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The Little Frost Troll

Chapter Text

Thor nearly laughed when he checked his trap the next morning.

By conventional standards, the creature was positively tiny, much smaller than Thor and even the average Midgardian. He was definitely a frost troll—the blue-skinned species of jötunn that dwelled in the cold, snowy realms of Niflheim and Jötunheim. His horns were only just beginning to curve, a sign that he was yet a juvenile. He was gangly and terribly thin, his tail a long, bony appendage sprouting from his bottom. His ribs were visible beneath his skin and he had a crazed, hungry sort of ferociousness about him. He wore only a ragged breechcloth, but this was not unusual because frost trolls were unaffected by the cold. Like the rest of his kind, he wore no shoes; his feet were bare and surprisingly dainty, not thick and scaly as they should have been, nor were there claws on his toes and fingers. He did not possess the heavy, sturdy build typical of jötnar, though he bore their distinctive markings. Faint lines ran all over his naked blue torso and limbs, circles and bevels that Thor suddenly found to be quite intricate, even pretty. This petite specimen lacked the heavy, muscular features and large fangs that were common among his people, and his skin looked to be very soft and smooth. He had lovely hands—a bit bloodied and dirtied from his struggle—and he was not completely hairless. An oily, leaf-littered tangle of black locks hung around his face, and he also had eyebrows. Thor wondered if he might be the product of an unfortunate union between a human woman and a frost troll. If so, this creature would be the first of his kind.

The little jötunn sat on the frosty ground with his ankle caught in a snare made of indestructible golden rope, and on the other end of the rope was Mjölnir, Thor’s mighty hammer. He was stabbing vigorously at his tether with a sharp rock when Thor made his presence known, and he immediately dropped his tool and recoiled, baring his teeth.

Thor squatted on his haunches and stared at his quarry. When he spoke, his tone was calm and level. “So you are the fearsome fiend that has been terrorizing the people of Túnsberg.”

The troll drew back farther, creating furrows in the damp earth with his hands and heels. The fear in his eyes was unmistakable, much more pronounced than his scorn. Thor felt inexplicably sorry for him, so thin and small and frightened. Did the villagers honestly believe this half-starved little mongrel was responsible for tearing a full-grown man to pieces and eating an entire herd of goats? Impossible. Their fears were clearly feeding their imaginations, which was by no means a rare occurrence. Thor had seen it time and time again; something unusual would happen in Midgard, the mortals’ panicked prayers would paint pictures of monsters and giants and blood-soaked paths of destruction, and Thor would descend from Asgard only to discover it was nothing more than a mangy, belligerent wolverine or a howling mad drunkard who liked to run naked through the woods. Occasionally the threats were real, but most of the time it was merely a case of mass hysteria. It was both amusing and tiring sometimes, but Thor had sworn an oath to protect the Midgardians from otherworldly enemies, even imagined ones.

“Can you speak?” he asked.

“Well enough,” said the troll coldly. “Who are you?”

A surprised smile came to Thor’s mouth. What a fair voice! So clear and smooth and pleasing to the ear. Surely this was no common jötunn he was dealing with.

“I am Thor, son of Odin.”

At that, the troll’s blood-red eyes widened. “I have heard of Odinson. You are a troll killer. Lightning-maker, they call you. Thunder-bringer, the terror of all jötnar!”

He turned and began scrabbling vainly through the dirt and slush, grunting in his panic, pulling so hard on his tether that it bent his foot at a gruesome angle.

Thor reached out and grasped the troll’s ankle. His hand encompassed it easily. “Stop that,” he scolded. “You will hurt yourself.”

When the troll turned, tears were gleaming in his eyes. Thor’s heart flew to him, and he knew then that there would be no killing this day.

“What does it matter?” he sobbed. “You mean to destroy me anyway! Well, go on then, kill me! I’ve suffered in this wretched realm long enough. Put me out of my misery, for mercy’s sake!”

“What is your name?”

The troll sniffed and became quiet. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your name. Surely you have a name, don’t you?”

He looked down at Thor’s huge hand on his ankle, then up at his face. “My name is Loki.”

Thor smiled. “Loki. That’s a good name. I like it.”

Loki’s face crumpled and he began to struggle with renewed energy. Thor was quite certain he was going to pull his leg from its socket if he didn’t do something, so he shuffled forward on his knees and gently took him by the waist—his hands nearly fit all the way around, such a tiny thing!—and pulled him out of the dirt and snow. Thor could feel the lean, rabbity muscles working beneath Loki’s warm skin as he squealed and kicked and wriggled.

“No, stop, please!” he wept. “Don’t ravish me, I beg you, just slit my throat and have done with it!”

Thor was quietly horrified. He picked Loki up and sat him squarely onto a fallen tree, then took his hands off of him. Loki went silent, studying his new seat and upright, elevated position, staring eye-to-eye with his captor.

“I am neither raper nor robber,” said Thor firmly. “I want only to ask you a few questions, then I shall determine what must be done with you.”

Loki crossed his arms over his hollow belly and hunched down, scowling to disguise his terror. “Alright. Ask away.”

“How came you to Midgard, Loki?”

“I was banished here.”

“By whom?”

“By my father.”

Thor frowned thoughtfully. “Your father must be a very powerful troll if he thinks he can cast his people out to become the problems of other realms. Who is he? What is his name?”

Loki lowered his head and stared at the ground between his small, bare feet, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “His name is Fárbauti.”

Thor’s face went slack. “Fárbauti! King of the frost trolls, ruler of Jötunheim—he is your father?”

“Yes,” said Loki. His voice was meek, his shoulders slumped in shame.

“Then that would make you a prince!”

“I am no prince.” Loki lifted his face, his eyes bright with suffering. “Both my brothers are, but I have been shunned since the day I was born. The only reason my father didn’t throw me to the wolves when I was a baby was because he hoped I would eventually grow to be a full-sized jötunn.”

Thor suddenly found his heart aching for this poor, unlucky little waif.

“Only you never grew,” he finished softly. “You stayed small, and when he realized you would get no bigger, he cast you out. Is that true?”

Loki nodded his head miserably.

Thor stared at him. Of all the realms Fárbauti could have banished his son to, he had sent him to the one protected by the greatest troll-foe who ever lived, the Æsir son of Odin Allfather, who struck terror into the hearts of all jötnar with his thunder and his hammer, who rained lightning upon their armies and slaughtered them by the drove. Looking at this tiny, pathetic, starving creature in front of him, Thor wondered if he would ever be able to raise his hammer against a troll again.

He moved forward to kneel before Loki and loosened the enchanted rope from around his ankle, gently massaging away the indentations left by its cruel grip. He raised his head and saw that Loki was staring at him with an expression of awe on his thin, sad face.

“I am freeing you on one condition,” said Thor as he held Loki’s small foot in his hand and continued to rub the marks from his flesh. “That you return to Asgard with me and allow me to take care of you.”

Loki jerked his foot from Thor’s gentle grasp. “You mean to make me your pet, is that it?”

“I mean to take care of you,” Thor repeated. “Feed you, heal you, give you shelter and a place to call home.”

“I hate Asgard.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“No.” Loki swished his tail petulantly back and forth. “But I hear it’s terrible. A realm of sunshine and warmth, long days and short nights, not enough snow or ice.”

“The palace has many rooms that are cool and dark,” Thor insisted, “and the forests of Asgard are deep and green. You will love it there.”

Loki gave him a doubtful scowl.

Thor tried for a more appetizing angle. “There are streams teeming with fish. Forests filled with wild boar, stags, rabbits, small game, all the fresh blood you can drink. Mushrooms and berries, trees bursting with fruit. There are things to eat during every season in Asgard, unlike here. Won’t you at least stay for a little while and recover your strength? I will not force you to remain against your will. You will not be my prisoner. If you decide you would like to live in another realm, then I shall deliver you there myself when the time comes.”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to tempt me?”

“I am, absolutely.”

“Well, you’ve succeeded.” Loki stretched his thin blue arms out to Thor, his eyes wide and hungry. “Take me.”

A huge, handsome smile split Thor’s face and he reached out and picked Loki up. He felt so light and frail, like a skinny child in desperate need of care—something which, Thor supposed, wasn’t too far from the truth. Loki wrapped his arms around Thor’s neck and clung to his broad chest. He was so small that Thor was able to support him with one arm and rise to his feet, then call Mjölnir to his free hand. Loki jerked a little at the metallic toll that was often the last thing his people heard, and cringed when the weapon smacked into Thor’s palm.

Thor felt Loki trembling with fear and his heart grew even sorer. He tucked his hammer into his belt and coiled the golden rope about its handle, then drew his other arm around Loki’s slight frame, gently laying his hand upon his shivering, bony back.

“Don’t fear, Loki,” he murmured, hugging the little frost troll as he carried him from the wintry Norwegian forest. “I give you my word, no harm shall befall you so long as I live.”

Chapter Text

Loki was quite docile in Thor’s arms at first; then the Bifröst descended and swallowed them into its dazzling, multicolored vortex, and he began to struggle.

“No, no, it’s lightning! I can’t go! I’ll die! Please, don’t make me go!”

Thor held Loki about the waist, wincing as he was kicked and slapped and trounced by the troll’s flailing limbs.

“Peace, Loki! It’s only—ow—a bit of bright light, it won’t—mmf—harm you!”

But Loki continued to fight and fret, so Thor took up the edge of his long red cape and drew it around Loki like a blanket, covering him in protective darkness. The effect was immediate. Loki went still and clung to Thor like he was a tree, his skinny blue arms and legs clamped around Thor’s torso. He moaned miserably. Thor cradled him like a frightened babe as the Bifröst sped them to their destination.

In a matter of moments, Thor was stepping through the dazzling portal and into the huge spherical chamber that was the domain of Asgard’s solitary gatekeeper, Heimdall the All-Seeing. The watchguard lifted an eyebrow as Thor attempted to walk past with a wave of his hand and a nervous grin on his lips.

“Hello, Heimdall! It’s good to see you again, thank you for bringing me home, I hope all was well while I was gone, it’s quite muddy in Midgard this time of year so I think I shall just—”

“You bring back an unexpected guest,” said Heimdall flatly, for his golden gaze rarely missed anything. “I believe you were sent to dispatch a troll. Were you successful?”

Thor broke out in a sweat. He was a terrible liar and Heimdall knew it. In fact, he knew Heimdall had probably seen all that had transpired on Midgard, so lying was completely pointless. Nevertheless, Thor had sworn to Loki that no harm would befall him, and he was willing to do everything he could to keep that promise, even if it meant stretching the truth a little.

So he smiled cheerfully and said, “False alarm. Another case of mistaken identity, I’m afraid. Nothing more than a poor little elfling who needs some care.” He patted the shivering lump he carried.

Heimdall’s eyebrow went up another notch. “That elf has horns.”

“Yes, indeed, it’s a queer thing. Horny elves, whatever shall be next?”

“Horny elves with troll tails, I imagine.”

Thor’s affable front abruptly crumbled and he looked down at Loki’s long blue tail, dangling out from under his cape. He reached out and carefully tucked it away, then gave Heimdall a sheepish look.

Heimdall lifted his eyes to the unseen sky above and sighed heavily. “You may pass. I do not think one little jötunn will cause much trouble. But if your father finds out…”

“I know. I will tell him myself, Heimdall, I swear.”

Heimdall appraised the trembling bundle hidden beneath Thor’s cape. “What are you planning to do with him, if I may ask?”

“Well, he already has a name, so I suppose the next thing to do is give him some food and make him comfortable.”

“You are planning to keep him?”

“Just for a little while.” Thor began to rock absently from side to side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he patted Loki’s cloaked form. It was a strangely paternal sight. “Until he can look after himself, then I shall release him. Right now he is not fit to survive on his own, surely you saw that for yourself. If he’s sent back to Midgard, he will starve or be devoured by a pack of wolves. I could not in good conscience abandon him to such a fate. He has… his life has been difficult enough.”

Heimdall almost smiled at Thor’s melancholy expression. “You have a kind and merciful heart, my prince. I will gladly break this petty ordinance if it means keeping it in one piece.”

Thor beamed, and his face was as radiant as the sun.

“Go. Take care of your little ward. I will tell no one.”

“Thank you, Heimdall,” said Thor gratefully, and hurried from the chamber with Loki smuggled safely beneath his cape.


“Who was that man?” Loki asked as they made their way to the palace. It was taking a little longer on foot, for though Thor would have preferred to fly, as was his custom, Loki had shrieked the moment they left the ground and he had been forced to make a rather clumsy landing. At least he hadn’t fallen face-first upon the bridge and crushed Loki beneath him. That would have been a horrible start to this supposedly lifesaving endeavor.

“That was Heimdall, the great porter of Asgard.”

“Is he a god?”

Thor smiled down at the wide-eyed blue face peering out from under his cape. “He is one of the Æsir, like me. We are called gods by some, but we are not so mighty as the Midgardians believe us to be.”

“He seemed very nice.”

“He is a good man and a great friend. I have known him my whole life. He has taught me much.”

Loki relaxed a little. He had stopped shaking only a few minutes ago, and now he was beginning to get curious about his surroundings. He poked his head out from under his cover and stared at everything around him with wonder, a growing look of delight on his face.

“It’s not as bright as I thought it would be,” he said.

“That’s because it is eventide,” said Thor. “Rather fortunate, I think. I was afraid the sunlight might harm you.”

Loki clicked his tongue and swished his tail. “We don’t turn to stone, you know. That’s just a myth.”

“Good. I would hate for you to be petrified.”

“Oh, I am petrified, just in the figurative sense.”

Thor chuckled, marveling at Loki’s wit and words. He hadn’t thought trolls were capable of being so smart and well-spoken… not that Thor had ever sat down and had a conversation with them over a flagon of ale. His interactions with jötnar were usually more straightforward: a demand for unconditional surrender, the threat of action if (or when) that demand was refused, and then the violent, often fatal application of that action. That was his job, after all. Destroy the villains, neutralize the threat.

He never imagined those villains to look like the creature—no, the person—he now carried in his arms.

Trolls are not people, Odin’s voice echoed in Thor’s mind. They are animals, beasts, savages. An ugly, festering canker upon the fair branches of Yggdrasil. They spurn our offers of civilization and return our mercy with malcontent. They are incapable of rational thought. Everywhere they go they bring chaos, violence, and destruction. They are a blight upon all creation and I will be thankful for the day when the last troll-nest is burnt from existence.

Thor clutched Loki a little more tightly. He had never seen a troll-nest before. He wondered if they were like bird- or mouse-nests, lined with sticks and branches and bits of gathered fluff, if the troll mothers watched over their babies while the fathers went out to seek food, if the parents joined together at night—no, during the day, more likely—to cuddle up with their sleeping offspring.

Thor imagined a giant that looked a lot like his father threatening this happy, peaceful scene, shaking the troll nest from its figmental branches and casting the squirming, blind little troll babies onto the ground, paying no mind to their frightened mewing as he raises his foot over them to—

“Are you crying?”

Loki’s voice snapped Thor from his horrible vision. He gave his head a shake and realized that, yes, there were tears in his eyes. He forced a smile onto his face and gazed down at Loki tenderly.

“It’s alright. Something came over me, that’s all.”

Loki’s eyebrows angled upward in an expression of pity. “I didn’t think Æsir could cry. I was always told that they have no hearts.”

“We have hearts,” Thor sniffed. “And I believe mine just cracked.”

Loki stared up at Thor with large, glimmering eyes and said no more.


Presently they came to the palace and Thor took a meandering, clandestine route to reach his chambers. He sat Loki on the edge of his bed and assured him he would be back as quickly as possible.

Loki didn’t move from his spot. He was afraid he might touch something hazardous and be struck by a bolt of lightning or blinded by a flash of light, so he folded his arms and legs close to his body and waited for Thor to return. And he did, roughly ten minutes later, balancing a tray in one hand as he locked his bedroom doors behind him.

“I am not sure what trolls eat,” he confessed, setting the tray down beside Loki, “but I’ve never known anyone to turn down a hot bowl of bone broth.”

Loki looked up at Thor meekly. “It’s hot.”

“Of course, it’s suppos—” And then Thor realized his error. He grimaced and clapped a hand to his forehead. “I am such a fool. Forgive me, I didn’t think—”

“It’s alright, really,” Loki insisted, raising his hand as if he wanted to ease Thor’s embarrassment. “What’s that in the cup?”

“It’s milk,” said Thor miserably. “Warm milk, because I’m a fool.”

“I’ll take warm over hot any day,” said Loki, and picked up the vessel with both hands. He raised it to his lips and took a long drink. “It’s good,” he said brightly, licking his lips. “I like it. Thank you.”

Thor perked up a little. “It’s not too hot?”

“It’s a little warmer than what I’m used to, but it’s fine. Really.”

While Loki sipped the milk, Thor picked up the bowl of soup and stirred it, blowing on it until it no longer steamed.

“Here,” he said, trading the bowl for Loki’s empty cup. “It should be cool enough now. Just eat slowly. It wouldn’t do to make yourself sick.”

Loki picked up the spoon and studied it blankly. “What’s this?”

“It’s a spoon. You eat with it.”

He gripped the utensil in his blue fist and looked at Thor questioningly. Thor responded with a nod and a smile.

“That’s a good start. But holding it with your fingers is easier. Here, let me show you…”

He gently eased the spoon from Loki’s grip and dipped it into the bowl. He blew on it—just in case it was still too warm—and offered it to Loki. Still appearing a bit uncertain, Loki opened his mouth and Thor carefully gave him the spoon.

“Put your lips around—yes, like that. Good. Alright, I think you can—”

Loki swallowed and immediately opened his mouth again, waiting.

Thor chucked. “Oh, no, I’m a terrible nurse. Here, you take it.”

Loki shut his mouth and looked a little disappointed, but he accepted the spoon without complaint and went about drawing up mouthfuls of the nourishing broth as Thor had shown him.

“There, you see? You’re doing fine.”

“I’d rather drink from the bowl.”

“Oh. Well, if that’s how trolls prefer to eat their soup, be my guest.”

“No, this is probably better,” said Loki, blowing on another spoonful. “I don’t want to be sick. It’s very good, of course, but I’d prefer to only taste it once.”

Thor laughed, and Loki actually grinned in response. It was enough to make Thor’s heart glow like a warm, happy ember. What an amazing being he was, this cunning little troll prince. How could his father have rejected him so cruelly, simply for being smaller than the others? Did he not see the other qualities Loki possessed? That he had an indefatigable sense of humor, that he was grateful and smart and playful and lovely—

Lovely? Yes. Yes, lovely. Lovely and utterly worthy of love, from the tips of his curving horns to his clawless blue toes. Thor had never been more sure of anything in his life, and he had barely known Loki for an hour.

That was it. He was instantly determined to do right by this little jötunn. He was going to spoil him rotten. He was going to feed him the most delectable, exquisite foods in all Nine Realms, clothe him in the richest silks, adorn him with precious metals and jewels—silver and sapphire would complement him perfectly—no, wait! Gold and rubies, to bring out the red in his eyes!—and bathe him in the finest oils and fragrances that Asgard ever—

Oh, right. A bath. Loki was certainly going to need one. He still had leaves and dirt in his hair, and that tattered leather breechcloth simply had to go.

Thor rose to his feet. “I’m going to draw a bath for you while you finish your meal. No need to hurry, it will take some time to fill the tub. How cool would you like the water to be?”

Loki lifted his head from his bowl and stared up at Thor. He swallowed loudly.

“What’s a bath?”

Chapter Text

Loki crept cautiously into the bathroom, his bare feet padding across the stone floor and his head swiveling to and fro, as if there might be danger lurking in every corner. Like all the rooms in the palace, this one was extravagant to the point of vulgarity, embellished with gold and silver and ancient symbols and designs that were unique to the realm of Asgard. Those same designs would have looked just as artful carved in oak by a woodsman’s humble hand, but there seemed to be no trace of the natural world in this cold hall of metal and glass. Loki didn’t like it. It was splendid, but it didn’t feel like a place he could ever call home.

When his eyes fell upon the tub, however, terror shot through him like lightning and he turned to flee. He crashed into Thor, who had been following closely behind.

“Steady, Loki,” said Thor with a kind smile. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“It’s a pot,” said Loki. His eyes were huge as he glared accusingly up at Thor. “That’s where you cook your food, isn’t it? It all makes sense to me now. You’re going to boil me in that, aren’t you? Troll soup—I bet it’s a delicacy here!”

Thor tried not to laugh, he really did, but it was a vain effort. “You could not be more wrong,” he chuckled. “That is a tub of water. It’s where you wash yourself.”

Loki blinked. “Water? Are you mad? Don’t you know how dangerous it is? It’s full of spirits and beasts; nøkker and snakes and things that will grab you from below and pull you down—”

“You will not be drowned, I swear. There is nothing in that water but a little fragrance and oil.”

Loki did not look convinced. Thor turned him around and gently guided him toward the tub.

“I am going to be right here, so there is no need to worry. If anything threatens you, I will deal with it.”

“What if I get dragged under?”

“I will jump in after you.”

“You can swim?”

“Of course.” Thor quirked an eyebrow. “Do trolls not know how?”

“We’re not overly fond of water,” said Loki, leaning over to peer into the tub. He could see the bottom, which made him feel a little better. He dared to reach out, tentatively dipping his finger in. The water was neither hot nor icy, but felt the same as the air around him. Perhaps this might not be so bad. It certainly smelled nice.

“So how does one take a bath, exactly?”

“Well, you, er. You just take your clothes off and… climb in.” Thor could feel his face warming—which was ridiculous. He was a grown man and a seasoned warrior, and nudity was of little matter to the Æsir. Some of their bravest fighters were known to forsake the protection of armor and march into battle clad in nothing but the skins of mighty animals. Sometimes just their own skins. Thor had seen the sexes of all the peoples of the Nine Realms, including trolls. Why then did he find himself blushing like a lad who had yet to receive his first kiss?

“You scrub yourself with a little soap, rinse off, get out.” He shrugged. “There really isn’t more to it than that.”

For a few moments Loki meditated on Thor’s words, gazing into the tub. Then he stiffened his lips determinedly, hooked his thumbs into his breechcloth, and slid it down his thighs.

Thor averted his eyes. No surprises there. Nothing he hadn’t already seen many times before. Loki was just like any other jötunn, only on a much smaller scale.

While Thor awkwardly contemplated the patterns on the ceiling, Loki dragged himself over the edge of the tub and toppled in headfirst, creating a huge splash. Water cascaded onto the floor and he surfaced with a panicked sputter. Thor dropped to his knees and grasped Loki under his arms, holding him up as he coughed and choked.

“It went up my nose,” Loki whimpered, cupping his hands over his nostrils. “It’s in my head now. It burns!”

“It will fade, don’t worry. Just catch your breath, I’ve got you.”

Loki sniffed and stared crossly at Thor. His black hair was plastered to his head, streaming in tangled tendrils over his face and horns. He was the saddest, most bedraggled thing Thor had ever seen.

“I hope this gets better soon,” said Loki, “because so far I hate it.”

“It will,” Thor insisted, lowering Loki back into the water and carefully combing the wet strands from his eyes. “Here, come closer and I’ll wash your hair for you. It will feel good, I promise.”

The look on Loki’s face said that he didn’t quite believe it, but he drew close to the side of the tub, clinging tightly to its rim while Thor removed his armor and peeled off his damp tunic and undershirt. He noticed the way Loki bit his lower lip and how his cerulean-blue cheeks darkened to indigo.

Surely trolls were not shy about nakedness, were they? The fire trolls who inhabited Muspelheim wore very little indeed—mere pieces of metal and a type of gritty, non-flammable fabric—and the wood trolls who lived in the temperate regions of the Nine preferred to dress themselves in moss and ivy, if they dressed in anything at all. Bare skin was far more common among trolls than perhaps any other race. Still, it did not assuage Thor’s doubts. Loki was very different from the rest of the jötnar; perhaps he possessed different sensibilities when it came to nudity.

“Do I offend you?” he asked quietly, and Loki turned to look at him with wide eyes. “I can cover myself if you’re—”

“No!” His voice squeaked and the color of his face changed again. “I mean, no, it’s alright. You’re just”—he suddenly became interested in his hands—“very large and handsome. Like one of our champions.”

Thor was both stunned and amused. “Trolls would consider me handsome?”

“Well, I can’t speak for all of us,” said Loki in a small voice. “You are rather pink and hairy, but I think you’re quite… er, y-you said something about a hair-washing, right?”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Just a moment, let me get the bottle…”

A few minutes later, Loki sat in the chest-deep water with a drowsy, contented smile on his lips as Thor massaged a combination of liquid soap and sweet-smelling oils into his scalp. Suds dripped down the side of the tub and onto the floor, and Thor’s trousers began to get soaked from kneeling in the puddles that were already there.

“You have gentle hands,” Loki murmured, looking up at Thor appreciatively.

Thor put on a strained smile and continued to untangle the knots from Loki’s silky black hair. His hands had never touched a troll with any purpose other than to destroy. Punching, pounding, pummeling, snapping fangs and bone, wringing necks, breaking jaws, drawing blood. Gentle? No. He did not have gentle hands. Surely Loki was aware of that, even if he had never seen Thor in battle.

You are a troll killer. Lightning-maker, they call you. Thunder-bringer, the terror of all jötnar!

“You have beautiful hair,” Thor blurted, desperate to get away from his own thoughts. “I’ve never seen a troll with hair like this before. Are there many others like you?”

“None that I know of.” Loki sighed. “In truth, it’s a disgrace. My head was kept shaven for most of my life, but it grew back faster and thicker each time. Our healers and magicians tried everything—spells, balms, medicines—but nothing seemed to work. Finally my father gave up and I was locked away in the deepest cavern of our kingdom, where no one could see what an ugly child he had spawned.” Loki hung his head. “That’s what my name means, you know. I would have gotten a new one had I grown to be handsome. But I never did, and so I remain Loki, the ugly shame.”

Thor was so taken aback that for several moments he couldn’t speak. When he finally found his voice again, his words were inflamed and passionate: “That’s horrible! That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard! Being locked away and treated as if you were defective; how could your father have been so cruel? You are neither ugly nor shameful!”

“Oh, but I am,” Loki insisted bitterly. “All the things we jötnar consider worthy of admiration I have none of. Tall horns, thick tails. Heavy bones and big fangs, especially if they’re on the bottom. A troll whose teeth protrude over his upper lip is considered extremely fetching. And long, pointed ears are a blessing; the farther they stick out, the better. Big noses are also very attractive, but I’ve been cursed with these awful, elfin characteristics. There is no greater insult for a troll than to be called an elf. I don’t even have claws.” He studied his small blue fingernails with a look of dismay. “I can’t blame my father for banishing me. I am hideous.”

“You are not,” said Thor vehemently. “Your father is wrong, Loki. You are perfect just the way you are, and I’m going to help you realize that if it’s the last thing I do.”

Loki gave him a sad smile, as if he didn’t quite believe his words but appreciated his kindness.

“Fárbauti is a fool,” Thor muttered, carefully rinsing the soap from Loki’s hair. “If I ever meet him, I will have a few things to say about how he treated his son.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” said Loki. “I am no longer his son. He disowned me. My brothers pleaded with him—Blindi and Bý were always very nice to me and I wish I had been allowed to spend more time with them—but I suppose it’s for the best that I never see them again. I would hate for them to be ridiculed for associating with me.”

For a long while there were no more words between them. Thor finished rinsing Loki’s hair and took up a sponge, lathering it with soap. He gently scrubbed all of Loki’s parts that he could reach: his horns, his face, his ears—small and elfin and very cute—and his neck and shoulders. Loki’s eyes were beginning to glaze sleepily as Thor scooped up water and rinsed the suds away, and the smile had returned to his lips. It faded, however, when Thor passed the foamy sponge to him.

“Erm, here, I shall let you finish cleaning yourself. You know how it’s done now, so—”

“Oh, no, please! This feels so nice,” Loki protested, and stood up with a splash. Rivulets streamed down his glistening blue skin and joined the rest of the water at his knees.

Thor hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Please continue,” said Loki, holding out the sponge with large, eager eyes. “No one has ever touched me so tenderly. For the first time in my life, I truly feel like a prince.”

Thor’s heart was suddenly galloping in his chest. The overwhelming innocence and trust in Loki’s voice was enough to make him cry, and he knew then that he could never refuse anything this little frost troll asked of him. He accepted the sponge back with a relenting smile and gently began to scrub the rest of Loki’s body.

Loki gave a joyful wiggle and made himself accessible to the tender ministrations.

Thor washed him as dutifully and directly as possible, reminding himself that this was only a chore, a humble task that he would have performed for one of his wounded comrades or an ill friend who could not care for himself. It was an act of kindness and mercy, not a prelude to romance. He wasn’t even sure how trolls romanced one another, or if they even believed in love. Surely they had to; some form of it, at least, otherwise Loki would not be here.

Loki squeaked and tittered when Thor dipped a soapy finger into his shallow blue navel. “Ah! That tickles!”

“Sorry,” said Thor with an apologetic look. “I didn’t want to miss anything.”

Loki held his bottom lip between his teeth turned around, his expression demure and delighted as Thor washed his back. He gave a violent shudder, though, when Thor picked up his tail and ran the sponge all the way from its root to the flat, spade-shaped point at the end.

Alarmed by the unexpected reaction, Thor instantly let go and asked, “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“N-no,” Loki stammered, peering over his shoulder at him. “It just, em. Felt very nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh.” A second later, Thor’s eyes widened and his face heated up a few more degrees. “Oh. I’m. Forgive me, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that was a—”

“It’s alright. You couldn’t have known.” Loki smiled reassuringly, his tail sloshing back and forth in the bathwater. “Please do continue. I’ve never felt so spoiled. It’s marvelous.”

With a helpless grin, Thor picked up where he left off. There were no further incidents or awkward mishandlings, though Loki had giggled uncontrollably when he stood on one leg to allow Thor to wash his toes. The soapy slither of Thor’s fingers elicited a shriek of laughter from him at one point, and he slipped on the bottom of the tub. Thor caught him around the waist before he could fall, and Loki’s arms shot out to wrap around his neck.

They stared at one another for a few startled seconds, nose to nose and eye to eye, then a look of amazement came to Loki’s face.

“Oh,” he breathed. “I can feel your heartbeat. It’s so strong and… is it always that fast?”

“No,” said Thor, his voice cracking. He could think of nothing else to say. Loki’s body was smooth and cool against him, sinewy and small, sharp with bone. He could smell his wet skin and his hair, and the slick, fragrant soap that was responsible for them clinging to each other as they were now.

“How ironic,” Loki murmured. “Here I am, a troll in the arms of the Lightning-maker, and I’ve never felt so safe in my life.”

He closed his eyes and leaned forward, gently rubbing his horns against Thor’s forehead. A moment later he seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled back quickly, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of cobalt.

“I’m so sorry. I, I don’t know what came over me. I must be losing my mind. We barely know each other and here I am… fawning.” He turned his head in shame.

“It’s alright, Loki.” Thor gave him a patient smile. “We have much to learn about each other’s ways. There will be plenty of time for us to become more familiar. Come, let’s get you rinsed and dried. My parents will be retiring to bed soon and I’d like for them to meet you.”

Trolls might have been incapable of turning to stone, but that’s exactly what Loki felt like in Thor’s arms just then. He pulled back fearfully, his breath quickening.

“I am to meet the Allfather?” he piped.

“Don’t worry. He is probably in his nightclothes by now. He looks much less intimidating without Gungnir, I assure you.”

Loki didn’t look assured. In fact, he looked terrified.

Thor reached down and pulled the drain plug, and the ominous sucking sound from deep in the tub sent Loki, still covered in suds, leaping into his arms with a sharp cry.

“What is that!” he yelped, attempted to climb his way onto Thor’s shoulders. “What’s happening! Why is that thing drinking the water! You didn’t tell me there was a monster at the bottom all this time! I could have been eaten!”

“It’s only a drain, Loki! Calm down.” Thor carefully pried Loki’s arms from around his face and laughed. His hair was spattered with soapy foam. “I suppose I ought to rinse off, too. I’ve had half a bath already.”

“Well, watch out for that thing,” Loki declared, stabbing his finger toward the whirlpool of water disappearing into the drain. “Because if you get sucked into it, I will not be jumping in after you!”

Chapter Text

After rinsing Loki under a stream of fresh, cool water—which both delighted and calmed him from his earlier fright with the drain—Thor wrapped him in a huge, fluffy towel and left him to dry on the bathmat while he went into the bedroom.

“I should be able to find something for you to wear,” he said, sliding open a closet door and stepping inside. “I still have clothes from when I was a boy, if my little brothers did not steal them long ago. They should fit you.” There came the sound of rummaging and rifling from deep within the closet.

“You have brothers, too?” asked Loki, shaking the water from his ears.

“Four of them,” came Thor’s muffled voice. “Two older ones and two younger ones, two sets of twins, and I am the poor, solitary fool trapped between them. I suppose you’ll meet them all at some point. They—where in the Nine is that box? It should have been right—ah, there it is.” More shuffling noises.

Loki quirked his brow. “Do the Æsir always have such small litters?”

Thor’s laughter exploded from the closet and he poked his head around the doorframe. “Litters? No, we don’t have litters. Twins are not very common, and trios are even rarer. I’ve heard of no greater numbers being birthed in Asgard. Our women usually have only one child at a time.”

“And it’s not a shame?”

“Er, no. Not at all.” Thor paused and stepped out of the closet, his amusement fading. “Is it shameful for trolls to have so few children at once?”

“Terribly.” Loki huddled deeper into his towel, as if it might shield him from a painful memory. “My brothers, Helblindi and Býleist, and I were the only survivors of a litter of eight. Our mother died bearing us.”

Thor was quietly stunned. He opened his mouth to say something—anything, at least an acknowledgement of Loki’s pain and an expression of sympathy for him—but his tongue could find no words.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Loki continued bitterly. “Father blamed me for his death, insisted I was the one who killed him. I was the last one born, after all; never mind the seven babies who came before me. No, it was the ugly runt who stole his strength and his will to live.” He sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. I am no longer part of the family.”

Thor frowned as he entered the bathroom. “Forgive me, I must be misunderstanding, but when you spoke of your mother, you kept saying ‘his’. Don’t you mean ‘her’?”

“Oh—no, actually, I mean hin, in the language of the jötnar. I use your male terms when I speak the common tongue because they sound very similar, but we trolls are all one sex.” Loki held up one small blue finger.

Thor stared. “You mean there are no troll-women?”

“Well, there are no troll-men, if that’s what you’re asking. There are simply trolls.”

“Oh.” Thor’s face went blank. “Well. That’s kind of… Actually, that makes a lot of sense now that I think about it. It explains why I’ve never seen what I thought to be a female troll.” He looked down at the clothes that were draped over his arm. “Come to think of it, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a jötunn in anything but armored skirts and vests. I’m not sure if any of these clothes will suit you.”

“That’s alright. I’m no ordinary frost troll, so perhaps I’ll find something.” Loki smiled gently.

Thor returned the smile and passed the garments to him. “Well, if you haven’t found anything you like by the time I’m finished in here, I will help you look for something else.”

Loki hugged the clothes to his chest. “Thank you… em.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but either couldn’t find the words or was too bashful to speak them. He tucked his bottom lip into his mouth and turned. Thor smiled as Loki trotted out the door, the tip of his blue tail poking out from beneath the edge of his towel.

Now alone in the bathroom, Thor shucked off the rest of his clothes—boots, trousers and underthings, all heaped together on the floor—and made his way to the large stone stall in the corner. As he turned on the shower, he recalled how much more comfortable Loki had been getting rinsed off in here instead of the bathtub, even though he hadn’t been too keen on the large drain in the center of the floor. Instead of watching him tiptoe nervously around the grate for twenty minutes, Thor had scooped Loki into his arms and simply held him beneath the spray. He didn’t even care that the water was cold or that the rest of his clothes had gotten soaked. Seeing Loki hold his pleased, pretty face beneath the sparkling cascade had been worth it.

In fact, that was all Thor wanted. To see Loki happy, healthy, and healed, sleek and strong, his horns and hair shining, imbued with confidence and laughter. It was such a beautiful image that Thor instantly resolved to make it a reality. The opportunity had fallen into his lap—well, into his trap, actually—and by Odin’s beard, he would see it done.

Thor’s excitement ebbed a little at the thought of his father.

He hoped Loki would be allowed to stay here. Odin was tough and steely, but he did have a heart beneath his seemingly stoic exterior. Once he heard the sad account of Loki’s life, Thor was certain he would be moved to mercy.

Well, there was the small matter of Odin despising trolls and everything to do with them, but he hadn’t met Loki yet. If any troll could change his mind, Loki would be the one. He was the perfect ambassador: polite and well-spoken, charming and humorous, attentive, cute… very cute. From his pointy ears to little blue-nailed toes—and his tail, even if it wasn’t thick and heavy like a normal troll’s—every part of him was lovely and adorable.

Thor suddenly found himself wondering just how old Loki was. His horns were too short to be an adult’s, but maybe that was a result of his stunted development. He certainly spoke as if he were an adult, but he could simply be precocious for his age. Thor would ask him at the soonest opportunity. He didn’t wish to insult Loki or say anything inappropriate to him. He was likely still growing (though apparently not fast enough for his impatient father) and perhaps someday he might even be the same size as Thor. That would—

Oh. That. By the stars above, he would be stunning, an absolute beauty. Tall, curving horns and long legs, his hair grown out and falling to his waist in a soft black curtain, his arms strong and muscular, the most handsome jötunn to ever set foot in Asgard…

Thor came back to reality with a jolt. Damn, he didn’t have time to be daydreaming like this. The hour was growing late and his parents would not be up for much longer. He quickly began to rinse off.

Meanwhile in the bedroom, Loki had laid the armful of clothes out on the broad, soft-looking piece of furniture that sat against one wall. He had guessed it was Thor’s nest, though it looked like no nest he had ever seen before. It was too flat and wide, not rounded enough, and it had too few pillows. It was merely a surface, like a table or a floor. It wasn’t cozy or intimate at all. Who could ever sleep lying stiff and straight like that, stretched out and vulnerable? Loki supposed one might be able to curl up if they wanted to, but it would be very uncomfortable on something so firm and shapeless. Did the Æsir actually make their babies on these awful things? Mercy, perhaps that’s why they had so few children. Who could enjoy making love on that?

A hot blush crept across Loki’s cheeks as his imagination suddenly conjured up several images of his gloriously naked benefactor propagating his species on his weird, flattened nest. A soft squeak escaped Loki’s lips and he shook his head to clear his mind.

He mustn’t get distracted. He was about to meet the Allfather, the most powerful being in all Nine Realms, and picturing that being’s attractive, athletic son engaged in procreative activities, however alluring, was simply unacceptable at this time. He had to stay focused.

Banishing the thought, Loki pursed his lips and studied the various garments lying before him. The only thing that really appealed to him was a dark blue tunic, short of length and sleeve, trimmed with silver. It was lightweight and conservative enough to suit his hosts, and the skirt meant that he wouldn’t have to worry about making a hole in the back of—what did they call them again? Oh, right—a trowsors so that his tail could be free. He would just have to be mindful of swinging it so that he didn’t accidentally lift the skirt and give all of Asgard a glimpse of his bottom. The Æsir didn’t seem very proud of their hind-ends, or at least they weren’t as willing to show them off. Pity. The buttocks were a fine asset, lovely to look at as well as useful.

Loki shrugged off his towel, picked up the tunic, and pulled it over his head. It was obviously tailored with a better-fed person in mind, but Loki was very pleased with how it felt, even though it was a little more clothing than what he was accustomed to wearing. The length was perfect, falling to mid-thigh, and he was idly wondering if Thor might have a belt he could borrow when the god himself appeared from the bathroom, a towel tied around his waist and his long, wet hair clinging to his muscular shoulders. Loki caught a glimpse of him and froze, his mouth falling open.

Odinson might not have the wide girth so revered by the jötnar, but by Jötunheim’s holy mountains, what a magnificent troll he would have made!

Loki was still completely mesmerized when Thor turned his head and met his eyes. He didn’t seem to realize he was being ogled; all he saw was a handsome little frost troll dressed in what had been his favorite boyhood tunic, and the color of its fabric perfectly complemented his cerulean complexion.

“You look wonderful,” he declared, then cringed at his eager tone.

Loki blurted, “So do y—” before his hand flew to cover his mouth. He blushed fiercely.

Silence fell.

“I, um, believe there is a belt that goes with that,” said Thor, breaking away from their awkward standoff to duck into the closet. “I will find it for you!” There was a clatter as something fell from one of the closet’s shelves.

“Erm, thank you,” Loki stammered. He put a hand over his eyes and bowed his head.

He had succeeded in embarrassing his host—again—as well as himself. What in the worlds had gotten into him? Barely two hours ago he had been wondering if he was going to eat today, and now he was falling horn over heel for a thundergod. Even in his banishment he was still managing to bring shame to his people. If his father could see him now, he would probably wish he had executed him instead of banishing him.

Loki continued to despair, and a short while later Thor emerged from the closet, haphazardly dressed—his trousers were twisted and his shirt was riding up on one side—and carrying a small leather belt in his hand. He approached shyly and held it out to Loki.

“Here, this is the one.”

“Thank you,” said Loki quietly, accepting the belt. The leather was soft and supple, and he fastened it around his waist with a few clever motions. After giving the tunic one final adjustment, he brushed the skirt and lifted his eyes to Thor expectantly. “How do I look?”

Thor gazed at him with a tender smile on his lips. “Like a prince,” he said, and bowed deeply at the waist, his damp golden hair spilling over his shoulders.

It was more than Loki could bear; his tail curled around his left leg and he hid his face in his hands. “Oh, please,” he whimpered, his cheeks burning against the palms of his hands. “Please, I. I am no prince. I’m—”

“Nonsense. You are the son of a king. We are both princes, you and I, which means we are equals.”

“No, you are a god. I am a troll. An ugly runt of a—” Loki lost the end of his sentence when he felt Thor’s large, gentle hands clasp his wrists and pull them away from his face. He was staring at Loki with nothing but adoration in his kind blue eyes.

“You are a prince,” he repeated firmly, “and that is how I shall introduce you to my father. Prince Loki, late of Jötunheim, unjustly exiled and seeking asylum in our fair realm. The Allfather could not deny such a moving petition.”

When Thor slid his hands into Loki’s, Loki didn’t even cower. He stared dreamily at Thor’s face, his tail going lax around his leg.

“Do you really think so?” he murmured hopefully.

“I do.” Thor smiled and clasped Loki’s small blue hands. “But it’s getting late. Come, we don’t want to miss him.”

Chapter Text

Thor and Loki walked side by side down the broad, low-lit corridors of the palace, heading for the royal hall where Odin’s chambers lay. Loki stuck close to Thor’s side, taking in everything around him with a sense of wonder and curiosity, his bare feet patting quietly on the polished floor.

Presently they came to a pair of huge, heavy doors. Like nearly everything else in the palace, they were golden and bore elaborate patterns that intertwined with one another like an endless skein of ivy. A raven was carved onto each door and a sliver of warm light spilled from beneath them, an indication that the room’s occupants were still awake.

Thor turned to Loki and smiled gently. “Don’t worry. No harm shall come to you, I promise.” He lifted his hand and rapped lightly on the doors. “Mother, Father,” he said loudly, “I know it is late but I wanted—”

“Come in, Thor,” called a pleasant voice from within, and the door opened on its own with an emerald-green shimmer.

Magic! thought Loki, his eyes sparkling with interest. A very different sort of magic, much more delicate than the kind used by trolls, but sorcery nonetheless. He gulped down his excitement as Thor ushered him inside.

The royal bedchambers were spectacularly luxurious, decorated in gold and silver and draped with intricate tapestries featuring Asgard and its many natural splendors—mountains, forests, streams, fields, all filled with magnificent birds and beasts, and bearing the figures of famous or notable Æsir. To the right was a comfortable sitting-room and more chambers beyond; to the left was an archway that gave onto a wide balcony, and offered a magnificent view of the city below. Stars and moons and nebulae glowed in the night sky above.

In the center of the room, against the far wall, was another of those unusually flat Asgardian nests, though this one was broader and fluffier than Thor’s. The left side was empty but on the right reclined a beautiful woman, propped up by many pillows and comfortably settled for the night. She held a book in her hands and her reddish-gold hair draped down one shoulder in a thick braid.

This was Frigga, Queen of Asgard, the Allmother, and her radiance was as warm and benevolent as her appearance.

She looked up and smiled at her son in greeting, then her eyes settled on the stranger standing beside him. Her eyes widened and the book slipped from her numb hands.

“Mother,” said Thor levelly, “please don’t panic. I can explain ev—”

Gracious!” she exclaimed, throwing back the covers and springing barefoot from the bed. She hurried toward her son and his guest, holding up the long skirt of her nightgown so she wouldn’t stumble. “What in the Nine! Thor, who is this precious little person?”

Thor was stunned. His jaw wagged mutely as he struggled for words.

After snapping out of his own state of shock, Loki began to bow in the troll fashion—bending the left knee with tail straight out—then he remembered where he was. He quickly corrected himself and bowed at the waist, like Thor had done to him earlier.

“Your majesty,” he said, trying to keep his voice from squeaking. “I am Loki of Jötunheim.”

Frigga walked right up to Loki and took his small face in her hands, staring at him with a look of maternal concern.

“Loki of Jötunheim! My stars, you are a frost troll, aren’t you? What a handsome young thing you are! Are you hungry, darling? Have you eaten? Thor, have you fed him yet? He looks famished.”

“I, uh,” Thor stammered, “yes, Mother, I. He was. Yes.”

Frigga smiled lovingly and patted Loki’s blushing blue cheeks. “Is this your first time in Asgard, Loki? Did you—oh, no, don’t tell me you are an orphan. You poor dear! Do you need a place to stay? Is that why you’re here?”

Loki’s eyes glazed over as he stared at this lovely woman with her soft hands and kind eyes and wonderful, flowery scent. Was everything he had been told about the Æsir a lie? It must be. Every person he had met so far had been generous and patient and—

“Frigga?” came a man’s voice from out on the balcony. “Is that Thor I hear?”

Three heads turned toward the sound. Frigga straightened up, her smile fading as she took her place on Loki’s other side, framing him protectively between herself and her son. Loki’s tail clamped itself anxiously around his leg. Thor took a steady breath and held his head high, waiting.

The Allfather stepped into the room. His silver-white hair spilled loosely onto his shoulders and his beard was thick and well-groomed. His right eye was hidden behind a golden patch, his face stern and his posture regal. Though he was not as tall as Loki had expected, and his midsection had begun to grow soft and thick with age, his mien was one of immense power and wisdom. It didn’t matter that he was not clad in armor or holding his great staff Gungnir, for even in a brocaded dressing gown and slippers, Odin commanded an air of respect.

When he saw that there was a small audience gathered in the room, he stopped short. His eye flitted over each face before finally settling on Loki’s. He blinked.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, then heaved a tired sigh. “Thor, what is that thing and why is it in my house?”

Loki’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. He heard the Allmother click her tongue disapprovingly.

“Father, this Prince Loki of Jötunheim,” said Thor resolutely. “Fárbauti’s son. He has been wrongly exiled and is seeking asylum in Asgard. Will you hear his request?”

Odin’s forehead wrinkled as he lifted his eyebrows. “This isn’t the troll I sent you to destroy, is it? Great gods, lad, why in the world would you bring it back here? Are you planning to have it stuffed and mounted? Skinned and cooked, perhaps? It wouldn’t make more than a mouthful, by the looks of it.”

Loki let out a tiny squeak and Frigga put a soothing hand on his shoulder. She glared at her husband.

The resentment on Thor’s face was plain to see, but his voice was unnaturally calm when he spoke. “Please stop calling him ‘it’, Father. Loki is not a rock or a twig, he is a living being. He is a frost troll.”

“Indeed?” Odin narrowed his eye skeptically at Loki. “Are you sure about that? He looks more like an elf than a troll. Perhaps he’s some sort of mutation, a crossbreed of a troll and a human.”

“You can ask him yourself,” said Thor. “Unless you think speaking to a troll would be beneath you.”

Odin smiled patiently. “Ah, yes. Because I am too mean and proud to converse with a scrawny little jötunn. No, Thor, I am simply afraid of wasting my breath on a creature incapable of understanding civilized speech. But since you appear to be quite taken by him, I shall humor you.”

He leaned forward and spoke to Loki clearly: “Skillur thú mik, little one? Geturr thú toladh algeng tunga, edha ertu hálfvitti?” 1 The words rolled thick and harsh from his tongue.

Loki’s cheeks burned with shame and he shrank against Thor’s side.

“What did you say to him?” Thor demanded, his whole body tensing. “Did you threaten him?”

“I merely asked if he spoke the common language,” said Odin, straightening himself again. “My trollspeak is a little rusty, and quite frankly I hate to use it. It is an ugly language for an ugly people.” He paused and glanced down at Loki. “Present company excluded, of course. Are you sure you’re not part elf?”

Loki gulped and said in a small voice, “T-to my knowledge, your majesty, I am not.”

If Odin was surprised by Loki’s pleasant tenor, his face did not show it. “I see. Then you must be considered an insult to your race, yes? An ugly pariah, cast out for your defects and abandoned by the savages you call your kin. Is that right?”

Loki bowed his head, tears burning in his eyes. “It is, your majesty.”

Both Thor and Frigga were taken aback.

“Father, how could-!”

“Odin, really!”

Odin held up both of his hands and waved them placatingly. “Calm down, calm down. It is a legitimate question. I am only trying to determine the reasons for his exile.”

“He has been exiled because Fárbauti is cruel and impatient,” said Thor fiercely. “Loki has been ridiculed and mistreated all his life for something he cannot help, and his father sent him to Midgard to die. He is in desperate need of sanctuary. He needs care and recovery and a safe place to live.”

Odin opened his arms wide in an exasperated gesture. “What does this realm look like to you, Thor? An infirmary? A harbor for every refugee who comes running to us with a deformity and a convenient story? Oh, don’t look so shocked, lad. Trolls may be stupid as a whole, but they’re capable of being clever on occasion. Some of the most cunning liars and tricksters in history have been trolls.”

He glowered at Loki, who huddled between Thor and Frigga.

“Their deception is legendary, especially among the frost species. How do you think they came to be the rulers of Jötunheim? Through divine birthright? No, they cheated the realm’s original inhabitants out of home and hill, enslaved them, ate them, and ultimately wiped them from existence. Now Jötunheim is a planet of trolls, its resources wasted or gone fallow from centuries of neglect, and its mountains are overrun with a conniving lot of inbred monstrosities like the one I’m looking at.”

Odin bent down to address Loki once more, his lips pulled into a grim smile.

Er thadh rett, little one? Excuse me: Loki prinsenn. Hm. Ljóki, the ugly one. Is that your real name or did you come up with it when you were charming my foolish son?” 2

Loki couldn’t take anymore; he turned and buried his face into Thor’s shirt, clinging tightly to his side as he trembled with fear and humiliation.

Frigga scowled at her husband. “Now you’re just being cruel.”

“Unbearably,” Thor added, putting an arm around Loki’s shoulders and holding him close. “I brought Loki to you so he could ask for your blessing, so he could live here safely and legally, in compliance with your ordinance, Father. He has been perfectly civil and respectful to you, yet you have done nothing but insult and berate him. Is there not one ounce of mercy in your heart for him, for any person who would come to you in need?”

After a few moments, Odin sighed, his vigor fading. He suddenly looked very old and tired.

“Thor, my son, I am only speaking the truth, a virtue which, sadly, is lost on the jötnar. But they can hardly be blamed for this deficiency; they are born with it. Lying, cheating, betraying—it is in their nature. It is how they survive. Just as ravens and crows prey upon the less intelligent beasts, so do trolls attempt to seduce us with their wiles.”

Loki clenched his small hands and pressed his face even harder into Thor’s side, hugging him tightly. One of his horns was digging into Thor’s ribs, but Thor was too upset to even register the discomfort.

“So what if it is,” said Thor crossly. “I don’t care. Loki has done harm to no one and he will do no harm by staying here. He needs help and I mean to give it to him, and if you try to stop me, Father, I will—”

“Calm yourself, Thor,” said Odin, “before you say something that cannot be unsaid.”

Thor shut his mouth, pinching his lips together tightly.

Odin sighed heavily and turned, shuffling toward the bed. He sat down on the edge with a small huff and turned to look at his family, who regarded him with hurt, harried faces. He tilted his head to one side and vaguely nodded his assent.

“I will permit Loki to stay in Asgard, but I will not abide his presence in the palace. He must go live in the forest. That is the natural order of things. People live in cities, animals in the wild.”

He held up his hand when Thor and Frigga readied themselves for an argument.

“And before you say anything, let me remind you that a thousand years ago I would not have hesitated to kill this unwanted visitor on the spot. But I have grown soft in my old age and developed a tolerance for the intolerable. A troll in Asgard is something the younger Odin would never have borne.”

He stared at Loki, cowering against his son, and smiled despite himself.

“He is rather small, though, isn’t he? I don’t suppose he’ll be much trouble. Like a flea on the back of a dog. It does the dog no good—it drinks the dog’s blood and grows fat and spoiled, and the dog must endure a little itching every now and then—but as long as there is only one flea, there is little harm.”

Odin’s gaze moved deliberately to Thor. “However, if I find another flea has made its way in this realm, I will exterminate them both… and any little eggs that they may be hiding. I will not have Asgard infested with trolls. Do you understand me?”

Thor hated it, but he gritted his teeth and nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” Odin paused, looking at his dejected family. He sighed again. “He can stay the night—just this once. He leaves first thing in the morning.”

Frigga stepped close to Thor and laid her gentle hand on Loki’s head. “Can’t he at least stay for breakfast? The poor thing should have a good meal before he’s sent away.”

Odin physically recoiled. “What? No. No, I won’t have a troll slurping porridge and sucking down eggs as I try to enjoy my morning tea. That is simply out of the question.”

He saw the deadly glint in Frigga’s eyes and his frown wilted slightly.

“Alright. Fine. He can stay for breakfast, but he will not eat at the table and he is to leave immediately after.” He stared hard at Thor. “Have I made myself clear?”

Thor clenched his fists and opened his mouth to speak, but he was stopped by his mother’s hand on his shoulder. Frigga leaned toward his ear and said in a voice barely above a whisper, “Not now, darling. You take care of Loki. I will talk to your father.”

The tension left Thor’s face and was replaced by a defeated, depressed look. He gave his mother a sad smile and turned back to his father. “Very well. Father, Mother. I apologize for ruining your evening. Loki and I bid you both goodnight.”

Odin raised his hand in farewell and released a sigh that sounded like a weary groan.

Frigga kissed her son’s cheek and gave Loki’s head a tender pat. Thor put his arm around Loki and guided him toward the door. The Allmother gave them a soft, reassuring smile as they stepped into the corridor, and shut the door behind them.

When they were halfway down the hall, Loki stopped and raised his face to Thor. His cheeks were wet and flushed, his red eyes even redder from his tears.

“Oh, Thor,” he said wretchedly, using his host’s name for the first time, “I haven’t lied to you! Please believe me, I would never lie! I know my people are known for being false, but I swear to you, I’ve told you nothing but the truth. Th-there’s no way I can prove it, but please, you must believe me. I would never…!”

He buried his face into Thor’s middle and began to sob. “Please, my lord, have mercy. Don’t abandon me. I have nothing left. You are all that I…” The rest of his sentence ended in a choked-off whine.

With his heart as sore as a fresh bruise, Thor ducked down and gathered Loki into his arms, lifting him up and hugging him close. Loki wrapped his arms around Thor’s shoulders and his legs around Thor’s waist. He sniffed wetly and nuzzled the side of Thor’s face gratefully.

“I am not your lord,” Thor murmured. “I am your friend, and I will not have you thrown into the forest to live like an animal. I’m going to take care of you, Loki. I swore that I would let no harm befall you as long as I live, and I am a man of my word.”

Loki clutched Thor even harder, tears leaking from his tightly-shut eyes. He could find no words to describe the gratitude that filled his heart. All he knew was that falling into Thor Odinson’s trap was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Thor reached up and gently stroked his fingers through Loki’s dark hair, and carried the sad little troll back to his room.

Chapter Text

When they arrived back at Thor’s room, a strong wind had begun to blow outside the palace and lightning was flashing in the sky. The growl of thunder followed every flare and flicker, heralding a heavy rain.

It was no coincidence. Thor hadn’t been this upset in years.

Of course, he thought to himself, it was nothing compared to what Loki had just endured.

Safely inside the room now, Thor leaned over his bed and allowed Loki to crawl from his arms. Loki immediately grabbed one of the nearby pillows and clutched it to his chest, curling up with his tail tucked around his feet. He jolted as a peal of thunder ripped through the sky above, and Thor had to take a moment to shut his eyes and try to calm himself. He could not comfort Loki if the worst fear of every troll was cracking and booming right above their heads.

While Loki hugged the pillow and sniffed away the last of his tears, Thor disappeared into the bathroom. There came the sound of splashing water, and a few moments later he returned with a cool, wet cloth in his hands. He climbed onto the bed to sit beside Loki and laid his hand on his thin, narrow shoulder.

“Here,” he said softly, “lift your face.”

Loki did—his cheeks were cobalt and his eyes were like two huge rubies at the bottom of a clear stream—and Thor carefully blotted the salty tear stains from his overheated face. Loki sighed in relief and looked up at Thor pitifully.

“It seems I’m destined to be a disappointment to fathers,” he said, “even the ones who didn’t raise me.”

“Don’t say that,” Thor insisted, pressing the cloth to Loki’s forehead and dabbing it down the side of his throat. “It is not your fault.”

“But it is. I am either too much a troll or not troll enough. Why can’t I have been one or the other? Why did I have to be like this? Why does no one like me?”

Thor ceased his ministrations and touched Loki’s cheek with his damp fingers. “It isn’t you, Loki. It is everyone else. You may be different, but that doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you. Sometimes it’s good to be set apart from everyone else. The world would be very dull if we were all the same, don’t you think?” He offered up a conciliatory smile.

The corners of Loki’s mouth twitched upward. “I suppose so. But it would have been nice to be accepted by both your parents. Your mother is so kind and gentle. I see where you get it from.”

Thor’s smile faded and he lowered his head. “I have much of my father in me as well,” he said. “I am a warrior. I lead armies to victory. I fight, I kill.”

“But you also protect,” Loki insisted, setting the pillow aside and folding his legs beneath himself. “You rescue people, like you did me. You are fair and merciful.”

“You have not known me long, Loki. I’m afraid I shall one day disappoint you.”

“Perhaps not. We’ll just have to see.” He gave Thor a hopeful smile.

Thor was astounded. Even after the disastrous meeting with Odin, Loki offered cheer and consolation to someone who needed it least. If there was any doubt in Thor’s heart that Loki was not as sweet and pure as an innocent child, it was dispelled at this very moment.

Thor reached down and clasped both of Loki’s hands in his own. “You are so amazing,” he murmured. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Nor I you,” said Loki, leaning forward.

This close to one another, Thor could see the sharpness of Loki’s eye-teeth. They weren’t as large as they should have been, but were small and dainty and white. Thor looked down at the hands he was holding.

“You have beautiful hands. It was one of the first things I noticed about you.”

“Thank you,” said Loki softly. “But they are not the hands of a troll. They are small and weak and I have no claws.”

“You may not have claws, but your nails are strong and your fingers are long and shapely. I’ll bet you are an expert at plaiting.”

Loki frowned. “Platting? What’s that?”

“It’s a form of braiding. You know, like… well, like this.” Thor pulled one of his long, golden-brown braids from the back of his head and leaned close to show it to Loki. “You see those strands? They are woven together. It’s called a plait. It is a style worn by many people across many different realms.”

Loki reached out and stroked Thor’s braid with his fingertip, staring at it intently. “So that is what these things are. Platts. I’ve seen them before and always wondered…” He lifted his face and found himself nose-to-nose with Thor. “Can you do this to my hair, too?”

“When it’s a little longer, yes. If you want.” Thor’s eyes softened as he gazed at Loki. “I think you would look very nice with them.”

A faint smile came to Loki’s lips. His eyelashes fluttered as he let out a breath. “Perhaps I should give up trying to be a jötunn and just become one of you. Your father might like me better if I were to cut off my horns and tail and just—”

“No!” said Thor fiercely, and there came a startlingly loud crack of thunder just overhead.

Loki cried out and threw his arms around Thor, clinging to him. Thor hugged him, grimacing at his outburst.

“I’m sorry,” he said as Loki shivered in his embrace. “That was my fault. The thunder, it’s… I cannot help it.”

Loki pulled back and stared at Thor in amazement. “You are doing this?”

Thor nodded guiltily.

“Then it isn’t really your hammer that brings the thunder? It’s…”

“It is me. My hammer channels my power, but it is not the source of it.”

Fear crept into Loki’s eyes. “Are you angry?”

“I suppose I am, a little,” Thor admitted. “But not at you, Loki. It was the thought of you mutilating yourself to suit my father, to suit anyone else. It’s simply horrifying. Promise me you won’t do anything like that. Ever.” He cradled the back of Loki’s neck and stroked his cheek with his thumb.

“I promise,” Loki whispered.

Thor’s eyes drifted down to Loki’s mouth, his gaze lingering on Loki’s lips before returning to his eyes one more. Loki was breathing a little faster, his eyes gleaming and full of emotion.

Thor forced a smile onto his face. “Will you be comfortable in my bed tonight?”

“Oh, yes,” whispered Loki, then he paused. “Wait, what’s a bed?”

“It’s what we’re sitting on right now.”

Loki looked down at the mattress as if he just realized it was there. “Oh, is that what you call your nests? Bed? Or beds, should I say?”

“Yes, bed for one, beds for many,” said Thor. “Though I must admit, ‘nest’ sounds much cozier.”

“Hm, nests are much cozier,” said Loki forlornly, stroking the covers, “at least where I come from.”

Thor sat back on his legs, a look of determination on his face “How can I build one?”

“Pardon?”

“A troll-nest,” said Thor. “I want to make one for you. Tell me how.”

“Oh, no, please, that won’t be necessary. I’ve been making do without one for months, you don’t have to—”

“I want to, Loki. Please. After what happened with Father, I… I want to make you as comfortable as possible.”

Loki bit his lower lip and, after a few moments of staring at Thor’s earnest, heartfelt expression, he glanced around the room. “Well, we can start by adding a few more pillows…”


The rain stopped sometime overnight and the morning dawned fresh and damp. Weak rays of sunlight peeked through the gauzy curtains in Thor’s bedroom, stretching across the floor. The bed was left in shadows, and it was much changed from its usual state. A volcano of pillows, blankets, towels, and even clean laundry was heaped in the middle of the mattress. It wasn’t the ideal troll nest, Loki had said, but it was wonderful compared to his arrangements on Midgard, sleeping in hollow logs and between the roots of trees.

In the center of this strange pile of linens lay Thor and Loki, Thor curled up on his side with one foot sticking through the wall of cloth, and Loki propped upright between two pillows, knees and arms tucked to his chest, one hand holding on to his tail for security.

Thor was the first to wake, taking in a deep breath and stretching his limbs with a quiet groan. A few inches away, Loki’s eyes fluttered open and he yawned, his little blue tongue curling.

Thor smiled at him sleepily. “Good morning, Loki.”

Loki returned his smile and gave a shy wriggle. “Good morning, Thor.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Hmm, better than I have in a long time.” He unfolded himself and stretched, his tail going straight as an arrow before relaxing again. “Though I am rather hungry now.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t. It will take more than soup to put the flesh back on your bones.” Thor sat up and popped a few joints, flexed his arms, rolled his head back and forth. “I’ll go and get something for us. Do trolls eat breakfast in bed? Or in nest?”

“Not usually. Only if we’re ill or have babies to keep.”

The image of the troll-bird nest came back to Thor’s mind, and suddenly he pictured Loki cuddled up around a litter of tiny blue baby trolls. It was strangely appealing. He wondered if Loki would find a mate who didn’t mind his less-than-jötunn characteristics, if he would ever have children of his own someday, either siring them or bearing them. He wondered if Loki’s little body would be even able to handle the strain of pregnancy or if—and this was horrifying to consider—he would end up like his poor mother, overloaded with a huge litter that would claim his life and the lives of over half his offspring. Suddenly the image of Loki with a half-dozen mewling babies didn’t seem so appealing anymore.

Thor snapped himself out of his reverie and stood from the bed. “Alright, I, er, you just stay here and rest,” he said, “I’ll be back shortly with some food. Is there anything in particular you would like?”

“At this point,” said Loki honestly, “I will eat anything that doesn’t eat me first.”

“So… two of everything?”

Loki waved his tail happily. “Please.”


Thor’s heart was still soaring through the clouds as he neared the large patio in the east gardens, the place where his family typically took their morning meal. Birds were singing and the air was fragrant with flowers, fresh from the rainfall. Odin, looking rather unrested and rumpled, was sipping his tea at the table while Frigga sat across from him, paging through a different book than the one she’d been reading last night. This one looked much older, its edges soft and worn and its pages yellow with age.

Not far off, a pair of ravens—Odin’s ravens, Huginn and Muninn—stood on a high, gilded platform planted at the patio’s edge, one that was built especially for them. They gobbled down their usual breakfast: bits of boiled egg, raw meat, nuts, and fruit. Ever sharp-eyed and watchful, they lifted their heads when Thor’s shadowy movements from within the palace caught their attention.

“Here comes the son,” said Huginn, and his subsequent chuckle sounded more like a croak.

“No,” rasped Munnin, bobbing her head merrily, “here comes the thunder!”

The two ravens cackled at their meteorological humor and Odin muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer for the preservation of his sanity.

Frigga looked up and smiled when Thor emerged onto the sun-drenched patio.

“Good morning, darling,” she said pleasantly. “How is Loki? I hope he was able to get some rest. It was rather stormy last night.” She flicked her eyebrows and tilted her head toward Odin. “Metaphorically and literally.”

Thor gave his mother an affectionate grin. “He is doing quite well. Hungry, naturally. I shall take some food back for him”—he gave his father a sidelong glance—“since he is not allowed to dine with us.”

“That’s a lovely idea, Thor. Be sure to bring him lots of protein.” Frigga lifted the book she held. The title read Know Thine Enemy: A Guide to Trolls, Thurs and Risi. “The propaganda in this thing is awful, but there appears to be some good information regarding diet and biology in the later chapters.”

“Mind the nuts, Thor.”

Frigga and Thor slowly turned to look at Odin, who was glowering blankly at the shrubbery over the rim of his teacup.

“That book focuses more on wood trolls,” he murmured. “They are the only species of jötnar that can eat nuts. Frost trolls cannot. If you give them to Loki, he will be sickened. Remind him of this before you take him into the forest. He’s probably never seen a nut in his life. His ignorance could kill him.”

Thor narrowed his eyes. On one hand he was disappointed that Odin had not changed his mind about allowing Loki to stay in the palace; on the other hand, however, he was astonished by the sudden concern for Loki’s well-being.

“That’s oddly considerate of you, Father,” he said.

“I don’t wish him ill, lad. I merely wish him gone. As soon as possible.”

Frigga sent Thor an expression that seemed to say I tried my best, darling before she closed the book and laid it in her lap. “Aren’t you forgetting something else, dear?”

“Something... oh. Yes, that. Hrmph.” Odin set down his teacup with a sigh. “Your mother has persuaded me to allow Loki to visit the city once a month. He is not to come into the palace, though. He is to remain outside. I know he is an exile of his race, but he is still a troll and I don’t want him skulking under the same roof where I conduct the affairs of this realm. Understood?”

“Yes, Father,” said Thor quietly.

“Good.” Odin made an awkward pause. “The cooks have set out a great deal of dried fish and venison. I suggest you avail yourself of it. Avoid the bread. Trolls have a low tolerance for wheat.”

Thor and Frigga shared an impressed look with one another.

“Thank you,” said Thor, almost smiling. “I will keep that in mind. I assume I shall see you again before we leave?”

“Your mother will see you off. I have more important matters to attend to this morning.”

Frigga rolled her eyes and picked up her own teacup. “Thor, darling, stop by the west garden before you leave. I have something I’d like to give Loki.”

“Of course. Thank you, Mother.” Thor gave her a respectful nod and turned to make his way to the kitchens. Odin’s quiet voice stopped him:

“And Thor.”

He turned. “Sir?”

Odin was hunched down in his seat grumpily. “They, ehm. They love honey. Just a measure of it will turn the foulest, meanest jötunn into a gentle kitten. You won’t find that in the book, but I assure you it’s quite true.”

This time when Thor glanced at Frigga, she looked both shocked and amused.

Well,” she declared, patting the Guide to Trolls, “perhaps it’s time to revise and update this archaic, ignorant book with some new material, yes? And what a stroke of luck, we happen to have an actual jötunn to advise us!”

Odin gave her a dubious, one-eyed glare. “Don’t get any grand ideas, Frigga.”

“It’s a little late for that, dear.”

Odin sighed. “That’s was I was afraid of… Thor, what the devil are you smiling about? Run along to the kitchens now, hurry. Before that troll thinks you’ve abandoned him and starts eating the furniture.”

With a broad grin on his face, Thor gave his mother a wink and disappeared into the palace.

Chapter Text

Thor stepped into his bedroom with a loaded tray in his hands. Loki was nowhere to be seen. “Hello?” he called to the seemingly empty room. “Loki?”

In the blink of an eye, Loki popped up from the center of the bed-nest like a rabbit from its hole. His eyes were gleaming. “I’m here.”

Thor lifted the tray. “Would his highness care for some breakfast?”

Loki answered by scrambling from the mound of pillows and blankets and planting himself on the mattress, legs folded beneath himself and tail flicking back and forth eagerly. Thor couldn’t help but be amused at his enthusiasm. He strode over and set the tray on the bed, then sat down across from Loki.

Loki stared down at the bounty with a look of utter rapture and reached out to grab a fistful of dried fish. He paused suddenly, remembering his manners, and lifted his face to Thor, his fingers curling with embarrassment.

“Oh, go ahead, please,” said Thor with an encouraging wave of his hand. “All this is yours. I helped myself on the way back.”

With a delighted shiver, Loki dove into his first Asgardian breakfast.

It was divine. He tried to control his zeal, but it had been so long since he’d had a decent meal that even things he normally didn’t care for—like raw tomatoes and cheese—tasted delicious. He demolished a cold leg of turkey, a bunch of grapes, a goblet of sweetened milk, and a small ham steak in a matter of minutes. He further surprised Thor by biting into the ring of bone that was left behind, crunching and grinding it between his teeth as easily as if it were a piece of candy.

Thor watched, truly impressed. He had been bitten by trolls before, though always through several protective layers—mercifully. The strength of jötunn jaws was legendary, and their bites had not only crushed the metal of Thor’s armor, but left terrible bruises in his flesh that took days to fade, even with special poultices.

As fearsome as this strength was, Thor was glad that Loki had inherited it, not only for the sake of his few and precious jötunn characteristics, but because it meant that at least he had some way of defending himself. He would need it when he went to live in the forest.

The happiness that Thor had been feeling was abruptly snuffed out like a flame from a candle.

Loki noticed the melancholy look come across his host’s face and he swallowed down the last of the four pickled eggs he’d been devouring.

“Is something the matter?” he asked gently.

Thor shook his head and sighed. “Father is still adamant about sending you to the wood. I had hoped he might change his mind. I don’t know how I shall look after you if I cannot be near you.”

A sullen silence fell between them for a few moments.

“Can you not come live with me?” asked Loki softly.

“If it were up to me, I would not hesitate,” Thor answered. “But I am the protector of this realm and many others, and I am bound by my duties. If the king calls me, I must be prepared to answer him at once.”

Loki wilted, his tail thumping lifelessly onto the mattress and his whole posture drooping with sadness.

“I’m so sorry, Loki. I feel as if I’ve already broken my promise to you.”

For a moment Loki sat still, his head bowed and his lips silent. Then he pushed the tray aside and crawled over to sit in front of Thor.

“When my father banished me to Midgard,” he said, “I had never even seen a forest. Pictures of them, yes, but never in real life. I was so frightened.”

He picked up his tail and began to fiddle with it, stroking the tip as if to soothe himself. Thor watched him, his heart aching.

“I don’t know how long I was there. Several months at least. Long enough to see the leaves fall from the trees and the first snowfall of winter. The days are so short there.” Loki smiled a little. “You can imagine what a shock it must have been for me, a naïve little troll who had spent his whole life inside his father’s mountain. I would have perished if you hadn’t saved me, but… I did manage to last all that time without you. I shall be able to do it again, I think, especially under your care.”

He reached out and laid his small blue hand on top of Thor’s large tan one.

“I hope I don’t sound ungrateful. Living in the forest, it isn’t so bad. It certainly can’t be as bad as what I came from. At least I shall have you watching over me, and if this realm is as fair and fruitful as you’ve said it is, then I should be fine.”

Thor stared into Loki’s hopeful, happy eyes and the heavy feeling in his chest began to disappear. He picked up Loki’s hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss onto the faint blue markings there.

Loki went stiff. “Wh-what is that? What are you doing? Are you… t-tasting me?”

Seeing the suspicion in Loki’s eyes, Thor smiled gently and petted his hand. Apparently the fear of being eaten was still very real to him. He began to wonder if the tales about cannibalism among trolls were true.

“No, Loki, it was a kiss,” he said. “It’s a gesture of affection. Nothing sinister, I assure you.” He paused before asking, “Do your people not show their affection this way?”

“No, it’s. Erm, it’s just that our jaws are fearsome weapons,” said Loki, blushing a little, “and our teeth—well, everyone’s but mine—are too large and sharp for making a, a kiss, as you call it. A troll showing affection with his mouth would be odd and dangerous.” He ducked his head bashfully. “But yours is very nice. Your lips are soft, and the little hairs on your face tickle, too.”

Thor smiled.

The indigo color on Loki’s face darkened. “I would… I’d like to get used to kiss.”

Now it was Thor’s turn to blush. He swallowed dryly and licked his lips. “Well, uh. Perhaps in time… if you want.” The question he had been meaning to ask finally found the opportunity to be addressed. “If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you, Loki?”

Loki sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as a guilty expression came over his face. In a voice barely above a whisper he said, “Twelve.”

Thor paled. “Wha—twelve?”

“I know, it’s shameful. Twelve times I’ve witnessed the journey of Blárdrek across the northern skies of Jötunheim, yet I look as if I’ve only seen half that,” said Loki mournfully. “I ought to be three times as large as this, with a magnificent set of horns and great big teeth, but…” He sighed and shook his head.

Thor frowned. “Blárdrek? You mean the comet, the one with the long blue tail?”

Loki nodded.

Thor was familiar with this stellar phenomenon. The Blue Dragon, known as Blárdrek or Blådrag, if he recalled correctly, passed through the star system shared by Niflheim and Jötunheim once every thirty-three years; which (Thor quickly did the calculations in his head) would mean that Loki was nearly 400 years old—396, to be exact, making him precisely a hundred years younger than Thor himself.

The relief that flooded through Thor at this moment was indescribable. His shoulders slumped and he heaved a huge breath.

“Is everything alright?” asked Loki worriedly.

“Yes. Yes, it’s. Everything is fine. No problem.” Thor smiled wanly. “We are almost the same age, you and I. Sometimes I forget that the people of the Nine each have their own way of reckoning age.”

“So I’ve heard. The Midgardians use single years, don’t they? Is that because they are so short-lived?”

“I’m not sure if it’s because their lifespans are so brief or if it’s just the easiest way for them to remember. In any case, it seems to work for them. Of all the Nine, they age the most rapidly.”

“Hm.” Loki nodded thoughtfully. “We jötnar use the stars to measure our ages. Is that not also how the Æsir do it?”

“It is, though we use different celestial bodies. On Asgard I am nearly twenty-one star cycles old, so you would be”—he scrunched up his face—“a little over sixteen, I think? You do look a bit younger, though. That is why I wanted to ask you outright. I would not want to be, um… untoward.”

Loki smiled shyly. “That’s very decent of you. I assure you I’m an adult in the eyes of my people. My father would not have banished me if there had been any hope of me growing into a normal troll. But after eleven, much of our growing is done.”

Thor gave Loki’s hand a squeeze. “Perhaps you will grow here in Asgard. You never know.”

“Perhaps.”

They gazed at one another for a few quiet, contented moments, then Thor reluctantly released Loki’s hand and stood from the bed.

“I have some things to gather,” he said, though he didn’t sound too eager about it. “Supplies, tools, clothing, anything you may need to see you through your first few days in the wood. I swear I will do all I can to make you as comfortable as possible, Loki.”

“I know you will.” Loki smiled sweetly and his tail coiled up into a tight spiral. “Thank you, Thor. As long as I am in your hands, I have no reason to fear anything.”

By the halls of Valhalla, Thor felt like his heart was glowing with the strength of a hundred suns. If he were to open up his chest, he had no doubt the light would blind every living thing within a mile radius. Never before had he felt such a deep-seated longing to make things right, to care for and nurture and protect, to love and to lavish another with all the good things he could provide. The fact that it was a frost troll who had had awoken these feelings in him didn’t even matter at all.

He smiled at Loki’s innocent face. “Then I shall return shortly. I, uh, I did bring you some honey, though I think you might have missed it.”

Loki’s wide-eyed expression told Thor that he had; he looked down at the mostly-empty tray beside him. “Honey? There is honey here?”

“Yes, in a little pot. I thought I saw it just a moment ago.”

Loki swept his hand over the remains of his breakfast, revealing a small jar that had been hidden beneath a napkin. He clutched it to his chest and looked up at Thor as if he were the patron saint of all trolls.

“I don’t understand,” he said breathlessly. “I didn’t think anyone outside our race knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That honey is more precious to trolls than gold and gems! It’s practically sacred. We use it for healing and all sorts of rituals: mating ceremonies, royal feasts, courtships, tokens of allegiance, everything! H-how in the worlds did you know?”

“I heard a rumor.” Thor grinned helplessly and shrugged. “Go on, enjoy it. There is plenty more where that came from.”

“You… you mean it?”

“Of course. Asgard is full of honey. There is no need to be stingy. Eat as much as you like.”

With shining eyes and a weak, giddy smile, Loki opened the jar and dipped his finger inside, coating it with golden, gooey goodness. When he stuck his finger into his mouth, there was no mistaking the resulting look on his face for anything but complete ecstasy.

“Oh. Ohhh my,” he groaned, his eyelids fluttering. “It’s so. I haven’t had honey since… oh, it’s incredible. Thank you, Thor!”

Thor’s eyebrows lifted up until they were somewhere around his hairline. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“You’re very welcome. I shall, uh. Leave you to enjoy it, then.”

While Loki swooned and salivated over this unexpected treat, Thor stepped into the closet and changed into his day clothes and boots, then slipped from the room to begin his palace-wide scavenger hunt.

He went to the armory first, grabbing two knapsacks from the supply room, then he visited each wing of the palace, going room by room and gathering provisions for their journey into the forest. He filled one of the sacks with basic necessities, such as dried meats and fruit, rope, knives, blankets, twine, a few small plates and bowls, and anything else he could think of. The other sack he filled with clothes and personal items: a hairbrush, some soap and oils, a little sewing kit—another thing for which Loki might have a talent, given his fingers were so slim and agile—and a few towels and cloths.

When he returned to his room over half an hour later, he found Loki draped over the edge of the bed in a happy stupor, his tail waving back and forth like a thin blue vine, his eyes glazed and dreamy.

“Thorrr, you’re back!” he sang, rolling over and pointing one of his tiny feet into the air. “That’s wonderful! You’re such a wonderful man. I’ve never met a wonderful man before. Or a man at all. Aren’t I lucky? The first man I meet and he’s wonnnderful!”

He hugged himself and giggled and rolled around on the bed.

Thor gawked at the transformation. All traces of the timid little troll he had rescued from Midgard were gone. Odin had been right; honey indeed rendered jötnar into docile, kittenish creatures. The knowledge of such a condition—some might even call it a weakness—could be used to terrible effect by their enemies, Thor thought. He wondered if his father had ever used honey as a weapon against his lifelong foes. He hoped not. It didn’t seem like a fair way to fight. If their reactions were anything like Loki’s, a honey-drunk troll would be totally helpless.

Thor set the satchels on the floor and walked over to the bed, gently moving Loki away from the edge so that he wouldn’t topple over. Loki was as limp as a cloth doll, arms and legs flopping, head lolling lazily. He was definitely relaxed—emotionally as well as physically. A less fretful version of himself. Thor hoped the effects wouldn’t last long. The morning was growing late and it would soon be time for them to leave.

“You liked the honey, I take it,” he said, and was surprised when Loki boldly climbed into his lap and hugged his neck.

“Every drop!” Loki chirped. “I’ve never had that much in my entire life. It was so good and sweet. Just like youuu…”

Thor felt his body temperature rise a few degrees. “Er, do you think you will be ready to leave in a little while?” he asked, placing his hands on Loki’s narrow waist to keep him from falling over. He seemed a little clumsy and uncoordinated. “Can you even walk in this state, or shall I carry you?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine. I’m wonderful,” Loki insisted, his words coming slow and slightly slurred. “And you’re wonderful, too. Everything is going to be wonderfully fine, I just know it.” He squeezed Thor and nuzzled the side of his head with his horns. “I can’t wait to see my new home. Can we leave now? I want to feel earth beneath my feet again. Soft, cool earth…”

Thor patted Loki’s back. “Yes, we can leave now, if you like. Everything is ready.”

Heyrahhh! Vidh adh farra!

“But first let me give you a cloak to wear. It’s bright out this morning and I don’t want you to get burned.”

“You’re so wonderful, Thor. You think of everything.”

“I try to.” Thor flashed Loki a smile. “Mother has something to give you, by the way. I’m not sure what it is, but she—”

“A present?”

“It could be. She told us to meet her in the west gardens before we set out.”

“Excellent! Let’s go!” Loki scrambled from Thor’s lap, accidentally jostling some of Thor’s more sensitive parts.

Thor grimaced and grunted, cupping himself. Gods, did that troll have some bony knees!

“Come on, hurry, we don’t want to keep her waiting,” Loki urged, grabbing Thor’s arm and trying to pull him to his feet. He was hilariously ineffectual. Like watching an over-excited rabbit trying to move a boulder.

Thor eventually recovered from his mauling and rose from the bed with a soft groan.

“Alright, alright, just let me find you a cloak and then we—” He laughed when Loki threw a towel around his shoulders and waved his tail. “No, I don’t think that will do. You need a proper cloak, something that will keep the sun off of you.” He touched the side of Loki’s head affectionately. “I don’t want my little snowflake to melt.”

Loki smiled in response and, ironically, the only thing in danger of truly melting was Thor’s heart.

Chapter Text

By the time Loki was safely cloaked and Thor ready with the two satchels of supplies, the morning had grown late and the sun was much higher, spilling its golden light onto the city. It was a little too bright and warm for Loki’s comfort; the sunlight had a sobering effect on his honey hangover, though that could be seen as a good thing since they were to be meeting the Allmother shortly.

Loki followed Thor out of the palace, squinting his sensitive eyes against the shocking glare of the outdoors. He walked in the shadows as much as he could, but the ground was warm beneath his bare feet and his cloak was just another layer of cloth that he wasn’t accustomed to wearing. It wasn’t long before a film of sweat was gleaming on his neck and forehead.

“Is it always this hot in Asgard?” he asked weakly, walking alongside Thor.

“Not really. As a whole, this realm is quite mild. It feels hotter in the city because there are fewer trees here.” He gazed at Loki sympathetically. “I will try to keep this meeting brief. The forest is much cooler and I’d like to get you there as soon as possible.”

“I appreciate that,” sighed Loki, wiping his wrist across his forehead.

It was a proven fact that all trolls disliked sunlight, and with the exception of the fire trolls of Muspelheim, they disliked the heat even more. Wood trolls preferred damp, chilly environments and were fearful of fire, but could tolerate a little warmth every now and then, especially for the sake of growing mushrooms, their favorite food.

Of all the species of jötnar, frost trolls were the ones most affected by the heat, and while sunlight wouldn’t exactly turn them to stone, it would singe and blister their skins after many hours of direct exposure and give them a gray, ashy appearance. By the time this happened it was usually too late to save them, and like all trolls who died in this manner, their bodies became stiff and rigid, joints locked and muscles frozen, never to move again. It is assumed that this was where the myth of trolls turning to stone originated, given the similarities between their corpses and actual rock. Death by sunlight was considered by all trolls to be the worst way to die, and only the most reprehensible, unforgivable crimes carried this method of execution as their punishment.

The west gardens were still partly shaded, thankfully, and that is where Thor and Loki found Frigga waiting for them. She was not alone; two men were with her, identical in height and build and handsomeness. Both were tall and fair of face, with heads of dark, wavy hair, though one wore his beard longer than the other and his eyes were cloudy white instead of hazel, like his twin’s. He was holding a thin wooden staff and talking amongst his company when he suddenly paused and inclined his head.

“Hello, Thor!” he called from across the wide courtyard, which made Frigga and the other man turn in surprise.

Thor smiled broadly and called back, “Hello, Hodur! Baldur, Mother. How fare you this morning?”

“We fare fair enough,” answered Hodur playfully, “but we are more interested in the little guest you brought back from Midgard yesterday. Do you carry him, or is he as soft-footed as a mouse?”

Loki gravitated to Thor’s side and held on to his cape nervously.

“He walks on his own, brother,” Thor replied. “You will meet him in a moment.” Under his breath he said, “Do not fear, Loki. Baldur and Hodur are good men.”

As they began to cross the courtyard, Loki whispered, “That man with the stick. Hodur. Can he not see me?”

“Hodur has been blind since birth,” said Thor. “But he sees more with his ears and his nose than we ever could.”

“Blind?” Loki was stunned. “He would not have lasted a day if he’d been born on Jötunheim. Defective newborns are all cast out. My father wants only the strongest jötnar to be in his kingdom.”

Thor was profoundly horrified, and his expression reflected it. However, he didn’t get a chance to respond to this awful news before they reached the others. He put on a strained smile and struck the thought from his mind, if only to keep his mother from worrying.

Frigga greeted Loki with the same warmth and affection as she had the first time they’d met, smiling down at him as if he were her own child. Hodur also looked pleased, his face kind and gentle and quick to smile. Loki instantly liked him. He wasn’t sure about Baldur, though; the man stared at him with a thoughtful frown and stroked his beard, his arms crossed over his chest. Both he and Hodur looked to be the same height as Thor, but Thor was much bigger and more heavily muscled—a warrior versus a nobleman, as they clearly were.

“We were all just discussing the little bit of bad weather we had last night,” said Hodur casually. “But I trust everything is alright this morning?”

“Not all is right,” said Thor, “but it’s getting better.”

“I wish I had been there,” Baldur muttered. “Perhaps I could have persuaded him to be a little more lenient.”

“I thank you for the thought, brother,” said Thor, clapping his hand on Baldur’s arm, “but I don’t think there was anything you could have done. You know how Father feels about trolls.”

“Aye, and outsiders in general. That is one of the first policies I plan to reform when I am king. Insularity is not very diplomatic.” He turned to Loki and placed his hand to his chest in apology. “Excuse me; I do not mean to speak as if you were absent. I am Baldur.”

“And I am Hodur.”

“On behalf of this family, I would like to apologize for the king’s ungracious manner towards you last night.”

“He is old and set in his ways,” said Hodur bluntly.

“Yes, and his ways are not a reflection of ours.” Baldur reached down and clasped Loki’s forearm. “We welcome you to Asgard, Loki of Jötunheim. We hope you will be happy for as long as you stay with us.”

Flattered beyond words, Loki nodded shyly and returned the curious gesture. Though his arm was much smaller than Baldur’s and they weren’t quite balanced, he seemed to answer the greeting correctly. Baldur grinned and Loki saw in his face the same honesty and friendliness he had seen in Thor’s, and was immediately reassured.

“Th-thank you, your highness,” he said once he’d found his tongue again. “Highnesses, I mean.”

“Well met, Loki,” Baldur replied. “Or do you prefer Prince Loki?”

“Er, just Loki, thank you.”

Baldur’s grin widened and he released Loki’s arm. “It’s been my experience that those most worthy of their titles seldom choose to use them. It is enchanting to meet one of those worthy individuals in person.”

Loki blushed to the tips of his horns and performed a clumsy but endearing bow, his tail curled into a shy loop. “That’s very kind of you, your highness.”

“Please, call me Baldur. We are all equals here.”

Thor and Frigga shared a wink with one another, pleased with how well the introductions were going.

“I couldn’t help noticing what a lovely voice you have, Loki,” said Hodur, leaning forward. “May I ask if you sing?”

“Me? Oh, no, I,” Loki stammered, “I’m afraid not. My voice is too… erm, and singing isn’t really… well, it’s very different where I come from.”

“I’m certain it is, and that’s what interests me,” said Hodur. “For years I’ve been building a collection of songs of all the peoples of the Nine—the dwarves of Nidavellir, the elves of Alfheim, the humans of Midgard. I've found there is something beautiful to be heard in the music of each of these realms, and I would very much like to hear the songs of Jötunheim someday, if you would be willing to share them.”

For a moment Loki was too surprised to say anything. Finally he managed to squeak, “Of course. It would be an honor.”

“Have care, Loki,” Thor warned. “Hodur here is the greatest composer in three realms. He will have you recruited into Asgard’s choir and royal orchestra before you know it.”

“I know talent when I hear it, little brother,” said Hodur, tapping his ear smugly. “How else do you think I can discern your thunder from natural thunder, hm? By smell?”

Baldur chuckled.

At that moment, Frigga happened to glance down at Loki and notice the dark blue flush on his normally cerulean-colored skin. She put a concerned hand on his shoulder.

“Oh dear. You’re overheating, aren’t you? And here we are, making idle talk.”

“I’m fine, your majesty,” said Loki, though his skin was prickling beneath his tunic and a drop of sweat ran down the side of his face. “Thor tells me it will be cooler in the forest. I ought to be alright once we get there.”

“Of course, we won’t delay you two any longer. Here, the main reason I wanted to see you before you left was to give you this.”

Loki watched as Frigga reached into an embroidered pouch on her girdle and withdrew a simple-looking necklace: a small, iridescent white orb strung onto a thin leather cord. Perhaps it was the light getting to Loki’s eyes, but he thought the orb radiated a faint glow. It almost looked like a tiny moon.

“This is what we call a månesten, or moon stone,” said Frigga, holding it up, “one of the many precious gems forged by our friend Ægir, the steward of the sea.”

“A moon stone,” Thor murmured, his voice full of amazement. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of such a charm myself. This should be a great help to him.”

Loki’s eyes darted back and forth between them. “What’s a moon stone? How can it help me?”

“Moon stones are a type of pearl that possess a special kind of magic,” said Frigga, reaching beneath Loki’s hood and slipping the necklace around his head. “They are natural talismans used to restore balance to places that need it. By wearing this stone, Loki, you will be protected from the full force of our sun, shielded from its light and its heat.”

Loki certainly believed it. The moment the necklace settled around his collar, the blinding brightness of the outdoors seemed to diminish and the worst of the heat faded. It was still very warm, but his skin no longer felt as if it were being pricked by a blanket of needles. He looked up at the Allmother with wonder.

“I can feel it working already!”

Frigga patted his cheek. “The power of the pearls works miracles, but they do not last forever, I’m afraid. All of them must eventually return to the sea, but this one shall help you acclimate to Asgard’s temperatures in the meantime. And if you ever need a new one, all you have to do is come to me.”

Loki touched the pearl at his throat. Even after lying against his hot skin, it was as cool as if it were still sitting at the bottom of the ocean.

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking first at Frigga and then at Thor, Baldur, Hodur. “All of you. You’re all so kind…”

“Ah, bless him,” murmured Hodur, for he could hear the tears coming several seconds before they filled Loki’s ruby-colored eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Thor stepped close and put his hand on his back to soothe him.

“You are all doing so much for me, an enemy of your realm and your people.” Loki sniffed, using the edge of his cloak to dry his eyes. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”

“You don’t have to,” said Baldur gently, “and you are not our enemy, Loki. We are simply trying to do what is right and good. I only wish we could do more.”

“If you did, I don’t think my eyes would ever dry out.” Loki raised his tear-stained face and smiled at the four Æsir standing around him, and promptly melted their hearts.

“We should go now, Loki,” said Thor softly, giving him a pat, “before the day grows any later. I hope to find you a place to live before nightfall.”

“Yes, that’s probably wise,” Loki agreed, wiping his wet nose. “How long of a walk is it to the forest?”

“Oh, hours,” said Thor, adjusting the packs on his back. “But we’re not walking. We’re flying.”

Loki’s eyes widened and he seemed to shrink inside his cloak. “F-flying? But I can’t fly! I’m a troll, it goes against my nature!”

Thor cocked an eyebrow. “And what nature is that?”

“The one which says the only thing trolls fear more than lightning is the sky from which it falls!”

Thor looked at Frigga questioningly and she nodded her confirmation. “He’s right. According to The Guide, trolls aren’t very fond of heights or being beneath the open sky.”

“But you said you lived in your father’s mountain,” said Thor, turning back to Loki. “Mountains are both high and surrounded by open sky.”

“Yes, but we live inside them, don’t you see?” said Loki desperately. “We aren’t like the goats that gallop all over the outer sides. Trolls are born underground, we live underground—long, sane, non-airborne lives underground—and we don’t like to venture to the world above without good reason. A flying troll, whoever heard of such a thing?”

At that precise moment, the bell of a nearby tower struck out its first loud peal, and Loki, despite his earlier insistence, flew quite literally into Thor’s arms.

“What is that!” he yelped, clinging to Thor’s chest, his eyes huge and terrified. “What was that awful sound! Was it a monst—”

BONNNG!

Frigga put her hands to her face. “Oh dear, I’ve read about this,” she fretted. “Thor, take Loki away from here at once! Trolls cannot stand the sound of bells—it will drive them completely mad!”

“What a curious phenomenon,” Hodur mused, tapping his lips thoughtfully. “I must research this. Perhaps I can find a cure or—”

Another toll sounded and Loki howled as if he were being stabbed with a red hot iron. He clapped his hands to his pointed ears and buried his face against Thor’s shoulder. Thor put one arm around him and hugged him close.

“I will bring him back in a month’s time,” he declared over Loki’s panicked shrieking. “You may all say your goodbyes then!”

He slipped Mjölnir from his belt and began to spin it by its strap. The great hammer whooped and hummed as it gained momentum.

BONNNG!

Just as another of Loki’s screams pierced the air, Thor leaped up and shot away into the sky, taking the scream with him. It gradually faded until only the sound of the ringing bell tower remained.

Baldur turned to his mother. “So, when are we adopting him?”

Frigga rolled her eyes and laughed. “You have three younger brothers already.”

“Yes, but we didn’t get to choose them,” Hodur complained. “We want Loki.”

“Then you must first work on changing your father’s mind,” said Frigga. “He is the king of this realm and the head of this family, and if we wish to make Loki a part of either, we must persuade him to see Loki as something other than his enemy.”

“You could put a spell on him, you know,” Hodur suggested with a wily smirk. “Your seidh is as powerful as his.”

“Yes, I could do that,” she admitted, “or I could simply let Loki enchant him by virtue of his innocence and kindness. I can change Odin’s mind, darlings, but I cannot change his heart. Loki can, however, and I believe in time he will.”

“Yes, but who knows how long that might take,” Baldur muttered. “Father has hated trolls longer than we have been alive. I don’t see him embracing a frost troll as his son anytime soon.”

“Or anytime at all,” added Hodur dourly.

Frigga stepped between her two eldest sons and put her arms around their strong shoulders. “There is no need to be depressed, you two. In a few weeks we shall all be reunited again, and in the meantime we can try to collect as much information from your father as we can. He may consider trolls his enemies, but he knows more about them than any non-jötunn in the Nine, and I say we use his knowledge to our advantage. We may not be allowed to bring Loki inside the palace, but we shall make him feel at home nevertheless. What do you say to this scheme? Are we in agreement?”

Baldur and Hodur grinned identical grins. “Aye!” they chimed.

Chapter Text

Loki stopped screaming when the cold air of the lower atmosphere blew back the hood of his cloak and cooled the sweat on his face. He opened his eyes and sucked in a startled gasp, locking his arms around Thor’s neck and his legs around Thor’s waist. Two hundred feet below them, the city of Asgard was a swiftly-moving blur of gray stone and brown roofs.

Thor grimaced and made a strained sound in his throat. “You—nghk—don’t have to hold on so tight. I have my arm around you. You’re not going anywhere.”

He gave Loki a reaffirming squeeze, and after realizing he was indeed secure, Loki loosened his stranglehold on Thor’s neck. His heart was still pounding with fear and he kept his face pressed to Thor’s shoulder, but at least his ears were no longer ringing in pain. He wondered what kind of monster had made that terrible sound back there. He’d never heard it before, nor did he care to hear it again; his head had felt as if it were being split open by an axe.

But now there was only the calm sound of the wind rushing past his ears and the gentle flap of his and Thor’s clothing. It was cool up here, peaceful and serene. The air passed through his damp, sweaty tunic and dried it out, and eventually the queasy feeling in his stomach began to fade.

Slowly he removed his arms from around Thor’s neck and forced himself to look downward. He was amazed, his eyes wide and the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.

“Still afraid of flying?” asked Thor.

“Not quite as much as before,” Loki replied with a nervous grin. “But I think I’ll always be afraid of falling.”

Thor smiled tenderly. “I will not let you fall, Loki.”

Powered by Mjölnir’s momentum, they flew northward over the city, the wind rustling their cloaks and tousling their hair. Soon the rooftops thinned and the land between the houses widened, pastures and orchards and grassy footpaths replacing the stone roads and huge bridges. It was as if Asgard itself was relaxing, changing into something more rustic and natural.

The houses became fewer the farther they went, until soon all signs of habitation disappeared and the landscape became lush and thick with forest. The topography changed subtly, becoming steeper and full of hills, deep gorges, and thundering falls. There were sprawling valleys and rocky ridges, sparkling blue lakes and wide rivers. Far ahead in the distance, emerging from the edge of the forest, rose a jagged gray range of snow-capped mountains.

Loki leaned out to marvel at it all, no longer concerned about falling. Thor watched him from the side with a fond look on his face.

“If you see something you like, let me know and I’ll take us down,” he said.

“I like all of it,” Loki answered, and he put his arms around Thor’s shoulders again, but not because he was frightened.

After a few minutes of leisurely flying, Loki pointed to a small clearing at the foothills of the mountains and asked if Thor could take them there. They descended and touched down lightly onto the grass. Thor stooped to release Loki from his grasp, and as the little troll finally stood on his own bare feet again, Thor was suddenly aware of how empty he felt without Loki’s weight and warmth pressed against his side.

“Is this where you would like to live?” he asked, watching as Loki explored the clearing, his tail poking out from beneath the hem of his cloak in a curious “S” shape.

“No, not really,” Loki answered, shading his eyes and looking around. “There’s too much sky and not enough cover. But it looked very pretty from above.” He paused, staring into the trees expectantly. “Is it safe to go in there?”

“Of course. Here, I’ll come with you.”

Loki grinned brightly and waited while Thor strode over to join him, then they entered the forest together.

The great northern wood of Asgard was a beautiful place, carpeted with grass and moss and clover, wildflowers blooming in patches of sunlight, birds singing and calling to one another from above, does striding cautiously between the trees with their fawns. There were springs and shallow brooks in abundance, ponds and pools full of fish and leaping toads, waterfalls tumbling down staircases of slippery stone.

“You were right,” said Loki reverently, his eyes gleaming as he took in all the natural beauty around him. “This is indeed a lovely realm, like a picture from a book of fairy tales.”

“Trolls like to read books?” said Thor.

Loki winced. “Not exactly. Aside from a few symbols and runes, we jötnar have no written language. The only books we have are the spoils collected from raids on other realms.”

“Ah.” Thor nodded. Trolls were known to be indiscriminate hoarders, placing the same value on common objects like buttons and marbles and glass bottles as they did on gold and jewels. They knew the value of money, but they seemed to treasure far humbler things. The usefulness of these trinkets didn’t seem to matter. Books were certainly useless to a people who couldn’t read or understand the language written in them, but if the trolls liked them, nothing was going to stop them from amassing a library of literature, even if just for show.

“I am not the best instructor,” said Thor, “but if you like, I could teach you to read.”

“Really?” said Loki, blinking with surprise. “You would do that? Could you do that? Is it even possible?”

“I certainly think so. What could it hurt to try?” Thor smiled. “It would mean I get to spend more time with you, after all.”

“Oh,” Loki murmured, blushing a little. He folded his hands together shyly. “Yes, that would be very… I, I would like that.”

Although the sight of Loki flushed and flustered was adorable beyond words, especially when his tail curled up tight like the furl of a fern, Thor liked him a little better when he was relaxed and comfortable.

“Are there any trolls who can read and write?” he asked, going back to their original subject.

“Hm, some,” said Loki, “but not many. Most don’t care to learn. They think it goes against tradition. We jötnar like to speak our stories. Every clan has its own loremaster, usually one of the elders. There’s nothing we like better than to gather together at night’s end and listen to tales and songs and riddles of the ancient days.”

“My own people like to do the same,” said Thor cheerfully. “Only we do it at the end of the day, usually around a fire.”

“Do you eat and drink while you listen to your loremaster?”

“Almost always. There is hardly an event on Asgard that doesn’t involve food of some kind. We Æsir like to eat.”

“So do the jötnar. Only I think we prefer drinking a little bit more.”

Thor laughed. “Your people are beginning to sound a lot like my people. Perhaps they are not so different after all.”

“Perhaps not,” Loki agreed, gazing up at Thor with his large, hopeful eyes.

For a long while they walked through the forest together, a troll and a thundergod, climbing over rocks and wading across streams, talking about their realms, their people, their different customs and foods and traditions, all while keeping their eyes open for a place that might make a good abode for Loki.

The day grew warmer and, at Thor’s suggestion, Loki took off his cloak and gave it to him for safekeeping. There was little need for extra cover beneath the pleasant shade of the trees. Loki could move much more easily now, dashing ahead of Thor and peeking into hollow logs, crouching down to smell flowers, chasing butterflies, and springing up rocky façades with the grace and stamina of a young goat.

Thor followed him as best as he was able, though he was not as agile as Loki and his boots were made for protection and not long distance travel. By mid-afternoon he was beginning to feel hot and weighed down when suddenly the trees thinned and they found themselves standing before a lovely little waterfall with a wide, deep pool at the bottom. The pool fed into a shallow stream that ran a winding path into the forest. It was as picturesque as could be.

Loki seemed to think so, too. He stood on the grass and stared up at the water crashing down over the rocky hill with a dreamy look his face. “It’s such a dangerous thing, yet it sounds so beautiful,” he murmured. “It’s almost as if the water is singing.”

Thor grunted as he unburdened himself of the satchels. He stood straight, his face red and glistening with sweat.

“It could be a nøkken,” he said as he unbuckled his protective leather vest and tossed it onto the ground. “According to legend, they like to live near waterfalls and play their enchanted music.”

Loki’s eyes widened and he took a few steps backward.

“But it is only a legend,” Thor added. “I’ve never seen or heard a nøkken in real life. But if there is one in that water, I doubt it will be a match for me.”

Loki stiffened with fear. “You… you’re not actually going to swim in there, are you?” He jabbed his finger toward the dark green pool.

“I’m certainly not going to drink it,” said Thor with a grin, then peeled off his sweaty undershirt.

Loki pressed his lips together and tried not to stare at Thor’s broad chest and toned, muscular abdomen. Or his bulging biceps. Or his powerful, veiny forearms. Or that curious trail of hair that began at his navel and disappeared into his trousers. What was at the end of it, he wondered?

“B-but what about eels and snakes?” Loki sputtered, coming back to reality. “What if there’s a great fish at the bottom waiting to swallow you? What if there’s a… a drain?”

The expression on Loki’s face said he would rather face a six-headed, flame-belching dragon than be confronted by another one of those awful drain creatures.

Thor took off his belt and chuckled. “There are no drains in the forest, Loki, and if anything slimy or scaly tries to eat me, then I’ll give it a mouthful of lightning.”

He began to pull off his boots, hopping from one foot to the other. “Why don’t you join me?” he asked, raising his head. “That is mountain water in those falls. It’s sure to be nice and cold.”

Loki’s tail went as straight as a pin. “Wha—j-join you? No, absolutely not, I don’t care how cold it is, I’ve never set foot into wild water before and I don’t intend…”

He lost the rest of his sentence when Thor turned aside and pulled down his trousers. Loki’s tail dropped limply onto the ground, his lips parting in awe.

Even the biggest, tallest, most conceited champions on Jötunheim would have had to admit that Thor Odinson was indeed admirable.

Loki stood gaping on the grassy shore while Thor waded into the pool, hissing as the water sloshed first around his knees, then his thighs, then his ample, beautiful buttocks. His taillessness didn’t even matter—he had the most gorgeous hindquarters Loki had ever seen. The moonstone around Loki’s neck glowed as its workload suddenly doubled.

“Alright, I’ll join you!” he blurted, fumbling with his belt. He whipped it off and pulled his tunic over his head, then bolted straight into the water, splashing and slapping and stumbling. He flung himself at Thor, who laughed and grasped his hands, threading their fingers together and pulling Loki toward him.

“Look at you!” he exclaimed happily. “Jumping into the water in spite of all the nøkker and snakes! Where did this sudden fearlessness come from?”

“I got hot,” said Loki seriously.

Thor grinned and walked backward across the bottom of the pool, taking them deeper. The water rose to Loki’s chest, then his neck, then his ears. Then his feet touched nothing and he began to struggle.

“It’s alright, don’t panic,” said Thor gently, squeezing Loki’s hands. The waves lapped against Thor’s throat and his long hair drifted in the water like strands of golden silk. “Relax. Let your body float. I’ve got you. Take a deep breath.”

Loki inhaled slowly and tried to calm himself. Thor was with him. Thor wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He hadn’t let Loki fall when they flew, and he wouldn’t let Loki drown now.

“That’s it,” Thor murmured encouragingly. “Just enjoy it. You are in no danger.”

He pulled Loki around in slow, easy circles, allowing him to get used to the feeling of being practically weightless. Then he instructed him to move his legs up and down, and soon Loki was able to power himself, the end of his tail poking up out of the water like a thin blue stick. He finally managed to smile after a few minutes of practicing.

“Am I swimming?” he asked hopefully.

“Not yet,” said Thor, “but I will teach you that, too.”

Loki let out a huff of laughter. “First flying, then reading, and now swimming. I’m going to be the most un-jötunn jötunn who ever lived! I won’t be scared of lightning or the open sky anymore, and the Thunder-bringer will be my friend.”

“He already is your friend, Loki,” said Thor. He lifted Loki’s wet hand to his lips and kissed it, his lips warm and his beard bristly.

Loki smiled and gazed into Thor’s eyes as if he were more beautiful and perfect than the moon over Jötunheim.

After a long, lingering grin, Thor turned and pulled Loki’s arms around his neck. “Want to go under the waterfall and check for nøkker? Perhaps if we catch one, he’ll teach us how to play his music.”

Loki wrapped his legs around Thor’s waist and clung to his broad, powerful back. “Nøkker are musicians?”

“That’s what the legends say. Perhaps that was their music you heard when we first arrived.”

“Oh.” Loki blinked and nibbled his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Well, if they make such beautiful music, how bad can they be?” He put on a brave face and pointed his small blue hand toward the waterfall. “Forward, Thunder-fish! To the nøkken’s lair!”

With a huge laugh, Thor did as his rider commanded.


They played in the pool for over an hour, snickering and splashing, exploring the waterfall (no nøkker, unfortunately) and talking at great length of water spirits and fish tales. Thor was instructing Loki how to float on his back—the first and most important part of swimming, he said—when Loki frowned and pointed to something at the left of the falls.

“Is that a hole?”

Thor squinted his eyes and tried to find it, but his eyesight, while sharp and clear, was not as keen as Loki’s. Loki insisted that there was some kind of opening in the rock up there and was desperate to take a look.

“It could be a tunnel to somewhere,” he said, his tail twitching excitedly. “Or even a cavern. Come on, Thor, let’s go and see what it is!”

Thor guided Loki back to shore and together they got partially dressed, then went to investigate. The rocky slope leading up was difficult to climb, but it was far enough from the waterfall that at least the stones were not slippery and damp.

Near the top of the falls, they came to a wide ledge and found the little triangular hole that Loki had spotted. Thor was too broad to enter, but Loki crawled in like a delighted mouse and disappeared from sight. The last thing Thor saw was the pointed end of his tail as it was swallowed by the darkness. He crouched down and peered inside the hole, squinting his eyes. He could see nothing; it was absolutely pitch-black. He could hear Loki shuffling and scraping and moving around inside. He sounded very far away.

“Loki,” he whispered. “Is everything alright? Can you see anything?”

There was no response. Worry began to simmer in Thor’s stomach.

“Loki? Loki!”

Suddenly Lok’s head popped out of the hole. Thor shouted and recoiled, thumping flat on his bottom.

“It’s perfect!” Loki cried, his pupils still dilated from being in the dark. “It’s deep and there are no bats or snakes, and the ground is dry and flat. I think there are more chambers in the back, but even if there aren’t, it’s a lovely cave, just the right size for one troll.”

Thor recovered from his fright and laughed to see Loki so happy. “So I take it you’ve found a home, then?”

“Oh, yes! Yes, this is exactly where I want to be. But”—Loki reached out and grasped Thor’s hand, his smile fading—“I want you to be able to fit inside. I don’t want you to have to sleep out here in the open when you come to visit me. I want us to—” He stopped himself and blushed indigo.

Thor curled his fingers around Loki’s small hand. “You want us to be able to sleep together, is that it?”

“Well, y-yes.” Loki lowered his gaze shyly. “That is how all jötnar sleep. Families share nests until the children take mates of their own. It’s how we bond and… that’s how it’s always been.” He blinked rapidly and sniffed. “But Blindi and Bý were taken away and given their own nest in a separate cavern far from mine. Father thought they were coddling me, and he wanted me to be strong, so he made me sleep alone.”

Thor’s heart was suddenly aching again. His thumb began to unconsciously rub the back of Loki’s hand. “How long ago was this?”

“Long. A long time ago, when I was still a jötling.” Loki raised his head and gave Thor a sad smile. “That’s what made last night so wonderful, Thor, for so many reasons. To sleep that close to someone again, it was… I can’t…”

Loki couldn’t finish. He swallowed roughly as the tears began to roll down his smooth blue cheeks.

For a moment Thor was too overwhelmed to react. Then he reached out and grasped Loki’s other hand and carefully pulled him from the hole and into his lap. He put his bare arms around him and hugged him close, closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of Loki against him once more.

Loki squeaked and returned the embrace with his whole body—even his tail, which wrapped around Thor’s waist like a living vine. He nuzzled his face against Thor’s neck, rubbing his horns against the side of his head and getting them tangled in his long, damp hair.

“I wish I had a family like yours, Thor,” he whispered. “Your brothers were not taken away from you for being kind and caring. You have a mother who loves you, and your father would not have cast you out if you’d been born small or blind.”

“Oh, Loki,” sighed Thor. He could feel the tears building in his own eyes. He reached up and stroked Loki’s damp black hair, petted the small curve of his horns.

“Perhaps someday you will be reunited with your brothers,” he said, his voice low and deep and rumbling—like thunder, only it didn’t cause Loki to tremble with fear. “But until that day, I want you to think of me as your family.”

Loki laughed through his tears and pulled back to look Thor in the eyes. “You volunteer to be my hairy, horn-less troll-brother, who teaches other trolls to fly and to swim and do other un-jötunn things?”

Thor nodded.

Loki shook his head in disbelief. “I would be delighted.”

Thor smiled, leaned forward, and placed a tender kiss onto Loki’s forehead. “So would I.”

Chapter Text

Since Loki wanted Thor to stay in the cave with him, the first thing that needed to be done was to make a proper doorway. Thor called Mjölnir to his hand and, with a few careful, well-aimed strikes, was able widen the mouth of the cave to a more accommodating size. Loki inspected the progress as Thor chipped away smaller pieces of rock with his hammer, fashioning a round entrance that was not very tall; the only people who would not have to stoop to enter would be elves or small children.

Loki asked him why he did this, and Thor replied, “It is a safeguard. If an attacker were trying to force his way in, he would have to lower his head to enter. Then you could easily cut it from his shoulders.”

Loki’s face paled to ashy blue.

“It—it is only a precaution,” said Thor gently, raising his hand. “I am a warrior. I cannot help but think of these things. I don’t believe you are in danger of being besieged out here, but it’s always wise to have a good defense.”

He turned to look out across the waterfall and over the clearing below, resting his hammer upon his shoulder and his boot upon the ledge. He narrowed his eyes and gazed long at the horizon, a sea of treetops and distant mountains.

“I want to make sure you are well protected, Loki,” he said. “I want to defend you and keep you safe from danger, and I will fight anything in this realm that threatens your peace. This I swear.”

Loki’s tail coiled around his ankle and he clasped his fidgeting hands together. The sight of Thor standing there, bare-chested and radiating an aura of strength and power, filled Loki with an overwhelming sense of assurance. He tried to remember the last time he felt so loved and protected.

It had been so very long ago.

Helblindi and Býleist had done all they could to shelter and sustain Loki before he had been wrenched from their arms. When Loki had been forced to eat the sludgy, bitter gruel that the apothecaries insisted would help him grow, Blindi and Bý carefully reserved portions of their own meals and stuffed their pockets, then snuck the scraps to Loki. It was perhaps the only thing that had prevented their little brother from wasting away when he was young.

And when Loki fell sick, as he often did when he was a jötling, Fárbauti would send the healers away, claiming that his weakling son would either die according to fate or survive and come out stronger for it. He had no idea that his other two sons were secretly watching over Loki in turns, giving him medicine and herbs and healing soups, snuggling up beside him to help him sleep, encouraging him, cheering him on, insisting that things will one day be better.

That day had unfortunately never come. Fárbauti had lost his patience and permanently separated Loki from his brothers, and later became harsh and abusive, his disgust at his insufficient progeny increasing to the point of cruelty. Loki’s last days on Jötunheim were miserable ones, full of despair and loneliness.

It had been decades since someone had last protected him and loved him. So long since he had felt a gentle touch or heard a kind word.

And then Thor Odinson had come into his life, the greatest troll-foe in all the Nine, and he had shown Loki more mercy and charity in just a few hours than Fárbauti had in all the years of Loki’s life. Perhaps that might explain the astonishing speed at which this seed of love was growing in Loki’s heart.

“This is good, high ground,” said Thor after a long and careful appraisal of their surroundings. “A secure position. Much can be seen from this point. I will feel confident leaving you here.” He turned and offered up a melancholy smile. “Not that I wish to leave you, Loki.”

Loki smiled back, grateful that he was under the care of such a thoughtful and powerful man… then his stomach suddenly let out a cantankerous growl. He cringed with embarrassment, but Thor laughed it off.

“I am hungry, too. It’s been a long time since breakfast. Come, let’s go down and get something to eat.” He held out his hand and Loki accepted it, though he wasn’t the one who needed help when it came to climbing down the steep, rocky slope.

“I suppose the next thing I need to do is carve a staircase,” Thor muttered after slipping for the third time and landing hard on his tailbone. He grimaced and rubbed his smarting bottom. “Even if I am the only one who uses it.”

“You would do well to take your boots off,” Loki suggested, lifting one small, agile blue foot and wiggling his toes. “Your feet can grip the rocks better.”

“But my feet are not as clever as yours, Master Troll,” said Thor with a grin, “nor do I have a tail to balance me.”

Loki smirked and gave his tail a proud little shake before scrambling the rest of the way down and landing lightly on his feet. He moved much easier since he had traded Thor’s childhood tunic for a simple sash tied around his waist, and he was certainly more comfortable. His tail stuck out between the folds, able to move freely and naturally. Though he was practically as naked as Thor had found him on Midgard, this light dress seemed to suit him. His thinness still made Thor’s heart ache—his lean, undernourished limbs and skinny chest, the bones that showed beneath his skin, his prominent ribs and his hips—but he would gain weight eventually, Thor knew. Soon he would be padded with a healthy layer of flesh again, and he’d be a plump, happy little jötunn. How nice it will be to embrace him and no longer feel the sharp angles and lightweightedness from his days of deprivation.

Thor abruptly slid down the last three feet of the slope and ripped the leg of his trousers on a sharp rock. Loki quirked his eyebrow at him.

“You could have flown down with your hammer and landed,” he said pointedly. “Why didn’t you? Now you’ve gone and torn your trow-sores.”

“Yes, I suppose I could have,” Thor admitted with a breathy laugh, “but it is more fun to crawl around with you.”

The corners of Loki’s mouth curled up sweetly and he extended his hand. Thor grasped it but didn’t really use it to pull himself up. He weighed thrice as much as Loki; he could pull his arm out of the socket or send him tumbling face-first into his chest, and that would not be good at all. Those horns might be small, but they were sure to hurt with enough force.

Hand-in-hand, they walked into the clearing. Loki picked out a shady place on the grass beneath the trees, and Thor brought over the satchel he had filled with food. They sat together and ate a late lunch of ham and apples, bread and cheese, and filled their cups with the clear, cold water from the falls. Loki didn’t care much for the bread—Thor recalled what Odin had said regarding trolls and their intolerance of wheat—but he happily partook of everything else. He got his first taste of blackberry jam, and his tail stuck out straight and shivered with delight.

“It’s so good,” he exclaimed, which made Thor chuckle. “It’s sweet like honey but yet it’s… oh, what’s the word? Like ‘sour’, but not unpleasant. Tárt is the word we use, but—”

“Tart?” Thor repeated. “We use that word as well. It is a sharp taste, like the kind berries have.”

“Yes, exactly!” cried Loki. He trembled with excitement. “Tart! This blakk-berry jamb is tart and sweet and I love it. Is it common in Asgard, like honey?”

“There are many kinds of jams and jellies,” said Thor. “I will be happy to introduce them all to you.”

“Really?” Loki said, his elfin ears twitching. “How many? Dozens? Scores?”

“Probably hundreds. Strawberry, grape, plum, currant, there are more than I could name.”

Loki’s red eyes sparkled. “I want to try every single one!”

“Then I will make sure you get every opportunity,” said Thor with a wink.

Loki grinned toothily and licked the last traces of jam from his hand, his little blue tongue darting out from between his lips to clean his fingers. He looked rather feline. Thor wondered if troll tongues were rough like a cat’s or smooth and slick, if they ever used them for anything other than eating.

That opened the door to some rather interesting notions Thor had not yet considered.

While Loki cheerfully crunched into an apple, Thor wondered how trolls made love, if it was quick and purposeful, like how animals mated, or if they took their time and tried to please each other. He wondered if Loki had ever known the touch of another jötunn. How was sex accomplished among their single-gender species? Each troll needed to have both parts in order to reproduce, which meant that, aside from what Thor had already seen and recognized as a masculine organ, there had to be another thing between Loki’s legs, a special place, probably not unlike what Æsir women had. A soft, subtle cradle of power and mystery, where seed went in and new life came out.

Thor felt a sudden pang of shame. Imagining the shape and layout of Loki’s intimate biology was none of his business; his responsibility was to help him get well and healthy again, to be caring and nurturing, to show him familial love—a love he had been denied and desperately needed right now.

Loki glanced up and met Thor’s gaze, giving him a shy smile as he munched his apple. Thor smiled back and his heart filled with more affection than he had ever felt toward another person before. He had barely known Loki for a full day, and already he was as dear to him as his own family.

By the time they finished eating and Thor packed the leftovers away in the satchel, Loki’s eyelids were drooping and he began to look very sleepy. He kept yawning and sighing, and he seemed to grow more lethargic with each passing moment.

“Are you alright, Loki?” asked Thor, touching his shoulder.

“Yes, I’m just a little tired.” Loki rubbed his eyes and squinted at the sunny clearing beyond the shade. “I’m not used to being awake at this time of day. We trolls are night-folk.”

Thor patted him. “Rest here, then. I will continue to clear out the cave.”

“But it isn’t fair for you to do all the work by yourself.”

“Don’t worry. It pleases me to help you, so let me help you.” Thor smiled and rubbed Loki’s shoulder. “Rest now. I can handle this.”

“Well… alright, if you insist. Thank you, Thor.” Loki sighed again, his body sagging. “I only need a short nap. Just a few minutes…”

“It is no trouble, Loki. Sleep for as long as you need. Here, allow me.”

Loki waited while Thor fetched his cape and spread it onto a soft, shady patch of grass. It had barely settled before Loki was crawling onto it, turning in circles a few times before finally dropping down on his side. He curled up into a comfortable bundle with the end of his tail tucked under his chin.

“Hmm, it smells like you,” he murmured, burrowing into the thick red fabric and closing his eyes. “Big and strong. Safe… so good…”

In a matter of seconds his breath was coming slowly and evenly. He was fast asleep.

Thor gazed down at him, a small blue troll lying on his huge red cape, and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over Loki’s forehead, tucking it behind one of his horns. A sweeter, more innocent image he had never seen.

He rose to his feet and made his way back to the falls, mounted the cliff, and resumed his toil. The cave was indeed perfect, as Loki had said. It was cool and dark and dry, an adequate environment for a nocturnal, warm-natured being. It had a low ceiling and a smooth, level floor, and it only needed a few structural alterations—the removal of a few stalagmites, perhaps some windows knocked out of the front face to allow for fresh air, and a few shelves or niches carved into the walls would be nice…

Thor was so preoccupied with his destructive construction that the hours slipped by without his notice. When he emerged from the cave with the last load of rubble, he was surprised to discover that the sky was filled with the rosy, amber hues of sunset. He wondered if Loki had woken yet.

He walked out onto the cliff and peered down, and went completely still. He slowly lowered himself onto one knee, a smile growing on his face.

Down below, Loki was sprawled on his cape, still sound asleep. He wasn’t alone, though; there was a small circle of wild animals gathered around him—a doe and her two speckled fawns, three or four rabbits, a family of chipmunks, a quartet of squirrels, a gathering of various birds in the branches overhead, and one brave hedgehog that was snuffling at Loki’s small blue toes. They were undoubtedly curious about this new creature in their forest and wanted to investigate it. One of the fawns crept forward and smelled Loki’s horns, his hair, then gave his forehead a cautious lick.

Loki stirred and batted open his eyes, then let out a yelp of terror. The animals exploded, crashing into each other as they scattered in all directions, racing back to the safety of the forest.

Thor stifled a laugh with his hand and continued to watch, interested in what would happen next.

Loki sat up with a disheartened face and looked in the direction the animals had fled. “I’m sorry,” he called softly, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. You can come back. I won’t hurt you.”

He sat still and waited, staring into the trees. The hedgehog was the first to peek out from behind a rock. After a few twitches of its snout, it began trundling in Loki’s direction.

“That’s it,” said Loki, smiling and holding out his hand. “I don’t want to run you out of your own forest. This is your home, too. It’s very nice. I’m looking for a new home myself. Maybe we can share?”

A chipmunk scuttled out from between the roots of a tree, followed by one of the fawns. One by one, the animals emerged from their hiding places and crept toward this strange new creature, their eyes keen and bodies ready to bolt at the slightest sign of threat.

The hedgehog arrived first, scurrying onto Thor’s cape and sniffing Loki’s knee, its little nose wiggling up and down.

Loki was enchanted. “Oh, my. Halló, líttil frindur,” he murmured, smiling. “Ég veist eki hvadh thú art. Ert thú medh naffen? Ég heiti Loki.”1

The animals perked their ears up at the strange but gentle sounds this stranger was making and moved a little closer. The rabbits, not to be outdone by the chipmunks, were the next to arrive. They hopped to edge of the cape and began to pad around it, sniffing the fabric.

Loki extended his hand and let one of the rabbits smell him, its pink nostrils fluttering. “Serdhu? Allt er gott. Ég munn eki meidha thig.2

He touched the rabbit’s head with his fingertips, petting it delicately. It recoiled at first, but when nothing bad followed, it relaxed and permitted the caresses.

This seemed to embolden the rest of the animals; they came forward and resumed their close-up investigation of Loki’s person, staring and sniffing, licking and poking with their noses. Loki squeaked and tittered as the doe began to wash his face with her tongue, and the hedgehog, perhaps feeling neglected, clambered up Loki’s leg and waddled its way into his lap. Loki gave it a careful brush with his hand, stroking its bristles. The hedgehog grunted and stretched out its skinny little legs, basking in the attention.

Thor looked on with amazement. The woodland creatures of Asgard were known to be bold and curious, but he had never witnessed anything like this before. This was their first ever encounter with a troll, and they had no idea what Loki was or just how fearsome trolls could be.

Unless trolls were not naturally fearsome. Thor realized he had only ever seen jötnar during battles or raids, when they were at their most aggressive and defensive. He had never seen them in peaceful times, when they tended to the needs of their families or listened to their loremaster tell stories or slept in their nests. Perhaps they were really a gentle, trustworthy folk who lived in harmony with nature. Perhaps they were just like Loki.

If that were true, Thor never wanted to go to war against the jötnar ever again. Surely there was a way their people could coexist with one another, he thought. Surely there might one day be peace between Jötunheim and Asgard.

There came the sound of flapping wings and a familiar caw, and Thor turned around. Huginn and Muninn alighted on a nearby rock pile and folded their wings onto their backs.

Thor’s mouth turned into a grim line. He knew why they had come.

“How’s it going, Thunderprince?” said Huginn cheerfully. “I see you’ve lost your shirt again. Trying to impress someone, are we?” He winked and let out a croaky chuckle.

Thor didn’t answer; he gazed sullenly at the cave door and the two new windows he had carved. Normally he enjoyed jesting with his father’s feathered friends, but he was suddenly too depressed to even speak. Huginn noticed and cleared his throat with an awkward, raspy sound.

Muninn hopped over to the edge of the cliff and peered down. “Awww, look, Hugi, the little troll is making friends,” she said, ruffling her feathers. “He’s so cute. Is he a baby? I’ve never seen one that small before.”

“He is grown,” Thor murmured, “he’s just small for his age.”

“Ah, poor little guy,” Huginn clucked, sailing down to stand beside Muninn. “I feel sorry for him. Is that why you spared his life? Because he’s puny?”

“I spared his life because he wasn’t a threat,” said Thor sharply, and gestured down toward the clearing. “Look at him. In ten minutes he has tamed a dozen wild animals. Not even Mother could do that, and you know how she is with all living creatures.”

“Ah, yes,” Huginn agreed. “The legendary love of the Allmother.”

“But it’s not only the animals,” said Thor. “Loki is one of a kind. He is compassionate and intelligent and humorous, the most charming person you could ever meet.”

“He certainly seems to have charmed you,” said Muninn, cocking her head in amusement. “Are you falling in love with him?”

Thor’s face turned bright red. “N-no,” he mumbled.

“Oh, boy,” Huginn cackled, “Odin’s favorite son, in love with a jötunn! That would give your Oldfather a heart attack for sure.”

“I’m not his favorite son and I’m not in love,” Thor snapped. “I care about Loki and I want him to be happy. That is all.”

“You care about him and want him to be happy,” echoed Muninn. “That means you love him.”

“No, it—well, yes, I suppose, but it’s not—”

“I know, I know. Different type of love, I understand.”

Silence fell between Thor and the two ravens as they watched the heartwarming scene below, Loki sitting on Thor’s cape and petting the heads of the little fawns, talking to them softly in trollspeak.

“Your father wants to know if you’ll be home for dinner,” said Huginn at last. He sounded reluctant. “What should we tell him?”

“You already know what to tell him.” Thor rose from his crouch and went back to the cave, picked up his hammer. “I will return home sometime tomorrow, but I cannot leave Loki out here alone on his first night. I will not.”

Muninn sighed. “Somehow I knew that’s what you were going to say.” She spread her wings. “Alright, Hugi, come on. We’ve been flying all day and I’m ready to go home.”

“I know. Me, too. Well… take care of yourself, Thor,” said Huginn, preparing for flight. “I mean, I know you can take care of yourself. Take care of that little troll is what I really mean.”

“Yes,” added Muninn, “and shower him with your love.”

“He’ll bloom like a little blue frost-flower.”

“If frost-flowers had horns.”

“And big red eyes.”

“And sweet, charming dispositions.”

Thor swatted his arm at the two snickering ravens and tried hard not to smile. “Get out of here, both of you. I’d rather break rocks in silence than listen to your gibbering tongues.”

Still laughing, Huginn and Muninn took to the air and were gone with a flapping of their sleek black wings.

Chapter Text

Once Huginn and Muninn disappeared from sight, Thor took a deep breath and decided to go down and check on Loki. Perhaps he would be ready to inspect the progress on the cave, offer a few suggestions, make requests. He wanted Loki’s approval before going any further; there was still much to be done before the cave was truly home-worthy. If Loki found everything to his liking, he could begin moving in immediately. Even though nighttime was hardly a reason to stop work, especially for a nocturnal jötunn, Thor at least wanted to have Loki somewhat settled before it was completely dark.

He climbed down the steep, rocky slope and crossed the clearing as stealthily as he could, hoping that his presence wouldn’t cause Loki’s merry menagerie to flee. His hopes were in vain, however; the animals snapped to attention when they spotted him coming their way. A second later they turned and scattered—all, that is, except for the hedgehog, who didn’t seem to care one way or another that a large, heavy apex-predator was approaching. It was basking in the lap of luxury—a troll lap, specifically—and nothing short of a wildfire could compel it to abandon its post.

Mildly alarmed by the sudden loss of his guests, Loki turned to see what had scared them off and smiled when he recognized Thor. His tail rose up and began to curl cheerfully back and forth.

Thor was so mesmerized by the way Loki lit up that he stumbled over a clump of grass and barely even noticed. Or cared. The only thing he was aware of was how much he adored this little frost troll.

“I see you’ve been making a few friends,” he said, crouching behind Loki and peering over his shoulder. The hedgehog was snugly cradled between Loki’s thighs, lying on its back with its long, skinny legs stuck into the air, half asleep and enjoying the gentle caresses of Loki’s fingers.

“One or two, perhaps,” said Loki with a grin. “This spiny little creature is adorable. What do you call it?”

Thor sat down with a grunt and stretched out his legs, framing Loki between them. “That is a hedgehog.”

“Hedge-hog,” Loki repeated. “A little hog that lives in bushes? A shrub-swine?”

Thor’s laughter was deep and warm, and Loki felt the vibrations against his back even though they weren’t touching.

“I think they are kin to shrews, actually. I don’t know why we call them hedgehogs. It seems a bit silly, doesn’t it?”

“Not really. They do look a little piggish. Maybe it’s their noses.” He scratched the hedgehog’s furry chin.

Thor gazed fondly at the side of Loki’s face, watching him pet the small animal and smile down at it with wonder.

“Most of the other creatures were shy, but this one was very tame,” said Loki, stroking the soft fur on its underside. “I like its little belly-button.” He patted the pink nub in the center of its stomach.

Thor covered his mouth with his fist, trying to keep a straight face. “That is his penis.”

Loki froze. Thor could almost feel the heat radiating from Loki’s face, and he pressed his hand tighter against his lips, trying to stifle his laughter.

“Oh. Dear, I,” Loki stammered, “I didn’t know that was a—oh my.” And then he put his hand over his eyes and grimaced with embarrassment. “I have been fondling this poor thing for the last ten minutes. No wonder he likes me so much.”

Thor couldn’t hold it in anymore; he broke into a round of rich, deep-bellied guffaws.

Grinning despite himself, Loki politely turned the hedgehog right-side up again and set him onto the grass, then gave him a gentle nudge. “Alright, prickle-pig, I think that’s enough petting for one day. Off you go now, shoo shoo. I’m sure your mate is wondering where you are.”

The hedgehog gave Thor a disgruntled glare—as if the loud, obnoxious man-beast were the cause of all his worldly troubles—and scuttled over to a nearby tree, finding a sheltered place among its roots to sulk.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was jealous,” Thor chuckled.

“Jealous? Of who?”

“Of me. Everything was fine until I came over and stole all the attention. He is probably cursing me in his little hedgehog language right now.”

Loki smiled and bit his lower lip. Thor’s breath was falling on his ear, tickling it slightly. It felt nice—very nice. His tail shivered and he leaned a little closer.

“Hedgehoggish? I wonder what that sounds like,” he said idly.

“Probably a lot of grunting and grubbing, I imagine. How would one say that in the jötunn language?”

“What, grubbing?”

“No, hedgehog.”

Loki pursed his lips, thinking. “Well, we don’t have hedges on Jötunheim, so I suppose brodgöldur would be the best translation.”

“Broad… gelder.”

Brod,” said Loki gently, rolling the R. “Göldur.”

“Brrrodd,” Thor recited, “geldoor.”

Brod. Göldur. Brodgöldur.”

Brodgöldur.”

Loki nodded proudly. “Frábær!”

“Fro-buh-what?”

Loki laughed and looked over his shoulder at Thor. “I was saying ‘very good’. Nothing to do with hedgepigs. Erm, hedgehogs.”

Thor stared into Loki’s bright, happy eyes and a flood of inexpressible feelings rushed into his heart, filling it with warmth and gladness. The words were spilling from his mouth before he even had a chance to think about them: “Teach me your language.”

Loki’s smile fell. “Wh-what?”

“Your language. Trollspeak. Jötnin. I want to learn it.” When Loki said nothing after a few moments, Thor began to worry. “Is… that alright?”

“Well, I.” Loki blinked rapidly, confused. “I mean, yes, of course, but. May I ask why?”

Thor didn’t have an answer right away. He had to search for it, frowning and sighing while he plumbed the depths of his heart.

“I suppose I feel that I am crowding you with all these new experiences,” he began slowly. “Flying, reading, swimming. Things uncommon to your people. I am not trying to… to un-make you, Loki. De-troll you, turn you into an Æsir or anything else.” Thor laid a gentle hand on Loki’s knee. “I like you the way you are. I think you are wonderful and I want to know more about you and your culture, your people, your ways. I want to be able to speak to you in your own tongue and… say things that are important and meaningful.”

Loki’s heart skipped a beat when he felt Thor’s large, warm hand slide down to touch his ankle, the one which still bore the marks of the rope that had snared him.

“To start, how does one say he is sorry?”

Loki licked his lips. “Fyrír giffdhu.”

“Fff—fear-ear gifdu.”

“Yes.” Loki smiled. “To which I say, samthyki. I accept. Af öllu mínu hjarta, ég samthykki.”1

Thor let out a breath and grinned, a look of amazement on his face. He didn’t know which was more beautiful—the jötnin words coming from Loki’s mouth or the meaning behind them. All he knew was that he loved the sound of them and wanted to hear more.

He took up Loki’s hand and kissed his knuckles, and twined their fingers together, pink against blue. “And how does one say thank you in jötnin?”

Loki turned cobalt and shyly ducked his head. “Thaka thér.

“Thocka thee-air,” repeated Thor haltingly, trying to roll the R. His tongue felt clumsy and the phrase didn’t sound half as lovely as when Loki spoke it. But he would try to get it right.

“Thaka thér, Loki. For forgiving me, and for teaching me your words.”

Thadh var ekert, Thor. You’re welcome.”

Thor squeezed Loki’s hand, and for a few moments no further words were spoken between them. At least not with the tongue. Then Thor smiled and that seemed to pull them out of the trance they had fallen into.

“I have reached a good stopping point,” he said. “Uh, with the cave, I mean. Would you care to inspect it? I’d like to know what you think of it.”

“Of course.” Loki tilted his head to one side. “Though I must warn you, after my time on Midgard, I’m not very picky when it comes to living arrangements.”

Thor grinned. “Then I hope this makes you feel utterly spoiled.”

He stood and helped Loki to his feet, and they walked across the clearing, their hands still clasped together. They parted reluctantly to mount the cliff. Loki hopped onto the rocks and crawled up as nimbly as a lizard while Thor lagged behind, searching for footholds. Loki paused halfway up and looked down at him, his tail curling into an inquisitive S shape.

“Should I wait?” he called over the rush of the waterfall.

“No, you go ahead,” said Thor, waving his hand and wincing at his own clumsiness. “I will be there soon enough.”

Loki scampered up the cliff and pulled himself over the ledge. He noticed the renovations made to the exterior—one round little porthole window on either side of the entrance—and instantly liked them. How thoughtful it was of Thor to include something so quaint and practical. It made the cave look very welcoming.

Loki wandered inside and let out a soft gasp. Though it was almost totally dark, his keen eyes could see the extent of all the work Thor had put into it. The floor was cleared of stalagmites and snags and other irregularities; now it was smooth and safe for bare feet. There were long shelves carved into the far wall—rough-hewn, not the most level, but they were charming and functional and would hold many things, like dishes and pots and—

Loki pressed a hand to his chest as he realized:

Books. Lots of books. Books that Thor was going to teach him to read. Loki could see it as clearly as if he were already happening: the two of them sitting together under that window there, Loki curled up in Thor’s lap and holding a book, not just looking at the pictures in it, but reading what was written on the pages. Reading. What power he would have. The things he would learn!

Bubbling with excitement now, Loki continued his exploration of the cave. There were several chambers beyond the main cavern that could be used as rooms or storage pantries. Perhaps they could even be turned into tunnels that would open onto the other side of the ridge. A true troll-warren.

In one of these larger chambers there was a natural hollow in the floor, ovoid in shape and about hip-deep if Loki were to stand in it. He could see where Thor had knocked away the jagged edges and polished the sides until they were smooth and round. It would make a perfect and permanent sleeping nest. Thor must have been aware of that when he had been working on it. There was no other explanation for this level of careful craftsmanship.

Loki’s heart swelled at the thought of Thor crouched in this hollow, pounding away with his hammer, building the frame of a nest that they would sometimes share together. It was—

A rush of heat flared through Loki’s body, causing the moonstone around his neck glow.

It was exactly the thing a courting jötunn would do for his beloved. Thor had no idea—how could he? These were special rites and secrets known only to trolls—but to Loki it was completely obvious. His mind reeled as his hindsight suddenly became crystal-clear:

The nest-building, the food-sharing, the giving of gifts—especially the honey earlier that day. The hand-holding, the embracing, the kind words and oaths of protection. The home-making. Even the intimate conversations. These were all ancient traditions, jötunn love overtures, things that Loki had given up on ever experiencing for himself. After all, what troll in his right mind would want him for a mate? He was ugly and hairy, thin and frail-looking, and entirely too small. Loki doubted he would be able to sire any children, much less carry them. The mere act of having sex, one of the greatest pleasures in life as far as the jötnar were concerned, would be a terrible hardship, perhaps even physically impossible; even the smallest trolls on Jötunheim were girthsome and lengthy. Even if Loki’s wish came true and he did manage to conceive, how in the Nine would his little belly accommodate a normal-sized litter of normal-sized babies? How would he birth them?

It was only a dream, Loki knew. A home, a mate, a family. Any jötnar who looked at him did so with pity or contempt in their eyes, sometimes even outright disgust, and their gazes never lingered long.

But Thor’s did. Thor looked at him as if he were beautiful, and it made Loki feel as if he actually was beautiful. He knew that he wasn’t, nor would he ever be, but something about Thor gave him hope. Hope that if an Æsir could find him attractive, so might one of his own people, someone who cared more about what was on the inside rather than the outside. This wonderful, imaginary troll didn’t have to be handsome or wealthy or even that smart; as long as he loved Loki, nothing else really mattered. They would be wed and mated and live in a nice cavern together, probably not as nice as this one, so spacious and comfortable and idyllic, but they could be happy. As long as there was love, everything would be—

“Well?”

Loki started and turned. Thor was standing in the passageway, his face illuminated by the ball of softly-crackling lightning he held in his hand. He smiled with half of his mouth, the blue shadows settling into the handsome contours of his face.

“What do you think? I know it’s not really fit for a prince, but—”

“No, it’s lovely.” Loki folded his hands together at the base of his throat. “It’s perfect. Better than any of the caves and caverns in Útgard, and they are beyond number.”

Thor released a breathy laugh and lowered his head. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating, but thank you.”

Loki took a few steps forward, until he stood within the circle of light. It made the tears in his eyes shimmer and sparkle like jewels. “I’m not exaggerating. I love it. And I love”—his voice caught, he swallowed dryly—“l-love that you did this for me. Out of the kindness of your heart. I’ve never…”

Thor smiled tenderly and the ball of light in his hand suddenly magnified to a blinding intensity, filling the entire chamber. Loki squeaked and turned away, shielding his eyes with his arm. Thor cursed and clapped his other hand over the ball, forcing it back down to its original size.

“Sorry, sorry, forgive me,” he uttered. “I’ve only just learned to illuminate and I’m still learning how to control it. I am… not sure why that happened. I hope you are not blinded.”

“I’m alright,” said Loki, lowering his arm and blinking away the spots. “Your light doesn’t feel the same as the sun’s. It’s warm, but it doesn’t hurt me.”

“That is unusual. Perhaps the moonstone is responsible?”

Loki touched the pearl that hung around his neck. He knew this protective talisman had had nothing to do with the innocuous nature of Thor’s light. Thor had sworn to never harm him. That was why it hadn’t hurt, Loki was sure of it.

It might not be true, but it was a lovely thought.

“Well,” said Thor, looking around at the empty chamber, “shall we begin to fill this hollow? Make it into a home?”

Loki’s tail shivered at the implication. He knew what Thor meant, of course—bringing in the two satchels and unloading their contents, getting a makeshift nest assembled, perhaps putting together a light meal, that sort of thing—but he couldn’t deny how truly romantic this felt.

He would not tell Thor. He couldn’t. What could be gained if Thor knew he was inadvertently performing jötunn courting behaviors? Nothing. In fact, he would probably find it embarrassing and distasteful, being part of this ridiculous charade, indulging the silly domestic fantasies of a troll.

No, this must remain Loki’s secret, his happy little fairy tale dream—for now and possibly ever.

He forced a smile onto his face and flicked his tail. “Yes, let’s.”


Thor’s empty chair at the dinner table was somehow louder and more noticeable than when he was actually present. He and Baldur were often the ones who dominated the dinner conversation, talking of inter-realm politics and war and diplomacy (or the lack of it), and the latest petitions coming to Asgard from the people of the Nine. Hodur, Frigga, and Baldur’s wife Nann liked to discuss the arts and sciences, academia, and anecdotes of a lighthearted nature, and Váli and Vídarr, the youngest members of the family, interjected with blood-soaked comments about their latest hunting expeditions or long-distance hiking trips.

They were twins, Váli and Vídarr, seventeen by Asgard’s reckoning, blond-haired and blue-eyed like the older brother they worshiped. Of all Odin’s sons, they were perhaps the closest to nature, rustic and wild in their dress and manner, devout followers of the old ways venerated by Grandfather Borr, who was as great a hero in their eyes as their own father. Like many adolescent boys, Váli and Vídarr were adventurous and enthusiastic about their interests, which included horsemanship, hunting, sports, and loud, heavy music. They thrived on tales of gore and glory, epic quests for treasure, and violent battles with fearsome beasts. They were sorely disappointed when they returned from their four-day camping trip and learned they had missed Thor’s return from Midgard, especially since he’d come back with a real, live frost troll in his keep.

“And he actually brought it into the palace?” asked Váli with a wide grin. He was eating his dinner with his hands again, and he had mutton sauce smeared on his cheek and all over the front of his tunic. It didn’t look as if he or Vídarr had bothered to wash before coming to dinner, either.

“I bet you screamed Thor to pieces, didn’t you, Father?” said Vídarr, gleeful at the thought of family drama that for once didn’t involve him or Váli.

“Elbows off the table, Vídarr,” said Frigga flatly. “And no, there was no screaming whatsoever. Thor brought Loki to us as soon as he could, and except for a few remarks from your father, the conversation was quite civil.”

“There is nothing civil where trolls are concerned,” Odin muttered into his goblet.

The twins buzzed with excitement. “Wow, so it could talk? Did it know our language? What did it look like? You said it had a name? Loki? What does that mean? Did Thor give it that name?”

He already had a name and title,” said Baldur, glaring across the table. “He is Prince Loki of Jötunheim, Fárbauti’s son, who came here seeking—oh, for goodness—Váli, wipe your chin. You’re not living among wolves anymore.”

Vídarr’s eyes widened while his twin obediently wiped his face—using the edge of the tablecloth. “Whoa, the son of a troll-king!”

“That is so awesome!” Váli exclaimed. “A big ugly troll prince! I bet he’s vile!”

“Eight feet tall and covered in warts!”

“With toenails like bear claws!”

“How many skulls has he crushed? Did he carry a belt made out of human skin?”

“I bet he’s a huge, scaly, stinking beast with dragon’s breath. That would be fantastic!”

“And the flesh of his enemies rotting between his teeth!”

“And mushrooms growing in his armpits!”

Hodur abruptly dropped his forkful of sautéed mushrooms. “Váli, I swear to Ymir…”

But the twins had already worked themselves into a froth. Their chairs could barely contain them, they were so brimming with energy.

“When can we meet him, this fearsome Loki of Jötunheim?” Vídarr asked, forgetting about keeping his elbows off the table as he leaned eagerly toward his father.

“Is he dangerous?” said Váli. “Should we arm ourselves? Is Thor the only one who can control him?”

Odin set down his goblet and gave his two youngest a long, serious look. “That troll,” he said slowly, “is the greatest fiend I have ever seen. He is completely out of control. Lethal. Insane with rage.” He bent his hand into a claw and gestured to his face. “Blood-red eyes that burn into your soul. Foaming at the mouth. Teeth like needles. Claws like daggers, a tail that could spear a man like a fish. Do not let your guard down around him for a single moment. He will tear the flesh from your bones like bark from a tree.”

Váli and Vídarr were nothing but two pairs of unblinking eyeballs and a matched set of gaping mouths. It was difficult to tell if they were more frightened or fascinated. Frigga covered her grin with her napkin and coughed to disguise her laughter. Baldur and Hodur were similarly trying to hide their amusement. Only Odin was capable of keeping his expression neutral.

“You have a month to prepare yourselves for this meeting,” he said ominously. “I suggest you plan for every eventuality. There is no such thing as being too cautious, especially when it comes to trolls... isn’t that right, Frigga?”

Frigga cleared her throat and smiled politely. “Yes, of course. Loki is very surprising, never to be underestimated. I doubt there is any troll like him in all the Nine. You will be utterly shocked when you see him, of this I have no doubt.”

Váli and Vídarr looked at each other and crowed with triumph, clasping their hands together and raising their fists into the air.

“Yeaaah, finally!” they cheered and began to talk over one another like a pair of chattering squirrels. “V and V Odinson, face to face with a frost troll!”

“I’m gonna feed him a live goat!”

I’m gonna put a saddle on him and see how fast he can go!”

“Vál! Vál! We should totally put him in a pit-fight against a bilgesnipe! Do you think Thor would let us?”

“Oh man, he’d have to! That would be so wicked!”

Hodur smiled and put his hand on his twin’s shoulder. “Baldur,” he said quietly, “I am counting on you to describe their faces to me when they meet Loki.”

“Trust me, brother,” said Baldur, leaning close, “I wouldn’t let you miss out on something that hilarious for all the gold in Nidavellir.”

Chapter Text

Night fell in the forest of Asgard. The stars and auroras that had been muted by sunlight during the day now shone brightly against the darkened sky, glowing in an ever-changing multitude of colors: greens and blues and purples, a twinkle of red, a glitter of gold.

Loki sat on the ledge just outside the cave, Thor close beside him, and stared up at the sky, his eyes wide and sparkling.

“I have spent most of my life underground,” he said softly, “living beneath stone and earth and ice, unaware that this terrible sky could hold so much beauty and wonder.” He shook his head, mesmerized by the faraway novae and nebulae. “Never have I seen anything so marvelous.”

“Nor have I,” said Thor, gazing at the side of Loki’s face. The starlight glowed silver on his blue skin, bringing out the delicate markings on his cheeks and forehead, shining faintly on his horns and in his inky black hair. Thor was unable to take his eyes off him.

Loki turned and his smile dropped when he realized Thor had been speaking about him. His cheeks flushed cobalt and he lowered his eyes, his tail curling into corkscrew.

“You keep saying such nice things to me,” he said, his hands tangling together anxiously in his lap. “Why? Do you… want something from me?”

“What? Of course not. I’m only speaking the truth, Loki. I think you are amazing.” Thor reached out and untangled Loki’s hands, holding them gently in his own.

They were so big, Loki thought, biting his lip and staring down at them. So powerful. Thor could close his fists and break every bone in his hands if he wanted. But he wouldn’t. Thor was gentle. He was merciful, he was kind. He was astonishingly handsome, even if he wasn’t jötunn. He was too good to be true. In fact, this whole situation seemed impossibly wonderful. Loki found himself wondering why would anyone treat him so well without expecting anything in return.

Perhaps he did expect something in return and simply hadn’t said anything yet. These sweet odes and soft touches were surely no coincidence.

He carefully slipped his hands out of Thor’s and put some space between them, keeping his eyes downward.

Thor frowned. “What’s wrong? Have I offended you?”

Loki shook his head. “No, it’s. I’m just, er… thinking we really ought to finish the nest. You must be tired after working so hard, and you’ll need a place to sleep tonight.”

“Actually, I’m wide awake. I don’t know where this energy is coming from. I suppose it will catch up with me eventually.” He gave Loki a warm smile. “But you’re right, we’ve admired the sky long enough. We should finish what we’ve started.”

They stood together and returned to the cave, making their way into the back chamber where the nest was currently being assembled. Earlier that evening they had unpacked the supplies from the two satchels and arranged everything neatly in the cave, then they had taken the empty bags and gone to find nest materials to fill the smooth, stony depression in the floor. The few blankets that Thor had brought would not be enough.

A trip into the forest yielded them what they needed, and soon they had stuffed the satchels with fresh green leaves and long grasses that grew beside the river.

“Every troll nest is different,” Loki explained as he and Thor had dumped their findings into the hollow, “but the basic construction is all the same: there is a thick pad at the bottom and lots of curved pillows around the sides, and loose pillows are kept in the center, to be arranged by the occupants. They’re usually stuffed with animal hair and feathers, dried grasses, anything soft, really.”

“Well, it looks like we’re off to a good start,” said Thor with a cheerful smirk.

Now returned from their stargazing break, there were only small adjustments to be made before the nest was fully complete.

They crouched at the edge of the hollow, smoothing the lumps out of the grassy, leafy mattress, packing it all down, and covering it with blankets. For the finishing touch, Thor unfurled his cape on top of the bed, almost covering it completely, like a huge red sheet. It looked very comfortable.

He smiled up at Loki. “This should get us by for now. We will have something more permanent in the future.”

Loki blushed and lowered his eyes.

As if Thor building a nest with him wasn’t already enough of a courting gesture, his repeated use of “us” and “we” seemed to solidify the permanence of his dedication. He would make an Æsir a very happy mate one day, Loki thought, and was surprised by the sudden wave of despair that washed over him.

Thor’s smile faded. “What’s wrong? You look sad. Is it the nest? Did I make a mistake?”

“No, no,” Loki fibbed. “I was, em, thinking about building a night-nest sometime. Yes, a night-nest would be good.”

Thor looked down at the comfy bed in the floor. “Is this not a night-nest?”

“We jötnar sleep during the day, if you’ll remember,” said Loki gently, “so this is actually what we call a day-nest.”

“Oh.” Thor nodded to himself. “So what is a night-nest?”

“Well, by appearance, it’s similar to a day-nest, only a little bigger. It’s where trolls lounge and nap during the night, or entertain friends.”

Loki crouched down on all fours and crept into the nest, his tail high in the air, looking very much like a cat. He began to turn in circles, seeking out a comfortable position. Thor watched, enchanted, until at last he lay down on his side and tucked his tail around his folded legs.

“But this is the most important type of nest,” said Loki with a grateful look. “Night-nests are a luxury. Sleeping nests are a necessity.” He patted the spot beside him in invitation.

Thor bent down to pull off his boots before climbing in. He moved slowly and carefully, not wanting to create furrows in the nest’s leafy layers. “Are there any other types of nests?” he asked, stretching out on his side and propping his head up with his hand.

Loki’s tail curled into a shy coil. “Well, there are sleeping nests, like this one, where families sleep together. There are night-nests for visiting with non-family members. There are sick nests—small, usually just big enough for one troll, and he will stay there until he’s well enough to join the family nest again. Then there are the, erm”—he licked his lips nervously—“love nests, for having sex. These are separate from the family nests, unless it’s a newly-mated couple just starting out.”

“Ah.” Thor grinned faintly. “So the love nest comes first, then a family nest is built for when jötlings are expected?”

Loki’s blush deepened. “Y-yes. But babies are born in brood nests, and they remain there for the first few months until they are big enough to sleep safely with the family.”

Thor’s face softened and grew melancholy. “Do you think you’ll ever have a family of your own someday, Loki?”

Loki’s gaze drifted to the side, focusing on something far away. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t seem very likely. I don’t even know if my belly works. Nothing else about me seems to work.” He pulled his lips into a thin line. “Perhaps it’s for the best that I never have babies. They would surely be runts.”

“Would you love them any less if they were?”

Loki’s eyes shined like rubies. “No. I would love them no matter what size they were, even if they were born without horns or tails. Even if they had hair. Even if they looked like…”

“Æsir?”

“I was going to say ‘elves’, but yes, if they looked like Æsir, I would still love them. They would be beautiful to me because they were mine.”

Thor smiled fondly.

“Do you have a mate, Thor?” Loki blurted, and his eyes widened as soon as the words left his lips. He put his hand over his mouth, horrified.

“Me? No, no mate yet,” said Thor with a nervous laugh. “I am unwed and unattached. Baldur, though, he’s married. The only Odinson thus far…”

An awkward lull fell. The moonstone around Loki’s neck was glowing as brightly as an actual moon. He bit his lip and squirmed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that… well, if you did have a mate, I didn’t want to keep you from him—or her. You’ve spent so much time with me already and I’m sure you must have other things you’d like to do besides look after a weak, ignorant little tr—”

“Loki.”

He reluctantly raised his eyes to Thor’s.

Thor was staring at him determinedly. “You are one of the most important things in my life right now. You are my responsibility. I swore an oath to protect you, and protect you I shall.”

Loki pressed his lips together tightly and gulped. He didn’t want to speak his next words, but he simply couldn’t bear it any longer. He had to know. “How can I repay all that you’ve done for me?”

“There is no need for that, Loki. I do this willingly.”

“But”—Loki frowned, unable to believe that someone would go through this amount of trouble—for him, a defective, pathetic excuse of a jötunn—and have absolutely nothing to show for it—“surely you must want compensation, something to make it worth your while…”

“I don’t.”

Loki was utterly bewildered. He blinked rapidly, his mind trying to comprehend this level of graciousness. “Then why? Why are you doing this? Why do you even care?”

Thor smiled, but his gaze remained serious and steady. “Because it’s the right thing to do. It’s what family would do. I did not speak lightly when I said I wanted you to think of me as your brethren. I meant every word of it.”

Loki could only stare, his lip quivering and his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

After a brief silence, Thor reached out and combed his fingers through Loki’s fine black hair, tucking a few stray locks behind his little horn.

“I’m no replacement for Helblindi and Býleist,” said Thor, “but I will do my best in their stead. Why don’t you tell me more about them? What do they look like? What are your best-loved memories of them?”

The tension and strife left Loki’s face as he thought of his littermates, and Thor knew his tactic had worked.

“Well,” began Loki haltingly, “Blindi is the bigger of the two and his skin is very light, even lighter than mine. When he was born he was so pale that it was said he could blind Hel herself. He has been called Helblindi ever since, and now I hear he is such a fearsome warrior that he could blind Hel with his maul instead of his skin.

“Now Býleist, he was called Rólgurd when he was born, until one night when Father caught him playing in the beehives high up on the mountainside. Bees hate trolls and sting them every chance they get, but for some reason they weren’t stinging my brother. Everyone in Útgard thought him a bee-charmer, and his name was changed to Býleist, the Bee-Tamer…”

Thor grinned as Loki spoke at length about his brothers, how they cared for him when their father was being mean and neglectful, the games they used to play together (when they were allowed to play, of course), the songs they would sing, the stories they would tell. These were the happy moments of Loki’s life, ones that had given him hope and courage all those years ago and now made him smile fondly at their recollection.

Thor hoped there would be more moments like these in Loki’s future. In fact, he would make certain of it.


The following two weeks were busy ones. Thor visited Loki daily, except for when there were matters on Midgard that called him away. He would typically arrive in the late afternoon and stay through the night, during Loki’s waking hours. It was inconvenient at times, but Thor wanted Loki to get a normal rhythm established as soon as possible, and if that meant keeping odd hours at home for a little while, well, that wasn’t too much to ask.

It also drove Váli and Vídarr insane with curiosity.

They knew their brother was going out to take care of “his” troll, but because of Thor’s unpredictable schedule, the only chance they had to speak with him was at dinner. Odin, however, had made it abundantly clear that the family were not going to be discussing trolls at the dinner table every single evening for the next thousand years, so the twins were forced to hunt Thor down whenever they knew he was at home. They would bounce at his heels like eager pups, begging him to tell them more about Loki.

“Baldur said he was smaller than most trolls. How much smaller?”

“Does he have big horns? What about teeth? Could you make a dagger out of one?”

“How much can he lift? Can he throw boulders?”

“What’s he like? Is he mean? Have you tamed him yet?”

“What does he eat? How much does he eat every day? Two goats? Three? Does he swallow them whole or chew them first?”

Thor took great pleasure in being deliberately vague with his answers. “You will meet him soon enough,” he would always say. “Just wait.”

But patience was not a virtue that Váli or Vídarr possessed. They would groan and moan and pester Thor with even more questions, some with unintentionally hilarious results.

“Have you mounted him yet?” Vídarr asked one day, and Thor’s ears had gone as red as his cape. “What kind of saddle would work best? Do you think he’d break easily? How fast do you think he can go? Would it be a rough ride or a—”

Thor had promptly thrown his brothers out of his room and continued packing his satchel in peace.

He typically brought more provisions whenever he came to visit Loki—a blanket or pillow, a broom, a bucket, a rug, anything that Loki requested—but most of the supplies consisted of food: dried meats, eggs, fruits, herbs and spices, and the occasional sweet. Thor knew that teaching Loki to provide for himself was his chiefest priority, and while Thor was no fool when it came to roughing it, his knowledge was small compared to Váli’s and Vídarr’s. They were the true experts.

The twins had been deliriously happy to share their survival tactics and woodsy know-how with their older brother, supplying him with fishing hooks and snares and ropes, rambling about medicinal herbs and trees and finding one’s way without the aid of stars or sun. They assumed Thor was simply taking care of his new pet out in the wilderness. They had no idea he was actually bringing this information back to Loki and teaching him to do all these things on his own.

Thor taught Loki how to catch fish using both hook and net, but Loki proved to be naturally adept with his hands. He could stalk a fish while crouched on the riverbank and then dart forward and snatch it, wriggling and writhing, from the water. 

It was all very sweet and amusing until Loki actually began to eat the fish, tearing into its belly and pulling out its entrails with his teeth and slurping them down like noodles, blood and gore and scales on his cheeks, smacking his lips noisily as he ate.

It reminded Thor that regardless of his size or mild-mannered personality, Loki was still a jötunn and possessed jötunn instincts.

It made Thor feel strangely proud for some reason. His cute, vicious little snowflake, he thought wistfully. It was reassuring to know that Loki had grit and guts—aside from the kind that were smeared all over his face.

In addition to fishing, Thor showed Loki how to gather berries, forage for mushrooms, grub for worms and snails—Loki loved snails, he would eat them whole, shells and all—how to identify and avoid tree nuts, and how to build a basic snare.

“Like the one you caught me with?” Loki asked, waving his tail back and forth mischievously.

“Yes,” Thor chuckled, “very similar, only this one is smaller, for rabbits and squirrels and—”

Loki’s face drained to lilac-blue. “I could never!” he cried. “The rabbits and squirrels are my friends! They trust me! They let me pet them and hold their little ones! How can you even suggest I kill and eat them? It’s monstrous!”

Thor calmed Loki down and reassured him that he didn’t have to add any of his furry little friends to his diet. The following day, Thor brought over an extra large ration of dried beef and salt pork from the palace kitchens. It would keep for quite a while in the cool recesses of the cave, he said, and at least Loki wouldn’t be forced to live on fish and frog caviar for the next month.

Loki had been very appreciative, and nuzzled Thor’s cheek in thanks.

Vicious little snowflake, indeed.


Loki typically slept from midmorning until the early evening, when the sun grew low and the shadows began to lengthen. Thor liked to arrive just before sunset and quietly enter the cave, tiptoeing through the dark and casting a dim glow from his hand so he could gaze upon Loki, curled up in his big nest and sound asleep. Oftentimes he looked so small and lonely that Thor couldn’t bear it; he would slip off his boots, remove his armor, and carefully crawl into the nest, settling against Loki’s back or side, and wait for him to wake up.

Occasionally Thor dozed off listening to Loki’s soft breaths and gentle snoring, which sounded like a sleeping kitten’s mews. He would be woken again by Loki snuggling tight against him, pressing into his chest as if unconsciously seeking out his heartbeat. Then he would go still again, his tail tucked between his folded legs or held in his hands. It was a sight so sweet and innocent that it made Thor’s heart ache, and he couldn’t resist placing a kiss on Loki’s head.

This particular visit, however, came after a full day of no contact. There had been business in Midgard yesterday that required Thor’s attention: farmers asking a blessing for new land they had received; warriors praying for protection in escaping from their enemies; a few weddings where his name was invoked on behalf of the couple’s future children.

Huginn and Muninn brought him the news while he was at home, and he had left promptly to fulfill his duties. He had been the protector of the humans’ realm for a few hundred years now—a relatively short time in the life of an Æsir—and he was gradually beginning to hear their voices in his heart, their prayers and petitions, their unspoken wishes. He still relied on Heimdall, Odin, and the ravens to deliver most of the mortals’ requests, but soon enough he would be able to sense their words as quickly and clearly as they were spoken.

As soon as he returned to Asgard and got changed into something less formal, Thor had flown to the forest to see Loki. The sun had not yet sunk and he was looking forward to curling up and napping with him for a little while.

But when Thor stepped into the cave, he discovered that Loki was already awake, sitting in the comfy pillow-chair in the frontmost chamber. He looked as if he had been up all day. His eyes were purple-rimmed and puffy, his face anxious. The healthy glow he had gained in his two weeks of living on Asgard was gone, replaced with a dull, ashy blue pallor.

Thor crossed the room in two strides and kneeled down in front of him. “Loki, are you alright? What’s the matter? Are you ill?”

Loki rolled his lips inward and said nothing; he held out his fist and slowly opened it.

On his palm was a single tooth, sharp and small and white.

“It had been hurting the last few days,” he began in a watery voice, “but I thought it was because of all the dried meat I’ve been eating this week. Then yesterday it got so loose that it just… popped out.”

He pulled his lips back in a grimace, and Thor recoiled.

Loki’s right fang was missing.

“My other tooth feels loose, too,” he choked, starting to cry. “My whole mouth hurts. My teeth are all going to fall out and I’m going to starve!”

He fell forward and buried his face against Thor’s chest. Thor folded his arms around Loki and tried to quiet his sobs.

“You’re not going to starve, Loki, I will not let that happen. I will… I’ll chew your food for you if I have to.”

Loki cringed and moaned, “That’s the kindest, most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”

Thor smiled and pulled away so he could tilt Loki’s chin up. “Here, open your mouth. Let me have a look.”

Loki opened his mouth wide and Thor lowered his head, peering inside. Loki’s teeth were indeed small, he realized. Almost childlike.

“Have you ever lost your teeth before, Loki?”

“When I was a jötling, yes,” he answered awkwardly, trying to keep his mouth open. “We lose our baby teeth and then grow our adult set. I’ve already lost mine, so this is not normal.”

Thor squinted his eyes and carefully used his smallest finger to inspect Loki’s new gap. “Are you certain of that?” He poked at the tender flesh that had been exposed. He thought he could feel something sharp and pointy beneath, like perhaps a—

Loki squeaked in pain and reflexively bit down, and Thor, who was more surprised than hurt, barked and jerked his hand back. Loki was pulled forward, the legendary strength of jötunn jaws coming into play; he collided with Thor’s shoulder, Thor felt a small pop, and then Loki began to wail.

Both of them were bleeding now—Thor from his lacerated finger, Loki from his nose.

They looked at each other and then began to simultaneously pour out their apologies.

“I’m so sorry, Loki, I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

“Oh, Thor, your finger!”

“I hope I didn’t break your nose—”

“You’re going to need stitches! I’ve ripped it open!”

“It was my fault. I am such an oaf. Forgive me, Loki—”

“I’m so ashamed of myself!”

Thor tried to wipe away the small rill of blood trickling down Loki’s lip, but Loki turned his head to the side, refusing his help.

“No, yours is worse,” he insisted, and picked up Thor’s wounded hand. “Let me fix it.”

Thor stared, stunned, as Loki pulled the torn finger into his mouth and began to suck away the blood. He could feel Loki’s warm, slightly-rough tongue lapping at the cut, his mouth contracting as he swallowed.

It made every hair on Thor’s body rise.

Trolls were blood-drinkers, he knew, and Loki was evidently no exception. No wonder he had jumped at the opportunity. He probably hadn’t had any fresh blood in quite some time. Perhaps it was a crucial part of the jötunn diet. It might even be the reason Loki’s teeth were falling out. If that were the case...

Thor shifted his weight a little, watching Loki tend to him. “You can open the wound a little more, if you like. I heal quickly. It doesn’t hurt that much.”

Loki pulled his mouth free and looked at Thor as if he were mad. “Why in the Nine would I want to make it any worse? I’m trying to heal it.”

“You… you are?”

“Of course. This is basic jötunn medicine. We lick our wounds before treating them. It helps the blood clot faster and stop bleeding.”

“It does?” Thor was impressed. He could have used this knowledge when he was battling the fire trolls on Vanaheim several years ago. All he would have had to do was ask his enemies to spit on him. And they would have, he imagined. Gladly.

“Yes. I mean”—Loki paused to lick Thor’s oozing cut—“we drink blood, but not each other’s. Not as food.” He lifted his head. “Your blood tastes very good, though. Much sweeter than jötunn blood. I can almost see why…”

“See why what?”

Loki hunched down under the weight of his shame. “Why trolls consider Æsir blood a delicacy. It’s not because you’re our enemies. It’s because you… taste delicious.”

Thor was quiet for a long while. Then he laughed and said, “Well, I’m glad your people consider us good for something, even if it’s just a beverage.”

Loki smiled, his tail wagging happily over his shoulder. His missing tooth gave him a very sweet, childlike appearance.

“Don’t worry, Loki,” said Thor, reaching out and finally wiping the blood from Loki’s upper lip. It left a blue smudge on his thumb. “I don’t think you’re destined to remain toothless. Before you bit me—”

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s alright. Like I said, it was my fault. But before that happened, I thought I felt something in the hole where your tooth had been. I think there might be another tooth coming in behind it.”

Loki’s eyes widened. “Really?” He started inspecting his gap with his little blue tongue. “I ‘oo feel a li’l fumfing…”

Thor picked up the lost fang—it had fallen onto the floor during the unintended melee—and studied it for a moment. “Perhaps we ought to offer this to the fairies. Their gifts are almost always helpful.”

Loki gave him a suspicious look. “Are you… you’re really serious? Fairies? The creatures whom unbelievable tales are named after? The tiny little people who fly around and tend flowers and cause all sorts of mischief?”

“They can be mischievous,” admitted Thor, “but if you treat them with respect, they are quite beneficial. They already know and like me—I am responsible for bringing them to Asgard, after all—and you’re very nice so I’m sure they’ll—”

Loki held up his hand. “Wait, I. I’m afraid I’ve missed something. You what? You brought fairies to this realm? How?”

“It’s an interesting story,” said Thor with a shrug and a grin, “and it’s all thanks to Heimdall, really. Come, let’s take a walk in the woods. I’ll tell you all about it.”

Chapter Text

“In the beginning, there were only fairies in Niflheim,” Thor explained as they walked through the shady, sunset forest. “Legend has it they came into being when light first touched the mist, and so they were called spirit-lights or sprites. They were very small then, almost invisible to the naked eye…”

Loki padded along at Thor’s side, careful to keep his bare feet out of the way of Thor’s heavy boots.

Thor spoke of how he couldn’t wait until he was old enough to begin traveling to the other worlds by himself. He was still young, ten by Asgard’s reckoning, when he finally earned that privilege. Under the watchful eye of Heimdall, he was allowed to explore the realms for an hour at a time. Then, if he proved himself responsible, he would be allowed on longer and longer excursions.

“I was always bringing things back,” said Thor with a grin. “Fire-flowers from Muspelheim for my mother. For Hodur, a sample of the singing waters from Alfheim. For Baldur, the white apples of Vanaheim. But sometimes in my childish ignorance I brought back things that were dangerous to Asgard…”

He told Loki of the many times he unwittingly returned home with souvenirs that Heimdall had been forced to confiscate. He had a very clear memory of sitting on the dais of the Gate Chamber with Heimdall, who had removed his helm and set his sword aside to gently explain to Thor that the handful of baby rabbits he had taken from Midgard would not do well in the Golden Realm.

“Their lives are much shorter than those of Asgardian rabbits,” he said, holding three of the squirming kits in his large hands. “As a result, they breed much faster and would soon overtake the natural population—that is if they do not first starve to death. The plants of Asgard are not the same as what they are used to. Some might even be poisonous to them.”

Little Thor was understandably dejected. He loved showering his friends and family with gifts from the other worlds—regardless of how many times they had visited those worlds themselves. This was all new to him and he wanted them to be a part of his experience.

It was a well-meaning gesture, the mistake of an innocent child. Heimdall had understood that and given Thor an encouraging smile, then placed the tiny rabbits back into the prince’s hands.

“Do not despair, Thor. I am sure little Valí and Vídarr will be happy enough listening to you tell of your adventures in Midgard and of all the animals you encountered. But for now, I think it is best to leave the flora and fauna where you found them. Wild animals do not make good pets, regardless of where they come from. Allow them to flourish in their own realm, where they are better adapted to live. They will be happier there.”

Thor had to admit that that sounded best. Heimdall patted his shoulder and together they made a special trip to Midgard, returning the kits to their very frantic mother. Then they left the realm as quietly as they had come.

For many years afterward, Thor was content to visit the other worlds and bring back stories to share over the dinner table, or trinkets and gifts made by the hands of the inhabitants. From the forests and fields and mountains he took only memories and left behind nothing but footprints.

Then, when Thor was thirteen star cycles old, he had visited Niflheim during one of its infamous wet seasons and returned to Asgard much sooner than expected, with a small flock of half-drowned fairies cradled in his cloak. He rushed to Heimdall’s side, dripping rainwater all over the floor, his boots chirping and squeaking with every step.

“I fished them out of a river,” he blurted. His face was pale with panic and tears were quivering in his eyes. “They were all clinging to each other and it was raining so hard, there wasn’t a dry place I could leave them. I know I shouldn’t have b-brought them back but if they don’t dry off soon, their wings are going to fall off and then they’ll die—”

“Be still, my prince,” said Heimdall calmly. “Come, bring them into the light. Set them down right here. They need only a little air and time, I think. They should recover soon.”

Thor furiously wiped his eyes on his rain-soaked sleeve and sniffed. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t just leave them. I could hear them crying in their little voices. They sounded so frightened and… they’re so small, Heimdall, they didn’t stand a chance—”

He leaned his head against Heimdall’s chest and sobbed. Heimdall wrapped Thor in his golden-armored embrace and held him in silence for nearly half an hour, until he had finally cried himself out.

By then the fairies had dried off, but they remained sluggish and limp. Heimdall gave Thor permission to leave the chamber to continue caring for them.

“Be mindful that they do not leave your sight,” he admonished. “They are small and can disappear easily.”

Thor vowed that he would keep a close eye on them, then made his way to the forest with the exhausted fairies huddled together in his handkerchief.

He brought them to a sunny clearing and set them on a warm, mossy bed, then went around and began to gather various flowers to feed them: clover, starblooms, honeysuckle, lilies, anything rich in nectar. He returned just in time. A jay had landed on the moss and was hungrily deciding which winged waif it wanted to eat first.

Thor drove the bird away with a sharp cry and spent the next hour huddled protectively over the helpless fairies while they drank the nectar, ate the petals, and recovered their strength.

He sat there for so long that the stress of his adventure ultimately caught up with him; his lids grew heavy and he nodded off. When his hand finally slipped out from under his chin, he blinked himself back to awareness and realized that the fairies were gone. No animal in Asgard would have dared to approach a child, not even a sleeping one, so Thor assumed the fairies must have recouped and flown away into the nearby woods.

Heimdall was going to kill him.

“But he didn’t,” said Thor, stepping over a trickling brook. “I went and told him what had happened. He wasn’t too happy about it, but he said there was nothing to be done. He really didn’t think the fairies would survive in our realm.”

“But they did, didn’t they?” said Loki, smiling.

Thor mirrored his smile, thinking of how sweet and childlike Loki looked with his missing fang. “They did. And do you know what happened next?”

Loki shook his head.

“Suddenly the gardens of Asgard exploded with flowers. Buds that used to go dormant in the colder months now bloomed in the dead of winter. Vegetables began to grow twice their size. The air of the city became sweet with the scent of roses, and new varieties appeared every season. The fairies were cross-pollinating, you see. Making new breeds of flowers. The forests of Asgard grew lush and thick, and there are some parts that stay green all year round, even in winter. An eternal summer twilight. That is how Asgard came to be known as the Realm Eternal, for none of the plants seemed to wilt or die, even in the most unforgiving seasons.”

His smile softened. “Not long afterward I saw one of the fairies I had rescued. I recognized it because it was smaller than the others and missing one of its hindwings. Well, it had made a little paper cocoon inside of a big thorny rosebush, and there were at least a dozen little fairylings all around it, no bigger than honeybees, learning to fly. They were all different colors, glowing strong and healthy, every one of them. A new generation.”

He looked down at Loki and quirked his mouth guiltily. “I cannot lie; I think I might have wept a little when I saw that.”

Loki gazed up at him with adoration sparkling in his eyes. “What a lovely end to your story.” He turned and gazed into the dusky forest. “I hope mine ends as nicely. I don’t want to be a bane to this realm… or be harmed by living here.” His tongue probed the empty slot where his tooth had been. “You said the fairies had gifts? What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, well,” said Thor with a shrug and a tilt of his head, “when the people of Asgard saw how their gardens were growing, it didn’t take them long to realize it was the work of fairies. They began to make offering stations, these little pedestals where they leave cubes of sugar and things like thread, marbles, bits of broken jewelry. Anything that might encourage fairies to come visit their gardens.”

He went on to explain that fairies, like trolls, enjoyed collecting things: small, everyday objects like hairpins and thimbles, or natural items they couldn’t readily come by, such as seashells or fox hair, which they would use to make furnishings for their little tree-huts. A length of ribbon or a scrap of silk were fine gifts to these tiny, helpful sprites, who in return would pollinate plants and help young seedlings grow strong and fertile.

“I don’t know when it was or who started it,” said Thor, “but as children grew and lost their baby teeth, they began to leave them for the fairies, and soon it became something of a tradition. The fairies must find teeth very useful because the things they leave in exchange are often rare and magical.”

“Really?” Loki’s tail swished excitedly through the air. “Like what?”

“Well, like”—Thor scratched his stubble, thinking—“like seeds for trees that grow rainbow-colored leaves. Bulbs for flowers that sing when the wind goes through their petals. Strange berries that no one has ever seen or tasted. I once heard that a child’s life was saved by a fairy’s gift. Somehow the fairy knew exactly what the child needed to be cured of her illness. One can only guess what kind of strange and wonderful things those little creatures are growing in their forest kingdom.”

Loki sprang effortlessly onto a fallen log, his tail raised to balance himself. “What do you suppose they’ll give me for my tooth?”

“I don’t know, but I’m certain it will be amazing. None of the fairies of Asgard have ever seen a troll’s tooth. Perhaps it might be something that helps you grow a new one, though I think you may already have one trying to come in.”

“I hope so. Em, speaking of teeth”—Loki hunched his shoulders—“how is your finger?”

Thor lifted his hand and regarded the thick scab forming on his pinky. “It doesn’t hurt at all. It seems to be healing very quickly.” He smirked. “Troll bites may be awful, but at least the pain doesn’t last long.”

“I’m very sorry about that.”

Thor reached out and touched the back of Loki’s head, stroking his shiny black hair tenderly. “Don’t worry about it. My fault for poking around in a troll’s mouth. I consider myself lucky to still have a finger.”

He gave Loki a wink, which seemed to brighten Loki’s mood and dispel any lingering guilt over their earlier encounter.

They walked through the forest for a little while longer, Loki sometimes falling behind to smell flowers or inspect trees or study crawling insects. He was fascinated by holes in the ground and hollow tree trunks, sniffing around them and peering into them, quietly asking the darkness if anyone was home. It was absolutely endearing to watch. Thor could tell when Loki was interested in something because his tail would curl into a serpentine shape and the flat, spadelike tip would flick rapidly back and forth.

Thor couldn’t remember the last time he was so enchanted by someone. Everything about Loki was wonderful. Such brightness and curiosity packed into his little body, so much energy and eagerness. Already he was looking better, Thor thought proudly. Filling out, gaining weight, his skin no longer stretched over his bones, his belly and face looking fuller. He was still thin, but his malnourished appearance had faded and his sharp features were becoming soft. Even his tail was looking thicker and stronger, like a long blue snake. He was beautiful. A handsome little frost troll, the most charming, sweet-natured person Thor had ever—

He was so focused on Loki that he walked headfirst into a low-hanging tree limb. He blurted out an oath and rubbed the side of his head, then began to laugh at his own foolishness.

Loki looked up from the pudgy green caterpillar he was petting and scampered back to Thor’s side. “What happened? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Not really. I, uh. Wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” Thor grinned sheepishly and rubbed his throbbing temple. The salt of his hand produced a stinging sensation and he knew he had broken the skin.

“You scraped yourself,” said Loki, standing on his tiptoes to see the injury. “It’s bleeding a little. Do you want me to lick it? I can, if you want.” His eyes were wide and urgent, ready to offer his care.

Thor rolled his lips together, thinking. It was only a little scratch, hardly worth dressing, but he suddenly found himself longing for Loki’s touch. He had been gone all day yesterday, tending to business on Midgard, and now every fiber of his being seemed sore and aching, yearning for Loki’s presence. He craved the sound of his voice and the warmth of his company, for it meant that goodness and mercy and kindness was still alive and well in Yggdrasil. And perhaps Loki, who had been so deprived of care and comfort, longed for Thor’s touch as much as Thor longed for his.

Slowly Thor bent his leg and lowered himself onto one knee, until Loki was a few inches taller than him. Loki crept forward and took Thor’s face in his small hands—one cupping his chin, the other resting on his thick blond hair—leaned down, and began to wash the bloody scrape with his strong, bristly little tongue.

Thor closed his eyes and released a long, slow breath. “That feels so nice,” he said, though “nice” was a poor word to describe it. It felt incredible. The stinging pain was gone in an instant, the throbbing sensation fading under Loki’s tender ministrations.

“This is how troll mothers clean their young,” said Loki between licks. “So I’ve been told. I have no experience caring for babies.”

Thor smiled. “Maybe—” He stopped short as echoes of a previous conversation came to his mind.

Do you think you’ll ever have a family of your own someday, Loki?

I’m not sure. It doesn’t seem very likely. I don’t even know if my belly works.

“Maybe what?” asked Loki.

Out of the corner of his vision, Thor saw that Loki had shut his eyes and seemed to be in some sort of peaceful trance. His pointed ears were pressed flat against his head, and his tail, which had settled atop Thor’s bent knee, was beginning to slip around his thigh almost protectively. Anchoring him. Keeping him close. Thor wondered if this was a maternal instinct. It reminded him of a cat cleaning her kittens, how the mother would pin her youngsters in place with her paws while she diligently bathed them.

But he didn’t want to cause Loki any anguish or distress over his ability—or lack of it—to produce offspring, so he tried to rework his answer.

“Uh, maybe. Maybe I need to… keep more… focus gooder.” Thor struggled to remember what words were and how to use them. “Need to… wash where I walk…”

Loki was lapping at his cheek now, moving toward his ear, and it was awakening something deep and powerful inside Thor. His hand unconsciously settled on the side of Loki’s bare waist, fingers spread wide. Loki was so petite that Thor’s smallest finger rested on his hip while his thumb touched lowest of Loki’s ribs. He pressed his palm into Loki’s side, squeezing gently with his fingers, glad to feel the thin layer of fat forming over his strong, lean muscles.

There was something very pleasing about having palpable evidence of Loki’s good health. That he wasn’t just living, but thriving. Or so Thor hoped.

He pulled back reluctantly with a hazy, sleepy look on his face. “Are you happy here, Loki?” he asked in a gravelly voice, his eyes searching Loki’s face. “Am I doing right by you? Was it wrong of me to bring you to Asgard and make you endure the sun and heat? Would you have been happier elsewhere?”

The moonstone around Loki’s neck glowed brightly as he held Thor’s face in his hands, his tail swishing slowly back and forth. “I am very happy here, Thor. Despite all that’s happened today, losing my tooth, biting you, hurting my nose… I have never been so content.”

Thor glowed with gladness. To know that Loki was happy, to be reassured that he was treating Loki well and taking good care of him, was the greatest, most satisfying thing Thor had ever felt.

Loki returned Thor’s smile, stroking his bristly cheeks with his thumbs. He pursed his lips and leaned forward, planting them awkwardly on Thor’s forehead. He remained completely still for a moment, then pulled back with a quiet smacking sound.

“Is that how it’s done?” he whispered. “Making the kiss? Was it the right time?”

Thor was quite certain his heart melted at the sweet innocence of the questions. “Yes, Loki, it was perfect timing. It was a wonderful kiss. Thank you.” He clasped both of Loki’s hands in his own and kissed his small blue knuckles.

Loki grinned, revealing his missing fang, and Thor’s heart was rendered a warm, sugary puddle. He could kneel here like this for hours, he thought, just staring at Loki’s lovely face, holding his cool little hands. The day was fading fast, however, and soon the woods would be dark and full of shadows. With a heavy sigh, Thor rose to his feet.

“Dusk is approaching. We should keep moving.”

Loki was visibly crestfallen, but he fell into step beside Thor, his bare feet pattering quietly over leaves and grass.

“Are we going anywhere in particular?” he asked. “Or did you just want to tell me about the fairies?”

“No, there is an ulterior motive to this journey. I think—”

“Alt. All-teelior?”

“Ulterior motive. A purpose,” Thor translated. Every now and then Loki encountered a word or phrase he was unfamiliar with, but that didn’t happen very often. For someone who once claimed to hate Asgard, Loki spoke the language amazingly well. “We are looking for starblooms. They are small white flowers—five petals, like a star, with a green center. They’re part of a bushy shrub and bloom only at night. They smell very sweet. Wherever those flowers grow, fairies are usually somewhere nearby.”

“Oh. Why is that?”

“I’m not really sure. I know they like to drink the nectar, but they prefer other flowers over the starblooms. Perhaps they use them for another purpose.”

“An ulterior motive,” said Loki matter-of-factly.

Thor chuckled. “Yes, perhaps. I will have to ask Vídarr or Váli about them. They know much of the plants and trees of Asgard.”

“Your brothers’ knowledge has been very helpful these last few weeks,” said Loki. “I can’t wait to finally meet them and thank them properly.”

Neither can I, thought Thor with a wicked flash of amusement. “They can’t wait to meet you, either. Just seven more days, I believe, then I can bring you to the city again.”

“Hm. I don’t suppose it’s possible to grow a tooth back in that time, is it?”

“Not very likely.”

Loki sighed. “Wonderful. I hate to meet your brothers looking like a runty, toothless jötling. I wanted so badly to make a good impression.”

“You will, Loki. You are good. It is in your very nature. As for Váli and Vídarr, don’t worry about making an impression. You will astound them, trust me.”

They shared a smile with one another, and Loki slipped his little blue hand into Thor’s. Thor’s cheeks turned pink and he gave Loki a gentle squeeze, helping him over a tangle of exposed tree roots.

They walked hand in hand through the forest, a frost troll and a thundergod, in a twilit parallel of what they had done nearly three weeks prior, when they had first arrived to search for a home for Loki.

It seemed so long ago, Thor thought distantly. And yet sometimes it seemed like only yesterday, a handful of hours past when he had wrapped a starving little jötunn in his cape and brought him to Asgard. Strange how memory worked, bending time, blurring moments while leaving some crystal clear. Perfect portraits between long, vague smudges.

Especially when love was involved.

Suddenly Loki paused and sniffed the air, his nose and tail lifted high. “I smell something.” His nostrils quivered. “It’s sweet and flowery. Could it be the starblooms?”

Thor sampled the air but all he smelled was trees. “It could be. You lead the way, Loki. I’ll follow.”

With a shiver of delight, Loki took up the scent, turning off the little dirt path and leading them into the brush. Soon they came upon a dense wall of foliage: a thicket made of woody vines and scrappy green bushes.

“The smell is strongest here,” said Loki, pawing at the leaves. “I think they might be on the other side.”

He poked around for a few moments before he located a thin part through which he could enter. He slipped through easily, but when Thor tried to pass, the vines clung to his shoulders and he was forced to tear through them, tangled and tripping, leaving behind a gaping hole. He brushed the twigs from his hair and lifted his head. His lips parted in awe when he saw where they were standing.

The thicket formed a tall hedge, almost obliterating the trees and sky overhead. In front of them was a huge blanket of starblooms, growing on the rocky side of an exposed hill. No white could be seen yet; the flowers were shut tightly, sleeping.

“I can’t believe it,” Thor murmured. “You actually found them, and they’re not even open. I thought we were going to have to wait until nightfall.”

Loki buried his face into a cluster of buds and inhaled deeply. “Mmm. I don’t know how you can’t smell them. They’re so strong.”

“Your nose must be more sensitive than mine.”

“Possibly. Perhaps the jötnar have better sense of smell than the Æsir.” Loki tapped one of the buds with his finger. “Will they open soon? The sun is nearly down.”

“Well, if we wait a little longer, maybe they’ll—ah, look.” Thor touched Loki’s shoulder and pointed to a cluster of blooms on the other side of the rock wall. “Those over there are starting.”

Loki drew in a breath and held it, mesmerized. Slowly the moon-white petals began to unfurl, releasing their scents, encouraging the others to awaken. One by one, each little flower opened and filled the air with its sweet perfume.

“I’ve never seen a flower bloom,” Loki whispered to Thor. “We don’t have many flowers on Jötunheim. Certainly none as beautiful as these.” He grasped the end of his tail, a dreamy look on his face.

Gazing at him in the dimming light, Thor felt hope blossom in his chest. Perhaps Loki would bloom like these flowers, he thought, growing to be tall and strong, with the large fangs and powerful features that his people so admired. Or perhaps he wouldn’t. But whether he became bigger or remained small, he would always be beautiful. Because that beauty, Thor knew, bloomed from the inside out.

“All we need now is an offering pedestal.” Thor glanced around the little clearing. “I… don’t see anything that would…”

“What about that?”

Thor looked to where Loki was pointing: a rotted stump at the edge of the thicket, its center caved in and moss growing on its barkless exterior.

Thor nodded. “We could make that work. See if you can find some stones. Little ones. Or sticks, nuts, anything small and solid.”

Loki crouched down on all fours and hunted for pebbles while Thor kneeled down and sifted through the leaves and grass beside him. They collected an assortment of rocks until their hands were full, then gathered at the stump with their spoils. Thor began to arrange the stones in a circle on the dark, mossy bed that lay within the hollow.

“We’re making a fairy ring,” he explained. “The fairies will know this is an offering made to them by one of the larger folk.”

Loki sat on his knees and helped Thor place the rocks and twigs one by one. “It’s like we’re building a nest for a tiny troll,” he said, smiling.

Thor chuckled and raised his head. “It does feel that way, doesn’t it?”

After a few more adjustments, the materials were arranged in a clear, neat circle.

“There. I think that’s good enough,” said Thor. He dug into his pocket and pulled out Loki’s sharp little tooth, passing it to him carefully. “Set it in the center of the circle. This is your offering, after all. You should be the one to place it.”

With a nervous grin, Loki leaned over and set his fang in the center of the mossy mound, then pulled his hands out quickly.

“Alright. Now what?”

“We leave and come back tomorrow.” Thor rose to his feet with a grunt. “Fairies do most of their magic at night, when they can’t be seen.”

“Hm, yes. Night…” Loki suddenly yawned, his mouth opening wide and his blue tongue curling. He smacked his lips together sleepily.

“You seem to be tired,” said Thor.

“I was up all day,” sighed Loki. “I suppose it’s finally catching up to me.”

Thor didn’t waste a second: “I can carry you back if you like. You’re no burden.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Loki stretched his arms toward Thor and smiled drowsily.

With a single breathy laugh, Thor bent down and scooped Loki off the ground, hugging him to his chest. Loki folded his arms around Thor’s neck and rested his chin on Thor’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He clamped his thighs against Thor’s sides, his tail fitting snugly around Thor’s waist.

Thor took a moment to simply embrace Loki and breathe in his scent, relishing his weight and his warmth. He rested his cheek against the side of Loki’s head, nuzzling his silky, fragrant black strands, which promptly became tangled in his beard. No matter. Loki was in his arms and nothing outside of the sweetest dream could be better.

Supporting Loki with one arm under his bottom and another at his back, Thor quietly made his way from the thicket and out onto the path, heading back to the waterfall.

Chapter Text

By the time Thor reached the clearing, the sun had fully set and the stars were beginning to appear in the violet-blue sky. Loki had fallen asleep in his arms, snuggled against his chest with his cheek resting on Thor’s shoulder. His arms and legs were limp but his tail remained firmly wrapped around Thor’s waist like a living belt.

Thor rather liked how it felt.

He lifted his eyes to the cave entrance high above his head and knew there was no way he could climb the steep, rocky slope with Loki in his arms. It was difficult enough on his own, and even then he usually slipped and tore something.

I really must carve a staircase sometime, he thought, sliding Mjölnir from his belt.

He spun his hammer as quietly as he could—there was nothing but a soft whoosh of air—and he flew up and lighted upon the ledge.

Loki stirred and woke with a sleepy murmur, batting his eyes open.

Thor hastily tucked his weapon back into its strap and returned his arm to where it had been supporting Loki.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I brought you some breakfast, though now I suppose it would be more of a dinner.”

“Mm, any meal is breakfast if you haven’t eaten in a while,” said Loki, rubbing his eye with his fist. “What did you bring?”

“A few little things, but mainly these savory cakes Mother made for you. She and the cooks have been experimenting with troll-safe recipes all week.”

“Your mother made cakes? For me?”

“Of course.” Thor chuckled. “She loves a challenge, especially when it comes to baking. It is one of her many talents.”

Loki grinned and squirmed, flattered by the attention. “That sounds delicious, but.” His face tightened uncomfortably. “My teeth have been hurting so badly today that I’m not sure if I want to chew anything. Are they hard, these cakes?”

He unwrapped his legs and tail from around Thor’s waist and stretched his toes toward the ground, a wordless request to be let down.

Thor bent low and set him on his feet. “They are heavy and dense, but I believe they’re quite soft. Nothing tough or crunchy. I don’t think it will hurt to chew them.”

“Well, then, I’d love to try them.” Loki took Thor’s hand and eagerly pulled him into the cave.

Normally the two round windows in the front chamber would have provided enough light to see, but as it was dusk, there was nothing but shadow and shade. After a few steps into the cave, Thor was walking in pitch darkness. He knew the layout of Loki’s cave well enough that he could navigate it with few mishaps; nevertheless, his body tensed when he lost his sight and he automatically slowed down, raising a hand in front of him to summon forth a little light.

A blue-white ball of pure electricity budded in the center of Thor’s palm, crackling and spitting sparks, wavering unsteadily. A faint glow filled the chamber.

Loki stopped and turned. “Oh! Forgive me. I forget you can’t see that well in the dark.”

“Well?” Thor laughed. “I can’t see at all.”

“I’m sorry. Wait right here, I’ll go get the lamp.”

Loki slipped into the shadows and Thor heard the faint patter of bare feet on the stone floor, followed by a metallic scrape. A few moments later, Loki emerged from the darkness holding a lantern and a book of matches. He pressed the latter into Thor’s waiting hand.

“Thank you.” Thor extinguished his lightning and blindly plucked out a single match. “Are you sure you don’t want to strike one yourself this time?” He dragged the match head against the gritty strip on the booklet. It flared to life with an orange glow and a whiff of sulfur.

Loki’s nocturnal eyes briefly reflected the light as the flame grew. He took a cautious step back, looking both fearful and fascinated.

“N-not yet,” he said. “Perhaps some other time.” He lifted the lantern up for Thor to light.

Thor gave him a sympathetic smile. Aside from the fire trolls of Muspelheim, all jötnar feared fire and flame, especially the wood trolls; everything in and about their world was flammable. Frost trolls only used fire if they had to, typically for warfare or during raids, but they didn’t like it and they certainly didn’t trust it.

In the rapidly dimming light of the dying match, Thor lifted the glass on the lantern and lit the wick. A warm, golden-red flame leaped to life and illuminated the room.

Loki winced and turned his face away, holding the lantern at arm’s length. His moonstone necklace began to glow, attempting to regulate his rising body temperature. Thor carefully lifted the lantern from his hand, and he sighed with relief. He didn’t mind the light, but the flame made him uncomfortable and it was a little too warm when standing this close.

Now armed with a more reliable light source, Thor strode over and set the lantern on the low, rough-hewn little table he had made for Loki—his first real woodworking project, something he had hastily knocked together last week so he and Loki could sit on the floor and share meals. There was still bark on its legs and it wasn’t very smooth, but at least it was level. Loki had been delighted by it and insisted it was perfect. Very rustic and comfortable, he said, the type of furniture that would be welcomed in any troll home.

Thor lifted the satchel he had brought and set it on the table, unpacking its contents while Loki sat down on a floor pillow and watched, his eyes gleaming and tail curling back and forth at the appearance of each new parcel.

“It smells delicious,” he said, accepting one of the paper- and twine-wrapped packages Thor handed to him.

Thor grinned weakly. When he had returned home after his journey to Midgard, he wondered if Váli and Vídarr had killed a wild stinkbeast and left it to ripen in the palace kitchens. However, it was only his Mother hard at work on jötunn foodstuffs. The stench was incredible, enough to make Thor’s gorge rise. Any dish that combined fish, cabbage, and hard-boiled eggs was a recipe for rankness, regardless of its supposed health benefits. But Frigga, living up to her title of Allmother, had been chatty and enthusiastic about the “troll cakes” as she called them, and paid no mind to the cooks’ nauseated, offended expressions.

“It’s got everything a young jötunn needs,” she explained to Thor, pointing to where the Guide to Trolls lay open on the counter. It was stuffed with bookmarks and additional handwritten notes, no doubt supplied (grudgingly) by Odin himself. “Protein, vitamins, lots of good fats—oh, that reminds me: Jórik, please add some chopped fish brains to this next batch, and don’t forget the organ meats.”

“Yes, madam,” Jórik, the head chef, wept.

Thor had smiled and begged his leave, wishing his mother good luck on her unconventional cooking endeavors.

“I’ll have some ready for you to take to Loki tomorrow,” she said, waving to her son as he beat a hasty retreat. “Let me know how he likes them!”

Judging by the way Loki was devouring the golden-brown muffin, he liked them very much. His tail was coiling and uncoiling itself like a lovestruck snake.

“These are delicious,” he said, quivering with delight. “They’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted! Apart from honey, of course. And strawberry jam.”

Thor smiled. “I’m sure Mother will be glad to hear how much you enjoyed them.”

“Yes, please, do tell her. And tell her I’m very grateful. It’s nice to finally… well, I’ve never really had a mother, but if I did, I hope he would be as kind and thoughtful as Queen Frigga.”

Thor felt the prick of tears in his eyes; he reached out and touched the side of Loki’s head in what was by now a familiar expression of affection between them.

Loki grinned cutely and held out one of the cakes. “Would you like to try one?”

The charmed expression dropped from Thor’s face. “No!” He winced at his own vehemence. “I mean, er. No, these are all for you. I’m not very fond of… whatever is in those things. You go ahead and help yourself.”

Loki did. He ate one and a half more cakes before he finally yawned, stretching his slender blue arms above his head and his slender blue tail straight out. “Hmm, I would like to eat more, but I’m already a little too full. And now I’m even sleepier than before…”

“Not to worry. You go get in your nest. I’ll put the rest of the food away.”

Loki smiled tiredly, his eyes half-closed. “Thank you, Thor. You’re so helpful.”

He crawled up and plodded droopily toward the back of the cave, his tail dragging behind him. Thor, meanwhile, wrapped the leftovers and gathered the rest of the edible things he had brought. Holding the lantern aloft, he made his way to one of the middle chambers in the cave and tucked everything into the cool, stony alcove where Loki kept most of his meats and semi-perishable food items. Thor was always glad to see the large stockpile of supplies. Very soon it would be completely full and Loki would need a second larder carved for him.

Good, thought Thor. He wanted Loki to have everything he needed to survive, plus a little extra for good measure. Never again would he have to do without or be deprived—not as long as he was under Thor’s care.

“Thor.” Loki’s small, melodic voice called from the back cavern. “Thorrr.”

Lantern in hand, Thor made his way down the naturally-formed hallway and entered the little sleeping den. The soft orange light threw itself over the nest where Loki lay, curled up on his side amongst a heap of fluffy pillows, ones that had lately been “borrowed” from the palace. His arm was folded beneath his head and he wore a bashful glow on his face.

“Come sleep with me?” he asked, and his tail patted the grass-stuffed mattress beside him.

There was no way in nine hundred worlds that Thor could refuse such a sweetly-voiced request. He hung the lantern from a rocky outcrop, dimming the wick so there was just the barest amount of light.

In accordance with the typical custom for entering a jötunn bed, Thor was compelled to shed a few of his outer layers and other tough, battle-ready accoutrements. He unfastened his leather vest and removed his belt—Mjölnir with it—and then took off his boots, his cape, his vambraces, depositing everything into a pile. Much comfier now, he kneeled down and prepared to crawl into the nest.

“Your shirt, too?” Loki squeaked.

Thor’s eyebrows sprang up on their own.

Loki blushed and looked askance. “It’s, it’s so I can feel your skin. We jötnar, we need… it’s the best type of contact. Nothing separating us, no cloth or cover. I don’t know why we do it, to be honest, but I sleep so much better if I… wh-when I can feel you. Your skin and your warmth. It’s soothing.”

Thor’s face softened and pity filled his heart as he recalled what Loki had told him three weeks earlier, how his father Fárbauti, in a misguided attempt to strengthen his weakling child, had separated Loki from the family nest and made him sleep alone.

That is how all jötnar sleep, Loki had said. Families share nests until the children take mates of their own. It’s how we bond and… that’s how it’s always been.

Norns forbid that Loki’s little heart should hunger for affection the way his belly had once hungered for food. Thor would see that both were filled. This he now swore to himself, by all the branches of Yggdrasil and every star upon them. He would nurture Loki’s emotional needs as well as his physical needs, for that is what family would do.

He reached down without another word and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the rest of his piled clothes. He crawled into the nest and lay down facing Loki, who wriggled closer and pressed himself against Thor’s naked chest. Loki nuzzled him, scented him, languidly rubbed him with his horns. It was strangely feline, these gestures. Like a friendly cat begging for a head rub.

Perhaps…?

Thor gently put one arm around Loki and began to stroke his hair. Loki uttered a wordless murmur leaned into Thor’s hand, his eyes glazing.

“Do you like that?” he asked.

The only response was a mumbled, “Mm hm,” then Loki’s eyes fluttered closed. In a few moments his whole body had relaxed. He was out cold.

Thor smiled and leaned down to kiss one of Loki’s horns. “Sleep well, little snowflake,” he said, continuing to pet his soft black hair. “May fairies guide you to sweet and pleasant dreams.”

Then he shut his eyes and, in a little while, drifted off as well.


Loki woke just before dawn, when the sky was starting to lighten from black to dark blue and the first of the songbirds were tentatively calling out from the depths of the forest. The steady roar of the nearby waterfall filled the clearing with its powerful, relaxing melody. Other trolls would have been appalled by this unnatural arrangement, living in an open clearing and so close to water—especially water which produced the sound of thunder, that dreaded precursor to lightning. But it no longer bothered Loki, at least not this kind of thunder. The stuff that came from the skies still made him nervous, as did fire and flying, but he had no reason to fear these things as he once did. Thor was taking care of him—would take care of him, in fact, for as long as Loki wished.

How wonderful it was to be doted upon and protected. It was almost as if he were a real prince.

Loki lifted his head and yawned wide, stretching his legs and tail before settling against Thor’s chest again. He snuggled down with a sleepy grin on his face and listened to Thor breathe, his steady exhalations falling cool and gentle on Loki’s skin. The little blond hairs just below his throat tickled Loki’s nose, so he scooted farther down to find a better place to rest his head.

That was when his arm accidentally brushed over the erection in Thor’s trousers.

Loki glanced down and let out a startled yeep when he realized what it was, pulling away quickly. A hot shade of cobalt washed over his face.

It wasn’t a jötunn-sized member, but for an Æsir, it was enormous. It certainly looked that way to Loki, bulging obscenely against the front of Thor’s trousers like a fish in a too-small net. Surely it was even larger when it wasn’t confined by clothing. Why had it woken?

He stole a glance at Thor’s face. He was in deep slumber, his eyes darting back and forth behind his eyelids. He must be dreaming, Loki thought. But of what? Surely something sexual. Why else would his organ grow? That only happened when one wanted to mate, didn’t it? There was no use in it getting hard otherwise. Did the Æsir copulate in their sleep?

After a moment’s hesitation, Loki crept downward, drawing closer, until his face was hovering just above Thor’s lap. He studied the bulge, gave it a quick, exploratory sniff, and then sat back and stared, questions burning in his mind.

Helblindi had said the mannfólk who inhabited the Nine had malodorous nether regions. Like fish and rotten onions, and the bushels of hair make it even worse. But Thor didn’t stink. In fact, Loki thought he smelled quite nice. Salty and musky and strong, but not unpleasant. It was familiar but yet different, appealing somehow.

What did Æsir men look like down there, he wondered? Did they carry their penises in fur-covered sheaths like wolves? Maybe that was what lay at the end of the little hair-trail on Thor’s belly. Or perhaps they were bald and uncovered, like trolls were. Did they too have a little cloak of skin to protect the sensitive tip of their organ? Was their flesh smooth? What did their seed look like? Were they always this warm? There seemed to be a lot of heat radiating from this part of Thor’s body. Loki had sensed it a few times before when they would sleep together, but now the area seemed even hotter. Just how hot did their members become? Did they use them when they were like that, or did they wait for them to cool down first? Mercy, Loki hoped so. Otherwise Æsir mating would be terribly painful, performed on those flat, unromantic beds and with organs that produced more heat than pleasure. Was their seed just as hot? What if it was like liquid fire? By Ymir’s tail, what a positively awful way to reprodu—

Thor inhaled deeply and shifted, groaning low in his throat as he awoke. Loki startled and clambered to the other side of the nest, his heart beating against his sternum like a frightened bird.

After a long, lazy sigh, Thor opened his eyes. He smiled as his gaze fell upon Loki, then his mouth straightened when he saw how terrified he looked. And where he was looking.

“Oh. Damn,” he uttered, cupping himself and rolling over so Loki was spared the sight of his morning tumescence. “Sorry. I didn’t mean… pardon me.” He shook his head and began to chuckle helplessly. “Well, this is a fine start to the day.”

“It is?” asked Loki, a note of distinct concern in his voice.

“Not really, but don’t worry. Everything will be fine in a few minutes.”

Loki tensed. “Why? What will happen in a few minutes?”

Thor peered over his shoulder, his brow quirked. “It will, er. Return to normal.”

“How?”

Thor’s forehead crinkled with puzzlement. “Time?”

“Oh.” Loki picked up his tail and began to wring it anxiously. “So you’re not going to… n-need to have sex?”

“What? No. No, this is”—Thor’s laugh was strained and high—“this is a normal thing. It happens quite often. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not a… nothing to do with desire, I assure you.”

Loki’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Oh. Alright, then.”

“Do you not experience this same thing yourself from time to time?”

“Who, me? Never! No, absolutely not.” Loki bit his lip and looked away, his cheeks warming to the point his moonstone began to glow. He folded his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, tucking himself into a defensive little ball.

“I’m sorry,” said Thor gently. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Or offend you. I simply assumed you knew because you have a… you’re like me.”

Loki perked up. “I am?”

“Little.” Thor winced at his slip. “A little, I mean. Er, not that I’ve been trying to look or anything. Just… from what I’ve seen. Glances, mostly. Quick, accidental glances. No staring.”

“Oh. Well. That’s… good, I suppose.” Loki picked at his fingernails uncomfortably.

Thor rolled his lips into a thin line, a blank look on his face.

An awkward silence ensued.

“I wonder if the fairies visited your offering last night,” said Thor a little too energetically. “I hope so.”

“Oh, yes. Me, too,” said Loki, who was just as eager to change the subject. “Do you think it’s too early to go check?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps. We should wait until the sun rises, just to be sure. We don’t want to scare them off in the middle of the exchange.”

“No, no, certainly not.”

Another awkward silence fell, this one even more unbearable than the first.

“Well,” Thor declared, sitting up, “I think I’ll take a slick quim”—his eyes widened—“sick whim, gods, I mean a quick swim—”

As he babbled and blundered and died a slow, humiliating death, Loki scrambled from the nest, blushing from horn to heel. “I, I will go get breakfast put together—”

“Excellent, let me grab my clothes and I’ll get off—beat off—beat it—leave—”

“—few of those cakes your mother made—”

“—water ought to be good and freezing now—”

“—some dried fruit and maybe a little—”

A minute later both the cavern and the nest were empty, the stammering, stuttering occupants having fled to their respective tasks.


Roughly half an hour later, Thor returned to the cave fully dressed, his hair damp and his skin mottled pink from his dip in the icy-cold pool. With a chagrined look, he took a seat at the table across from Loki, who seemed to have moved past their painfully awkward encounter earlier. He offered Thor a plate heaped with food, and Thor accepted with a smile. They shared a leisurely breakfast and spoke of fairies and fangs and the possibilities that might be waiting for them in the starbloom thicket. Talismans, trinkets, magic seeds, good luck charms, a new species of fruit—it could be anything.

By the time they finished eating, the sun had begun to appear through the trees and Loki was now genuinely excited about what the fairies might have left him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy to see sunlight,” he said as he walked out onto the ledge with Thor. “Do you think you could fly us there?”

Thor cocked his eyebrow. “Am I hearing things, or did a troll just ask me to take him flying?”

“It would be faster than walking,” Loki chirped, curling his tail.

“Yes, but I don’t know what the place looks like from above. We will have to walk at least part of the way.”

“That’s fine.” Loki stretched his arms toward Thor.

With a smile and a shake of his head, Thor ducked down and scooped Loki up with one arm, and used his other to lift Mjölnir from his belt. Loki held on tightly as Thor spun his hammer and then lunged from the ledge. The next instant, they were flying over the trees, the cool morning air ruffling their hair and causing Thor’s cape to billow like a full sail.

Skimming the treetops, they followed the forest trail until they found the place where they thought they had diverged from the path. Thor slowly descended and set Loki on his feet. The forest was silent but for the melodic echoes of birdsong. Beads of dew in spiderwebs caught the sun’s rays and glittered like diamonds on silver strands. Does led their fawns through the cool shadows to forage while the creatures of the night returned to their burrows and nests. It was a lovely morning on Asgard.

They had only to walk the trail for a few minutes before Loki recognized where they were.

“This is where we left the path,” he said, bounding into the brush. “The thicket is this way! Come on!”

Thor was forced to wrap his cape around his shoulders so he could move more easily through the dense foliage, but still he fell behind. Loki was incredibly fleet-footed when it came to traveling through woods. Thor wondered if all frost trolls were like that or if this was simply an attribute of Loki’s small stature.

After vanishing from Thor’s sight for the third time, Loki suddenly reappeared right in front of him, almost causing a collision. But Loki paid no mind; his ears twitched and his tail was rapier-straight. He turned to Thor and beamed, pointing ahead.

“The thicket is right over there! I can still smell the starblooms!”

Thor laughed. “Lead on, then, Loki. I’m right behind you.”

Sure enough, Loki had found the hidden thicket of starblooms, and he and Thor entered into the shady, fragrant shelter formed by the vines and trees. Loki practically danced over to the stump, his tail shivering with excitement. He crouched down beside it, peering into its hollow core.

“Did the fairies accept your offering?” Thor asked.

“Well… yes, but. I’m not sure what it is that they left behind.”

Frowning, Thor approached the stump and kneeled, staring down at the little circle he and Loki had put together yesterday evening. In the spot where Loki had placed his fang was a large white nut with a shimmery, iridescent shell. Apart from the color and luster, it looked just like an oversized walnut. It must have taken at least four fairies to transport it; it was nearly the size of a young apple.

Thor reached out and carefully picked it up. “It appears to be some sort of nut.”

Loki’s tail flicked anxiously back and forth. “Didn’t you say that nuts were bad for me? That they would sicken me if I ate them?”

“That is what Father said. But now I’m beginning to wonder.” Thor examined the white nut, turning it around, tossing it gently and catching it again. It felt heavy. The meat inside it must be dense and oily. “But the fairies have unusual wisdom and foresight. That is why their gifts are considered so helpful.”

Loki’s eyes gleamed, his gaze fixed upon the nut. “Yes, like the sick child you told me about. The one who was cured by them.”

“Exactly. They often know what is best for us big folk even before we even realize it.”

They fell silent for a moment, thinking.

“Well,” said Loki, “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” He plucked the nut from Thor’s hand and opened his mouth.

Thor seized Loki’s wrist, halting him. “Wait. I’m not certain about this. These fairies have never seen a frost troll before. They might not know nuts are harmful to them.”

Loki’s ears poked out in disappointment. “There are frost trolls in Niflheim,” he pouted. “Not many, but I’ve heard they are there. The fairies you rescued all those years ago would surely know what a frost troll’s tooth looked like, and they would pass their knowledge on to their children.” A shadow of doubt crept into his eyes. “Wouldn’t they?”

Thor was quiet, meditatively rubbing his jaw. “I cannot say, Loki. You are the first troll to ever set foot on Asgard. There is a good chance the fairies might actually be wrong for once.” He gazed at Loki concernedly. “I wouldn’t risk eating it before we’ve first identified it.”

Loki’s expression wilted, his tail dropping to the ground like a limp worm. “You mean I’m never going to be able to eat the present they’ve given me?”

“I didn’t say that. You might, perhaps.” Thor straightened his back. “Let me take it to my father. He is unusually knowledgeable when it comes to the weakness of frost trolls, so perhaps he—”

Loki covered the nut with his hands and clutched it to his chest. “But. But it’s mine. The fairies gave it to me.”

“I’ll return it to you as soon as possible, Loki.”

“But what if your father takes it away because he doesn’t like me? What if you drop it while you’re flying? It might be something that will help me grow, and you could lose it forever.” Tears flooded Loki’s ruby-red eyes. “I’ve never gotten a gift from anyone before. Oh, please don’t take it away!”

Thor sighed and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. “Alright. But I can’t very well bring you with me, especially to meet my father.”

Loki seemed to fold up around his cupped hands, protecting his precious present, even with his tail. “So just leave it here with me. I’ll keep it safe and I won’t eat it until you get back.”

“You won’t eat it until we know what it is.”

“Alright, until we know what it is. Then I’ll eat it.”

“If it’s safe to eat.”

“Yes, if it’s safe.”

Thor smiled patiently. “Can I have one last look at it? I will need to describe it accurately to Father.”

Reluctantly, Loki stretched out his arms and opened his hands. He allowed Thor to look at the nut for a few seconds before he covered it again and refolded himself into a tight, anxious bundle.

Thor couldn’t help but laugh. In many ways Loki was exactly like a young child, possessive of his belongings and leery of sharing his toys—or treasures—with others. But Thor could hardly fault him; if he were in Loki’s situation, having been unloved, neglected and mistreated for most of his life, he would be cautious with this present, too. Especially since it was most likely magical.

“Good enough,” said Thor with a sideways smirk, and he rose to his feet and took Mjölnir from his belt. “I will return as soon as I can.”

“Have a nice flight.”

“Do not eat that nut, Loki.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Loki smiled, his missing fang making a cute gap in his otherwise perfect white teeth.

Thor flicked his eyebrow dubiously and began to spin his hammer. “Alright. I will meet you back at the waterfall in a little while.”

“Right. Waterfall in a little while. Understood.” Loki stepped back from the gusts that Mjölnir was generating and raised his hand, wiggling his little blue fingers in farewell.

With one last look of warning, Thor leaped up and streaked through the leafy canopy above, disappearing into the pink and gold sky.

Loki waited a minute or two after Thor had gone before dashing from the thicket and back toward the trail, an excited grin on his face.

He couldn’t wait to return home. He wasn’t going to eat the nut, no. Certainly not. He had promised Thor he wouldn’t, and that was a promise he was going to keep.

But Thor hadn’t said anything about opening the nut. Or smelling the nut. And he especially hadn’t said anything about tasting the nut.

With a giggle and a mischievous flick of his tail, Loki scampered down the tree-shaded path, his mouth already watering.

Chapter Text

The waterfall shimmered and sparkled in the morning sunlight, gushing pleasantly over the rocks and crashing into the pool below. The clearing was bathed in warm golden hues, the dew on the grass long since dried, and birds sang to one another at the forest’s edge.

It was the perfect place for a secret picnic.

Loki sat himself down in the shade of an elm tree, the large white nut cupped in his hands. His tail flicked back and forth with excitement as he studied it closely.

How was he to open it? He didn’t want to smash it with a rock—that might destroy whatever was inside. He noticed there was a ridge in the shell, a kind of seam that divided the top part from the bottom, much like a clam. Perhaps he could weaken it until it split in two.

He attempted to wedge his blunt little fingernails into the ridge, but it was useless. Even if his nails were long enough to pierce the tough outer hull, his fingers were too weak to pull the halves apart.

He sighed and slumped down, feeling the full weight of his defectiveness. A real jötunn would have been able to make quick work of this nut, using his claws or his fists or his fangs.

Loki frowned, thinking. His tongue gingerly probed the gap left behind by his missing tooth. He wondered if he might be able to squeeze the nut open with the sheer power of his jaws. He was simply not strong enough to do it with his hands.

The only problem with his idea was the persistent ache in his three remaining fangs. They might be on the verge of falling out like his first one, but they were the only things small and pointy enough to fit into the seam.

Perhaps he would be better off finding another way. But what other ways did he have? Even the little ivory-handled knife Thor had given him would destroy the nut’s contents if he were to use it.

After a few minutes of pensive pondering, Loki made a determined face and raised the nut to his mouth. He began to gnaw and gnash at the shell. It was too large to even fit in completely. He turned it every which way, trying to find just the right position where he could set his fangs into the ridge and gain enough leverage to bear down. He finally managed to pin the nut securely between his teeth, and clamped down on it hard.

The nut squeaked and squealed as it began to split at its seam. Loki was encouraged, even though the force was causing his lower left fang to hurt terribly. He relaxed a moment, took a breath, then began to bite with renewed vigor.

A bluebird flitted down from the branches to perch on a nearby rock, blinking its black button eyes at him in bewilderment.

Loki grimaced and growled, applying even more pressure. The nut made a tiny cracking sound, its thick, iridescent exterior giving a little. Loki’s tooth burned with pain, but he persisted.

A sweet smell issued from the broken shell. Whatever was inside was wonderfully fragrant and strong.

Loki screwed his eyes shut and gave it all he had. Just a little more. Almost there…

Crack!

The bluebird sprang from its perch as two objects went flying from Loki’s mouth. One was the nut, the other was his bottom-left fang.

Loki clapped both hands over his lips and released a muffled howl, his eyes flooding with tears. Warm, bright blue blood filled his mouth and began to drip down his chin. It tasted raw and coppery, not sweet like Æsir blood. He spat onto the grass, which was already flecked with his blood. Lying among the droplets was his tooth, with tiny pieces of flesh still clinging to the root. The nut—still in one piece, but the seam was split open more than halfway now—was right beside it.

Loki spent the next several minutes sniffing and moaning quietly, spitting out a slimy mix of saliva and blood. At least his saliva was helpful, numbing some of the pain and staunching the blood flow to a trickle.

He felt miserably sorry for himself. What a failure he was. He couldn’t even bite open a wretched nut. He was the weakest, most incompetent and deformed troll who had ever lived. Ljóki the Ugly. Ljóki the Shame. How deserving he was of his titles now.

He glared hatefully down at the nut.

The irony of losing another tooth because of a gift he’d received in exchange for a tooth was not lost on him.

He reached out and picked up both the nut and his displaced fang. He tucked the latter into the little pouch he wore on his loincloth, while the former he carefully pried open with his fingers.

Loki’s eyes widened with awe, and for a moment he forgot his pain and frustration.

The inside of the shell had a golden sheen to it, and nestled within was a kernel of white nutmeat about the size of a small boiled egg. Loki sniffed it cautiously and his eyebrows leaped up in surprise. It smelled sweet and rosy, like a piece of fruit, even though it resembled a—oh, what were those delicious things Thor had brought him last week? They came from the sea and lived in shells. Shallops? Shellups? He couldn’t remember their name, but he had loved them and…

Suddenly Loki was salivating, recalling the briny taste and the cool, juicy texture as they had slid down his throat. Before he even realized what he was doing, he had stuck out his tongue and licked the kernel.

It tasted as sweet as it smelled! Almost like a pear. Thor had introduced him to pears early on and it was a fruit that Loki adored. This mysterious thing the fairies had given him didn’t seem to be like any of the nuts Thor had warned him about. He said the meats were oily and sometimes had bitter skins on them, and none of them were described as having a nectarish flavor. Maybe this wasn’t a nut at all. Maybe it was actually some sort of fruit, like what Thor had mentioned. He said the fairies were known to leave strange fruits that no one had ever seen before; perhaps this was one of them. And if it was a fruit instead of a nut…

Loki couldn’t help it. He carefully nibbled off a piece of the kernel. Just a tiny scrape with his front teeth, barely noticeable. Thor wouldn’t even know it had been touch—

Oh. Oh.

Loki’s red eyes rolled upward as he held the morsel on his tongue, savoring its exquisite and refreshing flavor.

It was indescribably delectable. Like eating a flower, the richest, juciest flower that had ever sprouted from soil.

He couldn’t resist. He took another nibble, this time scraping off a bit more of the kernel, though still not enough to tell that it had been sampled. What a unique flavor it had! He had never tasted anything like it before, and his mouth continued to water as he swallowed the scanty little appetizer.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more. He was trembling now, fighting the urge to pop the entire thing into his mouth, knowing it would be pure bliss. His body craved this fruit—or vegetable, or mineral, or whatever it was—and the thought of waiting to eat it until Thor returned was unbearable. He simply had to have more.

Well… he had already opened it. Perhaps the kernel would dry out and get stale if he didn’t eat it now. Thor would understand that reasoning, wouldn’t he? He might be a little cross when he found out, but once he saw that his fears had been unfounded—because it wasn’t a nut, Loki was positive of it now—then all would be well again.

Loki contemplated his dilemma for a few more seconds. Then he lifted the kernel and took a huge bite out of it.

It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Better than blackberry jam. Better than the cakes Queen Frigga had made for him. Even better than honey. Oh, it was simply—

He stuffed the rest of the nugget into his mouth, his tail wagging with glee.

He chewed slowly, crunching through the delightfully thick flesh whose flavors seemed to grow more complex and numerous the longer he chewed. When he finally swallowed, he felt it move down his throat and into his belly with a warm, satiating fullness. He heaved a happy, contented sigh.

The consequences of his impulsive act didn’t come to him until several moments later, when he was thinking what a shame it was that there were no more of these delicious things to eat. Then his eyes flew open and his heart began to pound wildly.

What was he going to tell Thor?

Loki bit his lip. He grasped his tail in both hands and began to wring it worriedly.

Perhaps he could stick something else in the empty shell and act as if he hadn’t eaten it. Thor didn’t have a clue as to what was inside it anyway, so Loki could use anything. A bit of smoked fish folded into a ball. A piece of cheese. A mussel dug from the warm mud of the riverbank.

A guilty look flashed across his features and he cowered down, his ears drooping.

It meant he would have to lie to Thor. Loki didn’t want to lie to him. Thor had saved him from death and brought him to Asgard for a new life, a new start, and the last thing he wanted was to prove that the Allfather was right. That all trolls were false and could never be trus—

Loki shivered suddenly, and the moonstone around his neck began to flicker.

That was strange. He was starting to feel a little cold. He couldn’t remember the last time he was cold—at least since he was wandering lost and hungry through the wintry forests on Midgard. But that was in the bitterest of icy snowfalls. This was Asgard. The sun was shining and everything was green and flourishing. There was no reason for him to feel cold.

He looked down at his hands. His fingers were ashy blue, pale and abnormally cool, as if his blood were slowly leaving his extremities.

Perhaps he should get up and move into the sun. That would warm him up quickly.

Loki rose to his feet, but he never got the chance to take a single step. He wobbled unsteadily, his head reeling and his breath coming short—too short. He gasped for air, his heart beating rapidly.

What was happening to him?

A shudder raced through his body and he felt the hair on his scalp stand on end.

This was all wrong. Something was terribly wrong with him.

The nut. He knew he shouldn’t have eaten it. It was doing something to him, he could feel it in his belly now. The pleasant warmth had faded and now it felt as if he had swallowed a heavy, icy rock. His fingertips were growing numb. His hands were slow to respond. His toes, the tip of his tail, everything was—

With his last conscious breath, Loki whimpered, “Thor!” and tumbled to the ground, his motionless arm just inches from a patch of warm, sunny grass.


It was roughly thirty minutes—as the raven flies—from Loki’s cave to the heart of Asgard, but Thor’s trip took a little longer since he had departed from the starbloom thicket, located farther westward. Once he arrived at the palace, he spent the better part an hour in search of his father, who was nowhere to be found.

He first checked the patio in the east garden, where the family typically took their breakfasts together and Odin was wont to linger afterward, sipping his tea and listening to Huginn and Muninn gossip on their nearby perch. The only person there today was Hodur, the efforts of his latest musical composition spread out before him on the table. He alternated between humming, drinking black coffee straight from the carafe, and making careful perforations on a thick scroll of parchment with a special stylus. There were easier ways of composing music, but Hodur preferred to do it by hand, one staff at a time.

When asked if their father had come and gone recently, Hodur said he had no idea. “I was up all night with the klaver,” he sighed, and ran a hand through his dark, unkempt hair. “I’ve been so focused on this third movement that I think a small army could have passed through here and I wouldn’t have noticed. Sorry, little brother.”

Thor gripped Hodur’s shoulder amicably. “That’s alright. I’m sure he can’t be far. I will find him eventually.”

He thought for certain Odin would be in his study, poring over the latest political happenings within the Nine, but instead he found Baldur behind the broad wooden desk. The sight brought an immediate smile to Thor’s face.

“I see the future king is hard at work,” he declared, sauntering in. “How do you find the real throne, brother? Tedious and uncomfortable, I’m sure.”

Baldur snorted. “Well, we can’t all be lightning-slinging meatheads. Someone has to keep an eye on the affairs of Yggdrasil’s kingdoms.”

“Or two eyes, since you have elected not to sacrifice one of yours for the glory of Asgard.”

“You say ‘glory’ but all I hear is ‘gory’.”

The two sons of Odin shared a chuckle.

“Speaking of which,” said Thor, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Father around, have you? I need to speak with him about an urgent matter.”

Baldur frowned and set down the handful of papers he’d been skimming through. “What sort of matter? Is it serious? Does it have anything to do with the quarreling kingdoms on Alfheim?”

“No, this has to do with Loki.”

“Ah.” Baldur’s face softened as he smiled. “How is our dear little guest doing? Have you made him comfortable? Is he enjoying Asgard?”

“He is adapting to it better than I thought he would. And the woodland creatures seem very fond of him. But a question has arisen recently that can only be answered by a troll expert.”

“I see.” Baldur leaned back in his chair. “I’m not quite sure where Father is at the moment; I think Mother said something about him riding this morning. Go to the stables and see if Sleipnir is still there. If he isn’t, you’ll have your answer.”

Thor gave Baldur his thanks and departed, but when he landed at the horse barn a few minutes later, he discovered Sleipnir in his stall and Váli and Vídarr shoveling manure.

Thor grinned lopsidedly and hung Mjölnir back on his belt. “Alright, what did you two rapscallions do this time?”

“It was all Váli’s fault,” Vídarr muttered, not even raising his head.

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Was what?” said Thor.

Váli leaned on his shovel and glowered, tossing his blond hair out of his eyes. “I asked Dad when he was going to let us go to Jötunheim.”

“Which was a mistake,” said Vídarr.

“Which was a mistake,” Váli echoed.

“We weren’t gonna go to Mount Útgard or anything—”

“—we just wanted to see the glaciers.”

“And the tundras.”

“And the frost trolls,” Thor finished.

The twins feigned innocence. “Only if they crossed our path,” said Váli airily.

“We weren’t gonna cause trouble or anything,” said Vídarr.

“It was just gonna be a short trip.”

“Like the ones you used to go on, Thor, remember?”

“But Dad said no.”

“Yeah, and then Váli just had to bring it up again at dinner last night.”

“Aw, c’mon, you know he sometimes gives up after a while—”

“Only like once in a hundred years. And you know what he said about mentioning trolls at the dinner table—”

“I didn’t say anything about trolls!”

“You said Jötunheim, and that’s just as bad.”

“I was trying to be subtle.”

“Well, Vál, you weren’t. So”—Vídarr rolled his eyes and turned back to Thor—“Dad and Váli got into it, and then Dad lost it and—”

“You were there, too, asshole.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t the one who called him a boring old knob.”

“I didn’t call him a boring old knob. I said he was acting like a boring old knob.”

“Which means you called him a boring old knob!”

“I said he was like one, not actually one!”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Yes, it does!”

“No, it doesn’t! It’s what we all heard, and more importantly it’s what Dad heard, so if you—”

“It’s not my fault that none of you can appreciate nuance.”

“This wasn’t nuance, Vál. You called Dad a dick, and now I’m out here shoveling mountains of horseshit when it should be you who’s—”

Váli dropped his manure-caked shovel and leaped at Vídarr, and the two began to throw fists and knees into one another’s bodies.

Thor sighed and reached out, grasping both of them by their collars and yanking them apart. They continued to swear and claw at one another, and he lifted them up until their boots left the floor completely. Only then did they cease their bickering and realize how much they were disappointing their big brother. They hung from Thor’s fists like a pair of guilty kittens.

“You may resume beating what’s left of your brains out in a moment,” said Thor, “but first I need to know where Father is.”

Vídarr wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve. “He came by just a little while ago.”

“To check on our progress,” said Váli, licking his bleeding lip. “I think he was on his way to see Heimdall.”

“Probably to tell him we’re banned from ever going to Jötunheim,” Vídarr muttered, “thanks to knuckle-nuts over here.”

Váli gave his twin brother the middle finger. Vídarr reached out and bent it backward. Váli screeched in pain and Thor dropped them both. The two landed in a scratching, kicking, biting heap, rolling around in clumps of dried manure and piss-fermented hay.

Thor lifted his hammer and gave it a spin, leaving the stables behind as he flew to the Gate of Asgard.


Heimdall was alone when Thor arrived, sitting on the steps of the dais that led up to the pedestal. His helmet was sitting beside him on the step, along with a tray of fruits and fancy biscuits and other tasty-looking baked items. He was sipping from a hilariously tiny and flowery-looking teacup—pinky out, of course—that could have only been delivered from Frigga’s personal cupboard. And he was apparently savoring every drop.

Thor had barely taken three steps before Heimdall said flatly, “You just missed him.”

Thor rocked his head back and let out a long, exasperated growl.

“He is arriving at the library now. He will be there for some time, I believe.”

With a heavy sigh, Thor raised his hammer and took to the air again, sailing back toward the palace with utmost haste.

Two minutes later he thudded onto the portico just outside the library and burst through the doors, roaring into the vast space, “Father! Are you here, Father! Hello!”

His echoes were like thunder, rattling the multicolored glass windows in their frames.

From the second-storey balcony, Frigga appeared. Her face was stern as she leaned over the wooden rail and hissed, “For Valhalla’s sake, Thor, lower your voice before you break the windows again!”

“Sorry, Mother,” Thor whispered. The acoustics in the royal library amplified his breathy response to an easily audible level. “It’s just that I have spent the entire morning looking for Father, and if I do not find him soon, I’m going to—”

Frigga raised her arm and pointed toward the south wing of the library. “Reference section. Map room. And please try not to make a mess, son.”

Thor nodded his assent and made his way through the towering pillars of book-laden shelves, his boots echoing loudly on the polished floor. He entered the reference section and strode toward the huge room at the end of the wing. There he finally spotted Odin, laying out what looked like an ancient map of Alfheim’s territories on the broad table in the center of the room. He wasn’t alone. There were three attendants with him: one perched on the bookcase ladder, another perusing a cabinet that held drawers of flat files, and a third who was handing a tightly-rolled map to her king.

Thor hastened to the table and said, “Father, I must speak with you.”

“I hope it’s important,” Odin replied, not looking up from the lines he was studying. “I am dealing with a very delicate situation between the rulers of Alfheim, so unless it—”

“Loki lost a tooth,” Thor blurted, and Odin raised his head. “We took it to the fairies and this morning they had left a nut for him.”

“A nut?” Odin straightened his back, intrigued. “Are you certain?”

“Not really. It doesn’t look like any nut I’ve ever seen before.”

“Hm.” Odin clasped his hands behind his back and blinked. “Interesting.”

Thor continued, “You know how fairies are. Their gifts are—”

“Usually beneficial, yes.” Odin frowned. “Odd that they would leave a nut for a frost troll.”

“Do you think they know they are harmful to them?”

“The Niflheim fairies do, certainly. But as for Asgard’s fairies, one can only guess.” Odin smiled grimly. “They loathe trolls, you know. Can’t stand them. I wouldn’t discount the possibility of them bestowing Loki a poisoned gift in order to get rid of him.”

Thor’s heart froze in his chest.

“They probably see it as a form of pest eradication,” Odin went on, turning back to his maps. “Nature trying to balance itself out, perhaps. Show me this gift of theirs, I should be able to tell you what it is.”

“I don’t have it.”

All amusement disappeared from Odin’s face as he raised his head once more. “What?”

Thor struggled to form the words. “I, I left it. With Loki. He was afraid I might lose it, so I let him keep—”

“Thor, you fool!” Odin moved quickly around the table, agitated. “Don’t you know that trolls are insatiably curious?”

Thor’s stomach twisted with dread. “Th-they are?”

“Of course! How in the worlds has that escaped your notice?”

The three attendants shrank back at the vehemence in the Allfather’s voice.

“They can’t leave anything alone,” Odin snapped. “They’re always getting into things and making a nuisance of themselves. And as for self control, well! They haven’t any, believe me. Loki probably ate that nut the moment you turned your back.”

Thor looked as if all the air had just been punched out of him. “No. No, he promised he wouldn’t. He told me he—”

“Promises mean nothing to trolls, boy! Don’t you know that? By Ymir’s beard, how naïve can one be!” Odin sighed forcefully and massaged his wrinkled brow.

Thor was already drawing Mjölnir from his belt. “I will go to him now. If he has eaten the nut, what should I do?”

“Well,” said Odin heavily, “if he isn’t already dead, try to induce vomiting. If he cannot purge, then give him milk. As much milk as you can. Do not give him water—that will only quicken his death. Now fly, hurry!”

Thor spun his hammer and blazed through the south wing like a red comet, his gusty wake pulling books from shelves and rattling the windows. Frigga’s piercing cry rang off the library’s ceiling: “Thor, how many times have I told you not to fly in the library!”

Odin stared at the aftermath of his son’s departure and soberly stroked his beard. After some time he said, “Gilla.”

The young woman who had been fetching maps stepped forward. “Yes, my lord.”

“Prepare the healing room to receive a possible casualty. Young adult, mixed sex, small stature.”

“A Vanir, sire?”

“No. He’s a…” Odin frowned, trying to accurately place Loki’s biology. “A special case. Elven. That is probably the most similar.”

“Yes, my lord. And what would we be treating?”

“Severe allergic reaction. An internal, ingested poison.”

“Understood. Shall I summon Lady Hallfrid?”

“No.” Odin’s face softened. “The queen and I shall tend to the patient, if he is not already beyond our help.”

Gilla’s eyes widened. “Yes, my lord,” she uttered, and hurried away.


Thor flew as fast as he could, streaking over the trees with Mjölnir held out in front of him. His pulse pounded in his temples and he clenched his teeth, hoping and praying that his father was wrong. That Loki was not so deceptive and reckless. That he hadn’t eaten the nut the moment Thor had turned his back. That the fairies did not see him as a threat, that they wouldn’t try to poison him out of existence. Loki was only one small troll. He could never be a threat to them. He didn’t even want to eat squirrels or rabbits. He called them his friends.

Tears leaked from the corners of Thor’s eyes as he thought of how innocent and caring Loki was, how harmless and kind. How his past misery had likely made him that way, a sweet flower blooming from the ashes where a cruel fire had burned and raged. The wind blew the tears down the sides of Thor’s face and into his hair.

Many people on Midgard prayed to Thor for miracles. Now Thor prayed for a miracle of his own.

Less than a league ahead, a break appeared in the trees. The clearing. Thor could see the rocky ridge over which the waterfall flowed, and he immediately began to slow down, though not fast enough. He came in hot, unable to control his momentum. He landed hard on his feet and stumbled, tripped, and rolled over his shoulder.

He hadn’t done that since he was first learning to fly.

He pulled himself back up, his hair dangling over his face and bits of grass and dirt clumps falling from his shoulders. He glanced around the clearing frantically.

“Loki! Loki, where are you! Don’t eat the nut! I spoke with Father, he said it might be dange—”

The rest of his words died on his lips when his gaze fell upon a small group of woodland creatures crowded at the edge of the trees: a doe and her fawn, three rabbits, a pair of chipmunks, a band of bluebirds in the lower tree branches. They were all gathered around a small blue body lying facedown in the grass.

Loki.

Mjölnir thudded to the ground from Thor’s limp fingers.

No!” he roared, and his cry was accompanied by a crack of thunder from the clear sky above.

The animals bolted, tails raised and feathers flying.

Thor charged across the clearing and slid to his knees beside Loki, feeling as if his heart had been torn from his chest. His gaze settled upon the remains of the nut, the shell split in two, its contents missing.

“Oh, no, no, please, Norns, no,” he uttered hoarsely as he pulled Loki into his arms and cradled him. He was completely limp, his eyes shut, his little body cold as stone.

He was too late.

“No, Loki,” Thor choked. He touched Loki’s unresponsive face with his fingertips, petting the lines of his cheek. “You cannot be gone. Wake up, Loki. Please.” He bent down and kissed his cool forehead, holding his lips there as he continued to speak. “Come back. Don’t leave, don’t leave…”

The animals watched from the trees as the big man-creature crouched over his little troll mate and wept. Thunder rumbled and dark clouds began to build in the sky. A drop of rain landed on Loki’s brow, rolling down into his soft black hair.

Thor buried his face against Loki’s neck and began to moan brokenly, rocking Loki back and forth like a sleeping child.

A raindrop landed on Loki’s arm. Then another on his leg.

Over the soft sound of Thor’s mourning, there rose a frail voice: “Th-Thor…”

Thor lifted his head, stunned, and saw the wet gleam of life between the tiny slits in Loki’s eyelids. “Loki!” he cried, cupping his cheek. “You’re still alive!”

Kalt,” Loki mumbled, trying in vain to lift his arm. “Svo kalt... Hita mig, Thor.”

Thor only knew a few words of Jötnin so far, but these were among the ones Loki had taught him.

He was cold. Very cold. And he was telling Thor to warm him.

Thor reached up with one hand and ripped his cape from its fastenings. There came the sound of tearing fabric; he paid no heed. He bundled Loki into his cape, tucking him into a ball. Loki’s tail flopped out limply between the folds.

“Don’t worry, Loki,” said Thor as he stood from his crouch. “I will take you someplace warm. Stay with me, Loki.”

Loki didn’t answer, didn’t move at all. He had fallen unconscious.

Thor held him close in one arm and called Mjölnir to him with the other. The hammer sang as it traveled through the air, the handle smacking into his palm. He grasped it tightly, the tendons bulging in his hand.

He didn’t give a damn about his father’s orders anymore. Loki was dying and there was only one thing that could save him now.

Thor took to the air and flew southeast, toward the palace, with all of the speed and energy he possessed.

Chapter Text

Odin knew Thor was on his way back before his son was even inside the city walls. The snarl of rapidly approaching thunder in the west was all the evidence he needed, and it also told him that Thor was in a very turbulent emotional state. With these two things taken into account, the reason for his speedy return from the forest was clear: that nut-eating little nuisance was in critical condition, and Thor was bringing him to the palace for emergency treatment.

The Allfather sighed, set down his map, and turned to his two remaining assistants. “Keep looking for those First Age plats of Alfheim. When you find them, bring them to my study immediately.”

“Yes, sire,” they chimed.

Odin made his way from the reference room and into the south wing, his rapid footfalls echoing loudly as he entered the heart of the library. Another rumble of thunder broke, closer this time.

Frigga appeared on the balcony, her head tilted to the side, listening. She spotted her husband striding across the floor below. “What’s happened? Are you and Thor quarreling?”

“Nay, my dear, this is an entirely different matter,” said Odin, raising his face to her. “One that I think will require a mother’s healing touch.” He extended his arm and beckoned to her. “Come, I will tell you along the way.”

With a puzzled frown, Frigga set down her armful of books, gathered her skirts, and hurried downstairs.


The rain was starting when Thor burst through the west entrance of the palace. He was soaked, his fair hair matted to his head and his armor streaming rills of water. His face was twisted with grief and his tears were indistinguishable among the raindrops wetting his cheeks. In his arms he carried Loki’s damp, bundled form.

He had not shivered once during the flight. That was not a good sign. He seemed to be slipping deeper into a state of senselessness. Only seidh-medicine would be able to bring him out of the darkness and back to the waking world.

As Thor plowed down the corridor toward the healing hall, he was met by both of his parents coming from the opposite direction. Frigga’s long golden-red hair was gathered behind her head and pinned up out of her way, and she carried her apple-wood wand, Helbryseg1. Her face was tight with concern. Odin wore a similar stern expression, though his features were harder and radiated an ominous mien. In his left hand he held Gungnir, the powerful golden spear which had, in its day, spilled more troll blood than Thor’s own hammer.

Thor set his jaw bravely and continued forward, preparing to meet—and defy—his father’s wrath.

“I know very well what you’re going to say,” he started, glaring at Odin, “and I don’t care. I’m not going to let—”

Frigga’s horrified gasp cut him off. “Loki!” she cried, darting over and trotting alongside Thor, pulling back the cape that hid Loki’s face. “Merciful Norns, he’s already febrile. Just look at his color. The poor thing is burning up.”

“Burning?” Thor glanced down at Loki and saw that his mother was correct; Loki’s cheeks were a dark, feverish cobalt and he was panting quietly through his parted lips. “Impossible. How can this be? He was freezing when I found him. He was cold and pale. The last thing he said to me was to keep him warm.”

“Oh, dear.” Frigga frowned. “It sounds as if his body’s thermoregulation has been completely disrupted. Come, your father and I have made ready a healing room. Take my arm; I’ll bear us hence.”

Thor came to an abrupt halt and turned to stare blankly at Odin. “I don’t understand. Aren’t you going to—”

“We haven’t the time for this, Thor,” said Odin, gripping his son’s shoulder. “It may already be too late. Now heed your mother and complete the circle.”

Perplexed, Thor did as Odin instructed. Frigga reached out and grasped Odin’s forearm, forming an unbroken circle with her husband, her son, and the sick little frost troll he was holding.

They vanished in a shimmering flash of green and gold light.


Thor couldn’t remember much after Frigga spirited them away to the healing room. It was all a confusing blur of action and agonizing helplessness. Someone, either Frigga or one of the attending seidh-women, carefully pried Loki from his arms and laid him out on the glowing helbrebord, the healing table. Thor watched several pairs of gentle Æsir hands ease Loki’s head down and unwrap him from his red cocoon. He looked so tiny and vulnerable on the table now: his narrow, naked blue chest, rising and falling in shallow, rapid beats; his clever little hands and feet, limp and cold to the touch; his tail, normally so animated and expressive, now utterly still.

It was like he was already dead.

“Out of the way, Thor,” someone—probably Odin—said to him. “We cannot work with you standing there. Either help us or leave us.”

After a muddled moment, Thor’s legs numbly walked him backward until he bumped into the wall. Two seidh-women moved into his empty spot and began to run analyses on the shimmering, transparent lyskjermer that surrounded the table.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from Loki. He didn’t want to. If he looked away for so much as a second, he was sure Loki would die then and there. It was irrational and illogical, but a crushing sense of guilt had been building in Thor’s heart which made it difficult to believe anything else.

Loki was in this situation now because of Thor’s own negligence and naiveté; he had let Loki out of his sight and hadn’t been there for him when he needed him most, and now he may be dying. It was all Thor’s fault.

He sniffed and dragged his sleeve across his wet eyes, watching his parents and the healers work to undo what a wiser man could have prevented. Frigga held her wand a few inches above Loki’s body, moving slowly from head to toe while Odin laid his age-weathered hand on Loki’s belly and meditated upon something that could not be sensed with mortal faculties. He and Frigga spoke to one another using ancient terms of magic and sorcery, some which Thor had never heard before.

“It is not seidh-forgiftnin,” Odin muttered. “His blood is clean, not a single toxin. His livskilte have a normal metabolic radiance.”

“I noticed that as well,” said Frigga. “What could be ailing him, then?”

“If it’s not an internal issue, then it must be external. An outside force is affecting him. It’s almost as if he is experiencing a blodsvinge. His extremities are cold but his core is overheating.”

“And it’s not breaking. There isn’t a drop of sweat on him.”

A series of glittering runes appeared on one of the lyskjermer, red and angry-looking.

“My lady Frigga,” said the attending seidh-woman, “the patient’s temperature is approaching crisis-level. His cells are beginning to break down.”

Her words put a dagger of ice through Thor’s heart, and in that same moment an earth-shaking crack of thunder exploded in the sky above, causing everything in the room to rattle.

Thor heard his father say to one of the attendants, “Get him out of here,” and the next instant he was being pushed toward the door by a very determined, hard-handed woman. He looked over his shoulder, trying to catch one last glimpse of Loki, and saw Odin grasp the moonstone necklace Loki was wearing—the very thing that was keeping him from overheating, its flickering pearl fighting against the fever consuming him—and rip it off.

“No, don’t!” cried Thor. “He needs that! He—”

He was pushed outside and the door slammed shut behind him. He stood in the dark, eerily quiet corridor, dripping rainwater onto the floor, baffled and stricken and useless.

Loki’s precious life now lay in the hands of the Allfather, a man who happened to be an unrepentant troll-killer—as well as the greatest seidh-master in the Nine Realms. How easy it would be for him to fix his little troll problem now, Thor thought wretchedly. He could see it as clearly as if it were already happening: Odin emerging from the healing room with feigned disappointment, wiping his bloodstained hands on his robes matter-of-factly.

I did all that I could, but he was beyond our help. I’m sorry, son. It simply wasn’t meant to be. You there, servant. Fetch me some ale, I’m quite parched. Putting trolls out of their misery is thirsty work.

Thor leaned in and thumped the door with his fist, dragging his hand down the intricately-carved wood. He shut his eyes tightly, bowed his head, and allowed his tears to fall.

Outside, the black clouds opened up and poured rain onto the city of Asgard.


It was a dark day in the Golden Realm, the wettest and dreariest that many could recall. Rooftops shined, gutters gurgled, and the streets turned to swamps. Merchants and peddlers hawked their wares from the cover of their tents while pedestrians ducked beneath awnings to get out of the rain. Taverns saw an increase in patrons: damp, disgruntled folks who drew to the hearth to dry their skins and ordered tankards of warm mead to cheer their spirits.

Morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon aged bitter and gray, punctuated by groans of thunder and sighing winds. As with most days when the weather was rotten, time seemed to crawl by, the hours stretching themselves out to thrice their normal length. It made waiting an agony.

Inside the palace, word had quickly spread that a person of interest had been delivered to the Allfather. Anything beyond that was left to rumor and fiction. Soon a small crowd of whispering, wide-eyed spectators had formed at the end of the corridor, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious stranger. He was said to be many things: dangerous; dying; a criminal; a child. No one was certain. Theories fluttered left and right from wagging jaws.

Thor sat on the floor outside the healing room, his back to the wall and his arms resting on his knees, only vaguely listening to the quiet, querulous voices. He didn’t bother correcting them. At this point, he couldn’t care less what they thought. Sound and air, that’s all it was. Meaningless mist that amounted to nothing.

“I heard it’s a wounded prisoner. A troll, of all things.”

“Aye, Prince Thor captured it and brought it to the king to be interrogated.”

“It must have important information for Odin himself to be questioning it.”

“A troll in Asgard! What a horror!”

“I hope it doesn’t escape. Just think what would happen.”

“Blood and murder, for sure.”

“Nay, the Allfather would protect us from that. It is plague that worries me. Goodness knows what diseases a creature like that might bring into this realm.”

“You’re all completely wrong. That’s no troll in there, but some kind of elf. Raudhi saw it with his own two eyes.”

“Well, I heard it from Gilla personally that it is not an elf. It’s some kind of interspecies child, a frail, feeble little thing who was poisoned by a witch.”

“Gilla never said anything about a witch.”

“It’s an elf, I tell you. Raudhi swears on it—”

The muttering and milling continued for a long while. Some of the spectators became bored or were forced to return to their duties, and a new watch would take their places, asking the same questions and arguing the same theories. In this way the crowd replenished itself over the course of many hours, and everyone in the palace was kept abreast of the latest news from the healing hall.

Baldur and Nann appeared around mid-afternoon. With a few crisp orders, they broke up the gathering and sent for guards be posted at each end of the corridor to keep away gossiping onlookers. Then they sat down with Thor as they had originally intended and offered him their solace.

“Take heart, little brother,” said Baldur kindly. “Father would be a fool to try and hurt Loki now. Mother is with him, after all.”

“Yes, she will keep him safe,” said Nann with a smile and a nod. “Tell me more about him. Baldur says he is a tiny thing. Is he a child, or is he simply small for his age?”

“He is a young adult,” said Thor hollowly, “though for some reason he is losing his teeth as if he were a child.”

He went on to explain how Loki’s teeth had been bothering him and how he had lost his fang the previous day. Baldur and Nann sat on either side of him, listening intently.

“I can’t be sure,” said Thor, “but it looked as if he had lost another tooth while I was gone today. I don’t know what is happening to him.” A tear slid from his eye and he quickly wiped it away. “I wish I had never told him about the fairies. Then none of this would be happening.”

A messenger came for Baldur some time later and he was forced to take his leave. He promised to return as quickly as possible.

Nann stayed with Thor, her arm hooked in his, and tried to keep his mind occupied with matters other than his immediate crisis.

A half hour later, one of the seidh-women finally came out into the corridor with an update on Loki’s condition.

“His temperature is still fluctuating, but the worst seems to be over,” she said. “He has been placed in an induced sleep to prevent further damage to his brain. We won’t know the extent of his impairment until he wakes.”

Nann squeezed Thor’s hand and looked over at him. His face was twisted with anguish.

“Brain damage?” Thor repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “Impairment?”

“Queen Frigga is monitoring his waves now, and King Odin is using søvnseidh to heal him.”

Søvnseidh,” Nann murmured. “That’s the same magic he uses for sleep regeneration, isn’t it?”

“Yes, your highness. The same as the Odinsleep.”

“Could I see him?” Thor pleaded.

The seidh-woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, your highness, but the Allfather has requested that you remain here. No one is to enter the recovery room. It is delicate sorcery they have woven and the patient must not be woken prematurely. His sleep cycle must be allowed to complete itself naturally.”

Thor dropped his gaze to the floor. There came a soft rumble of thunder overhead. He said no more.

“Thank you for the news,” Nann interceded. “Please keep us updated, even if nothing changes. We will be right here.”

“Of course, your highness.”

Thor fell into a long, mournful silence. Nann held his arm and hoped that her presence was at least some comfort to him.

Hodur appeared not long afterward, his walking staff skimming the floor before him as he moved.

“I heard you’re having a bad day,” he said with a lighthearted grin. “Literally. I’ve been listening to it for the last hour.” He gestured toward the ceiling, where the rain was steadily drumming on the roof outside. “The whole palace is buzzing like a beehive. Did you really bring Loki here? Is he sick?”

Nann was about to answer for Thor when he finally lifted his voice: “He has been poisoned. He ate a nut that the fairies left for him and now his brain might be permanently damaged. All because I was foolish.”

Hodur sat himself down in Baldur’s vacant spot and listened to his younger brother recount the details of the past few hours, including the update they had just received.

“The søvnseidh is very strong magic,” said Hodur, leaning on his staff. “Father and Mother know what they’re doing. Loki will be fine.”

Thor didn’t say anything.

Until he saw Loki alive and well, he wouldn’t believe it.


In a dark chamber off the main healing room, a small patient was returning to the world of the conscious.

Loki woke slowly, taking a deep breath and blinking open his eyes. He rolled over with a sleepy groan and curled up on his side, nestling deeper into the soft, warm blankets.

His eyes shot open a moment later and he bolted up, looked down at himself. He was lying in a flat Æsir bed with a thick, fluffy pillow under his head and several layers of blankets on top of him. He had been dressed in clothes, a kind of loose white shirt with long sleeves. It was soft and flowy and very comfortable, though it seemed a bit oversized. He pushed down the covers and saw that the garment was long, covering his feet and even the end of his tail.

He was naked beneath it, his loincloth nowhere to be found.

Loki blushed and drew the covers over himself again, then glanced around anxiously. He was in a dim, narrow room with a high ceiling, completely alone. A strange-looking lamp on the nearby table glowed a serene shade of green. It was the only source of light. The floors were a type of smooth, polished stone he had seen before, and the designs on the walls looked familiar. Asgardian. Royal.

Loki jolted at the realization and gripped the blankets tightly.

He was in the palace. The one place in Asgard where his presence was strictly forbidden. How had he gotten here? Had Thor brought him? Did he—

Suddenly it all came back to him. Memories crashed over Loki like a wave; he recalled waking up in his nest with Thor that morning, the awkwardness that followed. A breakfast of dried fruits and meat and the cakes that Queen Frigga had made especially for him. The trip to the starbloom thicket. The discovery of the nut. Thor’s departure. The promise Loki had made—and then broken.

“Oh no,” he whispered, remembering his irresistible temptation, his voracious desire, how it had overpowered him. Just one little taste was all it had taken to drive him to utter madness.

Things became blurry after that. He had been cold, he knew, and then he fell down. He thought he remembered Thor picking him up, the sound of thunder, the feeling of rain on his skin. And now he was in some kind of Asgardian sick nest, feeling perfectly alright while everything else he cared about was completely and utterly ruined.

Loki buried his face in his hands and began to whine.

Thor was never going to trust him after this.

Just then there came the sound of a door creaking open. Loki’s head snapped up in terror and he shrank even deeper into the covers.

In a doorway to his right stood Queen Frigga. She smiled at him kindly and glided over to the bed. She appeared tired but pleased.

“I thought I heard you stirring. How are you feeling, darling?”

“V-very well, your majesty.”

“That’s good.” She held up a small white crystal. “May I?”

Loki nodded, unsure of what she was going to do with it. She leaned over and gently pressed the crystal to Loki’s temple for a few seconds, then pulled away. The crystal had turned a soft pink, which gradually faded back to its original color.

“Your temperature is normal,” she declared. “That’s a good sign. We were all so worried for you, Thor especially. It’s been raining and thundering here all day.”

Loki cringed, his ears drooping. “I’m so sorry, your majesty. I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble. Please don’t send me back to Midgard!”

“Why, Loki! Dear, we would never do that.” Frigga sat down on the edge of the bed, frowning. “This realm is now your home. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“But I have!” Tears began to flood Loki’s eyes. “I promised Thor I wouldn’t eat the nut, he told me not to, and that’s precisely what I did. I don’t even really know why I did it. I, I just lost control of myself. I never intended to break my promise, I swear. I only wanted to see what was inside. But the shell was hard and I”—he swallowed roughly and a tear tumbled down each of his cheeks—“I tried to bite it in half and ended up losing another tooth, and by then I was so angry that I… when I finally did get it open, it smelled so good I just…”

“Just couldn’t help yourself,” interrupted a new voice. “Apparently the fairies were counting on that.”

Loki’s face drained to pale blue as the Allfather stepped into the room.

The last time he had seen Odin face-to-face was one of the most terrifying and unpleasant experiences of his life. The most powerful being in the Nine Realms had expressed nothing but contempt for Loki and all his kin. He’d made that absolutely clear.

Odin didn’t look very pleased right now, but he didn’t appear to be angry or disgusted, either. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing down at Loki with one eyebrow quirked.

Thú ert heppinn, little one,” he said gravely, “very lucky indeed. If Thor had brought that nut to me, I would have told him to toss it into the ocean, and you would not be here in my palace now, enjoying my hospitality.”

“I’m sorry, Allfather,” Loki squeaked and threw back the covers. “I’ll leave at once. Please forgive my intrusion—”

“Get back in that bed, Loki. You’re not going anywhere.”

Loki scrambled back into bed and stared at Odin fearfully from the covers. He looked to Frigga for help.

“It’s alright, darling,” she assured him, patting his shoulder. “Stay and rest. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

“But I feel fine, really. Please, I don’t want to cause any more trouble than I already have. I just want to go home.”

“Home?” Odin snorted. “Your home is a frozen rock on Jötunheim, and as much as it would please me to send you back there, I don’t think Fárbauti would enjoy seeing the refuse he threw out returned to him.”

Odin.” Frigga’s voice was dagger-sharp. Odin winced as if he’d been nicked.

“Er, well. In any case, it pains me to say that you must remain here in the palace overnight. Perhaps tomorrow as well.”

Loki huddled against Frigga’s side, his eyes huge. “Why? Am I going to be punished?”

The Allmother petted his hair. “No, dear. We just want to make sure that your temperature is stable. We wouldn’t want to send you home until it is done adjusting.”

“W-what do you mean? What happened to me?”

“To put it succinctly,” said Odin, “the fairies gave you a nut that altered your metabolism.”

“Matab. Tablo. M-my what?”

Efnaskipti,” Odin repeated, using the jötnin term. “Your body temperature. Have you not noticed that you are clothed and covered in blankets, and yet quite comfortable?”

“Yes, sir. But my moonsto—” Loki reached up to touch his necklace and found his neck bare. “Oh no! Where is it? What happened to it?”

Frigga said gently, “As soon as you ate the nut, your body began to alter itself. The moonstone was interfering with the process, and that is what made you ill.”

Loki blinked. “So I… don’t need the moonstone anymore?”

“I should say not,” said Odin gruffly. “It almost killed you. Fairy magic and seidh do not mix well.”

“Odin was the one who realized it,” said Frigga, casting a knowing look in her husband’s direction. “Once he removed the moonstone, your fever came down and you began to normalize.”

Loki’s expression shifted from dismay to amazement. “So the fairies…?”

“They undoubtedly recognized you as a frost troll from the tooth you offered them,” Odin said. “And for some illogical reason, they decided to bless you instead of exterminate you. Perhaps you are too small to be seen as a threat to them.”

“Or perhaps Thor had something to do with it,” Frigga said with a merry sparkle in her eye. “You know how much the fairies adore him.”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

Loki gulped, glancing between the king and queen. “Does that mean I’m like one of you now? An Æsir?”

“We don’t know yet,” Frigga confessed. “All we know is that you suddenly seem to be doing quite well in our climate, and we want to observe you for a little while to see if the effects are permanent. Hopefully they will be. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Loki was silent for several long moments, absorbing this astonishing news. Being able to live comfortably in Asgard without the aid of moonstones or magic—it seemed like a dream come true. And it also meant that the fairies didn’t hate him; on the contrary, they had given him a welcome present, the best welcome present a frost troll could ever hope for: the ability to live in the golden realm of Asgard without being harmed by its warmth. Oh, Loki couldn’t wait to tell Thor—

Frigga saw the veil of dejection suddenly fall over Loki’s face, and she put her comforting arm around him. “What’s wrong, darling? You look troubled.”

Loki fiddled with his hands. “No, your majesty. It’s just that I… well, I lied to Thor and I’m afraid he won’t be happy to see me.” He lowered his head and added, “If he even wants to see me again.”

“Oh, Loki, of course he wants to see you! He’s been waiting outside in the corridor ever since you arrived. Baldur and Hodur and Nann, all of them have come to show their support. He is going to be overjoyed to see you, darling, of that I’m certain.”

“Yes,” Odin glowered. “My son, the lightning striker, overjoyed to see a troll. This is my legacy. Fraternizers and troll-lovers.”

Frigga smiled archly before turning to Loki. “Would you like to go see him? I’m sure he’s been counting the minutes.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am! Very much. But, erm. I believe these clothes might be a little big for me.” Loki was right. The neck of his nightgown was so large that it fell off one of his little blue shoulders, displaying his markings.

“Of course, I shall assemble an outfit for you myself. Something suitable for a prince.”

“Thank you, Queen Frigga. And”—he smiled sheepishly—“if it’s not too much trouble, I think I’d like to have a bath. I feel as if I’ve been sweating for hours.”

“You were,” said Odin flatly. “And you smell like it.”

Dear.”

“What? I was merely agreeing with him. Go on, then, give him a bath. Dress him in silks and jewels, make a doll out of him. In the meantime I shall be dealing with more important matters. Hmph. And do send for me before you bring him out, Frigga. I wouldn’t want him to suddenly destabalize and start melting all over the floors. They’re difficult to replace, you know.” He turned and walked out the door.

Loki waited until he was out of earshot before he looked up at Frigga. “He doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

“Don’t worry about him,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Odin is a man who likes to hide his feelings behind many walls. It is how he guards himself. A king can be many things, but weak is not one of them.” She smiled at Loki and took him by the hand. “Come now, darling, let’s get you cleaned up.”


Evening was approaching, though the cloud cover made it difficult to tell what time it truly was. A dusky dimness had settled over the entire city.

Baldur returned from his errands and resumed his vigil with his wife and his brothers. They took breaks in shifts, coming back with chairs and a bit of food and drink to share amongst each other. Normally Thor’s appetite was hearty, but he had no interest in food now. The others didn’t fault him, nor did they try to force him to eat; however, Baldur was finally able to persuade Thor to leave for a few minutes to go get changed out of his clothes, which were still damp from his panicked flight that morning. He returned wearing a civilian outfit and soft leather boots to replace his more rugged, battle-ready pair.

They were all beginning to nod off in their chairs when Hodur suddenly lifted his head. “Father’s coming,” he announced. “Mother, too.”

The king and queen were nowhere to be seen, but anyone who knew Hodur more than five minutes trusted his hearing, which was almost supernaturally keen.

“Is anyone with them?” Thor asked.

“I don’t think so.”

Thor swallowed his dread. Baldur reached out and steadied him.

Presently Odin appeared at the north end of the corridor, striding slowly, his face an unreadable mask. A short distance behind him came Frigga, the hem of her skirts brushing along the floor. The four siblings rose to their feet and watched their parents approach.

They stopped a short distance away—another ill omen—and when Odin heaved a long, weary sigh, Thor’s blood ran cold.

This was it. Any minute now his father would say the words. I’m sorry, Thor. We did everything we could but

Frigga turned her head to the side and whispered, “You can come out now, dear.”

From behind Frigga’s skirts emerged someone Thor thought he’d never see again.

Loki. Warm and alive, his eyebrows bent into worried little arches beneath his short, nubby horns. He was dressed like the child of an emperor, the beloved son of a decadent monarch. He wore a long light-blue jerkin trimmed with silver, its buttons made of pearl and abalone, and a long silk sash over his shoulder. His undershirt and leggings were satiny white and his belt was soft, pale leather with delicate tooling crafted into it. A pair of beautifully brocaded slippers covered his small feet. He wore a silver circlet on his head and his hair looked like it had been washed and trimmed, for it shined glossy black and all the blunt edges were gone. His cheeks were a healthy cerulean blue, though his ruby eyes were full of unmistakeable guilt. His tail curled nervously around his left ankle.

Baldur leaned close to Hodur and described Loki’s appearance in a rapid murmur, smiling, using the special language that only they two shared. Hodur kept nodding his head, a faint grin on his lips.

Nann folded her hands over her heart. “Bless me,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen such a darling prince in my life. He’s twice as handsome as you said he was, Thor.”

Thor’s lips were parted in awe. He hadn’t blinked once.

Loki ducked his head as he approached and wrung his small hands.

“I’m sorry, Thor,” he began shakily. “For lying to you and eating the nut. For making you worry. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean—”

Thor fell to his knees and threw his arms around Loki, burying his face against his shoulder. Loki made a startled sound and went stock-still, his tail sticking straight out.

“I thought you dead,” said Thor raggedly, lifting his head to look Loki in the eyes. “I thought I had killed you.”

The fear melted from Loki’s face. “Oh, no, Thor, you weren’t responsible for any—”

“I left you. You could have died. It is I who should be begging your forgiveness, Loki.”

“But,” Loki sputtered, “but I was the one who broke your trust. It was my fault. I was greedy and—”

“No, I was ignorant.”

“But I was impatient.”

“And I was oblivious.”

“Ob. Blivvy…?”

“Oblivious,” Thor repeated gently. “It means I did not see what was right in front of me.” He reached up and brushed his fingers through Loki’s hair, tucking the shiny black strands behind his pointed ear.

“What do you mean?” said Loki. “What was right in front of you?”

Thor gently laid his hand on the back of Loki’s collar and gave him a tender, tearful smile. “That you are wonderfully curious and inquisitive, and I should not have left you with something so dangerous. Only a fool would take such risks.”

“Oh, but it wasn’t really dangerous,” Loki insisted, brightening a little. “You were right about the fairies. Their gifts are helpful, and this one was not only magical, it was miraculous!”

Thor looked to his father, who rolled his eye and nodded grumpily. “Yes, that does seem to be true,” he admitted. “Whatever was in the nut seems to have cured Loki of his heat intolerance. It appears the fairies have decided that they like this particular frost troll and want to help him. For the life of me I can’t figure out why. Who knows when it comes to fairies. Daft, silly creatures. Flitting around, sprinkling all over the local flora, introducing new species every season. I would like to know how they got into Asgard in the first place.”

Thor and Loki met each other’s eyes. Loki covered his grin with his hand and snorted cutely while Thor pulled his mouth into a frown to keep from laughing.

Baldur put his arm around Nann, smiling at the happy reunion before them.

Then Hodur’s voice rose up in alarm: “What in Hel is that?”

It was another few moments before the rest of the family registered the sound of approaching footsteps. It sounded like a small army was making its way toward them. The tramping of heavy boots, the jingle of chain mail and the clank of armor, wooden shields thudding against leather—and, strangely enough, the bleating of a goat.

Baldur let out a cackle before he hid his grin behind his fist. “Ene jainko. Hau da, Hodur. Hau itxaron zenuen une honetan. Váli eta Vídarr Loki elkartuko dira. Prest al zaude?2

Hodur grasped his twin’s shoulder and laughed. “Prest nago, neba.”

Thor stood and put a protective hand on Loki’s shoulder.

A few seconds later, Váli and Vídarr Odinson rounded the corner, clattering and clanging in full battle armor. They wore helms on their heads and scowls on their faces, and they carried their personalized shields that had yet to see any real action. Nevertheless, they were groomed for war, their faces painted and their eyes lined with kohl. Vídarr carried his sword and axe, Váli his bow and knives. They would have made a fearsome sight on any battlefield, but here they looked simply ridiculous.

Especially with a small goat trailing after them, a rope tied around its neck.

They drew to a halt before the doors of the healing room and beat their shields against their sides.

“We’re ready, Father,” said Vídarr determinedly.

“Yes,” snarled Váli, “we’ve been preparing all day to meet the Troll Prince of Jötunheim.”

“We brought him a snack.” Vídarr shook the rope he was holding, which was currently being chewed on by the goat. “It won’t hold him over for long, but it should keep him off our backs for a little while.”

“Yeah, we might just escape with our lives.”

“But not without getting clawed.”

“Maybe maimed a little.”

“Yeah, like on the face.”

“So we can get some really wicked scars.”

“Girls love guys with face scars.”

“Open the doors, Dad!” cried Váli, so inflamed with bloodlust that he forgot his manners. “We’re ready to meet this Loki!”

A brief silence ensued. Baldur whispered to Hodur, who was trying his damnedest not to burst out laughing.

Odin arched his eyebrow and drawled, “If you wish to meet Loki, he is right here.”

The twins stopped glaring at the doors and turned their heads. “Huh?”

Unable to suppress his grin, Thor stepped to the side and gestured to Loki, whom Váli and Vídarr had completely failed to see. Loki put his hand to his waist and bowed politely in the Asgardian fashion.

“Váli, Vídarr,” announced Thor, “I present to you Prince Loki of Jötunheim.”

“How do you do,” Loki chirped. He grinned up at the youngest of Odin’s sons, revealing his two missing fangs. “Oh, is this for me?” He scurried past them and over to the goat—it was small, less than a year old—and stroked its soft hair. “Thank you! I’ve always wanted a pet. I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

The goat bleated and Loki bent to hug its neck.

The twins’ mouths dropped open at the same time, a look of horror on their faces.

“Wh-what.” Váli struggled. “But he’s.”

“He’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” said Loki, his eyelashes fluttering bashfully.

“He’s polite,” Vídarr squawked.

“Well, I do try to be respectful to those who—”

“He speaks good!” Váli looked up at his family accusingly. “You knew. You all knew!”

“And you led us to believe he was a beast!” Vídarr cried. He looked as if he might already be crying.

Baldur smirked at his little brothers. “You fooled yourselves for the most part. You let your imaginations get the better of you. We never said anything about what Loki looked like.”

Váli and Vídarr simultaneously threw their arms toward their father. “He told us that Loki was a fearsome fiend! Big red eyes!”

“Claws like daggers!”

“Teeth like swords!”

“Like needles,” Odin corrected.

“You said he’d tear the meat off our bones!”

“And stab us with his tail!”

Váli and Vídarr glared at their father accusingly, as if they had been robbed and insulted in the worst way. Baldur used those exact words to describe their faces and Hodur promptly cracked up. It caught, and soon the whole family was laughing.

Vídarr dropped the goat’s rope and squatted down with a defeated moan. Váli let his shield hit the floor and cradled his head in his hands, mumbling “I can’t believe this,” over and over.

Loki padded over to him—the goat followed, it liked him already—and clasped his hands together politely. “Excuse me, Prince Váli?”

Váli uncovered his face. His kohl was running down his cheeks in wet black streaks. “Yeah, what?” he snapped.

Loki cleared his throat. “I’d like to thank you and your brother for all your help. Because of you, Thor has been able to teach me many things these past few weeks—how to fish, tie knots, tell time with the sun and the stars. It’s helped me tremendously and I want you to know that I’m very grateful.” He smiled.

Váli and Vídarr shared a glance with one another, then looked down at this princely little troll before them. “Uh. You’re… welcome?”

Loki’s tail gave a happy shake. He extended his hand to Váli, as Baldur had done to him when they first met. After a confused pause, Váli grasped his forearm, and Loki grasped his.

Thor watched this meeting of two different worlds, and thought his heart could never be so full of love and pride as it was right now.

Outside the palace, the rainclouds broke, revealing a gorgeous sunset.

Chapter Text

Once Váli and Vídarr had gotten over the initial shock of meeting the troll prince of Jötunheim, their cautiousness transformed into curiosity. They gathered round and studied Loki with thoughtful expressions and eyes that gleamed with interest.

“So you’re a real frost troll,” Vídarr mused. “I’ve never seen one in person before. Wow. You look kinda cool, actually.”

Loki smiled. “Oh, no, I’m really quite comfortable. I’m not cold or hot at all.”

“It’s just a saying,” said Váli absently. He was mesmerized by the end of Loki’s tail, following every wag and curl with fascination. “When something’s cool, that means it’s excellent.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing.”

“Really?” Loki looked over his shoulder at Thor. “So the lower the temperature, the better something is?”

“I don’t believe temperature has anything to do with it,” said Thor, smirking. “It is only an expression of approval.”

“Oh.” Loki turned back around, his cheeks flushed dark blue. Thor’s little brothers approved of him! This was better than he had hoped for.

“Do your markings mean anything?” Vídarr asked, picking up Loki’s hands and examining the fine lines on them. “Were you born with them? Or did you have to grow into them?”

“Can you pick things up with your tail?” Váli added, still staring at Loki’s hindmost appendage. “It looks pretty handy. Like, literally handy, I mean. Can you hang upside down from a tree or anything?”

“I, em, well, it’s—”

“Are you gonna grow claws when you get older?”

“Hey, you’re missing a few teeth,” said Váli, suddenly alarmed. “What happened?”

“Oh, damn, you are missing teeth. Did they get knocked out in a fight?”

“Did you win?”

“Do we need to kick somebody’s ass?”

“Hey, how old are you anyway? You’re like a kid, right? A baby troll?”

Too many questions. Loki was so overwhelmed that he could only address the latest one. “Er, no, I’m actually—”

“Wait, are you a boy or a girl?”

“He’s a boy, Ví,” said Váli, rolling his eyes. “He’s called Prince Loki, not Princess Loki.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Queen Nalior is a man.”

“Yeah, because he’s married to a king.”

“Boys,” said Frigga kindly, “there will be plenty of time later to ask Loki all the questions you like. He’s had a long and stressful day, as have we all, and I’m sure he could do with some food. Loki, dear, would you like to join us for dinner?”

Odin opened his mouth to protest and was suddenly mugged by Baldur, who threw his arm around his father’s shoulder and proclaimed loudly, “An excellent idea, Mother! I’m sure Father in his infinite grace would be honored to have such a fine guest at his table.” He gave Odin a hearty shake. “And what better way for Loki to show his appreciation than by accepting the invitation? His presence would be a delight to all of us. What say you, Loki? Will you join us at the Allfather’s table?”

Thor crossed his arms over his chest and tried to hide his grin by pretending to scratch his beard. Baldur’s swift, politic thinking had managed to ingratiate both Loki and their father, as well as make it clear that any opposition would mean disappointing (and likely incensing) the entire family. He was truly a natural diplomat.

Loki put his hand to his chest, flattered beyond words. “Gladly, your majes—er, I mean your highness. Thank you.” He bowed his head respectfully.

“Splendid!” Baldur clapped Odin on the back, who currently appeared to be suffering from a bad case of indigestion. “Isn’t it, Father?”

“Oh. Yes. Splendid.” Odin smiled as if he were in terrible pain. “A troll at the dinner table. Why not. May as well bring the goat. It can have its own seat, too, since we’re allowing anyone in now.”

“Really?” said Loki. The goat behind him bleated cutely. “Thank you, your majesty. That would be splendid.”

Something half groan and half whine escaped Odin’s throat. Whatever it was, it was certainly a sound of defeat. With a blustery sigh, he turned and began to trudge toward the dining hall, muttering to himself about the decay of hierarchy and the virulent strain of egalitarianism that had apparently infected his brood.

With smiles on their faces, the family of Odin—and one elegantly-dressed frost troll—followed him down the corridor.


It was the jolliest, most animated dinner the family had had in quite some time, at least since Nann had married Baldur, or Valí and Vídarr had been wriggling babes in their highchairs, eating with their hands and smearing food all over each other’s giggling faces. They had outgrown their chairs, but their messy habits still remained.

The goat—a young female, as Thor had pointed out earlier—was given her own little bowl on the floor beside Loki’s chair. She munched hungrily on a serving of vegetable scraps from the kitchens, and every now and then Loki would reach down and stroke her neck. Each time he did she would make a happy little meh-eh-eh-eh and give her tail a shake.

For Thor, this was wonderful beyond words, having Loki at the table with the rest of his family, making them all smile and laugh, keeping the conversation rich and engaging. He spent most of dinner gazing at Loki dreamily, unable to take his eyes off of him. He looked so handsome and regal in his silken, pale blue attire. Like a royal snowflake, a pretty winter prince. Whenever Loki caught him staring, Thor’s grin would widen and Loki would turn his gaze bashfully downward before lifting it up again, a playful gleam in his ruby eyes.

Odin witnessed these coy little exchanges and took a huge gulp from his goblet every time one happened. His rate of consumption would have had any Midgardian man falling out of his chair by the end of dinner, but many centuries of practicing seidh as well as his vigorous Æsir blood prevented him from becoming completely intoxicated. As it was, he put on an indifferent façade while his family paid extra special attention to the guest of honor, offering Loki dish after dish until his plate was piled high with more food than he could possibly finish. He gave it his best attempt, though.

The only thing that came close to spoiling the cheerful mood was the silverware. Loki struggled with the strange Asgardian utensils, trying to balance them in his small hands. His face glowed hot with embarrassment each time he dropped his fork or sent a piece of food tumbling into his lap.

Thor came to his rescue when it became apparent that Loki was determined to eat after the manner of his hosts or starve trying. He cleared his throat—sweeping a chunk of mutilated potato that had been catapulted onto his sleeve from Loki’s latest blunder—and offered a gentle explanation:

“Loki’s people are not accustomed to using silverware when they dine. They traditionally eat with their hands and drink their soup straight from the bowl.”

“Really? Well, that’s no problem,” said Baldur amicably. “Valí and Vídarr do that all the time. You don’t have to worry about matching our customs, Loki. Eat as you normally would.”

Loki squirmed in his seat. “Thank you, but… well, I am a guest at your table. I thought I should at least make an effort.”

“Noted and appreciated, but no longer necessary.” Baldur pointed across the table with his cup. “Besides, you cannot possibly be worse than those two.”

Valí and Vídarr were hunched over their plates like wild men, shoveling meat and vegetables into their mouths and tearing off chunks of bread with their bare hands. With warpaint on their faces and most of their battle leathers still on, they looked even more barbaric than usual. They paused their gorging when they realized that every eye was focused on them.

“What?” Vídarr demanded. “This is how everyone used to eat.”

“Yeah,” said Váli defensively, “Grandpa Bor said they would eat off their knives and throw the bones on the floor.”

Loki brightened. “Trolls do that, too! But only if the bones are old and the marrow is dried out.”

“Whoa, really?”

Vídarr wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Awesome.”

“Hardly,” Odin snorted. “Thankfully those primitive practices have been replaced by more sanitary measures. Only animals leave their food remains on the floor.”

Valí and Vídarr ignored their father’s critique of jötunn customs and grinned at Loki, delighted to have someone who finally shared their appreciation for the simple and rustic. They inundated him with questions about the jötnar, what they ate and drank, what their feasts were like, what they did for fun. Hodur asked about Jötunheim’s music and folklore, and Nann inquired about the social structure and family traditions of trolls.

Loki responded enthusiastically, chattering his answers while he picked at his meal with his bare hands, tearing off small pieces of roasted pheasant into bite-sized morsels and eating them neatly. He licked his fingers clean with his bristly blue tongue afterward, forgoing the napkin completely. He didn’t need one; he was quite tidy. Váli and Vídarr tried to emulate him, and it actually seemed to curb the hellacious mess they were making of the tablecloth.

Frigga, Thor, and Baldur shared knowing looks with one another across the table. Truly this was a magical occasion.

Of course, they had the fairies to thank for it. Anything in which they played a part was bound to be enchanting.


After dinner, the family retired onto one of the many terraces overlooking the gardens. The goat followed them like a dog, her hooves clacking on the stone floor. Very little remained of the sunset; a few lingering rays struggling to pierce through the thick purple clouds, the only lingering evidence of that dark, stormy day.

They were all getting settled on the couches and chairs—dried off with a quick flourish of Frigga’s sorcery—when the last beams of sun suddenly broke through the clouds and bathed Loki in harsh, piercing light.

Loki gasped and pressed his face against Thor’s side, and Thor automatically went to reach for his cape, forgetting that he wasn’t wearing one. He stepped in front of Loki and eclipsed his body with his own, shielding him from the harmful glare.

Váli and Vídarr were both perturbed. “Is he really that sensitive to light?”

“All trolls are,” said Odin flatly, “even fire jötnar. The moonstone pendant helped him to tolerate it, but as he can no longer wear it, I expect this is quite a shock.”

Thor cupped the back of Loki’s head, careful not to tangle the silver circlet he was wearing. “Perhaps we should move to the eastern terrace, for Loki’s sake. There will be less light there.”

“Wait, Thor.” Loki cautiously peeked out from around Thor’s side, narrowing his eyes as the light touched his face. “It feels different now. I think it’s…”

He stepped out from Thor’s cool shadow and fully into the light. Shades of amber and orange washed over him and his pupils narrowed into tiny points, but he seemed no more affected than a typical Æsir.

He smiled and held up his hand, turning it back and forth in wonder. “It doesn’t hurt anymore! There’s no more prickling or pain. All I feel is warmth.” He looked up at Thor, joy sparkling in his eyes. “It’s like when you illuminate, or when you lie beside me in the nest and touch me with your bare skin. It’s that same kind of gentle heat.”

A not-so-gentle heat rose to Thor’s cheeks.

Baldur’s eyebrows sprang up.

Frigga raised her hand to her smiling mouth and tittered. “Oh, my.”

Odin’s eye gave a few spastic twitches. “Thor, I would have a word with you, please. In private.”

“Yes, Father, perhaps after—”

Now, Thor.”

“Yes, sir.”

Loki frowned, puzzled, as Thor stiffly excused himself and followed his father off the terrace and into the palace. Behind them, the rest of the family came together and began conversing pleasantly with Loki.

Once they were out of earshot, Odin turned to Thor with a long, weary face. “Walk with me, son.”

Thor swallowed his anxiety and obediently followed his father down an adjoining hall. He waited for him to speak, bracing himself for the worst. Loki’s innocent comment had surely given him the wrong impression, but it wasn’t Loki’s fault. He simply wasn’t familiar with Asgardian sexual taboos. A perfectly innocuous gesture for a jötunn could have an entirely different connotation for an Æsir.

When Odin at last spoke, his tone was surprisingly mild. “So you have been sharing a nest with a troll. May I ask how long?”

Thor kept his eyes trained on the floor in front of him. “A few weeks. Ever since he’s been living in the forest. But it’s not a regular—I mean, it helps him sleep better.”

Odin nodded. “So you are sleeping together. Lovely. Are there any other activities going on in his nest that I should know about?”

Thor turned even redder than he’d been a few moments ago. “Father, it’s not like—I, I am aware of how it sounded, but there is nothing obscene between Loki and I. We are friends. He has no family here and—you see, trolls need physical touch. They are miserable without it and Loki has been so neglected that he’s—”

“Yes, yes, I know trolls bond through skin contact. Family nests and sleeping together like a pack of dogs, I understand. I have no doubt that the Cruel Striker neglected his runt in the many years leading up to his exile. From what little I’ve heard, Fárbauti is a villain worthy of his title.”

Thor was completely taken aback. It sounded as if Odin might actually be agreeing with him. This wasn’t merely miraculous; it was inconceivable.

“Yes!” he blurted passionately. “He separated Loki from his littermates. He made him sleep alone and didn’t care for him when he was ill. The only reason Loki is alive at all is because of the mercy of his brothers. The ones that survived, at least. Their mother died trying to birth eight children, and Fárbauti even blamed Loki for—”

“Alright, Thor, alright. I don’t need to hear his entire family history. I believe you. Loki has been persecuted all his life by his beast of a father and your heart bleeds for him. You have taken it upon yourself to care for him, and you want nothing more than to make him happy.”

Thor blinked, astonished. “Wh… yes. Yes.” A wide grin almost split his face in half. “That’s exactly it!”

“Well, Thor, you can’t.”

His grin plummeted. “What?”

“It’s impossible.” Odin drew to a halt and turned to him. “Loki is a troll. You are a man. You can never replace his family or be a substitute for authentic jötunn companionship. That is something he can only get from living amongst his own kind.”

Thor scowled. “You mean his monstrous father who cast him out to die? All the trolls in Útgard who despise him simply because he’s small? You would send him back to—”

Odin held up his hand. “You misunderstand, Thor. I am not saying that Loki must be sent anywhere. As little as I care for it, he may remain in Asgard for as long as he wishes. But the fact of the matter is that soon he will grow restless to be among his people again. There are things he will long for that you will be unable to give him. In which case, I think the frost trolls of Niflheim might be willing to take him in.”

Thor shut his mouth. His heart suddenly felt like it was being squeezed by a giant’s hand.

“What things?” he said bitterly. “The Niflheim trolls cannot provide for him as I can. I can get Loki everything he needs, anything he wants. I can take better care of him than any stranger. I am his friend, I will—”

“But you cannot be his mate,” Odin snapped. “You cannot love him. You cannot bear his offspring, and by the looks of it, I doubt he is capable of bearing any of his own. He would be better off being adopted by a family of trolls on Niflheim than remaining here by himself for the rest of his life.”

“But he’s not by himself. He has me—and Mother, Baldur and Hodur, all of us. He’s already made friends of his own in the forest. The animals adore him. He is happy here in Asgard. He told me himself.”

Odin let out an amused squawk. “And you believed him? Have you learnt nothing of trolls in a month’s time, Thor? That they are duplicitous, inarticulate, introverted creatures who never reveal their true intentions? I suppose not. You are blinded by… whatever it is you feel for him. You are thinking only of your own happiness, not Loki’s. You cannot see that he is cut off from his people. Here he is, isolated in a foreign realm, a solitary outcast desperate to be accepted by other jötnar. It is only a matter of time before he grows weary of Asgard and wishes to leave.”

For the second time that day, Thor experienced an overwhelming feeling of utter helplessness. It was so acute that it bordered on panic. “But. But he might not. He might want to stay and—”

“It would be extremely selfish of you, Thor, to keep Loki here and deny him the opportunity to satisfy his natural urges. And they will come, lad. According to the results of his physical examination, he has only in the last few decades passed adolescence. He has much growing yet to do before he becomes a fully-functioning adult, if indeed his body is capable of it, being stunted like it is. You must be prepared to let him go. Let him grow.”

Thor was devastated. His shoulders sagged, the flames of his fervor sizzling out in the frosty rain of his father’s depressing statements.

After a moment, Odin softened. He reached out and laid a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “It is not my intention to rob you of joy, my son. I am only trying to prevent you from any unnecessary future heartache. Do not become attached to Loki more than you already are. He is not a pet. He is not an adopted sibling or a surrogate child. He is a troll, a jötunn, a completely different species. Your relationship with him is already”—he shifted from one foot to the other, his eyebrows knitting together in a disconcerted frown—“somewhat improper.”

“Improper? How is being—”

“Do not think me so naïve, Thor. I saw the way you two were carrying on during dinner this evening. I may have one eye, but I’m not blind.” Odin sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. “I should not even have to tell you this, but I think I must. I cannot direct your heart, but perhaps I can appeal to your common sense and decency.”

Thor pinched his lips together, waiting for it.

“I understand you are smitten with Loki. He is small and rather handsome by our standards, and his nature is more akin to an elf’s. He seems to reciprocate your feelings, though I cannot tell if they are genuine or simply because he is a needy, neglected little thing and you are the first person who has paid any attention to him. There is nothing I can do to change how either of you feels towards the other, but I tell you this now, Thor: you will not bring shame upon this family by fornicating with a frost troll. Is that clear?”

Thor blushed furiously, though his embarrassment was mixed with equal parts anger and angst. He looked away, his eyes stinging. “The thought has not entered my mind.”

“No?”

Thor raised his head and glared at his father miserably. “No.”

Odin seemed to relax a little. He nodded as if to himself. “Alright. Good.” Pause. “Because he is very small, you know.”

“I know.”

“You could hurt him.”

Thor put a hand over his eyes. He wished the floor would open up and swallow him. “Yes, I know.”

“Good.”

An excruciating, awkward silence followed.

Odin cleared his throat. “Right, then. I, em, have some unfinished business that requires my attention. Pressing matters whose progress was interrupted by all the goings-on today. Give the family my regards and wish them a good night for me. Loki, too.”

“Yes, Father.”

Odin nodded again and, without further ado, shuffled away at a hasty clip. Apparently he had found this little talk as unbearable as Thor.

Alone in the hall now, Thor took a deep breath through his nostrils and pinched away the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

He didn’t know why he was so upset. He knew how his father felt about trolls. He knew his relationship with Loki—even the platonic, innocent one he’d been upholding—would never meet his approval. He was notoriously difficult to please. Thor had been aware of this for years.

But he still wanted his father to like Loki. It was likely a vain hope. Odin barely seemed to tolerate him, and his concern for Loki’s well-being probably extended more from a desire to not upset his family than any genuine charity.

Regardless of his father’s feelings, it still wouldn’t solve the problem of Loki’s natural instincts eventually coming to bear. If they ever did. Not for the first time did Thor wonder how in the Nine Odin had come to know so much about trolls. Was what he said true, or was he passively trying to get rid of Loki by pretending to be sympathetic toward his species? It would not be the first falsehood Thor has heard from his father’s lips—or silence where truth should be spoken.

But it did not ease the tight, heavy feeling in Thor’s heart.

The thought of Loki’s instincts being stronger than their friendship, than his need for Thor, was a mortal blow to Thor’s pride and his peace. Despite what Odin had said, he did feel robbed of joy. He wanted Loki to want to stay with him, but he also wanted Loki to be happy. Those two things might be mutually exclusive of each other, simply incapable of occurring together.

Well, then, Thor decided, he would just have to do his best. He would do everything he could to make Loki happy and content, and if a day came when he wanted to leave…

Won’t you at least stay for a little while and recover your strength? I will not force you to remain against your will. You will not be my prisoner. If you decide you would like to live in another realm, then I shall deliver you there myself when the time comes.

The words which already felt like they had been spoken a lifetime ago, a promise made in a snowy Midgardian forest to a sad, starving little jötunn.

Thor blinked back fresh tears.

If Loki wanted to leave someday, he would not protest. He would help him settle in a new realm, and he would watch over him as faithfully as he did now—perhaps even more so. He would support Loki in his search for his heart’s desires. He would be kind to any future mate he took. And if a miracle occurred and Loki was able to produce children someday, Thor promised he would be like a second father to them. He would do this for Loki. Because he loved him.

Yes, Thor thought determinedly. He loved Loki. And no one, not even the Allfather, was going to tell him he couldn’t.

He sniffed one last time, turned, and began to make his way back toward the terrace.