March 3, 2014: Quiet moment (as quiet as could be) between the brothers, Thor and Loki.

Asgard, Thor's chambers
A warrior's room; spartan and utilitarian.



  • None

Mood Music:

For one of the first times in some time, travel between the Realms is not barred to a certain Asgardian. Midgard to the Eternal Realm and worlds beyond can be traversed with a thought, with a command to the Keeper of the Bifrost. It hasn't always been that way, and the chances are better than even that soon enough, it'll be curtailed (to put it politely) once again.

For now, however, the Prince of Asgard, the adopted son of Odin, walks the hall, receiving the occasional obeissance as citizens pass going in the opposite directions. It is as it should be, and has been for thousands of years, give or take. There's a familiarity, being home, and it pulls at the younger brother as he both despises his home and loves it- all at the same time.

Loki finds himself at a heavy portal now, leading to the outside from the palace; his hand lingers, and upon his face, a war. Should he, shouldn't he… perhaps he steels himself for that which will be done later, or perhaps there are second thoughts, doubts as to his path?


The door opens, and Thor comes up short. "Loki!" He seems a bit surprised. "Hello brother, glad to see you out and about." He dithers, then opens the door a bit wider. Wearing his simple belted tunic and comfortable old leather boots, he's far from his armored self. "I was hoping you'd be by." In the tongue of Asgard, his tone is friendly and conversational, without all the stilted, antiquated tones that he's unaware he employs among mortals.

"How about a beer?" he asks, gesturing towards the room. "Or some mead? I can have food sent up if you've not eaten yet," he adds, trying to nudge Loki towards an affirmative decision.


The fact Thor comes out takes Loki aback, and he takes a step backwards, more to give the door room and his brother berth than out of surprise (or so he'll say!). There's a tentative smile, and the younger gives something of an offhand shrug. He, too, is dressed casually, but always found in his favoured colours, green and gold. There's no pretense, and his own native tongue, that of the Aesir is fluid and easy.

"Brother.. I.." Beat. "Really?" He seems a little surprised, but pleasantly so. Seems company is what he wants, rather than to hide away with his own thoughts.

"Mead, that would be good." Loki moves to lean, to elbow Thor, teasing. "Only promise that it doesn't turn into a contest again. I'm tired of having to sneak you to your chambers and give excuses to Mother as to why you couldn't answer your calls."


"Aye, she does worry too much," Thor chuckles. He punches his brother on the shoulder in a friendly fashion, following him into the room. "I'm sorry about the other day. I lost my temper again. I should't have hit you," he offers, sounding sincere.

He walks into the room and pours two flagons of mead, and drops into his favorite chair. It's a warrior's room, filled with trophies and blades and a single large bed in an alcove, with a spectacular view of the city for a window. "You know how it is when you are escorting a woman around town," he says, using the Asgardian context of a 'platonic date'. "And I know they're just mortals, but we shouldn't encourage-" he stops himself, holding a hand up. "Nope. Not gonna excuse myself. I owe you an apology, and that needs to stand alone."


"There are times when I wonder if she is just being kind when she accepts my excuses for you," Loki chuckles. "Marking it in her book of 'things Loki's said'." After all, he is the one of the two with the golden tongue. The loyal little brother, making sure his older sibling doesn't get in trouble. Or at least -too- much trouble.

Boys will be boys, after all.

Loki follows Thor into the chambers and puts a hand out for the flagon. It floats across the room to land gently in hand. Now resting, he cradles it as he finishes the cross and sits upon another chair. Not quite as stuffed and comfortable, perhaps, as Thor's, but comfortable enough for him. Sitting on the edge, the bottom of the glass sits upon the flat of his hand.

"If you can't beat up your younger brother to impress a girl, what I am here for?" It's said good naturedly enough, and it's coupled with another shrug. "Really, Thor. It's fine. I wasn't hurt, and I'll admit to a touch of spite. But that's since passed." Seeing as his tests are now complete, that is.

"But, Amora. I do have to question. Amora? She'd as soon put a dagger in your gut as dine with you." Sort of like him? Only.. run by the pique of a female.


"All right, that might have been a factor," Thor concedes with an eyeroll. "And Amora and I are long past our youthful days of hair pulling," he points out to Loki, settling comfortably back and propping his boots on the table. "I've been trying to recruit her as one of our warriors," he says with a cheery grin. "She's considering it. It's a change of pace for her, and you're busy as often as I am with your tasks from Father," Thor points out. "I need a spellcaster at my side, and she fits the bill. She and Sif seem to get on well, and the Warriors enjoy her company. I certainly don't mind seeing her around," he adds conspiratorially, before guffawing and taking a hit from his mead glass.


"Yes, yes. Now it's 'who can lift a Midgardian bus'. Hair pulling is for when we had to hide such things from our tutors," is rejoined with a chuckle. Loki's guilty of it too, though he'd swear he's a touch more subtle. (Suuure.)

Now, however, Loki leans forward, even perched as he is on the edge of his seat. A swallow is taken of his mead, but it's Thor's words that actually have his attention rather than the honeyed wine. "A spell caster… at your side?" He sounds surprised, and his head quirks, a touch of a smile creeping across his face. "Brother, that's certainly new for you. Where is that desire to smash things? To bash and punch? Tell me that you're not getting subtle in your advancing years." The last bit is laughed; they're pretty much the same age, obviously, and at least Loki believes there is a FULL life before him. "If you are, that means I would have to be the one to start hitting things, and that loses its appeal."

Leaning back now, Loki's gaze flickers around the room, landing once again upon his brother, the Crown Prince. "Tell me what Sif says on the matter? Have you discussed such a plan with her?"


Thor brings Mjolnir winging to his hand and casually tosses it between Loki's feet. "There you go, brother," he grins. "Pick it up and get to smashing. I'll sit here and practice lying to Mother about my studies."

"And no, I haven't discussed it with her /specifically/," Thor admits. "I'm just… playing with the idea. It seems wise, from a leader's perspective. I haven't your talent with the nuances of magic, or Father's experience. So I need someone around who is skilled with that. She's more enchantress than sorceress, but Amora is /very/ adept. Why, do you think Sif would object?" Thor asks, brows coming together in a furrowed frown.


"Sounds like you'll be a fitting mage, brother," is grinned in response. After all, that's all he does, right? Lie to Mother? "I will warn you, however, Mother does have standards. She won't accept the same excuse twice. Before you do lie, make sure it's a good one. Wyrms have been used, but I've been keeping blaming the court dwarves back for one of the really good reasons."

Loki nudges at Mjolnir, but of course it doesn't budge. At all. Not a hint of moving. As if it's filled with the matter of a black hole.

Shaking his head, Loki takes another swallow of the mead and exhales audibly before he leans forward once again. "One mage isn't like the next, brother. We all have our specialities. Those things of which we enjoy doing and struggle to do. For example.."

Loki rises and walks the room, his face thoughtful. "You know what it is I can do. Shift into anything I desire. We've fought side by side, to the point where the moment I move, you understand and move to work in concert. Yes? And the same is said for Sif?" There's something to be said for training and fighting along side one another for years. Decades. Centuries. Millennia.

"I think her reservations would come with the unknown."


"Aye, it is something new and different," Thor confirms. "And I have considered such. Training can overcome those old habits," he points out. "Practice. And experience. The day I come across a warded door I cannot simply smash through is the day I will regret not having a spellcaster along."

He spreads his hands. "I have /actually/ thought this through, somewhat, brother," he says in a dry tone of voice. "I know the Warriors will need time to acclimitize. But Amora could be a tremendous asset to our team," he points out. "Doesn't that seem worth the risk?"


"That is the day a dragon is on the other side."

Loki wanders back towards the chair he'd chosen and stands behind it. Leaning upon it with his forearms, he still cradles whats left of his drink in hand. He shakes his head and whistles, blue eyes never leaving his brother. "Oh no.. you've got thoughts, brother. Considerations that you'll need one such as her in the future." Loki sounds pleased, like a hound on the hunt, and he moves quickly to his seat once again, the drink set aside. "Tell me. Do you expect more spell casters, or are you dreading the day when you and I find ourselves opposing one another again and you wish to be merciful?" He veritably squirms in his seat as he perches there, his expression expectant. "You must have some thought as to need."


"Loki, my brother," Thor says, with a warm smile. "I know we squabble now and then, but we are /brothers/. We might fight and come to blows, but I would not need a magician to stand across from the silver-tongued Sorceror of Asgard," he says with a grin and a toast. "I am… trying to emulate Father," he says, taking a deep breath. "Of late I've been thinking that I swing my hammer first and let my thoughts follow. Father would take the long view. He would predict an opponent's moves before they even struck. I am trying something new here, and I finally realized that the weak point of the Warriors is that we are ill-equipped to deal with one thing- subtlety," he explains.


Loki's expression is awash with a myriad of emotions, each vying for supremacy. It's in his eyes, in the flickers of muscles upon his face before he finally settles on one. "Do you think for a moment that I would allow you to sit upon the Throne and not be able to safeguard against subtlety? Really, brother."

Still, he presses his lips to a fine, thin line before he nods his head. "Do not trust her, brother. If you take any of my counsel, take that. Take her to your chambers if that's what you wish, but I will not trust her with your life." It's strange that Loki is saying this, but it's a moment of quiet when the brothers can speak without worry of interruption.

"And if there's one thing sorcerors can't ward against? Brute force."


"My brother, life and death comes to even Asgard," Thor points out, gently. "Should I fall in battle, you should take Sif as your Warrior at Arms. She is second only to me in combat, and exceeds me in swordplay and subtlety."

"Why do you oppose my trust of her?" he asks Loki. "We have known her nigh on a millennia. She is stubborn and over prideful, yes, and exceeds her station betimes, but she is a competent woman who I think /needs/ someone to show her how valuable she really is."


A chuckle escapes Loki, and if he were close, he'd cuff his older brother. "Speak not of such things. You'll never fall in battle. I won't allow it. You'll turn into a grey old man like Father, with little humour. And I'll be there too."

Loki exhales with an audible huff. "It is because we have known her nigh on a millennia. She has never lost her stubbornness. And the fact that she is quick to anger and lashes out will put you in a difficult situation. Mark my words. She may be a competant woman, but she needs to learn that sorcerors don't alway strike hot. That subtlety demands a dish served cold." He shrugs and rises from his seat, taking those few steps to where he'd put his mead down.

Loki lifts the flagon to drain it, and once done, sets it aside again. "But you will do that which you will. You always do."


Thor rises, setting his flagon aside, and firmly clasps wrists with Loki. "And you will be at my side, brother," Thor states with a firm shake and a nod. "To catch me when I stumble. Just as when we were children- me riding bilgesnipe, and you there to doctor my wounds when I fell."

He smiles warmly. "It is one of the great pillars of my life to know I can rely on you always." He releases Loki's wrist, then returns to his seat. "I'll see you on the morrow, brother? A game of hunting garrants, or perhaps some other sport?"


"And to cover for you, yes," Loki laughs and returns the warm, brotherly gesture. "You know, I never forgave you for not letting me ride." The younger brother is teasing; after all, it's been a rather -long- time since either of them played such games.

"You can always rely upon me, Thor." Loki retrieves his hand from the clasp as well, and nods. "A game, I think. Knattleikr. We haven't had something like that in some time." A rather violent sport played with bats and a ball. A 'no rules' field hockey, or rather, very much like the Celtic 'hurling'. Only even more violent than even the Celts could play. "I'll even let you choose your team."

A smile lingers, very much like the Cheshire Cat even as Loki begins to head to the chamber's door. "But I have only one request." Beat. "Sif."


"Only if you can talk her into it," Thor says with a grin. He lifts a hand to bade his brother farewell, then turns back to his drinking, settling comfortably into his seat as the brothers part ways- amicably, this time. And for now.

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