Avengers Assemble / Norse Mythology crossover Fanfic.
A one-shot about Loki reading his destiny in the signs around him just before the gala scene of the Avengers film.
If you don't know about the Norse myth that I reference here let me know and I will find a link and help you out. :)
Enjoy reading!


1. Semiotics

Erik Selvig’s eyes grew wide with awe as he offered his insight into the luminous azure cube that he had been working with for the past…well, he had lost count of how many months it had been. 

In truth, his work with the power source had yielded little and he had been staying later and later at the research facility in pursuit of answers for an increasingly impatient Director Fury. 

Only recently - very recently, mind - had he been able to make any sense of the data gathered. Only since the night that the N.A.S.A research facility was destroyed had he felt as if he had achieved something…and he knew precisely who to thank for that…
Erik had not exactly feared Loki upon his arrival at the facility - despite the fact that he had not hesitated in despatching any S.H.I.E.L.D agent unlucky enough to be in his immediate vicinity. 
It was only when the uninvited asgaardian gave his name, did Selvig make the connection…
Erik figured he might be able to reason with him, find out exactly why he was there and do his best to keep the ‘earth spinning on’, as Fury would put it. 
After all, who was he to stop Loki? Any attempt at a physical challenge would, no doubt, result in his own death. So he had made his acquaintance with Thor known to the trickster god and had managed to keep himself alive. Even if that was only long enough to continue his work with the alien artefact until Loki decided he had no further use for him, at least it was something…
“The Tessaract is showing me so much. It’s more than just knowledge; It’s truth.”
Selvig gushed, dreamily. Watching as the asgaardian before him smirked with both pride and understanding.
“I know.” Loki replied, leaving the physicist to his work and turning to address the master marksman to his right.
“And what did it show you, agent Barton?”
The agent in question placed the tablet in his hands on the counter beside him. 
Intense azure orbs found emerald as Hawkeye replied with a cryptic, “My next target.”
“Tell me what you need.” Loki offered with confidence, almost as if he were the genie in the lamp and could conjure into being anything Barton required with a mere snap of his fingers.
Hawkeye broke away from the trickster god’s gaze, crossing to the table behind the pair. He flicked the catches on the black carry case there, deftly, and plucked the sleeping bow from it’s protective foam nest. 
“I’ll need a distraction.”
A short jab of his left forearm woke the weapon from its comfortable coil and saw it extend to its full and glorious length.
“And an eyeball.” He added, the ghost of a smile on his lips. 


Loki had formulated the plan as soon as the words ‘distraction’ and ‘eyeball’ rolled across the assassin’s tongue. 
Barton had been good enough to locate both the iridium and the eyeball - it had required a good quantity of computer literacy, of which the god of mischief had none - and had dropped Loki off about a street away from the gala, at which, the integral eyeball would be in attendance. 
Loki had rounded a left-hand corner to behold the building housing the gala. It was an unashamed mass of classical pillars and slanting roofs, carved and stacked in clean white stone. A few banners hung at either side of the of the edifice’s entrance in ornate red and gold, lording the prestige of the event over the milling crowd below. The banners put Loki in mind of the tapestries and drapes that were hung around various rooms in the palace back on Asgaard. 
He tasted bitterness suddenly and his grip on the golden staff in his right hand tightened, involuntarily. 
Loki set his brow, gritting his teeth in anger as the whole decadent affair beckoned images of the bastion that he had once called his home. 
Then something in his peripherals begged him relax and he lingered for a moment on the pavement, to look upon the thing that had caught his eye. 
It was the building’s address. 
A small cuboid of uniformed white stone jutted from the pavement and proclaimed the structure’s location as Konigstrasse 22.
Loki narrowed jade eyes in scrutiny of the granite marker. After a second or two, his muscles bade a smile cross his features. A smile of duty and destiny. 
He could not fail in his objective. His goal to free the people of Midgaard from freedom itself would indeed be realised. 
The building’s address told him so. 
King Street. 
He was a king. The rightful king of Asgaard. Betrayed and cast out…
But now…
He was to be king and ruler of this realm and this tiny piece of carved stone was the sign. It was the symbol that reinforced what he already knew and believed in.
And it was the Tessaract that had shown it to him. 
Another thought then crossed Loki’s mind. For a moment, he wondered what city he had come to. 
The ‘where’ had not been relevant in the formulation of the plan. All that mattered was that he was able to source the iridium needed to stabilise the power of the Tessaract; he had not even bothered to ask Barton where he had located the substance, nor where he had found the eyeball. 
The trickster god thought back to the jet that had brought him to this place. He had made a pantomime of viewing the various squares of flickering glass in the cockpit of the plane and nodding along with whatever they displayed. Yet, in truth, he had not understood much of the information they yielded. He did half-remember seeing a map there, the jet somehow a pulsing red dot that crawled across the screen in sync with the movements of the machine through the air. 
In the top right hand corner of the glass map had been a paragraph of writing. There had been coordinates and - now that Loki thought about it - the declaration of the street that was their destination, but above the street name had been the name of the city. 
Loki turned his gaze skywards as he tried to remember. 
It came to him then, suddenly and easily, as if he had just read the answer in the stars themselves.
Stuttgart. He was in Stuttgart.
Apt. He found himself thinking, as he took one last sweeping look of the street around him. 
He caught sight of an electronic device perched atop a lofty metal pole. He recognised its construction, realising that the agent and physicist currently at his disposal had pointed out the location of such devices to him in the formulation of this particular plan. They had called them security cameras. 
Loki loitered for a further moment, making an extra effort to let himself be seen by the camera, before vanishing and appearing on the gallery overlooking the main hall of the building. 
The trickster god’s gaze fell absent-mindedly upon the quartet of musicians. He allowed himself time to appreciate the melody they played, relishing in the thought that in a few minutes they would be running and screaming for their lives. Their instruments probably trampled to dust in the stampeding crowd of helpless, insignificant humans. With all their pageantry and pomp forgotten in the struggle to maintain their freedom for a little while longer; In the struggle to maintain the greatest lie ever shown them. 
Loki’s lips twitched into a self-satisfied grin. 
Try as they might to prolong this illusion, his success was inevitable. 
The Tessaract had shown him this.
The building was situated on Konigstrasse. King street. 
The events unfolding within the building would lead to the crowning of a king.
Konigstrasse was a street in Stuttgart.
Loki understood the words that contributed to that name. 
The last syllable came from the German word for garden; ‘garten‘.
The first came from the word ‘Stuoten’, meaning ‘mare’.
The trickster god started from his thoughts as a balding man entered the hall, stood in front of the gathered masses and tapped on something that Loki believed was called a microphone. 
The god of mischief pushed himself away from the balustrade, his smile widening as he descended the steps to the foyer. 
He would not fail. 
His plan would succeed.
The Tessaract had shown him so.
Konigstrasse meant King Street and Loki was to be king.
The ‘Stutt’ in Stuttgart comes from the German word for mare and…well…Loki had always felt a certain kinship towards such creatures…

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