An Iron Resolve (Marvel)(Time Travel)

A/N: Back to Hela! How's she been doing since moving to Earth?

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Hela lets out a sigh as she runs the overly large Midgardian washcloth known as a ‘towel’ through her wet hair, stepping out of the washroom fresh from a Midgardian shower completely in the buff. Her naked body still glistens in places with some excess water she hadn’t already wiped off, but otherwise she’s clean as can be.

… It’s been a month since the All-Father had tricked her into a contract with a Midgardian who had managed to make himself immortal, with the condition for her freedom and the return of her rightful powers being his unlikely demise. Especially considering he was seemingly the most powerful being on his planet at this point in time.

Of course, there was also a note in the contract that he was allowed to free her without dying if he so chose. Her helm, which Odin had used to store her godly powers before making a show of letting her try to lift it (to no avail) was now in the Midgardian King’s custody. If he decided she had proven herself worthy of being the Goddess of Death once more, he could return her helm and her powers to her at any time he so chose.

… What a lark. As though a Midgardian, even one who styled himself a King and had found a way to become immortal, was worthy of judging HER. As though this ‘Tony Stark’ was in any way a viable candidate to be her jailor! Pah! He didn’t even know how to imprison someone properly!

Not that Hela was complaining… out loud, anyways. Indeed, the last month of her new ‘captivity’ had been positively decadent compared to the last thousand years. Sure, she was reduced to nothing more than a weak mortal barely stronger than the average Midgardian. Sure, she had not a smidge of power left to her, and no connection to Asgard to speak of.

But it wasn’t all bad. Instead of being left to waste away slowly but surely in a desolate grey wasteland that never ended and never changed, Hela found herself confined to a much smaller, but far livelier locale. The ‘floor’ of the King’s Tower she’d found herself on was located about halfway up the structure and had floor to ceiling windows along one of the walls, allowing her to look out and see the metal and glass monstrosities that the Midgardians had created in the past thousand years.

It was as though they were trying and failing to emulate the glory of Asgard herself. As though they had dreams of the Golden Realm, but they were dulled and lifeless. There was not a hint of gold or Uru anywhere to be seen, merely inferior metals and their preferred building material, this ‘concrete’ that apparently started as a liquid before hardening into a solid.

The view might have left something to be desired, but the amenities on her ‘floor’ were actually quite enjoyable. She never went without food and drink, she could clean herself as often as she wanted, she no longer had to dig out holes to relieve herself, and she even had Midgardian Entertainment in the form of ‘shows’ on the invention they called a ‘television’.

Wrapping her hair up in the towel as she’d seen some Midgardian women do once upon a time, the naked depowered Goddess of Death makes her way over to the kitchen, pours herself a glass of wine, and then walks over and flops down on the couch as she picks up the ‘tv remote’ in her other hand.

Turning on the television, she takes a long drink from her glass as she begins to do something the Midgardians call channel surfing. However, just as she’s getting started.

“Wow.”

Hela’s eyes widen and she leaps from the couch, immediately tossing her glass of wine at the intruder to try and distract them. Unfortunately, both the glass and the remaining wine in it are deflected by a spell that see them careening off to the side. That doesn’t mean Hela stops moving though, of course. She throws herself at the intruder next, hands outstretched as claws… only for them to raise their hand and freeze her in midair with their magic.

“Bit feral still, aren’t you?”

Gritting her teeth, Hela finally takes in her intruder fully… only to be confused by what she sees. The other woman is black of hair with vibrant green eyes. She stands tall, as tall as Hela herself. And… if Hela is not mistaken, she is Asgardian, not Midgardian.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Twitching a finger, the Asgardian woman puts Hela back on her feet and then releases her hold on her. Tensing for a moment and then calming down, Hela narrows her eyes at the intruder, mind racing as to why she would be here.

Her first instinct is to hope that one of her loyal subjects has come for her. She is the rightful heir to the Asgardian Throne, and while Odin still lives, he has failed her and their people for over a thousand years now by keeping her imprisoned and keeping their people weak. It only makes sense that any Asgardian who would hear of her plight would come to help her.

Except… no. That’s not it, because Hela is well aware of the Genius Loci that occupies this building. The Guardian Spirit ‘JARVIS’ has absolute control over the King’s Tower and is part of the reason she has not been able to escape since she arrived here. The other, far larger part being that she’s been stripped of her powers and is as weak as a newborn kitten.

So then who could this be? And why were they here?”

“I am Loki of the Silvertongue, Princess of Asgard and Goddess of Mischief. And you, it would seem, are Hela.”

… Hela blinks. She remembered Odin mentioning she had a brother, but he hadn’t said anything about a sister. What did that imply? That Odin was overprotective of his younger daughter… or that she didn’t rate so much as a mention in the grand scheme of things?

Straightening to her full height, Hela sniffs before moving with a languid, regal grace past the green-eyed sorceress and towards her personal quarters. To keep the younger Asgardian engaged, she talks as she walks.

“I am, yes. You find yourself in the company of Hela, Goddess of Death.”

Loki follows her into her room, humming curiously as Hela finally gets some clothes and puts them on. A simple top and pants made of Midgardian fabrics… nothing like she’s used to. But to be fair, after a thousand years in the same set of rags, Hela doesn’t mind them. She just won’t ever admit it out loud.

“Not much of a Goddess now, are you?”

Whipping around, Hela narrows her eyes at her younger sister.

“You would dare speak to your better in such a way? I am the rightful Queen of Asgard. You should be kissing my feet and begging to be allowed to help me escape this place!”

Loki looks more amused than anything as she turns on her heel and leaves the bedroom. For a moment, Hela is tempted to stay where she is. Unfortunately, the bedroom does not have a television in it. The Genius Loci ‘JARVIS’ had decreed that television right before bed or during sleep was shown to have disrupted and worsened Midgardian Sleep Schedules and forbid her from moving one in there. Even when she’d insisted that she was no Midgardian, he had refused to budge.

Put simply, there was nothing to do in her bedroom except get dressed and sleep and Hela wasn’t exactly tired. The sun hadn’t even set yet. Infuriatingly enough, she was forced to follow Loki back out of the bedroom and onto the rest of the floor.

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

Whipping around to face her once more, Loki suddenly grins wickedly.

“I suppose I was just curious to see the Stark King’s latest conquest in the flesh.”

Hela stiffens, her eyes narrowing at that. Admittedly, she herself had assumed that these exceedingly comfortable conditions were meant to soften her up for courtship when she first arrived. No doubt Odin had tasked Tony Stark with seducing her and making her one of his consorts regardless of his married status.

Once she was reduced to a mewling woman nursing one of his children at her teat while walking around barefoot and pregnant with the second, then her father would probably rest easier knowing she would probably stop seeking to regain her power as Goddess of Death altogether.

Needless to say, Hela had sworn to herself she would not let that happen. Even as she’d enjoyed the amenities on offer (she wasn’t so foolish to weaken herself even more by going on a hunger strike or something) she’d prepared herself for some sort of romance offensive by the King of Midgard. Except… it had never come. He’d never even shown his face in all the time since she’d found herself here.

Though… admittedly, a month was not that long of a time frame when you measured your lifespan in millennia. Perhaps this was the Stark King’s opening gambit then. To send Loki in ahead as his herald. Clenching her hands into fists at her sides, Hela hisses through gritted teeth.

“The Midgardian King has not conquered me yet… nor shall he ever. He will not touch me; this I swear on my title as Goddess of Death!”

There’s a brief, silent pause as an oath that would have once had real power behind it… fails to materialize even a smidgen of magic in the air. In response, Loki just smirks.

“Keep telling yourself that. It certainly seemed like you were taking advantage of his hospitality quite nicely when I first arrived.”

Hela scoffs. Was that supposed to embarrass her? To make her feel humiliated because Loki caught her in a state of undress? She had nothing to be ashamed of when it came to her body. Even a thousand years on a desolate rock of a Realm had not been enough to mar her beauty.

“I would be a fool not to. Just because I am willing to siphon his resources does not mean I will lay with the Stark King. Perhaps he and you think that I will grow used to having these amenities again after a thousand years of neglect and abandonment at the All-Father’s hands. Then, when you threaten to take them away, you believe I will burst into tears, falling to my knees weeping and begging to do anything to get them back. Pah! I am not such a weak-willed creature as all of that!”

Oh sure, it would hurt if the Stark King chose to toss her in some dank, dark hole in the ground and throw away the key. But she would endure. She would always endure, and without compromising her ideals or her self-image. She was Hela, Goddess of Death, no matter what they did to her.

Loki’s silence in the wake of her words causes Hela to look over and see the Goddess of Mischief looking strangely expressionless as she gazes at her. Finally, Loki snorts.

“Odin really did a number on you, didn’t he? I get it. He’s not exactly Father of the Year.”

Hela narrows her eyes at that. On the surface, one might take Loki’s words as a rather ineffective and weak attempt at finding common ground. Except, it’s in Loki’s blunt estimation of the All-Father that Hela hears honesty. And personal experience too.

“… Why are you here, exactly?”

“I said already, to see you for myself.”

“No, not here on this floor of the Stark King’s Tower… why are you, a Princess of Asgard, here on Midgard at all?”

Suddenly, Loki looks pressed. Her smile freezes for a moment and Hela sees a crack in her façade. It is only for a moment, but it’s there all the same.

“Asgard and Midgard’s relations are better than ever. Thor, Crown Prince of Asgard, even dates a Midgardian Woman as we speak. Travel between the Realms has never been easier.”

“No.”

Setting aside the fury that ‘crown prince’ sends coursing through her, setting aside the disgust that wells up at the thought of their brother courting a Midgardian of all things, Hela shakes her head at Loki’s excuses.

“I see right through you and your lies, Goddess of Mischief.”

Her challenging tone is met with a narrow eyed glare as Loki grits her teeth.

“Oh? Is that so?”

Knowing now that she has the other woman on the backfoot, Hela smiles and holds her head high, looking down her nose at Loki rather regally.

“The All-Father has discarded you just as he discarded me, hasn’t he? Let me guess, you’re here on Midgard as a gift to the Stark King, the same as I am meant to be. Oh, Odin can dress it up nicely all he likes, but I know what I am. Imprisoned in that desolate Realm for a thousand years, only to finally be scooped up and tossed at Tony Stark like a party favor. But it would seem I’m not the first one, am I?”

She can see her words striking at the heart of the matter from the minute twitches in Loki’s face. She can’t say if she’s one hundred percent correct, but she’s clearly correct enough to have put the other Asgardian fully on the backfoot. Smug as can be, Hela pushes onwards.

“Gifting the Stark King with TWO Asgardian Princesses… I wonder, does our brother Thor know that Odin’s favorite son is not even of his own blood? That he’s lesser than even a Midgardian in the eyes of our father? I suppose YOU haven’t told him. After all, from the sound of things you enjoy kneeling at the King of Midgard’s feet and serving him with that ‘silvertongue’ of-!”

With a sudden snarl, Loki whips out two daggers from seemingly nowhere, flicking them through the air at Hela’s chest. She can’t move in time, not in this weak mortal body. Before she can even think to try and dodge, the daggers are caught in midair right in front of her, trembling as they’re held in place by glowing bands of orange.

“You know better, Loki. Visitation is officially over for the day.”

JARVIS’ voice echoes through the room as the Tower’s Genius Loci lays down the law. Hela watches as Loki glances to the ceiling, a small sliver of fear appearing in her green eyes. She’s far more exasperated than afraid though, Hela notices, even as her daggers are returned to her and she tucks them away before heading for the lift.

Hela watches her go, feeling smug in her victory, even as small as it is. However, just as it seems like Loki is letting her have the last word… or perhaps the Tower’s Guardian Spirit have the last word, she turns in the middle of the lift and smirks at Hela.

“It’s not the Stark King you should be worried about, Hela. He’s very dangerous to be sure, but really, it’s his Queen you should be looking out for.”

Before Hela can even begin to question that, the lift doors close and Loki is spirited away. For a long moment, Hela is tempted to ask JARVIS for answers, knowing full well that the Genius Loci is watching her every move and always lurking around.

… But what if that’s part of the test? Leave her with a supposedly tantalizing breadcrumb, draw her into the jaws of the trap by piquing her curiosity.

No. She refused to dance to their tune, to ANY of their tunes. She was Hela, Goddess of Death. With a scowl, she throws herself back down onto the couch and goes back to channel surfing, resolving to put the entire encounter and all of its implications out of her mind.

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A/N: Guys c'mon, Hela is serious here. She's not going to fall for it. No sir!