Hidden Troubles

Chapter 49

Loki would be ok. She'd make sure of it. They would all be ok.

She wouldn't lose this... her family.

***

The god of mischief and chaos lay on the sofa, happily ignoring Steve and Tony chattering, bickering, flirting- Norns knew what they were doing- and gently teased Naeva by lifting her as far as he could, before lowering her enough so that she couldn't get her paws in his hair. Her innocent mews of delight turned to growls of frustration as she tried to reach his face, and only swatting the air. Natasha lounged on the floor by his feet, alternatively looking at the pair and turning back to her book.

The whole scene seemed so...idyllic. Fantastical. This wasn't the life meant for a liar and a trickster, and yet it seemed so.

A year ago he was being tortured on a rocky, barren plain, gagging as the entrails of a Chitauri traitor were shoved into his mouth, and crows of muffled laughter tormented ruptured eardrums. Several months ago he had wept at the touch of an apple. And now he was playing with a kitten.

Such was the mystery that was life.

Two dictinctive caws, echoing through a millenia of memories to the burning present had him drop Naeva onto the floor. Tension etched in every muscle as his eyes followed the path of two ravens, that flew straight into the communal room. The room had fallen into an apprehensive silence as Huginn and Munnin perched on the edge of the sofa, a wary distance away from the kitten subtly licking her paws.

The ravens had always had a soft spot for the trickster. Their loyalty to the AllFather was without doubt, but Loki's childhood had been littered with their presence after an uneasy sleep, and when his sobs had been muffled behind sown lips. It seemed, despite all he had done, their fidelity had not wavered, in the way they cawed cheerfully, daringly perched on each of Loki's shoulders and nuzzling against the startled god. Hesitant fingers trembled their way towards Munnin, stroking the raven in a pattern so familiar yet so old he'd thought he'd forgotten it, before doing the same to the other raven.

"Do you have news?" Thoughtful coal black eyes that carried the wisdom and secrets of innumerable eons gazed into familiar emerald orbs, filled with the same sort of sagacity, but still youthful in the eyes of the longevous raven.

And then the two ravens cawed as one, cries coalescing into a nonpareil melody, ascending in a magical flight to the heavens. A gilded wooden box shimmered into existence, hovering before Loki, glowing with some transcendent light that seemed too good for the land of mortals, before lowering itself into pale hands.

Natasha had been acquainted with many differeny types of music. Jazz, rock, classical, orchestral- such was the life of a trained spy to be familiar with all areas of life. She couldn't deny that Ludwig Van Beethovan's fame wasn't well-deserved, though her irrational fealty for her motherland would always leave her a tad parti pris for Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. And yet she had never heard music that made her want to fall before a shrine where sin was a prayer, where she would sell her soul to Satan and call it a virtue, just to hear a whisper of a minim.

Her fingers tingled with the need to grab the sublime gift and wrench it open, just to see if that would allow her to hear the tune that made Bach's work look like the ditties of a petty child. Judging by how far Tony was leaning forward, and Steve's barely restrained look of awe fixated on the box in Loki's hands, they both shared her sentiments. Even Naeva stood to attention, her tiny body that usually quivered with energy now still with anticipation.

When she thought of it later, much later, she would never know what had kept her in place. Perhaps it was the Stygian eyes of one of the ravens—Huginn, if she had to guess, deemed from the way her mind felt horrifyingly open and bare as they challenged her at some primal level; her brief readings on Norse mythology had stated he was 'thought'. Or perhaps it was the way Loki's eyes were burning a phosphorent green, suspiciously bright as he cradled the aureate chattel.