"I would drink from your well, Mimir," he said.

"There is a price to be paid. All who have come here to drink have shrunk from paying that price."

- Padraic Colum, "The Children of Odin"

1

He wasn't entirely sure which was more irritating – the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, or the fact that he couldn't lick his lips. He hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon. And truthfully, he hadn't been much impressed by that, a lump of something resembling meat that could only be described as pitiful. But he had done without food for days before. The need to wet his lips was more unaccustomed, more immediate. He twitched his mouth vainly against the cold metal of the muzzle and inwardly rolled his eyes. It had been a long time since he had been so forcefully silenced, but once the memory started itself up it had an unsettling and unfortunate clarity. Memory was a sticky thing, he reflected; it was like touching the sap on a tree. Once you started remembering, it was impossible to scrub it off your consciousness until something even more irritating took its place. With that in mind, he dragged his thoughts back to the hunk of metal on his face – back to the fact that he was dry-lipped, hungry, and muzzled like some kind of dangerous animal. He scoffed a bit at that, what would have been a smirk tugging at the corners of his imprisoned mouth. Dangerous, he might be… but an animal? Hardly. Of course, he could think of a few people who fit that description.

"Hey!" Loki's eyebrows crashed together sharply as the big, rough hand of the guard jerked at his shoulder. "I saw that, traitor," the man grumbled from behind a curly red beard that was spilling out of the cheek plates of his gold helmet. He stopped Loki in the middle of the dim hallway and glared at him. "Rolling your eyes at me, were you?" The Einherjar dug his big sausage fingers into Loki's collar and twisted the fabric, locking his head into place. Loki glared at him over the muzzle. No, you twit, he grumbled. I actually wasn't rolling my eyes at you. Unless you've magically transformed yourself into dwarf-forged metal and wrapped yourself around my face. Which I highly doubt, considering that I am the shape-changer here – and considering that you look as though you couldn't effectively wrap yourself around anything except your lunch. The words all flowed clearly from his brain to his tongue, stopped angrily against the muzzle like waves against a breakwater, and had to be swallowed down. What did come out was a frustrated hiss of breath from his nose and a venomous flash of dark emerald eyes. His guard's gaze faltered for a second, then he twisted his fist tighter into Loki's collar and forced his head down an inch or two. "You'd better watch yourself, Jotun. Nobody's fooled anymore." He glared at Loki, his face the sneering mask of all playground bullies grown to adulthood. Fooled by what? Loki had just enough time to wonder before another heavy hand came down between his shoulders.

"Oi, Frithjofr, is the icicle giving you trouble?" Loki felt another set of fingers digging into the back of his collar as a second Einherjar in gold armor came around from behind him. A cocky smirk pulled at his lips behind close-clipped blond whiskers. Frithjofr snorted at him.

"Nothing I couldn't handle with one hand tied behind my back," he growled. "Don't fret your pretty little head, Njáll. I'll worry about the Icicle, you worry about the keys. Now which cell are we taking him to again?" He released his grip on Loki's collar with a shove, wiping his fingers on the leather of Njáll's tunic before taking hold of Loki's arm as he had before. Njáll absently jingled the keys on his belt.

"The only cell on this level. Lowest floor in Gladsheim, directly below the throne room. Didn't you pay any attention at all?"

No, Loki seethed. He was probably thinking about food. He gave Njáll a look that seemed to say so, which the guard pretended not to notice.

"No," Frithjofr murmured. "Roskva was setting out dinner. Now how am I supposed to listen to orders with that going on in the same room?" He jerked Loki to a stop and stared at Njáll expectantly. Njáll glanced at Loki, whose right eyebrow was arched as if to say Didn't I tell you? The guard again pretended not to notice his prisoner's facial commentary, but this time he had to stop himself from grinning. Frithjofr caught his expression and began snarling at him.

"Oh, I see. Teaming up against me now, are you?" he grumbled, shoving Loki against the wall. His frizzy beard was shaking irritably. "Are you really agreeing with the frost giant?"

"Of course not, you idiot," Njáll sighed in exasperation. "I don't need the icicle's help to make fun of you. That lard gut of yours is a joke no matter who tells it."

"Hmph," Frithjofr scoffed and turned back to Loki, who was grimacing at him over the muzzle, dizzy from having his head bounced off the solid metal wall. The guard flicked his eyes up and down Loki's face contemptuously. "Well this one's not telling any jokes anymore. Not with his mouth caged up like that. And it must be killing you, I bet. All you were ever any good at was running that mouth of yours, and now that's taken away you've got nothing left. Nothing but a head full of words."

"And eye-rolling," Njáll sneered over Frithjofr's shoulder. "All those imperious looks he's been giving us, glaring at us like he was somehow superior. Like we were still his subjects. Shall we teach him where the authority really lies?" Frithjofr pulled Loki away from the wall as Njáll sauntered around behind him, and for a quiet moment they both regarded him stonily, meeting his glinting eyes and gathered brows with a sulky defiance. Then Frithjofr reached up swiftly and grabbed a handful of Loki's dark hair, jerking it mercilessly.

"You're not the prince anymore, Jotun. Things have changed here in Asgard." Loki grunted around the muzzle as the guard flung his head back into the hands of his companion, who caught him by the hair again and held him in place. And suddenly Loki felt the breath jerked out of his lungs as Frithjofr drove a boulder-sized fist into his gut. All he could manage to do was glare at his captor viciously over the muzzle as he struggled to re-inflate his chest and keep from vomiting.

No, he contended silently as he watched the guard's fist wind up for a second strike. Nothing has changed. Nothing at all. He closed his eyes and waited for the next punch to land.

"Oof!" Loki spat out dirt as he raised his head, trying to see what had knocked him over. A herd of scrawny legs and dirty feet scrambled past him, a couple of pairs in the lead. Accompanying them was a chorus of about ten different voices, all shouting and laughing.

"Come back here!"

"Come and get me, your Royal Slowness!"

"Hey, no fair, pushing!"

"Just wait til I catch you, you little tick!"

"Thor, shut up! He runs faster when he's mad!"

"First to the hedge wall? Right?"

Loki stood up and brushed dirt and leaves off his tunic as the crowd of other children passed him. Leading the pack were Hermod, Loki's half brother, and Skirnir, a lanky boy with a smirk a mile wide. Following them in a rumbling huddle were the other boys of the palace – Thor, Baldur, Hodur, Vidar, Hogun, and Fandral – and Brynhild, who everyone pretty much considered one of the boys since she refused to behave otherwise. Picking a leaf out of his dark hair, which was sticking up at crazy angles, Loki called after the group.

"Hey, what's your problem, guys? Can't I walk through the garden anymore?"

"I don't know, CAN you?" Skirnir turned and began running backwards, still leading the pack as he did. "Because you certainly can't RUN. Hahahaha!" His blonde curls bounced around his ears as he laughed uproariously. Beside him, Hermod shoved him lightly.

"Turn around, nitwit, they're gaining on us!"

"Haha! No, they're not!" Skirnir chortled, but he did turn to run facing forward again. The herd stampeded on around the corner of Gladsheim palace, heading for the backside of the gardens where the high green hedge walls marked the boundaries of their playground. Loki watched until they were all sufficiently out of sight, stuck out his tongue petulantly, and then bent to pick up the book they had knocked out of his hands. It had landed in the edge of one of the flower beds and the black soil had gotten into all the grooves of the leather binding. Picking out the dirt with his fingernails, Loki frowned and started walking toward the orchard. Snotra would kill him if he brought that book back to her in anything less than mint condition. She hadn't wanted to lend it to him to begin with. In the first place, she had said (as she always said when he talked her into giving him a book), children ought not to be trusted with valuable texts. And in the second place, children ought not to be reading about rune magic. And in the third place, your Highness ought to be out learning how to be a prince of Asgard, not a rune reader or magician. Loki mouthed the entire monologue to himself as he turned the corner of the palace. He had heard it so many times he could quote it. But Father reads the runes. He gave us the runes. He had tried that argument the first couple of times. Yes, Snotra had replied, and your Father is the King of Asgard and has need of such things. It was here that the argument had always gone downhill. But shouldn't a prince learn what he might need to be king? he had always asked. And Snotra had never replied. Because Loki would never be king. Thor. Thor would be king. Loki's lip curled scornfully as he tucked the rune text under his arm. Thor was firstborn, and naturally that gave him the right to the throne. But Loki had come to suspect that even if something happened to Thor, kingship would skip right over him – to Baldur, most likely – succession or no succession. And Loki was pretty sure that neither Thor nor Baldur could read runes even if they were tattooed onto their eyes.

"Where did the little lemming get to, anyway?"

Loki stopped short and ducked back behind the corner of the palace. Peeking around, he quickly discovered the speaker – Skirnir, naturally – lounging upside down on one of the stone benches, legs draped over the back and head hanging off the seat, surrounded by the other winded, panting children. Hermod was sitting (right side up) on the bench beside him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Stop calling him a lemming, Skirnir."

"Oh, sorry, you're right," Skirnir apologized with a snort. "He's a shrew. He's too scrawny to be a lemming!" The whole pack laughed, and Skirnir guffawed until he almost choked on his own saliva, forcing him to sit up. Loki dug dirty fingernails into his book. He knew exactly where this was heading, and he was running through his mental checklist of places to hide. It was the same every time Skirnir got one of these whims. The boys would talk and talk about him until they got it into their heads that he needed to be "more involved" in their group. That they were doing him a favor. And Skirnir would suggest that they "ask" him to compete with them. A race (otherwise known as the "Skirnir Wins" game), or a wrestling match (also known as "Thor Wins"), or maybe a game of target practice (which Loki never saw who won because he was usually the target). It never mattered. The object was always the same. "Generously" offer to let Loki play whatever stupid game they were playing, watch him lose, and then laugh until they were sick. Loki hugged the rune book and thought quickly. The orchards were close, but unless Idun was there, there was no protection. The closest palace door was in full view of the other children. The next closest led to the stables, and there was no way he was getting caught in there again. Last time had been a disaster. If he could just get—

"Well, there you are!" Loki jumped and then cursed internally. Skirnir had come around the corner while he was looking for escape routes, and now he was caught. Skirnir read his face and grinned even wider, his snub nose crinkling in what he thought to be a good imitation of friendliness. "We've been wondering where you went to, Friend!" Loki gagged a little at Skirnir's over-acting and began backing away, keeping close to the wall.

"Oh, well… yeah, I was just about to go return this book to Snotra. You know how she is when you—"

"Actually, I don't," Skirnir smiled. "Never go near the woman. Too much of a dusty old academic for my taste." Hmph, Loki thought. Anyone who can read is too academic for you. Out loud, he simply made a sound that implied, Oh, really? and started to walk away again. Skirnir captured him with a long, gangly arm around his shoulders. "Say, listen, Loki… the boys and I have been talking, and we really want you to come join us. Play some games." He grinned again. He thought he looked like a smooth conman or a law-sayer in court. Loki thought he looked like a pained eel.

"No, thank you," Loki began, trying to ease out from under the older boy's arm. Skirnir tightened his grip.

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun. We really want you to join in. And do you know why?" He leaned his head toward Loki conspiratorially, and Loki raised one resigned eyebrow.

"Because you're thirteen and quick and I'm eleven and scrawny and you can get easy pleasure out of pummeling me into the ground?"

"Noooo, of course not," Skirnir simpered, beginning to pull Loki around the corner toward the rest of the group. "It's because we want you to feel included, and we're jealous that those books are getting all your attention! We've got to get you out of the library and into the sunlight! I mean, look at you – it's sapping all your color." He reached out and pinched Loki's cheek with a little more force than necessary. The younger boy grimaced but said nothing. "That's what I thought," Skirnir said, tittering to himself and dragging Loki out into the sunlit side of the garden. The other children looked up expectantly, and Skirnir held out his free arm to them dramatically. "Hey, everyone, look who I found! And I think he wants to play!" With a shove to the center of his back, Skirnir sent Loki stumbling into the middle of the group. His breath hissed out angrily between clenched teeth as he almost dropped his book.

"Watch it…." His dark eyebrows came crashing together, and the words were almost a growl. The children made a collective gasp of mock fear, and Skirnir nearly choked on a laugh that was too big for his throat.

"Oh, YES, your HIGHness!" he chuckled. "I'll be sure to!" He kept laughing as Loki deposited the book on the end of the bench beside Hermod. For a moment, he locked eyes with his half-brother, and then Hermod looked away, a silent declaration that Loki was out of options. With a sigh, Loki turned around. There was a plan beginning to form in his brain, but it was risky at best, and it all hinged on him surviving the "game" long enough to put what he had learned into action.

"One condition, Skirnir," he began. "I pick the game." It was a long shot, but it was his only chance. The rest of the children looked expectantly at Skirnir, who gave consent with a miniscule shrug of one bony shoulder. Loki's mouth twitched with something like a grin. It just might work.

"A wrestling match, brother!" Thor nearly shouted, hopping up from his seat on the grass.

"Only if he has a death wish," Brynhild answered snidely. "How about a sword battle, you and I? I'll even let you pick the terrain and your weapon."

"Spear throw," Hodur suggested. "Accuracy at a hundred paces." The other children exploded in laughter, and Hodur's smile spread all the way up to his eyes, which were milky and sightless. "What? It's a fair fight. I can't see and he can't throw! Hahahaha!" Across the circle, Vidar nudged Baldur with his elbow, raising an eyebrow and making a gesture with a waving hand. Baldur nodded at him.

"Yes, I agree! You should have a contest with Vidar – see who can remain silent the longest!" That one got another rousing laugh, and Vidar grinned his usual silent grin. Then Baldur continued, "But seriously. What about boxing?" He put up both fists, which were much bigger than Loki's even though Baldur was the younger of the two.

"Hand to hand combat," murmured Hogun.

"A drinking game?" Fandral smirked.

"Wrestling, brother! WRESTLING!" Thor was practically jumping, and Hogun pulled him down by the seat of his pants. Loki's eyes narrowed as he shook his head. There was only one game that could possibly make his plan work.

"You," stated flatly, pointing at Skirnir. "You, Hermod, and I. A race." Behind him, Hermod's eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing. Skirnir chuckled, and then stopped as he realized Loki wasn't joking. His long arms crossed in front of his narrow chest and he tilted his head to the side, studying the young prince's face.

"A race?" he quizzed. "Against me?"

"And Hermod," Loki finished. Skirnir laughed uproariously.

"Why? So you can come in third instead of second? That's… Hahahaha! That's ridiculous!" He doubled over, clutching his stomach, and his laughter descended into something resembling a croak. Loki smiled coldly.

"At least with Hermod in the race, I can lose honorably." His eyes flicked back to where Hermod sat on the bench, looking up at him with a mixture of horror and respect. "And who knows. Maybe he'll beat you this time, so at least someone can have that pleasure." He took a few steps toward Skirnir, who had now dropped to the ground and begun rolling with laughter. "Well? Yes or no." Skirnir looked up at him and the laughing died down into coughing as he pushed himself up onto one arm.

"All right…. Haha! Okay! Terms and conditions?"

"Around the palace. The whole palace, including the stables. Once around, first one back here to the bench wins. Brynhild is the official referee. Whoever's hand she sees touch that stone seat first is the winner, no questions. Agreed?" He held out his hand, both to pull Skirnir up and to accept his agreement to the terms. The older boy stared at him incredulously for a moment, some of the smirk dropping off his lips, and then he slapped his long, bony hand around Loki's delicate digits.

"All right, your Highness. Once around the palace. Let's go." He pulled himself up and dusted off his tunic, and Hermod got up off the bench to join them. Hitching up her dress, Brynhild climbed up onto the bench for a better vantage point as the boys lined up in front of her. Thor pushed through the other children and grabbed Loki by the shoulder.

"Brother, you should have wrestled with me," he whispered. Loki shook off his hand with an irritated shrug.

"Why, so I could lose in thirty seconds as opposed to a few minutes?" His eyes flashed a cold green, and his brother sighed.

"Because I would be sure I didn't hurt you. You don't have that guarantee with Skirnir."

"I don't need you to baby me, Thor," Loki hissed. "Not unless I'm in real trouble. If you really wanted to help me, you could have told Skirnir to leave me where I was and not start all this. But that would make it too obvious that you were helping me, wouldn't it? You wouldn't keep me out of the battle. So now that I'm in the battle, let me fight it like a man." He glared at Thor for a moment with eyes like glaciers, and then his brother nodded softly. There were few things Loki ever said that made sense to Thor, but when someone needed to prove their worth in battle, that he understood. Thor backed away to stand with the others, and Brynhild raised her arms above the three racers' heads.

"All ready?" she chirped. Hermod nodded; Skirnir gave a snarky, "Aye, Madam!" which got him a glare from the referee; and Loki stared directly ahead, not moving a muscle as he murmured, "Yes." He fixed his concentration directly ahead, not allowing himself to think about anything except how to keep pace with his opponents long enough to reach the northwest corner of the palace – halfway around. That's when the thinking would begin. Until then, he must only run. Run and remind himself that this time, he would not lose. His eyes narrowed to slits as he waited for the signal.

"GO!" Brynhild's arms came down like axes, and as soon as the three boys began running, the others began whooping and calling like wild animals, trotting off after them as far as the corner of the palace. There they stood, hopping and waving, as they watched the racers head off through the southeast gardens. Hermod was in the lead immediately, being the better sprinter, but they all assumed they would see Skirnir take the lead in the home stretch, coming round the back of the palace; he had greater endurance and was the older and stronger of the two.

Loki losing was, of course, a given. But the race between the other two might prove at least somewhat interesting.

As they passed the orchard gate and headed toward the end of the gardens, Loki began to feel his disadvantage. He was small, his stride nowhere near the length of Skirnir's, and no matter the strength or speed of his legs, he simply wasn't covering the same amount of ground. But up ahead, Loki saw his chance – obstacles. People, to be more precise. It was the one way his smallness could be useful. This part of the gardens was always swarming with groundskeepers and strolling ladies and courting couples, and the runners would have to dodge them all to keep up their stride. Loki could avoid them easily, dipping in and out and between like his pet mockingbird, Rúni. Hermod was graceful, and could probably manage to miss most of them. But Skirnir, with his long, awkward limbs and wide, galumphing stride wouldn't be so lucky. Loki let his concentration wander just long enough to look up at Skirnir, running about ten yards ahead of him. He jumped over a pile of new flower-bed edge stones, barely managed to avoid the groundskeeper who was laying them, and then stumbled at the edge of a path, tripping directly into Idun as she headed for the orchard. She shrieked and flung him to the side, where he had to spin to avoid knocking over Frey. He paused long enough to call out, "Sorry!" – and for one brief, glorious moment, Loki pulled ahead of him. The young prince let that sink in, and he felt like dancing. For once, someone was last and it wasn't him. A grin spread over his face, even as Skirnir pulled even with him and retook the lead. They were coming around the front entrance of the palace now, and soon it wouldn't matter who was in the lead. It would only matter that Skirnir was looking ahead and not behind. The northwest corner of the palace was usually deserted – nothing there except a path through a grove of willows, shrubs, and mistletoe – and with his opponents facing ahead, he would have a few moments to put his plan into action.

As they came around the north end of Gladsheim, Loki lowered his eyelids almost all the way, leaving only a small slit to see through. He began to focus on the runes. It was a trick he had learned last year while reading an ancient text, full of lore and wisdom brought to Asgard by their former rivals, the Vanir. His uncle Frey, Vanir himself and once a resident of Vanaheim, had translated it for him, and its pages had been full of magical feats that seemed to the Aesir flighty and impractical – but to Loki, it had been a treasure trove. The text had been, like the one he was reading today, a treatise on the use of the runes, those symbols that made up the language of Asgard. Phonetic symbols and a part of the language, in their common usage, the runes also had a deeper significance, what some would call a magical meaning. Loki thought back over that text and the others he had read, and he began to put all his concentration on one rune – ehwaz, the rune of travel and change. He called up its shape in his mind, ran his mind's eye over the contours of the letter, and he felt the tingling begin under his skin. The magic was working. He had only ever tried it once before, over a distance of about five feet, but this was the same feeling as then, and so he knew it must work now. It had to. In his mind he traced the outline of the rune, imagining his body following its shape across the landscape of Asgard to his destination – up one long, straight stroke, to the right down a shorter, slanted line, up and to the right along another short stroke, and then down again along a straight line that mirrored the first. Loki held his breath, felt the tingling under his skin become a rush of motion, and closed his eyes completely as the magic took over.

When he opened his eyes, he smiled, cheeks widening nearly to their limit. He had done it. And now, he waited.

In front of the stone bench at the south end of the palace, the huddle of children jostled each other as they craned their necks to see who would round the northwest corner first. The back side of Gladsheim was the home stretch, and it was a straight, uninterrupted run from the northwest corner to the southwest, where the runners would have to corner round a bush to reach the bench and the finish. Hodur crossed his arms in annoyance.

"Somebody with two working eyes please tell me what's happening." Silent Vidar patted him on the shoulder as Brynhild stretched to her full height on top of the bench.

"Nothing yet…. Oh! Wait, I see them!"

"Well?" Thor barked, his impatience beginning to get the better of him. Brynhild shaded her eyes and marked the runners' positions as they came into the straight.

"Hermod and Skirnir are side by side— No! Skirnir just pulled ahead by probably a foot or two. Hermod got the better start, but I think he's starting to get winded." None of the children asked where Loki was. They all knew. As the runners came closer, they all could see them – Skirnir pulling slowly ahead of Hermod by a foot or two at a time… and little Loki, running steadily but much more slowly about twenty yards behind them. He was doing a bit better than usual, they had to give him that, but there was no way he could win. After a minute or two, the runners were close enough that the other children could hear them panting, and they all ran to the bush at the corner to be closer to the action. Skirnir's face had taken on the look of a rabid wolverine that had scented food; his upper lip was curled upward over a crooked eyetooth in a grimace of imminent victory. A few feet before the turn, Hermod put on an unexpected burst of speed behind him, and as they rounded the bush Skirnir grunted in surprise at finding them even. He would have to launch himself at the bench to get his hand there before Hermod. His sharp hazel eyes quickly sized up the distance. On top of the bench Brynhild tensed up, watching the seat like a hawk to be sure she called the correct hand as the winner. Skirnir glanced over at Hermod to be sure he wasn't trying the same leap; then he tensed his legs and prepared to spring at the bench.

Loki's hand slammed down onto the stone before Skirnir had time to jump.

There was a collective gasp from all present as Loki walked out from behind the bench where he had been hiding and waiting. Skirnir stopped short in complete disbelief and Hermod crashed into his back, toppling over. Everyone looked back at the last part of the course, where – so their eyes had told them – Loki should still have been running. All they saw was a shimmer in the air where his running figure had been. The image he had been projecting there had disappeared. The children were in complete shock, and with the exception of Baldur whispering to the blind Hodur what was happening, no one said a word. Loki drew himself up to his full height, his eyebrows lifting imperiously and his blue-green eyes flashing with the brilliance of complete triumph.

"I believe you have something to announce, Brynhild," he said calmly, his eyes never leaving Skirnir's slack-jawed face. Brynhild's lip quivered. She wasn't quite sure how to call it; Loki had cheated, somehow, there was no doubt about that. But his hand had landed first. Loki caught her expression out of the corner of his eye and cocked his head to the side. "It's in the rules, Brynhild. Like we agreed on. Whoever's hand you saw touch that bench first is the winner. I began the course at the same time and place. And my hand touched first. Do you deny that?" Brynhild shook her head slowly, and Loki's face turned hard. "Then announce… the winner."

"The…" Brynhild murmured, looking nervously at Skirnir's flabbergasted and angry grimace. "The winner… is… Loki." There was a hush over the crowd of children, broken only by Vidar clapping, softly and momentarily. No one else moved. Then Skirnir's expression broke, and he took a huge stride toward Loki, his face glowing with rage.

"You cheated," he whispered hoarsely. When Loki didn't respond immediately, Skirnir's lips curled back from his teeth and he screamed, growling like a dying animal, picking up a rock and throwing it into the bushes. "You… CHEATED!"

"I WON!" Loki yelled in return, getting nose to nose with Skirnir, who backed up a step simply out of surprise. "I won! And maybe it wasn't fair and square, but it never would have been anyway, would it? Even if I could run and keep up, you'd have tripped me at the finish!" He poked at Skirnir's narrow chest with two fingers as he screamed, and each time Skirnir backed up about an inch. "There's only one game any of you ever play, and it's called 'Loki LOSES!' Well today I decided I was tired of losing. Today I picked the game. I picked the one game in which no one would have to touch me or be watching me constantly… and when I was out of everyone's sight, I used rune travel to get back here and leave an image of myself for you all to watch. That's magic, for those of you too stupid to understand. You all pick the games you can win best with your physical skills. Well magic is a physical skill. And I'm the only one of you who can even begin to grasp it. So today, that's the game we played – the one where I win and …you …LOSE. Tell me: how does it taste?"

The two of them stood frozen there for a few seconds, Skirnir looking like a volcano with magma ready to split through a dozen cracks, and Loki staring back, eyes like an iceberg whose edges reflect sunlight like a steel razor. The others watched them apprehensively, unsure of what would happen but very sure that it wouldn't be good. Then without warning, Skirnir launched himself forward and bore Loki to the ground, screaming like a banshee as he wrapped his fingers around the boy's neck.

"THAT'S what it tastes like, you damned little rat!" he croaked, and grabbing a handful of thick dark hair, he jerked Loki's head around and forced his face into the dirt. He had almost dug a hole in the ground with Loki's nose before he let go and flipped him over, straddling him like a horse and pinning his arms under his knees. Loki thrashed and screamed incoherently, trying to buck him off but unable to overcome the difference in weight. He got one arm free and reached up, grabbing a handful of Skirnir's collar and attempting to pull him off balance. He succeeded only in ripping the older boy's tunic before Skirnir had shoved his hand aside; this time Loki felt an added weight, looked over, and realized that Fandral was standing on his palm. Willing himself not to panic, he looked back up at Skirnir. He made eye contact just in time to see Skirnir's bony fist come rocketing into his face.

The first blow struck directly on his left cheekbone, and for a moment his vision was a flash of glowing darkness. That dissipated into blurry daylight as the pain set in, an angry, hot sort of pain that seemed to move like a living creature. Then the second punch hit his right jaw, driving his head back into the dirt, and then a third blow exploded the pain from his cheekbone up into his temple. Loki willed himself not to scream or cry; instead he focused on freeing his arms. If he could get his right out from under Skirnir's knee, he might be able to strike back. It would be awkward, swinging upward, and he was the first to admit that he didn't have the most impressive of punches. But if he could catch Skirnir off guard, he might be able to get out from under him and run. And just run, and run, until he couldn't even see the palace behind him. There was a spruce forest outside the Gladsheim grounds, and a little cave there with an underground spring. They wouldn't find him there. He kept the image in his mind as he jerked his arm, trying to free it from Skirnir's keen kneecap. The older boy wasn't aiming anymore, his rage overtaking his strategy, and one of his blows grazed Loki's eyebrow, reopening a cut that hadn't yet healed. Blood ran into Loki's eye, coloring his vision. Skirnir became the image of a fire-giant, hovering over him in a red haze like the land of Muspelheim, fighting with fists instead of Surtr's flaming sword. For a moment Loki entertained the terrifying thought that he would never get free – that he would lie there on the ground having his face bashed in until he died. Or until Ragnarok. Whichever came first. Then he felt Skirnir's knee slide ever so slightly off his wrist. He seized his chance and yanked his arm.

WHAM! Skirnir nearly fell backward in shock as Loki's fist came flying up at him, raking across his mouth and loosening his crooked eyetooth. He wasn't exactly shaken by the blow but he jerked away from Loki's arm range, and that was all the chance Loki needed. Feeling the weight of his opponent shift to one side, Loki rolled with all the force he could muster and began crawling, digging his hands into the dirt in an attempt to drag himself to safety. His knuckles were scraped and bleeding from Skirnir's teeth, but he barely felt anything. He could lick his wounds later, but only if he got away. He scrambled across the grass toward the gap between the legs of Vidar and Baldur and almost made it through.

Then Skirnir recovered himself and latched onto Loki's ankles.

It was when he felt himself being jerked backwards, back into the circle and into Skirnir's rain of blows, that Loki finally began to panic. Skirnir yanked him up off the ground, tearing the seams of his tunic as he flung him at Fandral, who caught him in a vise-like grip. Fear took over, and Loki lost all ability to strategize or think. He just wanted it to end.

"Stop! Please…." He coughed, realizing then how badly his lip was swollen. Fandral only adjusted his grip. Skirnir brushed sweaty ringlets out of his face as he clenched and unclenched his fist, approaching Loki with a frenzied look on his face.

"Hold him, Fandral!" he grunted, and then drove his fist directly into Loki's stomach with all the force of his jilted pride. This time he didn't pause, and his arms worked one after the other like battering rams until Loki's protests became little more than groans. The boy's only defense was to wiggle like a dying fish and hope a few of the blows would glance off. Most didn't. In desperation he threw his head up and back, hoping to catch Fandral across the jaw and surprise him into letting go. As his eyes swung upward he got a good look at the crowd of children encircling them, silent and solemn, and his gaze met that of Thor. He saw there his last chance for escape. He knew he had told Thor that he didn't need his help – unless, that is, he was in real trouble. And he had tried to save himself. But now it was two against one; if that didn't constitute "real trouble," he wasn't sure what would. In between blows he tried to summon up a deep breath.

"THOR!" he called, his neck sore from Skirnir's grip. "Brother! Brother, please! Help me!" This last word was cut off by a swift right hook from Skirnir, who apparently didn't appreciate his victim making so much noise. Loki lifted his head again dizzily and looked for Thor's movement in the crowd. There was none. Thor stood like a statue beside Baldur, staring at Loki and not moving a muscle, his blue eyes glassy and distant. Loki waited, thinking perhaps Thor was biding his time for a more opportune entrance to the fight… and then he watched as Thor averted his eyes, and his heart sank. "THOR!" he tried again. This time his brother didn't even look up. "Thor, please…." He managed to cough it out one more time, but he knew that no help was coming. He supposed it was the natural order of things – some were strong, and some were weak. Some were the winners and some were the victims. And when the victim was being made a victim… everyone else was obliged to stay out of the way. The rule of children and playgrounds everywhere was not to be superseded – not even by Thor.

In the absence of anything else to say, Loki began to cry.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Everything was hazy and dim, trying to turn sideways and move in circles around his brain, but the voice resonated so strongly in the hallway that it penetrated even to Loki's dizzy ears. He tried to lift himself off the floor of the hallway to see who the voice belonged to, but his chin was immediately met by the hard toe of an Einherjar boot, and he fell back. The muzzle was driven solidly into his face and his head bounced hard off the metal wall – not for the first time that day. It hurt too much to move his mouth under the muzzle, but he grimaced with his eyes and wondered again why he bothered to keep himself conscious. Maybe he should just let them beat him to death; it would solve problems for everyone involved.

"STOP that, BOTH of you!" the voice came again, this time closer. The guards took a couple of miniscule steps away from him, and as Loki's head cleared, he recognized the voice's familiar tones. Heavy footsteps approached from the top of the corridor, the kind that walked with unquestioned authority. Frithjofr took advantage of the moment to get in one last kick – his heel jammed directly into Loki's gut – before snapping to attention. Loki's nostrils flared as he struggled to breathe over the muzzle; then he lifted his head with a groan and opened his eyes. In front of him was a pair of all-too-familiar boots, torchlight gleaming dully on the dark grey leather and glinting off the silver trim. His eyes flared softly like a will o' the wisp, and he turned his head back to the wall. This he could have done without. He preferred the beating.

"I told you to stop," Thor growled at the guards, his voice rumbling dangerously. Reaching out a powerful gauntleted hand, he snatched Frithjofr's spear from him and tossed it down the hall. "What part of 'that's enough' didn't you understand?" The two Einherjar stood frozen at attention, and Loki noticed from his prone position that Frithjofr's knees were shaky. Njáll stood perfectly still, knowing his companion would take most of the blame simply by nature. Thor glared at them both, his eyes two chips of cold blue granite. "I thought the Einherjar unfailingly behaved with honor. And yet I leave you unwatched with a prisoner for five minutes, and I come back to find you behaving like barbarians. The two of you, against a man who is bound and unarmed? Oh, I'm sure it was a grand display of your manhood." Thor stood there unflinchingly with his fists on his hips, and after a few seconds Frithjofr's eyes dropped, unable to meet the prince's gaze. Njáll looked away and said nothing. With a flourish of his cape, Thor turned his back on them and waved them a few feet away. "You disgust me, both of you. Stand at attention," he grumbled. Then he moved toward Loki. "Here," he murmured, and he began to extend his hand.

Don't you dare touch me, Loki hissed automatically. It came out as a jet of hot breath from his nose, and he flinched away as Thor bent in front of him. Apparently Thor interpreted his look, because he retracted his hand. But he didn't stand up or move away.

"Are you all right, brother?" he asked, a bit of hesitation under his air of command. Loki only glared at him, fixing him with those cold, pale green eyes that had always mystified him, even in childhood. There never seemed to be any way of knowing what was going on behind them. He glanced over Loki's face, checking for injuries since the prisoner didn't seem too keen to point them out himself. He wasn't bleeding anywhere Thor could see, although the gash on his forehead, which he'd gotten during their battle on Midgard, looked like it had reopened and might start bleeding again – the same for the cut across his nose. Mostly he saw what would be bruises, and who knew what other injuries were covered by the muzzle. He would have to have someone take it off temporarily and treat his wounds. Thor sighed, then he tried again, holding out his hand. "Loki, let me help you up."

Loki cast his eyes down at Thor's hand disdainfully, as though it were crawling with some kind of plague. Oh, really? he sneered mentally, glancing down at his own manacled wrists. Because clearly, I have so many free hands with which to grab hold of you. And this is like you, isn't it? My… big… brother. Always right there to make sure little Loki has all the help he needs, the poor baby. Isn't that right? He raised an eyebrow at Thor, who – although he had never been the most perceptive sort – understood his drift. It was an argument they'd been through before. Thor had never given him credit for being able to take care of himself – except, of course, when he was being double teamed and needed help the most. Loki's eyes narrowed, a look which told Thor in no uncertain terms, Get your paws off me, I can get off the damn floor by myself. Thor backed away a few inches, and Loki rolled stiffly onto his knees, an elbow against the wall for leverage. He had managed to heave himself up onto one knee before he realized how badly it was bruised – possibly even cracked, he would later decide. He let out a groan that was muffled by the muzzle and almost toppled over again. Thor's mail-encased arm was there to break his fall.

"This is ridiculous," he seethed, digging his fingers into the folds of Loki's clothing and pulling him up from the floor bodily, ignoring his grunts of protest. "I'm having those two vultures over there tried before the council for mistreatment of prisoners, and then I'm personally picking new guards to oversee you. They could have crippled you. What did they hit your knee with, their spear butts?"

The floor, o great wise one, Loki thought snarkily, and he flicked his eyes downward. Thor caught his meaning. If he caught the sarcasm, he must have ignored it.

"This is unacceptable conduct for an Einherjar. Or for any warrior of Asgard. I'm going to have someone come to your cell and look you over, make sure they didn't break anything or do any serious damage."

And exactly what do you define as 'serious?' Loki snapped, his eyebrow slanting resentfully. I suppose injured pride doesn't count, right? He jerked away from Thor's grip, wincing from the pain in his knee but willing himself to stand on his own. Thor reached out with both hands and took him by the shoulders. He turned his face, but Thor followed it with his own.

"Loki…" he began, gripping Loki's shoulders tighter when he couldn't get him to look him in the eyes. "Loki, you're here for justice, not to be thrown to the dogs. I'm not going to let this happen again. No one touches you without my permission. Do you understand?"

Loki understood. Thor was protecting him, the way an older brother should.

Fifteen years too late, your Highness. Fifteen years too late. Loki's lip curled bitterly under the muzzle as Thor led him down the hall to his cell and opened the door.