Light Bringer

Thor/Avengers Fanfiction. Set post Avengers Assemble.

Loki was imprisoned upon his return to Asgaard. Thor stands a daily vigil by his brother’s cage, only to leave heartbroken each evening when the God of Mischief elects to remain silent.
The people of Asgaard cry out for Loki’s punishment and Heimdall tells Odin that the people of Midgaard do the same.
The Allfather seeks the help of Synneva, an Asgaardian who was stranded on Midgaard when the Bifrost was destroyed.

Rated Yellow for safety.


10. Best Laid Plans

Synneva had promised food and shelter from the inhabitants of the as-of-yet unnamed village, but what the pair had, in fact, received were raised voices and weapons pointed towards them in pure and unadulterated hostility.

Loki remained silent, certain that he could offer nothing in the way of mediation. The spear and sword bearers spoke in a language that the trickster god did not recognise and, silver tongued though he was, he doubted he would make even the slightest difference if he did interject. 
After all… He found himself thinking, It was Synneva’s decision to come here and the blame for any harm that should befall us, surely rests on her shoulders. 
Loki shot his guide a sideways glance, employing raised eyebrows in an attempt to coax her on. Synneva merely shook her head and turned her attention to the guards who had halted them at the village’s makeshift gate.
The god of mischief found himself surprised at the fluency of Synneva’s attempt at the foreign language, even though he knew he should not have been at all. She had warned him not to go off by himself when they had first arrived, since he did not know the common tongue; the implication then being that Synneva knew it and could act as translator should the need arise. 
Loki watched the exchange with nonchalance. Had he been in a better mood, he may have tried to pick up on a few words and guess their meaning, but he had no patience for such a task. Instead, he shifted his focus to the speakers themselves, trying to glean as much as he could of their appearance from the light of the torches a few of the group held. 
The torchlight flickered and scattered light unhelpfully about the faces of the men. Instinctively, Loki called their skin tone gold, but this could easily have been a mere touch of firelight on a pallid complexion. He could however, make out a slight sheen to the flesh, a subtle shimmer that reminded the fallen prince of the walls of the palace back on Asgaard. 
Loki fought back a grimace - unsure as to how the slightest facial expression would be interpreted - and chased the thoughts away with the sudden shift of his gaze to the hair of this strange people. 
Of the group, three had shoulder length hair and two had shorter hair. One, a particularly thickset gentleman who proudly brandished a great sword, had apparently seen fit to shave his head, leaving him bald. 
Loki could just about make out a few different shades in the dim light, but there appeared to be one unanimous trait amongst them all; each man had a distinct curl to his locks. 
Loki’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted as Synneva brushed past him, grazing his elbow gently. He looked to her, hoping to discern the meaning behind the gesture and he recognised, when she made no effort to turn to him, that this had been merely to gain his attention. 
Following suit, Loki returned his gaze forwards and shifted slightly as a trio of guards broke form and rounded the pair to flank them. The trickster god did not have to turn to know they had weapons trained on them.
Thank you, Loki. Came Synneva’s voice inside the trickster god‘s mind. 
For what? He replied, falling into step beside his guide as they were escorted through the gateway.
For trusting me.
Loki almost scoffed, before he remembered the situation and concentrated on maintaining as blank an expression as possible.
I didn’t trust you; I merely figured that I would be able to help little and, besides, if anything happened the blame would rest solely with you.
The god of mischief though he heard Synneva sigh and imagined her rolling her eyes, but he had been watching her through his peripherals and had not seen her move a muscle. 
Synneva said nothing more and Loki would have been glad to leave it that way, but he found himself wondering more and more about the situation at hand.
What did you say to them? He queried, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. And where are they taking us?
His guide waited a few seconds before replying. I told them who I was, that I was in need of food and shelter, that I knew the village’s chief and that I have bought an offering in the name of peace. 
Loki turned his head slightly, eyes narrowed in silent interrogation. Synneva moved a hand backwards deftly and gestured to the duffle bag that still hung over her shoulder. The trickster god was still bemused, having yet to behold the entire contents of the bag, but thought this a somewhat satisfying answer. 
And I hope they are taking us for an audience with the chief. Synneva finished, finally.
The pair followed the guards in silence and were led through the village which was mostly comprised of angular one-story buildings. They were little more than silhouettes or shadows in the lack of luminosity, but Loki assumed they were made out of wood. 
Eventually the group halted before a larger building, raised about two feet or so off the ground. One of the guards broke away, ascended the steps leading to the entrance and disappeared inside. 
It seemed as if they had been halted outside for nearly an hour by the time the guard re-emerged and beckoned them enter. Loki was glad to see the guards around them disperse as Synneva climbed the steps with a slightly quickened pace. A sudden ragged breath from her confirmed for Loki that she had been shivering. He told himself she was trembling because she was cold and that this action had nothing to do with nervousness at the events yet to come. 

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