feedback is motivation and love. Until next time!