Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/552656.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Rape/Non-Con, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Thor_(Movies), Thor_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Loki/Thor, Thor/Others, Loki/Thrym, Angrboða/Loki
  Character:
      Loki_(Marvel), Thor_(Marvel), Sif_(Marvel), Byleistr, Fandral, Hogun,
      Volstagg, Odin_(Marvel), Laufey, Farbauti, Thrym, Angrboða_|_Angerboda
  Additional Tags:
      Arranged_Marriage, AU, Jotunheim, Underage_Character, Non_Consensual,
      Dubious_Consent, Humiliation, Captivity, Violence, Casual_Dirty_Talk,
      implied_child_sexual_abuse, Blood, Miscarriage
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-02 Updated: 2013-01-25 Chapters: 11/? Words: 33456
****** Child's Play ******
by anno_Hreog
Summary
     Jotunheim is in ascendance, and Asgard has lost.
     After a botched attempt at stealing the Casket of Ancient Winters,
     Thor is bartered for peace and promised to be wed to Loki, the
     youngest son of Laufey.
     Enter two very unwilling parties, an extended stint of captivity, a
     formal courting gone haywire, negotiations and treaties and dowries
     up the wazoo, and a very bratty, horny, but sly jotunn!kid!Loki,
     who's toying with a very put-upon older Thor, who has to grit his
     teeth and go along with the long-drawn-out engagement to ensure
     peace.
     Even if young prince Loki likes dragging him around on a leash.
Notes
     I had to go fill in my own norsekink_prompt because I'm impatient, go
     figure.
     These are frost giants and Aesir. Still, it's underage. Be warned.
      
     ETA: early chapters will include non-con and violence, and the
     humiliation is here to stay.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Thor's Very Bad No Good Idea *****
 
 
On the second day, Fandral had started shaking from the cold so badly they
piled up on him like wolves. Thor rattled the bars and yelled, “It’s freezing
in here! He’s dying!”
Their Jotnar gaoler strolled by and peered in. “It’s stinking hot in here,
Asgard. You’re out of the storm. What more do you want? In case you haven’t
noticed, this isn’t an inn.”
Thor glared up at him. “You’ve taken our furs, and we have no fire. If you mean
to kill us, do so with honor and slit our throats. Make it a clean death.”
“That’s not up to me, Asgard,” said the jotunn with a sneer. He was a good two
feet taller than Thor, and his skin was icy blue, and by the Nine, he was
standing half naked in this cold, the worn leather cloak leaving his chest bare
to the elements.
“Then bring someone who has the balls to decide.”
The jotunn growled and pounded his fist on the bars. Thor took an inadvertent
step back, and a gob of spit landed at his feet.
“You’re in no position to make demands, Asgard cur.” And he left, taking the
torch with him.
Volstagg started running in circles around the cell. “It’s best to keep moving,
keep your blood pumping, else we’ll fall asleep and not wake.”
It was a good idea, but the slight sheen of sweat he’d worked up cooled down
quickly, making him colder than ever, and then he was shivering worse than
Fandral.
“We’re all going to die,” croaked Fandral miserably. “I don’t want to die here
on this miserable lump of ice surrounded by stinking men. Sif, dear Sif, sit
closer to me. I want to look at something beautiful when I die. Shove over,
Hogun. Make room for the lovely lady.”
“You’re not going to die,” said Hogun gruffly, but made room for Sif anyway.
Sif just gritted her teeth where she was, sitting hunched over next to Volstagg
and rubbing her hands furiously.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” she muttered. “I told you it was a foolhardy
plan.”
Thor kept pacing. It had hardly been a plan, more of a spur-of-the moment flash
of inspiration. They would sneak into Jotunheim and steal the Casket of Ancient
Winters. That would tip the scales in Asgard’s favor for once, level the
playing field against the overwhelming brute force of Jotunheim. At least it
would eliminate the threat of everlasting winter which Jotunheim held over
their heads, ever since Asgard’s defeat on the fields of Údaìnsakr and
Jotunheim had emerged preeminent of all the Nine Realms. Theirs was an uneasy
truce, a peace held on thin ice. And Thor had gone and shattered it.
Odin would be furious. Perhaps it was best that they died here, in this cramped
bitterly cold cell in Jotunheim, before his father found out what he had done.
Or rather, had failed to do.
A rustling noise came from down the darkened hallway outside the cell. Thor
stopped, and strained his ears. Perhaps the gaoler had a change of heart.
Perhaps someone higher-up had decided they would be more useful alive. Perhaps.
The crystal was cold and blue, but not overly bright, but Thor raised his arm
over his eyes, blinded by the sudden light. When his eyes adjusted, two jotunns
stood in front of the cell, looking them over curiously.
They were smaller than the Jotnar he had seen, bundled up in small mountains of
lavish furs, and it took a moment for Thor to realize that they were but
children. The smaller one had a delicate, fine-boned face that rose above heavy
white furs, fastened at his throat by an intricate gold clasp in the shape of
entwined serpents with sparkling green gems for eyes and scales. It was a
princely cloak, and its wearer, Thor realized, a prince.
The child prince of the Frost Giants barely came up to Thor’s chest.
His brother wore the pelt of a black wolf and was a hair shorter than Thor, not
young children, Thor assessed, but barely out of puberty.
“Look at all that… fur,”said the smaller one, barely hiding his disgust and
fascination. “Helblindi was right. They’re like animals.”
He was the one who had slim, twisted horns that swept back from his temples
like a mountain goat. Thor grabbed the ice-cold bars.
“We need a fire,” he said. “Our friend is ill. You have to give us something.
We can’t survive in this climate.”
The taller one razed a glance over him, coldly. “It speaks. Loki, did you hear
that? It’s speaking to us.”
The little one, Loki, only giggled. “I’m not deaf, Bỳleistr. It’s as if you’ve
gone to the stables and your elglar wants to have a nice chat while he’s being
saddled. That would be quite wonderful to have, don’t you think? A talking
mount. But isn’t it odd, hearing clever speech coming out from all that fur?”
“What is your fascination with their hairy heads, Loki?” said the one called
Bỳleistr. “There, we’ve seen them. I want to go back now. I’m getting hungry,
and Skaði will be cross if we’re late for tea.”
“Please,” said Thor before they could turn around. The words burned like coal
in his throat, but he would get on his knees if it would save his friend.
“We’re not like you. My friend has taken ill from the cold. He won’t last if he
doesn’t get help. A fire or a blanket. Please.”
“Come along, Loki.” Bỳleistr was tugging at the smaller one’s cloak. “This is
getting tiresome, and the king will not be pleased that we snuck in to see the
prisoners.”
“The king?” Thor shook the bars again. “I wish to speak to the king. He will
see me. I am Thor Odinson – I am a prince of Asgard. We wish to speak to –”
Bỳleistr kicked the bars quite viciously. “It’s noisy. Let’s kill it.”
Loki was looking at Thor, his odd crimson eyes narrowing. “No.”
“Fine, I didn’t mean killkill it. It’ll probably die anyway. The Aesir
halfthings are weak, the Farbauti-king says.”
“I wonder how much fur it has,” Loki was saying, curiously, like a child at the
zoo. “Do you think it’s hairy all over?”
Bỳleistr made a face. “How disgusting. You’re so perverse, Loki. Who cares what
the halfthings look like?”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” said Loki. “Farbauti-king says the
halfthings aren’t whole. They can either have a cock or a cunt, but not both.
Don’t you want to know what that looks like?”
“You’re making me sick, Loki,” said Bỳleistr, though that seemed to have
stirred his interest. The warning bells were going off in Thor’s head. The
little one seemed to sense his trepidation and stepped closer to the bars. He
uncupped his hands and held out a small gleaming crystal.
“Look here, filthy animal, can you feel the heat?” he asked. A cruel little
smile was curling at the corner of his lips. He tossed the crystal into the
cell and Thor snatched it up. The stone flared up with warmth. The others
huddled around him, and the heat emanating from the tiny crystal washed over
them like a balm.
“There’s more where that came from, if you do as I say,” said the small jotunn.
“What do you want?” Thor asked grimly. He could see where this was going, and
steeled himself for the humiliation. The jotunn child grinned, a coy look too
old for his child’s face.
“Which one of you is the cunt?”
Thor could feel the backs of the Warriors Three stiffen, and his mouth
tightened in a thin line. He wasn’t answering this spoiled child, not for
anything, this was absurd –
“I am.”
Sif stood up and walked to the bars of the cell.
“Sif, no –”
“Shut up, Thor. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”
The jotunn princes were watching them, their eyes glittering like cats in a
dairy.
“It’s got more hair,” said Bỳleistr. “There’s more on top of its head, and it’s
hanging down like an elglar’s tail.”
“But not on its face,” said Loki. “Its face is clean, except for the brows.
See? I think it’s prettier than the other ones. I want to look at it. Strip,
cunt,” he ordered Sif.
“No!” roared Thor.
Loki didn’t deign to look at him. “I wasn’t talking to you, fuzzy. I was
talking to the cunt.”
Sif swallowed hard, glaring at the jotunn prince all the while. “If I remove my
protective layers, I will die.”
“That sounds like fun,” said Bỳleistr. “Do you want to see how long it takes
them to freeze to death, Loki? We could take it outside and stick it in a
snowbank. I’ll go get my astrolabe.”
“No,” said Loki. “It might be the important one. It’s the only one with a cunt.
I guess the hairy faces are the cocks, then. I want to see what they look
like.”
“All right,” said Sif before Thor could say anything. “But if I do it, I want
another crystal.” She added quickly at the annoyed looks on their faces. “It’s
only reasonable to add what warmth you are taking away.”
Loki narrowed his eyes, then fiddled inside his voluminous furs and drew out
another, larger crystal, and nodded.
Resigned, Sif started unlacing her vambraces and her chestplate in a matter-of-
fact way, as if she were only about to oil her tack out in the courtyard. Thor
couldn’t stand any more of this.
“No,” he said, and shoved her back. Sif glared at him. “No,” he repeated. “I
will do it.”
The older jotunn boy sneered at him. “You don’t get a say in this. No one’s
interested in you, halfthing animal. We have three other cocks in the cage.
You’re not important.”
“You wanted to see if there’s hair all over?” said Thor quickly, desperately.
The little one’s eyes were glittering, and his mouth was open in a delighted
smile.
“I’ll show you,” said Thor. “It’s not like a horse at all. There’s a fine
growth of hair over my chest, yes, but not dense as on my head or my beard. And
there’s less and less as you go down my stomach, only a trickle as you pass my
navel, but when you reach my cock there’s a fine golden bush –”
“I want to see it!” said Loki, clapping his hands. “I wish to see your fur. I
wish to touchit.”
Bỳleistr squealed, revolted and titillated at once. “You’re disgusting, Loki!
Next you’ll make the cock mount the cunt to see them couple.”
“You’rethe disgusting one. I suppose they’ll couple the same as all the
livestock do,” said Loki, but he sounded intrigued. “Go on then, fuzzy. Remove
your clothes. Show me what you look like underneath.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
***** More Bad Ideas *****
Chapter Notes
     Violence, Humiliation, Non-con, and Loki's not getting older any
     faster either. Be warned before proceeding any further.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
A balmy warmth enveloped him as the jotunn prince approached the bars of the
cell, and Thor shivered despite the heat.
“Go on then,” said the boy. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.” He closed his
fist over the stone, and just as abruptly the heat vanished.
“I haven’t.”
His armor clattered to the ground first, and the luxurious warmth flared up
again. It was like sitting before a roaring fireplace in the middle of winter
with all the windows open, the cold kept at bay by the immediate presence of
the fire.
Behind him, the Warriors Three edged to the back of the cell, discreetly
turning their faces away, so as not to bear witness to his humiliation at the
hands of this boy. Sif didn’t, only lowering herself to a crouch, as if ready
to pounce at the slightest danger.
His woolen tunic was next, and he stood in his thin cotton undershirt.
“Look at his arms, Loki,” the elder prince said, lips twisted in disgust. “It’s
like your old rogglehog when he got so old he lost half the hair on his back.
Remember? You kept that stupid little thing after all its teeth fell out and
you had to feed it mush with your finger. Right up until Skaði sat on it, and
it popped. Remember? That was so funny!”
“I remember, shut up,” said Loki quietly, not taking his eyes off the triangle
of skin that showed at the open collar. “Go on,” he told Thor, and Thor pulled
his undershirt over his head and tossed it aside carelessly.
“Oh….”
It was a little sigh that escaped despite itself, and Thor knew where it came
from.
Thor couldn’t feel the cold in this bubble of heat, and in the eerie blue light
and the pall of silence that fell around them, it felt as if there were only
the two of them, himself and the little jotunn prince.
The boy stretched his thin fingers, and the tips ghosted over the growth of
hair on his chest, not quite touching, then accidentally brushing over them.
The boy pulled back, startled, and after some hesitation, he reached out again.
“What is it like, Loki?” his brother called out, but Loki didn’t answer. “Is it
bristly? Does it smell?”
“Yes,” said Loki, not really listening to the other boy.
The little jotunn didn’t look at his face, his intense gaze fixed on Thor’s
chest, and he was holding his breath, Thor realized, as he gathered his courage
and pressed gently against Thor’s bare skin.
His fingers were cold, but it wasn’t unpleasant, and slowly, gingerly, they
stroked down his chest and over the planes of his stomach.
“You’re warm,” said the boy softly. He seemed to have forgotten about his
brother, but he wasn’t really speaking to Thor, either. His soft breath blew
over Thor’s chest hairs.
“You’re not so cold yourself,” said Thor, and he saw a little smile at the
corner of the boy’s lips as he looked up at Thor. Their eyes met, and the boy
bit his lower lip nervously. Thor had to remind himself, that yes, this was
only a boy, an innocent –
The fingers went lower, brushing over the patch of hair below his navel and
stopped.
“Lose the breeches,” ordered the boy prince. “Let’s see that bush you promised
me.”
He felt a muscle twitch in his jaw.
Gritting his teeth, Thor unbuckled the belt and shimmied out of his breaches,
staring stonily down at the top of the boy’s head.
A sharp giggle came from behind the younger prince.
“He’s almost as large as Thrym,” said Byleistr, laughing. “At least he will be
if you touch it. Go on then, Loki, touch his cock. See if he can get it up. I
wager he’ll grow larger when he’s excited.”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Loki, annoyed. “If he had a cock as large as Thrym’s he
wouldn’t be able to walk.”
“How would you know how large Thrym is?” asked Byleistr sharply.
“I don’t,” said Loki turning to his brother. “I was only guessing –” This was
his chance.
Quickly, Thor reached out through the bars and slung an arm around the boy’s
neck. Byleistr screamed.
“Scream all you want, little jotunn beast,” growled Thor. “I’m going to snap
this kid’s neck unless you do as I say.”
Byleistr didn’t stop screaming, and Thor tightened his hold. Loki gasped and
choked for breath and he struggled and kicked out in a futile way.
“Send word to the king,” Thor snarled at Byleistr. “Tell him Thor Odinson
wishes to speak to him. Hurry, or your brother dies.”
That seemed to get through to the other boy. He dashed out of the hallway,
almost slipping and falling in his haste.
“How do you like this, little monster?” Thor reached down with one hand to do
up his breeches again. “Do you like it better? How about if I press down harder
on your windpipe? Does that excite you?”
He kicked the crystal, which had fallen on the ground over to Sif, who snatched
it up. “Get that to Fandral.”
“Thor, but you’re –”
“He needs the warmth.”
Sif ignored him and pull his woolen tunic over his head. The jotunn boy took
that opportunity to wriggle free, and almost slipped out of his grasp. Thor
grabbed him by the arm. His fingers dug in so tight he was sure he was leaving
bruises, and he felt an unfamiliar thrill run down his spine.
“No you don’t, you little snake,” said Thor, and the little jotunn spat in his
face.
Thor yanked him close, banging the boy's head against the bars and the boy
cried out, just as the sound of footsteps and shouting filled the air. A
trickle of blood rolled down the boy’s temple and into the grooves of his
strange horns, and Thor stomped down on the spark of pity that flickered
inside.
Guards beat on the bars with their fists and yelled, but Thor didn’t let go. “I
wish to speak with the king!” he roared. “I will have an audience with Laufey!”
Suddenly, the guards stopped their raging, and falling silent, parted to make
way for a jotunn lord. Thor recognized him. It was Thrym, host of the Armies of
the North and the lord of Þhrymheimr, the largest of Jotunn territories. The
jotunn lord’s face didn’t move as he took in the scene.
“Let go of the prince, and you will see the king,” he said, his voice deep and
rumbling with odd harmonics in the cramped cell.
“Your word?” Thor demanded.
“You have it,” said Thrym. Thor released the boy, and Loki ran from him, not to
his brother, but to the warlord, and Thrym enveloped him in his great leathery
cloak.
At a minute gesture from the lord, the guards unlocked the door to the cell and
dragged them out one by one.
“Wait,” said Thrym. Byleistr held on possessively to one arm, but Loki clung to
his neck, burying his face in the great warlord’s shoulder.
“Þjazi,” said Thrym, and a jotunn soldier, larger than the rest stepped
forward. Thrym gave Thor a kindly smile.
“You are the one who laid hands on my prince?” he asked.
“I am,” said Thor, unflinching. It was only what he expected from these Jotnar.
The one called Þjazi pulled out a corded whip, and the one who held onto Thor
proceeded to drag him back into the cell alone.
“Twenty strokes,” ordered Thrym. “That is only fair.”
“No!”
But it wasn’t Sif or Hogun or Volstagg who cried out. It was the small jotunn
prince.
“No,” said Loki again. His face peeked out of his voluminous white furs, from
where he was almost perched on the lord Thrym’s arm. His icy blue skin had gone
pale and wan, and he looked almost frightened and far younger than he probably
was.
The air was still, as Jotnar and Asgardian alike waited with bated breath. The
lord Thrym sighed deeply, but then, slowly he smiled again.
“What is your wish, sweet prince?”
Loki pointed at the captive Asgardians and singled out Volstagg. He leaned
close to Thrym’s ear and whispered, so loud that everyone could hear.
“That one. Take the fat one. I want him to watch.”
At a nod from Thrym, the guard holding the burly man dragged him into the cell
instead of Thor and briskly divested him of his armor and tunic.
They dragged Thor back out into the corridor before Thrym, and kicked his feet
so he would stumble and kneel.
“And twenty is absurd,” said Loki. “Make it thirty.”
Thor roared and yelled and screamed obscenities, and it took three Jotnar to
hold him in place, as lash after lash came down on Volstagg’s back, until the
skin broke and the blood ran down his friend’s back and pooled on the floor and
froze.
Byleistr looked bored, and he left sometime between eleven and thirteen,
claiming he was hungry. But all the while, the youngest prince of Jotunheim
stayed, and didn’t once take his eyes off Thor’s face.
 
At eighteen strokes Volstagg fainted.
“Wake him up,” ordered Thrym, and one of the guards threw a bucket of water
over Volstagg’s head. It froze in icicles before it finished dripping off, but
the large man awoke, shivering, and shook his head like an exhausted draught
horse.
“Resume,” said Thrym.
“No,” protested Thor. “You’ll kill him.”
“What does it matter to you, Asgard?” Thrym asked mildly. “You will have your
audience with the king unharmed. But this one,” he nodded at Volstagg, “your
loyal servant will take your beating for you. Thirty lashes. It is the wish of
my prince.”
“I will take the rest,” said Thor. “I will take the beating. Beat me. Leave him
be.”
“That is not up to you, Asgard,” said Thrym, but Loki tugged at Thrym’s collar,
wanting to be let down. He stood over Thor and looked down at him curiously.
“You will take the beating for your servant, fuzzy?” he asked. Thor glared at
him, nostrils flaring.
“He is my friend.”
“He is my friend, my lord,” Thrym corrected him, with an undercurrent of
warning, but Loki waved him off idly, and smiled at Thor. Jotunn smiles meant
nothing good, Thor was starting to realize.
He took a tentative step toward Thor, his expression sweet as if he had found a
nest of ducklings in the rushes, and his foot slid out from under his furs.
“Crawl on your belly, then,” said Loki. “Crawl and kiss my foot, fuzzy, and
we’ll forgive the twelve lashes.”
His knees already bruised on the cold floor, Thor’s back stiffened, and he
wanted to strangle this little monster. Loki looked away and called to the
guard.
“Turn the fat one over, Þjazi,” he said. “Give the rest of the whipping on his
great belly. Perhaps it will burst.”
“No!”
Volstagg was coughing and the pain of that was making him groan again. Sif and
Hogun’s eyes were pleading, but they weren’t pleading with Thor to desist.
After what they’d been through, this was only a little thing.
Thor got down on his hands and knees and lowered himself further so his chin
touched the ground. It was only a few steps away, and the hem of the fur cloak
tickled his forehead.
But before he could press his lips to the boy’s boot, it pulled away, and
without warning, a violent kick slammed into the side of his head.
After that, thankfully, he blacked out.
Chapter End Notes
     *sighs* and I thought I was writing a marriage fic. But it is.
***** The Gift that Just Keeps Giving *****
Chapter Notes
     Violence, Non-con, captivity, talk of forced impregnation, and still
     underage. Oh, and babies. There should be a warning for that, too.
The boy didn’t kick him that hard, but Thor’s body felt like it had gone
through a bruiser. After days of cold and misery and uncertainty, it finally
gave way, and he slept as if he had been drugged. Perhaps he was.
In dreams, Volstagg’s flogging played over and over again, only to be replaced
by Sif or Hogun or Fandral, while Thor stood by, fighting at his bonds and
helpless. In the last rendition, it was the jotunn prince held down by unseen
hands, while Thor wielded the whip and pleaded for it to stop at the same time.
Thor cried out and tumbled out of the bed.
The room was dry and warm, and his blanket was clean. His hand fumbled around
and found a bowl of ice-cold water, and he gulped it down to the lees. A smell
of bitter, medicinal herbs filled the air.
A low groan from the other side of the room jolted him back to reality. It was
Volstagg, still out, and laid on his belly. A jotunn healer was crouched over
him, pressing a greenish salve to his welts and bruises. From where Thor could
see, the blood had been cleaned away.
In an instant, the soldier in him was back, quickly scoping out the door left
ajar, the one unarmed jotunn with his back to him. This was his chance to
escape.
“Where are the others?” he demanded.
The jotunn healer turned around and gave Thor a measured look. “You’re awake. I
thought you’d sleep a few more hours. How is your head?”
“Better than ever,” growled Thor. “Answer the question.”
“They are under guard. Their fate is yet undecided,” said the jotunn. He was
simply dressed, the loincloth unadorned and his leather cloak lined with dark
fur, and he frowned at Thor. “Of course, you could assault me and run. Go on,
then, Asgard, take your chance and escape.”
Thor ignored that.
“Take me to them,” he commanded, instead. Thor stood up, an advantage that
quickly vanished when the jotunn got to his feet, a good head taller than Thor,
and sneered down his aquiline nose at him. Then he shrugged.
“As you wish.”
He led Thor out to the corridor, which was three stories from the ground and
looked upon an enclosed courtyard. This was not in the depths of the dungeons
at all, but in an airy wing of the palace.
Below in the courtyard, a fighting ring had been set up, and with a start, Thor
recognized Hogun. Dressed jotunn style in only a loincloth, he was rolling and
dodging and aiming his jabs at a jotunn warrior who looked almost twice his
size, if not in height, then in bulk. Even from this distance, he was shiny
with sweat, and Thor could see that he had been at this for quite a while and
that he was tiring. He barely dodged out of the way of the jotunn’s great fist,
and stumbled into the thick rope of the ring.
An older jotunn in the somber robes of a scholar clapped his hands twice, and
the jotunn fighter backed off and went to his corner. Hogun hobbled to his, and
stumbled.
A shriek of laughter came from the sidelines. The elder prince, Bỳleistr jumped
to his feet and howled in glee, but Loki, the younger one, seemed to crawl back
into his seat and sulk.
“It’s not fair, Bỳleistr,” Thor could hear him say. “Iði is so much bigger than
the Asgardian. It’s not a fair fight.”
“Then put two of them in,” countered Bỳleistr. “Iði will still beat them, hands
down. Put the cunt in the ring –”
An older jotunn cleared his throat disapprovingly, and Bỳleistr rolled his eyes
but amended his words.
“Put the female in together with the male for the next round. But if Iði wins,
he gets to fuck both of them, right here.”
“But what if the cunt – all right, all right – what if the female gets kittens?
Can it?” asked Loki.
“She,” corrected their tutor. “And yes, if Iði couples with the Asgardian
female, she may become heavy with child.”
Loki and Bỳleistr were bouncing in their seats with excitement.
“I want one! I want an Asgardian kitten!” cried Loki. “Bỳleistr, ask Iði if he
will fuck him now. We both know Iði was going to win anyway. Ask him if he will
fuck all of them. All of them can have kittens! Except the long-haired one.
That one’s mine.”
“No, no,” said their tutor. “Only the female can carry a child. And only the
long-haired one is female.”
“Oh,” said Loki, looking disappointed for a moment. “The short-haired ones
can’t have kittens? Even if they grow out their hair?”
“Yours?” said Bỳleistr scathingly. “What do you mean by yours? You’re not
thinking of taking it to bed, are you?”
“Don’t be obscene,” snapped Loki. “That’s disgusting. I just think it’s pretty,
is all.”
But Bỳleistr cackled and made lewd noises at him until Loki kicked him off his
chair.
Thor felt a growl rise up his throat, and he shook off the pacifying hand on
his arm. The jotunn healer sighed.
“What will you do, jump down three stories and fight your way through an armed
guard?” the healer asked mildly. “This is the younger princes’ household. The
lesser prisoners have been put under their protection.”
“Well, I do not think much of your protection,” snarled Thor. “What do you mean
by lesser prisoners?”
The healer shrugged. “I beg your pardon. I meant no offense. But you are after
all a prince, as you proclaimed so loudly when you demanded to see the king of
Jotunheim, and after recent events, it was deemed imprudent to entrust the
well-being of such a… more high-ranking personage, to their… ah… tender
mercies.”
Thor looked down at the courtyard. The tutor stood up and clapped his hands
again, and outside the ring, jotunn servants pushed Hogun back into the fight.
He swerved out of the way of the first punch, and made a flying leap and hooked
an arm around Iði’s neck to bring him down.
It would have been a good move, if Iði had not been so stolidly built and
impossible to take down. Hogun hung from his neck until the jotunn plucked him
off, threw him to the ground like a rag doll, and put one foot on his chest.
With a roar of triumph, the jotunn warrior reached down and tore the loincloth
off Hogun, and pulled him up by his thighs as the man struggled and attempted
to squirm out of his grip. Bỳleistr cheered him on as Iði groped between
Hogun's legs. Loki sat up straight to watch, his mouth open in an expectant
"oh!"
“They are taking the brunt of my beating again,” whispered Thor. He turned to
the healer. “I cannot allow it. I cannot be secluded and safe, while my friends
bear the bulk of this abuse. Stop this. Please. I will submit myself to the
prince’s ‘protection.’”
“You will put yourself in the way of the lash, Odinson?” The healer narrowed
his eyes. “Because the youngest prince will single you out to see if you break.
Make no mistake about that.”
Thor gazed back at him. “I’m counting on it. That way he will turn his spite
only on me.”
The healer did not speak for a while. Finally he nodded. “As you wish.”
He made a gesture. Out of the shadows, servants scurried forward to take hold
of Thor. The healer did not look back again, but he spoke as he walked away.
“You wished to speak to the king, Odinson. You have done so.”
 
§
 
The fight had ended so abruptly, and there was to be no fucking at the end of
it.
Bỳleistr pouted, but he did not care either way. He was of age and had already
had his white night two winters ago. It had been a cheerful, ribald event that
spilled out into a wave of careless rutting all around, and much feasting and
more fucking.
At least that was what Loki had heard. He had been too young at the time, and
had been sent away, to be locked up in a tower with a pile of dusty old books.
They had not even been very interesting books, probably picked out by someone
who couldn’t even read.
It was completely unfair, but so many things seemed so unfair lately. He almost
tripped over a drooling toddler. He picked it up and made a face. Helblindi and
Gerd’s third, another happy accident from that night.
It laughed and swatted at him, and Loki scowled at it some more, but he held it
close and sat down in a shadowy alcove and grit his teeth.
His guts ached and his face flared up stupidly, and the heat pooling low in his
stomach was probably letting off a stink, as if he was some mindless bitch in
heat.
He hated this, hated hated hated it. And it was all Bỳleistr’s fault.
The baby flailed on his lap and attempted to dash its own brains out on the
stone floor. Loki clasped his fingers around its chest. Stupid baby. Gerd was
very beautiful, but secretly Loki thought he was an idiot. Then again,
Helblindi was an idiot for marrying him. Poor baby, it had a snowball’s chance
in Asgard, with parents like that.
Everyone was stupid. He wanted to take a sharp stick and jab it into his own
stomach—
“My prince, are you unwell?”
Loki whirled around, and stood up stiffly, almost dropping Helblindi’s
atrociously sticky child. Of all the… just his luck, it had to be lord Thrym.
He wanted to tear something apart.
But there was only Thrym’s arm, solid and strong and smelling so wonderful, and
Loki clung to him, leaning on him heavily while pretending not to. He wasn’t
helpless. This was just a new walk Loki invented. It would be all the rage at
court.
Thrym took the baby from him, and balanced it on the other arm.
“What can the Farbauti-king possibly want now?” Loki asked peevishly. “I took
in the filthy Aesir, and I’m feeding them out of my own purse. Bỳleistr’s not
doing half the….” Loki pulled himself up primly. “I’m sorry to tell you this,
lord Thrym, but my brother is a horrible spendthrift and his household suffers
terribly for it. You are marrying yourself into ruin.”
Thrym only laughed – what a deep, satisfying rumble he had. “I believe I can
afford it for now, my prince,” he said, dandling the babe, “although, who knows
how we will weather it when there are little ones afoot. What a fine child this
is. Laufey’s line always bred true, and that’s a promise.”
Loki felt a flare of temper at that, like a flame burning him up to the top of
his head.
“Thrym, glorious splendid Thrym, don’t marry Bỳleistr, don’t,” he pleaded.
“You’ve no idea how he kicks. And he wet the bed until he was six. And he
smells like fish when he sweats, and he cheats at cards! You mustn’t.”
Thrym laughed again and pulled Loki to him by the waist, and it felt as if
Loki's entire left side was tingling with anticipation. “My sweet, lovely
prince, but you cheat at cards,” Thrym pointed out.
“But I cheat to win!” yelped Loki. “How much more pathetic can you get when you
cheat and lose?”
He started shaking with rage and unshed tears, and Thrym gathered him close to
press dry lips to his forehead.
“No, not there,” Loki whispered, and wound his arms around the great warlord’s
neck. “Kiss me on my lips, Thrym, and on my cunt. I want you, you can’t know
how badly. Please.”
Strong hands picked him up and put him down, as if he were a child. He glared
up at Thrym, his eyes stinging, and Thrym sighed.
“A moment, prince Loki,” said Thrym, “to pull yourself together?”
They had arrived at the door to his private chambers. The stupid baby cooed and
dribbled, while Loki fumed. He jerked his head away when Thrym tried to wipe
away that one fat tear that had escaped.
“That will not be necessary,” he said in a clipped voice, and pushed open the
heavy double doors and entered the room.
His dam, the Farbauti-king sat cross-legged on a settee, looking calm and
composed as always. Behind him stood the fuzzy, whey-faced Asgardian, looking
grim and sour, and Loki felt a sneer curl at his lips.
“What now?” he demanded, and the Farbauti-king sighed in that long suffering
way, as if asking all the realms what he had done to have a son such as Loki.
“Loki, child of my body,” said the Farbauti-king, “it will please me greatly if
you take another Asgardian into your household, until we have decided upon the
best possible course of action. He will serve you in a personal capacity, and
you will keep him with you at all times. Will you do this for me?”
Feeling Thrym’s gaze on his back, and staring into the stony face of that
hateful Asgardian, Loki couldn’t bear all this, closing in on him at once.
“I will not!” he spat, stomping his foot.
“And why ever not?” asked the Farbauti-king, with exaggerated patience.
“It tried to kill me once.” Loki couldn’t believe he had to explain this to the
one who had given birth to him. “I won’t have it near me so it can try again.
Besides,” he said unkindly. “It’s ugly. My eyes will shrivel up just looking at
it.”
***** Stuck in a Hole (Just Keep Digging) *****
Chapter Notes
     Underage! Nudity! Unhelpful Help! Oh, and that leash I promised you.
     [ETA] Oh hey, under-base/Ric was taking commissions so I jumped at
     the chance, and asked her for Child's_Play_Thor_and_Loki. Loki looks
     a bit younger than I imagined him, but it's lovely lovely art, and
     hey, I might just write him that way later on because of this.
They were left in their chambers and ignored for three days. A servant boy,
barely older than the youngest prince, came in twice a day to bring them food
and empty their chamber pots.
Still, the pots stank, and Thor could really use a good wash. His hair was
starting to itch, and judging from Sif’s increasingly sour expression, he was
certain that the combined odor of four grown, unwashed men was making her dizzy
and rather homicidal.
Volstagg’s back knit up quickly, though he still needed someone to rub that
foul smelling salve into the raised pink welts. He was still sore though, and
couldn’t lift his arms over his shoulders yet.
Hogun and Sif were stretching together on the floor, all they could do in the
cramped confined space. When Thor, hesitantly choosing his words, asked Hogun
how he was, Hogun looked up and said baldly, “You mean after that jotunn stuck
his finger up my arse?”
Fandral’s laugh turned into a cough where he lay on the pallet. He was mending
quickly as well.
“Nothing’s hurt as much as my pride,” said Hogun.
“Raring for a rematch, Hogun?” asked Fandral, “What if you win? Do you think
they’d let you fuck the jotunn? Would you really?”
Hogun grinned at him, all teeth.
“Stop, you’re making Thor blush,” said Sif.
They fell silent as the door creaked open, and a jotunn, elegantly dressed,
poked his head in, then jerked back immediately, feigning to faint from the
smell.
“Euuugh, what’s this horrible stench?”
Servants flung open the door, and the jotunn ventured back in again, holding a
scented kerchief to his nose and mouth. He was a higher ranking servant, a
finicky scribe from the looks of him, and he sneered at the serving boy who had
been bringing them their food.
“Didn’t you think of washing out their stalls? Washing them? Did you just throw
their slop at their heads and run?”
The boy glared insolently back at the scribe. “Din’t hear nothing about washing
out their stalls. I just do as’m told.”
“Brainless cur,” the scribe curled his lip. “Bring out that one,” he said,
pointing at Thor with a manicured finger.
The servant boy took one look at Thor, then back at the scribe, and shook his
head violently.
“Not worth the hide off my back getting near that one,” he said. “He’s a child-
killer.”
Thor got to his feet. “I shall come with you,” he said quietly. The scribe
looked surprised, as if a boar had looked him in the eye and addressed him in
perfect court Jotunn.
He nodded curtly, and Thor followed him.
Thor was led behind the kitchens, and quickly stripped and tied to a post, and
before he could protest, they hosed him down. At the sudden rush of water, Thor
roared, shouting at the indignity of it. which only got him a mouthful of
water. The servants in charge of the task were no more moved than if they’d
been charged with scrubbing vegetables.
When it was over, a rough towel was thrown over his head, and Thor huddled
shivering before a brass brazier that gave off a tired green light. The scribe
brought him clean clothes, a plain tunic and trousers in the Asgardian style,
and turned away as he quickly put them on. The shirt clung to his damp skin,
and he wrung out the last of the water from his hair.
“Is it the youngest prince, or both?” he asked. The scribe looked away and
sniffed.
“Prince Loki,” he said finally, “so behave yourself and try not to act like the
filthy barbarian that you are, Asgard.”
“I won’t shit on the carpet, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” said Thor,
laughing at the disgusted look on this bloodless jotunn’s face. A tiny jewel
hung from the tip of his painted fingernail. No, this was no honest scribe.
“What is your name?” he asked, and the jotunn turned up his refined nose, not
deigning to look at him. He was rather attractive, in a whippet slender and
overly delicate way, unlike the great hulking giants he had faced on the
battlefield, and Thor imagined he could take one such as this to his bed. He
wondered what it would feel like to hold him down and fuck him, if he could
make him moan in pleasure, beg for mercy.
Thor shook his head. He always fell for the cold ones, the ones who turned away
in disdain. There was something wrong with him.
The jotunn seemed to feel the shift in Thor’s stance, and took care to put some
distance between them, which amused Thor.
The youngest prince was sitting at a writing desk, and from the way he was
drumming his fingers on the surface, he was annoyed. He didn’t turn around when
Thor was brought in, and started scribbling furiously instead.
Another giant stood at the prince’s left, and Thor recognized him from fighting
ring. He growled at Thor, but he was grinning, as if Thor was a joint of meat
to tear into. The not-a-scribe cleared his throat, and Loki flapped his hand at
him.
“I know you’re there, Fenja, I’m not completely deaf and blind. Just wait a
moment, I’m in the middle of something. Amuse yourself with the Asgardian if
you wish.”
Fenja made a distressed sound at that, and Iði chuckled. Loki was kicking his
feet in impatience to finish whatever he was doing, and swung around on his
chair as soon as he was done.
“What did I miss?” he demanded, looking from Iði to Fenja, and Iði shook his
head.
“Fenja wouldn’t touch that one if you covered him in gold,” said the warrior,
grinning.
Loki gave a heavy long-suffering sigh, unconsciously imitating the Farbauti-
king. “That’s not what I meant. Anyway, who would want to? It’s a filthy,
smelly animal. Stop teasing Fenja, Iði. He doesn’t like you that way.”
From the way Iði chuckled again and Fenja avoided looking at him, that didn’t
seem to be exactly the case, but the timorous mating dance of the Jotnar was
none of his concern.
“What will become of my people?” Thor demanded, and Iði gave another deep
growl. Thor growled right back at him.
“Stop it, both of you, you’re no better than a pair of stupid dogs,” said the
prince, clapping his hands. “If you want to fight, go do it in the ring. Which
reminds me. First item of business. One of the Asgardians owes Iði a fuck.” He
consulted his list. “Not you. The one with the short dark hair. Fighty, I’ll
call him.”
“Hogun,” said Thor, “and he does not owe anyone a fuck. He is your prisoner,
and he will not be abused –”
“Shut up, shut up, I’m getting to that,” said Loki. “The crux of the question
remains: what are you?”
“They are first labeled as prisoners of the state,” said Fenja. “And now the
three of them... no, four. The four lesser ones are ceded to you. So...
household?”
“They didn’t swear allegiance,” argued Loki. “Anyway, we’re easily rid of two
of them. Sickly and Pretty. I’ve sent the bill of ransom to their families.” He
consulted his list again. “The other two, Fighty and Fatty aren’t important
people –” he waved off Thor’s protest, as if he already anticipated being
interrupted “—one doesn’t have family, and the other one’s family can’t pay
ransom. We’re stuck with them. So, to follow that line of reasoning, if they’re
prisoners, then Fighty doesn’t owe Iði a fuck because he was coerced –”
“I don’t need to take unwilling partners,” grumbled Iði, and Loki slapped the
curve of the armrest impatiently.
“Everyone just keep on interrupting me, why don’t you? It’s not as if I’m
actually your prince and son of the exalted god-king or anything. Oh wait, I
am. So, all of you, just shut up,” said Loki jabbing a finger in Iði’s
direction. Fenja just sighed, muttering undignified under his breath.
“Iði can fuck Fighty if he’s household,” said Loki. “But he’s not household
because he didn’t take an oath with me, and I don’t really trust him running
around free without an oath, not with all those carving knives in the kitchen,
do you? He’ll slit all our throats in the night and run. So here’s a solution.
He and Fatty are classified as prisoners, prisoners without anyone to pay
ransom. We could just slit their throats and be done with –”
“No!” roared Thor, and Loki aimed a kick at him. He was too far away and Loki
only swung his foot through air.
“What did I say about interrupting me?” he said, in a bored voice. “It puts me
in such a lenient mood.”
“They have sworn an oath to me,” said Thor, “and I will vouch for them.”
Thor was right. The little jotunn prince had been avoiding looking at him
because this finally made him look. He flinched fearfully, and quickly hid it,
but Thor saw. He was afraid.
The boy willed himself to straight look at Thor. “You have been put in my
household, Asgardian, that is true. But what assurances have you given me? What
does it matter to me that they are sworn to you?”
It was Thor’s turn to swallow hard. He could feel his heart beating between his
ears as the jotunn prince stared him down. Then, slowly, Thor got down to his
knees. He heard the small intake of breath from the prince.
“I will serve you,” he said quietly. “I shall bow my head to you willingly, and
my men will follow my lead. They will cause no trouble. I swear it. Only spare
their lives.”
Loki was staring at him intently now, and Thor hunched his shoulders and looked
down, hoping it gave the impression of meekness.
“Oh stop it,” said Loki with a snort. “You’re not fooling anyone, fuzzy. You
just look stupid…er.”
But he stretched out his fingers and beckoned Thor to come closer, and Thor
crawled to him on his knees.
“How do I know you won’t break your promise?” the boy whispered, and he sounded
sad rather than petulant, weary as if he was used to broken promises and
tattered faith by now.
“Do you remember my first promise to you?” Thor asked, and Loki nodded.
He was at a loss for words, staring wide-eyed as Thor slowly unbuttoned his
tunic and pulled it over his head. Even Fenja was gaping at him now, as Thor
got up briefly only to remove his breeches and then his smallclothes.
When he knelt again, he was naked. He placed his hands modestly on the flat of
his thighs, but did not cower to hide his manhood.
Loki narrowed his eyes, then snapped his fingers at his stunned secretary.
“Oh pick your jaw off the floor, Fenja,” he said irritably. “Bring me the
rosewood box on the third shelf, and be quick about it.”
Fenja hurried to comply. Loki opened the box and withdrew a thin gold chain
attached to a thin gold collar.
“Come here, fuzzy,” he said curtly to Thor. This was more than he had bargained
for, but there was no backing out of it now. He crept closer to the prince and
stretched out his neck. The collar was made of smooth fine leather, and Loki
put three fingers between the collar and his neck so it fit without chafing.
There was a little bell.
“Stand up,” ordered the Prince, and slowly Thor got to his feet. He could feel
Loki’s eyes on his tumescent cock, and remembered how he’d promised the prince
a ‘fine golden bush.’ He wished, fervently wished, nay he prayed to the great
Tree, that he wouldn’t become excited, not now when so much was at stake, and
this skittish child would shy away or snap at the slightest wrong move.
Loki looked away, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
“Iði, Fenja. Someone get him something to cover up his junk. I won’t have him
blinding the household with such hideousness.”
It was Fenja who adjusted the sash of a heavily brocaded loincloth of sea-green
at his pelvis. But it was Iði who gave him a pinch on one cheek, the one that
wasn’t on his face.
“Welcome to the service, fuzzy,” said the jotunn with a friendly grin.
Thor sighed. That name wasn’t going to go away any time soon.
The jotunn prince gave a little tug of the chain and hopped out of his chair.
The bell tinkled.
"Come on, fuzzy, let’s go for a walk.”
 
 
***** I said, heel! Not, hump! *****
Chapter Summary
     Thor adjusts to life on Jotunheim
Chapter Notes
     This chapter is for jabberwockary and whimsikalmusing on Tumblr.
     Because I really was going to slither into my cave and put the work
     blinkers on until 20th/Dec, but they were being all sweet and
     distract-y :D :D :D
 
 
 
Thor did not know Sif and Fandral were gone until three days after they had
been sent across the Bifrost, bundled up in furs and bound to their elgar like
so much baggage.
 
No one had thought to tell him. It was not a deliberate cruelty, he gathered.
It just did not occur to the Jotnar that he might worry about his people.
 
After being paraded about the household at the end of a leash, Thor had been,
like so many exotic pets given carelessly as gifts, left sitting on a pile of
silk cushions and ignored. Thor was not sure if thiswas deliberate, either.
 
In the evening, the prince’s secretary Fenja unhooked the leash from the wall
and tugged him out of the room, his feet numb from not moving for so long. He
was led down a chill hallway into a tiled, heavily perfumed, and bitingly cold
chamber where Fenja, pursing his lips, waved at a bowl with a richly carved
mahogany cover.
 
“Make it quick.”
 
“Make what quick?” demanded Thor. The secretary turned his head away
disdainfully and deigned not to look at him.
 
“You. Asgard. Defecate.”
 
Thor stared at what turned out to be a toilet and back at the effete jotunn
incredulously. He looked about the room, at the pipes and hoses and now
sinister looking fixtures.
 
“You want me to empty my bowels,” said Thor slowly, “in front of you. Why?”
 
Did they mean to rape him? Was this prissy servant readying Thor for his own
unmanning? Did they think he would allow for this?
It was that inopportune moment that the unlucky Fenja flicked impatiently at
the leash, and Thor grabbed it, yanking it back. Fenja lost his footing and
stumbled into him, and Thor gripped him by the arm and shook him.
 
“Are you washing me out next?” snarled Thor. “Does that nasty little brat not
want to smear his little dick in shit, is that it? If they sent you alone to
hold me down, they must not like you very much, you little snake.”
 
In a futile attempt, Fenja shrieked and tried to struggle out of his grip,
staring at him wide-eyed, his breath hitching. He was very slight and delicate,
and Thor, awash in the anger of the moment pulled him closer and felt a shiver
run down the jotunn’s spine. He tightened the hold on Fenja’s arm, slipping an
arm around his narrow waist and held him flush against him. Fenja didn’t
resist.
 
He was breathing hard, and his dark pupils were dilated. Thor realized, the
anger receding from him like an ebb tide, that the jotunn was limp against him
and pressing insistently into his groin.
 
Footsteps came pounding down the hallway and the door slammed open.
 
With one look at the scene, Iði yanked Fenja out of Thor’s hands and shoved him
out first. He barked over his shoulder. “You. Asgard. Come on.”
 
Confused, Thor trudged after them, Fenja scurrying on ahead, stumbling over his
own mincing steps before he reached the main chamber again, and fell in a heap
atop a pile of cushions with a hysterical sob. Iði sighed and knelt down to rub
his back in a soothing fashion, but that only upset Fenja the more, making him
shiver and toss his head.
 
The door to an inner chamber opened, and Loki came out stomping his feet,
looking annoyed.
 
“Iði, I’ve told you time and again, Fenja doesn’t like you that way,” Loki
snapped. “So stop touching him. What’s the matter with him?” Loki peered into
his secretary’s face. “Why’s he like this? Is he in estrus?”
 
Iði growled and jerked his head at Thor. “Ask that one. He’sthe one that did
it.”
 
“Him? That animal?” Loki made a face of revulsion. “Fenja, you stuck-up prude,
were you craving Asgardian cock? You want that to touch you?!”
 
Fenja buried his face in his hands and whined piteously. Loki only railed at
him some more. “I can’t believe you, Fenja! That’s disgusting! For all your
refined airs, you want fuzzy plowing in your cunt? He smells!And he has all
that filthy animal hair!”
 
Iði had gathered up Fenja and was rocking him in his lap. “You can’t help what
you like,” he said gruffly. “What do you want to do, Fenja?”
 
Fenja only shook his head and tried to crawl out of Iði’s arms.
 
“There’s not much of a choice, is there?” said Loki, scathing. “You, fuzzy,
you’re responsible for this. Don’t stand there with your thumb in your mouth
like an imbecile. Get on with it, then! You can use the second chamber. Don’t
get spunk on the silk.”
 
“What do you take me for?” shouted Thor and Fenja gave a horrified shriek and
ran from the room. Iði just shook his head.
 
“What?” demanded Loki. “I have workto do! I’ve already had to send Hlaði home
for the season because of the added burden, and now even Fenja’s completely
useless to me. What was he doing rubbing up against fuzzyanyway?”
 
“Looking after him? You told him to.” Iði shrugged and glared balefully at a
bewildered Thor, who snarled at both of them.
 
“I am not your dog!” shouted Thor. “I do notneed your people to wipe my arse!”
 
“Oh?” sneered Loki. “Not my dog are you? A dog would be of more use! What good
are you? You can’t fend for yourself, you have no magic, you can’t feed
yourself, you do no work, you get in the way, and you don’t know how things are
done! And now you’ve humped my secretary into a mindless heat!”
 
“I didn’t askto be made a prisoner!”
 
Loki stomped his foot so hard, Thor and Iði both jumped back, as if the floor
might break under him. It didn’t, though a rumble ran through the walls.
 
“You charged into the treasury and tried to steal the Casket, you hairy
mindless barbarian!” shouted Loki. “What did you expect? A gift basket and a
pony ride home? And now, Farbauti-king’s foisted you on my hands, Býleistr’s
spending money like icicles, and I’ve had to send my personal page away to feed
your worthless mouths for a season! So what use are you except a drain on my
household?”
 
“Then put us to use!” Thor shouted back. “We’ll be a burden to no one, least of
all to you, you scrawny little pipsqueak!”
 
“Fine!” screamed Loki. And eyes bulging and furious, he scanned the room and
pointed to an ornately carved armoir.
 
“Move that!” he ordered.
 
Thor stalked over to the armoir – it wasn’t made of mahogany as he’d thought.
It was marble – and crouched down to lift it. “Where?” he grunted.
 
Loki pointed to the other side of the room. “There!”
 
It was heavy, but Thor hefted it in crab steps and put it down triumphantly.
“Next?”
 
“That one,” ordered Loki, pointing at a low table, carved out of a giant block
of jade, and Thor heaved it up and moved it into another chamber.
 
Thor was flushed with exertion, but he didn’t care. After days of sitting
around like an idle eunuch, this had his blood pumping.
 
“At least make it a challenge for me,” he said with a laugh, and Loki jabbed
his finger at yet another inordinately heavy piece, and Thor lifted it,
beaming. This, he knew. This, he could do.
 
Shaking his head at their foolishness, Iði left the chambers.
 
The rooms were quickly becoming a maze of chaos, what with furniture
haphazardly blocking up space.
 
When they cooled down, Loki not fuming with rage anymore and Thor neither, they
realized they had to put everything back the way they were again. To Thor’s
surprise, the youngest prince helped, lifting the other end of the settee and
fussing about the correct angles.
 
“Býleistr’s a slob,” was all he said by way of explanation. Thor just nodded.
He had had to share chambers with Balder when he was very young, and every week
had ended in fights and a line drawn across the middle of the room.
They worked, rather companionably alongside each other without saying more. The
jotunn boy was stronger than he looked.
 
In the midst of their exertions, Thor noticed a strange jotunn entering the
rooms, dropping to an elaborate low bow to Loki before disappearing into the
inner chambers. Thor stared – even in the palace, this jotuun was especially
beautiful and well-built, and dressed in a fine outer robe that shimmered in a
pattern of silvery peacock eyes under the dark colors of the damask weave.
 
He didn’t ask, but Loki rolled his eyes at his questioning face.
 
“He’s a courtesan,” said Loki petulantly. “Remember? To work out Fenja’s
issues? Iði must have asked him to come take care of him.” He made a face at
Thor. “So don’t worry, your virtue’s still intact. You don’t have to stick your
precious cock into jotunn pussy.”
 
“I’m not averse to bedding jotunn,” said Thor, and added quickly before Loki
could sneer at that. “Why not Iði himself? It’s clear he cares for that one,
sourpuss as he is.”
 
“Oh, noticed that, have you?” said Loki, slumping down exhausted in an
overstuffed armchair. He patted the edge of the cushion, motioning for Thor to
approach and lean his head against it. Gritting his teeth, Thor ambled closer
on his knees, but held his spine straight. He wasn’ta dog.
 
“It wouldn’t do at all for Iði to tend to him, not now,” explained Loki, as if
Thor was an imbecile. “Iði has feelings for him, and Fenja doesn’t return them.
At least not yet. It would be taking horribleadvantage in his current state.
You could do it, because you egged him on. That would be following instinct. A
courtesan is better. Fenja will be back to normal after a good bout of rutting.
After all, it’s just sex,” said Loki casually.
 
“You’ve never lain with anybody, have you?” mocked Thor, and Loki slapped him
so sharply that Thor almost sprained his neck.
 
“You’re uncouth, Asgard,” he said curling his lip, and then his face crumpled,
suddenly horrified. “And you smell! Why do you smellso?” Loki jumped to his
feet and yanked Thor up by his hair. “You filthy, filthy beast. I’ll have to
wash you! Will there ever be an end to my burdens?”
 
Hunched over as he was tugged along, Thor found himself in a vast bathing room.
A servant came in to run the bath and remove his loincloth, and before Thor
could protest, he was thrown into a tub of lukewarm water. Loki waved off the
servant.
 
“I can wash my own dog,” he snapped, and proceeded to scrub a rough soap stone
into Thor’s hair.
 
“I’m not your dog,” protested Thor.
 
Without warning, Loki dunked Thor’s head underwater, and Thor swallowed water,
and rose gasping and sputtering. Laughing, Loki flitted out of the way before
Thor could pull him in with him, and reached over to furiously scrub Thor’s
back, then slapped his shoulder to turn around, and scoured the soap stone over
his chest.
 
For once, he looked like a boy, a happy one at that, lost in the moment, and
Thor’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in days.
 
Water streaming down his face, Thor watched in silence as the boy prince’s
hands slowed, working up a lather and running his fingers through the thick
growth of chest hair. Thor remembered their first strained exchange in the
cells underground.
 
The boy swallowed hard, his fingers timidly exploring Thor’s wet skin, and Thor
felt like he was holding his breath, not wanting to ruin this fragile moment,
lest it flip the boy’s temperamental whims for the worse.
 
“Why are you so furry, Asgard?” asked the young prince softly. “Does it keep
you warm?”
 
Thor swam closer to the edge of the tub. The water wasn’t cold, but combined
with the afternoon’s exertion, it worked to sooth his muscles as well as a
steam bath would back home. Thor sighed, and put the thought of Asgard away for
later when he would be alone.
 
“The cold doesn’t hurt me as much any more,” said Thor. “I couldn’t have
adapted so quickly.”
 
Loki snorted, splashing water to wash away the suds. “No, that was all me,
Arrogance. It’s magic. Don’t you have magic in Asgard?”
 
“It’s only for witches,” said Thor. “Weak women and ergi.”
 
Loki laughed and splashed more water, this time on his face. “That’s why you
remain weak, Asgard. Duck.”
 
With a second’s notice, he pushed Thor’s head under water again. Thor held his
breath, sank, and rose, this time to his full height, the water sloshing at mid
thigh. The water darkened the hair at his groin and his cock lay quiescent and
soft, like a soft, sleeping animal. The boy’s gaze looked everywhere but there,
suddenly shy.
 
“And now your legs,” said the prince quietly, and ran the soap stone over the
back of Thor’s thighs to the front. His fingers were slight and cool, and he
brushed over the hairs with his fingertips, slowly making his way up.
 
“It’s not so golden now, your bush” said Loki almost to himself, biting his
lip.
 
If he should touch him… Thor held his breath, his heartbeat beating wildly
inside his head. He could feel the boy’s breath on his cock, and holding still,
a jarring heat flooding through the pit of his stomach. If this child should
put his fingers to his cock… nay, his mouth… Thor’s mind recoiled at the
thought, and at the same time, his cock flooded with blood, excited at their
closeness, the slender fingers on his buttocks, the ghost of an exhale tickling
the hairs of his groin… and Thor’s own calloused fingers curled at the back of
the young prince’s neck.
 
And suddenly the boy pulled back – was yanked back, by a glowering Iði, who
shoved at Thor, and Thor almost slipped and lost his footing.
 
“Finish the rest on your own,” Iði growled, throwing the soapstone into the
water. “And if you dare prattle about this to anyone—” he drew a finger across
his throat.
 
And throwing an arm over the prince’s shoulders, Iði rushed him out of the
bathing chamber.
 
Thor sat back on the curved ledge in the water, and desperately tried to regain
his thoughts. What had he been doing. This was the enemy, his gaolers, and
above all that, the mighty Thor did not lie with children. He buried his face
in his hands, and if he sat there in the lukewarm water until it grew cold and
webs of ice grew around his knees, he barely noticed.
 
The next day, word had spread throughout the court of the Asgardian’s assets
that had reduced the fastidious Fenja to such a desperate state, and the
younger princes’ household was besieged with letters and generous gifts for the
pleasure of his beguiling company.
 
Thor thought the prince would refuse them all in disgust.
 
But true to form, prince Loki decided it was high time Thor started earning his
keep, and began issuing invitations to tea. 
 
 
 
***** What's a Party without Party Favors? *****
Chapter Summary
     Thor is like jotunn catnip.
 
 
“Do you mean to pimp me out?” demanded Thor.
 
From his writing desk, Loki weighed a pouch of cabochon-cut rubies in his palm,
and they fell with a sound of rain through his fingers. “Isn’t this nice?
What’s a night with a grizzled one-handed warlord when you can have rubies? The
high lord Gangr wants you badly, fuzzy. I have no idea why. I hear he’s quite
skilled at giving pleasure," said the precocious child, "even with one hand.”
 
“I am not your whore!”growled Thor.
 
He was seated cross-legged at a low writing desk next to Loki’s higher one,
sorting out the prince’s papers. Currently he was co-opted into fulfilling the
secretary’s duties. Most of them were accounts, moneys to be paid to various
parties, details of expenditures, a payroll, and letters.
 
There were no state secrets hidden in these. A farmer in Dainskar province was
complaining that his neighbor was intruding on his grazing lands, with the
border shifting after the last ice storm. Another insisted that his bull had
impregnated his neighbor’s cows, and therefore half the calves, when born,
should belong to him. The tedium went on and on. There was still another stack
to go through before the evening’s festivities.
 
They had settled into an uneasy truce after Fenja had gone into heat and they
had yelled at each other and moved heavy furniture, though Loki seemed to have
taken to Thor as his exotic new boarhound, absently running his bony fingers
through Thor’s hair when he was thinking something through.
 
Volstagg had ingratiated himself with the cooking staff, and Hogun was working
in the stables. They did not seem mistreated. Though today, both were recruited
to help out with preparations for the party. Thor caught glimpses of them
through the open doorways.
 
“I thought you swore your allegiance to me, fuzzy,” Loki was saying, narrowing
his eyes at him. “Where’s your obedience now?”
 
“I swore fealty as your household. Do you mean to make a harlot of me against
my will?”
 
“No one’s forcing you to do anything, idiot!” snapped Loki. “Fine, hold on to
your precious virginity! See what good it does you!” And he flounced off to his
chambers to throw all his best clothes all over his bed.
 
“I am not a virgin!” Thor shouted at his back, and scowling, went back to
settling the accounts.
 
Fenja had taken to his bed, and was milking his condition for another day. Iði
was downstairs in the mezzanine, directing the servants with setting out the
cushions and chaises and draping tapestries over the many private nooks. Later
he came by with two bowls, and handed one of them to Thor. Thor sniffed at it
suspiciously. Iði had been furious after catching him in the bath. The food
didn't smell poisoned.  Iði snorted, switched and gave Thor his own instead.
 
“I’d put it on the floor,” said Iði, pulling a spoon out of his pocket, “but
that would be a cheap joke.”
 
Thor grunted and dug into the mush. It wasn’t horrible, a simple mash of
lentils and root vegetables. There was even a faint hint of spice. Thor scraped
the sides of the bowl clean.
 
“How is your friend?” he asked, and Iði grunted.
 
“Fine,” he said curtly, then sighed. “Fine, better than fine. His pride’s hurt
more than anything. Peiðra’s very good at what he does. I’ve had him before.”
 
“Is that what that little –” toeragwas not going to go over well. And of all
the Jotnar here, he held a smidgen of respect for Iði. “ – prince,” Thor
gritted out, “means for me to do. Service your court in bed?”
 
Iði looked surprised. “You wish to put your cock to service, Asgard? Are you
planning on overrunning the palace with your fuzzy little half-breed kittens?
Is that how you will lead an invasion into Jotunheim? From the boudoir?”
 
Thor flushed, but Iði slapped his thighs with a booming guffaw. “No worries,
Asgard. That was merely a jest. We don’t rape nuns. Except on name-days. No,
I’m joking, joking.”
 
“I am not a nun,” said Thor heatedly. “Why does everyone thinkthat?” but Loki
had entered the main chambers and clapped his hands.
 
“It’s almost time. Pretty him up, Iði,” he said, then his mouth twisted in a
sneer. “I mean, as much as can be done with that. We want him to look… nice for
his suitors.”
 
Thor gawped, but Iði got to his feet and ignoring Thor’s protests, wiped his
mouth and started combing out his hair with what looked like a horse currying
brush.
 
“Hold still, Asgard,” said Iði, who insisted on combing out every single hair,
including the ones on his chest and legs, as well as Thor’s eyebrows and
lashes. Iði didn’t seem to notice there was a difference.
 
Finally, leaving Thor with half a dozen thin braids amongst his free-flowing
locks, he settled the ends curling over his shoulders, and patted Thor on the
back again.
 
“Don’t worry, princess,” said Iði with a friendly grin. “You needn’t spread
your legs in front of company. It’s not that kind of party.”
 
But as the evening went on, Thor wasn’t so sure of that.
 
The gawking was free and roving, as was the wine that soon replaced the
fragrant tea, as the select guests wandered over to stare at Thor, and marvel
at his blanched, whey-colored skin, the glint of bright metal of his hair.
 
“Like the finest of dwarven wires,” said one elegant scholar, lifting a lock of
hair and smelling it. “Why does he smell of lavender? Is that natural?”
 
Thor had been made to sit on a flat embroidered cushion next to where Loki’s
low chair was placed, and he clenched and unclenched his fists as the Jotnar
peered at him curiously, fascinated, repulsed, disgusted, and perversely
attracted. Thor was sure he was going to end the evening on the table on his
back, with a jotunn fucking him into the dessert.
 
One young warrior pulled his chair closer to Thor and reached over to pinch his
nipples. Thor snarled at him. The jotunn jumped back startled.
 
Loki glanced over his shoulder and said, in a bored voice. “Careful. The dog
bites,” before turning back to his own conversation. The jotunn looked even
more intrigued, and sidled closer. He slipped a gold bracelet, heavily studded
with amethysts onto Thor’s wrist.
 
“A token of my appreciation. My name is Þiazi,” he whispered in Thor’s ear, and
slid a hand under the loincloth and palmed Thor’s cock. Thor jumped in
surprise. “I wish to hear it on your lips, Asgard, as you beg for more.”
 
A sharp clearing of throat released him. Loki turned around again, this time
shifting in his seat to look disdainfully down his nose at the other jotunn.
 
“He’s not going to take the first offer of the evening, Þiazi,” said Loki,
“Give the others a chance to check his teeth.”
 
Þiazi only smiled wider and caressed Thor’s bare calf. “He wants the best for
you, what a generous prince.” And licking a possessive stripe up Thor’s jaw, he
left to fill his goblet.
 
Loki shook his head, and leaned in to whisper at Thor.
 
“You idiot. Look at you, slack-jawed to suck the first cock dangled in front of
your face, and just for a pretty trinket. Keep your dumb mouth shut, fuzzy, and
you’ll be wearing a fortune riding up to your armpits before the night’s over.”
 
Thor hissed at him. “You said you wouldn’t pimp me out!”
 
“I am not pimping you out!” Loki whispered back, annoyed. “I thought you’d like
some company!”
 
“Is that what this is? Company?” He gestured at the party at large. There were
sounds of loud and vigorous fucking coming from behind a gossamer veil. The
bracelet jangled on his wrist.
 
“They wanted to see you, is all,” said Loki, tapping the heavy gold. “And look,
free gold. Try to behave, you thankless animal.”Then, brightening at the sight
of someone, Loki rose from the chair, and pressed his finger between Thor’s
brows, rubbing out the furrowed worry line playfully. “If you don’t make that
ugly scowly face at the guests, you might have some fun. Make a friend or two.”
 
And Loki was soon lost in the throng. Left alone, another jotunn sat down to
sniff at Thor’s neck as if meaning to open the vein and drink deep. The next
one plied him with wine while pinching his nipples into pebbles, and strung a
chain of fiery opals around his neck. Others rubbed his shoulders, his calves,
ran their fingers through his hair, his chest. His skin ached from their
wandering touches.
 
His arms were heavy with gold, as Loki had said they would be, the jewels
gleaming molten in the low ambient light, and he felt tired and queasy without
having had to fuck anyone. Thor evaded another jotunn who offered to suck his
cock, hands grazing over his skin as he passed, and found a dark nook to rest
his spinning head for a minute.
 
 
He awoke with a start, blue shadows dancing in the dark. The party had died
down to a murmur. Thor arose from the nook at the sound of voices nearby.
 
One of the great double doors was ajar. The smaller figure was blocking the
entrance, or inviting the other in, it wasn’t clear. The other loomed over him,
in no hurry to enter, but not looking to leave either, content to linger at
doorways and exchange tender words.
 
Thor was familiar with that posture, when it was more pleasant to pause in the
pursuit and look upon the lovely, clever maid, feel puffed up in the gentle
flattery of her desire for him. Thor was no callow youth, desperate for any
quick release where it could be had. He had enjoyed clever banter as much as a
satisfying tumble in the sheets.
 
He had not considered that the maid might be pained for wanting him. Women
fled, men pursued, was that not the nature of things?
 
But that was no pretty maid. It was that nasty, vicious, avaricious, no-good –
 
The very shadows had turned caressing and intimate, and the murmured words were
not meant for him to overhear. Thor ducked back, careful not to be seen, but
there was no way he could leave without making his presence known. He was
trapped here, unnoticed as furniture, while two Jotnar rubbed their tentacles,
or some such filth.
 
“Your breath tickles, lord Thrym, and I can taste the wine in the air,” the
little prince was saying. “I am drunk on your words.”
 
“And from the excellent wine, no doubt,” the lord said with a rumble of a
laugh. “Come closer then, let us see if your breath will intoxicate me.”
 
The little prince pressed a finger at the warlord’s chest and whispered.
“You’ll lose your head, lord Thrym, and I shall take wicked advantage of you.”
 
“And show me no mercy, I hope,” said Thrym fondly, swaying with drink and
tenderness. “If only you would, and I could taste your sweetness. If only our
time was allowed. But now….”
 
“What’s stopping you? Are there Asgardians blocking my door?” mocked Loki.
 
“Will that stop me from my heart’s desire?”
 
“You’ll kill them all to sate your blood lust,” said Loki. “Is that the only
lust that stirs you? What a cold marriage bed you offer my poor brother. How he
must twist the lonely sheets with frustration when you gallop off to cut the
heads off barbarians.”
 
“And yet that is the promise to which I’m bound,” said Thrym with a deep
velvety smile.
 
“He will take lovers, you know, when you are away. How pretty your family will
be, each fat drooling brat sired by one of your slaves,” said Loki with a
laugh. “Will you be able to tell the difference?”
 
“You are cruel, little prince, as cruel as you are lovely to tease the way you
do,” said Thrym, reaching for the little finger, and guiding it to draw
patterns upon his bare chest. “The stars frown down upon us, and you sharpen my
torment,” he said, not sounding very tormented, and leaning closer to smell the
young prince’s neck, his ears, his rough fingers brushing over the grooves on
the thin twisted horns, “your loveliness growing by the day, and your
intoxicating scent, as I long for you, never allowed to touch –”
 
“But you are.You areallowed. You may do whatever you wish with me, I am yours,”
pleaded the boy guilelessly, breaking the game, earnest and desperate, and Thor
cringed, wishing he was anywhere but here.
 
An inadvertent growl escaped his throat, and the pair jumped apart, the spell
broken.
 
Even in the dark, the warlord’s sharp eyes found him first, and Thor refused to
shrink back into the shadows.
 
“Your wild dog has turned faithful, my prince,” said Thrym, staring down at
Thor with a challenging smile. “He’s waited up for you. Perhaps it is time for
bed.”
 
And he swung the young prince up in his arms and strode across the room. Thor
followed them at a distance. The warlord was laying the boy down on his bed,
and Loki reached up, whimpering, to keep his fingers clasped around Thrym’s
neck, but gently Thrym unloosed them. Loki’s eyes were wide with unshed tears,
and Thrym paused, and dropped an avuncular kiss on the top of his head, and
turned away as if ashamed.
 
He stopped to spare a glance at Thor. “Take good care of your master, Asgardian
cur,” he said, and left.
 
The silence in the room was like being thrust into a vacuum, and the low thud
as the door closed was deafening. The boy had turned over on his side to bury
his face in the pillows, and with a sigh of relief and a wavering of… pity Thor
shook his head and stepped quietly out of the room.
 
He was startled to hear a sudden, joyful little laugh that came from the bed.
 
“Stay with me, fuzzy. Come here,” said Loki, patting the space beside him, and
without thinking, Thor’s knee hit the bed and he found himself tucked into the
boy’s side, cold soothing fingers running through his hair.
 
“Did you have a good time, fuzzy?” asked the boy, and Thor only sighed through
his nose. Loki didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer. If not for his fingers,
he seemed to have forgotten that Thor was next to him, that he wasn’t some dumb
animal lying next to his master.
 
“He loves me,” Loki was saying into the darkness, a secretive little smile
curling at the corner of his lips. “He can’t say it, but he loves me. I’m sure
of it now. Oh, fuzzy, isn’t life wonderful?”
 
He rolled to his side and hugged Thor’s head to his chest in fierce glee.
 
The poor child was drunk. Worse than that, he was the one in love.
 
Thor sighed deeply. This would only end in more tears.
 
Soon, he felt the arms slack as the boy drifted off to sleep, and carefully,
Thor tucked him under the blankets and listened to his whistling breath.
 
Thor lay back, his hands behind his head, staring up at the pattern of
elaborate scrolling on the ceiling, and brought to mind the golden vision of
Asgard, the way the sun would slant through the trees in Idunn’s orchard, how
the warm glow flowed over from the stark sweeping eaves of Odin’s halls to the
crofter’s humble cottage, and Thor smiled to himself as he remembered the lass
with curly brown hair and soft bosoms who been the first to tumble with him.
 
But he couldn’t for the life of him remember the color of her eyes or even her
name, and shortly afterwards, Thor fell asleep, too.
 
 
 
 
***** Whining and Nagging *****
 
 
 
It began at dreadful and went downhill from there.
 
Thor awoke rutting into a fur coverlet.
 
As the recollection as to how he had ended up in this particular bed slowly
came back to him in pieces, Thor grew considerably less annoyed at the barrier
for obstructing his early morning pleasure. He was oscillating between relieved
and horrified as consciousness broke upon him, unwelcome as the sun peeking in
through the drapes after a night of carousing. The arms and legs currently
wrapped around him did not, as he had first groggily surmised, belong to an
overgrown spider-monkey, but to the youngest prince of Jotunheim, he of the
indeterminate physical maturity and the vindictive family and friends.
 
“Býleistr, stop poking at me,” mumbled the boy, and Thor succeeded in
untangling the  legs and putting some distance between their nether parts when
the door slammed open and the brother in question came running in.
 
“Loki! Loki! You’ll never guess who father’s selected for your – oh….”
 
Býleistr stopped in his tracks and stared, almost causing the one chasing after
him to collide into his back. This one was fully grown, broad shouldered with
plain, honest features of the square-jawed Balder type, though that sort of
assessment came later. At the moment there was much gawking and mouths dropping
open and closing without a sound like so many dumb fish.
 
Thor quickly grabbed for the furs and dropped them over his lap to hide his
state, as Loki stirred sleepily, then sat up in bed wide awake.
 
He stared from Thor to his brothers in shock, and before Thor could say
anything, rough hands yanked Thor halfway across the bed by the hair.
 
Thor swung out, instinct hitting out at whomever had grabbed him and knocking
him to the ground. The jotunn stared up at him, rubbing his jaw, before
remembering to lunge for Thor again. Later Thor noted that about Helblindi, who
seemed the opposite of his brothers, so placid that the had to feign violence
when the situation seemed to demand it.
 
“No, wait,” Loki said quickly, planting one hand on Thor’s chest and putting
himself between the two, “he didn’t do anything –”
 
“Are you sleeping with animals, now?” inquired Býleistr, and Loki whirled on
him.
 
“I was just sleeping. I’m not sleeping with him,” he snapped. “I’m
not anything with anyone –”
 
“Not yet, but soon,” Býleistr blurted out, remembering his mission. “Father
wants to speak to you, but I already know –”
 
“Is it Thrym?” Loki asked eagerly, and bit his tongue too late.
 
“No! Why should it be Thrym?” demanded Býleistr, then stomped his feet. “It
will never be Thrym! Don’t you go near him! He’s mine.”
 
“You’re such a child, Býleistr,” said Loki peevishly. He’d inadvertently leaned
back into Thor, as if he were a grotto from which Loki could sulk. “Grow up. If
you were truly mature, you wouldn’t be so grabby.”
 
Býleistr almost squawked at that. “I’m grabby? You take everything, you have to
be the center of attention all the time –”
 
“Boys, boys!” Helblindi put his hand on Býleistr, who shook him off
impatiently.
 
“I’ll tell everyone you give yourself to animals before you’re even ready!”
Býleistr hissed at his brother. “I’ll tell them – I’ll tell them –!” He shook
his head, stumped for terrible ideas.
 
“Nobody will believe you, you pervert!” snarled Loki. “They’ll just think
you’re hungry to suck donkey dick! Who do you think they’ll be talking about,
then? I’ll say you eat afterbirth, and give birth to trolls, and that you throw
your ugly, malformed get into the Northern Sea to feed sea dragons.”
 
“You wouldn’t --!” wailed Býleistr, aghast. “Who’d believe that?”
 
“I don’t need them to believe it,” said Loki. “I’ll make up one horrific story
after another, and people will repeat them because they’re all so deliciously
awful. Wouldn’t that be fun? The adventures of Býleistr, prince of filth? Thrym
wouldn’t touch you with ten-foot spear.”
 
Býleistr gaped at him. “Why must you take everything? Why does it always have
to be about you?”
 
“I wasn’t the one who stole first,” said Loki. “You knew I wanted –”
 
But his brother had already run from the room. Helblindi was looking ruefully
after him, as if he thought he should run after him, but at that moment, Loki
let out a furious sigh, and Helblindi turned to him instead.
 
“That didn’t go too well,” said Helblindi, still rubbing his face. “Don’t worry
about it. He won’t ruin your big day. But you really shouldn’t –” he gestured
vaguely at Thor. “People might get the wrong idea.”
 
“Shut up, Helblindi, it isn’t like that,” said Loki, kicking off the blankets.
“And even if it were, I’ll do as I please. You did exactly as you pleased with
the one you chose.”
 
“Yes, how father reminds me of what a disappointment I am every day that I
live,” said Helblindi, not sounding very regretful for causing such parental
distress.
 
“You have your Gerd. Why can’t I have lord Thrym? Why does Býleistr have to be
so selfish?”
 
Helblindi sat down on the bed, then inched away with a cagey look in Thor’s
direction.
 
“Lord Thrym is not like Gerd,” said Helblindi with a sigh. “He’s not for
the having. He is canny and he is powerful, and we ought to be relieved that he
is appeased with marrying Býleistr, and not you. More likely he would slurp the
flesh off you alive and use your bones to pick his teeth, Loki.”
 
“Maybe I want him to!” cried Loki shamelessly. “Maybe I want him to use me! Why
should father toss him dull, plodding Býleistr, when I would suit him better?
He knows Býleistr’s too stupid to be king, and you don’t want to be. I thought
Laufey loved me! He said I was the best! The cleverest! He said I was meant for
the throne! Liar! He’s never thought me good enough because I’m not of his
flesh!”
 
“Loki, child, no,” said Helblindi. “It’s not like that. But you can’t rush
headlong into such serious matters wearing your passions on your sleeve. Stop
and think.”
 
But Loki had already leapt off the bed and was furiously tossing his things
about the room before his murderous gaze landed on Thor. His eyes narrowed, as
he measured him up.
 
“You really shouldn’t wear all your gaudy finery all at once, fuzzy,” said
Loki. “It makes you look cheap.” He started plucking the trinkets off Thor, not
minding that the clasps and chains snagged at the fine hairs and yanked them
out. Thor caught his wrist.
 
“Calm down,” he growled. “You look mad. And this wasn’t my idea, having every
jotunn come by to hang a shiny bauble on me as if I were a bride sitting under
a veil.”
 
Thor shook the heavy gold ornaments so that they jangled on his arms. Helblindi
looked startled, as if he had not thought Thor could speak. But Loki only
patted him on the head.
 
“No, it was mine,” said Loki. “You leave all the thinking and planning to me.
I’m good at ideas.”
 
Thor groaned, and looked up at the sound of matching exasperation from across
the bed.
 
“Whatever you’re thinking, Loki,” warned his brother. “Don’t.”
 
Loki gave him an innocent smile. “I just feel like some breakfast. Aren’t you
hungry, fuzzy? I think we should eat with the whole family today.”
 
                                       §
 
White light streamed through the domed glass of the skylight into the length of
the king’s hall. Breakfast was a casual affair, low round tables of various
sizes laid out before parties of two or three but never more than six.
Provincial lords sat with minor princes four times removed from the line, and
visiting dignitaries broke bread with poets and popular swordsmen.
 
Today the Laufey-king was sipping a bowl of clear broth with the witch of the
Ironwood, whose rare dark hair was caught with shells and coral like a long
tangled net. The jotunn Angrboða was rumored to have Vanir blood running
through his veins, although whether that was through ancestry or from diet it
was unclear. What was apparent was that the witch was a great beauty who smiled
too freely and too often at the king, and that Farbauti was not present. But
then, Farbauti rarely came down to breakfast with the full court.
 
A hush descended over the hall just as the witch burst into a peal of laughter,
and the grim old warriors looked over and scowled. But the rest of the court
was staring at the arched doorway, as Loki made his entrance with his pet on a
leash, and picked his way through the various islets of influence. Loki had
plucked off all the heavy gold from Thor’s arms and neck before they had come
down, leaving only an amulet carved out of bone wound around Thor’s ankle with
a simple leather cord, and Thor felt the sharp eyes roaming over him to ferret
out which token had been chosen. If it was a message, Thor could not decipher
it.
 
At the dais, Loki made a small bow to Laufey before he knelt on the floor
cushions, and motioned for Thor to do the same. A servant set a small table
before them, the shape of an eight-petaled flower. From their position, Thor
could see Býleistr with their tutor some ways off glowering at Loki darkly,
whom Loki blithely ignored, as he very pointedly did the same to lord Thrym who
sat across the room with his captains, watching.
 
“What are you playing at?” hissed Thor, but Loki was concentrating on pouring
out cups of fragrant tea, and set one before Thor.
 
“You do know how to use a cup, fuzzy? I won’t have to pour it into your saucer
so you can lap at it like a dog?”
 
Thor snarled at him, but Loki only laughed quietly and stroked Thor’s beard. A
jotunn lord was making his way to their table. Thor remembered him from the
night before – he’d been the one with the opals.
 
“Peel me a grape,” Loki whispered quickly.
 
“What?”
 
“You’re not deaf, fuzzy. Peel a damned grape,” said Loki, under his breath.
“And it’s for me, not you. You understand that part, don’t you?”
 
Annoyed, Thor scowled but plucked a red grape off a small bowl and ended up
dropping the slippery fruit into his lap. Loki fumed impatiently.
 
“Just feed it to me already,” he hissed, and before he could nag further, Thor
popped a grape in his mouth. The young prince, about to snap at him, bit into
the fruit instead, and a line of juice trickled down his chin.
 
Without thinking, Thor wiped it away with his thumb. “There, now that’s just
going to get sticky. You want me to lick it off for you, too, sweetheart?”
 
Quick as a snake, Loki moved to viciously pluck hairs from Thor’s thigh, just
as the jotunn lord took the seat before them, and Loki dropped his hand to
stroke him instead with false fondness. His hand stayed there as they exchanged
pleasantries, and the lord openly ogled Thor.
 
As one by one, Thor’s strange admirers dropped by to trade nonsense with Loki,
the boy’s pawing grew bolder. He didn’t pause in touching Thor, playing with
his hair, running his fingers down his arm, through the short golden hairs of
his thigh and rubbing small circles over the flat of his stomach. From anyone
else he would have felt uncomfortable or aroused. But clearly, the boy was
using him as a prop. He might as well have been an old boot. Thor was growing
increasingly annoyed.
 
“What are you doing?” Thor asked in a rough whisper, as another jotunn, that
brute Þiazi this time, left their table casting an unctuous smile at both of
them. “Are you trying to make your grizzled old general jealous? A swineherd
would blush at your lack of subtlety.”
 
“And how would you know?” Loki hissed back. “Anyway, some people need a clear
reminder that I’m not a child any more.”
 
“So you decide to feel up your prisoner at breakfast?” scoffed Thor. “Wonderful
plan. What’s next? You’ll fuck me over the tea trolley?”
 
“No, but it wouldn’t hurt to make father think that I might,” said Loki. He
traced the leather cord wound around Thor’s ankle with a finger. “He should
know that there are worse choices than giving me what I want. Besides, I like
having what everyone else wants. Can you feel how you’ve riled them up?” Loki
shivered in delight. “The air’s full of sparks.”
 
“How you’ve riled them up, you mean,” said Thor. “And when they’ve tired of
your infernal teasing?”
 
Loki gave a careless shrug. “Then you can do your part and get fucked over the
tea trolley, fuzzy. Smile, we have company.”
 
As the murmurs rose and fell around them, Loki held onto his small smile and
light banter, even as the lord Thrym finally left the hall with his cadre of
warriors without stopping to speak to him. For all his feigned nonchalance, the
boy’s shoulders seemed to droop when the warlord exited the hall, and a certain
spark left his performance.
 
What it did invite was the attention of a higher order, when Laufey beckoned
his youngest son to join him.
 
The witch of the Ironwood was watching from behind the curtain of his dark
hair, and Thor felt a prickling on his skin as Laufey smiled at him.
 
“So this is the Asgardian who’s caused such a stir amongst our fine court,”
said Laufey, holding out his hand to his son. Loki placed two fingers on his
palm and the king stroked them gently. “Odin should be so proud. What a
striking specimen this is,” said Laufey. “Are you fond of him, my child?”
 
The witch had black eyes instead of crimson, and they were dancing as they
watched the boy grasp wildly for an answer. Lies that fell so easily from his
tongue dried up in the presence of his father. Or perhaps it was Angrboða who
frightened him to truth and silence.
 
“Many others seem to find him lovely as you do,” Laufey continued, in his slow,
amused voice. “Perhaps it would be wiser if you made scarce your presence,
should you incite a riot? Remain within doors until we have sent for you, Loki-
child. It will not be too long. As for this other matter….” The king sighed,
but the smile remained at the corners of his mouth. Jotunn smiles, Thor
thought, were a nasty business. Laufey leaned forward, trapping his son’s small
hand between his.
 
“What is a parent’s nagging to the wish of your dear young heart? If you desire
to be deflowered by your Asgardian brute, who am I to say nay? It is of no
consequence, my child. Amuse yourself as you please.”
 
 
 
***** You're Grounded. *****
Chapter Notes
     Okay you guys, there are tags for dub-con, non-con, violence, and
     underage on this fic. Look up, check the tag warnings. Much wrongness
     shall ensue, here and in the following chapters and not stop.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
 
The prison was more lavish this time, but it was still a prison. The doors to
the youngest prince’s chambers were barred, though morning and evening Fenja
came in with a tray for both of them.
 
“What is it, Fenja?” demanded Loki, clutching Fenja by the arm. Thor lifted the
tray over their heads before it spilled. Loki went on, heedless, “Am I in
disgrace? Is father very angry? Did Býleistr go tattling to father? What is
happening? What did he say? What are they all saying?”
 
But Fenja quickly scurried out before Loki could shake any news out of him.
 
At first Loki paced, back and forth across the wide antechamber until he tired
himself out. Then he flopped down on the divan and brooded. And he whined.
 
Loki complained of feeling too cold, then in the same hour, of being too hot,
and then, got up again to resume his restless pacing in and out of the all the
chambers of his suite. He had taken to wearing a quilted surcoat and made
exaggerated motions of shivering, as he bumped into doorways and hard corners
of furniture, all spindly legs and bony knees with all the grace of a newborn
colt.
 
Thor opted for ignoring him. He didn’t think he would ever miss the finicky
secretary, but Thor would have welcomed a lame ox and a badger with mouth rot
if it meant not being alone with this moody child. 
 
“How can you eat at a time like this?” Loki demanded. Thor just shrugged,
picking through the bread basket instead. Why was jotunn bread green? It
smelled strongly of kelp, and it turned his stomach. Still, food was food. Thor
nibbled at a star-shaped roll.
 
“And what time is this?” asked Thor, spreading a sharp pungent blue jam. He
poured himself a goblet of fizzy boysenberry juice from the crystal decanter
and wished it was something stronger.
 
“My time of crisis!”cried Loki. “The stars are hurtling into motion, father has
something terrible planned, the whole palace is scheming, my idiot brother is
snatching up all the prizes and laurels again,and for what? His excellent
skills at being born a few seasons sooner than me? And I’m stuck here, locked
up in the dark! With you!At this rate, father will ship me off to some dingy
hovel in the wastelands to rule over a herd of mangy elgar.Because he thinks
I’m worthless!”
 
Thor sniffed at the jam and took a huge bite. “My heart bleeds for you,” he
muttered. “Now, calm down and eat your greens. You’re rather stunted for a
giant’s get, did you know that?”
 
The boy let out a strangled noise, lobbed a kelp roll at his head, and flounced
off.
 
That child needed a good spanking, and they wouldn’t have to look very far for
a volunteer.
 
For the rest of the afternoon, Thor sat rifling through the prince’s papers
until his eyes were swimming with text. Then, he stretched and did five sets of
calisthenics imagining an invisible foe until he was dripping with sweat, stood
on his head, tried to read a jotunn saga – it was dreary and full of
descriptions of ice and loneliness – and fell asleep sweating onto a silk
divan.
 
He awoke with a crick in his neck and the beginnings of an annoying headache,
and Loki casting a supercilious look down at him.
 
“You smell,” he told Thor, before storming off again. He didn’t say another
word for the rest of the evening.
 
The next day, it was much of the same, with a nervous Fenja quickly leaving
them a tray of food before he fled. Loki barely spared his secretary a second
glance, that day or the next.
 
A sullen silence had taken over the boy, and if Thor found his barbs
unpleasant, what was roiling inside unspoken felt worse. He sat at his desk
eyeing Thor as if he were a poisoned piece of meat, his murderous crimson eyes
following his every movement as if Thor was wasting air and Loki could barely
tolerate his existence.
 
Thor wasn’t a pet seeking approval – and confinement was due course. He was a
prisoner here after all. But the sudden switch from acceptance and perhaps even
fondness to utter loathing flamed a corresponding ire in the pit of his
stomach. It wasn’t as if Thor had askedfor this.
 
It was late in the afternoon when the storm finally burst.
 
“What did you tell that farmer with the randy bull, fuzzy?”
 
Thor looked up. The jotunn prince was fiddling through the mass of gold
trinkets Thor had acquired at that accursed ‘party’ and making a list of what
had come from whom. He fingered a heavy chain like a string of prayer beads in
a play at patience. “The one who wanted half the calves from his neighbor’s
herd once they’d dropped?”
 
A hazy recollection came back to him, and Thor chuckled in spite of himself. He
had thought his solution rather clever. In any case, it was a ridiculous
situation.
 
“Well?” the boy asked sharply.
 
“I said, fine, that sounded reasonable,” answered Thor, lightly, “but only if
he’d let his neighbor fuck his wife, then take the child as his own once she’d
given birth to it. She, he, however you jotunns parse it.”
 
“You didn’t.” Loki’s eyes were hard and glittering like a magpie’s before gold.
“What about the child, then?”
 
“What about it?” countered Thor. “The bull farmer names the child his heir and
gives it a hefty chunk of his property. Namely, the misbegotten herd he’s
claimed from his neighbor.”
 
“You’re an idiot,” snapped Loki, shaking out his wide sleeve. “No wonder Fenja
was flapping about like a trout on a skillet.”
 
“Serves him right for having a fainting fit and taking to his bed,” said Thor.
“I don’t think he likes you very much.”
 
“Do you have any idea how that makes me look?”
 
Without warning, Loki threw a heavy pendant at Thor’s head. He missed. Thor
felt a sting on his arm, and his fingers came away with blood. Rage flared up,
quick as a brush fire, and he didn’t bother to dampen it this time. The boy had
been raring for a fight, and Thor wouldn't mind obliging him.
 
“Can you even imagine what they’ll say about me?” Loki got up from behind his
desk and slowly stalked towards Thor. “How coarse and unnatural I am? Do you
never think?”
 
“I’m not meant to be your secretary,” growled Thor. “As for your precious
thinking, that’s what got us locked up in here in the first place. Do you think
they’ll let us out when I give you a good ravishing?”
 
Loki slapped him hard across the face. Thor leapt to his feet to stare him
down, and found he didn’t have to look very far.
 
When had the child grown so much?
 
To his surprise, the boy’s head easily rose past Thor’s shoulders, his angry
breath sweeping across Thor’s collarbones like a squall across the tundra. He
was trembling with anger, and Thor caught his wrist before he struck again.
 
“You think you’re so desirable?” sneered the boy, struggling to twist free.
“It’s only your filthy animal smell that’s driving the addle-pated mob into a
frenzy. A novelty, that’s all. You’re nothing special. Maybe I should grind you
into an oozy paste and sell you in tiny glass bottles. I’d make a fortune from
your stink.”
 
“Why this avid obsession with gold?” mocked Thor. “One would think you had
dwarf’s blood running through your veins for all your avarice. It would
certainly explain your size –”
 
The kick to the shin caught him off guard, and Thor fell to one knee. Gaining
the advantage, Loki shoved him, and was the one who had to take a step
backwards against Thor’s solid bulk.
 
“You’re not even the least bit grateful!” hissed Loki. “After all I’ve done for
you!”
 
“Oh ho, grateful for not being murdered?” roared Thor. “Grateful to you for
parading me in front of a court full of bawds and made to suffer their
lecherous pawing? I am a prince,not some inky fingered scribe! And I am
certainly not your painted whore!”
 
“What do you want then?” demanded Loki. “To jump into the courtyard and brawl
with the guards until they’ve beaten you into a pulp?”
 
“I am a man!A warrior and a prince! I cannot be cooped up in a perfumed tent
and tied down with pearls!” shouted Thor, shaking a lock of hair which, indeed,
Loki had combed out and braided with baroque pearls. “I sit at my father’s
council and lead the king’s army into battle!”
 
“Well, maybe your king doesn’t want you any more!” Loki was trembling even
harder now, hugging the forearms of his surcoat. “Maybe you’re not the prince
he wanted and he’s glad to be rid of you,” sneered Loki. “Maybe you’ve led your
mad little troupe on one foolhardy raid too many, and he’s found this the
perfect opportunity to wash his hands of you. Why else would he leave you to
rot in the bosom of his enemies?”
 
“You’ve pressed him for an unreasonable ransom, you greedy puppy,” said Thor.
“My father’s no fool. He won’t run to tilt his coffers into yours just because
you run through gold like water.”
 
“I haven’t asked for anything!”screamed Loki, and breathing hard, he fought to
regain his composure. “I didn’t.”
 
Thor glared back, repeating to himself that this was a boy, barely a youth, and
he was the mighty Thor; he didn’t embroil himself in quarrels with children.
 
Then Loki’s tightly pressed lips curved into a small smile, one that eliminated
any doubt that this was Laufey’s child.
 
“Did you know, Thor, there hasn’t been a single letter negotiating your release
from Odin Allfather? Tell me something, oh prince and warrior. Do you have
brothers?”
 
“Two,” Thor bit out. “Half brothers. Tyr and Baldur.”
 
“There you have it,” said Loki, the smile wide and stretched thin now. “Why
should he give up a proper king’s ransom when he has a spare and a contingency
plan to boot? Are they better than you? More obedient? More clever? It isn’t as
if he doesn’t know you’re here. I’ve sent two of your little friends back to
tattle about your sad fate. Theirfamilies wanted them back. Perhaps you’ve
found your place, sitting at my feet like a not-so-bright dog. It’s probably
all you were ever meant for –”
 
Tyr had always told him his temper would be the death of him one day. What Tyr
had probably meant was that he’d end up killing someone in a rage, which was
worse.
 
Thor wasn’t thinking about that when he threw himself at the jotunn prince,
wasn’t thinking of anything but the red hot rage that clouded his vision as
they fell onto the white bearskin, grappling for dominance.
 
The boy fought back savagely, kicking and biting, fury pitted against Thor’s
superior bulk. His long, claw-like nails raked scores into Thor’s arms and
shoulders, and he had no compunctions about kneeing a man in his sensitive
parts, the honorless cur – Thor barely had time to cross his legs and roll them
over, backhanding the boy across the face before he pinned him down.
 
For all his sudden height, he was bony, skin stretched thin over his wrists,
and Thor was suddenly aware of how slight this waif-child was despite his
sinewy strength, how tired out he must be from growing too fast.
 
And as Thor looked down at the darkening bruise on the boy’s cheek, he
remembered something else Tyr had said when Thor had run to him with horror
stories he’d heard about the viciousness of jotunn warriors. How they raped
their fallen foes on the battle field. What Tyr had said about the jotunn way,
how fucking was wired instinctively into fighting, and how their ancient line
of kings chose their mates.
 
All that flashed through his head, as he stared down at the boy, their shallow
breaths mingling between them, and Thor was made acutely aware of how the dark
slit of the boy’s pupils were blown wide as a dark star, edging out the
crimson, and one leg dropped open to the side to receive him. How the somber,
elegant folds of the loincloth now seemed obscenely revealing over the boy’s
too slender limbs, drawing Thor’s gaze to the painfully jutting lines of his
pelvis and how his hips jerked up involuntarily, caught up in the wave of
instinct.
 
And Thor remembered himself and hastily let go.
 
Too soon. Loki’s knee rammed into his stomach, and at the sharp stab of pain
Thor rolled onto his back.
 
Loki clambered atop of him, straddling his stomach, his thin fingers digging
into Thor’s throat.
 
“Is this all your oaths are worth, prince?”he hissed, leaning low over Thor’s
face. “Your promise of good behavior? How dareyou lay hands on me, you filthy
animal? I wouldn’t lie with you if you put the whole court to the sword. I’ll
split open your friends’ bellies and string their guts from the rafters like
streamers –”
 
Not thinking except to stop that flow of hateful words, words that if
remembered would need to be followed by action for honor’s sake – words that
curled lovingly around him like a blade around an apple – Thor pulled him down
by the back of his neck and took his breath with him, stopping the boy’s sharp
tongue with his own.
 
And just as smoothly the battle shifted gears to see who could devour the other
first, as if the victor could draw out the soul of the other and lead him
gently to kneel through this duel, and at length it drew out a keening whimper,
though from which of them Thor couldn’t be sure.
 
But it was Loki who pulled away first, jerking back to stare down at him,
breathing hard and dazed, his lips fallen open and trembling. Bruised from
kissing.
 
I did that, was the idle thought that strayed through Thor’s head, and the
boy’s fingers combed through the growth of hair of his chest, as they crept
slowly to his throat again.
 
“No,” whispered Loki, almost to himself. “Not with you. Never with you.”
 
And he fled from Thor to the refuge of his bedchamber and slammed the door
behind him.
 
Thor picked himself off the rug, a stunned horror running down his spine in
aftershock.
 
What had he been doing, rolling on the floor with that child?The ache in his
groin reminded him exactly what he had been doing, what he had wanted – his
fists clenched in the white fur.
 
An anguished moan came from behind the door, and was cut short, followed by the
sound of muffled sobbing.
 
He should leave the boy be, let him bawl out his wordless rage and
frustrations, and hope he would forget about all this in the morning. But from
the other side of the door came a piteous noise like a wounded animal left
alone to die, and Thor, shaking his head at the boy’s dramatics, dubbed himself
a thrice-cursed fool.
 
The pale cold light of Jotunheim had dimmed to an eerie blue. There was no one
else to light the lamps, and Thor minced his way through the mess of sticky
jams and upended bowls and goblets, three days worth of angry uneaten meals,
and pushed open the door.
 
The boy had not made it to his bed. He was leaning against it wearily, his head
buried in the crook of his arm. Thor got down to a crouch beside him, and shook
his head at the sight of tear tracks dried on the boy’s wan cheeks.
 
“I am sorry,” said Thor. “Are you unwell?”
 
The boy’s breathing was erratic, and grimly he was cradling his midriff and
letting out small, shallow gasps.
 
“Shall I call for help?” Thor persisted. “Surely if you’re in distress –”
 
Loki’s eyes flew open as if he had only now registered Thor’s presence, and he
edged away like a cornered animal.
 
But it wasn’t Thor who had startled him.
 
A tall silent figure crossed the room and stood over them, casting a long
shadow.
The Farbauti-king sighed heavily, as if steeling himself for patience, and
looking around, found a seat on a low bench and folded his hands calmly over
his lap.
 
“Loki, child,” Farbauti said quietly. “Could you not keep your hands off one
under your protection?”
 
“I – ”
 
For all his quickness, the boy was at a loss for words now, and he could only
shake his head. If he were Asgardian, Thor would have held him in comfort, but
the boy drew up his knees and would not look at him.
 
“Or did my eyes deceive me?” Farbauti pressed on. “Were you not tumbling in the
furs, forcing your lust upon one who dare not tell you no? This behavior is
unworthy of a prince. Did you take your father’s words at their face value and
decide you should take as you pleased?”
 
Loki tried to regain his composure, and failing, swallowed hard and looked down
where a single fat tear sploshed a dark stain on his sleeve.
 
“Were you suddenly overcome with sudden desire for this… Asgardian? How
fortuitous. Have you recovered from your great passion, then, my child?” asked
the Farbauti-king, his quiet voice laced with amusement now, and he delivered
his next words like a hammer wrapped in a glove of velvet. “Only a month ago
you swore you would die for love of lord Thrym, claiming your deceitful brother
stole your choice form under your nose. While you were… indisposed… your father
is far-sighted indeed, to proceed with your brother’s nuptials.”
 
Thor, who had tried to remove himself inconspicuously and failed, found himself
frozen in place by the terrible lack of screaming. Loki, wide-eyed and angry
managed to swallow down his outrage in a strangled whisper.
 
“What… now?”
 
“Yes, now,” the Farbauti-king pressed on, “while you spread your legs for your
halfthing slave, and your father casts his wandering eye over that witch from
the North, your brother shall, in five days time, take his leave of us and be
wed.”
 
“No.”
 
It was a quiet scream, one that hollowed out inside instead of rending the air,
but Farbauti only shook his head.
 
“You must learn patience, child,” he said. “And how to control yourself, else
you will lose all good judgment. How can you be so reckless? Have no regard for
your position? Would you have them spread vile rumors about you? Would you have
them be true? Power is not only in the strength of your arms, but in
perception, and how you would have others see you. What would they say if they
saw you now?”
 
“It’s because I’m small, isn’t it?” said Loki, almost choking on his tears.
“It’s because I’m a despicable runt, and you’ve always thought me delicateand
weak,”he hissed. “Nobody will ever take me seriously. I’ve already had my time,
I’ve been ready for ages, and you treat me like a child who’s never bled. I’m
growing as fast as I can, but it’ll never be good enough, will it? I can’t help
it. Fathershould have borne me, not you. I’ll never amount to anything the way
I am. I’ll never be king –”
 
His voice climbed to a fevered pitch, and Thor winced, anticipating the blow
that would fall to stop the aggrieved child’s tantrum. But the king’s hand,
when it fell, came as a finger pressed over the boy’s lips, silencing him at
once.
 
“If you would be king, child of my body,” said the Farbauti-king, “you cannot
allow yourself to be dragged by the rules of another’s shaping, like a helpless
prisoner tied behind a chariot, and blame the world for the chains with which
you bind yourself. Ask yourself, Loki, who is driving that chariot, you or my
lord Thrym? Thrym will not make you king. Let him go, child, and do so with
grace.”
 
The unruffled calm of his demeanor clashed with the sparks of frustration
rolling off the young prince, and trapped as an unwilling witness to this
uncomfortable scene between the king and his child, Thor felt a stirring of
pity for the boy told to put his feelings aside as if they were no more than a
shabby toy bear he should have long outgrown.
 
Patiently Farbauti held out his hand, and gritting his teeth, Loki took it with
the tips of his fingers, and perched on the edge of the seat next to him.
 
“Learn to see, child, not what is immediately at hand, but the shape of things
to come.
 
Farbauti stroked the boy’s cheek fondly, rubbing his thumb over the bruise.
“Look at the state of you, my child, grown up so quickly and so lovely besides.
The sooner it is over with, the better it is for you.”
 
For the longest while, Loki held his gaze stubbornly, but the unfocused edge of
his anger was dulled, and Thor wasn’t sure if he liked him better for it. It
felt as if a light had gone out somewhere. Farbauti rose to his feet.
 
“Now take care of this commotion you have caused with your Asgardian charge,
and do it properly, child. Make it clear that you have had no dalliance with
him. Do we understand each other?”
 
Loki bowed his head in assent, and before the Farbauti-king swept out of his
chambers he paused to examine the array of gold and gems on the prince’s desk.
 
“As for your time,” said the king, his finger on a smooth gold torque. “The
witch of the Ironwood is known to be quite skilled in the arts of pleasure.
Perhaps you should receive him as your first? Your father would not refuse you
your choice, seeing how he so approves of it himself.”
 
The boy nodded again, but his shoulders remained hunched, long after the door
had closed behind the king and the footsteps had faded away. He sat there in
the darkening room, as if he didn’t care if he turned to stone or the palace
crumbled around him, whichever came first.
 
Thor was never one for words, but the boy needed comforting, no matter how
spoiled and spiteful he was.
 
“I’m sorry,” Thor said again, though this time it wasn’t so much for hitting
him in the face and the shameful stirring of lust he’d been quick to suppress.
His arms ached where the boy had grazed him. With a kindly smile, Thor put a
hand on the boy’s knee and Loki looked at him, a single fat tear rolling down
his bruised cheek.
 
“Oh, fuzzy, I’mthe one who should be sorry,” said the prince with a weary sigh,
and stroked Thor’s beard fondly, if somewhat absently. “It won’t be so very
bad, even if you’re practically a nun. They say that after the fifth or sixth
one takes you up the arse, you barely even feel it.”
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Happy Holidays, everyone!
***** So long, frying pan; hello, fire *****
Chapter Summary
     The big showdown.
Chapter Notes
     Happy new year!
     Dub-con, mind-fuckery, and related shameless talk abound. But the
     worst is yet to come.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
 
 
The witch was taking tea and teaching the boy how to kiss with his fingers
while his mother wasn’t looking.
 
At least that was how Thor interpreted it. The boy looked trapped, mesmerized
as a mouse before a snake, and Thor couldn’t blame him. Of all the Jotnar he
had encountered in this labyrinthine palace, from the brutal, hulking giants to
the thin-blooded aesthetes, the witch was the most beguiling, his beauty
shimmering like the blade of a knife that held your gaze, even as it carved out
your eyes.
 
“He doesn’t like him,” muttered Thor. “Even a blind man can see that.”
 
“Love, hate, sometimes it’s hard to tell,” Fenja said absently. He was brushing
the misshapen pearls out of Thor’s hair and experimenting with complicated
plaits. “How about we shave it all off? It’s a horrible nuisance. You don’t
want your opponent yanking you around by the head, do you?”
 
“Are you done spouting banalities?” Irked, Thor tugged his hair away from
Fenja. “And no, I’m not shaving my head. I’m no slave.”
 
Fenja shrugged, and resumed brushing him out with the horse currying comb.
“Suit yourself. Vain as a peacock, you are, just like his nibs in there,” said
Fenja, shaking his head. “And what do you care if the little monster doesn’t
like his first? You’re spared the ordeal of breaking him in yourself, thank the
stars. And the rest of us, we’re spared his nasty little tantrums after this.
Nothing’s meaner than a horny virgin who can’t get any, believe me. We’ll all
breathe easier around here after his holy highness gets a thorough poking.”
 
He handed Thor a mirror. Despite himself, Thor grunted his approval. Fenja had
managed to braid his hair tight against his skull so it wouldn’t offer a
tempting griphold in the scurry of the fight.
 
“It doesn’t seem right,” said Thor, but Fenja only laughed at him and rubbed
his shoulders. He seemed to have gotten over his disdain for Thor.
 
“Why?” said Fenja. “He’s relieved of his pesky virginity by someone suitable.
And he doesn’t form a hopeless attachment when he’s in that ridiculously
vulnerable state. It’s bad enough being young and inexperienced. How terrible
it would be, emotionally latching onto the first person who touched you in a
pleasurable way, when you don’t know any better. You can’t build a sensible
life on that.Our way is better.”
 
“Bloodless,” scoffed Thor, shaking his head this way and that. It wasn’t
because he liked the way his hair lay flat in evenly braided rows, oh no. “Or
cold-blooded, I don’t know which is worse.”
 
“Better you mean,” said Fenja. “I suppose you barbarian Aesir confuse pawing at
a person’s privates for affection. You’re no better than blind piglets mewling
for a sow’s teats.”
 
“You’ve certainly changed your tune,” said Thor. “Did that fancy whore pull
that stick out of your arse?”
 
“Yes,” rejoined Fenja smoothly. “See what a good round of rutting will do you?
It clears your head and puts you in a fine humor. And you, you should be the
most reasonable, most affable lout to walk these halls, after your suitors are
finished with you.”
 
And with that, Fenja burst tittering into his sleeve and ended up with the
hiccups. Iði had to thump him on the back, and he didn’t even look annoyed.
 
While the majority of the household were preparing for the boy prince’s white
night¸ Iði, and later Fenja, had taken Thor aside to prepare him for his role
in the celebrations. They’d even recruited Hogun and Volstagg to help him
train. Or provide moral support, of which they seemed to think he was in dire
need.
 
Thor was glad to see his friends, and relieved to see they had adjusted
reasonably well, but he could do without the hand-wringing. He almost would
have admitted to missing that sharp-tongued brat if it weren’t for the
inexplicable sting of betrayal he felt when he was reminded of the events to
come.
 
To put it bluntly, Loki had offered him up as entertainment.
 
Ostensibly, it was to clear the prince from any slight that he might have
dallied with Aesir before his time had come. Practically, it was to stall the
grumbling from a bored jotunn court who were clamoring for a chance at Thor,
after Loki had flaunted him like a choice morsel.
 
The ring was ceremonial, steeped in tradition, hearkening back to the days when
single combat between two jotunn warriors would end in ritual mating. Nowadays,
it had become yet another dissolute custom. It was not custom, however, to pit
one combatant against an endless line of eager challengers.
 
“Twelve,” said the laconic Hogun.
 
“There’s twelve of them, officially,” said Volstagg, “and from what I’ve heard,
after that, it might descend into a free-for-all.” He circled Thor with large
padded mitts and aimed punches which Thor easily ducked. “They’re bigger than
you, Thor. And they know the rules, how to use the ring to their advantage.”
 
“I’m stronger,” said Thor. Hogun only shook his head, and lunged at him with a
staff.
 
“When they’ve got you down, remember to relax,” said Volstagg, fussing like a
mother hen. “Once the winner is declared, there’s no use fighting it. You’ll
only hurt yourself.”
 
“I am not going to lose,” growled Thor. “And no jotunn’s holding me down and
fucking me.”
 
“That’s the spirit, Asgard,” said Iði, dancing out of his way and blocking a
punch. “No one wants to fuck a dead fish. You fight ‘em till the very end. It
feels better when you’re socking his face in. Last time someone bent me over
and fucked me in the ring, he twisted my arms behind my back, and I came so
hard I blacked out. Twice.”
 
He grinned wide at Thor, showing a small jewel worked into one of his teeth.
 
Behind the damask curtain, the witch leaned in to murmur in the boy’s ear as he
reached for his cup, his lips grazing the shell of the boy’s ear, and the boy
suppressed a tremor.
 
Thor barely blocked Hogun’s right hook in time.
 
“You almost got me.”
 
“Pay attention,” said Hogun, swinging into his left. “And stop staring.”
 
“What – I’m not –” he bit out before Iði charged him, head like a cannonball
into Thor’s chest and knocked him over.
 
“Distractions,” said Iði, towering over him. “They’ll be the death of you,
Asgard. And there’s no help coming from that quarter, you remember that.
There’s no one fighting for you but yourself.”
 
 
                                       §
 
 
There’s no one fighting for you but yourself.
 
Those were the words that flashed across his mind as he tackled his opponent.
But Thor had always known that, when all around him, everything disappeared but
the fight, and he let the spirit of the Berserker flow through him.
 
The first challenger was a great lumbering brute who leered at him when he was
thrown into the ring, and the audience roared. Easy pickings, was the
consensus, only foreplay to what would be a rowdy night. Wine flowed freely and
the air was heady with incense and pheromones.
 
Earlier, the boy prince had taken his seat, blank and glassy-eyed amidst the
celebrations, decked out in a stiff white robe weighed down with heavy silver
ornaments. His angular little face was drowning above the mass of finery,
though it was blanched with nervousness, more pale frost than blue ice. The
witch Angrboda was at his elbow.
 
Later, when the night grew mellow, the pair would retire to a secluded cove to
proceed with their amorous business.  But for now, there was food, wine, music,
and bawdy entertainment. Fucking the Asgardian would provide good sport.
 
Thor wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
 
 
The jotunn jumped back on his feet, too eager with easily wounded pride, and
swerving out of the reach of his blows, Thor heaved a blow that felled him
again.
 
A murmur rolled through the gathered throng, though it was split between
disapproval that he, a mere Aesir, should have gotten the first advantage, or
excitement that the outcome would not be a predictable, at the very least.
 
Without thinking, Thor scanned the lofty position on the dais where Laufey sat
with his family, and his eyes found the boy prince.
 
Loki hadn’t even been watching.
 
His head was bowed, leaning in to listen to his eldest brother. When the witch
Angrboda, laughing, put a hand on the boy’s knee to point out the ring, he
jerked around in surprise, and shrugging, turned away again to talk to
Helblindi.
 
Thor fumed. He wasn’t some faithful dog, looking for approval from his master
after every trick, but still….
 
The jotunn at his feet groaned, but didn’t get back up again, and Thor looked
down at him in dismay, and with a growing ire. His opponent seemed to be
anticipating what was coming next. Out of breath, the jotunn leered up at him,
and before Thor’s baffled eyes, he spread his legs.
 
 
                                       §
 
 
Fighting, fucking, with jotunns, who can tell?
 
“I thought you didn’t take unwilling partners.” Thor had argued. Iði had gotten
Hogun and Volstagg to attack Thor all at once, and now, with all three sprawled
out on the ground, Thor was feeling more like his old self.
 
“The ring’s an exception,” said Fenja, who was perched on an ottoman filing his
nails. Nothing Iði could say could convince him to join in on the training
assault, but he looked excited nonetheless. “It’s pure instinct. Or maybe it’s
collective memory, I suppose. All those rude, primal instincts dredged up in
close quarters, the excitement, your blood pumping, spirits keening on edge.”
He shivered in exaggeration, exulting in the images in his head. “It’s so
exciting. And well… who wouldn’t want to?”
 
“I wouldn’t,” said Thor. He wouldn’t think of his sparring partners that way,
not his shield brothers, the arms master. That was obscene. It was disloyal–
 
“What happens whenI win?” asked Thor.
 
Fenja grabbed his sides with laughter again, but being one of the three that
Thor had thrown down, Iði gave him a measured glance and got up on one elbow.
 
“Then,” said Iði slowly, “the same rules apply. If you win –”
 
“When,” said Thor. “WhenI win.”
 
Iði stared up at him for a long while, then nodded. “When you win,” he
conceded, and Hogun and Volstagg exchanged a triumphant look on Thor’s behalf.
This was Thor they were talking about, and they had kept their heads down and
been pushed around as meek servants for far too long.
 
“When you win,” said Iði, “you’re in charge of the fucking.”
 
 
                                       §
 
 
Winner takes all, loser takes it on his back.
 
He had won this first fight, Thor was certain of it, and it had been a clean
one. Thor had won.
 
So why did this beaten jotunn make him feel as if it was all a sham for yet
another degrading servicethat would be demanded of him? That whether he was
held down and fucked, or whether he was only a cock put to stud and milked dry,
he was still at their mercy, toyed with by jaded fancies.
 
The silence of the crowd had given way to cheering, and Thor took a step back
and looked around the hall at the shades of boredom and curiosity that lasted
for a moment before the casual spectator lost interest and turned to sample a
savory morsel and laugh at a fleeting flirtation.
 
Laufey was resting back in his seat, his counselors whispering from either side
at once, as he watched Thor from under hooded eyes. And still the boy ignored
him, while the witch exchanged veiled pleasantries with Farbauti and his second
son.
 
At the center of the ring, Thor roared out in challenge, “Next!”
 
One after another, the challengers entered the ring, warier than the first,
some faster, others stronger and even larger, but Thor was in his element. He
threw them off one by one, breathing hard but only more revved up because of
it, moving swift and deadly, and calling out, “next,” in rapid succession until
he was the last one standing.
 
Laufey was leaning forward now, watching him like a panther ready to pounce, as
the excitement rose to a fevered pitch with the beating of drums and Thor’s
‘conquests’ piled up around him.
 
More service.
 
The bile rose in this throat, and he scanned the room. The boy, Loki, was
staring at him now, so pale that even from this distance Thor thought he was a
hair away from fainting.
 
There was one way out of this. They would have no part of him that they didn’t
have to take. They would never have him willingly.
 
 
                                       §
 
 
It had been in a small space in the afternoon when the rooms were, by some
miracle of chance, empty. Iði had been called downstairs, as had Hogun and
Volstagg, to lend a hand in the coming preparations. Even Fenja had flapped off
to attend to matters of guest lists and seating arrangements.
 
Thor was warm with sweat, stretching and flexing to keep wired. It would be
only a few hours now.
 
The door slammed from the inner suite, and Loki stomped out and came rooted to
a stop before him.
 
The boy hadn’t spoken to him since Farbauti had given him his ultimatum, and
Loki had decided to serve up Thor as a side dish at his own coming out party.
The silent treatment rankled at Thor. Perhaps it was shame, if the little
monster was capable of feeling any.
 
Loki wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Ugh, why are you dripping again? You’re secreting all over, how disgusting!
Are you excited for that fucking already?”
 
“Are you?” inquired Thor with a mocking grin, and caught Loki’s wrist before
the slap landed. “Watch it, boy. I’m primed to take down your best. You, little
one, you’re just a snack.”
 
The boy prince tugged to pull free, but Thor held fast. They hadn’t painted the
boy – he was innocence after all, to be led over the threshold of experience –
but he looked ghastly pale, his strained nerves sparking off his skin like
static electricity.
 
“Get your hands off me, you filth –”
 
Thor had ever been gentle and considerate with his lovers, and all this casual
talk of fighting and fucking repulsed him and left him cold inside, but this
one…. He shook his head. He always fell for the cold ones. It was a sickness
with him –
 
Loki kicked him in the shins and swept his feet out from under him, and before
Thor could get back up, twisted his arm behind his back and flattened him to
the floor.
 
He breathed hard, and laughing Loki pushed his face into the white bearskin and
clambered onto the back of his thighs to hold him down. Thor went rigid.
 
“Fuzzy, fuzzy, fuzzy,” said Loki playfully. “Did you think the princes of
Jotunnheim spent their hours composing poetry to the air? Actually, we do. I’m
the best. I should read you some of the inane doggerel Býleistr comes up with.
It’ll have you in stitches. But, dear, stupid fuzzy, we also learn how to
fight.”
 
He wasn’t fighting right now, not in any way Thor had learned, but he lay there
on his stomach, immobilized, as the boy gingerly lifted the loincloth from
behind.
 
“They haven’t looked after you properly, those idiots,” whispered Loki. “I told
them to take care of you.”
 
When cold fingers pried apart his buttocks, Thor almost bucked him off.
 
“What are you –?!”
 
“They’re stupid, that’s what they are,” said Loki, treading between amusement
and anger. “They don’t mean to be unkind. It’s just that they don’t know much
about Aesir, not the way I do. Wait here, there’s a pot of goose fat on the
shelf –”
 
“I won’t be oiled up for a good plowing, if that’s what you’re on about!”
growled Thor, and was shocked still when Loki smacked him on his left butt
cheek.
 
“Grew yourself a cunt overnight, did you?” sneered Loki. “Where do you think
they’ll start fucking you, then, if not up your arse?”
 
“They won’t because I’ll win –”
 
“What, against all twelve of them?”
 
“Yes, all twelve of them, and anyone who comes after,” said Thor, not without
pride. “Why the concern, now? You set me up to this.”
 
Loki was quiet for a moment, and cautiously Thor rolled onto his back, careful
not to upset the boy straddling his thighs. Loki didn’t look at his face,
concentrating instead on the light hairs that grew sparse before the springy
bush at his groin, and gently he sank his thin fingers into them.
 
“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” he muttered, and Thor held his breath as the
boy combed through his pubis, as if he was caring for a small furry pet. The
dull ache of blood rushing to his cock was pleasurable all the more for wanting
the boy to please please touch it, but Loki wouldn’t, not yet.
 
“Don’t be frightened,” said Thor, not really knowing what he was saying. “It’s
supposed to be enjoyable. Even if you have it both ways. If there’s pain, the
lasses say it’s short and sweet besides –”
The boy gave a bitter laugh and palmed his cock. Thor bucked up into his grip,
and almost wilted at the chill of it, but Loki kept it up with light swift
strokes.
 
“If they tie a knot at the base, you’ll be forced to keep it up,” said Loki, as
if he was presented with an academic question. “That way you can still stay
hard even when the temperature doesn’t suit you.”
 
“What if I don’t want to?” Thor bit out. The boy was playing with him, and he
didn’t care – this was a game he didn’t mind. “What if I don’t wantto keep
fucking anyone and everyone I’ve beaten?”
 
“Mighty sure of ourselves, are we?” mocked Loki, and Thor rutted into his
hands, urging him to get on with it. “Why wouldn’t you? It’s supposed to be
enjoyable.”
 
“Maybe – ha, yes, like that – maybe I’m more—discerning—”
 
“Are you now?” said Loki with a sneer, but Thor cupped his hands around the
boy’s, and held his gaze. So close, he’d come any second now, spilling his seed
over the boy’s fingers, his own –
 
“Yes.”
 
Loki jumped back, and Thor fucked empty air.
 
Then the cold hands were back again, not around his desperately weeping prick,
but pinning him down at the hips. He keened, rutting shallowly, begging for
friction, but Loki held him down with an iron grip, his bony fingers digging
into Thor’s pelvis, not touching him where he wanted to be touched,
deliberately withholding relief, comfort, pleasure, that little brat –
 
“Once there was a great king, from a line of kings as old as the hills, who
came down to the plains of ice and defeated all challengers in single combat,”
said Loki, as if reciting a lesson learned in the schoolroom. But his eyes were
fixed on Thor’s, his breath curling around Thor’s prick, and his voice turned
mocking again.
 
“But when his foes bowed low and offered themselves up to him, he didn’t plunge
in and plant his seed in the finest warriors of the land. He said, and I quote,
from the great jotunn poet whose name has been forgotten three dozen times
over: What use have I for those who bend over in defeat? My heart lies with
another, one that is pure and unbeaten, and only for him do I lay down my arms
and embrace defeat with love.”
 
At the sound of stirring outside, Loki sat upright and gathered his heavy white
robes to him. And at the sharp slap that came next, Thor was taken off guard,
especially as it landed on his hard cock, and just as unexpectedly he came in a
burst of pain, spurting his seed over himself as Loki’s weight lifted from him.
 
“And that, fuzzy," sneered Loki, "is how you refuse prize pussy. In the name of
love.”
 
 
                       
                                       §
 
 
Amidst the cheering of the ever so fickle jotunn court, Thor looked down at his
opponents, twelve to a number, all defeated and ready to receive him, and
shouted a challenge out to the hall.
 
“My heart lies with another,” he shouted, and the noise dropped down to a
murmur as if a door had closed on them. “One who is pure and unbeaten.”
 
The ring cleared, and for a moment, Thor stood alone. Even Laufey leaned back,
half obscured in shadows. It was Thor’s chance to walk out of the ring with his
head high, a proven warrior even among this lot, and stand with them as equals.
 
Then, the murmur drew back completely, like a red tide receding to make a path
for a great king, and the jotunn who emerged and entered the ring was Thrym,
host of the northern armies and lord of Thrymheim.
 
“If that is your heart, Asgard,” said the warlord, “be prepared to defend it.”
 
And Thor met with the thirteenth challenger in the ring. At a nod from Laufey,
a small golden rattle signaled the beginning of the last fight.
 
But from the elevated seat on the dais, the witch bowed twice to the king and
his family, and Laufey took his youngest son’s face and stroked fingers dipped
in gold paint once down his brow, before Angrboda led him away to begin his
night in earnest.
 
Distractions, Iði had warned him, and in that small window of chance, the
massive jotunn bore down on Thor and knocked him to the ground.
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Yeah, so I didn't get to the massive awful I hinted at last time, but
     it's coming next.
***** And the Worm Turns *****
Chapter Notes
     Now, I really have to issue one last warning. This is the awful
     chapter I've been hinting at in comments.
     Stop.
     Take a good look at the tags up there. There are a few new ones
     added. See those? Those are warnings (also spoilers, but warnings are
     always that). All the previous ones still hold one way or another.
     Are you still okay with this? If not, turn back. Do not cross the
     bridge. It's been nice having you. No hard feelings. Bye~
     If you're still okay with where this fic is going, come on over.
     We're heading toward that painful bump before this thing goes full-on
     marriage fic.
                                 ------------
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
 
 
The chamber that had been set aside for them was little more than a grotto
carved into the ice. Loki stood at the mouth of the white cave. It was sparse
and empty, except for a simple pallet of furs at the far end and a small fire
over which Angrboða had hung an iron pot.
 
Any other youth would have had to duck to enter. The reminder of his stunted
growth irked him.
 
“This, this is where I’m supposed to give it up?” he sneered. “This is where
I’m to be transported to throes of ecstasy previously unimagined by your
precious dick? What a dump. Don’t tell me Farbauti helped you decorate it.”
 
Angrboða smiled into the sickly sweet fumes rising from the small pot.
 
“Don’t forget, you will take your pleasure as well as receive it,” said the
witch. “We must nurture the wholeness of ourselves, not lean to favor one side
over the other.”
 
“Is that how you crawled into my father’s bed?” asked Loki. “By fucking my
mother, too?”
 
“The Farbauti-king and I have an understanding,” said Angrboða, holding out a
thin, piping hot bowl. “But enough of that. This is your night. Sit, drink.
Talk to me of what pleases you.”
 
With an angry huff, Loki unclasped the heavy white robe and tossed it into a
corner, then shimmied out of his loincloth, not bothering to undo the intricate
folds. This wouldn’t take long. He strode across the cave, wearing his
nakedness like an armor.
 
He was no shy, hesitant child. He wouldn’t be intimidated, nor would he be awed
silly by the ‘mysteries’ of sex, toyed with by some provincial hedge witch.
Even if said witch did have pretty hair. 
 
With a pang, he remembered Thor, how stupidly trusting he was, how soft and
warm and pliant he had been under Loki’s hands, and how Loki had tossed him
into a pit of wolves to save face.
 
And how, against all odds, that stupid animal had started fighting his way out.
Stupid fuzzy,so stupid that he didn’t even know he was supposed to lose.
 
Loki stalked over to the spread of white furs and flung himself down. Casting a
narrow-eyed glance at Angrboða who was kneeling beside the furs, he spread his
legs with as much contempt as he could muster.
 
“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled. “Provide your service and be quick
about it.”
 
He almost didn’t feel it at first, the touch that was so light it was barely
there. When he shivered, it felt as if he was shaking off a ghost of a spider
crawling up his thigh. Then with a smooth quick movement, the witch’s fingers
brushed across the lip of his cunt and palmed his pubis, flickering inside
delicately before they stilled, clamping him shut. A head of a thumb found the
tangle of nerves that was his clit and played with it.
 
He bit back a whimper – Angrboða’s fingers were thin and bony, and this was not
meant to be gentle.
 
“If we must be direct, answer me this, for curiosity’s sake,” said the witch,
in a voice barely audible. “Did you plan this from the beginning?”
 
“Planned what?” Loki bit out. The rough thumb rubbed lazily in circles, teasing
at the little nub, and he grit his teeth. “Stop tickling me and touch my cock,
whore.”
 
Swift as a panther, Angrboða was upon him, body pressed against his, lips
almost brushing against his but for a wall of breath, and angrily, Loki turned
his face away. But Angrboða gripped his chin and forced him to look back.
 
“Did you plan this?” asked the witch. “Did you plan to pit your Asgardian
against twelve? He could not have known our ways so intimately. He could not
have known the legends.”
 
Loki tried to buck him off, and felt fingers slipping inside, and – stupid
treacherous body –finding him slick, too slick and too wet after just this.
They played inside him, forcing his body to crave more, to buck up and spread
his legs wider.
 
Then it hit him again – the fever, and the sharp pain like needles gutting him
from the inside out, and Loki let out a howl.
 
 
                                       §
 
 
The force of a jotunn three feet taller than him, slamming into his chest was
somewhat like that time in Midgard, when Thor had been tossed into a frozen
lake by a mastodon.
 
Then again, Thor remembered with a grin, as he rolled out of the way of a fist
and jumped back on his feet, he had a pair of great throwing spears made from
that beast’s tusks.
 
The first stunned blow had only charged him with a wilder energy, and he
laughed as he darted out of the way, guffawed as he landed a well-aimed blow on
Thrym’s thigh and brought him to one knee.
 
He was Thor, god of thunder, and the force of it coursed through his veins,
light as air, quick as lightning, more powerful than the force of a thousand
storms gloved in an invisible blow.
 
Laughter always shook his opponent’s confidence, and though Thrym didn’t show
it overtly, if his movements took on a split second’s hesitance, if his feet
paused before charging, Thor knew it and Thrym felt it as well.
 
With a flicker of doubt, Thrym charged at him again, and Thor ran straight
toward him instead of the other way, vaulted on his bruised thigh, and leapt
onto the great jotunn’s back, pulling him down onto his back with a thud that
seemed to shake the great pillars of the hall.
 
The roar of the court was deafening. The mannered court had turned rowdy, on
their feet shouting and, Thor realized, cheering. For him.
 
Everyone likes a winner, Tyr had always said. But it’show you win that matters.
 
He held out his hand to help the jotunn get up, and ignoring him, Thrym got to
his feet and lunged again. Embarrassment made him clumsy, and he made little
mistakes, and slipped, took a blow he should have blocked.
 
Thor refused to toy with him – this was a venerated general, he didn’t deserve
that – but he wanted this over before it got ugly, and the jotunn lord wasn’t
one to give in gracefully with a bow, not from the look on his face.
 
He had called down thunder before, but that had been with Mjölnir and under his
father’s tutelage. Now with the heat of battle flowing through him, he brought
it down through his bare fist to split the ice clear across the ring, just as
Thrym sent a wave of ice rolling toward him, and two great powers met in the
middle and exploded, burning the air between them.
 
But before the smoke cleared and they could charge again, a voice rang out
across the hall.
 
“Stop!”
 
                                       §
 
 
He was frozen inside, and his skin felt like it was on fire. Shivers wracked
through him, as he writhed and kicked out at air. The ache in his gut burned
and froze and twisted, and he struggled to keep it inside, but already, he
could feel it pulling out its roots and getting ready to rush out of him like
the bitter backwash of a fever.
 
Fingers pulled out of his cunt dripping, and holding him down by the throat,
Angrboða pushed aside his cock and painted vertical lines low across his pelvis
with his own juices.
 
“What are you doing?” he croaked.
 
His throat was parched, dry enough to crack and split and desperately he looked
around for water. There was the bowl of sweet smelling tea, cooled now, and he
reached for it, downing it in two gulps. Instead of quenching his thirst, it
seemed to set his throat aflame, and Loki went into a fit of coughing and
hacking.
 
“Oh,” he said rather bleakly, and dropped the bowl onto the ice floor where it
shattered. “What have you done to me?”
 
“Nothing that shouldn’t have been done weeks ago.”
 
“You knew?”
 
“From the moment I saw you.”
 
“Does my moth—does the Farbauti-king know?” Loki pressed on. “He can’t know
about this. Did you go tattling to him to win his favor?”
 
“He suspects a dozen terrible things. This might be one of them,” said
Angrboða. “I might have led him to believe other lies. Now answer me this. Did
you plan to have your Asgardian challenge twelve of Jotunheim’s finest –”
 
Loki snorted, despite his predicament, and saw a mocking smile mirroring his
own on the witch.
 
“—just as Vindsval came down from the hills and smote down the twelve great
lords of the icy plains?”
 
“Did I do such a thing?” Loki mocked, before gripping his stomach as a spasm
went through him. “Would anyone have noticed?”
 
“Noticed?” Angrboða pulled him into his lap and rocked him. “Noticed how you
set up the pageantry of kingship before them, and prettied up your pet as the
great Vindsval –”
 
This time, when the shivers came, Angrboða held him tight and stroked his back.
Loki felt like he could puke up his guts, and hoped the mess of it would stick
in the witch’s pretty hair.
 
“He could not have known the words,” Angrboða whispered. “But he knew the
words.”
 
Blearily, through his fevered haze, Loki put together what the witch was
nattering on about.
 
“He could have known,” said Loki. “He’s a prince – even of that mudbowl of
Asgard – he must have had some education. He’s not a total lummox.”
 
Loki tried pulling away, but he was too weak, all the strength fled from his
limbs, and he slumped like a marionette with its strings cut, into the comfort
of Angrboða’s embrace.
 
“Wouldn’t it have been funny?” said Loki, a burble of delighted laughter
escaping against Angrboða’s shoulder, but it was weak and breathless. “That oaf
of an Asgardian, rising from the ring with the glory of the god-king of
Jotunnheim gracing his hairy head? Not that any of those primped-up buffoons
would have recognized my little joke.”
 
“Clever, clever little prince,” said Angrboða, tracing circles into the small
of his back. “But after his triumph over the twelve, when Vindsval declares his
heart set aside only for the purest, the undefeated… you knew the pride of the
court would not stand for this. For this Asgardian to claim his place as
Vindsval reborn –”
 
“Idiots,” muttered Loki. “They barely know how to spell their own names and
keep track of their bastard broods. What do they know of the god-kings? What
would they care? It was merely a jest at the expense of their ignorance, a slap
in their faces aping at a caress.”
 
“But it wasn’t a mere jest, was it? Your father would know. Thrym would,” said
Angrboða, and Loki caught his breath. He could feel Angrboða's thin face
stretch into a wolfish smile, so close to his own. “Lord Thrym would not allow
for it, to have a mere Asgardian gloat in his victory over us, knowingly or
not. He has too much honor for that, and too much pride. And you knew that.”
 
“Honor? Did you know, witch, that it’s not clear who actually won that fight?”
Loki asked, rolling out the words one by one, softly and gently as he fought
for breath.
 
Loki could barely see through the red haze of his vision. He felt Angrboða lay
him gently down on the pallet again. He curled up, holding his stomach, as the
ache spread from deep down in his core all the way up his spine, like a tree
lit up with sharp, electrifying pain even unto its smallest highest branches.
 
“That in the ring, the challenger from the hills met the thirteenth warrior,
and they fought until only one remained standing.” Loki closed his eyes as
another spasm shot through him. “One killed the other. So much for our vaunted
traditions. The passion that rises from the fight,” he managed to sneer. “How
we resolve our differenceson a higher plane. It’s nothing but a couple of louts
fucking each other over after a brawl. There’s nothing holy about it.”
 
Angrboða nodded, smoothing a hand over the boy’s brow. “And the winner was
declared the god-king Vindsval, he who was undefeated and fair besides, he who
took the witch Auðembla as wife, and thus began the line of kings to this day.”
 
Loki choked on a silent laugh. “But there’s the rub, isn’t it? No one says
whether the challenger was Vindsval, or the warrior was Vindsval. It could have
been either of –” he broke off to smother a keening whine.
 
“Rest, sweetling, your time has come, though not the way your mother would have
wished for you, but –”
 
“No,” Loki shook him off. “You found out. You found out everything. You might
as well know. I wanted to spit on them, tear down their ridiculousrules and the
vapid traditions they set up in the name of order and harmony. It’s nothing but
a sham now, nothing but posturing and preening. There’s no Vindsval, no hero,
no great warrior king –”
 
“But you wished there to be,” said Angrboða. “You goaded lord Thrym to step up
to the fight –”
 
“For me!”shrieked Loki. “He should have foughtfor me! Screw the rules! Screw
propriety! He should have thrown over my brother and come to mewhen it
happened! I chose him first,and he chose me back! He should have refused
Býleistr! My brother has no greater claim to the throne than I do!” Loki shook
his head violently. “So yes, I goaded him to fight. I set up this ridiculous
show for his attention. If he didn’t, if he lost, he deserved the shame, all of
it, down to the last filthy drop heaped upon his head!”
 
“And if he won?” asked Angrboða, gently now. Loki sighed and looked up at the
witch, both of them, for once empty of guile and filled only with weariness.
 
“Then I would have made him king in their eyes, and he would have come to me
and bent his knee,” Loki whispered. “To me and our child.”
 
And his face twisted, and Angrboða held him down as Loki bit into his own wrist
and twisted as the last of the shivers coursed through him, shaking as if to
break every bone in his body.
 
 
                                       §
                                        
                                        
The customs were different, but Thor was a son of a king, and raised in a
king’s hall. He knew there was a charge to the air, felt the crackle of power
and the change in the wind, and it wasn’t just from the clash of ice and
thunder.
 
As the smoke cleared across the ring, he stared into the eyes of the lord
Thrym, who was furious and barely containing his urgent need to rip out Thor’s
throat. This was no mere rage and instinct. Greater things were at stake, and
he had been told to step down and hold back, like a great wolf made to heel.
 
Laufey knew it, too. He was the god-king of Jotunnheim, and before legal
wrangling, form and courtesies, he above all others knew the moment when the
crown was about to pass to the next king, in all the ways that mattered. In the
ways of the spirit and the ice.
 
And he had to stop it.
 
The rumble of the crowd was growing. It wasn’t dangerous yet, but it would be
if it was not satisfied. The tenor of the hall walked on a knife’s edge. They
felt the shift of power, but were not aware of the particulars of it, not as
Laufey was, or Thrym. All they needed was the motions of passing, the show of
some reward granted to a strong young victor. The crown needn’t pass itself.
 
Thrym glared at him from under his brows, bristling. Thrym would know it was
not enough, that the true contest had been cut short, but he would not act
against Laufey. Not yet.
 
“On the eve of our dearest son’s coming of age,” said Laufey in his great silky
voice, rumbling like an underground river, “we will not lock horns and bring
the walls down upon his head. In this greatest of realms, we embrace the gift
of power made to us tonight, from the general of our Northern armies, Lord
Thrym, the pillar of strength that bears the weight of mighty Jotunheim. Do we
have your love, lord Thrym?”
 
He held out his hand to the other jotunn, and holding Laufey’s hard gaze, Thrym
with a grudging pause that only he and Laufey noted, bowed his forehead to the
king’s hand before he stepped back.
 
“And from the stranger at our hearth, we recognize a true jotunn heart. Come,
friend Thor,” said Laufey, turning his smile on the Asgardian prince, and held
out his hand.
 
“Kneel, you idiot,” someone hissed from the side. It was Fenja, who ducked out
of sight before anyone important could spot him.
 
Thor knelt, and felt something heavy rest over his shoulders – more frippery he
thought, before he squinted and recognized the flat polished metals, twelve of
them signaling land accorded to a warrior of the realm, a jotunn lord with
men’s souls under his care.
 
“Rise my son,” said the Laufey-king, carefully gathering the skeins of his
kingship in his wily grasp again, “as a warrior and friend of Jotunnheim.” And
he gave Thor a knowing grin. “Go now to find your pure and undefeated, and see
if he will have you. You have earned it.”
 
 
And propriety drew a breath of relief. The formal gestures had been made, and
the vague, dissatisfied grumbles were appeased. Laufey hid his own sigh of
relief. But he could feel the needle gazes piercing at his side, the one as
expected from Thrym, and the other, more familiar and accustomed, from
Farbauti, and he sighed again. This wouldn't be the end of it.
 
 
With that the party seemed to begin in earnest, but not before Fenja threw
himself at Thor’s neck, then Hogun and Volstagg, and Thor had to brace himself
as they, joined by Iði, threw him in the air, and the other jotunns made a game
of it.
 
He was thankful that parties ran along similar lines in the realms: food
accompanied by vast quantities of drink, easily transmuted through the alchemy
of lust into cheerful talk and unsubtle fondling. Well, they had all warned him
of the orgy.
 
Thor made his way past cheerful congratulations, slaps on the back that turned
into groping hands on the rear, vague, slurred greetings, but this was not
where he had to be. The thought was blurry in his head, but it grew clearer as
he left the crowded hall, and he picked up his pace as he ascended the
spiraling staircase carved into the ice.
 
If all he would receive was a pat on the head, figurative or literal, a word
that he had done well, a small smile and a prickly joke, it was the thought of
those little things that made his heart lighter as he drew near.
 
It was as if he had come upon a fallen star in the snow, and without knowing
what it was, his heart knew that he must love it, even if now it gave only the
faintest of light.
 
                                        
                                       §
 
 
When it was over, Loki turned on his side, and the Angrboða pressed a cool thin
hand to his cheek and caught the tears in the webs of his fingers.
 
“My child,” he whispered. “He’s gone.”
 
“You’re barely out of childhood yourself, my prince,” said Angrboða. “You
should have waited. All these weeks, it’s sapped away at your strength and
curtailed your growth. You should have waited for your time. You should have….”
 
But there were no should haves, no rules for miscreants like this, mischief-
makers who played with fire on the edge of the forest. Born outcasts. Like him.
They were cut from the same cloth, the witch and this rebel prince.
 
The boy curled up around the pool of blood that had coursed out of him, and
dipped his fingers, sorting through the darker clots as if he was searching for
something.
 
“But I loved him so much,” he whispered. “And he would have come to me in the
end. I know he would have. If the child hadn’t died –”
 
“Sweetling, there was no child,” said Angrboða. “It never lived long enough to
become one. It was barely a grain of sand. Yet it forced you to carry death
inside you for weeks, and it had become poisoned flesh eating away at you. I’ve
only forced out the rot. Now you can begin to mend.”
 
“But there was,”insisted Loki, dragging his fingers through the blood. “There
was a baby. I felt it. I made it. I was strong enough for him. I lovedhim –”
 
The witch gathered Loki to him in comfort, and even against this the boy
fought, pounding his small fists at his chest as Angrboða held him, raging
against fate, against despair, against helplessness.
 
It was too early for the boy to do much more than shuttle between seething and
grieving, and Angrboða thought to himself that this one had too much fire in
him for a frost giant, so much that he would explode if he was not tempered
with someone warmer.
 
Not the conventional foolishness that matched fire with ice. Paired with the
cold steely core of the great jotunn lords, he might blow up the world and
everyone and himself along with it.
 
And as much as Angrboða enjoyed a good upset as much as any other witch, no one
wanted to bring about Ragnarok over such a slight piece of hell as a broken
heart.
 
The boy hiccupped, and muttered into Angrboða’s chest. “You won’t tell anyone,
will you? You won’t spread shameful rumors about this?”
 
Angrboða held him close and rocked him like a babe. “Sweetling, your secret is
mine, and I shall cut out the tongue of anyone who would speak of it. But no
one will know, ease your fears.”
 
“Promise?”
 
“I promise.”
 
The boy paused, then, his fingers curled around Angrboða’s tangled hair, before
asking softly,
 
“What do tongues taste like?”
 
The witch smiled, and gave him a quick peck on the lips.
 
“Quite lovely, you’ll see,” said Angrboða, “especially grilled in a sweet lemon
sauce.”
 
That drew out a small snort that ended in a sigh, and the witch rocked him back
and forth, humming a lullaby he didn’t remember learning, before the child
could choke on his tears again.
 
 
It wasn’t the right time for Thor to come stumbling upon them, the boy naked in
his lap and on the brink of hysteria, covered only in his own blood, but then,
there was never a right time for these kinds of things.
 
 
His gasp was echoed by the boy’s own, as two pairs of eyes widened at the sight
of each other, neither of them in joy.
 
“What is the meaning of this?" growled Thor. "What have you done to him, you
vile creature?”
 
And before he could claw the lumbering brute’s eyes out, the hairy Asgardian
threw him across the cave, and with a sickening crack Angrboða hit his head
hard against the ice. Numb, he lay there not sure which had broken.
 
Like a wildcat, the boy prince threw himself on his Asgardian swain, and all
the fury and pain, the unspent rage that had coiled up inside the boy was
unleashed on the unsuspecting barbarian, who barely defended himself under the
onslaught.
 
But finally, Angrboða gathered his wits and dragged himself over to pull the
boy off of him, and held his arms back.
 
“Get out! Get out! Get out!” shrieked the boy at his dumbfounded servant, “What
are you even doinghere?! And what are you staring at?”
 
“Hush child, hush,” the witch whispered in his ear, “no harm is done, hush. He
doesn’t know….”
 
The Asgardian blinked stupidly at them, his hurt blue eyes resting on Loki. “I…
I came to see you as soon as I…. I think I won. I won against twelve of them,
and then - Are you… are you unwell?”
 
This only seemed to enrage the boy further, though the true significance of it
seemed lost on him at the moment.
 
But Angrboða had felt the tremors from below, the tone of the ice, and how it
matched the wisps of sheer power rolling off this brute. So that’s what it had
meant. The land always recognized the king first. Angrboða should have known.
 
The boy prince saw nothing of the sort.
 
“Are you truly this stupid? Who wants to see you?Did you not hear me the first
time? Get out!”
 
The Asgardian backed out, obeying as if by instinct, stopping only when the boy
shook off Angrboða’s warning hands and rushed to Thor. He grabbed a handful of
hair, and confused, Thor blinked at him.
 
“And if you dare tell anyone about this,” hissed Loki, “I’ll carve out your
eyes and make you eat them. Do you understand me?”
 
Thor nodded dumbly, not really hearing anything but the hatred.
 
“Now get out. I don’t ever want to see your ugly face, ever again.” 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     So yeah, I guess they'll have to get married now. Yay.
***** Wedding Bells from Hell *****
Chapter Summary
     Like it says on the tin, an arranged marriage fic. At last!
     Lots of politics. Lots of talking. A lot less fooling around. Boy,
     doesn't that sound like fun.
                                    -------
 
 
 
He was free of this place.
 
Half of Laufey’s prize bought back Volstagg’s and Hogun’s freedom as well.
Volstagg had a tidy bundle over his shoulder, spilling over with polished
stones with magical properties and rich fabrics.
 
“Souvenirs?” Thor raised a querying eyebrow.
 
Volstagg laughed. “I picked up a few odds and ends. My Hilde will want a nice
present after such a long stay away. I warrant you’ll have a few precious
baubles to take home yourself,” he said, punching Thor on the arm, “our
conquering hero.”
 
Thor fingered the amulet in his pocket. The polished bone was warm in his palm,
as if it was a live thing, asleep but pressed against him for comfort. The boy
had tied it round his ankle that morning they had gone down to breakfast,
before events had started rolling down hill at a calamitous pace.
 
Or perhaps they had been set in motion long before that, and only now could
Thor see a glimpse of the whole picture.
 
Enough. He’d had enough of this, spidery plots and underhandedness and
scheming. He needn’t entangle himself further in this tortured web.
 
Thor had gifted the other half of his bounty to Iði. It would be enough to buy
the jotunn an officer's commission or a respectable farm.
 
“So you can marry that sour-faced scribe of yours,” said Thor. “If you want to
wait for him to make up his mind.”
 
“As if he’d ever have a low-born yob like me,” said Iði, rolling his eyes, but
grinned back.
 
He was going home to Asgard, back to the golden realm free of shadows and
scheming. He’d won his freedom.
 
Still, as his friends gathered together their meager belongings and made
arrangements to return via the Bifrost, Thor couldn’t help pushing down a
kernel of disappointment. The boy hadn’t looked out once. It was time to put
Jotunheim behind him.
 
                                        
                                       §
 
 
“He’s leaving, you know. You won’t come out and bid him farewell? And I thought
you two were getting along splendidly… well, you didn’t want to strangle him
too often, did you? Do come out. For politeness’ sake at least. How long will
you be moping in bed? Shall we lock up the wing and send the servants home for
the rest of the year?”
 
On the bed, the mound of white furs didn’t stir. With a long-suffering sigh,
Fenja resumed his scribbling and crossing out on a long list of expenses.
 
“What did that awful witch do to you? Was it not very good? Shall we demand a
refund?” Fenja asked, as he made a detailed note in the margins. “He should be
punished for being so terrible in bed. It’s a crying shame if he made a mess of
things, when you should have had such a good time. It’s downright depressing if
I think about it. Shall I have Iði administer a beating? Never mind a beating.
The Laufey-king seems to have lost interest in the witch anyway. If you want,
we could arrange to break his neck. It’ll save us the bother of having to send
him a present.”
 
A head poked out. For a second, Loki’s face was scrunched up in that fierce
familiar look that preceded the usual harangue of  fuck off and die, Fenja.
 
Then it crumbled and went back to blank. Loki leaned back wearily, gathering
the furs to his throat.
 
“No,” he said, in a tired voice that labored to string two words together.
“Send him a present, Fenja. Send something nice. The pouch of rubies will do.”
 
“What?” squawked Fenja, dropping his pen. “The whole purse?”
 
Loki closed his eyes and nodded.
 
“But he’s a nobody!” said Fenja. “We don’t have to curry favor with him! Why
should we waste – ” But there, he stopped. “Do you wish to… shall I ask him to…
ah, attendyou again?”
 
“No,” muttered Loki sullenly, then changed his mind. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I
don’t ever want to – leave me alone, Fenja. No, wait. Stay here. Everyone
leaves me.”
 
Tired of sitting up, Loki lowered himself down on his side and looked at
nothing. The fur rippled where his slight breath touched it. Fenja bit his lip.
 
The boy – no, he was a boy no longer – had been out of sorts ever since his
white night, listless and drained when he should have been cutting a swathe
through the court, flaunting his newly gained maturity. Instead, Loki drifted
in and out of sleeping to lie awake in a dead sort of way that was not much
better. Whatever was the matter? Was he mourning the loss of his wretched
virginity?
 
It made Fenja want to shake something until it broke. But that would be crude,
uncouth, and Fenja despised histrionics. Besides, that would solve nothing.
 
Downstairs, Iði was itching for a fight, glowering darkly at anyone to just
look at him funny, for an excuse to hit something or better yet someone, until
the air cleared and they had their ridiculous high-spirited prince again.
 
“What about your Asgardian?” Fenja willed himself to be gentle. “He was yours
to look after. Tell him he did well and go see him off properly, there’s a good
master.”
 
There was no answer for the longest while that Fenja thought Loki had fallen
back asleep again.
 
“He’s not mine if he’s leaving, is he?” said Loki.
 
“That’s not how it works, I think,” said Fenja, biting down a scream. “Rather,
he’s yours if he returns to you. And he might, if you show that he would be
welcome.”
 
But Loki did not look very interested in the subject. “It doesn’t matter,
Fenja, it really doesn’t.” He was absently plucking out the soft downy hairs
from between the long silvery ones on the fur.
 
“Have you ever lost something, Fenja, and then realized afterwards that you
never had it at all?” Loki asked and went on, not really waiting for an answer.
“That it was never yours to begin with because he had the power to withhold it?
That he never loved you back? And when your eyes are opened to that, it’s so
terrible, so poisonous, so crippling, that it eats away inside as if you’ve
willingly swallowed hot acid. I think love is like that. It kills you and
leaves no trace once its dirty work is done. An invisible knife that strikes
from afar, and drives your victim to slowly die of rot and madness. Wouldn’t
that make the perfect murder? I’m sure I could pickle a spell from all this
fountain of bile inside –”
 
“Hush, don’t talk that way,” said Fenja quickly. “It’s utter nonsense, terrible
frightful nonsense. What would your gracious dam say if he heard you talking
like this? Hush. And you’re too young to be so cynical. Don’t.”
 
“Oh, Fenja,” said Loki with a horrible little laugh, “I’m allowed to be cynical
because I’m young. When I’m old and withered, I shall have to put a brave smile
on things and mouth pleasant lies, otherwise I would be hideous inside out, and
no one could bear to be near me. Let me spout ugliness while I’m still pretty.”
 
He sighed and curled up into a ball again, and Fenja came to sit beside him on
the bed and stroked the lines of raised whorls in a way that soothed him.
 
But Fenja was remembering a time when he had been a soft, unmarked thing, wet
behind the ears, and his father’s big handsome equerry had taken him into the
stables and – hindsight made this clearer – used him vigorously and often to
sate his lusts, and Fenja had believed it to be something sweeter. For half a
season, Fenja had wandered about, dazed at the sharp dizzying thrill of being
in love. That was before it all exploded in a thunderclap of his father’s
dreadful anger, and his dam had had to bundle him out of the house under a
cloud, and sent him away to serve at court. How preposterously naïve he had
been. Love,he recalled with a snort, and attempted to pull himself together.
After all this time, he still bristled at the memory.
 
“Perhaps you need a change of air,” said Fenja brightly. “Take yourself out of
the palace for a while. A nice jaunt into the country would do you a world of
good. We should have a few choice invitations, even one from Lord Thrym asking
if you would like to accompany him to Thrymheim. Shall I write to him and say
we shall accept?”
 
“And wade through puddles of my brother’s marital bliss?” Loki said idly. “How
disgusting. I’d rather bathe in vomit.”
 
“But haven’t you heard anything?” said Fenja. “That’s been put off, possibly
indefinitely.”
 
Loki went very still.
 
“What?”
 
Fenja rattled on unawares, happy to be dispensing gossip rather than delving
into melancholy.
 
“I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole marriage was called off in the end,” said
Fenja. “There’s something very twitchy in the air, and one never knows which
way the wind will blow at a time like this. Everyone’s hedging their bets. It
could be fizzle out to nothing. Or it could be a tremendous upset. The marriage
is on hold. Is it a deliberate slight to Lord Thrym? Or is Lord Thrym staring
down the king? Is he finally breaking his oath of fealty? And who knows what
the king is thinking?”
 
“Who indeed?” said a low unruffled voice. Loki sat up with a start, almost
toppling off the bed as Fenja jumped to his feet.
 
“Loki, child of my flesh, I would speak with you,” the Farbauti-king announced,
and before he turned to settle in the receiving room, he gave Fenja a stern
look. “My son will not be visiting Thrymheim. Make no mistake about that,
Fenja. There are more important things at hand.”
 
Loki had stopped, as if had been frozen at the threshold of his bedchamber, and
stared unseeing at his dam.
 
“What things?”
 
“Sit with me, my child. Tell me, how are you faring? You look peaked. I shall
send Skaaþr over with a choice suckling piglet to put some meat on your bones.
You’ve gone rather pale and thin. It is a pretty look for now, but it will
drain you in the end.”
 
Farbauti patted the seat beside him, but Loki didn’t budge.
 
“Whatthings?” he demanded.
 
The Farbauti-king drew a deep breath, and turned to Loki with what he thought
was a kindly smile. Loki shivered but stood his ground and Farbauti relented,
attempting to appease his stony-eyed son above all else.
 
“Loki, my child,” said the Farbauti-king gently. “You are fond of your
Asgardian, are you not?”
 
 
                                       §
 
 
From the tower of ivory and crystal at the edge of the Jutla cliffs, the
Bifrost sent them back to Asgard. The various landing sites offworld were never
fixed as the central tower in Jotunheim, but the locations were close enough,
and for Asgard this was on the outskirts of a grazing meadow from which Thor
could see Odin’s hall. It was a quiet, peaceful location. At most one could
expect a dozen goats or a lone hare hopping through the long grasses.
 
Thor had certainly not expected the small troop of soldiers in discreet brown
cloaks and Balder, whose horse was playing with its bit and dancing in place
nervously. At their head, looking grim and weather-beaten, was his father, Odin
One-Eye, son of Borr.
 
The sudden surge of fondness Thor felt at seeing his father’s face was slowly
eaten away by ire. Unbidden, the jotunn boy’s words came back to him.
 
Did you know, Thor, there hasn’t been a single letter negotiating your release
from Odin Allfather?
 
After weeks of abandoning Thor to his own devices in that frozen hell, his
father was here? Now? As if he had spared no effort to bring him home?
 
No. Thor grit his teeth, shaking off the petty words. He wouldn’t have that
little viper poison his home-coming. This was his family, and he loved them.
 
“Father,” said Thor, breaking into a smile of relief. But Odin cut him off.
 
“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re not staying for long,” said Odin Allfather.
“We’re taking you straight back to Jotunheim.”
 
“Father!” Balder was aghast. “You can’t mean to rush him back so quickly. He’s
barely had time to set foot in Asgard. He’s not even had a chance to see
mother.”
 
“And what good will that do, tell me that,” said Odin gruffly. “He’s a grown
man. Why should he go running back to hide inside mama’s skirts? Do you need to
suckle on her teats some more, is that it, Thor? Do you need her to wipe your
nose for you?”
 
Thor grit his teeth, holding back a wave of anger. His father had not grown any
softer.
 
“At the very least, I would like to give her my regards, and ease her fears by
showing her that I am well.”
 
“She has your regard already, and the ensign will send her word,” said Odin
impatiently. “She knows how to wait until the time is right. She’s a good
woman. Don’t you go blaming her for your sniveling weakness.”
 
“I was notblaming– !”
 
Thor calmed himself down, at the look of panic on Balder’s face. Then, he
noticed the provisions strapped in bundles to the horses. A strange sense of
foreboding that had been troubling him since that night of the twelve
challengers came back to demand attention.
 
Thor shook his head. “The animals wouldn’t survive the climate, not for the
length of the stay you’ve planned, judging from your baggage.”
 
Odin gave him a measuring look. “You’ve improved.” He gave a signal to the
captain. “We won’t be taking the horses, only half the retinue. We must strike
while the iron is hot.”
 
“Strike? You plan on invading Jotunheim? With half a squadron? You’ve gone
mad.”
 
Odin guffawed at that. “I see you’ve changed your tune. As I’ve said, you’ve
improved, Thor. No, I’m not so foolish as that. We’re expected.” He paused, and
before he could speak again, he burst into an alarming rattle of hacking and
coughing, intermittently snarling at Balder who fussed over him.
 
Finally, Odin spat a sickly greenish yellowish gob onto the grass, and Thor
caught the profile of the old man’s sunken cheeks, the lines etched deep in his
hatchet-like face and felt a pang. For all his noise and bluster, his father
was getting on with the years.
 
“I’ll be having a quiet drink with my sons before we head out,” said the old
king, and he held out his hands to both of them, as he had done when they were
young boys, and turned to walk up the slope to the goatherd’s shed under the
pines.
 
 
 
The goatherd’s shed was barely large enough for the three. The rest of the
company let their horses graze while Volstagg and Hogun sat down on either side
of the rickety door to stand guard.
 
If they were to go onto Jotunheim, again,Thor had argued that his friends at
least should be allowed to return home to Asgard. Volstagg had looked guilty
and eager – he had a family waiting for him – but Hogun had silently shaken his
head.
 
Inside the shed, Balder looked anxious and fidgety, caught between Thor and
their father. A veteran bystander of such clashes, he was steeling himself for
the inevitable clash of wills. But Odin wasn’t caught in one of his
inexplicable rages. If anything, the old man looked pleased.
 
“You’ve done well for yourself, I hear,” he said gruffly, and Thor was taken
aback at this unexpected praise. His father was never one for easy affection
with his sons, not the way Thor had seen Volstagg swing his children up,
screaming and laughing, into hugs and kisses.
 
“I’ve come out of it alive,” said Thor. “If you meant to teach me about the
perils of impatience and hasty planning, I’ve learned my lesson.”
 
“That’s not what I meant to say,” Odin raised his voice, then caught himself
abruptly. Thor exchanged a wary glance with Balder as Odin tried for a smile.
It came out looking more like a grimace.
 
“Laufey thinks highly of you – don’t let it get to your head, boy. You’ve got
ways to go yet before you’re worth half the grain your poor mother grinds for
your bread,” Odin added with a growl. “But that wily old schemer thinks you’ve
got potential, and I won’t be the one telling him he’s got to check his
eyesight for squint.”
 
Thor raised an eyebrow, waiting for his father to go on.
 
“He wants you.”
 
Like a mallet of ice, images of jotunn orgies crashed through his head, in such
vivid detail that Thor felt that Balder and Odin could see them too, and a
shameful burn stained his face until he was certain his whole head would catch
fire.
 
“Wants….” he sputtered. “Wants me… how?”
 
Odin snorted at him, guessing at his meaning.
 
“Get your mind out of the whorehouse, pipsqueak. This isn’t about your
degenerate love games. This is about power. The tide is turning for all the
realms, and the stars are aligning in our favor. We could ride the crest of
this wave to its zenith, if you just play along. Do you understand me?”
 
Thor nodded, then realizing he actually had no idea what his father was talking
about, changed and shook his head.
 
“He wants an alliance, you thickheaded lout,” growled Odin, but his excitement
was overpowering his annoyance. “Laufey wants you to marry his son. He wants to
bring together the great houses of Jotunheim and Asgard. Do you understand now?
Do you understand what this means?”
 
“His son, father?” Balder interjected. “But Thor is a man –”
 
Odin all but snapped at his younger son. “Don’t bother me with your delicate
virgin notions, boy. All jotunn get are sons. And all their sons are daughters,
too. They’re useful that way, unlike you clods. Anyway, this isn’t about you.
Thor here won’t mind. He’s fucked his way through whole bawdy houses full of
whores – men, women, goats, pumpkins. He’s not that discriminating—”
 
“That is a filthy lie!”roared Thor. “I’ve never—”
 
Balder’s discreet snort was not very discreet, and Thor wheeled around to glare
at him.
 
“I’m sorry, Thor, but you’ve a rather seedy reputation,” said Balder, hiding a
smile behind his hand. “But father, just because Thor’s tasted his dram of sin
doesn’t mean he should be shipped off to concubinage in Jotunheim, like some
trained harlot. How do you know this bond isn’t meant to debase us?”
 
“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here, you puppy,” growled Thor, but Balder
for all his petty stings wasn’t the villain of this piece. That title, as
always, went to Odin One-eye. “And don’t I have any say in this?” demanded
Thor. “What am I, some prize heifer you’ve arranged for stud service at the
fair? Is that why you’ve kept me languishing in Jotunheim? So you could plot
and scheme to use my plight to your advantage? So you could arrange to barter
away my life as if I were some virgin maidservant? And what did you get in
return? Gold? Horses? A new border agreement?”
 
“What are you wailing on about?” shouted Odin. “I’m saying you did something
right for a change! You’re marrying up. For some reason, Laufey’s thinking this
next god-king is going to be you, Thor. And he wants his line to go on. That
means binding you to his son. Do you know what this means?”
 
Odin whirled on both his sons, but it was Thor who held his triumphant gaze.
The old man was beaming.
 
“It means you’ll be stepping up to be the next king of Jotunheim!” cried Odin.
“It means you,Thor, will be the greatest king in all the Nine Realms. And
that’ll give Asgard a chance to stand up straight and gather her strength for
once. And it certainly won’t be thanks to your quick wits, you thickheaded
lummox!”
 
 
                                       §
 
 
For the space of two breaths he had been free and Thrym had been free, and
Loki’s mind had been awhirl with possibilities again.
 
Then, the gates came crashing down upon him. But for that brief moment, Loki
had tasted freedom and hope, and he wouldn’t forget it.
 
He knelt obediently next to his dam as the Farbauti-king cautiously informed
him that he was to be promised to be married – here, Farbauti tripped over his
words, as if he thought in saying it lightly and quickly, Loki wouldn’t feel
the horrific impact of them – to that dull stinking beast of an Asgardian.
 
Clearly expecting anger or outrage or some sort of childish outburst, and
seeing none of that forthcoming from his son, Farbauti went on, relieved.
 
“It may not be evident to you now, but the Asgardian has many finer qualities
that will exactly suit your temper, my child.” Farbauti said, testing the ice
and tentatively making his way forward. “Your elders know about such things. He
is patient and good and kind, which are deep hidden treasures that do not shine
with much flash when you are young, but prove to be of the greatest worth as
the years go by. And besides you are past your best growth. I cannot say how
relieved I am that your father has chosen someone closer to you in size, so you
would not be hurt in the marriage bed –”
 
“Does father mean to shame me?” Loki asked quietly.
 
“Loki, child of my body, it hurts me beyond words to hear –”
 
“Does father mean to make a laughingstock of me before all the Realms? If not,
what does he mean by marrying me to my dog?” Loki went on, his voice drained of
emotion, clear and hard as iron nails. “Did you betray him with another that he
should do this to me? Am I not father’s son? Did you lie with a slave? Or did
you give yourself to beasts and defile yourself so wretchedly that father
should throw me onto such a refuse heap? You feign to be so refined and pure.
What did you do that father should –”
 
Loki stopped himself short, and with power and cold rage, stared down
Farbauti’s raised hand as if with an invisible force. The blow never landed,
and for the first time, Farbauti was afraid of his youngest.
 
He swallowed hard. “My child, you are angry, and you accuse me most unfairly,
and your father as well. Your father and I only want what is best for you, you
will come to see this as true.”
 
“I think what you mean is, you want what is best for you,” said Loki. “As
usual.”
 
And he rose from his seat and left the room without a backward glance at his
parent, trying desperately to contain his rage. He had to seek out Angrboða. He
had to find out if father knew.
 
 
                                        
                                       §
                                        
                                        
“But why Thor? All he did was get himself captured by the jotunns. Why would
Laufey want to raise a prisoner, a stranger, to the heights of king of
Jotunheim? It doesn’t make sense.”
 
Balder’s voice came out as a whine, and hastily he cleared his throat.
 
“Jealous are you?” asked Odin. “All your talk of concubinageand harlots, and
now you’re jealous of your brother’s good fortune? I expected better from you.
You can go on home, then. I thought I was bringing him support. Looks like I
was wrong, then.”
 
“I’m serious, father,” said Balder. “It’s not being jealous. Whatever Laufey
wants, it cannot be for Thor’s own good. He’s using him. Thor is but a pawn –”
 
“Do you think I don’t know that?” roared Odin. “Do you think I’m stupid and
gutless enough to just let my sons be usedwithout checking the corners first?
Do you think I’m Thor?”
 
Thor growled at that, but Odin paid him no heed, caught up in shouting and
shaking his fist at Balder.
 
“Maybe sometimes you’ve got to let yourself be used,” Odin was going on. “Maybe
sometimes you’ve got to let the big pieces let you play in their games
according to their rules. Then maybe that pawn can get a chance to make
something of himself, and maybe if he plays the game right, maybe he’ll reach
the end of the board. Then maybe that little pawn will turn into a king!”
 
“Calm down, old man,” said Thor. “You’ll keel over frothing at the mouth if you
keep it up. It’s not Balder’s fault he can’t read your mind.”
 
“Besides, father,” Balder said snidely. “It’s not the king, the pawn turns
into, but a queen. Which I suppose is fitting, considering the circumstances.”
 
“It’s still the most powerful piece on the board, you idiot,” grumbled Odin,
and with a harrumph, he slumped back in the rickety chair and pounded his fist
on the table top to relieve his feelings. Thor poured him another drink, and
the old man tossed it back in one.
 
“What’s the game, then?” asked Thor evenly, and Odin’s wily old face broke into
a smile.
 
“That’s my boy,” he grunted. “What do you remember learning about the jotunn
throne? That is if you weren’t dozing off all those years in the schoolroom.”
 
“I know enough,” said Thor. “There’s the line of kings, and then there’s the
strength that’s wed into it. That is why there are two kings, the blood and the
power.”
 
Odin nodded. “Right. Now, three-hundred and seventy odd years ago, the throne
of Jotunheim was up for grabs, and Laufey was first in line for the grabbing of
it. But he wasn’t alone. He had himself a mighty rival, a great general from
the north, filthy rich and powerful besides. These two came to a clash on the
plains and locked horns. Now, you know what happens when two jotunns fight it
out, don’t you Thor?” The old man’s grin turned to a leer.
 
“The winner takes the loser,” said Thor, ignoring the shocked blush that
crawled up Balder’s cheeks as he mouthed, horrified, takes?
 
“That’s the way it goes,” said Odin, nodding satisfied. “It spares slaughtering
the armies of your rival afterwards. They don’t always surrender, with a neat
little game over, go home. So, even if by some slim margin, Laufey claimed
victory on the plain – and there’s some who say he won by trickery, others who
say he cheated, that wily old snake – he couldn’t have walked out, then waged
another bloody war. It would have sunk Jotunnheim into chaos and ruin,
centuries of it.”
 
“So they go the way of the ice,” said Thor. “The two rivals fight and they wed,
and both take the throne. It establishes stability, and peace.”
 
“Laufey went on to marry the son of the king,” said Odin, “and secured his
claim to the throne. He needed legitimacy. Andhe needed to weave together the
power and the blood.”
 
“That makes sense,” said Balder, puzzled. “The conquering warrior marries the
royal line. Both are kings. I don’t understand why there’s a problem.”
 
“This rival, the powerful warrior who met Laufey on the plains,” said Thor
slowly. “This was not Farbauti, was it?”
 
Odin’s smile grew even wider.
 
“No. Farbauti was the sweet-faced son of the last king. They say that clever
Laufey was mad for love of him. How touching,” Odin sneered. “Of course, the
bards will come up with the sweetest rhymes, after the smoke has cleared from
the charred ruins of your family. They say Laufey dragged Farbauti out to the
courtyard, threw him on the bloody carcass of his father and fucked him upon it
while he screamed, and from that the delicate boy-prince grew heavy with their
first child –”
 
“Laufey bore their first child and their second as well,” Thor interrupted,
before his father got carried away with his gruesome story-telling. “And both
of them in peace time. Farbauti only carried their youngest, and that was years
after they’d both ruled from the throne.”
 
Odin waved him off. “No matter. Laufey’s happy marriage bed isn’t the problem
here. What is the problem is who was left out of it.”
 
“Who’d want to be in it?” muttered Balder, but Thor leaned forward.
 
“Vindsval,” he whispered.
 
“Vindsval,” said Odin, and he jerked his head at Balder to pour him another cup
of wine.
 
“The legend of the god-king?” asked Balder. “But he’s… a legend.Long dead if he
ever lived at all. What does he have to do with anything?”
 
“Laufey invoked the legend to justify his choice,” said Odin. “The blood and
the power, you need both for the throne of the god-kings. But there was only
power. Neither of the warriors was born the son of the king. One custom, the
practical one, dictated that the winner wed his rival to bring about a close to
the bloody civil war. But Laufey didn’t. He dredged up even older lore.”
 
“My heart lies with another,” said Thor. “One who is pure and undefeated.”
 
“Laufey’s rival had greater armies at his beck, and they would have overrun the
capitol, regardless of the outcome of the duel. Laufey had won on the plains,
however slightly, however equivocally, but that was in single-combat. He didn’t
have the power to hold back the armies. He should have married his rival.
Instead, he married the blood.
 
“The armies of his rival should have risen up to sack the city. They should
have laid waste to the capitol. But they didn’t. Because Laufey invoked
Vindsval, and because his rival was honorable enough to accept it and to bring
forth peace. The general had his army stand down, bowed his head and swore
fealty.”
 
“The rival general should have been king,” insisted Balder. “Clearly, he’s the
better man, a much more noble one. Even if he is a jotunn.”
 
Odin laughed at him. “You little fool, is your brain made of cheese?”
 
Odin nursed his nugget of a secret for a moment longer before he leaned
forward, beckoning his sons closer.
 
“Better men don’t get to be kings, son. They just end up dead. But this rival
general wasn’t as great a fool as you. He exacted a promise from the new king.
That when the time came, and the land stirred again, that he would marry
Laufey’s son and become king after Laufey. And until then, he would bend his
knee. Two great brutes fought for the throne, and then agreed on how to carve
out their time on it, that’s all there is to it. All the stories about love and
chivalry and valor, that’s just so much horse piss, and don’t you forget that,
Balder.”
 
Balder fidgeted uncomfortably at this, but he didn’t interrupt. With a grim
satisfaction, Odin went on.
 
“And now, that devious, untrustworthy whoreson of a snake, Laufey, plans to
cheat his rival again, while pretending it’s all sunshine and roses on the
surface. Which is why, I reckon, he’s got this general promised to one son, and
now he’s pulling in Thor to marry another one. Keep two big dogs snarling,
keeping each other at bay, while he holds onto his power. You’ve got to admit,
there’s a lot to admire about the bastard.”
 
“You would,” grumbled Thor. “So, I am to marry Helblindi, then? The eldest
prince?”
 
Odin waved him off. “No, no. The eldest eloped years ago to marry a little
nobody for love. He’s completely useless. The second is betrothed to the
rival.”
 
“Lord Thrym,” said Thor. “Then, you mean the youngest…. No!”
 
“Laufey and Farbauti’s youngest is called Loki,” said Odin. “And he’s rumored
to be the brightest of the lot. And not bad to look at either.”
 
“He’s but a child,” said Thor. “He’s a child barely out of the nursery.”
 
“He could be a parakeet, for all the good it’ll do you,” snarled Odin. “You’ll
be wed to the brat, and that’s the end of it.”
 
“But he hatesme,” Thor protested, and try as he might, he couldn’t keep the
note of hurt out of his voice. “He would hate this, and he would fight it all
the way until he’s broken. I knowthis. Father, there will be no love in it, not
even afterwards. It won’t be like you and mother –”
 
“Love?” roared Odin. “Love? Are you sick in the head? Haven’t you heard a word
I’ve been saying? You have a chance to be king. The greatest king in all the
Realms. Turn his head with pretty words, ply him with presents, bring him
around. Tell him the sun and moon and stars rise and fall in the light of his
eyes.Lie to him, you idiot. Are you asking for courting advice from your
grizzled old father?”
 
“Lie to him,” said Thor grimly. “Make him love me. And then, after I’ve played
with this child’s heart, then what?”
 
“And then, once the contracts are signed, and the marriage is done, tuck him in
and sing him lullabies, or make your own babies on that baby, it’s none of my
concern. But make sure this marriage happens, Thor. Do it for Asgard.”
                                        
                                        
                                       §
                                        
 
The witch was nowhere to be found. Loki had scoured the palace twice over, and
he had caught not a glimpse of Angrboða.
 
He was short of breath when he came to look out upon the plains – he’d gone
soft and weak in his idleness, Loki berated himself – but the first flush of
rage had died down to an ember and he felt calmer now, as he turned his
situation over and over in his head. He wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t impulsive.
He wasn’t a fool like Býleistr. He was Loki, and he would play this game out to
his advantage.
 
So, it was a test of control when he saw that he wasn’t alone. Before him,
looking out at the speck of dark that was growing larger on the plain of ice,
was Lord Thrym, tall and somber. Loki’s heart beat like a trapped rabbit, but
he remained still.
 
And he willed himself to be calmer still as he silently made his way along the
walls and stood beside the great warlord.
 
When Thrym turned to him, his face softening with a tender smile – he loves me,
I was wrong to doubt it, he loves me – Loki thought the rabbit would kick its
way out of his chest, but he schooled his features, imitating the unperturbed
manner of his dam, and bowed his head slightly.
 
“Asgard,” he said, nodding at the moving speck, which had grown to the size of
a blot, and Lord Thrym became grim again.
 
“Aye, once again they are upon us.” Lord Thrym offered his elbow, and Loki took
it, taking comfort in the politeness of the gesture. “Once again, we let them
advance as we bide our time and wait.”
 
“It seems Lord Thrym that you do little else but wait,” he mocked, and Thrym
stared at him, surprised at the sudden sharpness. “Perhaps, this time you
should reach out and takewhat you want, before others take it away from you.”
Thrym looked unsettled at his possible meaning, and Loki found himself smiling
at the stab of pain he felt inside. Turn it outward, turn the knife outward,
and rip your foe before it rips you.But this was no foe. This was his Thrym.
 
“I’ve already done enough of taking,” said Thrym shame-faced, and for the first
time Loki felt a twinge of contempt.
 
“I am saying, Lord Thrym,” said Loki. “That you are allowed to take. That is,
if you are man enough to be king. Or will you have this dog of the Aesir rule
over us? I won’t have it. If you’re not strong enough to take the throne, and
me, I’ll find someone else who can.”
 
End Notes
     [ETA] note: Feb 20, 2013
     Due to real life work commitments, I shall have to go on fic-hiatus
     until April 20th, September, December, oh, blast, no one will want it
     by then.
      
     Once I get some RL work out the door, I'll try to pick up the strands
     from there, even as I acknowledge that overall interest might have
     waned by then.
      
     But if I do at all, it's for you guys who are still reading and might
     even then still be waiting. Because who else will I do it for?

     To the readers, from the bottom of my alone-y writer's heart: bless
     you.
     [ETA] 2016
     Dear anyone rattling around this abandoned house, a thousand
     apologies. You might have gotten a feeling that the author has left
     this building, and you're right about that. I used to think, once I'm
     done with RL projects, I'll get back to this, but it looks like it'll
     take all my effort to get my RL work looking even remotely like I
     want it to look like. And, as I tell myself often, I am a bear with a
     little brain. I need the whole noggin to wrangle it into shape.
     So, this one looks like it will be left unfinished. I am sorry about
     that. But isn't it great that there's so much fabulous fic out there?
     And new fandoms.
     cheers y'all
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