The Seventh Avenger by ElrondsScribe

---

Chapter 5

---

All rights belong to the Tolkien Estate and to Marvel Studios.

---

The Quinjet (because apparently SHIELD can't possibly name their aircrafts simply) was quite compact for a jet, seating no more than perhaps two dozen passengers aside from the pilots. From the outside it had looked almost triangular in shape.

Glorfindel sat across from Captain Rogers, both now in uniform. Glorfindel's sword lay in its sheath across his lap, and the Captain's famed shield was resting on his knees (how Glorfindel would have loved to test its weight and see if Vibranium was really all it was made out to be!). In the cockpit was Agent Romanoff, and another agent in the co-pilot's chair.

Glorfindel was primly finishing his warrior braids, while Steve looked on with raised eyebrows.

"Those mean something?" he asked.

"They certainly do," said Glorfindel emphatically.

"Can I ask what it is?" Steve pressed.

Glorfindel put the last of the fastenings he'd requested on the end of the last plait before answering. "That shield lying against your knees," he said, pointing. "Is it not more than a means of defence, more even than a deadly weapon? Is it not a symbol, to strike terror into the hearts of the enemies of its bearer? Was it not bought with deeds of valor? Is it not Captain America's shield?"

Steve's eyes had gone very wide. He was staring from the shield to Glorfindel's face in disbelief. "It's like that?"

"It is that and more," said Glorfindel, looking the Captain straight in the face.

Steve sat back and shook his head. "Looks like I got a lot to learn," he said.

"It was a fair question," Glorfindel acknowledged. "And I know it's hard for you to approve of hair this long unless it's on a woman."

Steve grimaced. "Has it been that obvious?"

Glorfindel smiled.

And then Agent Romanoff turned her head and pulled off her headphones. "Guys," she said. "Game time. You might wanna take a look at this."

Glorfindel and Steve both left their seats and stepped up behind the pilots' chairs to look out of the windows. On the ground below, a large crowd of formally dressed people were running out of a concert hall as fast as they could. Behind them stalked a lone figure who could only be Loki. Glorfindel could see that the figure was in in gold-plated armor and a high gold-plated helmet with two large curved horns. A dark green cloak billowed from his shoulders, and in his hand was a queerly shaped golden polearm that most resembled a spear. A blue gem gleamed in a fixture near the point of the spear.

"That's an odd sort of spear," Glorfindel said aloud. "Does it double as some kind of magical staff?"

Romanoff twisted her head round to look up at him with honest surprise. "They really weren't kidding about Elf eyesight," she said.

Just then Loki thumped his staff on the ground, and suddenly four Lokis were blocking the civilians' way, hemming them into a tight square. Then, slowly, they all sank to their knees.

Glorfindel gave an involuntary gasp of alarm. People in the modern age did not kneel before anyone but obvious royalty. Whoever Loki was in reality, he did not seem to playing at any harmless mischief.

"C'mon!" said Steve, who could at least make out that a crowd of civilians was on their knees before Loki. "We gotta go!"

They both turned and rushed into the hold of the Quinjet, Glorfindel reaching aside to press the large button that opened the hangar door. Steve strapped on his blue helmet and picked up the shield, while Glorfindel strapped on his sword-belt and grabbed a parachute, and joined him in front of the open ramp.

"Have we got a play?" shouted Glorfindel over the wind.

"Capture, not kill, that's about it," Steve shouted back. "You wouldn't happen to have a pair of wings handy?"

"I'm an Elf, not a fairy!" huffed Glorfindel, and he marched down the raft and launched himself into the night.

"Geez Louise, do all Elves get offended this easily?" muttered Steve as he jumped after Glorfindel.

"Heard that!" came the distant cry.

---

They were nearly too late to stop an elderly man who had dared defy Loki from getting murdered in cold blood. Steve landed on his feet, shield at the ready, just as Loki (for of course it was he) lowered the point of his spear. The blue burst of energy meant for the old man bounced harmlessly off the Vibranium.

Showoff.

Glorfindel, who had released the parachute very late and landed just after Steve behind the green-cloaked Asgardian, leaped to his feet and tossed the pack aside. He sent forth a surge of power that dissolved all the false Loki images and sent the true Loki crashing to the ground in a blast of white light. The civilians began scrambling away as fast as they could as Glorfindel advanced on the demigod, sword at the ready, and looked to Steve for direction.

Steve smirked at him. "Neat trick," he said.

Loki climbed slowly to his feet, gazing at the towering, glorious figure of the Elf. "What are you?!" he asked in amazement. "You are no mortal!"

"No Mortal am I," said Glorfindel scornfully, the music of his voice still thrumming with power. "but one who has waited long to gaze upon one of your kind. And now that I behold you, I am disappointed. I had thought you greater than this."

Steve's smirk widened into a smile as he looked up at the sky. "Think we got company," he drawled.

The Quinjet had just sailed into view, and a large machine gun unfolded from the front corner and pointed itself at the Asgardian. "Loki," came the smooth-yet-icy voice of Agent Romanoff from the jet's loudspeaker. "Drop the weapon and stand down."

Loki glanced up, and in an instant raised the spear and pointed it toward the Quinjet. It just dodged the blue blast as the pilots steered it in a circle.

Steve and Glorfindel both plunged toward Loki, who turned to the Captain first. He sent the shield flying with a blow of his spear, but in the next instant Glorfindel was on him, sword in hand. Fifteen years of dancing had left his body supple as a willow, strong as an ox, and swifter than thought. He dealt Loki a blow knocked him sideways on one knee; Steve leapt into the air to deliver a powerful kick.

Loki was stronger than both Steve and Glorfindel, but the Elf was faster and the Man never gave up. Even so it might have gone badly for the two heroes, for Loki tried to distract them with false copies of himself, and Glorfindel had to form a bubble of energy around Loki to contain his magic. That dizzied him for a moment and Loki might have had him, but Steve tackled the Asgardian for all he was worth and tossed him onto the steps of the concert hall.

And then a noise like another distant aircraft caught Glorfindel's ear, and he looked up. The source of the noise was drawing steadily nearer, and as Glorfindel got a better idea of what exactly it was he shot Steve a look of quizzical amusement.

The Man shrugged. "Whaddya know, it's a party!" he said.

And then Glorfindel got to witness in reality what he had heretofore seen only on television or on the screen of his phone. The red-and-gold form of the one and only Iron Man came shooting down through the air toward them and sent a blast of energy at Loki, who was just leaping up again. Then Iron Man landed on one foot and the other knee on the pavement, his hand open to fire another blast and numerous little guns standing from his shoulder and arm.

"Make your move, Reindeer Games," came the famous voice from behind the dour gold mask.

Reindeer Games?

Loki glanced between his three adversaries, raised his hands, and with a shimmer of magic dissolved his armor and helmet.

"Good move," said Iron Man approvingly, and he lowered his hand and folded down the projectiles. Glorfindel released Loki from the confines of the energy sphere.

"Mr. Stark," said Steve deferentially.

"Cap'n, Alexander," said Iron Man just as deferentially.

Glorfindel gave a sharp nod as the Quinjet descended again.

---

"So you can do magic?"

Glorfindel did not attempt to hide his amusement. Tony Stark, once he'd helped them load their prisoner onto the Quinjet (per Fury's orders) and pulled off his grim-looking helmet, had been eagerly peppering the Elf with questions of the "are all Elves this insanely hot" kind. Glorfindel, for his part, found it interesting to see another side to the famous billionaire other than the partying playboy of YouTube infamy or the irreverent windbag of public television. At the moment he reminded Glorfindel of a child presented with a new toy.

(He had to admit a reluctant respect for the man. Any man could harden himself enough to be an effective warrior or spy, but owning up to the terrible sides of one's own power and turning it to unselfish ends? Glorfindel could think of a few Elven-kings who stood to learn from that, even now.)

"Depends on how you define 'magic'," he said. "If you mean can I talk to the dead, then no."

"Telekinesis, then? Bolts of lightning coming out of your fingertips?"

Steve made a huff of irritation, causing Stark to turn to him. "What's up, Gramps?"

"Maybe he doesn't wanna be quizzed," said Steve, who had also removed his helmet.

"I don't mind being quizzed on the trivial things," said Glorfindel, his tone mild but his look to the Captain laden with meaning.

Steve looked away, and his eye fell upon Loki, who sat bolted securely into a seat near the middle of the jet with the air of a visiting dignitary rather than a prisoner. His face darkened considerably.

"Don't you like it either?" asked Glorfindel, divining the source of his discomfort. Fury had ordered them to bring Loki to the Helicarrier as soon as possible. Loki had come aboard the Quinjet without a word, and had submitted to being fastened into a seat without the least fuss. It had made Glorfindel uneasy, and it would seem that nearly everyone else on the Quinjet felt the same way.

Steve snorted. "I'm pretty sure anybody could tell something's up."

"What, the Rock of Ages rolling over and playing dead like a puppy?" Stark jerked his head in the Asgardian's direction.

"I don't recall it ever being that easy," said Steve. "This guy packs a wallop."

Stark shrugged. "Still, you know, you are pretty spry, for an older fella, without the whole immortality thing going for you." He turned all his attention on Steve now. "What's your thing, Pilates?"

Steve turned a look of annoyance on the famous man.

"It's a form of exercise, it's like calisthenics," Glorfindel clarified.

"Yeah, forgot you might've missed a couple things, you know, doing time as a Capsicle," said Stark casually.

Glorfindel began to be glad he had refrained from both the age and ice jokes. Steve Rogers had an ego, much as he might deny it, and it remained to be seen if it was anywhere near as enormous as Tony Stark's. This will be very interesting.

"Fury didn't tell me he was calling you in," said Steve, looking Tony up and down.

"Yeah, there's a lot of things Fury doesn't tell you," said Tony.

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow. "The man heads a spy outfit. We're lucky we know one another's names."

A bolt of lightning streaked through the sky, and a roll of thunder followed at once, both so close they shook the Quinjet. Glorfindel frowned; he had not sensed an oncoming storm before, and something felt off about this one.

Loki began looking up and around rather anxiously, and Steve noticed. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Scared of a little lightning?"

"I'm not overly fond of what follows," said Loki dryly.

The pieces flew together in Glorfindel's head the instant before something that was neither lightning nor thunder struck the Quinjet with a resounding thud. Glorfindel felt a surge of electricity and foreign power course through his body; more lightning and thunder split the sky.

Tony clamped the helmet of the Iron Man Suit back on, hit the button to open the hangar door, and stepped forward.

"What are you doing?!" shouted Steve in protest. Glorfindel leapt up, drawing his sword and pointing it toward the open door.

A tall figure (taller than Loki, but considerably shorter than Glorfindel), this time in dark armor with a red cape streaming from its shoulders and a heavy-looking hammer in its hand, landed on the ramp in a crouch and straightened itself.

Mighty Tulkas, we're smoked!