Continuing Tales

Fallen Star

A Marvel Movieverse Story
by Alydia Rackham

Part 2 of 27

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Cold desert wind blustered through Loki's black hair and tattered cape as he trudged through the empty hills, toward the pale light of the moon. Tall, sharp plants clawed at the hem of his cape and the legs of his dark pants. Something felt wet on the right side of his face, and his head thudded dully, but as it was nothing compared to his back and chest, he hardly noticed. He kept his left arm wrapped tight around his middle—something felt loose inside him, and if he let go, delirious pain would drive him to his knees.

It had taken a great effort for him to get up and out of the broad, jagged crater he had created—he had fallen down more than once, cursed his ancestors and dented his breastplate, getting covered in dirt. He rolled his eyes now as he thought of it—it was a wonder that Midgard had not shattered to pieces this past week, what with all the foreigners slamming into her soil like apples dumped from a cart.

He paused to regain his breath, swallowing once, then again, and closing his eyes. The aloof wind whistled around him, like suspicious wolves surveying a stranger.

Loki had never broken a bone before, so he could not be sure—but he could imagine this was what it felt like. He had gone cold all over, and nauseated. He knew he ought to keep moving or he would risk collapse. But his legs suddenly seemed so heavy…

A light glimmered against his eyelids. He blinked, opened his eyes again, then squinted toward the source.

Two bouncing beams made their way across the desert, followed by a dark cloud of dust, and a chaotic but mechanical rumble. He frowned, stretching back through his hazy memory…

It was a human vehicle. A rather large one.

And it was heading toward him.

His thoughts lurched for a moment as he tried to decide whether or not this was fortune or doom. On one hand, the little natives might prod and poke him, imprison him or torture him—or worse, attempt to study him. On the other hand, he was in so much pain he could neither summon his magic to shield him nor make it do his will against them. He was lost, he was faint, and he did not know what creatures or pitfalls might await him out in this barren land. If nothing else, the mortals could restore his sense of direction, his knowledge of his position on the planet—perhaps even give him something to ease this agony.

It was this last thought that finally won out. He swallowed hard again, then started toward the vehicle's lamps. There was nothing for it but to let himself be seen.

The beams turned right toward him. Their light blinded him to everything else. And it was only after the vehicle was too close that Loki realized he could not move fast enough to escape if it did not decide to stop.


"Watch out!" Darcy shrieked. Jane slammed both feet down on the brake pedal, her heart almost leaping out of her chest. The van screeched to a halt, sending dirt flying toward the dark, pale-faced figure right in front of them.

"You can't be looking at a GPS and driving at the same time!" Darcy scolded, shoving herself away from the dashboard where she had been flung. "You are going to kill somebody someday, Jane Foster."

Jane barely heard her. Her white knuckled hands clenched the steering wheel as she stared over it, through the windshield, at the person she had almost hit.

He stood slightly sideways, his shoulders at a strained angle. He held his left arm tight around his chest, his right arm hung limp. He wore knee-high leather boots, dark pants and a long tunic, which was covered by golden, light, high-collared armor that protected his chest and arms. A dark green cape flowed down from his shoulders and dragged on the ground behind him.

His face was too white—angular and solemn. He had raven hair, strands of which hung across his pale brow. Beneath black, hawk-like eyebrows, striking eyes met hers—eyes like a gray dawn, alive but distant. He had a noble nose, cheekbones and chin, and a firm, quiet mouth. He watched her unblinkingly, as if he were waiting. The whole of him was covered in dust—and blood coated the right side of his face.

"Darcy, get the first aid kit," Jane gasped, clawing at her seatbelt to get it to release. Once it did, she sprang out of the car and slammed the door shut, then hurried toward the stranger.

He turned toward her as she approached, and blinked slowly. Jane fought to catch a glimpse of his pupils, to see if they were dilated unevenly. She could not tell. Instinctively, her hands darted out toward him, but she pulled them back.

"Are you all right?" she asked—then wanted to slap herself. "I'm sorry—stupid question." She shook her head, then searched his face. "What happened to you?"

He blinked at her again, and his brow furrowed slightly.

"I have seen you before," he said. His voice was lighter than Thor's or Erik's—more even and smooth, with perfect articulation. Jane started.

"You…You have?" She glanced him up and down, again taking in the sight of his armor and cape. Her heart leaped. "Are you…Are you from Asgard?"

He straightened, and drew in a breath. His vivid eyes flashed across her features, as if pieces were clicking together inside his mind. He blinked, and his brow cleared, as if he had decided something. Then, he lowered his head, but never broke her gaze.


"You are?" Jane cried, unable to suppress a startled smile. "So you know about Thor! Thor and Odin and the Destroyer and…What is your name?"

The stranger swallowed, and squeezed his eyes shut, as if a headache hurt him.

"Fenris. Fenris Aeridson."

"Do you know Thor?" Jane pressed. "What happened to him? Is he all right?"

"Jane, the man is bleeding," Darcy said flatly from over by the van. A smile quirked across Fenris' lips. Jane's heart plunged.

"Oh, oh, I'm so sorry," she apologized. "If you get in the van we can take you to the hospital—" Jane reached out and did take hold of his metal-covered arm this time. He pulled out of her grasp. Jane went cold.

"Thank you, but no." Fenris opened his eyes and gave her a stern but hazy look. "I would prefer that your medical monkeys keep their prodding fingers off of my decidedly un-human body."

Jane frowned, offended, but then he stumbled backward.

"Jane…" Darcy warned. Jane stepped toward him, afraid to grab him again, yet afraid he might lose his balance.

"Jane, he's gonna fall—" Darcy yelped. Fenris' face twisted, then his eyes went blank and he stiffly collapsed. His body thudded heavily to the dirt.

"Crap, crap, crap," Jane hissed, rushing toward him and kneeling down. "Darcy, he's probably got a concussion…"

"How do you know?" Darcy muttered as she came up. "He's got an alien scull."

"Whatever it is, it isn't good," Jane snapped, the wind blowing her hair into her face. "Help me get him into the van."

"You know, this is all seeming oddly familiar…" Darcy grumbled, but she took hold of his feet while Jane lifted up his shoulders, and together they struggled to carry him to the van.


Loki came to slowly, and when he did he was aware of a bumping, rocking movement all around him, and boxes bearing blinking colored lights on his left and right sides. He was lying on his back, on a metal floor, staring up at a dark ceiling. And he was moving. They were moving.

He heard their voices—those of the two mortal women who had found him. And even as he laid there, his side fairly splitting open, he could not believe the hand Fate had dealt.

He knew her as soon as the beams of light cut across her slight figure. Her long, windblown dark hair, comely face, and startled brown eyes—he had watched her every movement from his throne in Asgard, through the eyes of the Destroyer, a thoughtful finger draped across his lips. He had seen the way she and Thor had looked at each other in the midst of the breaking and burning. He had known it was she that had made Thor weak.

Jane. That was her name.

And she already knew about Asgard, and Odin, and the bridge—for she had doubtlessly followed the passage he had just made—and she was clearly in love with Thor. But she had never seen Loki—she only knew of him.

Which meant Loki was not about to be handed over to the authorities, nor jabbed by medieval doctors, nor interrogated by their lawmen as Thor had been. Not while Jane wanted answers concerning Thor and Asgard. So Loki would hide behind an alias, and milk that advantage for all it was worth.


Jane opened the back of the van to see Fenris sitting up, his jaw set. He looked irritated.

"How are you feeling?" Jane asked.

"I can't say that was enjoyable," he answered, laboriously scooting himself forward with his left hand so his feet dangled out and then rested on the ground. "And I believe my brains have been rattled to pieces, thank you."

A retort sprang to Jane's lips, but then Fenris reached up and swiped at his forehead—and then stared at his bloody hand.

"Good heavens," he muttered, making a face.

"We need to get you inside," Jane urged. "Here, let me help you." She bravely took hold of his stiff arm once more and pulled him up. He didn't say anything to consent, but he didn't pull away either. His face had gone tight, and his footsteps were unsteady.

"Darcy, get his other side, would you?" Jane called.

"Kay," Darcy acknowledged, then took hold of Fenris' left arm. Together, they guided him to their glass-walled lab and managed to trundle him through the side door. Absently, Jane mused that Fenris was not as tall as Thor, nor as grand—but then she supposed that not everyone in Asgard could be born with his natural majesty. After all, Thor was a prince.

The shadow and twinkling lights of the state-of-the-art lab made Jane blink trying to adjust her eyes as their footsteps shuffled hollowly across the tile.

"Darcy, go flip the lights on, will you?" Jane panted, steering Fenris toward the counter and sink. He leaned his hands against the edge of the white countertop, and Jane was about to protest about his getting blood all over, but he hung his head low and closed his eyes. She bit her lip, opened a low cupboard and pulled out several soft washcloths. Then, she turned on the water. It hissed into the sink. Fenris' eyes came open, and he frowned down at the tumbling liquid.

The stark fluorescent overhead lights snapped on—Jane glanced over at Darcy, who stayed safely by the light switch at the far end of the lab, watching the stranger.

Jane leaned around his arm, soaked the washcloth in warm water and squeezed it out, then brought it, dripping, up to the side of his head.

"People's heads always bleed so much," she muttered as she pressed the cloth to his forehead and began wiping away blood. "Sometimes the littlest cut can bleed like crazy."

"That's entirely untrue of Asgardians," Fenris replied, pulling the cloth out of her hands and pressing it to his head himself.

"Oh," Jane stammered, thrown. Deftly, he swiped the blood off his face, leaned down and rinsed the rag out in the water, then continued washing, like a cat bathing its face. Jane pulled back from him, a frown settling on her face. Whatever this Fenris was, he was not at all like Thor.

"How did you hurt yourself?" Jane finally asked.

"Fell from the Asbru—the bridge," he answered, water dripping off his nose and lips. He soaked the rag again, squeezed it out, then pressed it to his temple. "During the fight between Thor and his brother, Loki."

Jane's heart jolted.

"Fight? Thor fought him? What happened?" she demanded, pressing closer. She sensed Darcy draw a little nearer too, but Jane's eyes were fixed on Fenris' face. He didn't look at her.

"Loki was attempting to unleash the power of the Bifrost upon Asgard's longtime enemies, the Frost Giants. Thor arrived and decided he would not let his brother succeed." Fenris wiped the excess water from his face, put the rag down and began feeling through his black hair for his wound. "But the gate had locked, so there was nothing for Thor to do but break the bridge with his hammer. Which is what he did. But it—ssssssaaah!" Fenris dropped his right arm and pulled it close to his chest, wincing, his face going even whiter.

"What?" Jane said quickly. "Are you hurt someplace else?"

"I am fine. Where may I sit down?" he asked through his teeth.

"Here," Jane leaped across to her desk and swung her wheeled chair around for him. Fenris eased down into it and swallowed hard, his eyes drifting shut.

"What then?" Jane asked, leaning closer.

"Jane, don't you think he should rest for a sec?" Darcy wondered, stepping closer, studying his face.

"I am fine," Fenris repeated, his eyes opening to glare at Darcy. "The bridge broke," he went on. "And it caused a tremendous explosion. I was one of the guards on the bridge—the blast threw me off, and I fell down into the funnel of the path. And I landed here, in the middle of nowhere." His eyes closed again, and his brow furrowed in what looked like anger. Jane stood there, feeling cold.

"So…the bridge broke."

"Yes," Fenris answered, still not looking at her. Jane gulped, her throat hurting with the movement.

"So…Can Thor…I mean, can he come back?" Her voice trailed off into faintness. Fenris' eyes opened and he arched an eyebrow at her.

"As it stands? No. Not unless he knows another way to travel between realms. Which…he doesn't."

Jane stood there, her brow twisting, staring at this stranger, unable to move. She felt Darcy's eyes on her, but she dared not meet them.

"If it's not too much to ask," Fenris sighed darkly. "Is it possible that there is anything with which to kill pain on this rock? Or must I shoot myself to get a little relief?"

"So sorry," Jane said breathlessly, stumbling across the room again to another cupboard. "I think I have some migraine Tylenol…" Her fumbling hands found the latch of the cabinet and she pulled the door open, though it was hard to search the labels on the bottles when tears clouded her vision.

Fallen Star

A Marvel Movieverse Story
by Alydia Rackham

Part 2 of 27

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