eswareinmal | Log / Decline 3rd

It's early yet, the sky just lightening, but Sansa has finally gathered the courage to leave the castle walls of her own will, walking down empty streets. Compared to the depths of the Two-Faced Forest, the town outside the castle holds little to fear. Her sleep has been haunted since she returned - has been uneasy since she arrived in Einmal - but having Lady by her side is greater than comfort; this place holds no greater dangers than she faced daily in the Red Keep, and she almost feels safe with her wolf returned to her.

He stalks her.

Just a shadow, flitting between buildings. There is something archetypal about this, something right. He is meant to prey on the girl. Kill her.

Her time in King's Landing has accustomed Sansa to the feeling of being followed, so that it is another part of her like her senses of smell or touch. Nowhere is safe from the eyes and ears of others, not even one's own private chambers.

But something sets Lady to disquiet. At first she just walks closer to Sansa's side until she is brushing the girl's leg with each step, but then she stops, grasping Sansa's skirts lightly between her teeth. Sansa turns and crouches down before her wolf, fingers fisted gently in Lady's fur. "What? What is it, Lady? Is something wrong?"

A flicker of dark fur, well within Lady's view. Loki positions himself upwind.

She should be able to smell him.

Lady's hackles rise beneath Sansa's hands, her tail straightening. She begins to growl. The sound makes nervous fear bubble up in Sansa's belly. "Shhhh, it's all right." Sansa pitches her voice soft and gentle. "What upsets you so?"

She turns then, pressing her cheek into Lady's fur for assurance, and sees the wolf. The black one. "I know you," she blurts out, but she knows something is wrong. Her hands tighten in Lady's fur; now Sansa needs the comfort.

Loki approaches -- but he does not attack. He plays. He toys. Circles Sansa, darting forward to bite at her dress, to tug at it -- rears on his hind legs to show how large he is -- barks at Lady loud enough to intimidate.

With a whimper Lady backs away, but her movements are conscious, deliberate: she is herding Sansa away from the other wolf. Trying to contain her shaking, Sansa stumbles back. Her back thumps into a wooden fence, splinters piercing through her dress and prickling her skin. "Please," she whispers, cries, chokes on the words, "please, someone help!"

It was surprise more than any lack of skill or viciousness that left him wounded.

He licks the bite mark on his leg and retreats into the forest. Fleeing, the better to heal and to strike again later.

There is that scent again -- the one that drives him half-panicked.

The past day had been a series of disappointments and frustrations. Thor was glad enough that Sif's Midgardian friend had been found unharmed -- not to mention pleasantly surprised that she had a Midgardian friend in the first place. Yet, the thorns that surrounded the Two-Faced Forest -- the ones that were only said to come at night -- had proven impenetrable even at midday. In the end, Thor had returned to the town to procure lodgings with neither Mjolnir, the tesseract, nor his brother in hand.

It was a day he does not intend to repeat today. Ideally, he will have Mjolnir in hand when he faces Loki... but hearing word of all these wolf attacks, he thinks he now has a fair idea of where his brother is and what sort of things he has been up to in his absence. Thor rides hard for the forest: today, if there are still thorns, he will not let them stop him.

The wolf is frantic, and he crushes leaves, tracks through mud, shedding signs of his presence like a careless schoolboy. He bleeds, too, and stops to lick, and then goes on, pushing tired muscle to meet the demands pulsing through him. Prey on them, do evil, be the Bad Wolf.

He wades through a stream, climbs onto the opposite bank and shakes off the water. He must move quicker; he can feel that scent coming closer. The scent that terrifies him and warms him.

This time, he notes, with a sound of grim pleasure, the way is open to them. And he knows Loki is here; were he on Asgard, were the Bifrost or those strange magics available, he could see him... but in lieu of that farsight, he has to rely on his own instinct, his feelings. It's enough to know, he thinks.

Some ways into the forest, he reins his horse, glancing at Sif. "He is close," he says, then almost hesitates. This incarnation of his brother... is one that she has seen, and he has not, if nothing else. The idea of her knowing him better than he does is too unsettling to entertain, although something in the way she spoke about Loki makes him wonder, too. But rather than ask, he just says: "Should we leave the horses here?"

"Yes."

If Thor's suspicions are true -- and how foolish she feels, that Loki was not a hair's breadth away from her and she did not realize -- then anything near the second prince is in danger.

"He would have killed Alayne."

Which Thor knows. Sif says it more to herself. They are hunting a beast, a rabid one, and it must be treated as such.

He is slowing. He does not have a den; no place of refuge, no home, and he whines for it in the growing heat of the day. He should be hiding; he should be only out at night.

He crawls into the forest's shadows, into a trench and a bed of dried leaves, and he goes still, listening.

"Yes," Thor says quietly. "He would have." It is hard to imagine a Loki who would not at this point. Later, he'll puzzle over the tone of Sif's voice, the way she said it as if to remind herself. Is there truly a version of Loki who would hesitate to kill a human?

Now, he dismounts and takes his sword, tying his horse to a tree. The sword is not Mjolnir, not what would feel most comfortable in his hand... But it will do.

"Come." He strides decisively forward. Now, he doesn't even need that other sense that pulls him towards his brother: he's not as good at tracking, perhaps, as some of his friends, but the signs of the wolf are obvious.

Glaive in hand, she falls to his side easily -- in her old position, she realizes. As if they hadn't all tried to learn new ways of walking into battle in the months after Loki fell. An attempt to mask the fact to Thor that they now rode as five instead of six. As if such a thing could be covered.

Out of her mind. There is no use for it. She looks to the earth.

"He's tiring."

The markings are too fresh, too loud.

When he moves again, the rustle of the leaves is obvious. He runs, and darts into a dark hollow between rocks, retreating back. Resorting to hiding, when he can flee no longer.

Thor nods at Sif's assessment. It's true that he's more of a fighter than a hunter, better at combat than tracking, but he has tracked beasts over a thousand years, and at this moment, Loki is worryingly similar to the creatures of all those centuries.

He continues on, but when he hears the rustle, he looks up sharply. A smarter, more skeptical Thor would think that's unusually obvious for Loki, could he be planning something? But as his brother himself said, Thor will never stop falling for these things, so he presses forward, ready to make himself known now.

"Loki!" he calls out, voice ringing through the trees. "Loki, stop this. Come and meet me."

Sif drops away from her friend, positioning herself a short distance behind the hollow. This seems a confrontation best made between brothers, but she will intervene should the wolf try and find another means of escape.

...One night together, and since then they have only managed to encounter one another as beasts. She hopes for an end to this very nearly as Thor does.

That voice. It grates on his sensitive ears, and now all he can smell is ozone, like the moment after lightning. He is flat on his belly, eyes reflective in the shadow of the rock. He growls, because that is all he can do. A warning. If they move closer, he will attack.

Thor hears the warning clearly; it vibrates in his teeth. He clenches them shut, take a step forward, tries again.

"Loki," he calls. "I would do this peacefully. I do not want to fight you." He never has. He's stopped saying he won't... but he's never wanted to.

Sif moves in as well, warning though the growl is. There are two of them and only one wolf -- if he attacks, they will respond.

"Loki, stop being an idiot," Sif hisses, sharply. "You know us."

He slips back, cowers as they come closer. And then their voices -- their voices.

Something within him turns.

His eyes glint: not just with light, this time, but with a hint of magic.

And he springs at Thor. Teeth aiming for any flesh they can sink into.

Thor sighs. It's no longer unexpected. Just disappointing.

He holds up an arm, hoping to deflect Loki's teeth on his armored cuff, but ideally they won't connect at all; for in one swift move he draws his blade and aims a blow with the flat side at the wolf's head.

Well. If Loki is barely capable of listening to reason as a man, she shouldn't hope for otherwise from a wolf.

She runs in, duller side of her weapon at the ready. She leaves a yard space between herself and the brothers. If it looks like Thor cannot handle himself, she will intervene.

[ooc: Hey guys! I will be out for most of the day, but ICly Sif would likely leave this confrontation between Loki and Thor unless it seemed like Thor was in real danger. Feel free to leave me out of the tagging order!]

Loki is feral, not weak or idiotic; he sees Thor's tactic and a part of him surges in disgust -- sentiment -- and he twists in midair and impacts with Thor, hard enough, perhaps, to knock him down. His claws rake, and his teeth bite and rip at Thor's gauntlet.

Loki should be grateful for the sentiment -- were he a true wolf, Thor would be breaking his neck right now. Knocked onto his back by the blow, he does encircle Loki's ruff in one of his mighty arms, but rather than twist, he tightens it sharply, almost hugging Loki to him. Trying to immobilize him, so he can punch him in his wolfish face.

The wolf's teeth continue to scratch his gauntlet, but Loki's claws dig home, leaving lines of pain down Thor's thigh. He grits his teeth and hangs on gamely, aiming a second punch at Loki's eye.

Loki realizes too late that he has fallen into a trap of Thor's arms, and though he thrashes, he cannot dodge the blow that lands with a force great enough to stun him.

His thrashing is abruptly weak, dizzied, and he pushes and pushes, trying to wriggle his way out of Thor's arms. Again, pushed from the will to fight to the will to escape.

He keeps the one arm pinioned tightly around Loki's neck; the other hand strikes a third time, and then drops to Loki's muzzle, closing tightly around it. It is hard to breathe, with the weight of the massive wolf atop him, although perhaps not harder than it is for Loki at this moment... but hard enough. Still, he hangs on for dear life, knowing that if he lets go, the next chance may not be for a long time.

"Loki," he shouts breathlessly. "Brother, stop this. This is madness! I came to talk to you." Not that these words had persuaded him the last time. Not that he hadn't ended that with a blade in his gut. But still, there's still that edge of hope.

He does not want to understand the words. The lure of the wild and free has been intoxicating; he is a villain, he is unleashed, he has no need to think or plan or regret. He threw himself utterly to the wolf taking him over. He tossed away everything about his life, because what was there worth preserving? He had ruined it all. He had destroyed -- everything. And for what? Another failure. Just proof that he was always Thor's inferior.

Thor's words are blows against that fragile illusion, this shroud of wild. Cracks like fine ceramic buckling under cold or pressure, and Loki whines through his nose, let me go, let me go; he cannot confront this.

Edited 2012-05-27 02:55 (UTC)

"Loki," he tries again. "Brother, please!" As long as there's a chance, he thinks, even a chance of bringing Loki back -- and the way people speak of this version, the one who never fell into the grasp of the Chitauri, the one who never had the spear, there might well be -- then he can't take the thought of failing again. Not so soon, not so readily.

He'll hold him here until one or both of them pass out, expire, but he will not let him go. Not when there's so much that could still be done.

"Brother," he tries, "I came for you. Do not ask me to mourn you again when it doesn't have to end this way!"

I came for you.

Loki's breath is fitful and strangled. His heart shivers in his chest. He fears this, above all else. That is his entire world, in this moment: fear of Thor, of Thor's hands, of Thor's words. He does not quite remember why, yet, but he knows he is soon to break.

He gives a mighty wrench, one last attempt to break away from Thor's grip.

Loki's struggling claws score against Thor's bared bicep, and with a hiss Thor's grip loosens, allowing Loki to break free. "No!" Thor gasps out, the air thin in his lungs after being compressed by Loki's weight. Still, he struggles hurriedly to his feet, blood dripping from his thigh and arm.

"Loki," he growls hoarsely. "I will not let this continue. Stop this. There is still time for you."

He does not run. He backs away a step, two, but the world has turned stunning-bold, every soft sound of wind, every word, every rustle of leaf grating against Loki's nerves.

He remembers.

There is no alternative here. Thor and Sif will chase him forever. They will want him back.

Shifting shape agan is beyond him. He is weakened and exhausted. So he flattens himself on his belly, a sort of plea. An aching, trembling plea, and he knows not what for.

He whines, softly, again, and this time he is conscious enough to pitch it with a helplessness that will score at Thor's heart.

This is a lesson Loki has perhaps not learned yet: when it comes to those he loves, it takes very little to score Thor's heart. He sighs, the aggressiveness fading from his posture, till he is merely standing wounded, staring down at his brother.

"You will return with us," he says, and in a sense it's a command, but it has none of their father's regal bearing behind it. He just sounds tired and annoyed. "We will talk when we are rested."

Sif watches as the scene between brothers plays out before her. She waits - to assist them, or to do what Thor cannot. When it is over, she looks at Loki and remembers a confession he made only a few days ago.

"I would be anyone but me."

"Thor, we need to ride back," she says, looking at his wounds. He has had worse, to be sure, but there are no healing stones here. The sooner they are tended to, the better.

"I can carry Loki on my horse."

Two things are implied there: that she believes Loki will run away if allowed to trail beside them and that she does not trust him not to attack his brother again, if given the chance.

Loki is a battle of instincts; he is shivering.

He will not. He will not let himself be held. He would rather be collared and chained than held. So he holds still, on his belly, trembling -- his only method of refusal.

Thor stares down at the wolf for a long moment before inclining his head in weary approval. He has the feeling that Sif is right on both counts -- and again, the uneasy sense that he'll be asking Sif for a great deal on this matter, at least at first.

"Bring the horses here, Sif. We will wait." He nods in the direction they came from, to their tied horses.

She looks at the wolf, and already has the sense -- as if the day had not already aptly proved it -- that the ride back will not be an easy one.

"Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

She sets off for the horses.

The wolf's green eyes are distant and pained.

It has happened again. Again, he let himself be driven into villainy, and again, he has allowed himself to be pulled away. The first time, it was the thought of you may be the hero this kingdom needs, and it had satisfied Loki's ego, made him think, again, that he had been the one wronged and Thor deserved what he had gotten. But, then, blood always tells true, and Loki had not stayed a hero for long.

He is a monster. He always will be, it seems, when it comes to terror or need. All Asgard did to him was raise in him a will not to be. If only he could forget that will, if only he could surrender himself to chaos -- if only.

He does not look at Thor. The only movement he makes is a quiet shift, sliding his wounded forepaw under his chin, protectively.

Loki may not look at Thor, but Thor does look at him. He sits down slowly, a little gingerly with his wounded leg, his blue eyes not breaking from the wolf for a second once they leave Sif. He looks tired, and aggrieved, and always with Loki now, a little sad.

"I had hoped..." he begins in a low murmur, but lets off, shaking his head. Perhaps he had only been foolish to believe things would be different here. But the other Loki was savage, too, in his own way.

Thor's disappointment hits like a blow. You could not let me go, he thinks. Thor has no right -- he has no right --

Loki jumps to his feet and turns away from Thor, a hint theatrically, padding off after Sif.

Sif is returning with the horses, and though she hadn't witnessed the scene between the two sons of Odin, she can guess well enough how it went.

She looks down at Loki, meaningfully. "I am upset with you."

He'd helped her when she lost her own mind to a change, and didn't think to ask the same in return. It's very strange, how much that annoys her.

And then, to Thor, but certainly loud enough so that Loki knows it is meant for his ears as well: "I have no intention of getting in the middle of whatever this is between you."

If he had voice to speak, he would find words to cut her. He would say, perhaps, that this was not his responsibility, that this place gave him a role he could not overcome. -- No; she deserves no explanation from him. Not when this is how he is greeted.

He snarls at her, abruptly and quickly. No move to attack, just that -- just the only communication he can manage.

His fury gives him new strength. He steps past her, sniffs and scents the path back to the village, and starts up it on his own, at a slow trot.

"Loki--" He begins to hurry forward, thinking that Loki is trying to run again. But he stops when he realizes his brother's goal, exchanging a glance with Sif instead. Well, Loki was always proud... and, if truth be told, petty.

He takes the reins from her and swings up onto his horse instead, urging it forward to lope next to Loki.

She shares a look with Thor. At least this is some guarantee that Loki is of his own mind.

But his own mind can be exceedingly petty. She stamps down the want to run after him, to reach some sort of understanding. It is a new inclination on her part, and she reminds herself that such impulses have suited Thor poorly for well over a thousand years. She will attempt to speak to him after some time has passed.

She goes forward on her own horse, keeping more of an eye on the first prince than the second.

Log / Decline 3rd

LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD (Attack on Sansa)

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HUNTING LOKI DOWN

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noted!

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