Sorry it has taken so long to update. Life has just…yeah. This has been cathartic, anyway.

I hope you enjoy.

VVVVV

CHAPTER FOUR

CRASH!

Loki landed hard on his side, scrabbled out of the way—

Then glanced down toward his feet. His eyes widened.

The giant ogre's club had completely shattered the ground not two feet from Loki's left boot.

The ogre, more than four times the height of a man, roared in rage and yanked its club straight up. It slapped a stalactite loose from the silvery ceiling of the cave. The splinters of stone cascaded downward, spattering all around Fandral, who had to leap backward to keep from being skewered. Loki leaped to his feet, quickly scanning the cavern. Deeper into the dark throat of the stone chamber lay five gray-skinned ogres in heaps, all dead or unconscious, their blunt weapons lying limp in their clawed hands. To his left, not far away at all, the mouth of the cave gaped, and the blinding white of sunlit snow blazed against Fandral, Hogun and Volstaag's armor. Those three men frantically re-gathered their dented weapons, after yet another foiled charge at the largest, fiercest ogre.

The ogre who stood with his gnarled feet planted on either side of the pedestal which guarded the treasure they sought: a chalice made of Ice Silver, the rarest precious metal in all the realms.

A metal Loki no longer particularly cared about.

He had already broken two knives on the thick skin of this yellow-eyed ogre, been backhanded into a wall so hard his chest armor cracked, and had nearly had his legs crushed into pulp. Similar mishaps and close-calls had befallen Sif, Fandral, Hogun, Volstaag and even Thor, and they all had wearied of the sport half an hour ago. Well. Except Thor. Of course.

"Haha!" Thor roared, grinning and snatching Mjollnir up from where it had slipped loose. Thor flung his torn cape back and bared his teeth at the ogre king. "Frustrated, are we? Give us what we came for then, and we'll leave you alive!"

The bald ogre beat his armor with his free fist—which made a terrible noise—and bellowed at Thor, showing him all of his ghastly sharp teeth. Then, he lashed upward with his club again. He struck the ceiling with the force of thunder. Loki felt the blow vibrate through the entire floor. He hopped nimbly out of the ogre's reach, back toward the others, and gave another quick look around. The Warriors Three stood together, now just to Loki's left. The icy wind of freedom blew against him from behind. He glanced back, over the snow-covered hills, winced, and turned back. Sif stood beside Thor, as always, gripping her sword.

"Very well!" Thor shouted up at the ogre. "Then we shall all come at you at once, and flay you into a thousand pieces! Will we not?"

"We are with you, Thor," Sif told him firmly—but Loki's attention sharpened on her. Her hand quivered on her sword, and blood ran down her chin. Thor had not even noticed. For an instant, Loki's heart panged for her.

The next, Loki felt a deep, penetrating crack.

He started back half a step. Frowned. Looked up.

"Thor…" he cautioned, holding up a hand.

Thor ignored him. He raised Mjollnir. Let out a blood-curdling howl.

The Warriors Three echoed it, and Sif raised her blade.

"Thor—" Loki tried again.

Thor charged. Sif followed half a moment later. The Three hurled themselves forward, brandishing their weapons.

Loki stared upward in horror…

Then down at his friends…

As cracks raced across the ceiling.

"Thor!" he screamed.

The ceiling rumbled.

Loki flung out his arms. Emerald trails of magic shot from his palms and snatched at the ankles of Fandral, Volstaag and Hogun. Tripped them. Caught them.

Loki yanked backward with all his might.

The three men jerked toward him, howling in surprise, and tumbled out into the snow.

The ceiling broke apart.

Pieces rained down.

Loki dove forward, lashed out and tossed a silvery lasso around Sif's middle. With a swift jerk, he threw her back out of the way. She crashed onto the floor of the mouth of the cave and rolled.

The ogre looked above him, and shrieked in sudden fear. He stumbled backward.

Thor lunged for the goblet.

Loki dove.

Grabbed Thor around the middle, twisted, and kicked off the pedestal with both feet. Shot them back toward the entrance—

Crack.

Loki's vision went dark. A resounding slap rattled his skull.

Thor slammed into the ground. Loki slammed down on top of him.

Stones battered down all over his body—he couldn't see, couldn't hear—his whole mind hummed.

Then, all at once, everything fell still.

Except for his buzzing head.

And then there was the fact that he couldn't see.

The ground moved beneath him. Shifted.

No—that was Thor.

Thor crawled messily out from underneath him—pushed Loki onto his back.

Pebbles tumbled and crumbled all across Loki's chest and shoulders. He blinked his eyes. He could see gray and white blurs—but only out of his left eye. He coughed. His bones ached. Sounds now began to sharpen—though everything still seemed dull and heavy. Reflexively, he frowned, turned his head…

To glimpse, mostly in focus, Thor rising to his feet. He was covered in dust, his armor battered…

But a grin spread across his face. And he held up the silver chalice. It twinkled in the sunlight, as if smiling back at him.

"I have it!" Thor shouted, shaking it in his fist, then turning to grin back at the others. Loki's eyes fluttered.

"Nice catch, Brother," Thor commended, his words sounding slurred—and suddenly Loki felt his collar gripped, and he was yanked out of the stones and set up on his feet.

Desperately, he caught his balance—though his jaw locked. Fleetingly, he thought about opening his mouth to say "I cannot see!" but nausea swam through his gut, and he knew that if he opened his mouth he would retch.

"Come!" Thor shouted, shaking Loki's shoulder. "There will be feasting in Asgard tonight!"

Loki thought he heard exclamations of approval from the Three—but he could not be sure. And he still could not see out of his right eye.

"Heimdall!" Thor bellowed. "Open the bifrost!"

And before Loki could fall forward onto his face—which he felt sure he was about to do—the heavens opened, the bridge plunged downward, and the six of them were caught up into the sky.

LLLLL

Loki cursed, his hand shaking as he withdrew it from his thick locks of hair. He glanced down at his fingers, covered in blood, and swore again.

He sat, wearing only trousers, on a low stool on the marble floor of the softly-lit, domed healing room. All of the apprentice healers had left him completely alone—he had snarled at them so fiercely—and had retired for the night.

He snatched up a rag again and pressed it to the wound on the side of his head, clenching his jaw. With his left hand, he reached down into a bowl of glimmering ointments and oils, and snapped his fingers. Sparks flashed within the splashes. He ground his teeth, lowered the bloody rag and dipped it into the salve, then pressed it again to his wound.

It stung. He sucked in his breath. Tingles raced through his skull. His right eye cleared just a degree more.

A presence wandered into the edge of his notice. He lifted his head.

Lady Sif stood just inside the doorway—but she had halted suddenly, staring at him. She still wore her battle clothes, though she had removed her armor, and her cut lip and bruised cheek and eye stood out starkly against her pale skin. However, she seemed to have forgotten her pain for the moment. Loki glanced down at himself.

The black, spidery scars left from the snake venom long ago still grotesquely marked his white skin, trailing down his neck, across his shoulders and down to his elbows. Besides that, watery blood dripped from his hair down the front of his chest. Still pressing the rag to his cut, he canted his head at her and sardonically raised his eyebrows.

"Good evening, madam. Welcome to the party."

Sif cleared her throat and stepped further in.

"I just came for some poultice. I cut my arm and my face."

"I can see that," Loki noted. "Use this." He picked up the bowl and held it out to her. "Better yet, come sit and let me fix it."

She narrowed her dark eyes, giving him a poisonous look.

"I would never let you touch me."

Loki let go of the bowl. It clattered on the floor and spilled.

"Fine," he shrugged. "Let your face scar. It isn't as if it matters."

Sif flinched—stared at him with a wide, stunned gaze.

Loki's heart panged again.

Sif's eyes welled up with tears. She turned from him.

"Sif," he said quickly. "I'm sorry."

She stopped, half facing him. He lowered the rag, watching her carefully.

"It is a terrible thing, is it not," he murmured. "To be forgotten."

She lifted a trembling hand, and pressed it to her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut, and hurried out of the room. Loki watched her go…

Then threw the rag onto the floor, hung his head, and swiped away tears of his own.

To be continued…

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