yoursavior | for sorserer

for sorserer

[ Contrary to popular opinion–or, more specifically, popular opinion amongst those who had seen him on Midgard last, in New York–Loki is quite conscious of when and how to keep a low profile. That's been the plan ever since he'd been dragged, begrudgingly, back to the wretched planet upon which he'd last suffered such a humiliating defeat–and worse, he's now been placed loosely under the employ of the organization that had enacted said humiliating defeat upon him.

Employ, though, is a little bit of a stretch. New Asgard has taken up much of Thor and Loki's time, and Loki has never spoken once during the scant few meetings that he's bothered to show up to, after that disastrous first one in which Loki had promised to behave and explained the circumstances of his last visit, how he'd fallen under the sceptre's thrall. It's embarrassing to admit to, especially due to the fact that a good eighty percent of the room's occupants clearly hadn't been quite satisfied with that explanation, but either way, it's enough to keep the Hulk from smashing him again, and it's enough for him to be permitted to stay, although it isn't lost on him that he'll have to commit some sort of nauseating act of heroism sooner rather than later in order to be considered to be redeemed properly.

But he's kept quiet and ignored the stares, mostly. It's easier that way. He doesn't hide his disdain when someone says something particularly stupid, or when Strange speaks, which–generally speaking–is the same thing, but he's kept quiet. He'd made it four months until today, at which point all that has gone straight out the window and abruptly into a shouting match. ]

What would you possibly propose?

[ –Loki hisses, jabbing at Strange's chest. Keeping quiet had been easy when they'd been discussing HYDRA, or SHIELD, or one of their other ridiculous acronyms, but as soon as Thor had mentioned a premonition he'd had...somehow, things had gone very rapidly downhill. ]

What could you? Midgard is in certain peril if you're what constitutes as its magical defense–do you know what protected Asgard for milleniae? A single spell. Not warriors, like all of you. Ancient magic. You wouldn't know the first thing about ancient magic. How could you? I'm quite sure you learned what an incantation was a handful of weeks ago–

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[ stephen doesn't consider himself an avenger: he's a part-timer at best, or at least works on call whenever something seems too far outside the realm of the ordinary for the team to handle without a little extra input. his priorities remain with his order, the masters of the mystic arts, the sanctum sanctorum that he swore to protect along with the whole of the universe. that latter part is why he's here today, to help tony stark's motley crew figure out how to defend the earth against something that intends to cleave it in half.

and for the most part he occupies a kind of distant, erudite position off to one side of the table. but loki's presence in these rooms has always been a simmering pot waiting to overflow, a disaster waiting to happen. not just where the avengers themselves are concerned, either—stephen can feel him sneering in the corner whenever stephen makes a suggestion or offers input—as if stephen hasn't busted his ass longer and harder than damn near the best of mystics in this iteration of the cosmos; as if he hasn't protected this earth multiple times already.

so when loki jabs him in the chest his eyes fly down to the offending touch, incensed, and he's shouting back, maybe one of the first times he's raised his voice in these quarters—he can't help it. despite his best efforts to stay lofty, there's nothing that crawls up stephen's ass harder than baseless accusations of amateurism. ]

You don't know what the sorcerers of this realm are capable of, how many countless disasters have been averted—and yes with the use of ancient magic, though I don't know where you find the authority to speak on it, as if you'd even be capable—

[ 'whatever happened to wizards unite?' tony asks in the corner.

'isn't that a phone game,' clint asks rhetorically, but thor is sitting up in the corner, alert, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. ]

As if I'd even be capable? [ Loki isn't sorry for New York at all, suddenly. Any city that's produced such a loathsome individual deserves to be levelled. ] As if I'd even be capable–

[ 'He's right,' Thor interrupts, suddenly and it's not unsurprising, which he he's referring to. Loki doesn't quite have the magical capabilities to kill Thor with a single look, but he makes a good effort. Thor lives, and forges on with a smile.

'Are you sure you'd be capable, brother? It's nothing to be ashamed of. You'd be the first to say that mother was the best at–' (Thor wiggles his fingers, which is tremendously annoying, because Loki knows that he knows the word for sorcery.) '–you know, all that.' ]

Of course I could do it. [ –Loki snaps, forgetting Strange for a moment. ] Don't be ridiculous. It's ancient magic, but it's nothing beyond my power, certainly not for this tiny little planet's sake–they protected the nine realms entirely with their union. But it's a partnership at its foundation, which makes my being technically capable of it useless. It's magic. There are rules, it's not like hitting something with a hammer–

[ 'Well!' Thor begins, hopefully, and that's all he needs to say. Loki is, uncharacteristically, silent as he stares. A pause stretches out, and then: ]

No.

[ 'Forgive me,' Thor says. 'I thought you wanted to be a hero.'

Loki has never, in his life, wanted to be a hero–it's 'probably not a villain' that he's aiming for here, begrudgingly, if only for the continued safety of what's left of Asgard. It's clear that this is the trap Thor meant to box Loki into, here, and as irritated with himself for falling for it as he is with Strange for existing, he glances at him, and then back at Thor again before he continues on exasperatedly. ]

There are limits, Thor.

[ stephen also bristles at all that, but thor's interruption helps stymy the pounding of his pulse in his ears. his hands stay clenched beneath the cover of his cloak so he doesn't cast a spell or just deck him altogether—

but he listens, because this is important. the fate of the universe may very well be at stake. he turns his gaze between thor and then loki again as loki bites his way through what isn't quite an explanation; then an oddly stilted silence befalls the room as apparently neither of them seem interested in being any more helpful, having an entire conversation with their eyes instead. ]

Who's "they"?

[ and then the more of the words click—mother and union and partnership. stephen scowls harder. ]

That was Asgard's protection? Relational magic?

[ 'how did you all know i've always wanted to be the in english, please guy,' tony says in the corner, his hand draped over his face in exasperation. ]

A wedding ritual.

[ there's a ripple of unease and confusion around the table, but stephen's brain is already racing, twenty steps ahead. he looks at thor. ]

Can he do it? [ love talking about loki without acknowledging he's standing right in front of him, just love it. ]

[ Thor shrugs. 'You know, I'm not quite sure,' he says. 'I mean, all this fuss–' ]

Will you both shut up. [ –Loki snaps, tersely. ] Of course I can do it. Strange is the issue here, clearly. Asgard was protected by my parents' shared power–my father was nearly my mother's equal, magically speaking. The ritual wouldn't work if one of the parties concerned is an amateur. Therefore, Maximoff...

[ Wanda has vanished. Loki frowns. She'd been there a second ago; a moment ago, really. The Vision, in the chair next to one that she'd so recently vacated, peers up at the ceiling fan with an intent fascination, as though it's the first time he's ever seen one. Loki rolls his eyes. ]

Well, of course. It's perfectly fine when someone else isn't a team player. It's only when it's me that it's some sort of global crisis–

[ tony scrubs his face with his hand again; he hasn't looked up. 'so!' he says loudly, in part just to cut loki off. 'destroy one or more infinity stones or get someone to put a ring on—' outward gesture at loki '—this. hmm. do i even have to vote out loud?' ]

I won't say it again: we're not destroying the Time Stone. It was entrusted to the Sorcerers Supreme of this Earth—

[ 'didn't you say we don't have one of those?' natasha says, frowning. 'that's part of why we're here, isn't it—we don't have any protection. but if this ritual will do the job, and all we have to do is find a magical equal to loki—' ]

An equal to him, who is also powerful enough to perform the ritual. [ it's a subtle distinction, but it's important for stephen to make. ] The former may be easy enough if we stretch the definition of equal and look for street magicians on Craigslist. The latter less so.

[ there's a moment of quiet. it's actually tony who pipes up again wearily, still from under his hand: 'doc, i feel like you're burying the lede and i can't tell if it's on purpose. there's a venn diagram of people in this building who have used an infinity stone and also do magic tricks; smack in the middle of it are you two. so unless you're gonna tell me you hand off that thing on your neck to other equally powerful wizards on weekends like a class hamster, or you're gonna tell me i can nuke it from orbit, i kind of want to pitch you as frontrunner.' ]

Stark.

[ 'what? we've all taken one for the team. by the way, the team is earth and the stakes are billions of lives—but sure, we won't try something probably not legally binding that might just give us a chance in hell.'

natasha leans forward. 'stephen,' she says. too soft, stephen thinks abstractly; it reminds him of christine trying to untie all his gordian knots. 'you're one of the last people who needs to be reminded that this is bigger than one conversation and bigger than just us in this room, and all signs point to us not being in a position to leave things off the table.' and then, even more softly: 'if all we need to do is find people who can and who will, we'll still need your help.'

stephen grimaces, caught. he thinks about the masters at the temple, respected colleagues who at their peak can best him in one thing and one thing only; his hundred trials since dormammu. he thinks about the stone, its muted vibrations, and the faceless threat that wants to tear it from his throat, cleave the universe in two. he tears his gaze away from natasha's face and looks down at the surface of the conference table instead, at his own scarred hand.

(it's not about you, the ancient one had said.)

at length: ]

I can. [ a pause. ] I will.

[ Were the circumstances different, Loki might take offense to all this–as though the prospect of some sort of union with him is loathsome enough to be presented as some sort of trial on the level of, say, another bout with Ultron. But he keeps quiet, and neglects to mention the fact that he's still perfectly capable of pitching Stark out the window, even when he's referred to as 'this,' although he does roll his eyes.

It's not lost on him, the way that they feel about him–if it's an alliance, it's a begrudging one, and it's likely not one that would persist were Thor uninvolved. And even if this would change anything, it's not like Strange will agree to it, Loki thinks–until he does, promptly. At first he thinks he's misheard him. ]

You do realize what I speak of. [ –Loki says, exasperatedly. ] It's a marriage. It isn't a matter of signing a magical contact and forgetting about it; there are rules, rituals, stipulations–

[ 'And all for the sake of the safety of Midgard,' Thor interrupts–and then, when Loki stares, he continues on, quietly. 'Of Asgard. Of what remains.'

Loki knows this. Thor knows that Loki knows this, and Loki hates him for it, among other things.

But it's enough. Reluctantly, he turns back to Strange, studying him. ]

You'll regret this, I hope you know. I want to discuss this in private. Take us somewhere where we can.

[ stephen regards him levelly, then inclines his head back towards the rest of the spacious conference room. considers explaining himself, at least a little. the earth has no sorcerer supreme. the ancient one had entrusted care of this world to him. the time stone is his to protect. and anyway stephen is personally assured he's at least equal to loki, if not actually stronger, and better suited to the complexities of ancient magic than nearly any living sorcerer he knows; his pride won't let him consider otherwise—

and he knows, wearily, that last part is more to do with it than the rest. he considers briefly whether he's been played like a fiddle, then shifts on his feet, pulls open a sparking portal that leads to one of the new york sanctum's many studies, and allows loki to walk through first before following suit. he doesn't look behind him to see the avengers' expressions or hear any last words, doesn't wait to shut the portal behind him.

there's already a tall stack of books on the center table, between two ornate armchairs. the cloak whisks off of stephen's shoulders and away before he can collapse into one of them, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back. he's terse, tense. at times like this it's easier to be logical, as if in execution of a plan. ]

Those would be all the books that reference ancient relational ritual, both loosely and specifically, here at this particular Sanctum. The top two have sections that specifically discuss the coupling magic of the Vanir, which I imagine at least shares common threads with what your parents undertook for the protection of Asgard. Does that sound about right?

[ An uncomfortable silence stretches out, before it's punctuated by Scott Lang, sotto voice, as Strange summons up a portal.

'Does that mean they're gonna–'

–Loki hears, but that's all, blessedly, before he steps into the portal and the sound is swallowed up. They're alone now. Loki recognizes it as the Sanctum Sanctorum; he'd had plans for this, back when he'd tried to take New York, and now, perhaps, it's some sort of cosmic joke, how each time he's been here he's in some form of peril. Last time, it had been one of those portals. This time, it's marriage.

He steps forward, picks up one of the books on the table to leaf through at random. ]

It's an interpretation of what my parents did, yes.

[ And it's detailed–which is good, in part, although the specifics are less appealing within the context of their shared participation in them. ]

Let's run through all of the reasons as to why this is a tremendously terrible idea. There's a difference between the responsibilities of the two parties concerned–which are man and wife. Not very progressive, but it's old magic, like I said.

[ He sets the book down and takes a seat, finally, before continuing on, with a polite smile. ]

Before you ask: I'm not going to be the wife.

[ it's not about you, stephen tells himself—almost says out loud to them both, even. he keeps the words behind his tongue, watching loki evenly as he flips through the topmost tome and then sits down. as soon as he does there's a steaming cup of tea on the table within easy reach, and a full set in the middle with accoutrements. like the books, they don't give off the appearance of having suddenly appeared, even though that's what happened; they look prearranged. ]

Funny. I wasn't going to ask.

[ not in the least because the matter, to stephen, is already settled. he can feel the next argument queuing up, though. he suppresses his wariness of ballooning tension and reaches over for his own cup instead, scarred fingers curving around the dark painted ceramic as he considers how, actually, this is a terrible idea; how they shouldn't have left the avengers, thor included, with any kind of false hope. ]

It would be arduous work regardless of who occupies what role. And the only guarantee of success would be doing everything perfectly. Even if it weren't a marriage the level of cooperation required would be challenging.

[ I wasn't going to ask. Loki eyes him warily, both unsure if he's meant to feel insulted by that and too proud to ask to clarify. Either way, there's tea, and it probably isn't poison–Loki's a good judge, having spent an inordinate amount of time around the sorts of people who might be inclined to put poison in tea. It's a sufficient distraction, and Loki drinks, even if it's not quite to his tastes.

He can't blame Strange for that. Enough time has passed so that when Loki misses Asgard, it's in flashes–a woman with hair the same color as his mother's, tea that isn't quite bitter enough. Loki sets the cup down, refocusing. ]

Have you been betrothed? Probably not, I would imagine, but it's much of the same–courtship on a grander scale. Tokens of affection, a ring, a ceremony... [ And then, of course...well. Loki peers into his cup. ] All that comes after.

[ the actual answer to that question is yes. madeleine, a whirlwind two years together when stephen was fresh out of medical school and finding his fame. she'd found his shallowness amusing at first, then the amusement became irritation, the word materialistic deployed with fatal precision. she'd given back the ring.

that was a long time ago, enough that it rarely comes up in conversation. and it's certainly more than the man sitting across from him needs to know.

loki's affected casualness as he looks into his cup pretty much cements the idea that consummation is probably part of the deal. stephen takes a long, measured drink of his own cup and then sets it down. ]

Your brother's vision suggests a fight is coming in short enough order that there's no point getting nervous about prom night. You heard them back there; you have an idea of what's coming. Do you feel good about their chances?

[ Loki scowls. There's that, too. Naturally, it's Thor's vision; Thor, with his complete and total magical ineptitude. Although it's probably for the best. It's unlikely that any sort of prophetic vision of Loki's own would be taken to be true, rather than another manipulation–of which he hasn't done many of, in his own defense, since his reluctant reformation. ]

No.

[ It's a patronizing question, because obviously not, and Loki is twice as annoyed, suddenly, as though he's meant to feel as though he's petulantly sulking over what seems to be such an easy fix, on paper. Surely marriage is easier to endure than an onslaught from...whichever nefarious force sets Earth within its sights in the near future. Probably Thanos, with Loki's luck. He refrains from asking what or when prom night is. ]

I'm hardly nervous. I don't care–what's... [ He's not going to be generous here, in any estimation he might make of Strange's skill; why would he be? ] ...a few minutes of fumbling in exchange for the safety of the universe? I've endured far worse. It's the rest of it that's more concerning. The courtship rituals, the ways in which it'll bind us together–your magic's dreadful enough from an outsider's perspective. I don't want to become personally familiar with it.

[ stephen's already thin mouth thins out even further in a flash of irritation, but he shoves it aside, pulls in another inaudible breath. the wheels in his head keep grinding along no matter how he feels, what kind of madness he's putting his foot in for reasons that should be more important than just ego. ]

If you're concerned that you're incapable ...

[ it's not intentionally a potshot and he's not trying to be petty; this is absolutely a valid concern to iron out. what does he know about loki's magic, anyway? sure, he's thousands of years old, a capable illusionist at a minimum, stab-happy. but that infinity stone had pushed him harder than he'd pushed it in turn. it's important to ask, and if that constitutes a push, well, stephen's pushed harder for less. ]

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