The lesson here is not listen to soundtracks that reek of foreshadowing, or Macbeth-esque fanvids, when trying to write something light. I'm sorry.

The tale is such:

The great All-Father sired a child of Asgard. This child would be a king.

He took in a child of Jotunheim. This child would also be a king.

He permitted a child of Midgard. This child would be nothing.

And so they grew, unequal.

Loki remembers the moment he decided he would marry Jane Fosterdóttir.

She had been there for some time, long enough that he and Thor had grown accustomed to their third playmate and her strange Midgardian ways, long enough that it seemed as though it had always been the three of them, not merely the two. But that afternoon Jane had been with Frigga, off doing female something-or-others, and he and Thor had been getting into mischief in the throne room when they overheard the approaching courtiers.

They had hidden the vase they had 'accidentally' broken, then hidden themselves as well.

They heard the courtiers clucking over when the King would "end Frigga's folly" and send the "mortal pet" away.

Only Loki's hand on Thor's wrist stopped him from drawing his sword. (Later, he would wonder why he stayed his foster brother's rage, and could come up with no explanation except habit.) They had remained silent, ice-white and blood-red respectively, until the courtiers turned a corner and disappeared from the room.

"When I am king," Thor swore when they were gone, "people who say such things will be banished to the farthest corner of the Nine Realms."

Loki had not disagreed, but knew Thor could be gray in the beard before Odin declared him ready for kingship. Far too long a wait to guarantee Jane Fosterdóttir's protection.

Rational analysis always came easily to Loki. While Thor could puzzle for hours over a problem — and usually try to smash his way out of it — Loki could always find the simplest solutions. And he found the simplest solution then.

If Jane Fosterdóttir wed one of them, no one could send her away.

Thor would never be allowed, of course. Thor was to be king, and his wife would be queen. But Loki? Those who whispered mortal pet called him Loki No-one's-son when they imagined he could not hear. What mattered it if No-one's-son took a mortal to wife?

Loki had explained the plan to Thor. Thor had agreed it was a very good idea. And, thus settled, they returned to failing to repair the broken vase, and little of it was ever spoken again.

The day came that the All-Father told his Queen: They grow over-reliant on the mortal. You will separate her from them.

I will do no such thing, my husband.

I do not speak as your husband. I speak as your King. And you will do as I command.

One day, Jane asks Heimdall how old she is. "If I weren't drinking the tea, I mean," she adds. "How old would they think I am on Midgard?"

"You are not yet grown, Lady Jane," he replies, because he knows what she's really asking. He always knows.

(He's the only one who calls her Lady Jane. He lets her sit by his feet for hours, joining him on his eternal watch, speaking only when she asks a specific question about a flare within the Bifrost that she cannot puzzle out. Otherwise he is silent, and she is silent, and they watch the stars together. If Heimdall ordered her to leap from the Rainbow Bridge she would ask only if he wanted her to take off her shoes first.)

"Would they think I'm a child?"

"They would not think you a woman."

"How come?"

"Because you are not one, Lady Jane. Not yet."

Not yet. Jane huffs in disapproval. She hasn't outgrown a gown in ages. What more does anyone want?

She is still lying on her back on the bridge, studying the stars and pondering this injustice, when her handmaid Dagmar arrives. "The Queen requests your presence, Jane Fosterdóttir," says Dagmar, her eyes respectfully lowered before the Gatekeeper.

Jane spares a short glance for the plain, unassuming girl, then climbs to her feet. "It would not do to keep my foster mother waiting," she says grandly. "Fetch my horse, Dagmar."

If Dagmar's lips twitch for the faintest moment, certainly no one would ever remark upon it.

Jane is saddled and turning the reins when Heimdall says: "The King sits in his council chamber this day."

From the council chamber one has a clear view of the northside palace entrance. "Thank you, Heimdall," says Jane. He knows, she thinks (for the hundredth time) and wonders (for the hundredth time) what he would say if Odin came to him with a question.

And she tells herself (for the hundredth time) that Heimdall would never lie to the All-Father.

They just have to be sure Odin never asks.

And will you command Thor and Loki as well, my King? They love her as you do not. Take her away and you may discover their power is greater than you realize… as is mine.

I will not hear challenges from you, wife, and I do not fear stripling boys who think themselves men. If you care for the girl, you will do her this service. She will never rise above what she is. Our son cannot make her his queen.

That is of little consequence. Thor holds her as he would a sister. There is no harm.

And our ward? His hold is not that of a sibling.

To this, the Queen could issue no denial.

Her handmaid waits until they reach the royals stables before she says: "'Fetch my horse, Dagmar'?"

"Well, you are my maid."

"And you've grown overly fond of ordering me about." Jane creeps down the line of stalls, checking inside each one, and Dagmar adds, "There's no need. I would know were we not alone."

"You said that last time, and Volstagg almost stepped on my skirts before you saw him."

"Oh, I knew he was there. That just made it more fun."

"Servants who have fun need more chores. I think I'll make you scrub my floor next. And hem my dresses. What do you think of that?"

"I think I'd sooner stop coming to you entirely."

"You wouldn't." When Dagmar continues unsaddling their mounts, seemingly focused only on her tasks, Jane swallows back a sudden wash of sickness. Anxiety has coursed under her skin since the moment she was told she could no longer spend time with her foster brothers. "You wouldn't, right?"

Dagmar doesn't reply, and Jane comes within inches of taking it all back… until she catches the tiniest crinkle at the corner of the handmaid's eye.

And Jane's fright turns to rage in an instant. "Don't tease me like that!" The moment her fist makes contact with her handmaid's arm, 'Dagmar' washes away with a shimmer of gold; it is a boy with black hair and a wide white grin who takes the next hit. "You're not funny, Loki! You're never funny! You're just mean!"

"If you wish me to treat you kindly," says Loki, all smooth and reasonable, "perhaps you shouldn't strike me." He doesn't even pretend like her punches hurt.

Jane tries to shove him — she's not strong, but seasons upon seasons of Frigga's knife training have at least made her fast — but her hands pass right through his shoulders. There's another shimmer, and then cool arms wrap around her from behind and toss her into the hay as though she weighs no more than a sack of flour. The puff of dust catches in her throat.

Loki watches her cough, smirking. "Are you ever not going to fall for that?" he says.

He makes her so mad sometimes. "Fine," she spits, rolling onto her side and refusing to look at him. "Don't come see me anymore. I wouldn't miss you at all."

It's a lie, of course it is, they both know it. Still, Loki flops down into the straw and pulls her close, until she is tucked snugly against him, her back pressed against his chest. "You are absurd, Jane Fosterdóttir," he murmurs, resting his chin against the top of her head. "And getting shorter, I think."

"You're just stupidly tall." She should elbow him in the ribs, she really should. But she likes it when he holds her like this. Even when he's being awful. "I don't like it when you tease me."

"Yes, you do. But I'll consider apologizing." When she doesn't respond, he kisses her hair. "Jane?"

She ignores him.

"Ah. You are angry. Don't be; it was just a bit of fun."

She ignores him.

"Very well. I'm sorry."

She ignores him.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice strained now. He kisses her temple. Her cheek. He tries for her nose, but she turns her face away, and his lips brush across her ear instead. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

Loki might be of Asgard, but he's more like her than They are. (Everyone else is They.) Loki is less-than, the way she is. They don't belong to anyone except each other. They don't own anything except each other.

So he can be mean as he likes, but she can hurt him right back. The only time he ever gets really upset is when she pretends like he's not there.

Sometimes she pretends just so she can see his reaction.

It's the only real power she has in all the worlds.

But she can never stay angry for long, especially not when he tilts her chin so he can nuzzle the side of her neck, which makes her shiver and giggle at the same time. "You can be such a jerk," she tells him. (Jerk is one of the words she's kept from her old home. There's just not a good equivalent here.) "If you do that again, I'll tell Odin I want to go back to Midgard. Then you'll be sorry."

"You are beyond absurd." He sighs as she squirms deeper into his embrace. "As though I would ever allow you to leave."

His destiny is to rule Jotunheim. One day he will learn of it. The girl would perish upon a Frost Giant's throne.

Would you rather he care for no one at all?

The way they care will lead to ruin, however you may wish to pretend otherwise.

I pretend nothing. But I would not break his heart, nor hers, nor our son's, for the sake of a future that may never come to pass.

And that is why I am King.

Jane Fosterdóttir and Dagmar enter the palace (through the southern doors) some time later. After bypassing the guards, Jane asks quietly: "How is Thor?"

"Oh, still raging about wresting Gungnir from his father's hand and declaring you an official Princess of Asgard," says Dagmar. "Odin has threatened to confine him to the dungeons until he learns respect."

"I miss him." Thor has friends; Thor has family; Thor will be a king. Thor is one of Them. But Jane loves him all the same, and misses him almost as much as she would have missed Loki… had Loki obeyed Odin's edict for as much as an hour.

(It was a new handmaid who came after Frigga told Jane of the rules; it was a new handmaid who sat upon her bed, watched her sob, told her to stop being ridiculous, it was a new handmaid who kissed her softly as Jane blinked in shock. The illusion broke at the contact and Loki pulled away, preening at his own cleverness — and it was Jane who launched herself into his arms and returned those kisses until they were both breathless and disheveled. She would not have done so with Thor.)

"Can't you play a trick and bring him to me?"

"I would, were Thor capable of keeping a secret. Sif would know within the day. Then she would tell Fandral, Fandral would tell Volstagg, and Volstagg would tell the entire realm. It's too risky."

There is no one more Them than Thor's chosen companions. "I hate Sif," she grumbles.

"She's not overly fond of you, either."

"If Thor marries her you should poison the wedding feast." After a moment, she adds, "Just enough to make them sick the next day, I mean."

"I can do that," says Dagmar. Her voice is softer than their steps on the marble stone.

This is all getting uncomfortably serious. "I don't see why it's happening," she says, changing the subject. "With you, anyway. Thor is a prince, and princes aren't supposed to have mortal friends, but what difference does it make if I see you?"

"I asked Odin the same. He said those who are born to be kings must act as them long before they take the throne."

"But… that doesn't make sense. There can only be one king of Asgard, and that's Thor."

"I know. It's a metaphor, or a test of some sort. Odin loves his riddles."

"Right." Jane fights down a creeping sense of dread with a nervous laugh. "It's dumb, anyway. What would you even do if you were king?"

"I wonder." Dagmar's dull brown eyes flash green as she stops by the door to Frigga's chambers. "What if you were my queen, Jane Fosterdóttir of Midgard? What would you do?"

Jane opens her mouth to offer something dismissive… and then the ugly thing — the dark, rotten thing that crawls from that gnawing hole inside, the one that whispers They have no right to shut her away, no right to look down at her just because she is human and short, no right to say mortal pet and No-one's-son — the ugly thing curls around her neck and begins to squeeze.

"I would make Them sorry," she hears herself say.

And Dagmar smiles. "So would I."

I will not order her return to Midgard; I would not see you waste away from grief. But I have not done all I have to see the peace of the Nine Realms weakened by a mere mortal. If you do not end the girl's connection to them, my Queen, I will cast her out and beyond the reach of all.

And so the All-Father commanded.

And so the Queen acquiesed.

And so the children did not obey.

"Frigga?" says Jane, setting down her fork. She takes so many of her meals alone with the Queen these days.

"Yes, dear one?"

"What's going to happen to me?"

She wants an answer. She needs an answer.

But the Queen only smiles, sadly, and waves her hand. Jane feels the prickle of magic across the side of her neck — then blushes as she realizes what Frigga is concealing. Loki has got to stop doing that.

"You must be careful, Jane Fosterdóttir," is all the Queen says. "For these are uncertain times."