"I've given you the coordinates and the location of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s command center," Nick Fury said, taking a deep breath, his anger boiling from his toes to the top of his head. The vibrations from the helicarrier's engines reverberated through the most incredible transportation marvel in human history—a testament to humanity's scientific achievements! Fury hoped Solomon would take this seriously, not sit at the conference table with a plate of food!
The plate contained crispy fried onions and beef drenched in gravy, for heaven's sake!
Nick Fury hadn't eaten all day. He didn't have the time or appetite. Handling the Security Council's questions had been an ordeal, and he was certain that Solomon knew this—why else would the young sorcerer show up with lunch? It had to be intentional provocation. However, Fury's curses stuck in his throat and retreated into his stomach when he saw Solomon's attire. Why in the world was a sorcerer wearing silver armor? Why did he have a sword? He needed a sorcerer, not a knight. A longsword was useless—what he needed was knowledge!
"You're curious," Solomon said casually, slicing his beef with remarkable dexterity, his gauntlets, resembling dragon scales, moving with the precision of human fingers. This wasn't Athena's training armor but a private collection piece of the Ancient One's—a rare magical armor that didn't hinder spellcasting.
The beef was fresh from the pan, Solomon's share of the lunch he'd prepared after spending a good amount of time cooking for everyone. "Why?" the sorcerer mused, seemingly to himself. "Why wield a cumbersome longsword and wear armor? What about magic? I know you're thinking that, Nick Fury—I can read you like a book."
"I called you here to help, with your knowledge and magic. I don't care how much you joke over the phone, but here, I need you to take this seriously, you little brat," Fury sighed. "Tony Stark and Captain Rogers are already out on missions, and I hope they'll return with results. You need as much information as possible, so I've brought in Dr. Bruce Banner. He's sitting right across from you—you probably know him as the Hulk." Banner gave an awkward smile. "If you need anything, Agents Romanoff and Coulson can assist you, though they're not available right now. I want to ask you: will this affect relations between Asgard and Earth? What should we do about Loki? Why did he take the Tesseract? What's his objective?"
"My cooking is still as good as ever," Solomon remarked, licking his lips. After a moment of contemplation—and omitting details Fury didn't need to know—he provided an answer. "Loki is a traitor, an Asgardian traitor," he began. "But Earth's governments lack the authority to judge him. Even as a traitor, Loki was once a prince of Asgard, and its laws won't permit bandits and thieves to sentence a prince who defected."
Fury gritted his teeth at the insult but let Solomon continue.
"However, I do have that authority." Solomon patted the longsword at his side. "This sword symbolizes sovereignty over the land. As long as I wield it, I can execute Loki. Afterward, I would return his body to Asgard, and the All-Father would accept the outcome. It's unfortunate I can't skin him for a belt—that would make excellent magical material. Dr. Banner, would you like some beef? This armor is a bit tight, and I can't eat all of this."
Bruce Banner hastily shook his head, visibly disturbed by talk of decapitation and skinning. What kind of medieval knight had just wandered into their midst?
"So, you're saying Asgardians won't care about Loki's fate?" Fury pressed.
"No, the All-Father will care. Asgard must resolve this before Kamar-Taj intervenes. Otherwise, I have the right to execute him. Do you understand? Loki caused trouble on another lord's domain, and there are only two outcomes: paying a ransom or sending his head back."
"Asgard will send someone? Thor?" Fury asked.
"Exactly. Only Thor has the authority to negotiate on the All-Father's behalf. He needs to act quickly, or I'll act first."
"And if the second outcome happens? What will Asgard do then?"
"Nothing. The All-Father is a king. Losing a non-heir foster son is a price he can bear. Unless another heir is sentenced to death—of course, if Thor dies in battle, that's just the price warriors pay." Solomon sniffed, his nose stuffed as always after a meal. "Is there a place to wash dishes? I hate seeing dirty plates."
"I have one more question," Fury finally blurted. "Why did you bring your lunch here?"
"Because you rushed me." Solomon shrugged off the blame without hesitation. "I had to eat after making lunch, didn't I? Beef doesn't taste good when it's cold."
"Ugh…" Fury groaned, unsure of how to respond. "I want you to join the mission, Solomon. Stark and Rogers are out to capture Loki, and your involvement could significantly increase their chances of success. You can make it—you have portals."
"So what? The Ancient One didn't assign me to capture Loki. That's not my mission. And don't try that New Mexico stunt again—it won't work this time. I have clear orders." Solomon wagged his finger. "Right now, Loki is less important to me than these dirty plates. Tell me where to wash them… It's not that strange; even powerful people have to eat and do dishes."
---
Across the table, two men glared at each other, neither willing to speak first. The atmosphere was tense. On the table rested a hammer and a sword in an ornate enamel sheath. Neither man reached for their weapon, knowing that a fight here would end poorly for everyone. At the very least, they didn't want anyone at the table to die.
The argument was simple: how to deal with Loki. Thor was deeply unhappy that Solomon had the authority to execute his brother. Yet every time he reached for his hammer, he remembered the All-Father's instructions and reluctantly set it down, forced to wield his unpracticed words as a substitute. Normally, this was Loki's role, but as the prisoner in question, Loki wasn't available.
"So," Solomon broke the silence, "what terms has the All-Father offered?"
"This is Midgard, part of the All-Father's realm," Thor declared. "The Nine Realms belong to him."
"They're vassals, Thor. The All-Father doesn't have the authority to decide Earth's matters," Solomon countered, shaking his head. "If you want to negotiate, you should be wielding Gungnir, not your hammer. Only then are we equals."
"My hammer is more than enough—"
"We should interrogate Loki first before debating this!" Natasha Romanoff interrupted. "We don't even know his objectives. This isn't the time to argue."
"This is important," Solomon replied. "It concerns Midgard's sovereignty and the All-Father's promises." His hand rested on the sword's sheath, the smile on his face belying the tension in his muscles. He was ready to strike in an instant, his teleportation spell prepared to bring him behind Thor in the blink of an eye.
"Asgard must decide: pay a ransom or reclaim a head."
"Asgard will pay the ransom," Thor said, glaring at Solomon. "But the Tesseract will return to Asgard. That is the All-Father's decree. As for Loki's motives—he has a Chitauri army, intended to conquer Earth. You might not know the Chitauri, but they're interstellar raiders."
"An Asgardian problem, solved by Asgardians," Solomon agreed. "That's why the All-Father sent you. The ransom will be based on the damages Loki caused. Compensation will go to the families of the innocent victims."
"The Tesseract belongs to Earth!" Fury interjected, but no one paid him any attention.
"I accept the All-Father's terms on behalf of Kamar-Taj," Solomon said, ignoring Fury's growing frustration.
"Why?" Fury demanded. "You don't have the authority to make this decision!"
"Because the Tesseract is safest in Asgard. And I do have the authority. I've told you before, Fury—S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't represent humanity, nor do Earth's governments. Only Kamar-Taj rules Earth. You never understood that before, but now you can." Solomon stood, extending a hand to Thor. "After this, someone will negotiate the exact ransom with Asgard. I suspect that someone will be me."
"I thought you were a friend," Thor said, refusing to shake. "You helped me in Midgard."
"Yes, but that was for Kamar-Taj, not you. It was business then, and it's business now." Solomon withdrew his hand, his smile vanishing. If Asgard refused reconciliation, he had no reason to play nice. He knew exactly what would come next.
But for now, Loki was still necessary—the alarm must ring.
"Now it's your problem." Solomon returned to his seat, tapping the table. "The Ancient One foresaw what's coming, so I'll handle the Chitauri. As for what you do about Loki, that's your decision. I care only for the death I bring—including anyone who tries to stop me."
"So you weren't joking on the phone? If the president gets in your way, you'll kill him too?"
"Congratulations, Nick Fury, you finally understand
. That's the command I've been given. No politician will interfere. Spread the word—I know they'll scoff, but when death stands over them, they'll realize I wasn't joking."
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