Thor 1. Chapter 1

Over the Edge – Chapter 1

Despite what many may have thought, the library was not Loki's favourite place. Oh, he enjoyed reading, be it great tales of valour or in-depth notes on magic and history, but there was something unpleasant about reading there. The scholars and librarians were old, stuffy and treated others with contempt and suspicion. Young princes were no exception. For what prince would possibly want to go to a library when he could be in the training field like the respectable warrior he should be aiming to be? So if Loki chose to go there, it must mean that he was up to no good. Though, he would reluctantly admit that the little joke he'd played a year ago hadn't helped. How was he to know that the ink wouldn't reappear? Besides, even if it wasn't for the occupants, he would find the grand, tall room overbearing.

No, Loki preferred to read in the sanctuary of his room, the Queen's Garden, or one of the many observation platforms of Asgard. Each had its own advantages according to what mood he was in. His favourite, and the one where he currently sat, was connected to the Banqueting Hall. It provided two things: a remarkable view of the city as well as the realm beyond, and privacy. When there was no formal feast being held, there was no reason for anyone to come here, and so he was able to find himself undisturbed for as long as he wished.

"Here you are, brother!"

Most of the time, anyway.

Loki turned to see Thor striding confidently towards him along the open walkway, a huge grin plastered across his face and as effervescent as ever. He raised an eyebrow, curiosity overcoming any annoyance he felt at his sibling's intrusion.

"Greetings, brother," he imitated the other's address, "To what do I owe this great pleasure?" His reply was smooth and friendly, but he didn't move from where he sat against the pillar, one leg dangling over the side and down the sheer drop of the tower face. Thor stood over him, eyes bright and grinning like a fool. Oh dear. Loki knew that look, and it rarely boded well. The last time he'd been approached like this had led to one of Thor's "ingenious" ideas, which had, of course, gotten them both into a lot of trouble with Father. It had been doubly frustrating because if Thor had just listened to him on that occasion and followed his ideas, then not a soul would have known about it.

"I believe it is high time, my dearest little brother, that you joined me on an adventure."

"Really," he replied, no small part of him amused by the statement. "And what has brought on this sudden decision?"

"You are fourteen and have never stepped outside the city walls without a nurse or guards. Would you not like to be able to move more freely?"

That was not strictly true, but there was no need to tell Thor about his own little private adventures though hidden passages that he had discovered while his elder sibling was out with his friends. He had, over the last couple of years, discovered the joy of small secrets. It was the thrill of knowing something that no one else did and the small delight in mischief. He was doing something he shouldn't, and not a soul could stop him because he was far too cunning to let them find out about it.

Yes, he'd had his own ventures beyond the wall, some more fruitful than others. However, he couldn't deny that there was a certain appeal to traveling with his brother, even if accompanied by his friends as well. If he was with Thor and his gang of followers, Mother would let him leave the city without guards. As long as they weren't going far, that is, and kept to the main roads which were regularly patrolled. It had been a while since the brethren had really done something substantial together, finding their interests increasingly shifting in different directions. Gone were the days when Thor's first act of the day was to find Loki.

However, Loki wasn't a fool. "And where would we be going?"

"Oh, we will ride and see where we come to." Loki did not believe that for one moment, no matter how off-hand Thor tried to sound.

He laughed. "Leave the lying to me brother; it suits you ill." Thor looked rather embarrassed at the comment, and the dark haired prince continued. "Now, why do you really want me to join you?"

His brother quickly sat opposite Loki, leaning forward eagerly. "We need a sorcerer to complete our party for this quest."

Loki's amusement never faded. "I see. I am the sorcerer, you the warrior. Do we already have a healer and a dwarf to make our party complete?"

Thor blinked at him in confusion, the joke flying straight over his head. "Why would we need those? We have my friends."

Loki shook his head, a light smile on his lips. "Pay no mind to my comment; I merely jest. You sound much like the beginning of an adventure tale." Albeit a bad one. It reminded him strongly of the stories by Lord Gransaw, a man who fancied himself a great weaver of words when in reality he could hardly string together a sentence. He was the living proof that money could not buy everything. Each saga, and he used that word charitably, was the same, and for some reason a dwarf was always needed to complete the party. Why on Asgard was a dwarf so vitally important?

His older brother beamed at him again. "Well, this will be an adventure worthy of many tales and songs for generations to come."

Loki raised his eyebrows. "So, you do not know where we will go, but that you will need a sorcerer, which I am far from, and it will be worthy of legend."

Thor faltered, realising that he had been well and truly caught out. "Yes," he replied hesitantly.

Loki sighed and closed his book, careful not lose his place. "Why do you really require a 'sorcerer'?"

His brother threw caution to the wind. "We need someone to wield the Sorcerer's Eye. I cannot, and we believe it requires someone with magic to use it."

"The Sorcerer's Eye? Father let you take it?" Loki frowned a little. That was an oddity and more than a little suspicious.

Once again Thor paused. "Not…exactly," he tentatively replied.

Loki nearly burst out laughing. This made everything more interesting. His brother must really want whatever he thought he would get from this 'quest' to risk their father's anger. The book in his lap seemed positively tedious in comparison now.

"I see. Where are you planning on going that requires the Eye?"

No doubt encouraged by the lack of outright rejection, Thor ploughed on. "To the Mist Valley."

Loki's eyes widened. "And what, pray tell, are you hoping to find there?"

"Honour and Glory."

Mmmmph. How dull. "How exactly do you plan on achieving that?"

"By slaying a Sky Serpent."

For the first time in years, the eloquent prince was speechless. He knew his brother was foolish, but this went above and beyond anything he'd suspected.

"That must be the most foolhardy plan I have ever had the misfortune to hear."

Thor's face fell. "It is?"

"Yes," he said, stating what he felt should be obvious. "I understand your desire, but warriors a hundred times your age, strength and experience have met their demise against the beasts."

"But they did not have the Eye," Thor grinned, "It can see through the unseeable. There will also be six of us against one creature. My friends, you and I against one Sky Serpent. Outnumbered and out-skilled! We shall set off, slay the monster and return before nightfall tomorrow. It will be easy with us all there, but we need you, brother. You need to show us the way with the Eye."

The younger prince sighed. It was really quite remarkable how naïve his brother could be. Sometimes he swore that he was sixteen and Thor was fourteen, not the other way round. However, Thor genuinely seemed to think this would be quick and easy, which meant that he would most likely quickly grow bored of this new game. An hour or two of wandering and he would lose his patience and interest. They would be back before dinner with an exaggerated tale of their escapade and it would remain as a rebellious, but ultimately unsuccessful, folly into the world. He seriously doubted that they would have the misfortune of coming across a Sky Serpent in a couple hours when it took other warriors days to stumble across one of the creatures. That was if they even made it down to the ravine. His brother and friends had notoriously short attention spans, and the Mist Valley was several hours' ride away—it was entirely possible they wouldn't make it halfway.

There was also that familiar little spark that ignited at the prospect of doing something they all knew they shouldn't be doing with a good chance of getting away with it. If it also meant him escaping the city, his parents' reach and spending a free day with his brother for the first time in months, then so much the better. This could be a great deal of fun, as long as he could make sure his brother didn't do anything too stupid.

He gracefully rose to his feet. "You have convinced me," he smiled. "You have your 'sorcerer.'"

Thor beamed at him in a manner that would put the sun to shame. For a moment Loki thought his brother would fall into old habits and pull him into a tight embrace and bounce about. "Thank you, Loki. You will not regret this."

Now that would be a first.

* * *

**A/N:****  
**Tada! I hope you enjoyed the beginning there. For anyone who read 'Fragile', this was the fic I mentioned at the end of that (though the two are unconnected). It's been a long time in coming, but I hope everyone enjoyed the beginning. 

Shout out to my beta reader for this fic, the wonderful Natural Logarhythem.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

At least Loki had managed to convince Thor to wait until the next morning before leaving, to give them time to prepare sufficiently for their 'adventure' ahead. It was truly remarkable what Thor had failed to take into account. If it was down to him then they would set off to face the Sky Serpents with nothing but the clothes on their backs, a sword in hand and their steeds to ride upon. He would have been lamenting the lack of foresight to bring food within the first hour. This left Loki to make a list of items they would need while his brother looked over his shoulder.

"Food, healing stones," the elder prince read, "rope?" He looked at his younger brother. "Why in the Nine Realms would we need rope?"

Loki sighed, amazed that he could be related to such a fool. "We are going to a ravine and you plan to clamber around it—that is why."

"There is a path; I have heard the men in the tavern speak of it."

"Which leads through a mist so thick that even Heimdall's gaze cannot pierce it."

"But, we have the Eye; we'll be able to see."

"And if we are separated? Or it only allows me to see? We don't know how it works. What if one of us needs to wander? What if the road is too damaged to be used? It's not been maintained since before the Sky Serpents came two thousand years ago. Have you taken any of these components into account?"

Thor shook his head. "You worry too much, brother."

Having had enough, Loki dropped his quill, crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. "No rope, no me."

Thor sighed. "Very well, I will find some cord-"

"Not just one among all of us. Make sure we each have a coil," Loki insisted, "and a good length. Bring the thin rope that's been strengthened; we should be able to take twice as much that way."

"You worry too much," his brother grumbled again.

"And you not enough."

"Which is why I have you," Thor tried to flatter his sibling, but Loki only rolled his eyes in return. "Anything else you would like to weigh us down with?"

Loki frowned down at the page. "Make sure we have enough food for at least two days." He picked up his pen again. "…Perhaps a roll of bandages would be prudent. Money, naturally. Flint for fire, blankets…" as he continued on, Thor continued to pull faces.

"So much?" He asked when Loki had finished. "Shall we take horses or a wagon?"

The younger, and infinitely wiser, prince ignored the jibe. "Horses and saddlebags will suffice for the six of us. Now we will have to think of an excuse for Mother and Father, which will also dissuade them from sending guards with us. I think a picnic under the Great Oak should be adequate…"

Despite Thor's complaining, he and his friends did as they were asked, knowing that they had little choice in the matter. The next morning they were in the stable yard at the crack of dawn, ready to go, but not particularly happy about the early start. Sif was still pulling her hair back into a high ponytail when she arrived. They each sent Loki withering glares as they swung up into their saddles, horses prepared by the early morning stable boys. Hogun was the only one who refrained, looking fresher than all the others, bar Loki, combined. Really, they were the ones that had wanted the adventure—Loki was just ensuring that they did it properly.

Fandral looked by the far the worst. His usually perfect hair was mussed and he had apparently left his normal coquettish and loquacious self in bed. Out of all of Thor's friends, Loki found that Fandral usually was the most agreeable. He was always willing to talk and banter, though perhaps only because the blond liked the sound of his own voice. He did have an extraordinary ego even larger than Thor's that was distasteful to Loki, but at least he was easy to talk to. It was almost the reverse with Volstagg. The large boy's genial attitude and good-humour made him hard to dislike, though his appetite went some way towards countering that. However he had nothing to say to Loki and vice versa. The only common ground between them was Thor, not a topic that lent itself to casual conversation.

Loki pulled his cloak tighter against the chill in the spring air, nudging his horse forward to catch up to his brother as they trotted through the city. The streets were quiet, not yet awake but merely stirring. They could see the lanterns from behind closed doors of shops as the owners prepared to open for another day of business while the food stores were already setting out their wares for the servants' early shopping before their masters woke and demanded breakfast. They only stopped once, when they passed a bakery and Thor was enticed by the smells, demanding that they break their fast with fresh sweet bread, and Volstagg heartily agreeing. It only set them back a few minutes, and with clear streets, they made it out of the city within the hour, emerging onto the South Road.

It was busier here, unsurprisingly. There were a few travellers, but most were merchants and farmers making their way to the market with their wares. The Sun had cleared the horizon, chasing away the chill, as Loki watched the world around him move. It was so different from how he'd seen it in the past. Out among the common people, with no guard or royal signal, no one saw the princes of Asgard. They were just a group of friends, possibly wealthy, out for a ride. It gave the young prince a whole new perspective on the world, on the realm outside the palace. He had thought that the lack of attention would annoy him; instead he found it rather thrilling. Here he rode, and not a single person realised that they were passing their princes. In fact, it was Sif who was recognised.

"Little Sif!" The group turned round in their saddles to see a patrol man, a captain if his cloak clasp was anything to go by, trot up to them. He slowed his horse to ride beside the young woman, his patrol riding a respectable distance behind them. "What are you doing out so early this morning? Looking for adventure?"

"Naturally," their friend replied, all ease and pleasantness. Loki doubted she would be if she could hear the slight patronising tone that coloured the man's comment. "One does not become a great warrior and hero by sitting in the parlour and embroidering dresses."

The man chuckled. "Much to your mother's dismay, Little Sif."

The girl winced, changing the subject. "I'm not little anymore, cousin. I'm sixteen."

Ah, so this was Captain Herleif, only son of the Lord Commander and, of course, cousin to their good lady friend. Loki saw the similarities now, a likeness in their features, not close enough to be siblings, but enough for a vague family resemblance. Their hair was exactly the same shade though: that deep, bright blonde that looked like spun gold. That colour made Sif the envy of all the women of court. Hair that, when twisted and played with between her long fingers, got her whatever she wanted… Loki hated it. There was no wit behind it, no intelligence. Achievement should come from clever words and skill. It should come from a sharp mind and smooth words, not pretty locks or long lashes. It was a tactic below the female fighter and demeaned her, not to mention being counter-productive to all she strove for.

Loki believed that it was the Captain's house, or more specifically his father's house, that Sif had been sent to as ward. He supposed that the girl's father had hoped the move would quash the girl's inappropriate interests.

The captain laughed. "You will never be anything but 'little' to me. Even when you are four thousand and are the most feared and bloodthirsty warrior in all the realms."

Sif huffed. "And you will forever be the bane of my existence."

The man's eyes flew wide. "I? Your bane? Who taught you to wield a sword?"

"Oh, so now you are willing to admit it."

"Only outside of earshot of my father and uncle. Though considering all, I believe one day I may proudly declare to all my hand in your rise to glory."

'All things considered?' Ah, yes. Sif's interest in a warrior's path had led her along the same path as Thor. Undoubtedly her family prayed that this friendship would blossom into more. Loki smirked. For that to happen, Thor would have to remember that Sif was a girl and not just another one of his male friends. Besides, the lady was not currently concerned with such matters; her energy was spent on other battles. If she wanted to achieve her dream, she would have to do so with only her own drive to aid her. Sif's determination was admirable, even when she went against her kin's wishes. The strength she displayed was so different to Thor's, but at the same time was never paled by it, not in Loki's opinion. It was just a shame that she was so cantankerous at times.

Sif missed the implication in her cousin's words though, subtle as it was and caught up in the more overt conversation. "You only taught me because you have no brothers and tired of a house full of women."

"Naturally," and he reached over to playfully ruffle her hair, or as much as he could with it tightly bound back. "Aye, little Sif, you are the brother I never had."

The girl pushed away the hand moodily, but the twitch of her lips and the bright sparkle in her eyes betrayed how pleased she was by the comment. When she spoke again, it was to address the 'little' comment. "If I were on Midgard, I would be married by now."

Loki sighed as Herleif threw back his head and laughed. Really, Sif, that was not the best comment to make to prove any of your points.

"I did not know that you were so eager to wed." The lady blushed a furious crimson. "Do not worry, I am sure that father and uncle will be thrilled by this news. Especially if it results in a union between you and a certain-"

Loki did not need to be half as clever as he was to know what Herleif was about to say. Fortunately for them all, he choose that moment to look up and around at her group. As soon as his eyes landed on the two princes looking over their shoulders from the front, he snapped his mouth shut. His eyes widened, in genuine surprise this time, while Loki resisted rolling his. Really, was it such a revelation? He sincerely hoped the captain conducted his patrols with more thought than his conversations.

Captain Herleif hastily bowed as much as he could when mounted, his fist over his heart. "Your Graces, I did not see you. Please accept my sincerest apologies. I meant no disrespect."

"There is nothing to apologise for," Thor brushed aside the apology. "This was far droller."

The anxious look only faded a little, his eyes flittering between his cousin and prince. "I was not alerted that you would be travelling today."

"A small fancy that took me this morning. I wished to ride out."

"So early?" It would appear that the good lady's cousin was not stupid—Loki would give him that much.

"There is nothing like a ride in the crisp spring air."

"No, Highness," but the man seemed no less relaxed, his eyes drifting to their full saddle bags. A little more aware than usual, Thor rushed on.

"Of course, if one is to be up at the crack of dawn to ride, then it seems like a great shame to waste the rest of the day. Do you not agree?"

"A shame indeed," Herleif agreed, though clearly not convinced. "And, if I may be so bold to ask, where are you headed on your latest adventure?"

Thor hesitated, clearly not expecting anyone besides their parents to question them. Loki was tempted to leave him to it, curious to see how badly his brother would handle this. He didn't particularly want to reach their destination, much less embark on their quest itself, but to have it end here simply stole all of their fun away.

"The Great Oak," Loki smoothly cut in. It was an appropriate lie, explaining both their bags and their ropes. The Great Oak was the tallest tree in the realm, as tall as the palace and rumoured to have the most beautiful flowers on the topmost branches. Which was ridiculous—oaks didn't have flowers. So, either the rumour was a lie or the tree was not an oak. No one was sure of this rumour though, as only one man had ever reached the top, and that had been before their father's reign. "We wish to be the first for many millennia to reach its peak and bring back one of the flowers for our mother."

Herleif smiled, but his air did not change much and the manner in which he 'relaxed' was forced. Thor took to the story like a duck to water.

"Yes, we wish to surprise Mother, so you must not tell anyone. Understood, Captain?"

Herleif slowly nodded, knowing when he was being given a command. "Of course, Your Grace, but allow my men and me to accompany you to the Great Oak. The roads can be dangerous and we would not want anything to befall you."

Thor straightened in his saddle. "No need, we…" he shot a glance at his brother.

"As you say," Loki continued, "the roads can be dangerous, and there are many innocent civilians who need your protection. We would not want you to neglect you duties for six young warriors who are more than capable of handling anything that crosses their paths." He threw the man his most charming smile.

The Crown Prince was more effective in ending the conversation when he kicked his horse forward into a trot, leaving the others behind. His friends followed suit, Sif throwing a hasty farewell back to her cousin. Loki let his comrades pass him by, seeing Herleif watch the group go with a worried expression. The younger prince slowed his horse until he was level with the captain, taking pity on the man.

"We will look after your cousin," he tried to reassure the man.

Herleif turned to Loki and gave him a nod of thanks, but emotion still warred over his face—his duty to the royal family, his obedience to his prince's command and his concern for his cousin. The latter won out as he clenched his jaw and turned to the royal.

"May I speak out of turn, Your Grace?" Loki nodded, knowing what question would come next. "You do not plan to ride to the Great Oak, do you?"

Loki smirked. "No, we don't, but who knows? My brother may become rather fond of the idea."

"You ride somewhere dangerous?"

"Most places are dangerous, Captain."

"May I ask where you go?"

The sable haired prince grinned. "That much Thor will not forgive me for revealing." He would, but Loki would have to put up with weeks of sulking from his brother. More to the point, if the captain knew where they were really going, then he would be duty bound to stop them from reaching the gorge. They would not get halfway before they would be summoned back, and it would be centuries before Thor took him along on another one of his expeditions. His brother probably wouldn't talk to him for weeks.

The man looked more anxious than ever. Loki couldn't blame him. His princes and cousin were riding off into danger, not just one prince either, and the eldest boy in the party was only eighteen. Volstagg and Hogun were barely two years Thor's senior. If anything were to happen to the brothers, then their companions would be held as much to blame as the royals themselves.

"Do not fear, good captain. I highly doubt we will reach our destination. My brother is more easily distracted than a magpie. Something will take his fancy along the way, or the 'quest' will be too long and tedious and he will grow bored. We will return home after no more than a picnic and a pleasant ride. Who knows, as we reach the carfax, he may decide that the Great Oak is far more appealing."

Loki nudged his horse forward, to catch up with the others, leaving behind Captain Herleif, who looked significantly more troubled than he had at the beginning of the conversation.

(&amp;)

As the morning drew on, the spring chill lifted from the air to be replaced by pleasant warmth, stirred by the occasional breeze that prevented the day from becoming too hot. The main road had been easy and swift to travel on, taking them a quarter of the way in a little over an hour, but they soon turned off onto a smaller road that would take them east northeast. They passed the crossroads that they could have taken to the Great Oak after four leagues, without Thor so much as hinting that he'd remembered their cover story. It was a little too much to hope for, but there was still time for the prince to lose interest. In the meantime, Loki was enjoying the company and banter of the group as they travelled down increasingly neglected roads. With farmlands and meadows as far as the eye could see, Thor was free to talk as loudly as he liked about their plans. Not that anything ever stopped him anyway; if Thor wanted to discuss something, he did. He rode at their head, between Sif and Fandral, fantasising about all the glory that would await them when they returned home victorious. Just behind him, Volstagg would add his own details to the spiel while, at the back, Loki and Hogun listened in silence.

"And titles," Volstagg threw in. "We shall have titles. 'Thor the Mighty!'"

Thor grinned, looking pleased with himself. Loki merely rolled his eyes. Sif was quick to rush in to make her opinion known. "No, it would be 'Thor the Sky Serpent Slayer.'"

"That is rather a mouthful," Fandral objected. "'Thor Serpent Slayer' has a better sound to it, do you not agree?"

Loki's brother pulled a face. "That sounds tame. 'Sky Serpent Slayer' has a grand ring to it." Loki didn't dare point out that there was no guarantee that Thor would be the one to slay the creature, if they even reached the valley and if they encountered a serpent at all. "But what of you, my friends?"

"I am already 'Fandral the Dashing,' to the ladies at least." There was that inflated ego again.

Sif snorted. "That is not what I hear them call you."

"I did not want to seem too arrogant with 'Fandral the Irresistible.'"

"It did begin with an 'I,' but it most certainly was not 'irresistible.'"

A look of shock and horror crossed Fandral's face, far too dramatic for it to be sincere. "Why, my good Lady Sif, you wound me with your words."

The friends laughed in good humour, Fandral's indignation slipping away as he was unable to maintain the act.

"What about me?" Volstagg asked.

"'Volstagg the Strong,'" Thor declared.

"Or 'the Stout,'" Sif suggested, enjoying this new game.

"'The Rock,'" Fandral's more poetic suggestion came, and Loki could no longer resist his own contribution.

"'Volstagg the Barathrum.'"

The heavy youth thought for a moment before trying the name out on his tongue, his voice rumbling dramatically in a manner that not even Thor could manage yet. "'Volstagg the Barathrum'… I like it!"

"It means 'insatiable' or 'pit,'" Hogun informed them, his tone so level that Loki could not tell if he disapproved of his suggestion or not.

Thor certainly didn't, as he threw his head back and laughed. "That is apt." He turned back to his sibling, beaming with approval. "Well played, brother."

Loki could have sworn that there was a little relief in those blue eyes as well, but before he could think too deeply on it, Fandral chuckled. "You cannot deny that it is a most accurate description of you."

Volstagg grinned. "Alas, I cannot, and I challenge anyone who would say otherwise. No one can match my hunger. Perhaps I should even take the name now."

Sif looked back to Loki, the barest hint of a sneer in her manner. "And what shall we call you? 'Loki the Reader'?"

The younger prince frowned at her in return. If the other boys, Volstagg included, took his comment in good humour, then why should she not?

Thor was watching him thoughtfully. "'Loki the Sharp.'"

Loki smiled back at his brother, thankful that the older boy simply ignored the girl's jab, or did not realise that it was one. He wasn't in the mood to hear his brother defend him unnecessarily. He inclined his head a little. "Thank you, but I am perfectly content with Loki Odinson."

"Then what of Hogun?" Thor rushed on.

"'Hogun the Silent,' of course," Fandral brushed aside the question. "What I am more curious to know is what we should call Sif." He grinned at his friend. "'Sif the Stringent'?"

"'Sif the Swift' more like. I am twice as fast as any of you."

"Ha, you have been dreaming again."

"You think so?" She suddenly kicked her horse into a gallop, calling over her shoulder, "Beat me across the bridge then!"

Fandral nudged his horse into action with a shout, Thor following after them, unable to resist a challenge, even if it had not been issued to him. While Volstagg sped up to a trot, he did not seriously take part, but rather shouted encouragement to his friends. Loki grinned as he shook his head. This certainly was more entertaining than his books. He could see why Thor had taken to spending his weekends on his 'adventures' if this was what it was like. Maybe it was time for him to join his brother more.

When Thor first started venturing away from home, Loki had been relieved at the peace his brother's absence granted him. With no Thor constantly by his side chattering and dragging him off to one place or another, he had been free to read all he liked and do what he wanted. He had more time to practice his magic, a skill that Thor failed to appreciate sufficiently, and his finesse with the art had greatly increased over the last couple of years. When he realised what this peace was costing him though, he tried to join them, only to be told unequivocally that he was too young and that he should stay with his books. More recently, Loki had simply been out of place amongst the close rapport of the group, leaving him feeling isolated and increasingly distant from his brother. Better to hide away with his own interests and see his brother when he had him to himself. No friends, no boredom from dull and idiotic subjects, just him and his brother. Now though, he could see what drew Thor; he could see the potential fun with this group.

"Is it always like this?" He asked, relieved that his question came out sounding amused rather than wistful. He didn't take his eyes off the race, watching Sif comfortably in the lead.

"More or less," Hogun admitted.

Loki turned and flashed him a grin. "If I had known then I would have joined you on one of your 'adventures' before now." Hogun's expression remained carefully blank—too blank. "What is it?"

"Nothing. We should catch the others before they get too far ahead."

Loki matched the other boy's trot, but didn't drop the subject, careful not to scramble his words as he rose and fell with the motion of the horse. "That's a sure sign that I want to know."

Hogun looked over at him before turning his eyes back to the road. "When I suggested that we ask you, I did not think you would join us."

The young prince scowled. "Just because I read does not mean that I do not enjoy more active pastimes. I welcome being out as much as the next man."

"I meant no offense. I merely thought that you-"

"Would rather spend my time with books than my brother?" he finished. "Would be too scared to join you?"

"I would have said, 'had more sense than this.'"

"Oh," was all Loki managed, feeling more than a little embarrassed at his harsh tone. There was no reason to jump on the older boy when he had never shown hostility to him. Not per se, that was. Hogun barely said anything to him, or to most people, so it was hard for Loki to gage what he thought of most things, which made it hard in turn for the prince to know how to judge the elder boy. Though it was clear that he liked Thor and the others; Loki didn't measure Hogun as the kind of person to spend time with people that he disliked. Though what the stoic boy thought of Loki was anyone's guess. "If I walked away every time my brother had an idiotic plan, then I would never see him again. Though, I suspect that I am here for the same reason that you didn't object to this 'quest.'"

Hogun looked at him sideways, questioning enough for Loki to know that he should continue. The prince nearly sighed. Really, they were almost opposites, though not in the manner that he and Thor were. Hogun did not like to use words, while Loki did not like to let actions or anything else speak for him when he could do that perfectly well himself. Hogun would never use two words when one would suffice, and Loki never used two when he could use ten. The older boy's reticence was not due to lack of ability or astuteness; from what he had seen, Loki was certain the other boy had a brain and no deficiency in common sense. In fact, he seemed to be the sensible one in Thor's little band, and for that Loki had to give him a least a little respect.

"You and I both know that Thor will not see this to the end. He will become distracted by one thing or another along the way and run off to chase that instead." It had made playing games together very frustrating for Loki when they were young. They would go from playing Ice War to tree climbing in a heartbeat and then to brick stacking and finally back to war games. "That, or he will grow tired of the long journey and decide that we should run off on another 'adventure.' My brother does not have what one would call a substantive attention span. He has more zeal than dedication."

Hogun nodded, but his words were not so agreeable. "I think that we may both be mistaken this time."

Loki shrugged, ignoring the echo of his mother scolding him for doing so. "Then he will grow bored in the valley. Five and twenty minutes of limited vision and he will be dejected and demand that we leave again."

"Perhaps," Hogun's tone implied that he thought otherwise.

"I am certain. In the meantime, I intend to make good use of this trip away from a host of guards and enjoy our small outing."

"Loki! Hogun!" Thor shouted from what was clearly the finish line of their short race. "Have you fallen asleep? Hurry, or it will be midnight before we reach the valley. Not that it will make much difference to our quest," he added with a laugh.

Loki shot Hogun a grin. "Best do as he says. We do not want to upset Thor the Mighty."

* * *

A/N: Thank you very much everyone who fav'ed ad followed the story last chapter. Extra thank you to everyone who commented :D

the joker: Your question has most probably been answered in the chapter already, but no, this isn't a Thor/Sif fic. It isn't anti-Thor/Sif, it's just before either of them has anything like that on their minds. Not giving too much away, there really isn't that much room for it in this fic. However you are free to interpret her actions, and later PoV, as the beginning of more romantic feelings if you wish :). Sorry if this disappoints.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The Mist started to appear half a league from the valley itself, clinging to the road. Loki nattered on about it, something about it being obvious why the surrounding area of the valley blurred Heimdall's vision if the Mist spilled over the edge to the forest that lined it. Thor didn't care, instead he grinned. This was more like it. While sunshine and warmth was all very good for the beginning of their quest, it was not what legends where built on. This was more like the settings of epic tales belted out in the feasting halls and around campfires. This is what he needed for his own heroic story. This was very good indeed.

The Mist was not particularly deep or thick where they rode. If he stood then it would barely cover his foot and was more like wisps of candle smoke. A lot of candle smoke. As if a hundred had been put out at once and the smoke had sunk to the floor. The forest around them was quieter than it had any right to be. Though Loki argued it was still rather than quiet, Thor hardly saw the difference nor how it truly mattered. The trees grew close together, blocking out a good deal of the sun that had now reached its zenith, but they had partly been cleared centuries ago to make way for a road, the only space with a clear view of the sky. It was generous to call it a road. The paving was cracked, grass and flowers peeking through and fracturing the smooth surface of the tough Asgardian craftsmanship. Thor even passed several small trees fighting to grow through the stone. It had clearly stopped being maintained decades ago, most likely in the hopes that it would discourage would-be adventurers. The young prince smirked to himself. No such luck of that on this occasion. If anything, it fuelled his passion. The stage was set for him to take glorious victory. He would return a true hero and Prince of Asgard. He would achieve what most grown men couldn't and do it before he had come of age. Nothing would stop him, and he would do it with his friends and brother by his side.

He turned, grinning, to look back at said brother. Loki was looking round at the forest with a slight frown in place, his eyes continuously drawn to the ground. He was clueless as to what his sibling was thinking, but he was glad he was here. The Eye aside, it was high time his little brother joined them on an adventure. High time he joined Thor on one that didn't involve scurrying around the palace halls. His mother usually kept such a tight rein on Loki. It had taken three full hours to convince her that they did not need a single escort for a picnic under the Great Oak, but after today there would be no more objections. There was no way there could be.

Loki looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, are you smirking at?"

The elder brother beamed brighter. "This will be a glorious day, brother."

The younger boy looked away. "If you insist."

Thor's smile disappeared at the reaction, but before he could inquire, Hogun spoke up. "The end approaches."

Sure enough, some twenty metres away, the trees suddenly broke away and the road took a sharp turn left. Thor nudged his horse into a trot, to reach the end quicker and spy their destination. While the trees on the other end grew to the very edge, there was a thin band on their side that the path ran down, more broken than ever before. The occasional tree grew over the side and in some places they tore up the paving, while in other areas the vegetation regressed further away from the road. That wasn't what caught Thor's attention though; all he had eyes for was the Mist Valley.

Loki claimed that 'valley' wasn't the most accurate term for it, and Thor felt that he knew why. Chasm—that would do it far more justice. 'Valley' brought to mind gentle slopes through which a calm river meandered through the foothills. It recalled green mounds and golden sunshine overlooking grazing livestock and isolated farm cottages dotting the slope. This however…

It was as if Father had taken up a great sword of awesome power and sliced down through to Yggdrasil's roots, dragging it jaggedly along to leave a deep gaping wound in its wake. Mist rolled over the lip in a manner that reminded him of water boiling over a pan. The mist was not so thick at the surface that he could see nothing else, but beyond a score of metres or so, all he could make out were vague shadows and beyond that, solid whiteness. Around him the world seemed dark and grey, despite the trees that surrounded them. It was remarkable, and for the first time, Thor felt a tiny niggle of doubt enter his heart as he guided his horse along the canyon.

"What now, Thor?"

At Sif's question, the prince shoved away the little doubt like the childish nuisance it was. He was Thor, crown prince of Asgard, the mightiest of all the realms! He would not scurry back home with his tail between his legs, no matter how thick the Mist seemed down there. He brought his horse to a sharp halt, spinning it round to face his friends.

"We find the Valley Road," he boldly declared. "It cannot be difficult."

"Finding a road that has been abandoned for centuries," he caught Loki mumble. "Of course, what could be simpler?"

Had Loki been beside him, he would have given his brother a hearty slap on the back. "Take heart, little brother, we will find the path soon and with it, our glory."

The elder prince reached down to the pouch at his hip, tugging at the drawstrings. He reached in and pulled out the Sorcerer's Eye—a glass ball that sat quite comfortably in his palm, fingers curling round so that it fit perfectly. It had a greenish tinge to it, but for the black spot in the middle that diffused in the green like ink on paper. He grinned at the key to his honour. He threw it up in the air and caught it in the same hand. He did it again, this time plucking it from the air before it fell again.

"If you drop it," Loki drawled, "and it falls over the edge, you can go down and find it on your own."

Thor laughed. "You worry too much. I will not-"

His horse shrieked. That was the only warning he got, and it wasn't much as at what seemed like the same moment the world became a blur. It only lasted a second before his back slammed into something hard. He blinked stupidly, cries reaching him, and he stared up at the sky bemused. He'd been thrown from his horse. Strange, that hadn't happened since he was ten. The horse must have reared and with one hand…

Remembering the borrowed treasure, Thor scrambled to his hands and knees. The Eye! He needed to find it. He was a dead man if Father found out about it. His eyes frantically scanned the grass near him, ignoring the commotion and the sudden wind that tossed his hair into his eyes. He impatiently brushed the locks away. There it was, sitting innocently in the dirt twelve feet away. In a frenzy of limbs, he was on his feet again.

"Thor! Get back!"

The prince ignored Fandral's shout, his attention locked onto the stone before him. Just three more feet. As soon as he was close enough to bend down and scoop it up, fingers brushing against the surface, a hand grabbed the back of his tunic and pulled him hard. He lost his balance and tumbled back onto his assailant—Volstagg, judging from the soft and expansive body mass. Thor felt his toe strike something, and he caught sight of the Eye rolling towards the mouth of the abyss. He made to rise again, only to be pulled back down.

"Volstagg, release me at once!" He shouted out the command just as another wind stirred the air. The large boy didn't answer with words, instead he placed his two large hands on either side of Thor's face and turned it up and forwards. The complaint in his throat dried and shriveled up. He stared wide eyed at the Sky Serpent rising high above them. He froze, much to his later shame, unable to take his eyes off the behemoth, the end of its body still rushing through the space where he had stood not four seconds ago. It disturbed the air and a small part of his mind realised that this had been the 'wind' that he had felt earlier. The larger part of his mind, however, was locked onto the serpent above him.

Serpent was an accurate term. He had thought that these creatures were dragons—it was simply how his mind had translated the stories and rumours into pictures—but there was no better description. It was a snake: a giant, flying snake. It had no arms, no legs and no wings, just a head that melded seamlessly with its tail. He had no idea how it flew—magic no doubt. The Mist seemed come from the fiend itself, rolling thinly off the skin and escaping from the mouth like puffs of steam on a cold winter's morning. It was all white but for two small, milky, black eyes that reminded Thor of a blind man's. He supposed the creature would have little need for sight. The beast's nostrils were huge though, and they flared as it tried to find prey, twisting its head around. A long forked tongue flickered out to taste the air. Its face turned, stopping when its sightless eyes fell on the prone prince and his friend. The jaw opened, revealing two lines of sharp teeth taller than Thor.

"Thor, you great oaf, MOVE!"

He was jerked to reality by Loki's voice and he shot to his feet with Volstagg half running, half falling backwards to get out of the way when the snake rushed forward. The horrendous jaws snapped shut on thin air and it hissed, twisting before brushing the ground. It snapped its head up to its prey again, hovering at their height, the rest of the body coiling in the air. Trees groaned as the huge scales pressed against them, threatening to topple them over. The tongue darted out once more.

His sword. Thor reached for his sword before realising that it was still on his horse. His eyes darted round, finding his horse was held by Hogun, who was barely still seated on his own panicking steed while trying and failing to control Thor's frantic horse as well. Sif and Fandral were covered in dirt, their mounts nowhere in sight. Loki, however, looked as impeccable as ever, his riderless mare relatively passive on the edge of the clearing. The younger prince rushed to Thor, shoving his brother out of the way. One arm shot forward, releasing a knife. It found its mark, burying itself deep in the serpent's nose. It was quickly followed by another. The beast shrieked, pulling back into the air. Rivulets of blood trickled down to the monster's mouth. The blood bubbled and foamed every time the creature took a breath, but it looked more annoyed than injured. Thor looked to his sibling, reluctantly admitting to himself that he was impressed. Loki muttered something under his breath, jerking his hand out as if to catch something.

The serpent shrieked again, and looking closely, Thor could see that the knife was returning to Loki's palm, dragging through the behemoth's flesh as it did so. The dagger was finally free, leaving a deep tear through the nose, blood gushing out now. His little brother didn't bother summoning the other blade, immediately throwing the one in his hand with another muttered spell. Thor could only assume it was some kind of accuracy spell as the dagger shot straight into the centre of the eye. The cry the beast let out was enough to force Thor to cover his ears. Finally having enough, the Sky Serpent turned tail and disappeared to whence it came.

A laugh escaped Thor; he couldn't help it, but soon his friends joined in. They'd survived an attack from the feared predators of the valley and had done so with barely a scratch. The fear from seconds ago evaporated in his euphoria. If this was all these so-called mighty creatures had to offer, then this would be easier than he had thought. The next one they encountered would not be so lucky. Loki was the only one who did not seem exhilarated.

"You are a thrice damned fool," his younger brother hissed. "Now where is the Sorcerer's Eye?" The laugh melted away from Thor as the words sunk in. Loki looked at him nervously. "Thor, brother, where is it?"

The elder prince turned and pointed to the milky abyss.

(&amp;)

Thor peered over the edge, looking down to the bottom of the gorge—or at least he tried to. The Mist from the Sky Serpents prevented him seeing anything more than shadows and shapes. How did the damn creatures excrete so much fog? It made the quest a challenge though, one worthy of being his first great tale of valour.

"This will be difficult, my friends," the golden prince declared, perhaps edging a little on the melodramatic, "but we can do it."

"Are you mad, brother?" He turned to see Loki staring at him as if he truly believed he was. Thor had thought that this was just what his brother would enjoy, though perhaps he had misjudged and Loki was a little too young for this after all.

"Of course not," the elder brother replied. "The stone fell down there and so we must follow it."

Loki stepped up to the edge of the crevasse beside his sibling and jabbed a finger towards the murky depths. "Do you see that? How do you propose to find it? Not even Heimdall's gaze can penetrate The Mist! Have you forgotten the Sky Serpents? That creature that attacked us not fifteen minutes ago? They do not need sight to hunt us; we would be sitting ducks if we went down there, waiting to be picked off."

Fandral grinned roguishly across at the dark haired boy. "Scared of a few little Sky Serpents?"

Loki looked as if he was biting back the reply of, 'Of course I am, idiots,' but instead he settled for something more dignified. "As we have just seen, they are as long as an archery range. I would hardly call them 'little.'"

Sif beamed. "That will simply make our success more glorious." She took a step towards the young boy. "Or are you too cowardly to desire any glory?"

Loki stepped back onto the very edge of the cliff, but suddenly stopped as he remembered his position.

"No, I am simply not stupid to the point of being suicidal," he hissed in reply. "That creature nearly killed us all. Have you forgotten that or are you too dimwitted to realise it? If I had not acted when I did then Thor and Volstagg would be dead at this very moment, and that was when the creature was before us as clear as day. Without the Eye, we have no way of seeing through The Mist. How can we find a needle in a haystack if we cannot even see the stable, nay, the farm? We are blind while our would-be-predators could snap us up as easily as if they were hunting under the midday sun. We will not survive if we go down there. You will get us all killed."

"He is right," Hogun admitted, causing them all to turn. He was tying the horses to a nearby branch, the ones that he had managed to find. Fandral's steed was still missing, half of their food and blankets along with it.

"You too, friend!" Thor exclaimed in dismay. He would admit that Hogun was the most likely to side with Loki, but his comrade had never walked away from a challenge just because it seemed hard.

"Without a means to see through The Mist, the cause is as good as lost. We would be more likely to walk off the edge of the cliff than to die in battle. There is no glory in that."

"But we must retrieve the stone," Thor objected. "What do you suggest we do instead?"

Hogun was silent, unable to think of a fitting solution.

"Simple, we return home and tell father."

Thor turned round at Loki's suggestion. "No," came his firm reply. "We are not returning home empty-handed to simply tell father that we have lost one of his treasures."

Loki took half a step towards his brother and placed a hand on one of his strong arms. "We have no choice, brother. We cannot find the Eye ourselves, so we must return and admit the truth. He will know what to do."

Thor brushed off the hand sharply, hardly believing what he was hearing and from Loki of all people. His brother always appeared to pull excuses and plans from nowhere to try to escape blame. "Father does not know we have the Sorcerer's Eye. We cannot return and confess that not only did we steal the stone from the vault, but we have lost it in the depths of The Mist. He will be furious."

"Better that we chance our father's anger than face a certain and pointless death, to be never seen or heard from again," his younger brother snapped.

"You are simply being a coward," the elder boy growled.

"I am not the one who is too scared to go home to his father, like a child who was caught stealing from the kitchens." Loki was all but shouting now.

"I am not scared!" Thor yelled back, sounding more like a child than he cared to admit. He tried to think of a way to justify himself, but his brother quickly moved on, grabbing the front of the older boy's tunic.

"Then return home, face the consequences of your actions and stop acting like a spoilt child. Know when you are beaten and let Father deal with this."

Thor shoved Loki away from him, forcing the younger boy to take a step back in an attempt to steady himself.

"I DO…not…need…" The shout died on his lips as he gazed at his brother in utter confusion. He did not understand why Loki had suddenly gone white as death or why he was waving his arms like that, as if he was trying to find his balance. It only lasted a second though, and then Loki was gone. He disappeared into thin air.

Thor blinked as he waited for his head catch up with his body, which seemed to have seized up in fear, but his mind could not understand why. He heard Sif cry out, perhaps his other friends too, and his stomach churned.

Then it hit him. It was as if someone had reached for a great hammer and struck him in the face to beat the obvious into his head. His legs crumpled underneath him and he fell to his knees. Leaning over the cliff he screamed his brother's name into the ravine, but the younger boy had already been swallowed by The Mist. Loki's name frantically tore from his throat again, while he prayed his brother would call back to him. When nothing came, his breath hitched with the painful truth.

He had, quite literally, pushed his brother over the edge.

* * *

**A/N:** And we leave it on a cliff hanger... Sorry, couldn't resist saying that.

You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to posting this chapter. :D Though, anyone who also read "Fragile" probably saw this one coming.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait guys. My fault. Real life walked up to me and dumped a load of stuff in my lap with a cheery 'there you go!' So, as I'm aiming for a weekly update with this fic, I was just going to wait until Tuesday to post this up and just miss a week. However, as I got such a good response from the last chapter I decided to post this up now instead. So, enjoy!

**Chapter 4**

It had taken Loki a second or two to comprehend what was happening to him, but as Thor's face vanished from his sight, the realisation struck hard. He was falling. Down through the Mist he went as it rapidly became denser and denser until he was surrounded by nothing but solid white. It was a most peculiar sensation, to feel oneself falling but see nothing change.

His initial reaction was blank panic. He would have said blind panic, but there wasn't anything there inside him, just a barren mind and an empty soul. He was falling to his demise and there was nothing he could do about it. Any second now he would slam into a ledge or a floor and then he would meet his death. He wouldn't just depart from this life, but do so horribly and painfully. He was too young, his body too weak to survive this fall. Maybe he would have had a chance if he were even just a couple of years older. It might have been enough time for his body to fortify itself to something resembling its adult strength. Instead he would be deceased by the tender age of fourteen, and worst of all he was going to perish over a stupid stone.

Reality hit, knocking his mind into action and triggering a million thoughts and recollections to flash through his head as his brain desperately searched for a solution, anything to rescue him from his rapidly approaching doom. Memories slipped across his consciousness quicker than the air rushed past his face, barely staying long enough for him to acknowledge they were there before disappearing faster than a blink of an eye. Thor stealing his apple tart, trying to climb the stairs to the throne when he could barely walk, tripping over a bench as he chased Thor, his first magic—

His eyes snapped open. Magic! Of course, how could he have been so doltish? His sorcery could save him. A spell. He needed some manner of enchantment, but at that moment he couldn't think of a single one that he knew. A million that he didn't know flashed through his mind, from shape shifting to flying. Useless, that's what they all were, completely and utterly useless. Why did his infamous rapid intellect have to fail him now of all times? No, no, no. He had to think outside the norm: if he couldn't stop his fall, then he had to think of a way to survive it. He needed a strong body, as sturdy as his father's, as unyielding as steel, and yet all he had was a spell he'd used when sparring with Thor. It wasn't much, just a shield of sorts that protected him from the brunt of his brother's blows. However, perhaps with plenty of magic infused over him and with enough layers, he would survive. He had to try. It had to work, otherwise he would perish.

Fighting back terror, his mind grasped at the spell and cast it. It came out muddled and confused. His brain jumbled it together into a horrific mess that did nothing. He gasped out a sob. He didn't want to die. He tried again, his sorcery stuttering in his head, but there was a faint wave over his body as the enchantment washed through him. His vision would have blurred if the tears weren't immediately whisked away by the wind. Another sniffle broke free and he tried again. The effect was a little stronger this time. He wasn't going to die. Please don't let him die. Not now. He wanted to live. He did it again, for the third time, this time throwing everything he had behind it. Somehow he got it right and as he exhaled he felt the charm shoot through him. His breath hitched. It wouldn't be enough. He needed-

Like a hammer striking an anvil, Loki hit the rock and shattered.

(&amp;)

Thor stared down at the fog, his mouth slightly open as he tried not to panic. He felt as if someone had reached inside of him and taken a firm grasp of his innards, squeezing and twisting as tightly as they could. He felt sick. He wanted to vomit, and his short, shallow breaths were not helping to still his stomach. He tried to inhale deeply and calmly, but the air never seemed to reach his lungs. His heart felt as if it were shrivelling up, and he caught a sob in his throat before it could escape.

He'd pushed his own little brother off a cliff into Hel knows what. He couldn't even begin to guess where he had fallen—if it had been a straight drop or…

He screwed his eyes shut. Loki was alive. He was alive because he had to be. This wasn't meant to happen. This wasn't how legends unfolded. The champion never shoved their companions into a milky abyss. They were majestic and noble; they never made such grievous mistakes, so this couldn't be happening. He was a hero and this quest was supposed to prove that, not that he was a wicked fiend.

A soft hand landing on his shoulder jerked him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Sif hovering beside him. She gazed down at him with pity that was tainted with fear. She opened her mouth, but before she could say a thing, he heard himself blurt out his thoughts.

"He is alive." The pity in her eyes overthrew her fear, and it annoyed him. He spun round to sit on his backside so that he could see his male friends instead. "He is of Asgard, not some fragile mortal. He would not be killed by something so trivial."

They looked disturbingly pale, especially Volstagg, who looked to be on the verge of being violently sick. They would not… could not think….

Hogun stepped forward, but it was Fandral who spoke, his tone cautious.

"Thor, he fell into the gorge. He may be of Asgard, but he is only fourteen."

"But… he is an Odinson. He is my brother," he couldn't keep the plea from his voice. When no one seemed to believe him, he clenched his teeth, his anger surging forward, his fists balling, and he firmly said, "He is not dead."

"It is possible," Hogun admitted slowly. It was as if his friend had confirmed what he already knew, that he had not slain his brother. The mere idea was ludicrous. His body relaxed, his heart not beating quite so furiously, allowing a watery smile to spread across his face. He rolled to his feet.

"Then we must search for him."

His comrades didn't move, looking between themselves awkwardly, and his confidence slipped a little. Volstagg shifted on his feet, his voice wary.

"I think that perhaps Loki was right."

"What do you mean?"

Hogun spoke. "It is time we returned home and admitted what has happened to the Allfather."

The prince shook his head. "No."

"Thor—" Sif gently tried to sway his mind, but he cut her off.

"No. We cannot return home. Loki needs our help."

"This has gone beyond us," Fandral pointed out, trying to make his prince see reason.

"We can find him," Thor's tone was strong, but a little tremor snuck in underneath it. "You were prepared to go down to search for the stone, why not Loki? Finding him will be no more difficult."

"With The Eye, we would have been able to see after we found it. With Loki we must not only find him, but also find our way back through The Mist." Hogun's logic was sound, but Thor shook his head. "The stone's life is not in danger. Loki's is."

"No—if we can find him then we can bring him back." They could do it, he was sure.

"And what if we do more harm than good?" Sif asked. "Trying to rescue him rather than returning for help may simply make his situation worse." She rested a hand on his bicep. "Your brother requires more help than we can give him. He needs people who can find and heal him; we must return to Asgard if we wish to save him. You are the bravest man I know, but now is not the time for that."

Fear was creeping into his gut, clawing away at the rational part of his brain. They had to go back, but even if they did, it had taken them nearly six hours to get to the Mist Valley. It could be done in less, but even so, it would still take time to speak to his father, gather men and return. They could not possibly get back here before nightfall. How could he leave Loki alone for that time?

"I cannot leave him here." He would never be able to look at his brother again if he ran home and left him down the gorge to die, broken and vulnerable.

"It would do no good to stand here and do nothing," Hogun tried to argue. "All this will achieve is depriving Asgard of both its princes."

"I will not abandon him," his voice became firm as he finally made up his mind. He knew what he had to do. He strode forward to the horses.

"Leaving him here is his best chance." Fandral almost sounded exasperated. "You must see that. You cannot ignore that out of fear of your father's wrath."

"I do not fear my father's wrath," Thor said, though he knew that was more true than he cared to admit. "Some must return to Asgard City, but not all of us do."

He let his words sink in as he tugged at the clasp fastening a coil of rope to Sif's saddle. Hogun stepped next to him as he released the fastening and made his way round to the cord on the other side of the saddle.

"If he is seriously injured, then there will be nothing we can do. Moving him may worsen the injuries."

"Perhaps, but at least he will not be alone. We can protect him from the creatures of the valley. If we find him, then we can guide my father to him. They will be able to reach and help him sooner." He could see that Hogun was being swayed by his argument. "We would only need one person to ride back, the lands are safe, and a lone rider would not be in danger." He turned round to face all of them. "I will not force any of you to remain or follow me—if you want to return, then you are free to do so."

Sif snorted. "You speak as if we could desert you anymore than you could your brother. We will stand by your side."

Thor smiled at her. "Thank you, friends, but one of us must return."

The group was still for a moment before Volstagg spoke up. "If one must, then I will go."

"Thank you, but I feel you would be of better use here. You are the strongest of us, after myself of course, and I can think of no one I would rather have watch over our ropes as we descend into the depths of the ravine. I need to you here to guard us from above and help pull us up if need be."

The large boy nodded and Thor couldn't help but notice that he looked more than a little relieved. Whether it was from being saved from returning and facing the Allfather or from scaling into the gorge, he did not know. Perhaps it was a little of both.

No one spoke. He hoped one of his friends would volunteer, but not a single noise was made. His eyes swept round the group, and when they fell on Sif, the girl folded her arms and shook her head.

"No. I will follow you."

"Sif, there is no better rider amongst us nor anyone who knows the palace grounds better, not to mention that you are a lady of a most respected house. You can reach my father quicker than Hogun or Fandral. If you take the message, then I will be free in the knowledge that it will reach my father safely and swiftly."

She was clearly not happy, her jaw a little too tight and her fists clenched, but she nodded. "If that is what you wish."

"It is," he replied, working the second rope loose. "Though I ask one more small favour: do not leave this instant—give me some time to find Loki."

"The sooner she leaves the sooner she can bring help," Hogun reminded him.

"I know, but we do not know where my brother fell. There is no point sending father into a frenzy only to find Loki no more than a dozen metres down with nothing but a few scrapes and bruises. I do not imagine Father would be happy to be called out all the way here for that."

"If he only has a few scrapes and bruises then why did he not answer your call?"

"You know how he likes to jest."

"This would go beyond a jest, even for Loki."

"Then maybe he hit his head, or feels dizzy or…," he searched for another reasonable explanation, but none came to mind. Not willing to accept defeat, he turned back to Sif. "An hour is all I ask. If I have not returned by then, then take my horse—Thindel is the best steed we have—and ride as fast as you can to the city. Just give me an hour to find my brother. I know you are all as eager as I am to avoid my father's ire."

The following silence confirmed his statement.

"Half an hour," she haggled. "If he has dropped that far, then he will need more assistance than we can provide."

He didn't like it, but what choice did he have? "Fine, but you must not leave before then."

Fandral laughed. "You win, Thor. Sif will wait before riding out and Volstagg will guard us from above, which I suppose means that Hogun and I are left to accompany you into the depths of Hel."

"I hope we do not have to travel that far," the prince replied.

(&amp;)

Thor could not have been gladder that Loki had made them bring plenty of rope. At the time, he had thought his brother was being absurd, but now, as he watched Hogun tie and secure the cord round him into an impromptu harness, he was relieved that he had listened to his little brother. With six coils and only three of them descending into the abyss, they had twice as much leeway. He didn't think about what they would do when they ran out, he would just have to make sure that he found Loki before that. The ropes had been carried on Hogun, Volstagg and Sif's saddles, fortunate for them as Fandral's horse was still nowhere to be seen. However, the missing horse meant that they only had a bag of dried meats for food. Learning from this mistake, Hogun, Fandral and he had divided their supplies evenly between them, making sure Sif had a little as well. Each carried a bag, inside which were two healing stones, some food, a knife and a blanket. Thor had taken the only roll of bandages they— Loki had thought to bring.

Hogun finished his knot and, as with all the other bonds, Thor tested it. Satisfied that it would hold, he looked back up at his friends, each one watching him nervously.

"There is still time to turn back," Volstagg assured him. "Not one of us will think any less of you if you do."

Thor could see that they all hoped he would do this, even if they remained silent. They would follow him—he knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt—but that didn't mean that they were looking forward to the path ahead. Perhaps he would have turned back if it were anyone but Loki. He could not desert his brother after such a grave trespass against him. Even without that on his shoulders, he wouldn't have left. He had been the one to persuade his brother to join them, and he had been the one to push him off the cliff. Loki was his responsibility. It was his duty to rescue his brother and make amends.

That wasn't all though, was it? Thor tried to push away the snide little voice that sounded too much like Loki. He was scared. If he had thought he was in trouble for losing the stone to the valley, it was nothing in comparison to how much trouble he would be in now. He would rather take his chance in the Mist Valley than stand before his father and admit that not only had he taken his little brother on an adventure to one of the most dangerous places in the realm, but in the heat of anger he had also shoved Loki into the chasm. Father would find out about it; Thor knew he would. Lying was Loki's gift, not his. At least this way he could balance his wrong with a right. His love for his brother and fear of his father's wrath led him to one conclusion.

"No, my friends. I must do this."

"Then we shall follow." Fandral rested a hand on his shoulder to lend his support. The gesture was much appreciated.

"Thank you." He turned to Sif. "Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," she agreed.

Giving one last look at the tree to which their ropes were secured, he turned to the gorge. He knew without looking that Fandral and Hogun followed. Crouching down, he started to lower himself over the edge.

"Good luck."

He looked up at Sif's rushed exclamation. She clutched her short sword hanging from her belt, her knuckles white, and beside her Volstagg wrung his hands, obviously wishing that none of this was happening. He wasn't alone. Hoping to put them both at ease, he flashed them the biggest and brightest grin he could.

"I will return shortly with my brother and then we can put this whole incident behind us."

He quickly ducked below the brink, not wishing to see their expressions shift. He couldn't see the doubt in their eyes, not now. He needed to cling to his hope and his self-assurance that this was the right thing to do. Loki was alive down there, and Thor would be the one to find him and bring him back home. He had to.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**Firstly, I'd like to apologise for taking so long with this chapter. I was supposed to get it up weeks ago, but had some problems with it that set it all back. I really am very sorry. :(

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Sif paced around the clearing, her short sword in hand and ready in case they had another unwelcome visit from the valley's residents. The weapon gave her comfort as well. It made her feel as if she weren't useless, despite being stuck topside with nothing to do but wait. She ignored the echo of her cousin's voice saying that any man, or woman for that matter, who found strength through arms was a weak individual. It wasn't the source of her courage, it was… it was… She frowned to herself and sheathed the blade, her heart beating slightly faster when she did. There, she didn't need her sword drawn.

She moved around the small space, unable to sit still like Volstagg. She had tried to stay still, taking a seat beside her large friend, but her restless energy had pushed her to her feet within a minute. If she was still for too long then her worry would eat away at her until she was consumed with it. Moving was the only option. Whether it was checking on the remaining horses, patrolling the perimeter or fighting imaginary foes, anything was better than just sitting and waiting.

"Time is up," Volstagg said, turning to her.

She knew that, but as eager as she was to do something, something worthwhile, she was loath to leave her friends down the abyss. What if she just missed them? They could appear over the rim mere minutes after she left. Something could happen and they would need her help. Volstagg could be attacked while she was away, leaving the others more vulnerable than ever.

"Sif, the sooner you go, the faster help will arrive. We've already left it forty minutes."

She didn't move. Loki irritated her, and she may not understand Thor's near adoration for his little brother, but she didn't want him to die, even if he weren't her prince. She wanted to save him—she truly did—she just didn't want to abandon Thor.

"Ten more minutes," she implored.

Volstagg huffed moodily and turned his attention back to the ropes. Sif resisted the urge to bite her nails which would have been very unseemly for a warrior. She knew this was silly—that the sooner she left with all haste, the better—but she couldn't help but listen to that little voice of doubt that told her Thor was going to appear over the edge any minute now. She was terrified that her friends were in trouble and Loki was dead. If they weren't back by now, then it was a good possibility. The longer Thor was gone, the more likely it was that Loki was dead and her friends lost. The idea made her start pacing again.

"Do not be dead," she mentally prayed. "If you really are as clever as you think you are, then you'll find a way to stay alive. Do not be dead."

"Ten minutes have gone, Sif. You must go."

She swallowed, knowing he was right. Letting her eyes slide closed, she took a deep breath. "Look after them, Volstagg," she commanded, and spun round to march to Thor's horse. She didn't look back, not even at her friend's 'good luck.' There was a mission to focus her energy on. She could not hesitate now, not when she had the longest and most important race of her life, and she didn't know if she'd already lost.

(&amp;)

The Mist could not be penetrated by any eye—not even the Gatekeeper himself could gaze into the Mist Valley. The further Thor descended into the chasm, the more he appreciated how true this was turning out to be. The fog rolled around him, thickening until he could only just see his hand on the cliff and his friends were nothing more than dark shadows. He predicted that in another ten minutes they wouldn't be able to see anything. With a drop of his stomach, he realised he was climbing as good as blind now. Finding handholds was difficult and there was no way to defend from any attacks that might come. Hogun and Loki had tried to warn him, but he had not comprehended it.

There was one blessing though: it meant that he could not see the bottom. He had never been afraid of heights before, but then he'd never been clinging to a cliff face with nothing but a rope to protect him until now. He didn't know how far down it went. If the stories were true, then the gorge cut down to the very roots of Yggdrasil itself. He certainly hoped that wasn't correct. Yes, not being able to see the bottom took the bite from the anxiety, but it also meant that he couldn't see his little brother. He wasn't sure how they were going to find him either. The full gravity of their predicament was only just beginning to dawn on him. He hadn't lost hope though. Loki had fallen down, not sideways, and so they were bound to trip over him sooner or later. He was learning that it was better for him to focus on that thought than what could go wrong with their expedition. He couldn't and wouldn't give into despair and give up.

He winced as he accidently placed his hand on a mass of twisted and prickly branches instead of the cliff face, scratching his palm. He let go and waved his hand to try to cool the burning skin. If Loki had crashed into one or more of these plants, he couldn't imagine it would be pleasant. It was, however, better than the alternative. There was more than a small chance that Loki had tumbled into them and they had either caught him or at the very least slowed his fall. However, when he had expressed this idea to Hogun, the older boy had paused and said that he was 'not certain that was the way of these things.'

Thor's foot suddenly hit something sticking out into the canyon, and it only took a second this time to realise that they had found a shelf.

"Loki!" he hissed into the void as he had done with every ledge they reached. "Loki, are you there?" He slid his foot back, testing to see how far the ridge stuck out.

"Is that another ledge?" Fandral hissed down in a stage whisper.

"Yes," Thor replied and crouched down, twisting round so his back was against the wall, hands brushing over the stone. "Wider than the last." He felt to the right, shuffling a little and calling as loudly as he dared to his brother again, but he only felt his fingers hit the edge. He tried the other direction and something hit his back. "Ouch!"

"Sorry." It was Hogun's voice this time. "I did not realise that you were under me."

Thor pulled back, sitting straight again, shuffling away to give his friend more room to land.

"Careful," Fandral muttered behind him.

He looked over his shoulder to see the outline of his friend and carefully manoeuvred himself into a safer position. He watched Hogun's silhouette as it found firm ground. Fandral sighed, and there was a soft ruffling as he dropped to the ground.

"About time," he complained. "I need to rest my bones."

The prince frowned in his companion's direction. "We are not stopping."

His friend let out a melodramatic exhalation, but his tone was more serious. "We need to rest. I am—we all are tired, and my body aches. This is not like going for a ride on a fine summer's day. Hogun agrees with me, do you not?"

Thor saw the smudge that was his elder friend slide down to the floor. "It would be wise to rest our bodies for a while. We cannot help Loki if we are too weary to climb," Hogun argued calmly.

"Let us eat and rest for ten minutes and then continue." It was Fandral again. "We can recover our strength, and then we will be on the move again, quicker than ever."

Thor snorted. "Ten minutes," he commanded, aware that he had no way to be sure of this unless he counted down the seconds. "But I won't waste the time completely; search your area for any sign of Loki."

The boys agreed and there was a slow scrabble as they carefully moved about on the small ledge. There was little room for Thor to search and both Fandral and Hogun quickly stated that there was less than an arm's length either side of them. He supposed it was too much to wish for to find a clue here. There was barely enough room for them all, and they quickly found themselves with their backs to the wall and their legs dangling over the side while his gut fluttered uneasily.

Hogun pushed something into his hand. Thor looked down and lifted his hand close to his face until he could make out a small, round, grey fruit in the palm of his hand.

"Eat," Hogun urged and leaned across to pass one to Fandral. "It will not be the finest feast you have tasted, but it will be enough to fend off hunger and thirst for a little while. I took the opportunity to pick them as we passed."

Thor was surprised that his friend had been able to see any of them at all, though he did have sharper eyes than either of the other two.

"Is it safe to eat?" he asked.

"Of course. It is Mist Fruit. They do not taste of much but water, but it will keep what little food we have until later."

"How do you know about them?" Thor asked curiously, perhaps more to distract himself from his restlessness than any real desire to know the answer. Hogun's father was a scholar, but this seemed an odd titbit of knowledge from Hogun. He wasn't entirely sure what Hogun's father studied, but he was certain it wasn't flora.

"My father was once hired by a very rich man who had a taste for rare objects, food among them. Some Mist Fruit came into his possession while we were residing under his roof, and he was an indulging man towards me."

Thor absently nodded and took a bite. It tasted more of flavoured water than anything else with just a hint of bitterness. It was bland enough for him to neither dislike nor like it. The flesh was surprisingly firm, somewhere between an apple and a plum.

"It is a small wonder anything can grow in the cursed place," he muttered to himself, conscious of how his skin prickled uncomfortably. The sooner they could leave this valley the better.

"In these parts it is a sign of devotion and resilience," Hogun replied. "They say if a man comes down here, picks the fruit and presents it to his love, than the law will recognise his right to marry her no matter what barriers stand in their way."

"Truly?" Fandral asked, making a small noise of displeasure at his own food.

"Perhaps," Thor replied and took another bite, "but I have never heard of the law if it is true."

That wasn't to say it wasn't. He was not one for the subtle ways and words of Law, which was something more to Loki's liking. However, his brother had come across many strange laws that were now long forgotten. If what Hogun said was true, then it was not half as ridiculous as a legislation announcing that no one may step on Asgardian currency or another that stated that it was legal to marry a dead man if engaged before his death.

He threw the fruit stone into the abyss and supressed a sigh. He supposed, as bland as they were, the Mist Fruit did fill a certain hole that he had not realised was there. The dread within him seemed to grow as he sat there though, wanting nothing more than to be moving on. He just wanted to go, to be away from here. He rubbed his arms and felt goosebumps over his skin. The prince frowned. He didn't feel particularly cold, but his hair stood on end and he found that it complemented his inner turbulence. They should move on and find Loki. However, with that thought he realised that his dread was less about Loki and more the eagerness to move on. A strange trepidation, almost distress, bubbled within him. It was like the fear he'd felt as a child when walking into a dark room, scared of nameless monsters lurking within. His senses urged for him to leave.

The stench hit him first and he knew from the way his friends stiffened that they smelt it too. It was quite unlike anything he had ever smelt before. It was like… like… something repulsive; he really didn't know what though. It made his stomach twist in an entirely different way than when Loki had fallen. Something clamped over his mouth clumsily, Hogun's hand he supposed. The trio were utterly still as some primal instinct clamped down on them. If instinct hadn't been silent, he doubted that he would be able to hear it though.

It was a most queer sound to hear in the otherwise silent valley. It was a dragging, grating noise. He couldn't tell where it was coming from in the Mist; he was certain it was somewhere beneath them but he was clueless as to how far away it was. His senses said it was too close, and the thought alone nearly made him flee.

He listened, barely daring to breathe as the sound became louder, little by little, but it still wasn't enough to tell him much. Just that it was nearby now and he was certain it was just below them, dragging whatever it was with it. When he concentrated very hard he was certain he could hear a ragged intake of breath, and he swore his heart stopped in almost maddening fear.

When he was certain the thing was directly under them the noise stopped. No sound. Not the rustle of material or even a hint of an inhale. Just silence. He would have thought the thing had disappeared if it weren't for the stench and weight on his soul. They sat, straining to catch the slightest noise, an indication that it was leaving or had noticed them. Had it? His heart sped up.

He was terrified of a phantom. He had no idea what was down there, it could be as harmless as a lizard. It could be a Sky Serpent. It could be Loki. His breath caught. He knew it was just a hollow comfort for his scared mind, but…

But what if he was wrong? He might be missing his one opportunity to find his sibling. Loki didn't smell like this but who knew what he'd been through. His brother had never made him feel like this though; feel this…wrong. Every fibre of Thor's being screamed at him to hold his tongue. He tried to stifle the growing fear that he was missing his one and only chance and now he would lose Loki forever. It couldn't hurt to call out. Even if it wasn't his sibling, it might scare whatever it was away.

Nothing passed his lips and he didn't move to push Hogun's hand away. He took a deep breath, quietly. A whisper to start with, a small-

A sudden noise jerked him out of his courage rousing and nearly made him jump. The sound of movement came again, but it wasn't like last time. There was no slow trudge, but a fast scuttling that scattered loose stones in its path. He tensed, ready to strike out at the enemy if it came at him. It didn't. Instead the noise rapidly faded, taking the stench and mind crushing terror with it, leaving the boys as they were before. After several seconds of nothing, Hogun removed his hand.

"What was that?" Thor whispered, his voice finally returning.

"I do not know," Hogun replied.

Fandral was already scrambling to his feet. "And let us keep it at that."

Thor and Hogun didn't argue, quick to follow him and eager to be on their way again. He knew that they all wondered the same thing: what other creatures hide within the Mist besides the Sky Serpents?

* * *

I just want to send out a quick thank you to everyone who has commented, fav'ed and followed this fic. It really makes me very happy every time. I'm thrilled that people seem to be enjoying this so much and I hope you'll all continue to do so :) Hope this chapter wasn't a disappointment after such a long wait.

**FlightFoot:** No problem :) How will Odin be portrayed? I write Odin as loving both the boys, but naturally drawn more to Thor. So there won't be any 'screw Loki, I only care about Thor' moments. Hope that helps.

**tywingfieldtbs42:** Thank you and I'm dreadfully sorry for the very very long wait.

**Guests** **25/5 and 27/5: **I'm glad you are enjoying this. Hope you're still reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** First I want to apologise for the long wait. I was very busy over the summer, taking my parents around and them then had to try (and fail) to finish a costume for Comiket. But I'm back and hopefully the updates will be quicker from now on.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Asgardian horses were strong and powerful creatures, especially Thor's horse. Like all prize stallions, Thindel could cover a league in three minutes at a flat out gallop, which would make the journey from the Mist Valley to Asgard just under an hour. However, it was impossible to ride a horse at full speed for more than a league without exhausting it, and then it would need a long rest to recover—a couple days was best to avoid injury. A far better method was to rotate between a trot and canter for the entire distance, which would have gotten her home in two hours.

It was unfortunate for Sif that she did not take this into consideration.

Thindel was stronger than most, but after half a league he slowed, another half and he could go no further. She cursed her stupidity as she glared at the heaving horse, reins loose in her palm as she stood before him. It was a stupid mistake, worthy of a novice. Of course no horse could gallop for twelve leagues straight. In her haste and desperation she had thrown caution to the wind without thinking of the consequences. Now she had to pay for her foolishness and it wasn't just her who would suffer.

She dropped the reins and started pacing. This was bad. She turned back at to cast a critical eye over the steed, its coat sleek with sweat and body heaving, muzzle dipped close to the ground. It wasn't nearly as bad as when she had dismounted thirty or so minutes ago, but Thindel clearly wasn't going anywhere soon, which meant that by extension neither was she. She considered taking the saddle off before realising that she wasn't entirely sure how to put it on again. She had never learned; why would she? If she wanted to go for a ride, she simply announced it and her mare was prepared for her. She didn't know a single lady who saddled their own horse.

She swallowed, realising her mental slip. She wasn't just some simple lady, she was a warrior. She tried to remember if her cousin Herlief prepared his own horse. She didn't think he did, but he was a captain, and she knew that he at least know how to do so. He had tried to teach her but she'd been a poor student. It was dull, and she had wanted to turn her attention to more interesting practices. The first attempt she had tightened the girth too much. Uncomfortable, her horse had been difficult, eventually kicking her just below the knee. The second time she had overcompensated; the saddle slid sideways and she had found herself lying on the floor. Herlief had found it hilarious—she had not. After that she had refused to waste her time any longer.

She still wasn't entirely convinced that she was wrong. One did not have to tack their own horse to be a great warrior. Odin had stable boys and Thor was expected to be a great fighter and he did not know how to saddle and bridle a steed…or did he?

Loki had learned—it was the kind of pointless thing he would fritter away his time on—and he had dragged his brother into it, though it had been a year ago now, so he may or may not remember. She and Thor were supposed to be sparring together, but Thor had spotted his brother in the stable yard with their riding teacher. Naturally, Thor had automatically wandered over and asked what he was doing. When he had explained he was learning about the tack up and care for his horse, she had laughed. Looking bemused, Thor had asked why and Loki had looked just as puzzled, saying that if he was going to rely upon something, he was going to know how it worked. One never knew when it would be useful. Thor had nodded and she had sneered. Thor had then declared that he would also stay and learn, completely abandoning their plans for more lessons with his little brother. Thor did offer for her to stay with them, but she had turned them down for more productive use of her time. She could still remember Loki's mocking words.

"I thought you wished to be a true warrior? Or do you plan to take your stable boy on your 'dangerous' and 'daring' feats? Will you take your maid with you so that she may do your hair in the mornings and help dress you?"

Thor had sniggered, but stopped when he noticed that she wasn't amused. It just added to her anger, and she'd nearly thrown her sword at Loki. Instead she'd stormed off with the older Prince shouting after her that his brother was joking. He always defended Loki. It hadn't helped in the slightest that when she met Hogun and Volstagg in the practice field, they had agreed with Loki.

She still wasn't entirely willing to admit that she may have been wrong in that regard, though she couldn't deny that maybe if she had stayed with them then she would know something that would help her now.

The unmistakable click of horse shoes against stone and the heavy lumbering of a cart came to her attention and she quickly stepped back beside Thindel, unconsciously placing the horse between her and the road. She lay a possessive hand on the bridle and her other fell onto the hilt of her sword. She peered down the road. A cart trudged towards her, pulled by a large black draught horse. As it got closer, she could see the vehicle was rather small, but the contents were covered by a large sheet. In the front sat an older man, his skin weather-worn but his body still strong. Beside him sat a little girl, a small straw doll in her hands that she bounced along the seat. Sif felt the tension drain from her body at the sight of the child. They were a nothing more than a father with his daughter or granddaughter, probably returning from a market. She shifted her posture, becoming taller.

As the cart drew within calling distance the man inclined his head. "Good afternoon," his eyes trailed up and down what he could see of her, "my lady," he finished. "Lost are you?"

The little girl turned her gaze to Sif, staring at her with big brown eyes and mouth slightly open.

Sif held herself higher at the implication that she couldn't make her own way. "Certainly not. I am simply resting my steed."

"Aye, she looks more than a mite tired."

"He," Sif corrected. "Thindel is a stallion."

"My apologies." As the cart came level to her, he pulled his draught to a halt and cast another weary eye over Thor's horse. "Must have rode the poor bugger hard. Need to take care with that."

She bristled a little. Really, to be lectured on horsemanship from a farmer! "I am in a hurry."

"Exhausted horse won't d'you much good there."

"I realise that, which is why I am resting him."

"You'll be wanting to remove his saddle then. Bridle, too."

"I know that…" She trailed off, looking over Thindel. If only she could.

"Would you like help, my lady?"

She looked up to see a warm smile on the stranger's face. She tried not to bite her lip. She didn't want to admit to any weakness, but she had enough sense to know when she needed help. She looked away and nodded.

There was a squeak of wood. "Get the nose bag and feed, love," she heard the man say to the little girl. Sif would have objected, but she needed the kindness now. She could pay the man for the food and his services. Though, she could always argue that it was his duty to help save his prince, even if he was unaware that he was doing so.

With a few deft movements, the farmer had removed the saddle and placed it on the ground. He rubbed and patted down the noticeably relieved horse.

"He's a fine creature," he said, reaching to loosen the bridle and hang it round the animal's neck instead. Sif simply nodded. Of course he was; he was the crown prince's own steed. "Where are you headed in such a hurry? Perhaps you could ride with us and give this boy a rest."

Sif shook her head. "Thank you, but I really must complete my journey as quickly as possible. I have a very important message to deliver and I cannot afford to waste any more time."

The man took the nose bag from his little companion, who had returned to staring up at Sif with her doll clutched under one arm. Thindel needed no persuading. As soon as he caught a whiff of food he plunged his muzzle into the bag and chomped merrily away.

"I'd offer you apples," the farmer started again as Thindel dug in deeper, "but I doubt she'd be much use to you."

Sif blinked in confusion. "Apples?"

"Begging ya pardon, our own horse." He indicated back at the mare who pulled their cart.

"I named her," the little girl perked up.

The man chuckled. "That you did. Doubt Apples'll be any use to you. She ain't good for much but for pullin' carts and ploughing fields. Mite too big for you anyhow."

Sif cast a nervous look over the draught horse. It was a beast of a steed; it must have stood at twenty-three hands. She was clearly built for hard labour and not speed. Sif wasn't even sure she could mount the mare even if she offered to switch horses. It was taller than any man she had ever met, and it would be quite a tumble if she fell. She quickly looked back to the owner and smiled.

"For the best," she quickly said. "Thindel belongs to a friend."

"Is that why you can' saddle him?" the little girl asked.

Sif glowered down at the child, making her step back. "Can you?" It was perhaps mean and childish, but a temporary sore spot had been hit.

"Apples is too big. I can tack our pony, but Papa has to check her."

Sif felt her face heat up, and she clenched her jaw, forcing herself to look away from the child. "I have stable boys to do that for me."

The girl couldn't be more than half her age, perhaps closer to a third, and she knew how to prepare her own horse.

Yesterday she would have shrugged it away as useless information that wasn't worth her time. She'd never really stopped to think on the matter properly, to give the thought that she should know how to prepare her own horse any serious consideration. A situation had never occurred to drive the truth home. She had been out with her friends for the entire day on a couple of occasions, but never more than that. Never had there been a time when she had had to remove her mount's saddle or bridle herself. The more she thought on the matter, the more foolish her oversight seemed. Mighty adventures and deeds that were worthy of the greatest tales and poems where not achieved in a single day.

She could almost hear Loki's smug voice saying 'I told you so,' except he won't use any of those words, but forty instead. She didn't want to admit that he was right—it made her hackles rise thinking about it—but it was hard to deny it. What did she expect to do when she was away for more than a day? She couldn't leave the saddle on her horse while they made camp. She could hardly bring a stable boy with her. She couldn't demand that her friends do it for her, like a spoilt nobleman's daughter. Was she any better than that though? She was certain all the soldiers could saddle their mounts. The more she pondered, the more she questioned what other elementary skills that she had neglected in her rush to excel in combat, which she saw as the only path to recognition.

"My lady?" The farmer's nervous voice interrupted her musings. "Please excuse my girl, she doesn't know how to speak to a lady like yourself."

She smiled at him, more genuine this time. "There is no need to apologise; she merely reminded me of an important matter."

The men seemed to relax and smiled back, removing the now empty muzzle bag from Thindel. "I have some water in the cart. A little drink and then I'll help you saddle him up again. Might be an idea to walk him for a little while before mounting him and go easy on him for the rest of your ride."

She looked at the horse. "Thank you," she said, but she wasn't certain that she had the luxury of completely following his advice. "I am in your debt."

"No need to thank me," he strode back to the cart. "I'm sure Apples won't mind sharing."

Still, she wished she had some way to repay him for his generosity. He didn't have to stop and help her, use his own food and water for her horse. She should at least cover his losses. Oh, but maybe she could! She turned and knelt down beside the saddle. She was sure Thor always carried the money when they travelled. She rooted around in the saddle bags and… yes, there it was. Unfastening it she shifted the coins through her fingers. How much would be enough? When they stopped at an inn or rest station she always gave a silver coin. Surely that would be enough… But there were no silver coins left, just the gold and a couple of bronze coins. He had done this out of kindness rather than any obligation through employment. That decided she fastened the pouch again and stood only to nearly trip over the little girl.

"Is your hair real gold?" she asked, her voice full of innocence.

Sif chuckled, her fingers finding the tresses. "That is what the men of court say."

The child looked up in awe. "If I had gold hair then I could make a lord fall in love with me and marry me. Then I could wear pretty dresses every day. Do you have lots of pretty dresses?"

Before she could think of how to reply to this, the farmer returned, bucket in hand. Thindel drank with relish, the farmer's hand resting on his neck. She held out her hand, fist closed. "For your trouble."

The man chortled. "'Twas no trouble, m'lady. Can't leave a girl like yourself stranded."

"Nevertheless, I have used your food and water."

"Nothing that will be missed."

"Please, I want to repay your kindness."

He hesitated before nodding and she dropped the coin into his outstretched palm. His eyes flew wide at the sight of the gold piece.

"This is too much, m'lady."

He tried to give it back, but she wouldn't take it. "It is nothing that will be missed," she threw back his earlier words. "You have no idea how valuable your assistance has been."

He watched her intently, and he must have sensed her sincerity as he nodded. "Are you sure I can't take you somewhere?"

"Thank you, but I need to return to Asgard City as soon as I can."

She really had wasted too much time already.

(&amp;)

His body was on fire—at least that's what it felt like to Loki. The pain throbbed through him with every beat of his heart. It set his blood ablaze and sank deep into his flesh and bones. It muffled his mind, blinded him, and he wondered if that was why his world was so white. It was horrible. A blank realm that was so unrelenting in its monotone that it was suffocating him. Like being stifled by a pillow but not being able to feel it against his face, unable to push it away for room to breathe even if he could move, something he was in too much pain to test properly. His breathing sped up, and all it did was worsen the agony through his body.

It was as if his mind had shattered and his thoughts had scattered, unable to come together into a cohesive trail. There was the reminder of danger, the longing to go home, the pleading to see something, anything, and the sob of relentless loneliness because oh Norns he felt so alone and never had he ever wanted someone anyone by his side more. He couldn't even remember where he was, how he got here or why he was in such unbelievable torture.

It didn't matter though, because above all these thoughts was the shriek of pain that roared louder than any thunder and was more mind numbing than death itself. It drowned out all his other thoughts as it turned his vision black.

After all, who could hear one of a million muttered words over a gut-wrenching scream?

* * *

**A/N:** A huge thank you to everyone who is still with this and who fav'ed/followed/commented


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **So, first, I'm really really sorry about the long wait. A mixture between having a lot of trouble with this chapter and my computer not behaving itself. I really do apologise, but thank you to everyone who is still reading this and has fav'ed/followed the story so far. I hope you continue to enjoy it.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

A sharp scraping, like rocks grinding, cut through the air and Thor froze. He was sure that his friends did as well from the way the air went completely still. Normally such a small sound would pass unnoticed, but with the valley so still it was difficult to miss. There was also that event that had gone unspoken in the trio.

Thor strained to catch another sound, more movement; he breathed very deeply. They were all on edge, but he couldn't help continually listening out for the Thing's return. That grating sound was too similar to ignore. He tried to pick up anything, another noise, but nothing came. No smell, no deep primal fear, no sound. Maybe it wasn't there after all. He slowly moved. Carrying on slowly, keeping his ears sharp for any noise, he slid his foot into a new place. The noise came again, and he stopped.

He paused for several seconds.

Nothing.

Taking care, he moved the same foot again with the intent of perhaps moving back up, and there it was again. Frowning, he slid his shoe sole over the cliff face and heard the sound again. Breathing out in relief, he grinned.

"My boot has a stone in it," he whispered to his friends, and he felt some of the tension drain from them all. They were all thinking of the same thing, but they never mentioned it, not directly, each of them preferring not to think about something else creeping around the Mist. If Thor mentioned it he would just upset his friends. He wasn't scared. Heroes didn't get scared, though Thor had to admit that he didn't feel very heroic at the moment.

"I am stuck."

Thor turned towards Fandral's voice, or where he thought his friend's voice was coming from. He was long past being able to tell where anything lay and was thoroughly sick of seeing nothing but the Mist while guessing where his friends were. No wonder no one ever came here. It was almost starting to drive him crazy; this constant monotone in which they didn't know what was around them or… He took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts away.

"Try retracing your steps," Hogun suggested.

"No, I am STUCK. My foot is jammed in a crack. I cannot pull it loose," Fandral hissed.

"How did you manage that?" Thor asked becoming exasperated that yet another thing was going wrong. He was tired; his muscles ached, especially in his shoulders, and they still had not come across even a hint of Loki. He wasn't defeated yet. His brother was around here somewhere, they knew that—it was just harder to find him than expected. Loki was all alone and waiting to be found. He must be scared, but if Thor started to think about that then his stomach would do flips and he'd start feeling sick. It was far easier to be annoyed at Fandral than worried about Loki.

"I put my foot in a crack, it became stuck and now I cannot pull it out again," Fandral replied, verging on irritable while somehow not raising his voice above a hiss. "If I pull any harder then I will fall off the cliff."

Hogun spoke up again. "Would it be easier to get your foot out of your boot?"

"Which would then leave me bootless. I hardly see the benefit of that."

"Your foot would be free and then we bend the shoe out of the crack," Hogun calmly replied.

There was silence as the coquettish youth digested this information. "I need someone to untie my boot for me."

"I think I am closer," Thor offered as he moved to retrace his steps. He forced himself to do so slowly, feeling his way while attempting to use his friend's low voice as a guide rather than blundering about in a more satisfying rush. A few fumbles later and his hand found Fandral's heel. With a small, "Found him," he slid his palm up and round the boot until he hit the rock and the crack. There was a part of him that just wanted to pull the foot out of the crack in an attempt to cut through this rubbish. Instead he just shifted his position as he tried to undo the laces with one hand, scrabbling to untie the tight knot. He cursed under his breath; this was more difficult than it seemed. Why did Fandral have to get his foot stuck in a crack? He finally managed to get what felt like the knot loose, only to find a tighter one underneath which resisted his efforts to untangle it.

He growled in frustration. "Why do you tie your laces twice?" he demanded.

"It seems only prudent," Fandral replied.

More like a waste of time that they couldn't afford to be wasting. They'd already taken far too many breaks, far too much time away from searching.

"Would you like help?" he heard Hogun ask quietly.

He nearly snapped back that he was perfectly capable of untying a boot, but bit it back. He tried to wedge his nails in to tug it apart, but his fingers slipped away each time.

"I need another hand," he admitted, still not giving up on the tie and not quite asking for help.

He heard Hogun move closer and soon felt a tap on his back. "Move to his other side."

Thor did as he was asked and after much fumbling and whispering, they managed to get the knot undone. Hogun loosened the laces enough for their friend to free his foot.

Fandral sighed in relief. "I thought I would be doomed to be stuck there for all time. Do you have my boot?"

A little dramatic, but Thor felt a similar relief that they could move on. It felt like they'd wasted hours here. He gave the jammed shoe an experimental tug with no luck. "I will pull, you twist."

They worked at the shoe, Hogun bending the leather until it was free of the crack and Thor tugging until it came loose. Thor didn't know what happened when it did. One second the shoe was in his hand, the next it wasn't.

"Oh," he breathed.

"Is it free?" Fandral asked.

Oh dear, his friend would not be pleased with him. Though maybe he was mistaken and it wasn't as bad as he feared. "Hogun," he hissed, hoping Fandral couldn't hear. "Do you have his boot?"

There was a short pause in which Fandral asked what Thor had said.

"No," was Hogun's simple reply.

This was most certainly not good.

"What is it?" Fandral asked, trying to keep his voice low. "Do you have it?"

"I did," Thor hesitantly replied.

There was another brief pause. "You did?"

"I think I dropped it."

"You dropped it!? Where?"

"Where do you think?" He snapped back.

"You lost my boot!" Fandral hissed, clearly trying not to shout hysterically.

"It was not my intention. It just slipped out of my hand."

"It just—"

Hogun intervened, stopping the fight from escalating. "You may find it easier to climb."

"And more painful," Fandral retorted. "I will have a maimed foot by the end of all this."

"You are being overly dramatic," Thor hissed back in a not quite quiet voice, because he really was. As long as his friend was careful then there was no reason for concern.

"You are not the one with bare feet."

"It is only one, not both."

"Onl—"

Once again, Hogun was forced to interrupt. "Thor could wrap your foot in a bandage."

Thor's comment came out more of a whine than he intended. "We need the bandages for Loki." If they hadn't stumbled over Loki yet, then his brother was definitely going to need any healing supplies they had. They were already taking so long to find him that they couldn't let him down when they did. And it was when, not if. There was no if—he refused to accept it. He could tell from Hogun's silence that he was trying not to sigh like an exasperated mother. Did he really sound so childish? He was only using common sense. If Loki was badly injured then he needed bandages. He was just thinking forward, and it wasn't as if he was being selfish because he was just thinking of Loki. Surely that was the responsible and noble thing to do. It wasn't as if they could wrap cuts in any dirty rag—even he knew about infections. He stopped his thoughts and backtracked, interrupting Fandral, who was talking again.

"What about my cloak?" Thor suggested over whatever his friend was saying. It was new, only a month old, and under normal circumstances he would imagine tearing it up would upset Mother, but these were unusual circumstances. He was sure the thing was likely in tatters anyway. It had snagged several times and he had heard an undeniable rent what seemed like an hour ago.

"Your cloak?" Fandral repeated.

"Yes." Thor was growing more certain this was a good idea. "Loki needs sterile bandages, but your foot doesn't. I can tear a strip off and use that instead." He started groping around for the cloth, feeling for the split.

Fandral didn't seem sure if he should be grateful for his friend's generosity or declining his prince's offer. "We should use mine," he settled on.

Thor shook his head. "I may pull you off the cliff trying to rip it," he said before he clenched his mantle between his teeth. Before anyone could say any more, he yanked the material and tore it further. It didn't quite work as he planned though. It didn't detach a piece but just lengthened the slit along his back. He dropped the material, keeping it locked in his jaw while he reached for his knife in his belt. It wasn't as easy as he assumed, keeping the material taught enough to cut while keeping his hold on the rock surface, but he managed to tear off what he hoped was a suitable size strip.

"Done," he announced through the cloth as he replaced his blade. He switched the hand gripping onto the cliff, briefly shaking it and working out the kinks, and removed the rag from his mouth. He found Fandral's foot again easily enough and wrapped it. He was certain he did a shoddy job of it, but it seemed secure enough and it felt good to have done something useful. Even if that useful thing was so insignificant, it was better than hours of fruitless going.

"There," he declared.

The foot moved and Fandral sighed. "It's a bit better, but it will not protect me if I step on anything sharp."

"Then do not step on sharp rocks," Thor said, exasperated.

"I wouldn't if I could see them." Fandral sounded just as frustrated.

Once again, Hogun rushed to the rescue. "What is done is done. There is nothing we can do about it, and dwelling on it would do none of us any good."

Their older friend was right, but lost in this mist with still no hint of Loki, it was hard not to feel one's zeal wane.

(&amp;)

From the old tales, Loki would have thought that he would eventually become used to the pain and it would slip into the back of his mind. It didn't. It wasn't so much that he couldn't get used to the pain, but that there was no room to think around it. Not clearly. It was difficult to push it aside and try to pull himself together. Instead he found himself just about able to grope around for other thoughts. He knew one thing for sure: he needed to stop the pain. That was his priority; however, it was easier said than done. He didn't know where to start. He grasped for his magic and tried just throwing it at the problem with neither rhythm nor reason. His mind was just too full to think clearly and rationally.

He blinked, not that it did much good, and tried to focus. What should he do? What did his mother say, after he had broken his arm… Or was it his leg? It was hard to remember. She had said something to him, but it slipped past him and his mind latched onto his mother instead. He wanted her by his side. He could understand why men were said to call out to their mothers when they were in pain. He had always assumed it was because they were scared and they wanted the demons chased away, and if Sif was anything to judge by, then an angry woman was a terrifying sight indeed. He didn't want his mother to frighten away the pain, though he wouldn't object to it; he just needed her by his side. He needed her to soothe down his hair and sing sweet lullabies to comfort him. Even if she couldn't do anything, just to have her there with him to hold his hand and know that he wasn't alone would give him so much comfort. He would find a new strength and a small amount of peace.

As he lay in the suffocating mist, Loki didn't bother biting back the sobs and the tears, even if they caused more pain to wrack his body with every shudder. There was no one to see or hear him, so why should he care? He had never wanted his mother's presence so badly. He had never needed anything so much in his life.

* * *

Guest (5/11)\- Thank you :D Haha. I hope that this is sated some of that appetite, but I will do my up-most to ge tthese chapters out quicker :D

Alesia\- Thank you

Guest (15/9)-  Well, I hope you are still around :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Sif couldn't gallop on Thindel anymore, or at least she was too scared to try. The stallion had recovered enough to ride him again, but she had wasted more than forty minutes walking him down the road before being confident enough to mount again. She didn't dare gallop though. She did what she should have done from the start: she rotated between a walk and a trot, occasionally moving up to a canter. They were over halfway to the city and Thindel appeared to be holding out. She didn't fool herself into believing that he had completely recovered though. Their current pace would place little to no strain on a horse normally, but Thindel was still suffering from his earlier sprint. The horse was quicker to tire than he should be, and Sif had already had to dismount once to rest him when he became sluggish enough for her to worry.

The temptation to see if a healing stone would do any good was strong while she was walking along beside Thindel, but she discarded it as useless. The stones healed minor wounds, cuts and the like; she couldn't think how it would help with exhaustion and didn't know how to try without the risk of incapacitating her one and only mount. Thor had said that he had brought a tonic to ease weary bones, but on closer inspection, it turned out to just be wine.

She glanced up at the sun, or more its position in the sky, before slowing Thindel to a walk again. The stallion happily obliged. She watched him, searching for further signs of fatigue. It had been just over two hours since she had parted from the farmer and his daughter. Two hours of riding, walking and thinking. She'd done a lot of the latter—there really was little else to do but worry and think. It must have been three hours since Loki was pushed, perhaps even four. If Thor hadn't found his brother by now then he was probably dead or lost to them forever, most likely both. Even if he still was alive, he would need a healer as soon as possible.

She was supposed to be back in the palace by now, having played her part brilliantly and beyond fault, with the responsibility passed onto the adults. Instead here she was, still trudging down a road, very much aware that every minute it took her to get to the palace was a minute that tipped the scales towards death for Loki. Annoying, snide, clever little Loki who probably didn't want to come on this increasingly ludicrous adventure in the first place. The idea that she was potentially at least partly responsible for his death scared her more than anything. She didn't want anyone's death weighing on her conscience, much less that of her prince and Thor's little brother. If she failed them Thor would be devastated; he would never be the same again. The more she rode, the more she thought and the more scared she became.

She rubbed her eyes, the excitement and stress of the ordeal starting to set into her mind and body. She wasn't stupid. She knew that sometimes warriors fell. There were plenty of stories about heroic deaths, and it was only to be expected that great battles and adventures would end in great losses, but not now. She would not let it happen. The problem was that she was coming to realise how little choice she had in the matter. She didn't know if it was fate stacking against her or her own shortcomings. Whichever it was, she was facing helplessness that she never wanted to know, that she had worked hard not to feel. She had never wanted to be the damsel who was rescued by the brave champion; she wanted to be the strong hero. The idea of being one of the helpless ones, to be powerless and reliant on the goodwill of others, was disconcerting.

Her fingers curled round her golden locks, her eyes fixing on them as her thumb rubbed the tresses. Her pride and joy. The peasant's daughter said that if she had hair this colour, she would seduce a rich man for fine clothes and marriage—just what Sif wanted to avoid finding herself forced into. She didn't use her hair to charm men into falling in love with her. She admitted that sometimes she may use it to get her way, a skill she had mastered when she was young. If it worked, why shouldn't she? She needed to convince her family to indulge her somehow, and if that way was to ask nicely and twist her famous locks round her fingers, then at least she still got her way in the end.

"Good afternoon, my lady."

Her head snapped up at the gruff voice. Before her were two rough, unkempt men. They looked like beggars to Sif, though she would admit to only having ever seen one beggar in her life: a woman in the city who had clutched at her leg and pleaded for a few coins to feed her son. Sif had been so stunned that she had simply stared down with wide eyes before her uncle had ushered her away. These men lacked the desperation that woman had. She noted the daggers that hung from their belts, something that was hardly cause for concern in Asgard, but nevertheless set her on edge. One of the men was clean-shaven while the other had a large, bushy beard. They stood in front of her, not moving as Thindel walked towards them. She found herself on the receiving end of two large smiles.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," she replied, uncertain what else to say.

"A very fine day today," the bearded man said.

"It is indeed," she said, aware of how her horse had been forced to stop in front of them.

The shaven man spoke up, resting a hand on Thindel. "But not as fine as your steed."

"He belongs to a close friend," she retorted.

The stranger frowned, though she was sure it wasn't in concern for her. "And where is your friend?" Something about these men and their questions unnerved her. The one with the beard now rested his hand on the horse's muzzle.

She tried to push her horse forward. "I am sorry, I am in a hurry. I must reach Asgard City."

The vagabonds did not step aside to let her pass. "It is not safe for a young noblewoman to travel these lands without escort. Is that not right?" The question was addressed to his friend, who gave an 'Aye' in return.

She tightened her grip on the reins. Sensing the tension, Thindel stepped back and shifted. She held her head higher.

"I never said I was a noblewoman."

"With such a fine horse and clothes, you are no beggar." She felt herself go rigid at the way his eyes passed over her, lingering more than was welcome.

"I need to hurry," she repeated, pushing her mount forward again, and the man with no beard took hold of Thindel's bridle near the bit.

"Now, now. You cannot expect gentlemen like ourselves to leave a defenceless lady like you alone. We should accompany you—for a few coins, of course."

If her friends were with her, or if one of them hard dared utter such words to her, Sif would have snapped at them that she was no damsel in distress. As it was, her heart beat a little faster and she found her tongue falling on softer words instead.

"I told you, I am in a hurry. Even if I were not, I have no money on my person."

The men chuckled, the bearded one speaking up. "Now why do I find that hard to believe?"

His friend stepped towards her, eyes on her saddle bags. Her breath caught and her body seemed to move on its own in what she was ashamed to call panic. She pulled her foot free from the stirrup and swung it forward wildly. There was a loud crunch. Blood exploded onto the road where her boot had connected with the man's nose. She didn't watch the man as he fell to the ground screaming. She flung her arm round to hit the bearded one, but he caught her wrist. Her breaths came out ragged as she tugged her arm in vain. Her free hand went to his and tried to pry his fingers away. A rough pull nearly toppled her from her horse.

"Naughty, naughty. Good girls do as they are told," he leered at her.

It made her skin crawl, and she wanted to wipe that look away. Her free hand lashed at his face, nails scratching his cheek, drawing blood dangerously near his eye. He released her with a growl. She didn't waste time and drew her short sword, too relieved that she had one to curse herself for only just remembering it. She rested the edge against his throat, forcing his chin up. She tried to ignore the slight tremble in her hand. She was a mighty warrior, she reminded herself. She was in control. She was not a feeble child.

"Get away from me," she ground out, not nearly as collected as she always dreamed she would be in such a situation.

All friendliness had left his face as he glared up at her. "Big knife for a little girl."

"Get away!" she shouted. Still he did not move. She could feel her heart slam against her breast. She pushed the blade deeper into his skin, just shy of drawing blood. Finally he relented. She kept her eyes on his face as he took one pace back. She calmed her breathing to something more natural. "Keep walking."

He obeyed her. Some of the tension from her body eased. She had shifted her left foot to place it back in the stirrup when several things happened in very quick succession.

There was a shout from the ground, followed by Thindel shrieking and bolting forward. Sif was thrown back, and in response her grasp on her sword slackened so that it tumbled to the road. She hardly noticed. She barely had time to grab the pommel of the saddle to stop herself from flying off her steed. Thindel tore off down the road at a full gallop with Sif clinging ungracefully onto his back. She managed to thump her right hand down to pull herself forward to lie closer to her mount and steady herself. The countryside blurring past her went unnoticed as she tried to regain her balance enough to ensure she wouldn't tumble off her horse. She blindly tried to get her foot securely back in the stirrup when her mount jumped.

The horse landed, she was sure of that, but all she felt was her body slamming into the ground. She cried out at the sharp pain that shot through her arm and bit down on her lip. She lay on the path for a moment, eyes screwed shut and forcing down her sobs. Taking deep gulps she tried to push it all away. She moved her arms and gasped at the sensation, like sandpaper rubbing together. No, no, no! She did not have time for this. She couldn't have broken her arm, she just couldn't. Breathe, that what she needed to do.

Slowly, Sif sat up, biting down as her arm was jogged. It didn't look broken, but as she pressed her fingers against the flesh it sent a wave of pain along her arm. Was it swollen? It looked swollen to her. She'd once seen a warrior who had broken his leg so severely that it hung at a strange angle, something her parents would be horrified to know she had witnessed, but then when her cousin Herleif had broken his wrist the only sign was a slight swelling. She knew nothing about healing; the only ones who did were Hogun and Loki…

She groaned as her task came back to the forefront of her mind. Broken arm or not, she had sworn that she would return and bring help, and so that was what she must do. She couldn't do anything about her arm now; it would have to wait until she was back in Asgard and a healer could see to it. What she needed to do now was get back onto Thindel and ride again. However, as she looked up, she realised that this would not be as easy as she had first assumed.

Thindel was nowhere to be seen—he had not stopped when she fell. Instead he had made a bid for freedom. It could take hours to find the stupid creature. She pushed herself to her feet, grinding her teeth against the discomfort in her arm. She shifted, and something connected with her foot. Looking down, she felt her stomach drop and a frustrated scream nearly escape. Were the Norns set against her?

At least she knew why she had fallen. At her feet lay her saddle, the girth snapped and beyond useless. Not only did she have no horse, but nothing to ride it with.

(&amp;)

The sobs faded eventually. He must have drifted off because he blinked awake at some point. The monotony of the world made it difficult to tell how long he had been unconscious. It didn't feel like it had been long, but then it never did. However long it was, his head felt clearer now than it had since he had first woken. It was remarkable what a good cry could do, though he would die down here before admitting that to anyone… Well, maybe not quite. If that was the cost of his rescue, he would happily pay the price.

He was aware that he should be doing something. He craved an end to the fire that had settled in his bones and the knives that dug into his flesh every time he breathed. If only he could dull the pain! That was what Mother had done when he had broken his leg. She had shown him, resting his hand on hers so that he could feel how the magic worked. He had looked it up afterwards, he was sure. If he could remember that…

He started to nudge the pain aside, heavy useless matter that made it hard to think, trying to shift his focus onto his new goal. He waded through his mind, but he kept losing sight of the spell before he found it. He took as deep a breath as his body would allow, tasting blood in his mouth. He wondered if that meant he was dying. Perhaps that wouldn't be too bad, to simply sleep away the rest of eternity.

He blinked. He didn't want to die. How terrifying that he could forget something so basic! He wanted to live; death would be so terribly dull. He wouldn't bow out of life so soon without having truly lived. He just wished it wasn't so excruciating.

He dragged himself back up through his mind. His head spun and perhaps his vision swam, but it was hard to tell when it all looked the same. If he were more aware then he was sure it would drive him insane. He mentally shook his head; those were not the thoughts that he needed. What had he read? What had Mother done? Mother with her cool hands that soothed away all pains and voice which could cast down any demon…

The spell. Pining for his mother would do no good when there was a spell in his head that would help dull the pain and clear his head to think. At least he thought it was in his mind. A sudden primal dread filled him. What if he didn't know it? What if it had leaked out with the drip, drip, drip of blood? It could have fled and abandoned him to his fate. He should panic, but his thoughts seemed too heavy and weighed him down. The enchantment, he reminded himself, pushing the anxiety into a corner of his mind to fuel his mental search and not hamper it.

If only his thoughts would cooperate. Maybe he should just cast the charm. Some part of his head hummed in disapproval. To cast a spell one was not well accustomed to without thought, just pure gut instinct – which his was screaming foreboding – with the trust that it would flow through your body as naturally as blood flowed through your veins was, to put it bluntly, idiotic. Suicidal in the worst cases. That was funny, wasn't it? If he was already on the edge, was it suicidal? He was sure he had little to lose. He found the temptation of some sweet release too much. At this point, it wasn't as if it could get much worse.

He leapt into the spell as one would leap into a half forgotten nursery rhyme in the hopes that the correct words and tune would simply tumble from you without thought. It seemed to work—at least, his chest hurt a little less, or maybe he was just slipping back into oblivion. He tried again and was certain that the pain faded, but it simply sat in his torso. He had to push it out. Perhaps it would be better to start at an extremity and pull it towards his centre. That seemed easier. His fingers, he decided. It worked, numbing the hand, though it faded as he tugged it up his arm and the spell was spread increasingly thin. It was long, hard work, the enchantment reluctant to course through his broken body. It was something though, and the relief was enough to make him want to sob.

If he had been more aware of the world, then perhaps Loki would have noticed the soft rustling of cloth and the dragging of bones over stone, and maybe, just maybe, he would have realised that it was not he who made those noises.

* * *

A/N: Hello and Thank you to everyone still reading (apologises to everyone I haven't replied to yet). Just a small warning, it maybe a little longer until my next update. I'm sure you understand that December is a very busy month, but hopefully it won't be too much longer.


	9. Chapter 9

A\N: Firstly, I need to apologise for the lateness. It was never my intention for it to get posted up so late. December is always a busy month, but then I was sick for the first half of January and my computer is playing 'hard to work with'. So, I've several days/weeks when I haven't been able to access Word and other days when I haven't been able to access the internet. Some days I haven't been able to get the laptop up and working at all. I'd love to say that it's going to get better from here on in, but I really don't know if that's true at all.

Chapter 9

The world was much like it was before, the air cool and the white as unyielding. There was one large difference though: the pain was dulled. He still felt as though someone had set upon him with a hammer, smashing every bone in his body; however, he could think clearly enough to remember that the reason he felt like this was because every bone in his body had probably been broken. He was alive though, which was remarkable in itself, though it didn't feel it at the moment. He had survived a fall through the Mist, and now that he had regained some of his ability to think, it truly sank in how terrified he was.

He needed to heal himself, he just wasn't sure how. He'd read books, but he had never put anything into practice beyond closing small cuts and soothing bruises. Right now, casting those spells would be like using boot laces to mend a collapsed bridge. He had to do something. He could sense his life draining from his body, but he didn't know where to start.

He was lying here, and there was little he could do but rustle his clothes. When he tried to turn his senses inwards they were foggy with inexperience, but what he could make out had him pulling away again. His natural healing and magic could only do so much. On the bright side, it wasn't as if he could make things worse for himself. Anything he could do to lessen the pain further or heal even a bone had to help. Even if it was just allowing him to move his fingers.

Then it dawned on him. It was so clear that he wondered why he hadn't noticed earlier. If he couldn't so much as twitch his hand, then what could he hear moving?

As if sensing his thoughts, something gripped his left shin. He stiffened as the air caught in his lungs, the hand pressing against the shattered bones. He thought it was a hand anyway, but it was more like a claw, fingers like twigs that seemed fleshless as they curled around his leg. The weight sent a jolt of pain through him. Loki wanted to gasp, to cry out in pain or kick out and get this thing off him, but he was petrified. He feared to breathe as that was sure to attract the creature's attention, the noise amplified in the heavy silence. He could only play dead and hope whatever it was passed him by.

Another hand fell on his right knee and his eyes watered. A rustle accompanied it and a noise like sticks being dragged across stone. He could feel the tug of his trousers, inching up his leg. His panting quickened as he realised what was happening. His fears were confirmed when the first hand disappeared and reappeared just above his hip. This time he could not only feel his clothes slipping against his skin but something that knocked against his outer thigh, sharp and thin.

The creature's other hand moved to his chest, and this time he could not prevent the gasp of pain that escaped. A sob wanted to follow and he desperately bit it down, as if he had not given away his place already. A ridiculous thought—the thing clearly knew where he was and yet he could not stop himself from trying to blend in with his surroundings. He battled the nausea that fought to take hold, the smell of decay mixing with his fear that was so thick it was almost tangible. He slid his eyes down. Nothing. He was still blinded by the Mist that seemed more like death than ever. Never had it felt so suffocating as it did now, as it blocked him from seeing his hunter. The only hint was the hands that slowly crept up his body, nudging his mind over the edge and into panic.

He flinched when he felt a chilling breath against his neck and then against his cheek, the ghost of something hovering beyond it. The beast was no more than an inch away from his face, its horrid breath choking him with the smell of rotting meat. The nothingness that hid what he knew was there and the primal fear that this being invoked was driving him mad. He could feel it stirring the air between them. He could sense it move. Something wet and viscous dripped on his cheek. He could no longer hold back the whimper, tears leaking from his eyes. He swore he could hear the monster let out a short exhalation as if chuckling.

The next sound came on the inhale, sounding more like a blade being drawn than a word.

"Mine."

(&amp;)

Finding Thindel proved to be not as difficult as Sif had feared. Indeed, she simply had to walk for perhaps thirty minutes down the road until she found the 'noble' steed. Apparently the call of sweet freedom, galloping through open meadows and drinking from fresh mountain streams was nothing compared to the distraction of a patch of grass at the side of the road.

She looked down at the horse's flank and saw a thin, red graze, but it was shallow, barely more than a scratch. Sif had not been so lucky. In addition to her most likely broken arm, there was a fairly deep cut along her left calf. She had been so caught up in the commotion that she hadn't noticed until she had tried to walk. When the bandit had struck out, he had caught the girth of the saddle and her leg. It must have been what had spooked Thindel. Perhaps it would not have been as disastrous if the belt were not so worn, but the gallop down the path was too much jostling for it to take.

Her wound wasn't fatal, and what remained of the crushed healing stones had dealt with the majority of it, but she had lost a good amount of blood and it caused her to walk with a slight limp. She tried to ignore it, along with a slight light-headedness. Sif looked a mess, she knew that even without a mirror. Shaken, battered, dirty, tired and clutching a throbbing arm to her chest—this was not how she imagined the aftermath of her first real fight. She never thought she would look and feel quite so…pathetic.

She had abandoned the saddle in the middle of the way, knowing it was beyond useless now, and only took a few items in her belt pouch. She couldn't use it, and to try to take it with her would only slow her down. However, now she was left with the prospect of bareback riding home. It was not an idea that particularly excited her, but it couldn't be that bad. Could it?

Her first and most daunting task was to get on the horse in the first place. She glared at the stallion before her. No saddle and no stirrup. Nothing to grab to pull herself up and nothing to use as a stepping stone. With one arm out of commission she couldn't even try just taking hold of his back and mane and hauling herself up. She needed a leg-up, some steps or something! She couldn't even see a tree anywhere near her. She would have to lead Thindel until they reached a fence or large stone. She hoped it happened soon, she did not think that she could walk much further. It was one more element that wasted time; at this rate she wouldn't reach the palace until dusk. She rubbed her eyes. Who knew what could happen to her friends while she was here being hit by wave after wave of bad luck.

She moved to the mount's right, taking its reins close to the bit in her good hand. Thindel never ceased his endless chomping. She pulled, trying to raise the creature's head and was undeniably and effortlessly ignored.

"Thindel!" she hissed. "We must leave." She dug her heels into the ground to give her more force. "Stop eating, you stupid beast."

The horse took a step forward to reach a fresh patch of grass.

"Thindel!" She stamped her foot to no avail.

She let go of the reins and glared. Thindel tossed his mane and continued as if she wasn't there.

If she could just stop him eating. She lay her hand on the grass under his muzzle, but the stallion merely sniffed her before turning its head to a new spot.

"I will send you to the royal butcher if we are too late to save your master."

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the horse seemed undisturbed by her threat. After one more futile tug, she took a step back. She would have to coax him away somehow, but her food was back in the saddle bag, a thirty minute walk behind her. She rooted around in her pouch and found a few coins, several pieces of fluff, half a healing stone and a handful of honeyed fruits. She stared down at her palm. She'd seen Loki give his mare such treats before, which Glor seemed to enjoy greatly. Maybe this would be enough to tempt Thindel away as well.

She crouched down and held out her offering close to the stallion's muzzle. The steed raised its nose a little and sniffed the sweets. Sif didn't let him devour them, instead pulling back. She was delighted to see the horse follow her action. She allowed the steed to reach the fruits before again pulling away, this time stepping back just out of reach. She repeated the process until she felt her foot on the road and then until both mount and rider were on stone. Only then did she let Thindel reap the rewards. As soon as the last piece left her hand she snatched up the reins and found to her eternal relief that the horse was content to be led down the path. It was as if the creature had never objected in the first place.

"Stupid horse," Sif muttered under her breath. She was quickly becoming disenchanted with the beast of burden as she hobbled down the path. "I used to think you were such a noble steed. Your prince needs you and you want to graze as if there were no tomorrow. You can eat and drink all you like in the palace stables; now is not the time." She glanced at the stallion. "Perhaps I should have left you with the farmer and taken Apples." It was an empty threat; she would never have been able to climb on top of such a beast. Still, Thindel didn't need to know that. "I am certain that the All Father and Thor would have understood, though they would have sent men to retrieve you. It would not be a taxing errand for a servant or guardsman. It would be more than you deserve. Maybe the All Father is wiser than that and would see what an ungrateful creature you are and buy Thor a greater, more deserving horse. One that isn't more concerned with a spot of grass than his master's well-being. What do you think of that? You know what I think?"

She looked back at Thindel obediently plodding along beside her and she groaned, grinding the heel of her palm into her eyes.

"I think I am talking to a horse."

(&amp;)

Thor's going was slow, very slow. They had to be careful where they put their hands and feet, especially now that Fandral had lost his shoe. It was beyond frustrating to have to feel his way down the cliff. It was a miserable task. He had never had to depend so much on touch alone. The deeper they went, the harder it became. The long climb was taking a toll on his body. Thor was strong, but even his arms and shoulders were beginning to ache with the exertion.

Crouching down, he tried to reach his next perch and found himself lacking one. He dragged his foot along the rock face, dislodging a few loose stones. He could feel no jut or crack that was sturdy enough to hold his weight or large enough to squeeze into.

Something brushed his hair and he jerked his head away.

"Thor?" Hogun's voice was hushed; they seemed to getting quieter the further they descended. A rumble of a Sky Serpent a while back had ensured that they only spoke when absolutely necessary, and when they did it was as softly as possible. The lack of sound drove him to the point of paranoia, thinking he was hearing a Sky Serpent in the slightest breeze or the Creature's return in each rattle of stones.

"I cannot find where to move next." The air ceased to stir; his friends must have stopped.

"Are you still between us?"

"I believe so," he answered, though it was impossible to know for sure anymore.

"Move to one side, but tell us which first."

He ran is left hand along the stone, looking for a hold. He didn't find one. He reached even further and still nothing. He swallowed down a growl. How in all the Nine Realms was he supposed to navigate in this infernal mist? He could be missing his next grip by a finger's width or by a mile. For all they knew they were taking the most complicated path. They could be stuck. There could be no way down from here.

"Thor, which way?"

Did it matter? Left was as good as right when you could not see the cliff you clung to. It was inevitable that they would meet a dead end sooner or later. He had known the Mist Valley was like this, that it would have to be in order to cloud even Heimdall's gaze, but he hadn't really understood what it meant—not even when he had looked down from the precipice or as he had started climbing. Everything had always worked out for him before and not once had he thought that this would be any different. He'd never stopped to think how impossible this task was. No, now he admitted that he hadn't wanted to. He had simply wished to wrap himself in the belief that this would be easy and straightforward as long as he kept going.

"Thor? Answer me."

His arms burned with the strain of keeping himself in one place for so long. Why had he ever decided to come here in the first place? It had been a stupid idea to think he could just march down the road with only Loki and a magic orb to guide them. How could they ever slay a Mist serpent like that? It was insanity. Why hadn't Loki talked him out of it? That's what his brother was supposed to do. Thor would want to do something foolish and Loki, sometimes Hogun, would convince him not to do it or distract him.

"Thor, are you well?"

The prince nearly laughed at Fandral's question. He didn't, just shut eyes tightly against the Mist. Well? How could he be well? He could not see the rock that his forehead rested against. If he couldn't do something so basic then how was he supposed to find his brother? They could go straight past him at any moment and be none the wiser. He assumed that if they carried on descending in a straight line that they would stumble across Loki, but they must have been climbing for hours now. There had been no sign of his brother yet, and if there were any they wouldn't see them. The knot of fear in his belly grew tighter. They weren't even sure if they'd been climbing in a straight line.

His breath shuddered. Their cause seemed as lost as they were. They weren't going to find Loki, let alone save him. They couldn't even keep both of Fandral's shoes, let alone treat anyone's wounds! They were more likely to be lost forever than have any success in anything down here. His heart started racing, his shallow breaths matching its pace. His little brother was going to bleed to death because he couldn't see him. Loki was right now broken somewhere in the valley, most likely dying, and it was all Thor's fault! His stomach rolled at the image, and for a second he swore he was going to vomit. Loki wouldn't be able to defend himself against a Sky Serpent. He would be devoured with no chance to fight. It wasn't just Sky Serpents either—how could he forget that something else lurked in the gorge? A creature that scurried over the walls and carried with it the overwhelming sense of fear! A monster with fiendish appetites that would wander the chasm and stumble across a young boy, helpless…

And Thor panicked.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Thor was flying into a wild, blind panic. He clung to the cliff face tight enough to feel the stone cut into his palms while thoughts he had suppressed under layers of denial broke free and ricocheted round his skull. They beat into him what he had done and the probable worthlessness of his current actions. He suspected the only thing that kept his body from shaking was his death-grip on the rock. Terror like he had never felt before flooded over him at a prospect that had never occurred to him: failure. He could feel tears welling as he was unable to hide from reality any more. Not just failure, but death. He had dragged everyone here and then as good as killed them because he wouldn't go back to Father. Loki was right: he was coward.

He knew this, but it clashed with the need to find his brother. That's what it was now: he needed to find Loki. His spiraling emotions only heightened his urge, the only thing he had to cling onto in his storm of thoughts. He was stuck though; there was no way down. Reason told him to go up to the surface and wait for his father and the soldiers, the prospect of his Father's wrath better then these murky depths. His head begged retreat, his heart dragged him down to the chasm floor and pleaded for him continue. The two sides screamed at each other, locking up his body, and he found himself regressing to the childish wish to cover his ears and scream until it all went away. He was stuck in a tug of war while being pelted with guilt and he just didn't know what to do.

"LOKI!" The scream tore from him without a first thought, let alone a second. There was a scramble accompanied by Fandral's cursing. Thor ignored it. It was his duty to find his brother. It was the only thing he knew, and stumbling around was doing no one any good. He had to take action, he had to do something. What else could he do?

"LOKI! LOKI, IF YOU HEAR ME, ANSWER ME!" Who knew where his brother was. They could have passed by—he could be meters away or they could be leagues down the gorge.

"Thor," Fandral hissed, "keep your voice down! I nearly fell."

The prince ignored him. "LOKI!"

"We must be quiet."

"NO!" Thor snapped back. "We must not. We need to find my brother."

"Yes, but not that way."

"What other way is there? If we cannot use sight, then we must use sound."

Hogun's calm voice drifted down, but he was in no mood to be pacified. "Screaming into the Mist is more likely to attract unwelcome attention."

"Or have you forgotten what lies down here?" Fandral accused.

"If it helps us find Loki, then it is worth the risk," Thor sharply retorted.

"It will get us killed," Hogun's ever blunt comment came.

"How else will we find Loki!?" Thor demanded, aware that his shout had taken on a slightly desperate tone now.

"By keeping our voices down and not drawing the foul creatures that live in this Hel to us." Fandral's reply was far less calm. "We are useless if we are dead."

It was enough for Thor's next shout to catch in his throat. His erratic breathing filled the space instead. "We must do something. We cannot go on like this."

"Agreed," Hogun replied. "However, panicking will get us nowhere."

Thor tried not to feel the unintentional sting behind the comment. "We may have strayed down the valley."

"And we may not have."

"If we call out—"

"No!" Fandral hissed. "For Odin's sake, stop shouting."

"How else will we find him?" Thor demanded and was met by silence.

"Perhaps it is time to admit defeat," Hogun suggested calmly, but it turned Thor cold. "The All Father is—"

"NO! I WILL NOT LEAVE LOKI TO DIE! Go back if you are scared, but I WILL NOT abandon him!"

He swung his body down, in his anger and terror forgetting why he had originally been forced to stop. His feet struck stone and, finding nothing to support him, dropped down. His arms jerked him to a stop, forcing out a pained gasp as he felt them ready to pop out of their sockets, but only for a moment. Unable to take the sudden weight and pressure, his hands could no longer hold on to the rock. His palms slid over the cliff face, scraping away skin.

He fell, and it saved his life.

He didn't fall far, just enough for it to register before the air seemed to chill around him. The fog swirled as something rushed forward just above his head, speeding towards the spot his body had been not two seconds ago. A snap cut through the air, and a rumble of thunder so deep and loud that it vibrated through his body. No, not thunder, he thought as he was wrenched to a painful stop by his taut rope. It was a growl.

"Sky Serpent!" he cried out to his friends. He swung his arms to grope for the wall, hoping to catch something to grip onto. A snarl rolled through the air and Thor's rope suddenly snapped to the side, yanking him away from the wall and sending him sailing through the air. He didn't have time to be confused before something slammed into his side. He cried out as much in surprise as pain. His hand landed on the rock face. He wasn't sure what was up and down any more and his fingers curled round the rock on instinct. He was torn away again and swung until something thumped into his back. He blinked and grabbed the cliff, just in time to catch himself before he started slipping down.

"Thor? Are you with us?" Fandral had apparently decided to throw caution to the wind.

"Yes," he wheezed out; it was a close thing though. He tried to gather his bearings. He was hanging onto the wall somehow, his hand growing weaker the longer he hung on. With his other hand he groped in the Mist until it found a crack large enough to fit in. He could feel a sharp pain where one of his nails had broken off, and the skin of his palm was broken.

"Is it still here?" Fandral hissed, barely above a frantic whisper.

"If it is, you will draw it to you." Thor had no idea how Hogun sounded as calm as he always did.

A crash filled the air and the cliff face shuddered under his hands. Pebbles showered down on him, and he could hear the sound of scales grinding against rock, a firm answer to his friend's question. They remained silent. Thor took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart and welcome the rush that came with the prospect of a fight while trying to ignore all the fear that laced through his body. A fight, he reminded himself—something he could solve by hitting it. His eyes automatically attempted to seek out the danger.

Rubble fell too close to his eyes and he ducked his head down. There was a certain composure he could gain from having a new task, even if it was just swinging his sword in the hopes of hitting something. He felt around him with his feet, quickly finding foot holes to wedge them into. Even if the odds were drastically tipped against him in both arena and opponent, at least he could feel like he was getting somewhere with this. As long as he didn't think too hard about what he was fighting. He felt around him. He seemed to be in a corner, a wall both in front of and beside him, which must mean, or he hoped it meant, that he was next to a ledge. He needed that. He could not fend off an attack hanging off a wall. The grinding above him stopped, the last dusting of stone trickling down. Thor paused, reflexively looking up again.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

The silence clung around him like the Mist. As quietly as he could, shoving his satchel out of his way, he pushed himself further up the rock, wincing as something crunched loudly under his boot. He paused. Nothing. Another step up and he groped round for the top of the ledge. Why was it so quiet? Another lunge and he found his elusive plateau. Had the Sky Serpent left? His second hand joined the first, and he twisted to face the right way and pulled himself up. Had the creature left? It seemed unlikely—three helpless boys were waiting to be picked off and eaten; what self-respecting beast would turn and flee? It must be biding its time before it struck again. The thought lent his limbs a new sense of urgency, and he struggled to heave his upper body onto the shelf. When the serpent struck again he had to be ready. He would be standing tall, physically if not mentally, like a true warrior. He could feel his sword scraping across the rock as he pulled his legs up and underneath him.

He heard the grinding noise resume, accompanied by a pained scream. Thor quickly pushed himself up, only to have something jerk his harness to a stop, yanking him back down. He cringed as he slammed into the stone. What the—?

"What is happening?" he shouted into the fog, scrambling back to his hands and knees. "Who was that?"

"Fandral," Hogun answered. "Are you well?"

There wasn't an answer, nothing more than a few grunts and moans. This just went from bad to worse. Thor fumbled around to see what had wrenched him down, only finding his life-line. He must have tripped on it. He growled in frustration, not noticing how easy it was to fling it over his shoulder.

"Fandral, can you move?" He shouted, rising to his feet. Please let the answer be yes.

"I…urgh…my…"

Thor freed his sword, the action coming easily to him even when blinded. His gut flipped in what was becoming an increasingly familiar manner. His friend sounded bad, too weak. There was another smack and Fandral cried out again.

"Hogun, get over to him." His grip tightened on his sword. He needed to lure the creature and he could only think of one way to do that.

"I am."

"Good!" He made sure he bellowed it out. If he carried on he could distract their predator or at least confuse it enough for it to turn to him instead. "Hogun, do it as quickly as you can." He needed to continue, it didn't matter what he was yelling. "Once you find him, get him away. Go back. I will distract it. I have somewhere to make a stand. I have my sword. I can hold it off. Just get to Fandral and…and…get away."

A snarl nearby, closer to Thor than it had been before. His heart beat sped up.

"Noooooo," Fandral managed to groan.

"Thor, you cannot expect—" Hogun started.

"I can and you must," he barked over them. "I will follow you afterwards." His next words weren't shouted, more rasped out, but they didn't wobble. "I have no plans to die today." The words left him without him considering their sincerity. If he could see his hands, he was sure they would be bloodless from grasping his hilt; he could feel every dent and scratch. He took a deep breath, finding the prospect of a noble and honorable death not quite as appealing as he had once thought. He heard the soft snort of the Sky Serpent drawing nearer.

"The sooner you get going, the sooner we can escape." Then he swallowed down the pride that knotted his throat, because anything was better than dead friends and brother. "I was wrong, and I apologise. We should never have come down here. We should have waited." He felt the air chill further around him, just like it had when they had been attacked on the surface, and he knew what was coming.

By the Norns, he didn't want to die. He would never have dreamed that he would be such a coward in the face of death, but he couldn't deny the way his heart raced or the sweat that trickled down his cheek and over his hands. He wasn't sure if it was entirely the despair of the gorge that made him feel as if this would be a stupid and pointless demise. The air was cold enough to make him shiver. It was the cold and not fear. He was a warrior and a warrior did not tremble.

"Please do not die here," he pleaded.

The air stirred, rolling the Mist towards him. On instinct he stumbled to one side, swinging his sword wildly as he went. He could feel the rush as the serpent sped past, no more than a foot away. His sword rang out and bounced off of rock. He scrambled in the same direction, keenly aware that the edge was somewhere close by.

The cold receded; the creature was pulling away. Thor tried to stop his eyes darting around frantically, straining his hearing. All he picked up was his erratic panting. Too loud. He needed to be quiet otherwise it would know exactly where he was. No, he wanted that. Or did he? A near sob broke from him. No, push those thoughts away. He was a warrior and he would face any fiend with the bravery of a legendary hero. He was a warrior. He was.

Thor swung his sword wildly. Where was it? Was it readying itself? If it came near him then he wouldn't let it just take him. It couldn't have lost him. It must be able to hear his breathing or his heart that slammed against his rib cage and filled his ears with its beat. If it were quieter then maybe he would be able to hear something to give him a clue as to where the beast was or what it would do now. He ducked out of the way suddenly, but nothing came.

His breath hitched. WHERE WAS IT? The ice ebbed back into the air. His eyes widened. It was somewhere close. He swung his sword and it sliced through nothing but Mist which had never seemed as nightmarish as in that moment. The tales of the poets and soldiers were never like this.

The air grew increasingly cold. He quickly ducked to the side in anticipation of an attack. It didn't come, and instead Thor's back struck the cliff. He was so cold now. He had to clench his teeth to stop them chattering, but his breath still hitched and shuddered. The perspiration on his brow and shirt froze. It was close, his mind screamed. So close it had to be next to him, but this damn fog blinded him. He should strike out, but his limbs had seized up.

Something cold and wet shot out, tickling Thor's cheek and it shocked his body back into action. He let out revolted yelp and struck down roughly with his sword, stepping along the wall. There was an ear-splitting shriek that cut through the air like a whip. He didn't realise that he had dropped his sword or that he had fallen to his knees. He could feel his hands over his ears, useless as his entire head rang with the noise. It took over his world so nothing else could penetrate his senses, not even his own thoughts or shouts.

Something wet spattered against his clothes and skin, and there was a rush of air as another thing zipped centimeters from his head. Both were ignored as he pressed his hands tighter. By Odin, it hurt! More than he thought it could. How could mere sound be so painful? There was a flick against his chest. He felt a brief push of scales on his arm that nearly sent him toppling. Then the cries grew more bearable. He wasn't sure how long he remained kneeling before the idea of moving occurred to him. An obvious thought he should have had earlier. He should take this moment to flee.

He automatically reached for his sword and was rewarded with a sharp sting as the blade cut his hand. Carelessly he trailed his palm down until he clutched the hilt. He stood, and he must have taken a step because he was moving.

It was a second later that he grasped that he was moving down.

* * *

**A/N:**

So here we are at chapter 10. Sorry it took so long, there were a few minor setbacks.

Replies:

**T.R:** :) I'm very sorry for keeping you waiting for so long. Thank you so much for all your kind comments :) Hahaha. Actually, I know actually what you mean. I never thought about it like that, but I can definitely can see what you mean. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much.

**SmaugFan1: **Thank you :D Sorry you had to wait for so long. Don't worry, I'm not giving up on this one any time soon.

**Freedom2read:** Thank you. I'm glad you liked how I portrayed him in 'Fragile'. I don't really see him as an evil child abuser.

Guest (Mar 5): Hope this fits the bill.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:**First off, apologises for taking so long to update. Second, the first version of this chapter posted up was pre beta reading, this was the one I should have posted up. sorry about that.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

The closer Sif came to the main road, the more people she passed, and the road became increasingly well maintained, widening out for a larger number of people and horses. Though more importantly for Sif, it welcomed the beginning of fenced off land. Normally this was would not be worth her notice, but today they were not simply fences—they were ladders up onto her horse. It was easy enough to position Thindel and clamber up onto his back. That was not the tricky part. She soon discovered that bareback riding was not as easy as it seemed. With no saddle and no stirrups she had nothing to hold her in place, no means to help her stay on the horse. Even at a simple walk, she found maintaining her balance awkward and uncomfortable. Her injured arm was jostled, shooting up waves of pain, not helping her one-handed use of the reins. She had fallen back on steering with her knees when possible, but she was having enough trouble staying on the horse. It was exhausting.

At least she was on the horse now, approaching the main road and her three quarter mark. It was even possible that she would run into a patrol that regularly rode down the thoroughfare. Soon she was shakily directing her horse onto the sleek and smooth road on which people bustled back and forth, carefully avoiding the riders that dashed down the centre of the road. As she travelled further, she became more accustomed to her new position, the ride jerking her injuries less. She started to find the right place and posture to keep her steady.

The passersby eyed her cautiously, taking in her rough appearance. She must look horrific. Bloody, sweaty, muddy, her clothes torn and looking as if she could use a good sleep. It was a far cry from her imagined return. They were supposed to be riding down the centre of the road as a group so that everyone could see them. Thor would have been at their front like the born leader he was while the rest of them carried spoils of their conquest, perhaps hauling the head of their prey between them. They would have looked glorious, like the truest heroes of legend—spirited, dignified and pristine. No, on second thought, there would have been a few blood splatters, a smudge of grime here and there, perhaps a few tears in their clothing as proof that they had faced the beast and come out the victors.

A particularly sharp jolt hit her arm, as if reminding her that her fantasies were just that and a distant cry from reality. Their entire journey had been as different to her assumptions as black was to white. Looking back over the events of the day, from deciding it was an ingenious idea to go to the damned valley in the first place to her failure to fend off common thugs with a few well-placed strikes, she realized that the idea that this would turn out perfectly was utterly ludicrous.

A small part of her still stubbornly objected and didn't understand how this had all gone so badly. Why had her first two real fights resulted in her just escaping with her life and body in one piece? She trained, and she didn't train for a couple of hours a day like most boys. She trained for as long and as hard as she could. She went down to the sparring grounds and fought anyone who would accept her challenges, then when Herleif was free she would coerce him into teaching her. She rarely lost against her peers, except against Thor and occasionally Hogun. The only time she had sparred against Loki she had 'lost.' It still annoyed her that Herleif had ruled in favour of the Prince, so she didn't count that. Everybody lost occasionally, but she was still better than almost all of her peers and she had worked hard to be so. She was a great fighter; even her aunt and uncle had stopped objecting to her interests. They hadn't done so since she started spending more time with Thor and his friends—it was hard to object when the Crown Prince didn't—but she liked to think that at least part of it was that she had earned their acceptance.

She liked to think that. That they were finally coming round to her way of thinking and she was proving herself. She refused to acknowledge any future than as a warrior. She boasted to them of her achievements: every boy she beat, every word of praise she received, every time she outrode her friends. Yes, she had had brushed off Herleif's insistence that a practice bout and a real fight were two very different things. Yes, she neglected certain areas of her training, but they were areas that she had disregarded as unimportant.

She was beginning to realise how foolish she had been to assume this and throw away anything that didn't immediately fit to her image of what a warrior was. She was only now understanding the importance and how obvious it was. Of course she needed to know how to tack a horse, she was idiotic to think otherwise. The realisation leaked into other aspects, spiralling into a new comprehension. If learning to saddle a horse was important, then so was knowing the upkeep of her sword and armour. She must know it until the action became a mindless task. Just because it bored her didn't mean she should just pass it onto a servant. By extension, she needed to know how to start a fire, cook a meal, skin a catch, treat basic wounds and pitch a tent. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that she had neglected everything but her combat training and horsemanship. She had latched onto that shallow concept since her childhood.

She cringed. That was it. She had a child's image of a warrior and that was how she must seem to others, like a child playing make-believe. Today's disaster was just further proof. Her uncle and aunt were indulging her as one would humour a child, as if this was a game that she would soon become bored of. Her guardians must think she would soon grow out of it all when she realised it wasn't what she imagined. She had twisted her golden locks round her fingers with big, blue, pleading eyes, like one of the mindless court girls she despised, and asked if she could play soldier. In her mind, what she was doing was no different from the real thing. She hadn't been prepared for the fear that had gripped her when faced with a fight on her own. Or the panic that had overridden all of her common sense and good judgement in the face of overwhelming pressure. She hadn't understood what it really meant to be a warrior.

So what now? What would she do after this whole sorry business? She had to turn this illusion around and make her guardians look at her with the respect they would bestow on any of her male counterparts. She should ask Herleif to train her in all the areas she had so far abandoned. She couldn't be the pampered lady anymore. No more twirling her hair to get her way. No more giving tedious tasks to servants. No more avoiding boring parts of her training. She would earn respect and she would do it the hard way. Warriors didn't bat their eyes to get their way, or wear dresses…

No, men didn't. But now a new dilemma crept up, one that she had never really acknowledged. She was no man, nor did she want to be. She was a woman and proud of it, thank you very much. She never wanted to stop being one, she just wanted to fight. She wanted adventures, not embroidery and tapestries. She would never admit it to anyone, but she liked her beautiful dresses and the chance to dress up once in a while. She just never wanted that to be all she was. How much of that would she have to give up? All? None?

She screwed her eyes shut and rubbed them. This was giving her a headache. She could think about this later when she had a clearer head and a good night's rest.

Sleep. It sounded like a divine spell now. She ached all over. Her injured arm was reduced to a dull constant thud, but it seemed to have spread to her entire body. She wanted to get back home, longed for it within her soul. She wanted to speak to Odin, get help for her friends and then fall sleep until all her sores had healed and everything was better.

Just a little longer, she promised herself. She was so close, less than three leagues left. If she trotted the rest of the distance, she was certain she could be back at the palace within an hour. However, if she found sitting on Thindel disconcerting while he was walking, she wasn't sure how she would deal with a trotting horse with no stirrups to help her rise and fall with the motion of her steed. Perhaps if she moved straight into a canter. It seemed like a good idea to her mind. Alas, like many things that day which seemed to her to be a good idea, the reality was decidedly different.

She squeezed her heels into Thindel and immediately the horse spurted forward. Her intent was to continue pushing her steed into a canter, but she found herself unable to control it anymore. She never quite made it past a trot. Without the saddle, she bounced uncontrollably, slipping and sliding, unable to remain in a secure position. She was going to fall. It was all she could do to cling to her horse, praying she could stay on. It was not to be.

Sif felt herself slowly slipping to her right. Her attempts to right herself failed; there was that dreadful anticipation before the fall, and then she slammed into the road. Once again, her injured arm was crushed. She couldn't help the cry of pain that tore from her throat as fire shot up her arm again, dwarfing her earlier discomfort. Her vision went dark and it took a minute to realise it was because her eyes were screwed shut. Sobs that she had tried so hard to hold back broke forth, and tears started leaking from her eyes. She was vaguely aware that someone was talking to her, a woman and another person were guiding her into a sitting position.

"Come, child, we must get you out of the road."

Sif shook her head, roughly wiping the tears to see several people gathered around her. She didn't want to move; she wanted to curl up and go to sleep.

A man spoke. "You cannot stay here—" She didn't register the rest of the words. He was right, she couldn't stay here. She had to get to the palace.

She forced herself to speak past her sobs. "I-I-I ne-need to g-get to As-gard City," she hiccupped, rubbing her eyes.

"You need a healer."

"No! I..ne-need to g-get t-to the ci-ty."

"Chil-"

"NO!" Sif struggled to her feet. "I do…not h-have time. I-"

"Sif?!"

At her name she spun round and nearly wept anew.

Sif could think of no other time when she had been happier to see her cousin Herleif than that moment as she stood in the middle of the road with tears streaking down her dusty face. He took in the sight of her with widening eyes. Behind him one of his men called for the crowd to disperse, and the captain swung down from his horse and was soon by her side, gingerly touching her arm.

"Sif, what happened? Where are your friends? Where are the princes?"

She reached up with her good hand and gripped the front of his tunic. She took deep breaths, calming her sobs. "I-I need to get to the p-palace. I must go, NOW!"

"Tell me what happened? Where are the princes?"

"W-We didn't go t-to the Great Oak—we w-went to the Mist Valley. Loki... Lo-Loki fell in and T-Thor, Fandral and Hogu-gun went after him. I-I came to get help."

Herleif paled a shade, but otherwise seemed completely calm and collected, a sharp contrast to her hysteria. For a moment he looked as if he may ask if this was a bad jest, but he ran his eyes over her and turned to his men.

"Eindride, inform the palace. Ake and Destin, ride to inform the change stations. Geir, Halvard and Inghard, clear the road for the king's men."

"Yes, Captain," and then the men shot off down the road.

Just like that, Sif felt the strain and pressure slip off her shoulders. She had passed on the baton; the responsibility was out of her hands and with someone better equipped to handle it. Someone more capable. Someone who could help save her friends. The relief sapped the strength from her. She would have sunk to the ground if it weren't for her cousin's arm round her waist. She gasped as he jogged her broken bone.

"Easy," Herleif calmed. "We will get you to the city and the healing rooms. Can you ride?"

She rested her head against his broad shoulder, ignoring the remnant drive she felt to race to the palace as quickly as she could. She needn't worry about that anymore. She nodded.

"Hmmm. I think perhaps you should ride with me. I can lead your horse."

She nodded again, not really caring about her pride much anymore. She could ride with Herleif a little—the rest would be welcome and the promise of a healer at the end was enough to silence any of her misgivings. It would be alright.

Everything was going to be alright.

* * *

A/N:

Sif's story is drawing to a close. I hope nobody was too disappointed that this didn't have Thor or Loki in it.

As a heads up, my beta reader will be away for a while, so there is a good chance that the next chapter will be a while as well.

On the happier side, just wanted to give a big shout out to GabxLuci027 who wrote the 100th review for this story. I'm so happy that I got so many so thank you to everyone who has written one. :) (I'll leave the anonymous review replies until the next chapter, just because I messed up on the posting of this chapter).


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Thor stirred. His head ached. No, he decided, his entire body ached and stung. He felt like…like…like some witty thing Loki or Fandral would say. He scrunched his eyes closed and opened them again. It didn't do anything to help his vision, though it seemed to focus his mind a little more, wake him up a little. The shriek of a Sky Serpent echoed faintly in the distance, coaxing his mind further into action. If that was the same creature he had fought, then he couldn't have been out for long. He winced as he moved. It felt as if he had fallen a dozen leagues.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, flexing his cut hand which was still slightly sticky. It confirmed that it couldn't have been long then—blood dried quickly. He blinked. He had cut his hand… Ah, yes, he had been picking up his sword. His sword!

He groped around him, patting the ground with his good hand and remembering to be mindful of the blade. Eventually his fingers touched something distinctly metal. Tracing a finger over the fuller, he sought the hilt. He was startled when it came to an abrupt end. He found the edge and gingerly ran his fingertips over it. A groan escaped him and he felt blood drain from his face. His sword had snapped. He hadn't realized… He remembered trying to use his sword to slow his descent, but so many things were happening at once that his sword breaking had mixed into the chaos. It was close to useless now. He must have had some success in slowing his descent though.

He realised he should probably bandage his wound, but when he fumbled for the satchel strap he found it missing. He must have dropped it somewhere along the way. He growled, which came out more like a sniffle. This was one more thing he had messed up on. No supplies. No sword. No friends. Alone, his resolve crumbled. His warrior's face cracked under the pressure and tears started to fall. He bit down on his lip to stop himself from sobbing; he still had some pride after all, even if the valley was slowly, but surely, stripping that away. He concentrated on the flex of his hand, feeling it pull the cut and fresh blood drip down over his wrist, hoping to take his mind off his growing despair.

What now? What could he do? Lost and injured, he only had half a sword to defend himself. It was beyond pitiful. The thought that these were the circumstances that gave birth to true legends gave him little comfort. Heroes were made because most others would perish. He wasn't sure anymore that he was one of the few who would triumph. It was harder to play warrior with no one to perform to and draw courage from.

Thor bit down harder on his lip. This was his punishment. The Norns were exacting retribution for his trespass against Loki. He was doomed to die alone without honour or glory in this sunless valley.

He balled his good fist. He didn't want to die, just like he was sure that Loki—

He gritted his teeth. Loki wasn't dead. He had to believe that. He couldn't go through all this for nothing. It wasn't the same as before his breakdown when he could push the prospect of having a dead brother out of his mind and pretend it didn't exist. The cat was out of the bag and it refused to go back in again.

Did it matter if Loki was gone?

He sniffed, pondering on the question. Of course it mattered! It didn't change anything though. If Loki was...if he was dead then Thor would bring back his body. He had come down to find his brother and that was what he was going to do.

If only his legs would agree with him…

(&amp;)

Every step he took was like being swung into a wall. Well, at least every step his captor took. Loki was being dragged, like a rabbit being hauled away by a cat. Not that he could walk even if he wanted to. He dreaded to think what it would have been like if he hadn't healed himself. It was bad enough as it was, bumping over rocks and pit holes. He had long ceased caring about the groans that escaped him. It could be worse though. It was still better than when he had first fallen. This pain he could push past. It was the fear that was harder to control.

It was a strange kind of terror that he had never experienced before. It sank into him unlike any other fear he'd felt. It wasn't irrational, like being scared of the dark, nor was it rational like when he had fallen. It felt more instinctual. He had no idea what had found him; he just knew with every fiber of his being that he was, and should be, terrified of the creature. It was both motivational and a hindrance to his concentration. It didn't clog his thinking like pain did, rather it fuelled the desperation to get away from the thing until it overtook him and scrambled his thinking. He would then have to pull himself up again.

It would help if he knew what this creature was. He had no idea what his captor was capable of. He tried to puzzle it out. He ruled out most of the creatures as they popped into his scrambled mind. He knew under calmer circumstances he could have rattled off half a dozen possible beasts; now he struggled to name any. Occasionally his mind would latch onto an idea, only to realise that that creature was only found on Vanahiem or some other such pit fall. He would be so certain he had the right answer before he realised that the creature he'd thought of couldn't speak. His captor had certainly spoken to him. His mind was so desperate for a solution, screaming that it needed an answer, that it would go round in circles and skim the very surface of his knowledge, making it difficult to get past cat and dog.

It didn't matter what the creature was anyway. It could be a snail for all the good it would do him—he still couldn't move more than a twitch. He couldn't get up and run away or fight the Thing off, not how he was. If only he wasn't so broken. Every time he turned his mind to that problem, however, he came up blank. There was nothing he could think to do. He had numbed the pain, perhaps bought himself a little more time and made it easier to think. Healing himself seemed so hopeless that his mind swiftly turned back to working out what the creature was.

The instinct to get up and run was maddening; the frustration at not being able to made him want to sit there and scream. His mind begged for him to do something while his body chained him in place. This must be what the deceased in Hel felt like, what the dying felt when struggling for life or the undead…

And then a horrible thought came to him: what if he was already dead?

(&amp;)

Thor did not admit he was wrong often—only in front of his father. It made arguments with Loki very frustrating, as neither would ever admit they were wrong. Now he would hold his hands up and scream to the nine realms that he had made a mistake if he thought it would help at all. He should have gone to Father and told him what he had done. If he had to do it all again, that's what he would do. He would take the shame and punishment if it meant he didn't have to go through this. Loki's fate rested on his shoulders. It was a thought that both terrified him and gave him strength. Saving Loki was down to him now; he could not just sit here for the rest of his life.

Moping was useless and cowardly and those were two things that Thor refused to be. He slammed his hand down and found the half blade of his sword. Pushing himself to his feet, he sheathed what was left. It wasn't much, but it was still a weapon. He would have to be careful with his next step; he had no idea where the edge was or which way he should move. He slid his foot in one direction.

Something hit his leg and, to his shame, he jumped and yelped. He swatted the thing away and it slammed back into him. Panicking, he reached down to grab it and throw the beast away. He laughed in relief when he realised that it was his rope life-line. He reached down and tugged it up, and the cord moved easily and freely in his hands. It seemed odd, though he didn't dwell on it as a brilliant idea came to mind instead. He could use the line to guide him back to the wall. He grinned and tugged to make the rope taut. It flopped uselessly. He frowned and tried again only to get the same result. Slowly it dawned on him that the rope went down, not up. It rested against his leg, not his torso. That was wrong. He didn't feel like he was hanging upside-down. Oh, and he had stood up—surely he wouldn't be able to do that if he'd overturned. Puzzles weren't his forte, especially with an already sore head, but he was sure he understood what had happened. His heart sinking, he pulled the rope up, running it through his hands until he came to the frayed end. He had snapped both his sword and life-line.

Before he could sink again into despair, he shook his head. No, this was good. He would have run out of rope soon anyway—better now than hanging from the cliff with no warning. Fumbling with the knots, he untied the rope, shifting it across his chest. It would only get in the way now, though he was sure it would come in useful later. After all this, he had learned his lesson about being prepared, or as prepared as he could possibly be under the circumstances.

He tried moving again in the same direction as earlier. He didn't fall or encounter a wall. He took another step, expecting to hit an end at any moment. He did, and luckily for him, not in the form of a drop. His toes struck the cliff-face. Feeling relieved, he quickly went to grip it. With both hands on it, he felt more secure.

He took a deep breath. Now for part two.

* * *

A/N; Hope you all enjoyed that. Sorry for the long wait, but on the plus side, the next chapter should be up in a week.

Sorry I didn't reply to the non-signed in reviews last time.

Chapter 10 and 11 review replies:

T.R: Really? I like receiving replies so I try to leave them as well :D Last time I was a little rushed though. Yes, I agree that Thor isn't an idiot. He may not be the smartest guy in Asgard, especially next to Loki, but he isn't stupid. It's very kind of you to say those things :D I hope that this continues to live up to your expectations and doesn't become cliched. The next chapter we'll see what happens next with Sif. Hahah, and you aren't using the word awesome too much (and "Everything is Awesome" is a great song ;)) Thanks for your awesome review.

SmaugFan1: :D It will be a bit longer before Thor and Loki are reunited. Haha, I hope I'm not really killing you ;) But you've found out a bit more about what's happening to Loki here.

kitty: Don't worry, I have no intention of abandoning this. I'm sorry to keep you waiting :)


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sif had never seen the stables so hectic. She had seen guards and soldiers in action before, though not like this. Not at such short notice and on such a large scale. She'd seen patrols and hunting parties set out, but those were groups of a dozen men who had organised everything in advance. Four score men and horses bustled round the courtyard. Half were Einherjar but a few she recognised as higher ranking soldiers, strong warriors, and she even caught a glimpse of a sorcerer. That didn't include the servants running to and fro, trying to prepare everything in record time. The commotion wasn't chaotic, there was no panic or confusion, and everyone strode with purpose and determination. No man was idle. The happy and light atmosphere of a hunt was absent, and in its place were barked orders and the clink of weapons. With her mind foggy from exhaustion, it was a little overwhelming.

Herleif manoeuvred his horse round the edge to a spot out of the way. A stable hand quickly rushed forward and took his horse.

"Captain Herleif? Lady Sif?" The servant asked. When her cousin confirmed, the man turned and shouted to a messenger boy. Turning back to them he started to help Sif down. "We have been told to send you and the lady to the Healing Rooms. The All-Father shall meet you there."

"Thank you," Herleif replied, swinging down from his mare. "Take care of my horse."

The servant gave a hasty nod and set about his work. Sif felt a hand on her back, just below the shoulder blades, guiding her along the perimeter of the yard and towards the healing rooms.

"The All-Father is very generous to let us see a healer instead of going straight to him."

"I am injured," she pointed out.

"And his son may be dead, perhaps both."

A jolt of guilt ran through her; fatigue had made her speak without thought. Here she was, and not even Heimdall could say where exactly Thor and Loki were. No one could even guess if Loki was… She shook those thoughts away. She should have arrived hours ago. She had failed her king, her friends and possibly Loki. The likelihood that whether it took her minutes or days to reach Asgard made little difference to the younger prince was not any comfort. As if sensing her inner turmoil, Herleif moved his hand to pat her head.

"You did well, Sif. Do not doubt that. You travelled here from the valley on your own with pressure that would make any soldier nervous. Now the All-Father will go to his sons. Not bad for a girl who is still wet behind the ears."

"Am not," she mumbled, brushing his hand away.

Herlief chuckled. "There she is, my baby cousin. I was starting to worry that she was still lost on the road."

He held the door to the Healing Rooms open for her. The scent of herbs and undiluted alcohol whiffed out and made her queasy. She was immediately set upon by a female healer, who cooed, "Poor dear!" Sif let them lead her to an examination room without compliant. Quite frankly, she would agree to spend the next day with her aunt braiding each other's hair if it got her to a bed and healer. She was directed to sit on the bed while the healer prodded at her arm, chatting away merrily as she did so.

"I hope you have nothing to do with the commotion outside." The healer's tone was teasing, unaware how true her words were. "I have not seen the men so worked up in years—best to stay out of it. Let the men beat each other with sticks." The healer smiled, clearly hoping her humour would appeal to the young patient. All Sif could manage was a weak nod. This didn't dampen the woman's mood as she laid one hand flat over Sif's forearm. The healer closed her eyes and smiled. "Hmmm, that is quite a break you have there," she hummed, opening her eyes again.

She gently ran her fingers over the skin, her gaze becoming distant. Her touch was cool, and it spread through her arm and soothed her hurts. A minute later her sight cleared and she stepped back.

"There." She strode over to the corner and opened a set of drawers, pulling out a bandage and splint. "I have helped the healing along and dulled your pain, but it is best to let your body finish. You are still young and we would not want to train your body to rely on magic to heal itself."

"Thank you," Sif muttered as the woman set about bandaging her arm. Her eyelids were starting to feel very heavy.

She paid no mind to the footsteps and excited chatter from outside the room until the door swung open. The healer's head snapped up, her mouth open to chastise whoever had rudely interrupted their session. Sif didn't look up, forgetting that she was expecting guests until the healer and Herleif spoke as one.

"Your Majesties."

Her head whipped up in time to see the two adults with her greet and bow to the King and Queen of Asgard, though the healer a little awkwardly with her hands full. Frigga looked pale, yet she retained still a calm grace and the mask of a queen in place. She was still poised and refined, but her hands were clasped in front of her in a grip that looked positively painful.

It was the King, however, that caught and held Sif's attention. She had seen him in full battle regalia before now, though always at ceremonies. It was a sight to be seen, but she had always seen the All-Father on those occasions. Gone now was the wise old king who ruled Asgard, and in his place stood the warrior who had defeated the Jotuns. His armour glistened like the sun, without scratch or dent. His expression was stern as he looked down at her. She couldn't tell if he was angry or not, which added to her anxiety. She felt as if he knew all her trespasses. She'd never been so nervous, or perhaps she was just scared. Whichever it was, it pushed back her tiredness. He stared straight into her eyes with the full force of his kingly might.

"I wish to speak with the Lady Sif."

"Of course, All-Father. Her injury is not fatal; time and rest are all she needs."

"We will not keep her from sleep for long," Queen Frigga assured them, closing the door behind her. "Please, finish your work first." When Odin glanced at her she merely raised an eyebrow. "Five minutes will not make a difference in the larger scheme; it will not delay your departure."

Odin humphed. "The healer can work while we talk." He turned back to Sif, and she wished he hadn't. "I need to know what happened, and do not lie to me."

"We went to the Mist Valley."

"We know that. Why?" Odin asked, his sharp tone all the indication she needed that he was not in the mood for tact or being gentle. As much as she wanted to stand by her friend and say something that would soften Thor's blame, under Odin's stern glare she found her courage wavering. These weren't just the monarchs of Asgard, they were the parents of Loki, who may be dead. She couldn't bring herself to lie outright to them, not even for Thor.

"We wanted to find honour," she managed to get out, trying not to see the matching frowns Odin and Frigga wore.

"How can you find honour in a place you cannot find the hand in front of your face?"

She winced at his tone, the implication of stupidity beyond question clear. He did not hide it and no other would object to it, even if he were not King.

She looked away, down at her arm, and she realised that the healer had finished her work and stepped away. She hadn't even noticed.

"The Sorcerer's Eye," she responded. She could feel the displeasure in the room increase.

Frigga sighed. "I wondered why Thor would take Loki."

"These are both issues for another time. I will speak to Thor when this is over. How did Loki fall?"

Sif swallowed. She wanted to save Loki and her friends, but she didn't want to get her dear friend into even more trouble. His parents would kill him. They'd never forgive him for what he had done if Loki was dead.

"He...he fell."

Odin's expression remained stoic. They knew she was hiding something. "How?" His tone was sharp, a king demanding an answer from his subject.

"I-I—" The king and queen were upset, and the King was angry, naturally. How would he react to the knowledge that Thor had pushed his brother into the valley? She couldn't just lie to her king, could she? Thor had done a grievous deed, one that would haunt him for years, but he was devastated by it. He would pay for it. Did it really matter how Loki ended up falling? Thor hadn't done it on purpose. It had been an accident. Knowing would add more grief to his parents.

"Sif," Frigga's soft voice urged her on. "We must know what happened."

She ducked her head down, avoiding their gaze. They knew she was hiding something. She had to speak, and she didn't want to lie.

"He—we—I… We… We dropped the Sorcerer's Eye." The words slipped from her lips, barely more than a whisper that grated against the silence. "It was an accident. We were startled by a Sky Serpent—"

"You were attacked?" Odin snapped. Behind him Frigga gasped.

"Yes," she admitted. "We fought it off...Loki drove it away with a dagger to the eye." She owed him that much honesty. He had saved them that time. "However, it made us drop the Eye. It rolled over the edge and into the Valley before we could stop it. We tried to see where it had gone and were arguing whether to go and retrieve it when… We did not mean to lose it." Or for Loki to fall.

"You were not meant to have it in the first place." She winced—Odin's voice was flat but seemed both dispassionate and disapproving at the same time. He was angry, and why wouldn't he be? Her explanation did seem to satisfy them though. They did not push their original question, the All-Father moving the interview on.

"Where did he fall?"

Her gazed remained fixed on her fingers. "From the top." She heard Frigga bite down a sob, making her feel as guilty as if she had been the one to push Loki. "We passed the carfax for the Great Oak, followed the country road through the forest and rode south along the valley. Volstagg is waiting; we left him behind to guard the ropes. Thor, Hogun and Fandral climbed down."

There were several moments of silence, but she never looked up, not even when Odin spoke again. "Should I know anything else?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "No, your Majesty."

Without another word, the All-Father turned and left the room. Sif felt a gentle hand on her good shoulder. "You did well, Sif." The girl's head rose, looking at her queen. Frigga pushed back stray locks of Sif's hair. Had she heard correctly? The queen couldn't be serious. There was nothing vicious or mocking in Frigga's voice though as she smoothed back the hair. "You have had a long day, rest now. I have sent for your uncle and aunt. You will be home soon. For now, sleep."

And so she did. She barely noticed the magic seeping into her, soothing her mind into slumber, safe in the knowledge that she had played her part.

(&amp;)

For the second time that day, Hogun was cursing himself for suggesting that they ask Loki to wield the Eye. The first time had been when Thor had pushed Loki, and under normal circumstances he would have left it at that. Dwelling on self-blame was a pointless, and at times dangerous, practice. "You will be surprised how much time men spend debating and fretting over what has gone wrong rather than finding a solution to a problem," his father had once said as he pored over pages of research. "There's no point dwelling on past failures if it hinders you in the present." It made sense to him, and his father was amongst the wisest men he knew. This time, however, he let himself have that small luxury, knowing the small niggle of guilt would not go away. Suggesting Loki should join them was definitely the most idiotic plan he had ever had.

The problem was that he had never expected Loki to actually agree to come along. He still didn't understand why the younger prince had done so beyond him thinking that Thor would lose interest before arriving at the valley. Loki could be called many things, but idiotic and foolish were not among them. Hogun respected that about him. The younger prince must have known that to attempt this was suicide and should have told Thor in a way that only a brother could. When Thor decided on something, there was little his friends could do but follow. Only his brother had any success in changing his mind. Hogun had assumed that Loki would shut Thor down as his friends could not, and that would be the end of it.

He couldn't blame Loki though; he hadn't been in on the scheme. Hogun had tried to be clever and it had backfired, another vice that his father had warned against. When one intentionally tries to be smart, they often produce plans that are full of holes and variables. Loki could actually pull it off, with his peers anyway, and he made it look easy. Though in the case of Sif, it just tended to add more tension to an already strained relationship. It gave Hogun a grudging respect for the younger prince's talent, though it didn't ease the caution he treated Loki with. It could be hard to tell if Loki was being sincere or if he was trying to get something.

Hogun had assumed, being four years older than him, that if Loki could do it then surely he could as well. It appeared that is was not as easy as Loki made it seem. Simple and direct; that would be Hogun's tactic from now on. All that was irrelevant for the time being. It would make him wiser in the future, but couldn't help him here and now. He had to act.

The plan was simple: get Fandral to safety. Unfortunately, life was not that easy for Hogun. The first problem had been finding his friend. He hissed at Fandral while he moaned and groaned about his arm, stopping only long enough to ask after Thor. Hogun had no idea where Thor was now; he hadn't answered his last few calls, which meant the Crown Prince was either dead, unconscious or too far to hear them. When he came across Thor's rope and found it slack, his fears increased. Both of the princes were lost, both under circumstances that could have been avoided and both possibly dead. One problem at a time, he reminded himself. He had a lifetime to deal with the fallout of this, but first he had to secure that life.

Feeling his way along in what he prayed was the right direction, he came across another rope. Giving it a yank, he hissed, "Is that you, Fandral?"

"Who else would it be?" Fandral snapped back.

He didn't rise to the jab, instead he followed the line down until his foot connected with something.

"Owch! Will you be careful! Isn't it enough that I have forever maimed my arm, after losing my boot I might add? Must you also destroy my greatest physical asset as well?"

Hogun nearly sighed. He'd forgotten how dramatic and ill-tempered Fandral could get, especially when injured. When Thor had scraped a thin line down his arm when sparring with live steel a couple of weeks ago, he had claimed that his flesh had been cut to the bone. Hogun doubted that he would be chatting like this if he really had been maimed. From the earlier screams however, he didn't doubt it was serious.

"Is there a ledge nearby?"

"How should I know?"

"Did you pass one recently?"

"No."

"Was your sword arm injured?"

"Yes."

Hogun took two steps to his right, hoping it was enough, and carefully edged his way down. Every now and then he would reach out to assure himself Fandral was still there and he had not gone too far. His friend hissed when Hogun hit his face accidently.

"That was nearly my eye!" So Hogun slid his hand down, ignoring his friend's comment. Most men were short tempted when in pain; he couldn't hold that against his friend. Fandral just had a flair for the melodramatic. He followed Fandral's cheek to his neck and then down to the shoulder. "If only you were a beautiful—Argh!"

The cry, when Hogun reached the elbow, was swallowed into a gasp. He could hear Fandral's breath speeding up, becoming shallow as it did so.

"It feels swollen," Hogun supplied. "It may be broken." If only he knew what else to look for. He would have to learn more of the healing arts for the future. Best to be prepared, as he highly doubted that this would be the last occasion he would need the knowledge, regardless of the outcome of today. "Can you move it?"

"Painfully."

Hogun only paused for a couple of seconds before deciding the best course of action to take. "Can you get your arm round my shoulder?"

"I can try."

Fandral groaned as Hogun helped him sling his arm round his neck, scooting closer so he could wrap one arm round his friend's waist, ensuring his hold was firm. Closer together, Hogun could let his voice drop as low as he could make it, for all the good it would do now. "We will move back to the top—"

"We cannot abandon Thor. I do not care what the idiot of a prince has to say."

Hogun had expected that response and would have been shocked to hear any other, so his argument was already prepared in his mind. "And what do you propose we do?"

"Go find Thor, of course."

If only life were that simple. If Hogun genuinely thought that he could save Thor, then he would be right beside Fandral, scaling the rock face. The crown prince had a way of drawing people in and inspiring undying loyalty, even from Hogun himself, who was naturally inclined towards a calmer mentality and life. People wanted to be around Thor, to follow him, sometimes to the extent that they ignored their own good sense. Hogun had something that his younger friends didn't though: an understanding that sometimes it was best to admit defeat. That discretion is the better part of valour. Though his mother would argue that this was a trait shared by all Asgardians… He closed his eyes at the thought. His mother was going to murder him when she finally found out the mess he had gotten himself into.

Hogun finally replied to Fandral. "We have no way to find him. We will become increasingly lost and your injury will worsen."

"We have to try. He is not just our friend, but our prince—both our princes." And therein lay the bigger issue. Of course Thor was their friend, and they all liked Loki well enough, but none of them were ignorant of the rank disparity. They all knew that it made the situation much worse. To have a hand in the death of your friend and his brother was one thing, for those people to also be the only princes of Asgard … Only a simpleton would not understand the gravity in that. "Do you want to explain to the All-Father why we abandoned his sons? It is probably treason."

"The All-Father is wise—"

"And they are his sons, our friends," Fandral repeated. "You want to willingly walk away from them? If they died—"

"You are useless," Hogun bluntly cut in. He ignored the way Fandral flinched, continuing on to hammer home the harsh but necessary truth. "You cannot climb and you will harm our chances of surviving another attack. With a damaged arm you are a burden. We need to get you out of here."

"Fine, I am useless," Fandral snapped back. "Then leave me on a ledge and go find Thor. I will wait for you to return."

After all this, his friend still thought that was a possibility. It was exasperating and more than a little sad. He was beginning to think the Norns had exchanged all Asgardians' common sense for imprudence. "If our expedition has taught us anything, it is that finding anyone is highly unlikely. We have been descending for hours and are still no closer to finding Loki, so how can we find Thor? We must admit defeat."

"But you have a chance to at least find him. Taking me back is a waste of time."

"No, it is the only shot we have to ensure that at least one of us makes it out alive. If I leave you here, we lose that. Sif must have reached Asgard by now; the All-Father's men could be at the top of the ridge by the time we return. Up there we can help them rather than giving them two more people to look for down here."

"So you would choose me over your Prince?"

Hogun bit back his initial reply that Thor was technically not his prince, highly doubting that it would help in this moment. Think before speaking. Always think before speaking. "I would choose one living friend over two dead ones."

At the end of the day, that's what his decision came down to. It was the most horrific and sickening choice he had had to make. Worse than when his father had moved to Asgard and he had been asked to choose if he would rather stay in Vanaheim with his mother or go with his father. But when it boiled down to the basics, there was no other choice for him.

The stark retort made Fandral pause, giving Hogun hope that he had finally drilled the point through his head.

"We cannot leave him." It was a last feeble attempt. The words lacked any conviction as he accepted that Hogun was right. To split up now was to sign their own death sentence, lost in these inky depths.

"We have no choice."

* * *

**A/N**: Basically, the way I think about Sif's situation is this: If your best friend killed their sibling by accident, would you tell the police and their parents? Now, would you have done so when you were 15/16? (If you aren't.)


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** So, first off, I am very sorry about the wait. This is pretty much a couple of months after I intended to post it up. Unfortunately, Christmas, making cards, conjunctivitis and the approaching end of the school year rush got the better of me. On the plus side, most of Chapter 15 is typed up, so hopefully not too long there. Apologies again and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Thor's confidence was growing, enough so that he started to feel his smile return and his heart slow down. He had something now that he didn't have an hour ago; he had the Valley Road. It hadn't taken him long shuffling down the track without falling over an edge to realise that he had fallen onto the path that ran down through the valley, the one that he had originally intended to take down before tragedy had struck. All he had to do was follow it and it would eventually take him to Loki or, if the stories were true, Hel. If he did reach Hel and Loki was there…well, Thor would just have to strike a bargain and get him back.

"Loki," he called, careful to keep his voice low as he did every time he called out to his brother. The idea of fending off a Sky Serpent should he attract one's attention was laughable and naïve. He knew that now. He just wanted his brother back, and yet every time he called out, he received no reply. So he kept his shoulders straight, his ears sharp, and his hand on the wall and continued to move forward. Knowing he was on the road was enough reassurance to stop clinging to the rock face and to pick up his pace to a fast walk. As long as he kept one hand firmly pressed against the cliff at all times then he should be fine.

His progress was swift and easy. They should have used the path from the beginning; they may have found Loki by now if they had. Of course, they hadn't used the path because they wanted to go directly down from where he had pu— …from where he had pushed Loki. It had seemed certain if they did that that they would come across his brother.

The thought was enough to stop Thor mid-step. He hadn't considered that when he had started walking. The path was easier and quicker, yes, but it also made the chance of him stumbling upon Loki far smaller. He had strayed from his brother's fall line. Loki could only have dropped down, and for all Thor knew was in a completely different area of the gorge. He could retrace his steps and—

No. Shaking his head, Thor forced himself forward again. Going back was pointless; he would have no way to know when to stop. Besides, he would get nowhere if he kept changing his plan every time his thoughts changed. He had decided on this course and so he must follow it through until he could no longer do that or until he found Loki.

(&amp;)

He couldn't be dead. It was ridiculous. An insane idea produced by fear and hopelessness to excuse his inaction against the creature whose claws he could feel digging into his ankle. Once it had sparked though, it roared into life and refused to be extinguished. His mind knew it was irrational, but the rest of him disagreed. After all, how did he know what the afterlife was like? It certainly made sense. He must have fallen…he had no idea how far, but it had been enough to shatter his body. He was constantly reminded of that with every stone and dip he was pulled over, sending spikes of pain through him. Did he really think that he had been lucky enough to live? He had cast a spell! Yes, his spell. The one that he had somehow managed to cast just in time and just strong enough to save his life in a very short space of time despite being panic-stricken. Wasn't that delusional? He had barely been learning magic for two years.

But this wasn't what Helheim or Valhalla looked like. It couldn't be. Granted, he'd never seen them, for obvious reasons. So how did he know they even existed? His breathing sped up. No, he knew they existed because the Valkyries did; he had seen them—and Hel was established as one of the nine realms. He had read books about them in which both were described and they sounded nothing like this. It was possible that the books were wrong, he supposed. This couldn't be Valhalla. That was a glorious hall of constant feasting and only those who had fallen in battle were taken there, something that he most certainly hadn't done.

His stomach twisted in a manner that had nothing to do with the smell of putrid meat. There was no chance that being pushed off a cliff by Thor, stupid Thor, during their argument could be counted as dying in battle. It was laughable at best and an insult to all those who had fearlessly died at worst. No, he hadn't passed into Valhalla. He hadn't because he wasn't dead, he reminded himself as he tried to pull himself together. He had to cling to that last piece of sanity. This was not what the underworld looked like. Helheim was a barren wasteland filled with the dead. This was the Mist Valley…which was said to be so deep that it reached Hel. Could he have fallen all that way? He certainly felt like he had, with every bone grinding against each other. He had no idea what was around him—except for the creature with its prominent stench of death. Certainly this suffocating world seemed to be a fitting place for those who couldn't end their lives with honour and glory.

Something wet trickled down his face. It was unfair! He hadn't had a chance to prove himself. He wasn't even allowed to use live steel when sparring. How was he supposed to go into battle at fourteen, let alone die in one? He had though, hadn't he? Not moments before falling he had fought a Sky Serpent. He had forgotten about that creature. Would it have been better if he had died then? It was stupid to expect him to fall in combat before he was a man. It was unfair that he was dead at all.

But he wasn't dead. He was not dead. He was not dead. He was not dead…

Was he?

(&amp;)

The Valley seemed to be determined to knock Thor down at every opportunity. Thor wasn't running down the road, not quite. He was walking very quickly though. The caution had left his steps long ago, replaced with the confidence that came with purpose and assurance that he knew how to proceed. His hand brushed the rock face with the barest contact, just enough to assure himself it was still there. It was all he needed—the path under his feet to show him the way and the cliff against his fingers to ensure he didn't stray over the edge. He counted out ten steps, called for his brother and when silence answered him he repeated the process. It seemed like something Loki would do, which must mean it was intelligent. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. "Loki!"…Nothing. It was quick now, keeping up with his steps. One, two, three, four, five, six, seveneightnineten. "Loki!" Nothing. Keep moving. Onetwothreefourf-

It was on the fourth step, just as he was thinking 'five' when he realised his foot wasn't on the road. His moment of bemusement was too long, his reaction too late. Next thing he knew he was falling.

He let out a curse, and not one of the childish ones, but one he had learnt from the soldiers. His left hand skated over the rock as he failed to grip anything to keep him in place. His hand had been too light on the wall and he was plummeting too quickly. All he found in his fingers were loose stones. He was going down. He was going to fall to his death. He had enough time to acknowledge it, for the dread to set in, to know that Loki would never be found. He felt his heart sink to the valley floor with his body while his innards flew up into his throat as if being left behind.

Then his foot hit his backside and he stopped.

He sat there, feeling the tremble of his limbs and hearing his rough, wheezing breaths. He wasn't falling. He was sitting on one foot and he could feel the other leg resting against the cliff-face. He was perched on the edge, but he wasn't falling to his death. He laughed, the sound a little too high to be calm. He was fine. His fingers locked onto the rock face in front of him. He bent forward and rested his forehead on top. He forced himself to breathe deeply. He let his body and mind calm and steady themselves. That had been… He swallowed. Was that what Loki had felt when he had gone over the top? Maybe just a small taste of it.

"I'm sorry, Loki. I'm so sorry. I will make it up to you. I will find you, I swear."

He calmed his breathing, concentrating on that until the rest of his body followed suit. When he wasn't shaking anymore, he lifted his dangling leg to feel into the void. He stretched as much as he dared, hoping that his foot would connect with the continuation of the path—instead it met more air and mist. It would appear that he had reached the end.

What now? Go back or go down? Was there really any choice? Down. Lowering his leg, he ran it along the cliff below him. There didn't seem to be a good foothold. He'd have to move along the edge until he found one. With care, he turned round so his back was to the cliff. Feeling his way along, he skirted round the edge. He could do this! His missing rope wouldn't be an issue; he hadn't needed it before, so he wouldn't need it now. At least he knew he wasn't about to shuffle over the edge. The path was wider than expected, but that was hardly cause for concern. He had just come down it and encountered no problems—no broken road or sudden drops—so he should be fine.

Overconfident. That's what he was. So sure of himself and what he knew that he slammed his hand down onto the road ahead of him too quickly and with too much force. For the second time within ten minutes he met nothing. Again he had the horrid feeling of his heart hitting his throat. No! Not again. He couldn't survive one narrow miss just to fall minutes later! He…He slammed into the road. His wrist ached and his face stung from his rough contact with the ground. His heart slammed against his chest, reminding him that he was very much alive.

He let out a sound that coming from anyone else he would have called a sob. He hated this place! He hated it! HATED! He lay there catching his breath, the corners of the road sticking uncomfortably into him—which was strange, now that he thought about it. So was the angle he lay at.

He pushed himself up, this time with more caution, and ran a hand over the road. Flat and then it dropped. It wasn't far, perhaps a hand's length, before levelling out again. Along and down. Along and down. He laughed. Stairs. The path had doubled back on itself and someone had built steps. He had no idea how or when and he didn't care. He was far too relieved that the road hadn't ended. He had something that he could still follow. He thanked the Norns for this small blessing. He just needed to get back to the safety of the cliff. To his embarrassment he crawled over to it, though he would never admit it, not trusting his legs quite yet.

He nearly hugged the wall when he reached it, only his last remaining dignity stopping him. He settled on using it to pull himself to his feet. He stood there for a moment, composing himself and steeling his body until he was ready.

One last deep inhale. Here he goes, again.

Exhale. With caution.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** So, this chapter is late. I'll cut a long story short, since I last updated, I got a new job in a new city, was told I had to move out of my apartment in two weeks, oh and had to wait about a month for internet, because this is Japan. I really did want to get this up over a month ago, but life hasn't made it easy. I really do apologise.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Did one feel pain in Hel? That was the question. If he was dead, which he wasn't, then he had to be in Helheim. Of course, the whole idea was ridiculous. It was. It really, really was. Except it wasn't and it had him running in circles inside his mind. The idea was seeping further into his head and making more sense all the time. It was just…logical. It would explain the stench of death—the smell of rotting meat and refuse that hit the back of his throat strong enough to make him retch, which sent a shiver of pain through him, bringing him back to whether or not one felt pain in Hel.

He supposed that depended on if one had a physical presence in Helheim. If someone's body remained behind on Asgard, then they couldn't have two bodies at the same time. So one could not have a corporeal form in the after-life and therefore one wouldn't be able to feel pain.

The victory fell flat. The logic was sound…he thought. No, it was a hollow reassurance. It didn't feel right, so it triggered counter arguments to spring up. It was becoming harder to fight the conviction that he was dead. He knew it was madness…

Loki's brow twitched into a frown. Madness… There was something there, he was certain. He tried to redirect his thoughts. He should have an answer. He should be able to pick up 'madness' and follow it to a conclusion. He tried reaching for it, but as he brushed against the answer the nagging pain slapped him away. The whispering voice telling him he was dead was dragging him down, as if determined to drown him in insanity.

There it was again. He should have the answer. He knew it! It was there inside him dancing just out of reach. If he were well he would have it in a second. It was maddening in its frustration. Yes, madness! That was important, if only he could remember why and how.

What did it matter, the little voice in his head whispered. He was dead, so all this was pointless. The sooner he accepted that…

He knew the voice was right, and he was finding it harder to keep fighting.

(&amp;)

"If only Heimdall could see us and transport us back by the Biforst."

Hogun calmed his mind, reminding himself that Fandral wasn't trying to be annoying. Instead he concentrated on finding a foothold behind Thor's old lifeline, which they were using to guide themselves back. Fandral had said the same sentence at least half a dozen times already and it was as pointless a comment as it had been the first time. Heimdall couldn't see them. That much was certain and unchangeable about their current situation, so there was little point in lamenting it any more, let alone saying it out loud over and over again. It would only lead to despair and frustration. He didn't bother correcting his friend about how the Bifrost worked. It couldn't go from anywhere to any location in the Nine Realms the person desired. It had to follow the branches of Yggdrasil and, for security reasons, the only one open in Asgard led to the observatory. His mother had explained it to him when he travelled between the realms for the first time, and considering that she worked for the Bifrost Travel Administration on Vanaheim, he was sure she was a reliable source of information.

Fandral sighed melodramatically. "You, my friend, are possibly the most atrocious conversation partner in all the Nine Realms."

And Fandral could talk from dawn until dusk while saying as much of value as a babbling child. He had no idea how his friend had the energy to climb and chatter; his own body nagged him to stop and rest. "It would be better to remain silent." He tried to put his attention to better use by finding a new spot to place his hand.

"Then what will distract me from my pain and the pure tedium of this climb?" Hogun took a deep breath. He wished he could think of their scale as simply being 'tedious.'

"Your chatter will lead the sky serpents to us." That silenced his friend, for the moment. A small squeeze on Fandral was the signal for them both to pull themselves up. "Concentrate on the task at hand." That's what Hogun was trying to do.

The two had fallen into a pattern. Fandral would go first, find a foothold, then find one for his hand, and as he went he would loop Thor's rope over his shoulder to keep it out of their way. Then Hogun would find his holds before they both moved up together.

While they had the pattern perfected, their going was far from easy. Backtracking and moving sideways was doubly difficult, and they had both already made the mistake of letting go before the other was finished. On top of that, Hogun's right shoulder socket had developed a constant dull ache from the strain. The process was slow—very slow, and Fandral's chatter did not help. He was discovering that the qualities he enjoyed in Fandral were also the ones that were his worst, at least in this situation. That was to be expected. His father had told him how pressure got to a man and made friends turn against each other. He hoped that would not be the case here.

They continued on in silence until, predictably, Fandral spoke again. Hogun was beginning to suspect with some small amount of dismay that this was how his friend dealt with nerves.

"Do you think we did the wrong thing?"

"Yes," Hogun said in a flat tone, not only to end the conversation. It was true.

"I never said what I was talking about."

"Does it matter?"

Fandral was quiet for the space it took for Hogun to find a new foothold. "We never knew this would happen."

"It was easy to foresee."

"We could not abandon Loki."

"Doing so may have saved his life." Hogun gave Fandral another squeeze. He had always considered himself a realist, and realistically speaking, Loki could not be alive.

"We covered all our options for success." There was a small grunt in Fandral's voice as he pulled himself up.

"We spread ourselves too thin."

Fandral chuckled. "You mean we put all our eggs into too many baskets?"

"That's eggs into one basket, not too many. That's the opposite of what we did," he corrected before moving on. "All we did was endanger all our lives, ending four instead of one."

"We should not abandon either of them. They are our princes."

Hogun said nothing. He had nothing new to say. The responsibility of the decision sat heavy on his shoulders. He was certain he had made the best choice, the logical one which would yield the best chance of having any measure of success. That didn't mean that he liked making the decision or didn't wish it could be another way. He felt traitorous, but this was not the time to let his personal feelings cloud his judgement. He wanted to focus on their task and keep himself calm with mantras and scraps of wisdom from his father. Imagining them in his father's voice, however, was near impossible with all of Fandral's constant rambling. It always brought Hogun back to the situation, their decisions and predicament, and made him dwell on pointless matters that could not be changed but dragged his state of mind down. He needed to focus on the climb.

Just when Hogun thought that Fandral would remain quiet, his friend spoke again. "The All Father will be furious, will he not?"

The question didn't need an answer, so Hogun didn't give one. That was something Loki could not have been more right about: an angry King was better than dead friends. He just hoped that they wouldn't end up with both.

(&amp;)

The frustration at knowing what the beast was but not remembering was fading, beaten down by his body's persistent ache. He wasn't sure it even mattered. If he was dead, not that he thought he was, then did it matter what his captor was? He was already dead and in continuous pain, how much worse could it be? That was a petrifying thought. It terrified him that he might be about to find out. He had heard that there were fates worse than death, but he never truly believed that. He had always assumed that as long as one still had their life, they could still move on and rise above it to be stronger. If they were dead then it was the end, no way to go up and on. Surely there was nothing worse than that. He was scared to find out what could change his mind.

At least, he was certain he was scared of that. It was hard to tell anymore. He was sure he should be, but all his little fears had merged with terror deep inside him so it crushed down on him and squashed all logical thoughts. It was impossible to lay there and separate out all the causes beyond simply knowing that he was petrified, and useless to boot.

He let out a choked gasp when something smacked against his foot, sending a spike of pain up his leg. Something had hit him—or had he been dropped? He pulled himself away from his maddening thoughts to face this new conundrum. He'd stopped moving. That was important...or was it? He wasn't sure. It was different, and his fear climbed higher than he thought it could. He was not able to wrap his head around what this possibly meant, not before he heard a rustle of cloth. His captor was moving again. Please let him go away. Make him leave and never come back. He did not care where, as long as it was nowhere near him. Go away. Go away, go away, go away, go away…

Claw-like hands cut off his internal pleading, dragging across his skin to grasp the front of his tunic. The terror within him escalated to the cusp of sanity. It blocked out all his thoughts; if he were capable of doing so he would have turned tail and fled blindly away. His clothes pressed against his back as he was pulled upwards. His broken bones ground against each other, digging into his flesh to fuel the fire that erupted across his form.

Then his world turned black again.

* * *

A/N:

I just want to take a quick moment to take everybody who has reviewed, fav'ed and followed this story. It is now my most fav'ed fic on hear, so thank you so much :)

Thank you to both the guest reviews for chapter 14.

SmaugFan1: Sorry to keep you waiting. Well, I can't exactly tell you when Thor/if Thor will find Loki, now can I? ;)


End file.

Thor, Adventure, Drama