"The Tale of the Huntress"

CHAPTER 11

"Loki." Thor hissed in warning.

Loki froze, hand outstretched.

She didn't move.

Their friends, crouched and huddled together, looked up in fear at the suspended debris, floating above and around them. The grey clouds rumbled. Banner put out his arms and hunched over them.

"Freya," Loki said gently. "It's us. It's okay. It's safe now."

She stared at him. Breathing deeply, silently.

"I remember you." Loki murmured, and a tear sparkled in his eye, then down his cheek, catching in the markings on his face. "My sister. You took me out to play in the snow, remember? You made the flurries dance for me. You didn't mind when I dumped snow down your back. You helped me shape it into a snow fort for Thor and I."

Blood dripped, scarlet against the snow, the spattering a sickly sound.

She blinked, tilting her head. Her expression flickered, the light in her eyes dimming.

Loki glanced over his shoulder at Thor with hope, his eyes beckoning him, asking him to help.

Thor took a slow step forward, but froze when her blazing eyes turned on him. His lips were dry, his head aching, paining sharply inside his skull. He felt tears in his eyes, running down his face, his chest full of a lifetime of love and loss and grief. It tightened his lungs, and Stormbreaker slipped from his hand, a wretched sob breaking from him. He felt Loki's hand on his leg, comforting, grounding.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

He dropped to his knees, and Loki's hand was on his back, pushing him forward. Her face was so pale, dirty and bloody, her hair in tangled, matted strands hanging about her face. He moved forward, slowly, afraid. But she didn't move.

Cautiously he lifted his hands, so large on her cheeks now, and he licked his thumbs, and held her face, and wiped. "Hold still." He whispered, barely getting the words out, his vision swimming. "Your face is dirty."

She blinked and sucked in a breath, shaking.

He licked his lips, wet and salty, and smiled. "But it's okay. I'm getting it."

Everything fell around them, crashing and snapping of twigs and wood and rocks and rainfalls of dirt and pebbles. Hulk peeked out from behind a smashed boulder, his eyes wide at how close it had been. The others joined him, looking around for anything else, sagging with relief.

Freya threw her arms out, closing her fingers in Thor's shirt and over Loki's hand, sobbing.

The fire crackled in Tony's fireplace, warm and golden and soothing. Everyone was draped or slumped on every chair and couch, exhausted and in a post-supper stupor. They had gone back to the Tower for medical supplies and care, but then they'd fled back to Tony's cabin, where Tony – itching with restless energy – had made a huge meal with Steve's help while Clint cut some wood and made up the fire in the fireplace. They'd all stuffed themselves, and then dropped like flies in the living room.

Freya lay on the couch, her head resting on a pillow on Thor's lap, her legs draped over Loki's. Her side and shoulder were heavily bandaged, the wound from the ice pike stitched carefully shut. A blanket was tucked gently around her, and she smiled. Thor was combing the tangles out of her crimson hair, washed and damp. The myriad of cuts and bruises all over her skin were already fading.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long." She whispered.

Loki's hand was resting on her leg, and he rolled his eyes, resting his head back on the couch and settling. "I suppose we can forgive you."

She giggled, then winced. Thor paused in combing her hair, his brows knitting. "You okay?"

Loki lifted his head.

"I'm fine." She reassured them.

A smile was covering Thor's face, first small, then growing.

She squinted up at him. "What?"

"I'm just so happy." Thor whispered, so quiet they had to strain to hear. He looked at Loki, and then at her, and back and forth again, beaming as brightly as Loki could ever remember. And he understood.

They were a family again.

And this time, there would be no more secrets, no more mysteries.

And they would never leave each other again.