A/N: Here's a fic that's been in the works for a million years. It's one I've dreamed of writing for so long, I can't even remember a time when it wasn't in my head.

I have the second chapter fully written. It'll probably be out when the third chapter is done. There will be five in all, with possibly more to come after.

Hope you enjoy!

Loki was in the library the first time it happened.

He had his nose in an herbal magic tome older than the All-Father and a head full of rare spices. Next week was his and Thor's annual hunting trip to Alfheim. When they failed to catch more than a few rabbits because Thor's idea of stealth was wrestling deer to the ground, he hoped to at least gather supplies for a few decent salves.

"Hah, that's what Eir is for," Thor would laugh, as he always did when Loki compared plant types to find the one that will not burn him away from the inside.

"Say it again when an ogre rips your arms off and Eir is nowhere to be found."

Sometimes, Loki wished Thor would get hurt so badly just so he could heal him with his homemade remedies and silence his jeers forever. It wasn't that Loki didn't love his brother, simply that Thor had needed a good knock on the head since they were boys. Perhaps longer.

He scratched out an incorrect line and rewrote it. That was when a knife went straight through his right hand.

Loki cursed and clutched his throbbing hand. He searched the winding row of books, sending out his magic and finding he was alone. If it was an attack, his foe was long gone. Loki checked his hand, finding no laceration, no blood, not even a scar. He traced a line from his pinkie finger to his thumb. His skin reacted accordingly to the touch. The long lines a drunken soothsayer once claimed meant he was destined to fall in love with his horse were unchanged.

The pain had left him, almost as suddenly as it came. What could have caused it if not an assassin's blade or a stray beast released from the enclaves? Loki had one idea. He checked the sun to confirm it. Another afternoon had passed and he'd been in this library for at least fifty hours. Such a long session was never good for the mind, even one as vast as his own. Clearly, the lack of sleep was getting to him. Giving him phantom pains.

He left his books and papers where they lay. The librarians knew better than to tamper with his space. The next morning, Loki took breakfast in Frigga's drawing room and then trained with Thor until noon. He returned to the library in the afternoon and remained until dawn, the events of the previous night forgotten.

"My body was weary from battle. Days had passed since my last sleep. With my armor caked in the blood of my foes, I carried on. For though the battle was long, the war was not yet over. Mjolnir guided me through the thickets-"

"And into the nearest stream to wash the dung out of your ears."

Thor's riotous laughter put all of his friends (their friends?) to shame. He wrapped one meaty arm around Loki's shoulders, hugging him until his bones ached. The pain was nothing, not after years of Thor's misguided displays of affection. Loki sipped his mead like all was well and the party raged on, likely for the next week.

"Brother, how is that you can keep to your own table all night and still find a way to interrupt my epic tale?" he asked.

"That is an excellent question," Loki said. "If you ever do tell an epic tale, I'll let you know."

"Come now, Loki," Thor squeezed his arm, making him wince. "This is a celebration! The ogres have been driven back and Alfheim is safe again. We couldn't have done it without you."

That was fair to say. Loki was not so humble that he couldn't admit they were lost without him. It was his magic which cloaked them as they infiltrated the enemy's encampment, and it was he who brought down the leader with a well-aimed blade to the chest. That Thor got the final blow was of no consequence. He never would've had a clear shot without Loki incapacitating their foe first. Honestly, he would've died anyway. Mjolnir simply sped up the process.

Try telling that to a horde of slobbering drunks who chanted Thor's name like the sun shone out his ass and treated Loki like a wall ornament. At least the food was good.

He reached for a leg of lamb and snatched his hand back when the meat burned him. Strange. It had been sitting out far too long to still be hot. Loki checked his palm and found no redness, though the searing pain continued long after it should have alleviated.

"Loki?" Thor's voice boomed.

"I'm fine," Loki said. He retrieved the lamb leg. It was room temperature. He turned his back to Thor who soon chalked it up to Loki's usual aloof nature and went back to his not-so-epic tale of whichever hideous beast he killed this week.

Loki kept to himself for the rest of the night, even more than usual. Every now and then, his eyes wandered back to his empty palm. It no longer hurt, but the burning had sent him back to a seemingly random night in the library. There was no way the two incidents could be related, though. That happened years ago.

Twenty-seven years to be exact.

It came and went intermittently for the next few decades. That inexplicable burning sensation. Always on his right hand. Always over the palm. He'd be reading or having his dinner or in an important council meeting, and all of a sudden, there it was. Like a hot poker pressed against his skin.

He stopped noticing it. Asgardians were no more immune to the passage of time than a common mouse, even if it did take an army to kill just one. Any mortal body, no matter how durable, came with its creaks and groans. This was just one of Loki's. Why he was ever concerned by something so petty, he'd never know. Just a moment of weakness he would not repeat again. A simple passing fancy.

One night, he awoke to the stabbing. He'd been on one of Alfheim many luxury beaches, taking in the sun while Thor and his troupe of mad drunks had their revelry elsewhere. He listened to the waves, thinking perhaps he'd take a walk through the forest or do some hunting. How nice it would be to keep all the spoils of a successful hunt for a change. Then a knife tore through nerves and tissue and he was back in his room in the royal palace.

"Why now," he mumbled, turning on his side. The pain persisted, long enough for cold realization to wash over him like an ice water bath.

It was his left hand.

He bolted upright, knowing what he would find but needing to check anyway. His left hand was clear and blemish free, just like his right. He flexed his fingers, the joints bending into tight balls as he made a fist. The pain, as always, was gone. Like it had never been there. Like he imagined it.

The sun rose all too soon and a maid came to knock on his door. Today he was having tea with Frigga in the gardens. He'd never once kept her waiting and didn't plan to start now. His mind was miles away even as she refilled his cup and spoke of matters around the palace and surrounding city. It was a gloomy morning in late spring. The rains would come by mid-afternoon. Rolls of thunder reverberated off the landscape already, and Loki sighed. Thor was getting ahead of himself.

Every few seconds, he glanced at his palms, pure white and cool to the touch. "Mother, may I…"

She waited, but he never finished the thought. "Are you well, Loki? You seem distracted."

He curled his fingers once. Twice. Relaxed. "No… forgive me, I've been working harder than usual as of late."

Frigga smiled, and Loki was saved from a lecture about the importance of self-care by a breathless page boy skidding to a halt at their feet. He informed them that Vanaheim was in civil strife and required immediate assistance.

It was a long twenty-eight years.

Longer than they had any right to be. A Midgardian could go from swaddling clothes to adulthood. Loki felt like he'd aged a thousand years in the time between the declaration of war and the signing of the peace treaty. Why the Aesir needed to be present, he didn't know. Why they continued to be involved in this pointless conflict when they should've pulled out a decade ago, he also didn't know, but Odin loved to be the peacemaker and Thor loved to be the hero. From that point of view, staying was the only choice. And so, stay they did.

Loki let out a breath when the All-Father inked his name just below the Vanir kings. He'd half expected that hothead of a rebel leader to make a dramatic return from the dead and slit a few throats to get his enemies' blood boiling again. It wouldn't be the first time. The fool made Thor look like a pacifist and if Loki hadn't burned the body himself and thrown the ashes through a portal to Muspelheim, he'd be legitimately concerned.

But now the war was over, the insurgents jailed or placated, and life would return to normal for the people of Vanaheim and Asgard. Thor could go back to preparing to take the throne. Loki could go back to keeping Thor's head attached to his neck. All was well and there wasn't a thing to worry about.

Loki hissed and clenched a fist as his right hand burned. He dug his nails into the skin until it subsided and drew a shaky breath.

"Ah yes," he muttered. "I forgot."

"Forgot what, brother?"

Loki glanced in Thor's direction. "Forgot to remind you that you're an imbecile today. I'm obliged to do so once every twenty-four hours."

As expected, Thor's laughter shook the windows. His entourage laughed with him, save for Sif who looked at Loki like he was a particularly vile bit of vermin. Loki grinned innocently. "Your hair is lovely tonight," he mouthed.

"All right, men, let's not drink too much," Thor announced. He'd only had three pints of mead in the last two hours. That had to be a record. "Don't forget, our Vanar friends will be throwing us a banquet to celebrate our triumphant return home. It wouldn't do to sleep in and miss the festivities."

"Better to leave drunk than arrive drunk!" Fandral shouted. He downed his entire tankard anyway and threw it against the wall. Another was immediately brought to him.

"Ah, but the trickster has had enough for all of us, hasn't he?" This voice, Loki didn't know. It came from a man by the window. Large nosed, red-cheeked, and fresh-faced, he grinned with impossibly white teeth as his compatriots chortled. It took Loki all of a second to determine they were as worthy of attention as a single dust mite. "What's this? Nothing to say? You've been by yourself all night, trickster. Won't you share a pint with me?"

"For your own sake, I must decline," said Loki.

The man guffawed. It was a particularly unpleasant sound. If he had a woman waiting for him at home, Loki pitied her. "It looks like the dreaded god of Mischief is frightened of little old me!"

"Now now, Gjurd, let's not make a scene," said Thor.

"I speak only in jest, my prince," said Gjurd, who failed to realize in his hasty attempts at respectability that Loki was also royalty. "However, if I were to formally challenge the trickster to a drinking contest, he would surely be brave enough to accept."

His group of friends cheered him on, but they were alone. Everyone else cast apprehensive eyes upon Loki, who gestured at the bar wench to bring out a fresh tray. He strolled around the tables as one of Gjurd's friends vacated his seat. "Very well. Whoever's feet leave the ground first is the loser."

Gjurd grinned. "Don't think I'll go easy on you because you're a prince."

"Mm-hm…" Loki said, ignoring Thor's concerned stare as the first round of drinks arrived.

He left the bar an hour later as healers arrived to carry Gjurd to the infirmary. Loki finished his last drink, the taste just bitter enough to dull his senses for several seconds. Gjurd's friends scurried after the stretcher, avoiding eye contact with Loki.

"I admire your restraint, brother," Thor said. "This one might actually survive."

"Occasionally, I can be merciful," Loki said airily.

He exited the tavern and walked through. The night was young and he could use some fresh air.

The party began first thing the next morning. One would think they'd wait until all the hangovers had subsided, but of course, if Thor was awake, everyone was awake.

It was a perfect storm of gaiety, terrible music, and enough alcohol to fill a dozen oceans. Loki declined to participate in any drinking games, and after last night's display, most of the less seasoned warriors were relieved. Breakfast was served, followed by a mid-morning snack, followed by lunch. Hours passed quicker than Loki expected, but still far too slowly. When the sun had reached its highest point, Thor began a rousing game of 'try and take Mjolnir from me.'

"Whoever can have it off me wins a prize," Thor said. He never specified what that prize was because none of these fools had a prayer of wielding the legendary hammer. Even if it wasn't tied irrevocably to Thor, a common insect would be worthy before any of these buffoons.

To be fair, most of them knew that. It wasn't about becoming the next God of Thunder. It was the thrill, and the chance to fight in single combat with the Mighty Thor himself and test their mettle against an unbeatable opponent. And it was the mead.

Mostly the mead.

Loki, who had nothing to prove (today), was content to watch the festivities from a distance. He found an empty table under the shade of an ancient tree and withdrew a shrunken book from his pocket. After restoring it to its' proper size, he flipped to the marked page and settled in to enjoy a few peaceful moments of silent reading.

Two men flew over his head, landing in the mud as their brothers in arms cheered them on. Loki's nostrils flared and he cast a muting spell around his ears to drown them out. It worked well for a short time, and then his carefully selected private spot was invaded. A statuesque Vanir woman dressed in all her finery sat down beside him. With her was a small, soft-faced man in tailormade silver armor which made his head look too small for his body.

"All alone again, are we?" The woman's hazel eyes sparkled. "You are quite an enigma, Odinson. I never know what's happening in that brain of yours."

"Be grateful, Ylva. Traversing my innermost thoughts is a torment I would wish upon no man."

Ylva chortled in such a way that Loki wondered where Thor had gotten off to. "You truly are a card, Silvertongue."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Pardon me? I'm a card?"

"Midgardian colloquialism," Ylva explained. "I've learned so many since John and I started taking our summers in England. It's a beautiful country. Have you traveled to Midgard recently?"

"I can't say that I have." Loki glanced at John, trapped in his wife's arms and looking perfectly content despite the occasional wheezing cough.

"It's changed a lot since I was a boy," John said. He beard was peppered with grays, had been for the last three hundred years. "We were there just last year for the birth of my brother's great-great-great... I've honestly lost count, grandson."

Ylva hugged him tighter, the ribbon-like tattoos on their arms shifting from gray to radiant silver. A common reaction when soulmates touched, or so Loki had been told.

They were a fascinating phenomenon, soulmarks. An image or a phrase burned into the skin which dictated who your perfect match would be. Some people had them at birth, some only received them later in life. Each race had a different version, though all defied explanation. Loki was not the type to accept 'it's a mystery' for an answer, but beyond a passing fancy in his youth, he'd never cared to delve deep into soulmate theory. Asgardians didn't have

marks of any kind, not even crossing over into other realms, so it never mattered to him.

If Hogun's cousin wanted to mate with a Midgardian all because he shared the same birthmark as her, it wasn't his place to object. Interrupt the ceremony with a few snakes in the wine, yes, but never object.

"Oh, and did you hear the good news?" Ylva asked.

Nothing had been drunkenly shouted from the hilltops in the last several days as far as he knew, so no, he hadn't.

"You'll remember Ylva's sister, Grete, of course," said John excitedly, "well, last month a soulmark appeared on her arm. And it's Midgardian!"

"Ah… congratulations."

"A tremendous occurrence," Ylva gushed, "though not as out of the ordinary as one might think. Midgardian marks are often dominant traits. Which makes John and I a bit of an anomaly."

"No, my love, it makes us special," said John, kissing Ylva's lips.

It quickly turned into a passionate embrace and Loki stared up at the sun before his breakfast re-appeared all over the grass.

At some point, they ceased devouring each other's faces, just as Loki thought he had an opening to excuse himself. He was already half off the chair and most likely looked like a fool frozen in that pose.

"I do feel sorry for her in a way. When the mark first appeared, she was certain she'd been attacked by some invisible force."

"And here I thought soulmarks were a wholly positive occurrence," Loki remarked as he lowered himself back down.

"Of course they are," said Ylva, "but having words etched into your skin is never painless. The poor girl thought she was being stabbed."

Loki nodded, then froze. "Stabbed, you say?"

"Oh yes, you should read up on soulmarks if you have the time. It's fascinating stuff," said John. "Did you know when a person soulmate is injured or near death, the mark will burn?"

"I see," Loki mumbled. He balled his fists. "That's… very interesting."

It was ridiculous. Completely absurd.

The idea that Loki, God of Mischief, Asgardian prince second in line for the throne, unparalleled master sorcerer trained by Frigga herself, could have not one but two Midgardian soulmates was utterly laughable. Inconceivable! Anyone who dared imply such a thing, even as a joke, ran the risk of being dropped on a barren rock several galaxies away, depending on Loki's mood.

And yet here he was in his corner of the library, pouring over the most extensive guide to soulmates he could find.

'It is estimated that between sixty to seventy percent of all Midgardians will obtain a soulmark at some point in their life. Contrary to popular belief, marks are present on the body from birth. However, they are only visible if the soulmate is already living. If a child's mark appears when they are two years old, they will be two years older than their soulmate. Marks can appear anywhere on the body, though the arms, chest, back, and stomach are the most common areas. While it is not impossible to have more than one mark, it is exceptionally rare. Only three percent of all marked Midgardians have two or more marks. When meeting one's soulmate-'

Loki groaned and flipped to the next chapter. This was not nearly as helpful as he'd hoped. He checked his palms, as he had fruitlessly so many times since his talk with Ylva and John. They were red from rubbing and bare. He put his hands together as the pages turned to the final chapter.

"Spells and potions related to soulmarks," he read aloud. It was worth a try.

He was instantly rewarded.

The spell to reveal a soulmark's location was almost infuriatingly easy. Two lines in the ancient language and his hands glowed bright orange. The light encircled his palms as he looked on in awe. A handy spell, though it only did half the work. Digger deeper through the text, he found a potion scribbled into the corner for concealing marks.

'Use for marks in unseemly places,' it read. There was nothing about removing the effects of the spell, but that wasn't necessary. Counterspells were child's play and all the ultra-rare ingredients the book warned would be needed for this highly advanced potion had been stored in his closet since Midgard's last dark age.

It took twenty minutes. He was back in his chambers, the book floating at his side. Loki referred to it only once; he had an excellent memory for these things. He poured the completed potion into a small basin, just wide enough to fit both hands at once. In its proper form, this potion would hide the mark behind a flesh-colored coat. Reversing it, he hoped, would only remove the magic, and not peel the skin away from his bones.

His hands shook as he lowered them into the frothy liquid. Part of him still believed this was all a load of rubbish. Nothing in the book said anything about an Aesir gaining a mark. Surely it was impossible, and this whole thing was nothing more than an extended waking dream he had yet to awaken from.

Tingling built in his palms and spread to his wrists. It didn't hurt or even tickle, but the unnatural warmth made his stomach flip. He released a lungful of air and withdrew his hands as the sensation faded. He held them to the light. He swallowed.

There they were.

Fine black lettering, even strokes, almost like ink. He rubbed them, but they didn't smudge. The handwriting differed; firm and masculine on his right hand, messy with infinite loops on his left. They were in English, one of Midgard's primary languages. Allspeak extended to the written word, but they would've been perfectly clear to him regardless.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "that settles that."

Next step: find their identities.

His greatest concern was the mark on his right hand. It had been there for decades before the second mark showed up. Checking his long-forgotten notes on Midgardian culture (as a boy he went through a brief anthropology phase), he found that the average human lifespan was roughly seventy years. It had been well over ninety years since his first soulmark sliced its way into existence. After that, it had taken almost sixty years for the second to appear. A sixty year age difference separated his two soulmates. It was all paltry to Loki, just past his thousandth year, but to a woman (he presumed) who reached adulthood at eighteen, it could be troubling.

'There are ways around it,' he reminded himself. With the right spell and one of Idunn's golden apples, he could easily grant his soulmate a second youth.

Turning to a new page, he found the spell to reveal his soulmates' identities. It came with a warning about the benefits of waiting, how seeking one's destined love through magic was to some a bad omen. Superstitious drivel Loki didn't bother reading more than a sentence of.

He started with his left hand, the more recent mark. The right twinged, almost accusingly. He was stalling. He didn't want to know what kind of secrets were hidden behind those words.

Loki closed his eyes as per the instructions and recited the incantation. It was a long one, but he was hyper-focused. In the darkness behind his eyelids, a box-shaped window came into being.

Through a rip in spacetime, he saw a woman, small and slight. Goggles adorned her head and her hair hung loosely over her shoulders. She was bent over a desk, writing in an old notebook. Her face was wrought with concentration; Thor could unleash Mjolnir right next to her and Loki doubted she'd look up. He saw flashes of her daily life. Tinkering with primitive electronics, writing equations on a whiteboard, ranting to a curly-haired woman whose eyes were glued to a handheld device.

Loki took hold of the magic swirling around him. It bent to his will, pulling from the ether a swath of relevant information. She was an astrophysicist working to advance Midgard's understanding of interdimensional travel. An Einstein-Rosen bridge, she called it, but she meant the Bifrost. Her work had taken her to a desolate wasteland where few dared to roam. Many in her field thought her a fool. Loki read her notes over her shoulder and knew how wrong they were.

She wasn't quite there yet. Her grip on Bifrost technology was understandably lacking, but for a Midgardian with limited access to the larger universe, she was brilliant. Brilliant and beautiful. Not ethereal like the Aesir ladies who made men's hearts burst with a glance. Her beauty came from the smudge of grease on her left cheek, the callouses on her hands and the cracks in her fingernails from long hours of strenuous work. It came from her smile when she found the solution to a difficult problem. From the sparkle in her eye as she came one step closer to proving herself right and the buffoons who dared to doubt her wrong.

She had a lovely body as well. He'd enjoy seeing it sans clothing one day.

"Jane Foster," he muttered as her name entered his mind. A bit plain, but it suited her.

He spent some time lost in visions of her life. It revolved almost entirely around her work, though he did find a few instances of her putting the telescope down and going out for drinks with her assistant. Darcy, her name was. She was a student of politics who somehow found herself serving a scientist. Strange, but not important enough to dwell on. Occasionally, they were joined by an older man, a friend of Jane's family dating back to her childhood. He encouraged her dreams but worried she'd go too far and lose what little credibility she had. At this very moment, Jane was speaking to him over her computer, arguing about her latest theory. Loki listened in for a moment, then drew back. He opened his eyes, returning to his room and his own reality. There would be time to visit Jane Foster later. His right hand would not stop itching.

He read the mark again. It was shorter than Jane's, a command. Their third would most likely be angry or afraid when they first met. Possibly both. For now, he wouldn't worry about it. Worry never achieved anything more than undue stress with no outlet beyond overthinking one's problem or, in Thor's case, smashing everything in sight.

Steeling himself for whatever was to come, Loki dipped his right hand in the basin. A barrage of images hit him at once, draining the air from his lungs.

He saw a man in uniform, expertly wielding a Midgardian firearm. The same man defending a small, skinny blonde from a larger assailant. On a boat with a grim expression, sailing towards an ominous destiny. In the trenches, covered in dirt and dried blood, watching his comrades bleed to death. Strapped to a table, experimented on. Saved by his old friend, no longer the weakling he once was. Marching back into the fray to avenge himself and his fallen men. Falling from a train, reaching futilely for his friend. Dragged away bleeding. Captured. Cut apart. Rebuilt. Broken down. Frozen-

Loki withdrew. He stared at the far wall of his room, more familiar to him than anything else in the nine realms. He wiped his hand on his coat, not caring if he ruined it. He walked out the door. It slammed shut and locked on its own.

Odin was in the throne room, discussing trade with his advisors. Loki marched inside, past the guard tasked with announcing new arrivals and ignoring the scribe who fell on his ass trying to get out of the second prince's path.

"All-Father, I request an audience."

The advisor- they changed all the time and Loki never bothered to remember their names- glanced nervously at Odin, awaiting his judgment.

Odin, always a king before he was a father, appraised Loki with his single, piercing eye. "Speak freely if you must."

"Alone," Loki said. "Right now."

He walked into Odin's study, not waiting for an invitation. Where he anything less than the man's son, he could expect to lose a finger for his impudence. Standing by the window, Loki waited for Odin to bring a premature end to the meeting. His steps had not lost their echo, even as age set in. Loki braced himself. Giants quaked before the wrath of the All-Father, and so did his children.

"All right, you have my attention," Odin said, his tone kind with a hint of warning. "What troubles you?"

Loki held out his hands, palms out. Odin fell silent, his expression darkening.

"I have these," Loki said. "I know I've had them for some time, and yet they've been hidden from my sight."

"What of it?" Odin asked curtly.

"Tell me why."

Odin made a face like he'd been asked to accept a goat as a dinner guest. "There's nothing to tell."

"Isn't there?" Loki took a step, hands out. The once concealed words were now blacker than night. "These are soulmarks, father. Midgardian soulmarks. They have been active for several decades while I remained unaware. I want to know why."

"You've answered your own question." Odin turned away, choosing the role of a stern sovereign over that of a compassionate father. Not that Loki expected any different. "They are Midgardian. Of course, I knew from your infancy that it would be so, but what difference does it make? Humans are not suitable partners for a prince of Asgard. They are too small, too weak, and too foolhardy to comprehend life among the Aesir."

"So you hid them," Loki said. The taste of Odin's arrogance was bitter, worse even than Thor, who at least looked down upon lesser beings with a genuine smile. "You took the choice away from me."

"You would choose a Midgardian?"

"I would choose to have what is rightfully mine." Loki closed his fists, rubbing his marked skin tenderly. "I can't say I'm thrilled, but if this is how it must be, then so be it."

Odin chuckled. If Loki were still a boy, this would be the part where he'd get a chuckle and a pat on the head before being dismissed. As an adult, he wondered if a night in the darkest dungeon didn't await him.

"Loki, you have learned much. You are surely one of the greatest minds our realm has ever seen." It sounded like a compliment but felt like an insult. "How is it then that you are so naive?"

"It is naive to desire that which has been promised to me?"

"And who promised them to you?"

"Fate." His voice cracked. Even as he said it, he felt the All-Father's scorn.

"You have never abided by the mechanisms of fate."

"Things have changed."

"Have they?"

Odin sat, and Loki almost followed suit. It was ingrained from childhood; never stand if the All-Father is seated, unless he is upon his throne. That eye grew dark as Loki remained upright. He swallowed and straightened his posture until his legs ached.

"I have seen them," he said. "One is a scientist. She seeks the stars and I have no doubt she will find her way to Asgard on her own if given the chance. The other is a warrior, and he has been imprisoned by his enemies."

Odin laced his fingers together. "How long?"

"Long enough." Loki shivered, recalling the unbearable cold. The darkness… "They keep him preserved until he is of use. He is under their control."

"A regrettable fate for any soldier," Odin sighed. "Nevertheless, it is not our place to intervene."

"Forgive me, but have we not fought on the Midgardians' behalf before?"

"Thousands of years ago when they were under siege from a mutual enemy. We have no business involving ourselves in their personal conflicts."

"I understand," Loki said, fists tightening, "however, this conflict involves someone I am bound to by soul. I think that makes it personal to me."

"Loki…"

"And while I will not deny your wisdom, the fact that you took such extreme measures to ensure I would never know my soulmates makes me wonder what else you might be hiding."

"Enough." A ripple of magic, so subtle that only a mage of Loki's caliber could feel it, nearly sent him across the room. He kept his feet flat, his own power all that saved him. He had pushed too hard and he knew it, but there was no turning back.

"Father-"

"I said," Odin rose to full height, "enough. I will hear no more."

"Then you expect me to ignore it."

"I expect you to know your place. You have responsibilities here. Thor's coronation is fast approaching, and then he will need you at his right hand, to guide him as he guides our people."

"Of course," Loki chuckled as his blood pumped faster. "How can I forget? My sole purpose in life: propping up Thor."

"Being a leader," Odin countered. "He cannot do it without you, and you cannot do it if you are caught in the matters of humans. They are as mayflies. Dead and gone before you can blink. Leave them be and look instead to the people of Asgard. They are the ones who need you."

The curtains drew on their own, revealing the city in all its golden-arched glory. Men, women, and children crowded the streets. This was the busiest time of day when all the shops closed and the overnight taverns lit their lanterns, inviting weary travelers in for a pint. Somewhere in the throngs, Thor was spinning another heroic yarn as foot soldiers and bar wenches alike hung off his every word. Loki would find him draped over a barrel at the end of the evening, at least one half-naked woman at his feet. Business as usual.

Odin's eyes were on his back, ready to remove that prized silvertongue if Loki spoke a single word out of turn. His hands were clasped, his shoulders straight, his face impassive. "Yes, of course. You are a wise and fair ruler, All-Father. I apologize for disturbing you."

Odin didn't speak or move, but the door opened, indicating Loki was free to go. Before he left, he bowed to his king, gritting his teeth and scowling for the fraction of a second his face was hidden. He turned to leave, his palms now flat against his sides.

"I trust this won't be a repeat discussion," Odin said.

Loki slowed. His hands all the way to the wrist burned. "The All-Father's word is law. You have made your decision and I will not object."

He kept walking until he was out of the throne room, away from the court, as alone as he'd ever been.

Two months passed. Loki was bitter and short with his king for several weeks, failing to answer questions when asked and refusing three separate requests for private meetings. It was easy to pretend to be busy with one as boisterous and easily entertained as Thor to tag along with. Loki went on more hunts in those sixty days than he had in sixty years. Sometimes, they would stay out for weeks at a time, and the fresh air did Loki good. It tamed his anger, made him see things in a new perspective.

"Loki, my friend," Volstagg boomed one morning after a hearty breakfast. "Come fish with me. They look to be biting today."

Fishing was not a sport the rest of their group was adept at, but Loki didn't mind a few hours watching them rise and sink under the water, hearing all about the antics of Volstagg's young children. Leaving with a chest full of fresh catch only sweetened the moment.

With each successful trek, Loki's mood improved. He began smiling at his father again, taking meals with him and mother and discussing the latest news from their neighboring realms. Never once did the word 'soulmate' pass his lips. His marks had been covered once more and it was with a smooth, clean hand that he held Frigga's arm and escorted her through the gardens.

"You seem well, Loki," she said as they stopped to admire the primroses.

"Have I ever not been?"

Frigga smiled knowingly. "I only mean your mood has improved. You laugh easier. There must be a reason why."

"Only that I can spend my days surrounded by such beauty." He conjured up a bouquet of the finest flowers Asgard had to offer. As a boy, he would make intricate arrangements every week for Frigga's sewing room. Perhaps it was time to revive the practice.

At the start of the third month, Odin had to depart on a mission of diplomacy. Normally Loki would accompany him to assist in negotiations, but with Thor's coronation drawing nearer by the day, it would better if he got the experience now rather than later. That was how Odin justified asking Loki to stay behind, not that he needed to.

"I am happy to step aside if it means our allies learn to respect Thor as king of the realm," he said, bowing before his father. This was the first time he'd been in the throne room since their altercation. "On my honor, I will do my duty as a prince of Asgard."

This was enough for Odin to leave the next morning without delay. Thor bid his friends and subjects farewell, saving a special clap on the back for Loki.

"Try not to get into too much mischief while we're gone," he said.

"Without you, why would I bother?"

As the Bifrost carried them away, Loki watched from the safety of his chambers until he was certain they were long gone. Heimdall guarded the key as he had for millennia, and while his king was gone, his all-seeing eye would follow them. He'd have no reason to consider what the second son might be up to.

Loki didn't bother walking. He appeared in the palace's grand infirmary as if breaking through a mirror. An unfortunate young woman bearing a tray took a tumble. The tray levitated out of her hands, preserving the delicate instruments. It floated straight into Eir's grasp as Loki bowed his head to her.

"Pardon the interruption," he said. "I hope I haven't come at a bad time."

"Any time is good enough for you, my illustrious prince," sniffed Eir, who was never afraid to speak her mind to a royal's face. That was what everyone liked about her.

"Eir, do you recall my contributions to your heat resistant solvent during the last conflict with Muspelheim?"

Her attendants put on a commendable show of not paying attention. They went about their duties, shooting glances at their mistress and each other when it wasn't too obvious. Eir ignored them all and pursed her lips. "I do. Many lives were saved thanks to you."

Loki nodded, then his smile vanished into a face made of stone. "Eir, I need to request that favor you owe me."

Thor and Odin would be gone for five months. That was unlikely to change unless unforeseen circumstances extended their trip. Only a grand scale emergency like the sudden onset of Ragnarok could bring them back early. Even so, Loki worked tirelessly for the next few days with a clock ticking away in his ears.

On a cloudy evening with three of Eir's apprentices standing guard, Loki rested on a stone table, not unlike the one connected to the soul forge. He dressed lightly in a simple green shirt and breeches. No need to be fancy where he was going. He accepted the water jug offered to him and drank deeply as Eir commenced the final preparations.

"Remember what we discussed," she said. "This is our first attempt and the goal is merely to observe the extent of the damage."

"That might take longer than you realize," Loki said, shivering.

"When we proceed to the next phase, caution is key. Removing all foreign elements shouldn't be hard once you know what to look for, but you are treading in dangerous waters. A single misstep could mean the end of him."

"I understand," Loki said, closing his eyes as Eir rested her hand on his forehead.

"Are you ever going to tell me why this man is so important?"

"In time," Loki said bringing his hands together.

'If nothing else,' he thought in the moments before Eir's magic took hold, 'thank you, Odin, for encouraging me.'

With a few short but powerful words, Loki's hold on the physical world slipped away. His body was pulled as if on a string, deep into the mind of James Barnes.