Once upon a time, there was a small blond prince, in a faraway land of sweeping spiral castles, rainbow bridges, and wishes that came true. Prince Thor was a believer, thanks to his nursemaid Ona, and believed that if he wished for something hard enough, he would be lucky enough to get it.
He'd wished on a lot of things before - he'd wished to have a voice like Mama, that made entire banquet halls fall silent to listen to its sweetness and elegance. He'd wished to be big and strong like Papa, so he could lead their soldiers into battle and bring them out victorious.
But Ona left to be with Reagat, telling Thor she was very deeply in love, and some evenings Mama and Papa didn't come to say good night to him, and the servants told him that they were doing things people did when they were in love. He saw Mama and Papa lots and lots, so he never wanted them to stop being in love to come and say good night to him - there was a tiny Mjolnir next to his pillow if a monster tried to come out from under his bed - but deep down, he felt like something was missing. Everyone had someone to be in love with, except him.
As Prince Thor was a willful young man, he frowned, and pouted, before stopping and wishing for someone he could love like Papa loved Mama, someone to sit on the throne next to him when he took it someday, that he could feed grapes and have read to him. He'd never wished this hard before, never wanted something quite this bad. He whimpered at the stabbing feeling in his chest, feeling a bit like his soul had been ripped out, or that time his giant bunny had run off into the forests.
Of course, he couldn't be aware that a bit of his soul did leave, winding and searching and twisting. It twisted past other galaxies, and past mothers washing their daughters' hair, past villages full of glee and other princes, older princes looking for their very own lovers. But nowhere it went in all the kingdom of Asgard, could it find someone with a space for all the love, and all the want that Prince Thor had sent for them.
So it went further, over the chilly mountaintops and through dank caves, no amount of cold or rain being able to dim the warmth and hope it carried with it. Finally, finally, it found what it was searching for, curling around a Jotun woman's swollen tummy like a warm, thick blanket, seeping through unfamiliar blue skin into a hope, a dream that was yet to be born - open to suggestion. It curled easily around the little soul inside, latching on.
It wasn't long before she went into labour, fainting at the sight of her son - ice cold, but a pale, green eyed little thing with a deep shock of black hair. Being so far into their frozen lands, there was no chance of finding a Jotun man, and Laufey knew just as well. He sat hard, thinking harder. The son was his own, but it was a complex situation.
Little hands grasped one of his horns as the midwife brought his son closer, and he couldn't help the swell of warmth in his chest. He murmured a name, looking to his ladywife for confirmation. Loki it was then, he thought to himself as he took the bundle of warmth and blankets to his chest.
It had been years since his wish, and Prince Thor had only grown bigger and bigger. The good King Odin had watched him with a sparkle in his lone eye. Thor was a wonderful son, even if he was a bit hasty, but in his youth he had been quite the same. Until he'd lost his eye and ended up in Frigga's lovely arms, he'd never thought of consequences. Bards across all Asgard liked to say she was his sensible half, and he couldn't disagree.
But for all his trying, he couldn't find Thor a sensible half. He'd brought Sif to his son, by all means a good match, and had seen it go into smoke before his eyes as Thor and his friends taught her the use of weaponry. Her father had laughed it off, clapped him on the back and wished him luck in ever finding love for Thor at this rate.
He sought twelve more times before the war came, with no luck.
Thor had always been told of war as a glorious thing, a thing to take honour and strength from, but in reality it was much different. He lost his mentor to a group of Jotun, saw friends fall day after day. War was hell, he learned within weeks. He didn't resent the Jotun, not really. He resented that they fought instead of surrendering, the thought of doing the same never crossing his mind.
Their warriors pushed through Jotun, freezing cold and losing hope. Mjolnir was heavy in his hands these days, and he longed for the day he thought only of monsters under his bed as the worst thing that could happen at night as they took shifts guarding the camp.
The snow was bright and white and glittering as they reached the center of Jotun, here by call of King Laufey. He'd heard whispers that his son called the meeting - hopefully the truce. The thought of someone so wise in a country that seemed to freeze the brains of its inhabitants made his soul ache more with each step he took towards the terrifyingly huge building.
Prince Thor, for all he was good and golden and strong as the Jotun winter was harsh, was by no means a researcher, and had never thought of the empty hollow in his chest as anything out of the ordinary.
They stepped in, Sif demanding the prince of Asgard and his entourage not be kept waiting. They were led to the throneroom in minutes, Sif's glare having taken down men much more courageous than servants.
The hollow in his chest felt filled to bursting as he looked upon the prince of Jotun - Loki, his heart whispered - and he dropped Mjolnir with the force of his desire to stride up to the throne and - and
And hold him, touch him, remove that helmet and press a kiss to his brow, to pick him up like a fond friend and never let go again. He gasped for air, unable to break eyecontact.
Loki looked as though he'd been planning something, soldiers appearing out of the walls as Loki held on tight to the sides of the throne, swallowing hard and trembling.
Prince Loki was, after all things were said and done, a scholar. He was good at all things he did, but he excelled at making and learning, but he too had never questioned the hollow in his chest as anything out of the ordinary.
But this, this huge, stupid, perfect idiot blond came and ruined his perfect plans to overthrow Asgard.
Thor broke eyecontact by sheer force of will, though his desires did not lessen.
"Prince Loki," He said, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice, surprising his nearest and dearest. "Have you bespelled my soul?"
Loki would have been offended, had he not thought the same himself. Thor's voice was loud though, but the words reached him like a caress, and he wanted to feel Thor's chest rise and fall and tremble with the words he spoke.
"Nay, Prince Thor," Loki replied, though he wanted nothing more than to throw formalities to the wind and take Thor away. "Have you?"
One of the female servants laughed softly, drawing attention to herself. She went a little red, but smirked at Sif, raising a brow as though to ask if she hadn't figured it out either. It took a second before Sif took a good look between the two of them, taking in their flushed cheeks and urgent eyes, fingers twitching.
"I think the good princes need to discuss the treaty in private," She announced, shooing Thor towards Loki. "And think of a long term solution."
Her tone implied very well which solution she thought they needed, though their attention to eachother couldn't be broken even with Mjolnir - which would refuse to move from its incredibly inconvenient position in the middle of the doorway until Thor made it - not even with magic.
"Yes," Thor agreed, breathless as he put a hand over Loki's, walking backwards to guide Loki out, though he had no idea where they were going. Anywhere private.
It took Loki two rooms full of servants to put his brain back into motion, turning them and marching Thor to his rooms. It wasn't an awkward situation, as the part of Thor's love and hope wrapped around Loki's had clung so tightly they'd become one, impossible to separate. It twitched and ached and needed to complete Thor though, so it took what it had - both of them intertwined, and slipped back into the empty hole inside Thor's chest that had once had longing and need and want and everything else Loki could fill for him. Thor felt even more complete than before his wish, he thought offhand.
Loki was soft and warm and had slightly pointy armour when Thor gave up all pretense of formality and held onto Loki like they were frozen together. He dropped kisses all over his pale face, fingers trembling with the feeling of yes, good, complete. Loki's fingers dragged over his hair and his stubble and the few lines war had carved into the corners of his eye, pressing as close as he could.
"What have you done to me?" Thor mumbled, burying his face in Loki's neck and keeping it there, simply breathing him in, committing everything about him to memory. "What are you?"
'Mine', his heart supplied easily, the perfect label to put on Loki and to give himself. He wanted all of Loki despite not knowing what that implied yet. He wanted him if he had a morning temper, or didn't like apples, or if he liked to cook and if he'd let Thor just hold him. Everything.
Loki chuckled, lost for words. They'd found their truce, and so, so much more.
Asgard and Jotun weren't particularly pleased when Heimdal told King Odin of what had happened (and Frigga privately wondered if she should ever tell Thor Heimdal saw everything), but they accepted it when Laufey and Odin announced it as one, though they did glare a few daggers at one another. There were long discussions, and long negotiations, and Thor hated all of them for keeping him from spending his waking time with his other half.
Their first argument happened when it came to who would move where, but eventually Loki sighed, telling Thor they should go to Asgard first. He'd have to educate Thor on the ways of Jotun before it would be safe to bring him without causing offense (or a fight).
They didn't fight often, but sometimes Loki couldn't help but cause mischief and hide Mjolnir (Thor thought it was a traitorous weapon, because no one but him and his father had lifted it before, and he was sure it let itself be hidden on purpose, then didn't come to him unless it was urgent), or make the bottom of Thor's cape consist entirely of daisies. Thor always found him in the end, though, waiting and smirking, with open arms and sweet kisses.
Thor didn't mind much, really. Loki was a wish come true.