Notes at the bottom.

~Introduction~

November, 1999

Loki hummed a bit as he stepped foot on Midgard, his feet not hesitating once as the portal closed behind him without sound. He did look over his shoulder to make sure that the tree he had emerged from was once again normal, then turned back when it was. His clothing shifted as he continued his way through the woods, turning from Asgardian casual, to human. Black jeans with a dark grey sweatshirt, a hunter green scarf wrapped around his neck. He manifested himself gloves, since winter in the northern United States was always a bit nippy. He spent a few moments breathing in the air and reacquainting himself with the flow of energy on this world, as his boots crunched in the thin crust of snow.

It had always been a pleasant shock to his system coming here. Even the energy of the giant redwoods he was surrounded by were bursting with the hot rush of life, unlike the stagnancy of Asgard. He smiled slightly and paused, closing his eyes as he inhaled the rich, crisp air. Feeling nothing around him for miles, he gathered his own energy, and teleported.

He appeared in the small apartment that he rented for himself whenever he was in New York. He took his wallet from a spell sealed safe, the keys, and was out the door.

His first stop was a small café down the street, that used a distinct espresso that he hadn't been able to find anywhere else. Then he took to wandering as he left a generous tip, smirking against the rim of his cup when the young cashier gaped at him stupidly.

He took in the ever changing sights and sounds, letting it relax him and take him away from the day to day drama that was Asgard.

His brother was going to be crowned king soon, within a decade he reasoned. Bitterness twisted his insides at the thought, anger flaring the more he thought on his brother. Thor was a spoiled, loud, stupid man, who didn't have the smarts to rule Asgard. He would be a better choice, if only Odin would see it. Frigga often commented on how much Thor could learn from him, but the oaf refused to take advice from his weaker sibling.

He snorted into his cup, smiling slightly at a woman who gave him an appraising look before moving on. Thor had no clue how much strength it took to use sorcery; to bend and shape it to his will without the use of incantations or hand gestures. Unlike those ridiculous people that called themselves sorcerers, he had actually taken the time to sit down and study it in depth, to actually learn how it works and flows. No one else could claim that feat.

With a mental groan he shoved the thoughts aside, sitting on a bench in Time Square. He came to Midgard to forget his problems in Asgard, not to think more about them. He finished his coffee as dusk fell upon the city, and snow began to fall again. He stood and threw the cup away, wandering over to a news vendor and bought the day's paper, deciding to catch up on what he had missed since he had last been here.

Tony Stark was still making weapons and being a drunk, genius playboy, something that he hadn't expected to change. He hummed to himself and flipped a page. Stark Industries had come a long way from when Howard Stark was at its helm, even though it was still primarily a weapons company.

He read about the advancements of science and only briefly glanced over the politics and entertainment sections. Smiling slightly at the older man that sold him the paper, he slipped him a 100 dollar bill, and walked away quickly before he had time to say anything. He got some food, and stayed in the small diner until well past midnight, nursing cups of cappuccino. The night life of Time Square always fascinated him, and as the night grew darker and colder, he amused himself with thinking up random stories of the people he saw.

It was around 3:30 am, when even the Square was quiet and only a few people were out and about that he left, leaving a generous tip. Despite what his family thought of Midgard, he admired the mortals and their everyday struggle to make ends meet. They only had a short time to live, and they usually tried to make the best of it. He was envious of them too. They lived everyday as though it was their last, while he had infinite days to look forward to. Infinite days of being talked down to, to being regulated to the shadows, to always being second best-

A short scream snapped him out of his dark thoughts, and he frowned as he looked down an alley he was passing. A hiccupping sob hit his ears, from a boy, probably no older than eight. For a moment he fought with himself as to whether he should interfere, but then a quiet 'Please stop,' decided it for him.

He strode down the alley and turned the corner, sorcery already flitting around his gloved fingers, and any thought of speaking went out the window at what he saw.

The two men were dead before they even got a chance to pull their pants up, dropping to the ground with a bolt of electricity to their hearts. Face first on the ground was a child – he had been right, damnit, he looked 5 or 6 – sobbing into the dirty snow as hot blood ran freely down his legs.

Swallowing a snarl of disgust and rage, he carefully schooled his features and knelt down next to the boy, reaching out to heal him on instinct. He sighed and winced when the child scooted away, trying to yank up his pants with one hand, odd yellow eyes bright with fear behind lanky red hair.

"Shh, I'm not going to hurt you," he said soothingly, holding out a hand with what he hoped was a calming smile. His heart was twisting inside him. Some may call him heartless, but he hated it when harm came to a child. However, after a long moment of the boy just staring at him, he lost what bit of patience he had and stood. "If that's how you want it then."

He turned away and took one step, then nearly crashed into the wall as desperate arms wrapped around his legs. He looked down, and the boy had his face pressed into the back of one knee, arms shaking as they held onto his legs with fierce intensity. With another inaudible sigh, he gently extracted the child but didn't let go of him, instead lifted him into his arms. He winced with sympathy as the child gave a small cry at the movement, but it was nothing to hold him with one arm and fully pull the boys pants up with the other.

With a quick look around he conjured a coat for the boy and draped it over him, and then set off with purposeful strides out of the alley. "Where are your parents child?"

"I…sent me here."

He almost tripped at that, stopping and looking down with something like astonishment. "Where are you from?"

"Ireland." That explained the accent then.

"Where are they?"

"…still there…" The voice grew to a whisper, and Loki actually had to fight with himself not to demand an address. He grinned mentally, uncaring how unhinged it looked to even him, as he started walking again. He might do that anyway, at a later date.

He walked and silently fumed, quickly heading through deserted side streets. He was almost at the apartment building when the child spoke up again.

"Um, where are we?"

Loki huffed, using a quick bit of sorcery to open the door and began up the stairs. "My apartment."

"Oh."

He hated how light the boy was. He felt as though all it would take is Loki to tighten his hold, and he'd break like a mirror hitting the floor.

Finally they were in his apartment, and he took the boy directly to the bathroom. He could already feel the front of his shirt soaked in blood, and knew the boy would want to take a shower after being healed. He set him in the bathtub, taking hold of the thin chin and making him look up.

"I'll be right back. I'm only going to change clothes." He waited until the boy nodded and stood, turning quickly so he wouldn't see the large red stain. He waited until he was out of sight before vanishing them and conjuring new ones.

Suddenly there was sorcery in the air, foreign, unlike anything he had ever felt before. He immediately conjured a skintight shield around himself, walking backwards towards the bathroom as he continuously scanned the apartment, sending his own power out to try and find the source. When he did, he whipped around and froze.

The boy was sitting in the tub with his knees clenched tightly to his chest, breathing far too heavily and fast, pupils blown wide. Completely untrained sorcery was snapping around him like a live beast, and Loki was glad of his own shield as he walked in. It tried to bite him, warning him off, but he would have none of it. He knelt down next to the tub, and grabbed the boys shoulders harshly, shaking him.

"Snap out of it child!" he growled, and felt relief when those eyes snapped to him. He barely had a moment to thicken his shield when a blast of pure power caught him and sent him into the wall, doing no damage to him. He lowered his arms, glaring, but the child was staring at him with a look of horror, fear, and shame. His glare immediately melted away to nothing.

"I-I'm s-s-so s-sorry!" he stammered, as Loki calmly picked himself out of the rubble. With a wave of his hand he cleaned off the dust and plaster, and repaired the wall. He couldn't help a smug smirk when the boys eyes widened. "You're…you're magic too?"

"I am," he admitted with a bit of pride, going over and kneeling once again next to the tub. Then he looked into the amber eyes and grew serious. He hadn't seen the color clear in the darkness, but now he saw the signs. Vibrant, unnaturally colored eyes were a mark of a sorcerer. Even the incompetents on Asgard had brighter eyes then the normal populace.

"And so are you. That is why you are here, is it not?" It wasn't really a question, and he didn't need the answering flinch to know it was true. He had his own experiences with budding sorcery.

He hummed softly. "Do you trust me enough to allow me to heal you?"

The boy didn't say anything, but gritted his teeth and nodded. Loki didn't ask again, knowing from the growing panic that this would be his only chance. He slowly sank his sorcery into the child's skin, and winced mentally when it came in contact with the boys own sorcery. At least now he knew what he was dealing with. A mortal that held sorcery like his own. He waited calmly until it accepted that he meant no harm, and finally began to heal what damaged the boy.

"What's your name child?" he asked quietly, as a way to distract him from the sensation of being put back together.

"Arawn."

Loki waited, and frowned. "Do you have no surname, Arawn?" The way he'd pronounced it – A-rahn – was pure Irish. And the name was so familiar…

"…no."

"Did you have no father then?" The boy turned his head away, looking at the far wall. Loki was done healing him, so he removed his hands and placed them on his lap.

"Had a dad," he finally said, voice rougher then before. "And a mom, and family aye, but these stupid eyes and stupid magic are wrong!"

"And what is wrong with your eyes, pray tell?" he asked, a bit amused, a bit bitterly. He only smiled a bit wider when the boy glared at him, amber eyes fierce. He could tell now that they were truly amber, only a few shades darker then yellow, with the faintest flecks of hazel. His smile fell as he leaned forward, deliberately opening his eyes a bit more so the boy could take in the bright, unnatural green of his own eyes.

"They're stupid! Just like yours!"

Loki knew the boy was only lashing out, so held back the sharp retort on his own lips. Instead, a sigh escaped like a hiss. "They are a sign of sorcery child, having eyes like we do. That does not make them stupid." He growled the last word, clearly showing his disgust of it. He had heard enough of that while on Asgard. He would not hear it in this realm.

Arawn flinched slightly, but didn't back down. "Magic is bad too! That's why they sent me here, so I won't hurt anyone again!" His eyes widened, and quickly looked away. He hadn't meant to say that.

"Who did you hurt young one?" Loki asked quietly, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"Um…no one," he returned petulantly, glaring down at the bottom of the tub.

Loki sighed again, and finally stood. "Take a shower, and I will retrieve some clean clothing for you. Then bed."

Without waiting for the boy to respond, he stood and swept out of the room, closing the door behind him. He waited until he heard the clothes hit the floor with the grumbling and the shower start, before walking to the kitchen and conjuring some clothes that would fit. Then he went about making some hot tea. By the time it was done, the shower still wasn't off, and he could admit to himself that he was slightly worried. He had been with countless rape victims afterwards, and knew that they felt they could never get clean enough.

People were always willing to pay the price of his power.

With a frown he opened the bathroom door, and was hit with a wall of steam. With another annoyed sigh he waved his hand, smirking at the yelp when the water turned freezing. He walked in and slid the curtain open, forcing yet another sigh down at the boiled red color of the boys skin. Instead he growled slightly. It was a simple touch and a flash of sorcery that healed the burned skin, and then he all but dragged the boy out of the shower, ignoring the sputtering that he got. He gave Arawn the clothes, fixing him with a stern look.

"Put these on and then come to the kitchen. I have tea made." He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the boy as he grumbled and put the clothing on, then smirked when he got an annoyed, challenging look in return.

They went to the kitchen and Loki poured the tea, wondering what he was going to do with the child. He didn't want to leave him here, not without someone to look after him, and had heard enough about the child services of Midgard to refuse to leave Arawn in their care. Not with his ability to perform sorcery. Yet if he took him to Asgard…he sighed, and Arawn gave him a curious look.

He decided to elaborate. No one would believe him anyway if he stayed in the realm. "Have you any knowledge of the Norse legends?"

"You mean, like Thor, Odin, and all of that?"

"Yes."

"Well, just what I learned in school, that's it."

"Do not believe everything that school tell you, Arawn," he began, pouring himself another cup of tea, and one for the boy when the cup was held out. "Most of the stories are not true. However, I can tell you that the Nine Realms does indeed exist. I am from Asgard, and my name is Loki."

The amber eyes went wide. "The god Loki? The Trickster?"

His lips twitched into a smirk. He so loved having his ego stroked. "Yes, that one. I often come to Midgard to get away from Asgard and my oaf of a brother. What concerns me now, is what I am going to do with you."

"Take me with you."

Loki narrowed his eyes in surprise at the breathed words. "You would not want to stay here? This is your home."

"This is not my home! Not anymore!" The young voice cracked on the last word, and Loki found himself staring into desperate, almost panicked eyes.

And just like that, seeing the pure emotion there, he made his decision.

That was a look he had seen all too often in a mirror.

"We will stay here a few more days, and then go. It will give me time to acquaint you with what my home is like." He stood, and gave the stunned child a small smile. "Now, it is time for bed."

He went without argument.

A/N: So, first things first. Like the tags say, this will be a FrostIron, I've already got it planned out.

Secondly - this idea came about when a plotpuppy barreled into my thoughts, barking "What if he was being blackmailed into attacking Earth?" Then the plot came, and this was written.

Thirdly - In this AU world, the Norse mythology is just that, myths. Loki was married yes, but has no children. This will continue on through Thor and Avengers since they relatively remain the same, with Loki's manipulations and subsequent attack. The motivation is just different.

Also, this will be updated on the 1st of every month, except November. The next chapter will be posted the 1st of December.

Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.