Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

Long Live The King

Chapter 1: All That We Once Were

A/N: For those of you who have not been following "Like Pulling Teeth" and "Total Paranoia," this story was created from an idea I have wanted to explore over the past several months: Loki, King of Midgard. As such, this will be set following the film much like my other two stories, though in a universe all by itself wherein the Chitauri invasion came to fruition, and the Avengers failed.

So, if there are any newcomers here, welcome. Here's hoping you'll enjoy my musings. If you are returning readers from my previous works, welcome back. Good to have you with us again. But, one way or the other, thank you for opening this up. I greatly appreciate it.

The next chapter should be up fairly soon. Then again, I could be wrong. My perception of time seems to differ greatly from that of other people.

The recommended tune for this chapter is "Open Up Your Eyes" by Daughtry.

The grounds were once filled with lush, green grass, she remembered, and allowed herself that moment of anger amid the sorrow. There were trees, all standing tall and shading the pristine white stones from the sun, allowing only the smallest rays of light to shine through upon the carved names and dates. But those days were no longer, she recalled with a muted curse, reminding herself that the earth upon which she stood was naught but an empty plot of land now, devoid of life and filled only with the lingering stench of death.

It was a grey, barren, bit of earth now, lacking the respect that should have been given to the dead. And there were now three who lay somewhere beneath her feet, never to be acknowledged for that which they had sacrificed save it be within their weakening little group.

Not a one of them uttered a word; the only sound that of shuddering breaths. She allowed herself a peek at the rest of them, noting with a pang in her chest the way they all stared at the patch of dirt that had, once again, claimed one of their own.

The Starks, she noted, tucking a lock of red hair behind one ear, stood in a singular line, all holding to one another's hands with the most devastated of expressions. Tony, the man who had been easily pegged as the joker of their motley crew, held his head high, staring out into the distance towards the city, lower lip pulled into his mouth and held in place by his teeth. The poor guy, she though, was willing himself to maintain that facade.

Beside him, a boy, dressed to the nines in a suit matching that of his father, his tie slightly askew and a bit wet on the end from where he had set to chewing on it. His face was fair, his hair a warm auburn that, with the lack of sunlight on this grey day, appeared to be far less lively than usual. He spared his father a glance and tugged on his arm before pulling away from his mother, throwing his little arms right around Tony's leg, burying his face in the slate gray fabric of his father's slacks.

Pepper was red in the face, decorated with tears, the child in her arms cooing gently as she was bounced. Their second, Natasha thought fondly, was little more than five months old. Still so small and innocent and unaware of all the hell that existed around her. A blessing and a curse, she acknowledged, to be so utterly oblivious and yet doomed to potentially grow up in a world that could only grow darker by the day.

On her right stood the uncanny couple, the god with golden locks holding fast to the woman who trembled against his arm. He looked about ready to break into pieces of fine china, and it ate at Natasha's heart to know how close to home each of these blows had hit him. The God of Thunder, a man who appeared to be the embodiment of the beasts that stalked the savanna, had been all but reduced to a quivering little kitten, and the thought made her heart bleed black with anger.

She hated that bastard even more.

Poor Maria, she sighed, casting the woman a glance, must have been in terrible shape as well, having watched not only one, but two, of her companions taken by the scourge that threatened to snuff them all out. First Coulson aboard the helicarrier, and then Fury, wholly devoured by flame within his own residence. It would be a difficult call, but Natasha was willing to bet that she hated that monster with an intensity that outmatched her own.

Peering about, she curled her fingers into fists, bit down hard upon her lower lip and shook her head. This was all that was left of them, she grimaced. The last of the Avengers.

First Coulson, then Steve, Fury, and now...

She didn't want to think about him, didn't want to see his face in her mind and know that he was never coming back; that they would never again stand beside one another and butt heads or simply take down that which they had been assigned. She would never again have the pleasure of peering across the expanse of their darkened living room, watching as he sat idly on the couch, fast asleep.

Bruce, too, had since separated from the group, gone off to find someplace where he could isolate himself from the world, and, for a time, Natasha had considered going her own way as well, knowing that they would all inevitably perish whether or not they remained together.

Bastard, she thought, and glowered at the tower that stood high in the distance.

How she hated him, wished that there would come a time where she could deliver unto him the same hell that he had cast upon the lot of them.

The sky began to roar then, and her companions bowed their heads as Tony sighed, sucked in a breath and stepped forward to kneel in the dirt.

He brought a hand to his lips and promptly laid it upon the fresh mound before taking to his feet again. He turned to face them, his jaw still quivering slightly as Bradley rushed forward to be pulled up and into his father's arms.

"It's never easy," he said, and his voice began to crack, "to look back and say, 'What the hell could I have done?' That's a question that we'll never have the answer to. But if there's one thing... one damn thing we can do... it's to go down swinging. If not for ourselves, for this broken family of ours... Then for the people we've loved and lost. The people who have fallen prey to all this... madness..."

Each of them nodded, murmuring their quiet agreement with the words before moving slowly towards the individual vehicles that stood parked a scant thirty feet away.

But Natasha remained, ignored the sounds of engines roaring to life as she dropped to her knees, laid her own hand against the mound of dirt and grimaced.

"Never," she said quietly. "I will never forgive him for this. Just you watch." Her fingers curled into the soft earth. "I'll make that bastard pay for what he's done. Not just to you. To all of us."

The assassin sighed, bowed her head as she stood upright again, eyes squeezed shut as she allowed her feet to carry her away.

"I'm so sorry... Goodbye, Clint."