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Avengers Cinematic, "Doomed to Repeat It" - all chapters
A storm in Asgard brings visitors from a thousand years in the past, bringing back to the surface all of the old questions, and the chance to correct what went wrong. Unless, of course, it doesn't.
Post-Avengers. Contains time travel, family matters, and adorable teenage gods. Attempted fix-it, attempted redemption fic. Chapters are going to be short and sweet and hopefully frequent.
(Will be updated as more chapters are added
.doomed to repeat it.
chapter 1
It began on a strangely clear day in Asgard; the whirlwind formed out of nowhere, so dark gray as to seem deceptively violet, a hundred miles to the southwest in the Plains of Ida. Even from that distance it was visible, and its violence was clear. The plains were not given to such intense weather, not naturally, but the storm was not natural.
Thor could tell, because he could feel it in his bones. The torrential whirlwind would surely be lethal if it crossed into anyone's path or headed for the capital. Few sorcerers in Asgard had the power to create it out of, literally, the clear blue sky.
He saddled a horse and rode for it with the Warriors Three and Sif fast on his heels. The thought crossed his mind, more than once, that Loki might be behind it, that they might find him, that he might finally get his hands on his errant brother once again.
"Can you do something about this, Thor?" Fandral asked, his attention riveted on the pillar of darkness. "It's going to be getting quite ugly in a short distance now."
He shook his head. "I cannot control it," he said. "It's as if nothing is there."
"Maybe nothing is," Hogun suggested.
"An illusion this vast is no easy feat," Thor said, doubtful.
Sif said, "If it is true, then it will probably dissipate against the mountains. If it is false, then it is not what poses a threat to us."
The idea that they might be riding into a trap did not dismay them. They were prepared. Within minutes they had advanced far enough that the sky was nearly black above them, and wind and driving rain tore at their capes and cowls, they were braced for the full ferocity of the twister.
But they did not have to face it. All at once there was a resounding noise like a crack of thunder, and the dark clouds burst outward in a single instant. Thor flinched back from it, lifting an arm as the wind rushed past him, and by the time he opened his eyes again, the skies were crystal-clear.
"--Problem solved. Let's go home and have dinner," Volstagg said, uneasily.
"This is definitely magic at work," Thor said. "We cannot just walk away."
His friends looked at him, and then each other. Sif said, "Shall we split up? Canvas the area and see what traces we might find of what went on here."
"I'll take the way we just came," Fandral volunteered cheerfully.
"I will go forward," Hogun said, already spurring ahead. Sif moved to follow him, and Volstagg with Fandral, saying, "The old Giant's Trap formation. Good, good."
They would fan out and circle the area, jests of cowardice aside, and Thor had no doubt that they would do good work. So he left the front and the back to them, and turned to ride to the east first and see if he found any signs of what had happened here.
It had been a chaotic and improbable storm, and it had disappeared as surprisingly as it had manifested, but it was obvious that it had been no illusion. The grass was drenched and wind-torn, the creatures that had once skittered through it were all in hiding.
Thor came to the edge of the continent and gazed out into the sea of space. He spared only a thought for Midgard -- for Earth -- before he turned back to look on the mountains.
He was no 'weatherman', as the mortals called them, but he knew enough of Asgard's weather patterns to know that storms were rare in this area. Magic was involved, and it had not been crafted by the giants that lived high in the peaks.
But what would call someone here? There was little in the mountains to catch the attention of someone with the power to call up a whirlwind like that.
A flare of light caught his eye, low and almost below the tree level; it came from where Hogun or Sif must be exploring. Thor spurred his horse fast in that direction, racing over the plains, his mind racing far ahead to what he would find -- a fervent battle, a trap sprung, Sif hurt or gone. But after the flash there was nothing until he came upon one of his friends and her unimpressive burden.
"Here is your sorcerer," Sif said with disgust, casting the slight form forward by the cloak at his neck.
He stumbled forward and fell on the wet ground with a low noise, hurt. Thor dismounted in a sharp gesture and stalked forward, feeling a strange sensation well up inside him, and ducked down onto one knee.
It was Loki's face that turned up to see him; he knew it as well as he knew his own. But it was a face he hadn't seen in a long time.
"--Thor?" There was wonder on Loki's face, matching his own.
"What... game is this?" Thor asked, uncertainly.
He was young. Standing he had been shorter than Sif, and his features were pixieish, black hair short and green eyes wide. He was soaking wet, his clothes plastered to his skinny body, and bleeding lightly from a cut at his high cheekbone, bruising already. He could have been no more than fifteen.
"He did not put up much of a fight," Sif said, her voice quieter.
Thor frowned, but was unable to tear his gaze from his brother. What purpose did he serve by disguising himself as a child? Did he plan to pretend that he had aged backwards, or could not remember what he had done? Did he seek to get back into their favor, have them take him back with them to work some trouble? Even if he was truly young and it was not some transformation or illusion, there must be a reason.
Loki scrambled up, onto his knees, but he reached out to Thor, hand stretching out to touch his face. Thor let him, his heart skipping a hopeful beat, even as he wondered what Loki's goal could be.
"You're grown," Loki murmured, surprised, fingers tracing the line of his beard. "This is real. What-- What has happened?"
"That is very much what I would like to know," Thor told him, gentling his voice. It could have been an accident. A magical spell gone awry. Even he is not immune to the vagaries of the sorcery he wields...
"Thor." He heard the warning of caution in Sif's tone, and his jaw tightened helplessly. He knew what she wanted to say, and he agreed, but he couldn't help it.
He wanted it to be true. But he knew that he could not afford to be naive.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked.
Loki turned around, looking around them, and then mused, "The Plains of Ida? The southwest... We were out riding, but not near here. Far to the east, on the other side of the bay."
They had spent hundreds of thousands of carefree afternoons riding out there. Thor felt a heartsick pang for those more innocent days. "But you must remember the storm?" he prompted.
"Yes, I remember it." Loki's gaze steeled. "It came out of nowhere above us. We-- You and I..." And some of the steel left him again, confused. "We were torn from the backs of our horses and cast into the sky. When I hit the ground again, I must have blacked out, and then she--" He gave a fierce, irritated glare to Sif. "--clobbered me the moment I got back to my feet."
"You deserved it," Sif said, unrepentant, and set her hands on her hips cockily. "Trust me."
Thor felt his lips quirk up, but he scolded, "There's no need for quarreling yet, Sif. Save it."
"Sif?" Loki was caught off-guard again, studying her, and then said, snidely, "You look ugly without your golden hair."
Her eyes flashed. "I should hope you'd enjoy your handiwork."
"Mine?!"
"Oh thank the Norns. The Three are back," Thor said brightly.
The warriors were returning, each from their separate directions on horseback, but there was something strange about Fandral's steed, a red and yellow banner behind him visible even from this distance. When they were in earshot, Fandral lifted his voice to call, "You'd best see this for yourself, Thor. Because if you don't, you would swear it's another tall tale of the Warriors Three."
Seated behind him on his horse was a young blond warrior, sitting proud and upright with his features uncannily familiar, and Mjolnir's unmistakable shape belted at his hip.
Post-Avengers. Contains time travel, family matters, and adorable teenage gods. Attempted fix-it, attempted redemption fic. Chapters are going to be short and sweet and hopefully frequent.
(Will be updated as more chapters are added
.doomed to repeat it.
chapter 1
It began on a strangely clear day in Asgard; the whirlwind formed out of nowhere, so dark gray as to seem deceptively violet, a hundred miles to the southwest in the Plains of Ida. Even from that distance it was visible, and its violence was clear. The plains were not given to such intense weather, not naturally, but the storm was not natural.
Thor could tell, because he could feel it in his bones. The torrential whirlwind would surely be lethal if it crossed into anyone's path or headed for the capital. Few sorcerers in Asgard had the power to create it out of, literally, the clear blue sky.
He saddled a horse and rode for it with the Warriors Three and Sif fast on his heels. The thought crossed his mind, more than once, that Loki might be behind it, that they might find him, that he might finally get his hands on his errant brother once again.
"Can you do something about this, Thor?" Fandral asked, his attention riveted on the pillar of darkness. "It's going to be getting quite ugly in a short distance now."
He shook his head. "I cannot control it," he said. "It's as if nothing is there."
"Maybe nothing is," Hogun suggested.
"An illusion this vast is no easy feat," Thor said, doubtful.
Sif said, "If it is true, then it will probably dissipate against the mountains. If it is false, then it is not what poses a threat to us."
The idea that they might be riding into a trap did not dismay them. They were prepared. Within minutes they had advanced far enough that the sky was nearly black above them, and wind and driving rain tore at their capes and cowls, they were braced for the full ferocity of the twister.
But they did not have to face it. All at once there was a resounding noise like a crack of thunder, and the dark clouds burst outward in a single instant. Thor flinched back from it, lifting an arm as the wind rushed past him, and by the time he opened his eyes again, the skies were crystal-clear.
"--Problem solved. Let's go home and have dinner," Volstagg said, uneasily.
"This is definitely magic at work," Thor said. "We cannot just walk away."
His friends looked at him, and then each other. Sif said, "Shall we split up? Canvas the area and see what traces we might find of what went on here."
"I'll take the way we just came," Fandral volunteered cheerfully.
"I will go forward," Hogun said, already spurring ahead. Sif moved to follow him, and Volstagg with Fandral, saying, "The old Giant's Trap formation. Good, good."
They would fan out and circle the area, jests of cowardice aside, and Thor had no doubt that they would do good work. So he left the front and the back to them, and turned to ride to the east first and see if he found any signs of what had happened here.
It had been a chaotic and improbable storm, and it had disappeared as surprisingly as it had manifested, but it was obvious that it had been no illusion. The grass was drenched and wind-torn, the creatures that had once skittered through it were all in hiding.
Thor came to the edge of the continent and gazed out into the sea of space. He spared only a thought for Midgard -- for Earth -- before he turned back to look on the mountains.
He was no 'weatherman', as the mortals called them, but he knew enough of Asgard's weather patterns to know that storms were rare in this area. Magic was involved, and it had not been crafted by the giants that lived high in the peaks.
But what would call someone here? There was little in the mountains to catch the attention of someone with the power to call up a whirlwind like that.
A flare of light caught his eye, low and almost below the tree level; it came from where Hogun or Sif must be exploring. Thor spurred his horse fast in that direction, racing over the plains, his mind racing far ahead to what he would find -- a fervent battle, a trap sprung, Sif hurt or gone. But after the flash there was nothing until he came upon one of his friends and her unimpressive burden.
"Here is your sorcerer," Sif said with disgust, casting the slight form forward by the cloak at his neck.
He stumbled forward and fell on the wet ground with a low noise, hurt. Thor dismounted in a sharp gesture and stalked forward, feeling a strange sensation well up inside him, and ducked down onto one knee.
It was Loki's face that turned up to see him; he knew it as well as he knew his own. But it was a face he hadn't seen in a long time.
"--Thor?" There was wonder on Loki's face, matching his own.
"What... game is this?" Thor asked, uncertainly.
He was young. Standing he had been shorter than Sif, and his features were pixieish, black hair short and green eyes wide. He was soaking wet, his clothes plastered to his skinny body, and bleeding lightly from a cut at his high cheekbone, bruising already. He could have been no more than fifteen.
"He did not put up much of a fight," Sif said, her voice quieter.
Thor frowned, but was unable to tear his gaze from his brother. What purpose did he serve by disguising himself as a child? Did he plan to pretend that he had aged backwards, or could not remember what he had done? Did he seek to get back into their favor, have them take him back with them to work some trouble? Even if he was truly young and it was not some transformation or illusion, there must be a reason.
Loki scrambled up, onto his knees, but he reached out to Thor, hand stretching out to touch his face. Thor let him, his heart skipping a hopeful beat, even as he wondered what Loki's goal could be.
"You're grown," Loki murmured, surprised, fingers tracing the line of his beard. "This is real. What-- What has happened?"
"That is very much what I would like to know," Thor told him, gentling his voice. It could have been an accident. A magical spell gone awry. Even he is not immune to the vagaries of the sorcery he wields...
"Thor." He heard the warning of caution in Sif's tone, and his jaw tightened helplessly. He knew what she wanted to say, and he agreed, but he couldn't help it.
He wanted it to be true. But he knew that he could not afford to be naive.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked.
Loki turned around, looking around them, and then mused, "The Plains of Ida? The southwest... We were out riding, but not near here. Far to the east, on the other side of the bay."
They had spent hundreds of thousands of carefree afternoons riding out there. Thor felt a heartsick pang for those more innocent days. "But you must remember the storm?" he prompted.
"Yes, I remember it." Loki's gaze steeled. "It came out of nowhere above us. We-- You and I..." And some of the steel left him again, confused. "We were torn from the backs of our horses and cast into the sky. When I hit the ground again, I must have blacked out, and then she--" He gave a fierce, irritated glare to Sif. "--clobbered me the moment I got back to my feet."
"You deserved it," Sif said, unrepentant, and set her hands on her hips cockily. "Trust me."
Thor felt his lips quirk up, but he scolded, "There's no need for quarreling yet, Sif. Save it."
"Sif?" Loki was caught off-guard again, studying her, and then said, snidely, "You look ugly without your golden hair."
Her eyes flashed. "I should hope you'd enjoy your handiwork."
"Mine?!"
"Oh thank the Norns. The Three are back," Thor said brightly.
The warriors were returning, each from their separate directions on horseback, but there was something strange about Fandral's steed, a red and yellow banner behind him visible even from this distance. When they were in earshot, Fandral lifted his voice to call, "You'd best see this for yourself, Thor. Because if you don't, you would swear it's another tall tale of the Warriors Three."
Seated behind him on his horse was a young blond warrior, sitting proud and upright with his features uncannily familiar, and Mjolnir's unmistakable shape belted at his hip.