Chapter Text
"Why the sour face, friend?" The landlord places a tankard of ale on the greasy table in front of Loki and points at the raucous crowd that surrounds them. "Everybody else seems to be enjoying themselves just fine. You here for the big event?"
Loki does his best to appear puzzled. "Big event?"
The man laughs out loud. "The Allthing, of course! Look around, half of these folks are lawspeakers from all over the realm – you honestly didn't know?"
Loki shrugs as he takes a sip. "I was wondering why it's so packed in here because it's definitely not the ale."
"Aren't you a ray of sunshine." The man gives Loki a critical look, taking in his battered leathers and rugged appearance. Feigning indifference, Loki scratches idly at his scraggy ginger beard – he hates facial hair, but a beardless face on a grown man would definitely stand out in a place like this one – and shrugs again.
"Business isn't going all that well at the moment."
"You a trader?" The question comes from the man sitting next to him, a burly fellow nearly as wide as he's tall. "Problems with those damned Dwarves and that cheap trash they're peddling everywhere?"
Loki shakes his head. "I mostly do long-distance trading with the Nova Empire, but there's been nothing but trouble lately."
"Really? I hadn't heard." The man doesn't seem overly interested, which is hardly surprising giving that most Aesir prefer to pretend the worlds outside the Nine don't exist. "The Kree again? I hear they're a real nuisance."
"I wish I knew; all I get out of my business partners is rumors." Loki lowers his voice a little; both his neighbor and the landlord, who is still hovering behind them, promptly lean in to listen. "They're giving me all kinds of fantastic tales about a great warlord who's said to be nigh unbeatable – personally, I'm not buying any of it, but they're all on edge, and it's bad for business."
"A great warlord? Who's he supposed to be?" the man sitting across from Loki interjects in a tone of deep skepticism. Judging by the quality of his clothing, he's one of the lawspeakers who are here for the Allthing.
"I don't know his name." Loki takes a long drink from his tankard and notices with satisfaction how the small pause causes several other patrons to turn towards him, indicating that they've been listening in. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he adds, "They say he worships death or some such nonsense, but I –"
"He worships death?" The man who has spoken up is clearly not fully Aesir; both his features and the lilting accent indicate Elven descent. "Are you saying Thanos is waging war just outside of the Nine?"
Loki still has to suppress a flinch whenever he hears the Titan's name spoken out loud, but he nevertheless appreciates the fact that he apparently won't have to do most of the work himself in this place. "You seem to know a lot more about him than I do."
The man shakes his head. "I don't really know anything about him, but on Alfheim they tell stories – of a mad warlord descended from an immortal people..."
Loki buries his face in his tankard again and watches out of the corner of his eye how even more heads are turning in the speaker's direction, and how people are starting to whisper among themselves as the man's story progresses. His own presence seems mostly forgotten; soon enough, he considers it safe to cast an obfuscation charm so he can slip out of the tavern unnoticed and head for the next one.