For Snoodles
He was not impressed the day the tiny blue-faced infant arrived in Asgard. His mother and father impressed upon him most sternly that this was his new brother, a playmate and future advisor for those distant days when he would be king, and that he was to love it as much as he loved them, but there was something that puzzled poor Thor's brain about the whole situation. In Asgard, though the arrival of a new infant was awaited with much anticipation and celebration—Thor never really understood how or why the future mothers of these screaming babies went around for months beforehand with swollen bellies—his own mother had said nothing nor did she look swollen prior to the arrival of this tiny little bundle. As a result, the introduction of the newest royal son to the realm was an underwhelming experience for Thor, and he had responded with little enthusiasm, prompting his parents to decide a more personal approach would be best.
"This is he," his mother had said kindly as she steered Thor towards the golden basinet, taking his wooden sword and toy war hammer away as they approached. "Loki."
Thor wrinkled his nose. "L—L—"
"Loki."
"Yoteee—"
"Loki, Thor Odinson; try a bit harder."
"Yoo…"
"Lllloki."
"Llllo…kee."
"Aye, very good."
They stopped and Thor peered down into the basinet with a hint of trepidation; his mother's firm hand on his back prevented him from wriggling. The baby inside was sleeping, a tuft of dark hair standing nearly straight up on the top of its head.
"Mother," Thor said sternly, looking up at her, "explain this."
"Thor," she said in the tone she usually took when he broke things. "Loki is your brother, a son of Odin, just as you are."
"It is dull," he pronounced.
"Brothers are not for entertainment, my son."
"What is its purpose then?" Thor pressed, leaning over the edge of the basinet again. The question was earnest enough, but his mother sighed the sigh Thor was accustomed to her using around him and patted his golden head.
"Just be kind to him, Thor Odinson. Soon he will be big enough to join you when you play."
Thor wasn't sure he wanted that, but as his mother set the basinet to rocking gently and went out of the nursery, he looked down at the sleeping infant for a third time. His mother had said brothers were not for entertainment, but surely it would do more than just lay there in the swaddling clothes like a fat loaf of bread. Wouldn't it?
"Behold," he announced to no one in particular, "I shall waken it."
He reached in and poked it.
No response.
"What is this?" he said under his breath. "My parents have produced a dullard!"
Then he spotted his toys atop a chest where his mother had placed them. Soon he will be big enough to join you when you play. Had Mother meant "soon" like she meant dinner, or "soon" as referring to when Father would finally give him his own warhorse, which had not as yet occurred?
He seized the wooden sword and the small toy war hammer in his thick pink fists and brought them back to the basinet. He had always preferred the hammer, he thought, weighing them, so he dropped the wooden sword in beside the infant.
Still no sound.
Thor peered over the basinet's edge to grab it back, only to be met with a pair of tiny dark eyes. They surveyed him with such sly knowledge that he started to apologize, then caught himself. "Thor Odinson does not apologize," he said, trying to imitate the voice his father used when dealing with the Ice Giants, and went to tug the sword away.
The black-eyed infant had a red fist around it, though, and it held on tight.
"Little Odinson," Thor blustered, "release my weapon!"
The infant stared at him for a long moment as Thor tried to pull the sword free, then loosened its grip. Thor stumbled back, unprepared; the infant chortled, a happy gurgling sound.
Thor stared. His angry little Asgardian brain wanted to stamp his foot and perhaps throw himself on the ground in protest of this treatment, but that strange little noise emitting from the baby gave him pause. He approached the basinet with some apprehension.
As soon as the thing inside caught sight of Thor's face, it fell back into throaty laughter, the effort making its chubby cheeks quiver. Thor stared at it for a minute until it stopped chuckling, then reached in and poked the blanket with a finger. For some reason, this too was eminently hysterical, and the baby convulsed with laughter for a third time.
Thor was bemused. Mother had told him of the magic folk that sometimes stole naughty children and replaced them with their own; these magic children had strange powers and abilities…was he one of these? Everything he did had the ability to render this strange little bundle helpless with laughter!
As he watched, the infant's cheeks grew rosy with mirth, and then it started hiccoughing, its laughter cut short.
His mother came hurrying back into the nursery at the alarming amount of noise. "Thor," she said chastisingly, "you've woken him!"
She scooped the bundle up into her arms and shooed Thor from the room, tsking loudly and pushing him along. As soon as it had lost sight of Thor, though, the black-haired infant started wailing at the top of its lungs, fat tears rolling down its red cheeks.
Unable to resist, Thor poked his head around the door to see what the matter was, and the new prince immediately let out a squeal of delight.
His mother's face softened. "It seems to me, Thor," she said gently, letting him back into the nursery, "that you have made yourself quite the little friend."
Thor looked up at the baby's pale, smiling face, and began to understand what a brother was for.
"It pleases me," he announced after a moment.
And that was that.
A/N: Written by Sushi on the occasion of Snoodles's 25th birthday. Chicago, Illinois, July 2012.