Chapter Text
For some time Thor thinks he must be dead; he does not see how one could have survived such a terrible journey without injury, so he takes his lack of pain as proof. It is only when he hears a hoarse cough to his right that he realizes the cold gray blur of sky is merely that - a sky, not oblivion. He blinks, and blinks again, trying not to think why his eyes are watering so, and slowly feeling comes back into his limbs. When he is able to move, he drags himself to his knees and casts his gaze about. His friends lie scattered across a narrow stretch of dank, stinking marsh. He sees Sif rising to her knees, reaching down to help Hogun out of the muck. Close by, Fandral rolls off his injured side and retches into the fetid water.
The warriors of Jotunheim and their dread beasts seem very far away now, and no cause for fear. Yet his heart still thunders with terror of what he tries, and fails, to convince himself were mere shadows in the dark, twisting passage between worlds. Shadows, with talons long and sharp and cruel, with kaleidoscope eyes reflecting unholy colors. Shadows that screamed when touched by the fire in Loki's hands -
Loki.
Ice grips his heart. Surely Loki did not stay behind. Surely Loki did not linger in that dark place to draw the veil closed once they were safely through. Surely - "Loki!" He stumbles to his feet. "Brother! Loki!"
"I see him," Volstagg croaks, from the shadow of the treeline where the marsh gave way to a gray-green forest. He drags himself to hands and knees, and then stands with a mighty groan. "He breathes. But I do not think he will rise."
*
Volstagg had thought aright, for though Loki's body seems unharmed, he will not wake. His eyelashes flutter rapidly against his pale cheek. From time to time his hands clench like claws and he mutters nonsense under his breath. Perhaps it's not nonsense. Thor has seen things this day that he, had he but heard tale of them, would have sworn on his honor were lunatic fancies.
He thinks now that if Loki woke and told him up was down, wet was dry, and right was wrong, Thor would only beg pardon for having been so long in error.
If only Loki would wake.
"We must move before dark falls," Fandral says after an hour has passed with no change. Sif has wrapped his shoulder well, and when he stands it is with only a momentary grimace. "We should make camp somewhere less exposed."
Volstagg helps maneuver Loki's dead weight onto Thor's back. He and Hogun fall in to flank Thor, close enough to lend their hands should he falter. He won't. "Lead on," Thor says to Sif, and she does.
*
She finds them a place against a moss-encrusted stump half again as tall as Thor, sheltered on all sides by dense brush, and protected above by the branches of a neighboring tree so massive and ancient Thor feels it might almost speak to them.
They make fire as the pale featureless sky fades from gray to black. They mean to sleep, but one after another their warrior hearts quail at the thought of going willingly back into the dark of the mind. Thor piles the fire higher and draws Loki close against him. "Give us a story," he says to Fandral. "I would hear something of merriment and good fortune."
Fandral hesitates, then inclines his head. "Have I ever told you of my long summer with the seven maidens of Midgard?"
*
It's a good story, charming and well told, and if it does not entirely restore their courage it at least renders the sense of the moonless night peaceful instead of threatening. In the ensuing quiet Thor can sense their thoughts all turning to the same place. Sif, as ever, is the first to speak her mind.
"I don't know how he managed it." Sif is a warrior equal to any, yet Thor knows there is a scholarly turn to her mind. Not fully understanding their journey behind the veil would distress her more than the memory of the dark place or the nightmares therein. "Many times during the long march between worlds I was certain we were lost."
March? Thor frowns against the memory. "But surely - surely we flew. On the back of a raven?"
Volstagg stares into the fire. "We were carried, I thought, like babes in arms."
"Carried?" Sif's hand falls to the hilt of her blade before they recognize the low rasp as Loki's voice. He draws himself up to a sitting position, slowly and as if it pains him to move, yet in the fire-light his eyes glitter with amusement. "Would that I had, Volstagg, for to carry you any distance at all would surely be a feat worthy of song."
They all stare for a long moment, then Volstagg bursts into laughter that would - in any other being in the realms - sound near hysteria. It is as if a dam has burst, and the other warriors release their tension in howls of merriment.
Thor alone does not laugh, but leans close and cups a palm to Loki's jaw. He pitches his voice low. "How fare you, brother?"
Loki's eyes flicker, but he doesn't pull away. Neither does he answer the question. "Is there water?"
Thor hands him a skin full of the least brackish water they'd been able to find. Loki makes a face at the smell but drinks. Afterward he yawns hugely. "There is a river some leagues hence." He gestures vaguely. "We will make for it tomorrow."
Hogun cocks his head. "You have been here before, then?"
"Once, a long time ago," Loki murmurs, his eyes sliding shut again. "No more questions, for I must sleep." He leans heavily against Thor's side, curling under his arm as he had when they were children. Thor wills his body to remain relaxed and his face calm, yet his heart sings so loud it seems astonishing the others do not hear it. “We’ll leave at first light."