Welp, another AU gets away from Audrey and has to be peeled off from the drabble collection for its own home. Do not listen to the Game of Thrones soundtrack when trying to write kid!fic. Ever.
Don't count on regular updates. One must be in a particular sort of mood to write this kind of fuckery. Be ye warned.
Standard disclaimer that Thor and Loki's childhood actually took place about two thousand years before Jane's birth. Eat me, canon.
The tale is such:
The Queen the Realm Eternal bore the All-Father a single son, Prince Thor. After him there were no more.
And she cried.
There were murmurs that perhaps the realm would be better served if the King put her aside, but any who were found to be speaking such thoughts aloud faced quick and severe retribution.
But shortly thereafter came Loki, a child of origin unknown to the people of Asgard. The All-Father treated him indulgently, allowing him to be raised in the palace and play with his heir, a son and brother in all but name.
The few who could remember said that the previous King would never have permitted such a thing. But then, his wife had not been possessed of an iron will. It was well known that this wife — the sorceress — always got her way in the end, by one method or another.
And the Queen was happier, but still lonely.
Then came the mortal girl.
The orphan to whom even the All-Father, in his great indulgence, refused entry. The orphan who nearly ended the Gatekeeper's watch, for it was he who told the Queen of the girlchild — who possessed no Sight, but has seen all, and will see all again — that this one would play a part, one way or another. The orphan whom the Queen herself retrieved shaking from the wreckage of a mechanical carriage and settled into the royal chambers before the King even knew what was happening.
Nearly all of Asgard heard his fury when his queen's actions were revealed.
He raged that a mortal had no place among the Aesir.
He raged that of all the children of the nine realms, his queen would not, could not choose a Midgardian to sit at the table of kings.
He raged that the girlchild would at once be returned to where she came from, and they would never speak of this folly again.
The Queen said: I wish for a daughter. And I will have none but her.
So Jane Foster became the second ward of the Palace of Asgard.
And the Queen was content.
Time is a strange thing, between realms.
Time is stranger when a mortal girl drinks tea that tastes of apple at each meal.
The day that Sif gains special permission to train with the warriors is the day Jane knows jealousy beyond any she'd felt before.
Maidens aren't supposed to be warriors. That's the rule of the Aesir. But no, there she is, hair shining, sword in hand, learning the same things as everyone else. Maybe some of the others are scoffing, but she is there anyway.
Jane will never, ever be allowed to learn.
Not that she really wants to, but…
So she runs away. She shuts herself in her chambers. She cries.
(She seems to do that a lot lately, and without much warning. Frigga has promised that all these mood swings are just part of becoming a woman, and it will settle soon; if so, Jane can't grow up fast enough.)
It's Loki who uses his magic to unlock her door an hour later. Jane is sure he's disobeyed Frigga to do it — if the Queen had thought she needed consolation instead of privacy, she would have been there herself, stroking Jane's back and murmuring words of comfort.
Loki doesn't have words of comfort. He never does. But he sits on the edge of her bed, studying his hands as she sobs into her pillow.
"I'm not permitted to train, either," he tells her once she's down to sniffles. "But I don't cry."
"Easy for you to say. You're learning magic."
"Only by Frigga's will. And she would teach you as well if you weren't human."
If you were not human. She hears that a lot. At least from Loki it's a statement, not an insult.
"We're not like them, you know," he says.
"You are. You're Aesir. You're Loki of Asgard; I'm Jane Foster of Midgard."
"Fosterdóttir," he corrects. "You at least belonged to someone."
Jane frowns. She doesn't like that name; she'll always be Foster.
Midgard is only a faded dream, now, and so is her first family. She can't even remember her mother — whenever she tries it's only Queen Frigga's face she sees, but that's okay, that's the only face she wants to see. Her father, though… there are still little memories. He talked about the stars. He screamed when the car crashed.
She was eight when that happened. She's not sure how old she is now. She's mortal, so she has to be younger than Loki and Thor, but it doesn't seem like it. It doesn't feel like it.
(Thor's just started shaving and chased them around the throne room when they laughed at the dots of blood across his chin. Loki vanished, of course, but Jane was captured, tickled to within an inch of her life, and tossed into the courtyard fountain. Both Loki and Thor had stared when she climbed out sputtering and swearing vengeance, her gown clinging to every inch of her skin. Frigga had caught them and sent everyone to their chambers; the next day she gave Jane her first set of chest bindings.)
Her name, though — her name, she'll keep.
"We're not like them," Loki says again. "Thor will be king one day."
"I know. He'll be a good king."
"Perhaps. But then he'll take Sif for his queen. Who knows what will happen then."
Her eyes widen in fear. "You don't know that!" she cries. "He wouldn't!"
"Of course he will. It's so obvious."
Oh, no. Jane hates Sif. Sif gets to train. Sif's always looking her up and down. When Sif is queen instead of Frigga, Frigga will have to listen to her. She'll be sent away. People are always looking for an excuse to send Jane away. "What will happen to me?"
Loki finally glances over at her, his eyebrows furrowed, like he can't believe she would ask such a stupid question. Unlike Thor, he doesn't need to shave yet. "I'll marry you, of course."
Jane's mouth drops open. "What? No, you won't!"
"Yes, I will," he says simply. "I decided that ages ago. Thor can't; he's going to be king. So I'll do it. They'll never send you back to Midgard then."
Odin likes Loki — a lot more than he likes Jane, anyway — and Thor calls him 'brother' when Odin isn't in earshot. But that doesn't mean Loki has the power to do something like that. "Don't be ridiculous. No one would let you."
Loki smiles… and disappears in a shimmer of gold.
"I'd like to see them stop me," she hears behind her.
Jane rolls over in bed. Loki is laying beside her, only two feet away, looking ridiculously smug. "I didn't even feel the mattress move," she exclaims, worries momentarily forgotten.
"I know. It's a new trick. Do you like it?"
"I do," she says — just before bursting into tears again.
Thor will be king. Sif will be queen. Loki knows magic. They belong.
Jane doesn't want to be so jealous all the time, but she can't help it. It's this little dark place in her heart, and lately it feels like it keeps getting bigger and bigger, like something rotten eating away from the inside out. "This sucks," she hiccups, a phrase from Midgard she's held on to with determination.
"Oh, no, it won't be so bad," he assures her. "I'll make a much better husband than Thor. He and Sif will do nothing but fight with swords and words. He will drink wine all day and break all her cups. I pity her!"
Jane giggles at the thought. "It's him I feel bad for," she says, wiping her eyes with her fist. "The sun will hit all that golden hair one morning and he'll go blind."
"You don't like Sif's hair?"
"I don't like how she's so proud of it."
Loki smiles. "She ought to be. She has the most beautiful hair in all of Asgard."
Jane scowls and throws a pillow at him. Loki catches it, laughing, and she declares, "I am not marrying you if you like Sif more than you like me."
"I never said I liked her more, only that she has the most beautiful hair in all of Asgard. And you will marry me."
"I will not."
"Why? Because Sif has golden hair?"
"Exactly. No. Wait."
"I have changed my mind. You are too absurd to wed."
"I'm not absurd!"
"You are. And you're short."
"I'm going to get taller!"
"You've been saying that for ages. Are you certain Frigga didn't take you from Nidavellir?"
"I am not a dwarf!" Jane sits up and tries to whack Loki with another pillow; he deflects that one just as easily, still laughing. He's so fast. All the Aesir are.
And there is the envy again, gnawing, gnawing, gnawing away.
The grin slowly fades from Loki's face as he watches her. "What is it?" he asks.
"Sometimes," Jane whispers — because this is the very darkest thing, and she's not sure she could say it any louder even if she tried, "sometimes I hate them."
Not Frigga. Never Frigga. But everyone else. Sometimes even Thor, just a tiny, eensy little bit. Sometimes even Loki.
But he just nods. "Sometimes I do too," he says, his voice as quiet hers.
Jane's heart lifts a little. She shouldn't have doubted that Loki would understand. Because he's right — he and she aren't like the rest of them. "We can't tell anyone. It has to be our secret." She holds out her hand. "Promise?"
Loki doesn't take it. Instead he sits up on the bed — it creaks as he does, so he's really there — leans forward, and kisses her. Just a little, just for a second, maybe less than a second. Jane barely has time to register the brush of his lips before he pulls away again.
They didn't even close their eyes.
"Our secret," he promises.
She can feel her cheeks turning hot as she nods. A kiss is a much more binding oath than a handshake, probably.
"Jane?"
Jane startles, unbalances, and falls back on the mattress. Loki jumps off the opposite side of the bed and even though he's standing there there's that tiny huff, the vanishing of his breathing that tells her he's gone and switched himself out—
But it doesn't work. Queen Frigga ignores the Loki before her, turns on her heel, and looks at the doorway she's just entered. "Stop," she commands.
It is not possible to disobey that tone of voice. The illusion at Jane's bedside vanishes, and the real Loki appears in the hall. She realizes that he'd been magicking over his own blush.
"To your rooms, Loki," Frigga says. "The two of you are entirely too old to be playing in each other's chambers. Also—" here there is the tiniest hint of a smile "—have you forgotten how to conceal your footsteps?"
Loki's blush deepens.
When they are alone, Jane braces herself for a lecture. She's not exactly sure what she's done wrong — aside from the vague feeling that Frigga might not like it that she and Loki kissed — but there's that chastise-y feeling in the air.
But Frigga only comes to sit beside her and touch her cheek gently. "Tell me what troubles you, dear one," she says. "Did Loki upset you?"
"No." Unsettled, yes, but not upset. In fact, Jane might not have minded if he gave her another secret, maybe even two.
It's obvious Frigga doesn't believe her. "Our Loki," she says, as much love in her voice as when she talks about Thor, "is very, very clever — but not quite as clever as he thinks he is. If he's been spinning tales for you, I advise you put them from your mind. Now, what else would cause such a look upon your pretty face?"
There are so many things — and so few she can share — that Jane has difficulty forming them into one thought. "Sif gets to train and I don't," she says finally.
"Ah. I see. And have you developed an interest in the sword, Jane Fosterdóttir?"
"Well, no, but it's… it's not…" Oh, she is absurd, just like Loki said. Absurd and short. "It's not fair."
"I felt similarly, when I was your age." Jane looks up, and Frigga smiles. "I had aspirations to be a great champion as well, dear one. The first warrior maiden. It was not meant to be — but even now, all these centuries later, I cannot help but watch Sif with a twinge of envy."
"You know magic, though."
"I do." Queen Frigga's smile grows. "But that is not my only talent. Perhaps it is time you learnt a few tricks of your own, Jane Fosterdóttir."
The next day Frigga takes Jane to a quiet corner of the palace and presses a slim silver dagger into her hand. "You need not be large, nor strong, nor immortal for the art of the knife," she tells Jane. "You need only be close."
Jane trains until she can barely lift her arms.
On the way back to her chambers, almost too sore to walk and happier than she's been in ages, Jane hears a great commotion. And a moment later there is Loki, dashing through the corridor as though his feet are on fire, being pursued by a girl with weapon in hand.
It's Sif.
Her hair is so dark it's almost black.
"Loki!" Sif shrieks, raising her double-bladed sword. "Loki, you gutter rat, come back here and fix it!"
Jane knows perfectly well that if Sif's chasing Loki, Loki's not being chased. She spins on her heel — and yes, there, on the far side of the hall and hiding behind a column, is the real Loki.
He raises a finger to his lips. Shhh. Then he grins.
Jane grins back.
Maybe she'll marry him after all.
She just has to get taller first.
