They seek him here,

They seek him there,

Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.

Is he in Heaven?

Is he in Hell?

That demned, elusive Pimpernel.

In point of fact, he was not in either place. He was not with his charming wife, or even in France with its less than charming revolution.

No, in point of fact, Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, currently stood in a shaded clearing miles away from Richmond, dressed comfortably in boots and riding gear. He had chosen the place for a purpose; it was completely isolated from any kind of civilization. Percy looked up, shading his eyes from the sun. It glinted off his golden hair.

"Heimdall!"

A pause, then, "My dear fellow, don't tell me you don't recognize me in this getup." He ran his hand over the smooth linen of his shirt. "I admit, it's not as fine as my usual wear…"

The roar of the Bifrost took him before he could say more.

As always, the trip by Bifrost was a little disorienting, but Percy hid his discomfort with the ease of long practice. Instead, he hitched on his most aggrieved expression and all but fluttered at the silent gatekeeper standing on the golden platform.

"Heimdall! I'm so glad to see you, my good man. My clothing was starting to shrivel in that beastly heat back on Midgard. Summer is absolute murder on the wardrobe."

Heimdall did not quite roll his eyes, but Percy judged it was a near thing. He bit back a grin. Really, it was almost as easy as teasing dear Chambertin! But without Heimdall, there was no returning to England, so he reluctantly reined himself in. He even favored the gatekeeper with a peek beneath his vacuous mask.

"Is Thor currently in Asgard?"

"He is." Both words sounded like they'd been dragged out of Heimdall with hooks, but that was nothing personal. "Your mount awaits you outside."

"Why you do think of everything, don't you?"

With a jaunty tilt of his head, Percy left the Observatory and mounted his waiting horse.

Even with his relatively plain riding garb, women gave Percy admiring looks as he rode into Asgard's city. He favored them all with a courteous nod and a lazy grin. The attention was hardly surprising: tall, blonde, and broad shouldered was the preference here. Perhaps why Thor had always been so lucky with the fairer sex. Then again, Thor was not married to the cleverest, most beautiful woman in all of Europe. Percy permitted himself a smug little smirk.

"Lord Percy," the guard at the palace gate greeted him as he rode up. "Is the prince expecting you?"

"I do hope not," Percy answered airily and waved a hand. He might have applied a little steel to his tone — a trick that always worked on members of the League and on troublesome Frenchies — but he knew there was no need. The guard waved him through. A groom stepped forward to take Percy's horse, and another set of guards waved him with only the briefest pause into the palace itself.

"Ah, Percy, back again?"

Percy turned at the familiar voice. Volstagg and Fandral had just emerged from the cavernous dining hall and were making their way towards him. As ever, Volstagg's dress sense was only a step above barbaric, but the cut of Fandral's clothes was tolerably fine. Even so, Percy was hard put not to sigh.

"But of course!" he said instead, and beamed vacuously. He doubted they could tell the difference. "Where else can I find such delightful company?"

"Silver tongue," Volstagg teased. "As if we did not have enough of that already."

"Ah. Prince Loki up to his old tricks then?" Although he did not take his eyes from either of them, Percy cast his senses towards the stairs leading to the royal apartments. He judged it no more than ten o'clock. It was entirely possible that Thor was still abed.

"No, actually," Fandral said. "Loki has been suspiciously absent of late. It has been at least a week since anyone has caught sight of him."

Percy's smile turned a bit more genuine. "I shall be on my guard then. Excuse me, gentlemen."

And dodging gracefully around them, he trotted up the stairs. Another smirk when he realized he was right; Thor had not yet left his rooms. Drawing himself up to his full six feet and adopting his most obnoxious air, Percy flung the doors open wide.

"Sink meh, still abed at this hour?" he chirped. A dozen paces to the window, and the curtains were likewise thrown back wide. Thor jolted awake, flailing for a moment as he struggled both to reach for his weapons and wake from his stupor. Given the quantity of mead he had no doubt drunk the night before, he was not entirely successful.

"Who dares…"

Percy settled gracefully into an armchair near the window. "Surely you didn't drink that much, Thor."

Thor squinted at him, rubbed his eyes, and finally made the connection. "Loki," he grumbled. "What are you doing in that get-up?"

Percy grinned. As he did so, blond hair faded seamlessly to black, and the simple riding clothes were replaced by leather and cloth in a more customary green. Blue eyes took on a greenish glint, though no less mischievous. He leaned back with a comfortable sigh. "Just returned from Midgard, Thor. You might take a moment to greet me properly."

"Perhaps if you arrived at a decent hour…" Despite his grumbling, a smile tugged at Thor's mouth, and he rose from the bed to envelop Loki in a hug. "I thought you would stay in Midgard forever," he complained. "What in Valhalla's name is so pleasant about that backwards rock?"

"It has its virtues," Loki answered, thinking of Marguerite even as he hugged his brother back. "Daring escapes, beautiful ladies, clever tricks."

"All of which can be had on Asgard," Thor insisted. He pulled back a little. "Though I suppose you have your charming…what was her name again?"

"Marguerite." Abruptly, Loki was consumed with the thought of her, auburn hair mingling so well with Percy's gold. He shook his head to clear it. Percy Blakeney was just a character, and Marguerite a charming way to pass the time. He shrugged and adopted a bit of Percy's foppish air. "Never fear. If I ever grow bored, I shall simply have to go down in a shipwreck, or be carried off by a common cold. Midgardians are so very fragile, after all." Unbidden, the thought of Marguerite's stricken face if he should die rose up in his mind, and he pushed it aside just as resolutely.

Thor's brow furrowed. "You haven't told her who you are?"

Thoughts of Marguerite vanished in an instant as Loki stared at him. "The whole point is to go undercover, Thor. I could hardly learn more about Midgard if I went around playing the god."

"Well, I suppose so." Thor said doubtfully. With unusual tact, he did not wonder aloud what could possibly be worth studying on Midgard. Then his furrowed brow cleared and he favored Loki with a grin. "Come then." He sat down on the bed and waited for Loki to drag the armchair closer. "Tell me of your latest adventure."