Title: Forbidden Fruit.

Author: Teofse

Rating: probably NC-17 by the time it's done.

Pairing: Fandral/Loki

Genre: Slash. Romance.

Word Count: 5904

Warnings: Unbetaed. This is a WIP. Post Avengers AU. Disregards Thor: The Dark World in its entirety.

Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. No money is being made out of this work.

Summary: He is forbidden fruit to me. He is hopeless longing. He is the most bittersweet dream I've ever dreamed and the one treasure my status as a lowly warrior of this golden realm will never allow me to grasp.

A/N: A while back a reader of mine sent me some links to a few slash MCU fanvids, requesting I write a story for one of them. I was immediately intrigued by this one, because it featured a fandroki pairing and I had never even considered that dynamic before. Unfortunately, this story's plot has taken on a life of its own and now it is so loosely based on the video that inspired it that all resemblance to it will be seen in flashbacks. I still hope that you'll enjoy it nevertheless. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to explore this lovely pairing.

Forbidden Fruit.

He is forbidden fruit to me. He is hopeless longing. He is the most bittersweet dream I've ever dreamed and the one treasure my status as a lowly warrior of this golden realm will never allow me to grasp, no matter how famous a fighter I've become along the years or how 'charming' I've proved myself to be in these last few centuries to both maidens and warriors alike.

They call him the Liesmith. The Silvertongue. The Argr. The Trickster. A coward... I've listened to the whispers with heartbreak weighing me down year after year, but have never dared to raise neither voice nor sword in his defense. I, the one warrior who has always been in love with our young sorcerer prince should have found within my heart enough courage to defend him before it was too late to save him. Before it was too late to keep him. Before every one of us, myself included, had driven him so far away from our hearts that he convinced himself that seeking the oblivion of the abyss would be less traumatic, less painful, than putting his faith in our willingness to help him.

Nobody called him the Liesmith while his brother mourned him. Nobody called him the Argr when it became clear that he had fought -and killed- king Laufey himself in hand to hand combat, driven to that ultimate triumph not by physical strength, but by sheer stubborn will and the undeniable desire to protect the Allfather's life. No one is daring to call him Silvertongue now that he has finally been brought back home in chains. Muzzled like a beast. Charged with a veritable mountain of unspeakable crimes that he isn't even trying to deny.

His brother looks upon him with pale-faced disappointment. His father is so clearly furious that the entire room is shaking with barely contained power as we all stand and stare, waiting to hear his excuses. His explanations. His attempts to defend acts that we all know are pretty impossible to defend.

Loki doesn't seem to care that he's the center of attention. He hasn't spared a glance for neither Thor nor the king. He hasn't bothered to sneer at a single one of the guards or smirk at the masses that have flocked to the palace in order to see him judged. He has eyes for no one save his mother. She, and she alone, he addresses in a soft tone as soon as the muzzle is removed. She, and she alone, is singled out and honored by her disgraced child before the whole of Asgard. She, and she alone, is beloved beyond every shade of doubt by the look our young price bestows upon her. By the small, timid step he takes towards her a mere second before the guards flanking him tighten their hands on his chains, forcing him to remain pinned to the spot. Exposing him wordlessly for what he has become: a prisoner in his own home. Welcome no longer.

He smiles bitterly as his forward movement comes to a sudden, unwilling halt and his eyes look down towards his wrists and ankles, towards the slender waist that looks so pitifully dwarfed by the heavy metal that encases it with the trappings of the unworthy. He acknowledges no one as his gaze lifts back up and his thin shoulders shrug with rebellious nonchalance. There is pride in his posture, but there is also carelessness. He's a man without roots, without friends, without realm. He's a dangerous vagabond. An enemy willing to ignore the Allfather himself in favor of speaking to the queen and the queen alone, making her the clear recipient of the only words he utters during what he must be aware will be his only chance to defend both himself and his actions:

"I am sorry, mother. I am so sorry. I know you would have wanted me to be strong enough, but I wasn't. I—I simply... wasn't."

Frigga gasps as if struck and takes an agitated step forwards. Her husband's royal spear attempts to come between her and the steps that will lead her from the throne dais down to the main floor, where the accused is standing, but she bypasses the mighty weapon in a flurry of rich skirts, golden hair and the strongest maternal instinct of any woman in Asgard.

She reaches her youngest child before anyone can stop her, pale hand extended to cradle a bruised cheek with enough love to drown the desserts of Muspelheim under waves of pure affection.

"I lost sight of you, dearest. My threads tangled in my hands every time I tried to reach you. I could not weave you into a tapestry, no matter how hard I tried. I persisted, day after day, but I... I couldn't bring you forth, Loki. Your colors kept slipping through my fingers. Knotted ribbons of green and black and gold have become the symbol of my failure to help you."

Bright green eyes look upon her teary face with pained regret and his voice becomes even softer, almost as if he's daring us all to listen to the words he's so clearly only speaking for her benefit:

"I was too far away, mother. I'm sure you wouldn't have failed otherwise."

"I was aware that you weren't dead but I couldn't bring you forth, and I... I feared what speaking out may mean for you, for your safety. All your threads kept on tangling as soon as I dared to touch them... They snapped so easily that I feared the worst. I should have set out to find you all by myself, son. I should have never trusted that you could -and would- find a way to come back home. Not when I knew something was so very wrong with you. You didn't have your magic, did you? That's why I could never make true contact."

His smile is small, but obviously heartfelt. His eyes close ever so briefly and he looks so very pale, so very fragile in his ruined battle leathers and bruised skin that my heart aches inside my chest and my mind screams at me to be brave, once and for all, and find the courage I need to walk towards him, just like his mother has done, and offer him my protection. I ache to hold him with equal affection and have him submit to the kind of adoring touch he hasn't let me lay upon his flesh since the night he begged me to accept the gift of his virginity. I shouldn't have left him go afterwards. I should have risked my name, my sword, my everything to keep him by my side but I was too much of a coward. I had too many things to lose then and I chose to let the one thing I should have kept go. The one thing I've never been worthy of.

Now his silence is so deafening that the entire room shakes with it. Every soul is standing to attention in the space between one blink and the next, poised between the desire to hear him defend himself, agree with his mother or invent whatever other nefarious plot he thinks we may believe, and the instant when we finally realize he has no intention of doing such a thing. Frigga's wounded sob forces his eyelids apart once again and he looks at her so lovingly, so solemnly, that it's easy to understand he's telling her goodbye in his own way. He is letting go of her in his own terms.

"Don't do this, sweetheart, please... Don't deny the truth. I know something happened to you. I felt it, Loki. You weren't there, as easily reachable as you've always been. Something was holding you back. Something kept your powers muted, your strength at bay. Something tried to harm you while you were so far away, and I shouldn't have allowed my maternal pride to convince me that you were strong enough to defeat whatever it was on your own."

Dark hair slips, like ink-stained water, through her fingertips when he lifts his face away from her cradling palm. Frigga's wounded gasp of protest is so loud that some of us flinch where we stand, but Loki doesn't react to the sound in any way. He's closing himself off without a word of apology to anyone, without a single look back. He appears for all intents and purposes like a man who has said all he's willing to say about the subject and my stomach drops all the way to the gleaming floor as I become aware of what I've now lived long enough to witness: the Trickster of Asgard is broken. He either doesn't know the right words to free himself from the punishment that awaits him, or has no actual desire to voice them. He's committing suicide before the whole of Asgard for the second time since Thor was vanished, because we all know that to remain silent in the face of the grievous accusations laid at his feet will force the Allfather to bring the full force of the law upon his head.

"Loki..."

"Brother..."

Both, Thor and his mother attempt to take hold of him but he shakes them off by taking a small step backwards. The entire court freezes as his chains rattle loudly, everybody blinks in dazed disbelief at the gall of this green-eyed, dark-haired youngling. No one is able to comprehend how the disgraced, chained, Argr child of the Allfather has found the courage to shun the love of those who are still willing to fight in his corner. He's scorning two of the most powerful figures in the realm at a time when he needs their support the most. At a time when his very life is resting on the strength of their affection.

Odin himself has now risen from his throne. He stands still like a statue, lone blue eye fixed like a weapon on the head of the son who is rumored to have slain a Frost Giant for his sake.

"The Norns have conspired to keep us apart until this second, son. You fell from the Bifrost before we had time to finish our last conversation, yet you have no words for me. No questions. No accusations... Why have you returned carrying nothing but silence, Loki?"

The king's voice is uncharacteristically rough. His question echoes off the walls like a jagged and broken demand. An awful sound that carries a million shards of pain and the impossible weight of the most hopeless hope. It is something still full of a thousand possibilities that have no other option but to die as soon as the prisoner answers.

"I am tired of words. They mean nothing in the face of actions and ours, both yours and mine, have said more than enough."

"That would only apply if your actions were your own, Loki. I have erred of inaction where you are concerned. But you... you saved my life before you fell into the abyss."

"I did not fall by accident and I haven't returned willingly. I am your captive, Allfather. A prisoner of war. I demand to be judged by this court as harshly as I deserve. Enemies of Midgard are enemies of Asgard. And enemies of Asgard are always put to death."

Frigga's sob is loud and distressed, it rings clear with the sound of her heartbreak even over the astonished gasps of every warrior, lady and courtier present here today. My heart pounds and my gaze blurs with a shameful film of bitter tears that I'm grateful everyone is too distracted to notice. I feel faint with sheer horror and there's not a bone in my body that isn't aching with the knowledge that he's openly building his own burial pyre.

The king's ravens shoot up towards the ceiling as his words begin to fade. They circle his defiantly held head like a plumed crown or a black halo, but he doesn't look at them. He doesn't react to their unusual behavior either when they suddenly alight on his shoulders, clawing deeply onto his battle leathers and tearing into the material until they pierce his pale skin in their scrabble to find purchase on a frame that was never meant to support them.

His father stares at him fiercely, regal blue eye dimmed with only the Norns know what sorrows, as he stands before his own throne and allows the weight of his thought and his memory to both dwarf and burden the slight figure of his youngest child.

"You are too thin and too tired to have been living in the luxury most realms afford the high ranking generals they select to lead their armies. You look far too weak for your ailments to have been caused by the relative small skirmish Thor has described to me. You fought for less than a week against mortals who should have never, ever, managed to match you, let alone defeat you, Loki."

The king pauses in his assessment, regal head cocked slightly to the right and downwards, clearly focused on the sorcerer he's addressing as he waits for the accused to speak up. He waits first a second and then two. He waits heartbeat after heartbeat after that, until more than five minutes have passed and not a single sound has crossed the lips of the one they call the Liesmith.

"Do you not think it wise to shed some light on these concerns?" Odin asks finally only to sigh with frustration when the prince shrugs in response. "Then you'll have to stand there and listen to me as I attempt to understand them without your input, for you desire a fair trial, do you not? And we both know that fairness can't be achieved when there are doubts of foul play."

"I invaded Midgard with a Chitauri army. Thor was there. He saw me with his own eyes. He fought against me and defeated me. There is no doubt about any of it, Allfather."

"Yes. It is fact that you invaded Midgard and that you had strong allies. Beasts of might and power who took over most of the fight while you directed proceedings from a safe distance, yet you're drained past your usually inextinguishable reserves, Loki. Your mind is scrambled. Your heart pounds not with the fear of the defeated, but with the relief of the freed. I can not help but think that you wanted to end up here, and if that is at all accurate then I must ponder on why and how such goal could have been achieved.

"Your mother claims you were weakened, separated from your magic for long periods of time that made you unreachable to her. I know you were blocked off from me and that Heimdall couldn't locate you, either. He could not sense the usual veil you like to cloak yourself in. Your magical signature was gone altogether, Loki. We could never locate you because we couldn't sense you. We declared you dead because we thought you were so and that begs the question of what, exactly, does it take to remove all trace of a sorcerer as strong as you are from all corners of the universe. Do you have an answer for me now?"

Loki laughs. His green eyes become narrow and cold, mirthless beyond description, but he snorts for all he's worth and shakes his head from left to right.

"You are clutching at straws, Allfather."

Odin smiles like a predator scenting blood:

"Am I? Tell me, Loki: when was the last time you won a battle against Thor?"

Loki's head rears back as if his father has delivered a bone-crunching slap to his cheek. The question pierces Thor's composure too, and he takes a couple of hasty steps forwards, attempting to position himself between the Allfather and his brother like a golden, living shield. Always willing to protect the young man who's never been strong enough to best him from the harshness of the world.

"Father, please, don't..."

"Silence!" The entire court jumps a mile high upon hearing the king snarl that single command at his firstborn. Huginn and Muninn fly upwards once again, cackling and clawing at Thor, forcing the heir to the throne to step unwillingly away from the dark-haired brother who stands before all, still chained, waiting to hear his sentence.

Loki's face is pale and haughty. His bleeding shoulders shrug with deceptive self-deprecation and his smile is Jotun-cold when he points out:

"You know the answer to that question as well as I do, Allfather."

A ruthless blue eye clashes with furious green and the king of Asgard comes down from his throne dais, one step after another, until he's done the utterly unthinkable and placed himself at the same level as the prisoner he's judging. He raises his ringed hands and takes hold of Loki's struggling head, grasping it against the sorcerer's will. Holding his son's visage captive in clear view of the congregation.

"I wish to hear you say it, child. I want you to tell the court you have challenged to judge you with utmost harshness exactly why it is impossible for it to do so. I want you to tell us all how you used your own brother to defeat the beasts who kept you in their thrall, because it is becoming abundantly clear that you would have never managed to defeat them on your own. There were too many of them and you were only one. They managed to either remove or disable your one true strength when they hindered your access to your magic. They attempted to subjugate a prince of this realm and forgot in their stupidity that you are also known as the Trickster. You couldn't fight them, so you tricked them. Didn't you, son?"

If Loki's glare could kill on command then mighty Odin would be meeting his end right about now. The prince's pale throat contracts as he swallows, and he attempts to pull his face free of his father's grip without success.

"I led the Chitauri's invasion of Midgard. That is hardly the behavior of a helpless little victim."

"That is true. You, renowned battle strategist of the realm of Asgard, led a bottle-neck invasion on a planet you knew to be under your brother's protection. You, clever, cunning child of mine, purposely delivered your so called 'allies' directly into defeat, and that is something you have never done in all the years you've been planning strategies to aid us in battle. You lost your war because you wanted to lose it. What's more, you could have easily avoided capture if your magic is as intact as you claim it is. You could have teleported yourself to safety during the chaos of battle yet you did nothing of the sort. Why not, Loki? Why didn't you use your magic to it's full, damaging potential? Why didn't you run away?"

"Because I couldn't. The Hulk..."

"That beast wouldn't have caught you, unless you allowed it to do so."

"You think I wanted to be smashed on the floor like a flimsy, little toy?"

"That is enough!" Odin rages, shaking the prisoner's face with enough strength to rattle Loki's entire frame.

"Father, please..." Thor steps forwards once again, taking hold of the king's left shoulder in what looks like a pretty doomed attempt to pull him away from the sorcerer.

The Allfather shakes his firstborn off like a flimsy dust mite, royal anger and paternal consideration blending into a startling mix of ferocious disappointment that rolls off the king like a vapor in the stillness of the silence that follows. Thor takes two steps away and Loki cringes when with a single harsh command the king has his loyal crows descending back towards the prisoner and all but claw the back of his robes away from him in a flurry of wildly fluttering black wings and rattling chains. Odin holds his child's ashen face throughout the entire ordeal, resisting his struggles to gain freedom and crooning softly at him, telling him to stop fighting. To stop lying. To stop tormenting them both with his pointless act of defiance.

Utter silence reigns supreme when Huginn and Muninn fly finally away, mangled pieces of bloody leather trailing in their wake as they rise higher and higher. Loki's back is now mostly bare, exposed to every eye in the throne room like a fact that can not be denied. There, where an expanse of flawless skin should have been, is a mass of bleeding muscles and scars that make everybody flinch. Gasp upon gasp fill the entire room with outrage as the queen's sorrowful sob sparks a chain reaction that keeps gaining fierce support as the seconds tick away and everyone keeps looking from that terribly mangled back to the cuffs that hold the Trickster's hands together. We all know those cuffs are keeping his magic at bay, they are literally guaranteeing that this man can not cast an illusion. Loki is currently unable to project this gruesome mirage on his own back and everybody knows it. He hadn't even wanted to expose the damage to us in the first place...

"What else are your clothes hiding, Loki? Shall I demand you be stripped for all of us to see more proof that you were indeed a 'helpless little victim' or are you willing to let yourself be helped?" The king asks coldly then and his voice cuts across the charged atmosphere like a spear slices through an enemy, bringing the entire room to silence.

"I did this to myself years ago. We had lost a skirmish with the Fire Demons and I came back home determined to master advanced defensive magic. I cast something in error and was far too ashamed of my failure to seek medical assistance at the time."

"Why are you doing this, brother? Why do you keep sabotaging every proof of your innocence Father brings to light? The shame of having been a victim of foul play doesn't rest with you, but with us, Loki. We are the ones who lost you to unknown foes and failed to retrieve you. We allowed only the Norns know what atrocities to be inflicted upon a prince of this realm and then brought you here in chains to face public trial, instead of wrapping you in our loving arms and vow vengeance in your name."

Loki glares first at his father, then at Thor with enough scorn to leave everybody breathless.

"There is nothing to avenge. I did this to myself years ago. You can't prove that I didn't, so you must judge me according to the facts your eyes saw, not according to whatever wistful thinking is driving you to invent—what? A kidnapping? I didn't fall from the Bifrost by accident, Thor, I let go on purpose!"

Odin shakes his head then, looking suddenly as old and gnarled as the branches of Yggdrasil itself. He seems utterly defeated when his hands fall away from Loki's face and the motion looks so worryingly like surrender that my heart skips a beat and my breath hitches with horror. Here stands the king of Asgard: powerless to help a wounded innocent in the face of Loki's own refusal to admit weakness. Here stands the golden heir to the throne, himself, bewildered and defeated in a battle he can't win because his foe is far too clever, far too stubborn, far too well versed in the letter of the law. Here stands the entirety of Asgard, posed on the verge of losing one of the greatest minds to ever walk these hallowed halls because we simply lack the wit to match it and here I stand myself, shattering like glass as I stare at the dark-haired treasure I let slip right through my fingers even though he once gave me the chance to... wait. Wait—I once laid in Loki's bed. I have seen him bare before now and he didn't have those scars. I can save him right now if I gather enough courage to step forward and expose myself before everyone whose respect I've ever craved...

"Forgive me, prince Loki, but when, exactly, did you say you inflicted those marks upon yourself through magical means? I'm not sure I caught the date." My voice trembles as it cuts across the silence and I feel faint with pure dread as the king's gaze lifts from the floor and focuses solely on me. There is a frown on Odin's brow as he studies me with the sort of puzzled thoughtfulness that makes me shake like a leaf.

"Why should that matter to you, Fandral the Dashing?" The Allfather's question brings every eye towards me and I swallow down my nerves. Thor takes a few steps towards me and only his father's fingertips clamping firmly around his wide wrist at the last possible second keep my dear friend from reaching my side, granting me a moment to think very carefully about what I'm about to do. I've now interrupted a trial in process with no apparent reason to justify it. I have dared to request further clarification from the accused himself on a point the king never cared to challenge. I had not been granted leave to speak up, yet I've done so now and there is nothing that has ever prepared me to stand here, before the entire court of Asgard, and answer a question about a topic that is so very dear to my heart. So very, very, private.

"We haven't set foot in Muspelheim in at least five hundred years. Our young prince would have caused that terrible damage to his back right around that time, if he set out to learn that advanced magic immediately after our return, as he, himself, has explained."

"That is true... Where are you going with this, Fandral? What do you remember that I don't?" Thor's voice reaches me as if through a fog, soothing my agitated senses and calming the sickening dread that is settling in the pit of my stomach as I imagine what my friends are going to say upon hearing the confession I'm now determined to make. Argr... I have never been called an argr before in my entire life. Never even considered the label applies to me too, despite the fact that my appetite for sex with both men and women is widely known and accepted. I'm too valuable a soldier and so dangerous a rival that no one would ever dare to call me a coward. Or a man-lover. Or too feminine at all.

My prowess with the sword has assured me a high place among the most revered warriors of the realm. I am one of the Warriors Three. The crown prince's friend and adviser. I am Golden. Strong. Charming. I am everything my love will never be and yet I have never been truly... worthy... of him until this second. I do not deserve his heart if I can not bear the burden of accepting my desires as they are. Loki does not deserve to be loved only among shadows. He doesn't deserve to remain unacknowledged, either. He is no weakness, shame or nightmare. On the contrary: he is the most beautiful being in all of Asgard. He's sharp angles and pale skin. Ebony colored hair and eyes like a rain-washed forest. He is wit and wisdom. He is trickery, loyalty, elegance and danger. He is the gray path through the light and he is my Silvertongue. My love. My best friend's brother. My delicate, sorcerer Prince...

"I laid with Loki Odinson three hundred years ago. I saw him quite bare at the time and I swear by the Norns themselves that he didn't have a mark marring his body. He was pale ivory perfection all the way from neck to toes. I attest this upon my honor, Allfather, and I respectfully request my testimony to be taken into consideration in the judgment of the second prince of Asgard."

Loki looks right at me then and his eyes are both hurt and utterly bewildered. He looks frantic, puzzled, confused. Shocked beyond words and dismayed by my actions. Actions he hadn't been counting on. Actions he never predicted. He stands helplessly there, mouth slightly open in a vulnerable little 'oh' that betrays sheer disbelief and I can't help but wonder how many men has he laid with after me. How many men have failed to come to his rescue in this day when he needs their support the most. How many are there who are willing to let him walk to his death in order to protect their good name, their status. I have dared to defile a prince of Asgard, that is true, but I also care enough for him to let that very fact be the shield that will keep him both alive and out of prison.

"Is there any chance at all that what you saw was an illusion, Fandral the Dashing? Could your lover's flawless appearance at the time had been a product of magically engineered deceit?" The king's question is sharp toned, carefully worded, a masterpiece of law-speak that probably only Loki himself could match. There are a million little nuances held within it and I'm pretty sure it is skirting plenty of pitfalls in order to guide me down one of the few paths that will lead to his son's freedom.

"Illusions have no actual depth, no substance beyond their visual appearance. I saw Loki's entire body bare, but I also touched it, smelt it, tasted it..." The visible stiffening of Odin's shoulders makes me bite my bottom lip and think twice about the wisdom of giving a more detailed answer, but it isn't until I spot Thor's thunderous face and the threatening way with which his fingers are beginning to curl around Mjölnir that I force myself to halt my nervous babbling and hastily wrap my response: "There is no doubt in my mind that his flawless appearance then was as real as the damaged one we see now."

His mother laughs delightedly and his father's blue eye glints with obvious satisfaction. Thor hovers between the desire to grab hold of his brother and the instinct to come over to me with the intention to either hug me or throttle me for having had the gall to lay my way-too experienced fingertips upon the ivory skin of his adored sibling.

Loki shrinks as Gungnir connects forcibly with the floor, announcing his father's arrival at a decision he's not been given the chance to interfere with. He directs a filthy, hate-filled look in my direction, but my heart is pounding with the knowledge that I've just saved his life and there's nothing in the universe that can get me down right now.

"It is fact then, that my child: Loki Odinson, second Prince of Asgard, has been greatly harmed by the Chitauri race. His actions against the realm of Midgard weren't his own. He was being coerced by his captors and those captors remain his sole enemies no longer. An enemy of my son is an enemy of Asgard, and all enemies of Asgard must face death at the hands of its great warriors. I now declare the Golden Realm officially at war with these ruthless, murderous beasts. They shall be brought to justice for what they have done to our young Prince. Their realm shall be razed to the ground and their leader made to suffer untold torment. Their warriors will weep for our mercy and even then they shall receive nothing but pain in the name of the one we all call Loki!"

Gungnir bashes the floor once again and a wave of golden magic sweeps the entire room. Threads of it enfold Loki's body like a veil or a tunic, like a soft and warm blanket that lifts him gently in the air and starts to unlock the manacles that are keeping him chained one by one. Reinforced iron links fall to the floor with loud clanks as they open and slide off his limbs like dirty ribbons. It is not until he's finally set free that we all bear witness to the moment when his magic breaks loose from the bindings that suppressed it and attempts to reassert itself. The green aura that enfolds him doesn't look anything like the strong emerald gleam we all remember. It's a thin and fragile wisp of mossy brown that looks heartbreakingly weak and almost dead to the untrained eye, further proof to those who still doubt it that he wouldn't have been able to fight his way through any battle. He couldn't have teleported himself away, either. He probably wouldn't have managed to perform more than a few low-key illusions and even that would have cost him a level of energy he probably doesn't have.

Loki sways dangerously on his feet as soon as his father's golden power deposits him back on the ground, finally showing the first signs of magical draining now that his core has been completely separated from the powerful magic of the chains. He takes a single rattling breath and attempts to stand upright only to collapse were he stands with such suddenness that he would have hit the floor had it not been for the speed of Odin's reaction. His father's arms close around him firmly, gathering him up carefully, bridal style, and cradling him against the richly decorated, gold-plated chest that hasn't held him in a thousand years. His brother hovers anxiously beside the king and his mother runs towards him in the next instant, placing a shaking hand upon a forehead that even I can see has started to sweat profusely from where I am standing.

The room erupts in a frenzy of gasps and whispers as we all stand there and watch the proud Trickster of Asgard hang like a defeated scrap from his father's arms. Odin looks so sharply at the crowd that he manages to silence it without barking out a single command. His blue eye is brimming with rage and there's a set to his jaw that spells out perdition for whoever dares to cross him in this mood.

"This court's business has concluded for the day. All citizens are advised to return home and spread around the word of my son's innocence. All warriors will report back here tomorrow for there is now an enemy to hunt and a prince of this realm to avenge. The healers among you will report to the healing wing at once, for my child's life is at stake and must be saved. And you, Fandral the Dashing, you, and you alone, shall accompany this family and sit right beside us as we guard Loki's sickbed. You will answer all my questions with the truth and, upon my satisfaction with your replies, shall be charged with the task of remaining by my son's side at all times. You will guard Loki in his hour of need. Protect him with your sword while he's at his weakest, for you have saved his life when I, myself, could not, and I fear we may need your help to save him from himself many more times before he's fully recovered."