A/N: My second Thor (Loki) fanfiction and this time you're in for a multi-chapter ride.

I don't own Loki or any other characters from Marvel Comics which may make an appearance. However, Fulla, Sverre, Ase and Magni and a number of others are all mine.

"The fact that the man is not alone,
that he is solitary to the entire universe
even through vanity it means a major thing,
it means the true meaning, of his existence,
that of not being lonely,
of being an entire Universe"
Sorin Cerin

Chapter 1: Home of the Giants

December 1996, Jotunheimen, Norway

Loud screams of agony pierced the snowstorm raging over the mountainous region of Norway, followed by the softer wails of an infant.

Any human would have believed these the most impossible sounds to hear in this wilderness. No mortal would venture into Jotunheimen Nasjonalpark in the winter season; let alone parents with an infant in their care!

More screaming was heard, concurring with a forceful polar wind, and the strangest blue light shot through the dense darkness.

And then...nothing more could be heard except the howling north winds which terrorized the region.

Early next morning, a haggard looking man, snow coated, and not at all dressed for a hike in the freezing cold temperatures, strode down the last slope and made his way to the village on the northern outskirts of the Hurrungane range. In his arms, pressed against his chest, he held a small bundle.

Exhausted beyond belief, the very tall man halted in front of one of the houses and, after a moment's hesitation, knocked on the door. After the last rap, he rested his balled fist on the wood, leaning his head against it. He closed his eyes and took comfort in feeling the little bundle move against his chest.

When the door opened, he almost tumbled inside. Recovering his balance, he took in the owner of the house, a bleary eyed man, perhaps thirty odd, clad in checkered pajamas with a fleece hastily thrown over his shoulders against the chill.

"What's...!" Instantly alert, he yelled over his shoulder. "Fulla! Fulla! Quick!"

Sverre Gylfason quickly took hold of the man's arm and hustled him inside, quickly closing the door to the elements, and into the living room where it was nice and warm. He wasted no time helping the man sit down upon the sofa. It didn't matter the snow which had clung to him was melting, forming a small pool around his black leather boots.

The Norwegian held out hands and, when the stranger seemed unforthcoming, moved closer to relieve the man of his burden. Only then did the tall man react by snuggling his precious bundle yet closer against his chest. With a painful sob, he lifted his face, eyes wild and unseeing.

Meanwhile the villager's young wife had arrived, an older man in her wake, and he turned towards her with a questioning glance.

"Ase's fast asleep. Oh dear," she exclaimed, bringing both hands to her face, when her eyes met the poor man perched on the edge of the sofa, holding on to a bundle for dear life.

A man in his sixties approached warily. "Where did he come from at this time of the year? Nobody in his sane mind with no business here ventures out in Jotunheimen at this time of the year!"

"And yet, here we are, dad," Sverre chuckled, "Seems we're crazy enough to come over for Christmas."

The older man shrugged. "But then you know this place very well. You were raised here, after all."

He shuffled to the kitchen, yawning. "I'll get some hot water. You may need it. And our guest might appreciate a bowl of last night's chicken broth."

Fulla knelt before the man who was now staring forlornly down at the board floor, gently rocking and humming softly. A song. A lullaby...

The young couple's gazes instantly locked in horror when hearing this.

This couldn't be happening. Dear God in heaven! No!

Then their eyes went back to the pitiful scene in front of them.

Fulla turned her full attention back to the man. Gently laying a comforting hand on the man's trembling shoulders – they were so thin...and could be felt through the sparse, and rather unsuitable, clothing.

No reaction. The barely audible singing – he had such a soft, soothing voice - continued and the rocking never stopped.

She decided to pry open his arms and take the bundle from him but before she could lay her hands on his, the bundle had moved. She had nearly missed it, but it had definitely moved!

As if awakening from a dream, the man stopped rocking and singing and opened his arms, pulling away the top of the small blanket covering his charge to peek inside.

And Fulla, craning her neck, peered inside as well and what she saw nearly stopped her heart.

An infant, having all the appearances of a newborn but too large to be one born only last night.

She would've sworn it was blue. Whether from the cold or from lack of oxygen, she couldn't know. Three ridges adorned its forehead like some odd tattoo. She couldn't see its eyes as the infant had them tightly shut as it wriggled in its father's arms, a little arm snaking from within the comforting warmth of the blanket.

The father ran his thumb across the baby's forehead and the color changed to the more normal pink.

Seeing his wife gasp and bring her hand to her mouth as she stifled a cry, Sverre quickly went down on his own knees, putting his arms protectively around Fulla's shoulders as he stared at the man and the – probably his – baby.

The baby let out a wail. It sure had a healthy pair of lungs! It was a wonder to hear the strength of this child. It was not a sound Fulla and Sverre had expected to hear upon seeing the haggard man who'd obviously come down,alone, from the Jotunheimen snow covered and weather beaten slopes.

"Sir..." Fulla laid a hand on the man's knee.

He didn't seem to hear her, nor did he react to the human contact.

Instead, he offered his little pinkie and the infant promptly started to suck. Only then did he look up wearily and Fulla couldn't help staring in the greenest pair of eyes she'd ever beheld.

"Please let us help you. To begin with, let's get rid of those wet clothes, shall we? A hot bath will surely revive you somewhat. While you relax in the tub, we'll take good care of your little one. How does that sound?"

"Magni..." It was no more than a whisper.

"Magni...so that's your name?"

He shook his head minutely.

"Ah, your little one, then. It's a beautiful name. Now then. I'm sure Magni will be hungry. Begging your pardon, but...where is his mum? And how about telling me your name? I'm Fulla and this is my husband Sverre."

"His mother is...she...passed away..." The distraught man looked around the room for the first time, as if hoping for the miracle of seeing his beloved.

He swallowed and calmly stated: "I'm Loki, by the way."

"We're so sorry to hear this...and...pleased to meet you, Loki."

Fulla was rather curious as to how and when...Magni's mum had died. After all, the infant was...how old? One week? Two weeks tops? Was it at childbirth? The child was rather big. Best leave it be, for the time being. The question remained; what was a man alone with a babe doing in Jotunheimen with this inclement weather?

And the young man's name. Loki, he'd said it was. She knew the name. Like almost everybody in Scandinavia she had learned about the Norse Gods, the myths and legends, and Loki was one of them. The God of Discord, Chaos, Destruction... Liar, trickster, prankster... Constantly tilting the brittle balance between good and evil.

The name wasn't much in use, these days and she doubted it had ever been much in vogue. So who and why would somebody dare call their son Loki? And wasn't Loki a Jötunn? A Frost Giant? She felt suddenly chilly. The man certainly hadn't stolen his name: he'd walked in from a midwinter storm and he was...tall as a tree! She couldn't remember ever having met a man as tall as him.

She observed him with mounting interest and found him quite attractive despite his disheveled appearance. He was tall and extremely slim to the point of emaciation; alabaster complexion and high cheekbones; shoulder length and slick raven hair, now hanging loose and soaking wet because he hadn't even deemed it necessary to cover his head. His emerald eyes, which she believed would normally shine with humour or malice – as the instigator of mischief and chaos it was only to be expected to think both - now had no sparkle at all as he stared dully into nothingness.

And his clothes...

Here she gasped.

What man, these days, would wear black leather pants and a form-fitting dark burgundy leather tunic which stood open at the throat exposing a long slender neck above his collarbones? A black leather belt with a gold clasp accentuated his slender waist and his feet were clad in brown boots of the finest and lightest leather? So much leather. No wool. No protective garments to brave the harsh winter elements. He was by far too lightly dressed.

She let out a nervous chuckle that caused him to briefly look at her before returning his attention to his child again.

Of course a Jötunn, a Frost Giant, wouldn't need much in the way of clothing. She had to admit, though, he didn't look as scary as one.

Curioser and curioser.

But first things first and Fulla once more made an attempt to carefully extricate the baby from the father's – Loki's - clasping hands. This time, he let her, following her with his eyes as she made for a corner of the room where she'd left the travel nursery bag she'd brought along. She, her husband Sverre and their baby daughter Ase had come to stay at her father's house, to spend a the week away from Oslo.

Expertly holding little Magni in the crook of her arm, she unfolded the nursery bag so she could change the baby.

The poor thing was so cold but soon she had the little boy clean and at her breast. Thank heavens she was still breastfeeding Ase! Surely, Loki wouldn't mind? After all, the baby's needs took precedence over propriety and if he objected, she could always bottle feed the child.

Meanwhile, Sverre had helped a rather passive Loki with peeling off the sodden clothes. Sverre, not a short person himself, felt rather intimidated by this man. All the while, Loki kept his eyes locked on Fulla and his son and they widened ever so slightly when he saw her bare her breast to hold Magni to it. He stared until it became rather unbecoming and he had to tear his eyes away, awkwardly casting his eyes down towards his now bare feet, twiddling his toes.

"Follow me," Sverre said, walking towards the stairs leading to the upper floor where the bathroom was.

After one more look at Fulla and his baby son, Loki followed the other man out of the room.

In the bathroom, he stood demurely by as Sverre fetched him some towels and a wash cloth, explained about the shower – apologizing profusely it had had its best days and was in need of being replaced.

"I know Fulla mentioned a bath, but you'd have to wait ages to run it. Besides, I don't want you to nod off and drown. Not here in our house. Give us a call if you need something. I'm heading back down to make up the couch for you to sleep on, if that's all right."

Loki mutely nodded. Of course he knew what these gentle mortals offered him was not up to Asgardian standards, but at least he recognised and genuinely appreciated their effort and hospitality.

Sverre softly closed the door, leaving his guest some privacy.

Loki moved towards the mirror and stared at his own reflection and experienced a small shock for a stranger's face was staring back at him. A haggard, wan and almost grey face with sunken eyes surrounded by dark shadows that regarded him rather dully. His lips were a thin bitter line that seemed to cut his face in two.

He heaved a heavy sigh.

There was no life in that face.

Of course not. Part of him had died along with his love.

A tear found its way out of the corner of his eye and trickled down his cheek.

He angrily brushed it away with the back of his hand.

Enough!

He rammed both fists into the offensive mirror and stepped back, clutching at his head with his hands, fingers pulling at his hair as he let out a primal scream unlocking his pent-up grief.

Closing his eyes, he stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, slumping down against it, losing every ounce of control he'd been left as he poured out wave upon wave of his soul's raw energy. His body was wracked with continuous sobs. He hadn't felt so weak in over a thousand years. He also knew as no other the danger he was in if he let himself be ruled by his emotions. It had been detrimental to his mind...his mental health and his status at Asgard.

The sudden rapping on the door brutally roused him from his misery.

"Loki? Are you all right? Are you hurt? Loki!"

He rubbed his face and scraped his throat before replying.

"I'm fine. Sorry."

Blushing with embarrassment at his loss of control, he deftly waved his hand thus fixing the mirror with his unerring magic.

Loki sighed and gave his reflection one last disconsolate look. It was time to get a hold on himself again.

For his son.

For Magni.

Just this wee note to say I'm always eager to learn if what I write is passable and, if not, what should be improved. BTW, I deliberately chose the British spelling for this fandom. I trust you have a fair idea why. Hehe.

As for reviews (the good, the bad and the ugly) my routine is responding to them personally via PM, rather than making a shout-out at the start of each chapter. ;)