Author's Note: Hello again, dears! UGH, I forgot how much I love writing Loki! Especially pre-Avengers Loki, when he's still sweet and semi-innocent, before he found out that his whole life was a lie and lost his sanity. Good times.

Anyway, yeah, I'm still on a bit of a Loki kick, though I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again. Hopefully this will be enough to tide you over until then! I had a lot of fun with it. Heimdall gets to be a protective daddy, Sága gets to be a badass, and Loki gets to be a flirt, so basically everyone has a great time. I hope you like it!

OH! Before I forget! So this was originally intended to be just a prequel to Sága, nothing more. And it still will definitely be that. But I was thinking, once that's done with, I could maybe continue with like an alternate version of that story, where she still gets to meet Bruce and is super excited about it, but she's doesn't fall in love with him because she's still totally in love with Loki. Does that sound like something you guys might be interested in? Please let me know what you think!

Chapter Three: With You by My Side

When she left Loki in the hallway, Sághildr reappeared at the end of the rainbow road, deciding to pay her father a visit before returning home. "Papa?" she called gently, not wanting to distract him if he was preoccupied.

He turned to her with a small smile. "You have returned quite early, Sága. Did you not enjoy yourself?"

She sighed, pulling her hair back and wrangling it into a thick braid. "It was very kind of the All-father to arrange this in my honor; but you know I have never been fond of feasts, nor of meeting new people."

Her father chuckled lowly, returning his gaze to the depths of space. "Yes, I know. Though I saw you dancing with the two princes, and you seemed to be enjoying yourself then."

She smiled, tying off the braid with a thread of magic. "Yes, that was not so bad. I am still not sure about Prince Thor; but I do think I have somehow managed to find a friend in the Trickster."

"I noticed that. I also noticed how you suddenly disappeared from my sight while dancing with him."

"Did I?" she asked lightly, as though it meant nothing. "I did not realize."

Her father hmmm'ed lowly, adjusting his grip on his greatsword. "Assure me that I do not need to warn you of the dangers of pursuing a friendship with the mischief-maker."

"You know I am cautious, papa, and not easily deceived." She stepped over to the edge of the bridge and sat, feet dangling, looking out at the water as it fell off the edge of the world. "I think he is just…lonely."

"He is not a pet, my darling; not some sad stray for you to rescue. He is deceitful and dangerous."

Sága laughed softly to herself, thinking of the menagerie of animals she had "acquired" throughout her life on Midgard. "I know that. I do. But it's just…" There had been something in the way that he had told her, "I have no friends," something more than a denial of association with Thor's friends. She could see almost anything, and had recognized the complete lack of emotion, the same she felt whenever she thought of Midgard and anyone there except for her mother. "I know you are not fond of him. But I think he and I are…" she trailed off, searching for words that evaded her.

"…I…know you have not had it easy," her father began slowly, "especially now that Eira…" He trailed off as well, as unable to say the words as she was to hear them. After a moment he cleared his throat and began again. "I am happy for you to receive companionship from wherever you may find it. Just promise me you will be careful. I do not wish to be responsible for the death of a prince of Asgard, should he hurt you."

She laughed, knowing that he meant every word, and stood to her feet, stepping over to her father's side. His eyes did not look directly at her, but she knew he saw her all the same. "I will be careful, papa. And if he hurts me, I will kill him myself." She rose up on her toes and kissed his nose. "I love you. Goodnight."

She turned to walk along the road back to their home, but he called out after her. "Sághildr! About…killing…" She whirled around, brow raised, totally taken aback by the statement. "I spoke with the king tonight. I wish for you to take my place here, when I must be away at war. Someone must guard the Bifrost, must guard the realm; and there is no one I trust above you. Tomorrow, you will begin training with the royal instructor; alone at first and then, when you are ready, you shall train with the princes."

"Papa—!" She ran forward, wrapping her arms around her father's neck, pressing her face into the cool metal of his armor. "Oh, papa, thank you!" He laughed, setting her back down on the ground, and she grinned up at him. "I will become a great warrior, and defend Asgard. I swear I will make you proud."

"You already have, every day, my darling Sághildr." He kissed her forehead, his beard tickling her skin. "I love you, too. Now go on. Go to bed. You have a busy day tomorrow."

With a grin on her face, Sága turned and walked along the rainbow bridge, heading for their home on the coast.

It was a long walk; but the night air was cool and refreshing, and she cherished the time to sort her thoughts. Having grown up on Earth, she knew all the stories of the Asgardians—though she was familiar enough with this realm to know that many of those were blatant fabrications, the failing attempts of men to understand those they considered to be gods. What she could glean out of the insanity of the stories of Loki was that he was a manipulative, deceptive asshole.

But then she had actually met him, had been on the receiving end of something akin to his compassion and affection, had actually seen the boundless intelligence in his eyes, and then… And then, God, he'd said that about being sorry for her mother, and she could see that he had meant it. There'd been a look in his eyes that assured her he understood what it was like to be despised by everyone except for the woman who'd birthed him. There was something in him that she could understand, something raw and untendered, something that made him more dangerous than any of them could ever know. And that same something was in her, too.

She had not expected him to be so attractive, and damn, she could not deny that he was. He looked like no man she'd ever known, on Asgard or on Earth. The closest thing she'd ever seen to his slender, liquid grace had only been spied from afar, among the elves of Alfheimr; and yet he looked like no elf she'd ever seen, either. His pale skin and dark hair were different from any Asgardian she knew; and they drew focus to his sharp, intelligent, absorbing eyes. She'd almost let him kiss her because of those eyes, the way they pulled her in and kept her there, as though that's where she was supposed to be. If she hadn't heard Thor say her name, there's no telling what she would have let him do.

She ran her hand through her hair with a sigh, finally coming to her new home, the "cabin" she now shared with her father. The architecture was unlike anything she'd known on earth; but she had brought a number of trinkets and decorations from her past life, and the place was beginning to feel like a home. Father was rarely there, and she suspected he had had this place built wholly for her benefit, just so she would have a place to live should she ever come here. Momma dying hadn't been how they had intended it to happen; truly, she didn't think papa had ever really considered the repercussions of loving a mortal woman. He saw everything, in all the nine realms, and knew better than anyone that all mortals die some day. But his wife had been an exception, and her death had affected him in ways unimaginable.

Saga stepped into her room, surprised to find a long parcel of brown cloth, banded with green. She unwrapped the fabric, mouth falling open when she finally got her hands on the brand new sword within. It was perfectly balanced, but heavier than any sword she'd ever owned, and somewhat longer, clearly made for an Asgardian warrior. It would be an adjustment for her to learn to bear its weight, but she was determined.

She set it aside reverently and stripped of her dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She tugged on a loose tunic and a pair of leggings, and padded into the kitchen to make tea, hoping to relax her body and calm her mind before lying down and trying to sleep.

More than anything, she was looking forward to her training so that her father could have some rest. She understood that he was immortal, and did not tire or grow weary as she did. But he was also her father, and a part of her resented this king for expecting him to stay at his post at all times, except for when he went off to fight a war. Especially now, consumed with the grief he hid so well. She wanted to be able to watch the gate for him—not so he could go off to fight, but so he could get some rest and finally mourn his wife.

She sat on her bed, wrapped herself in a quilt, hugged her teacup close to her chest…and tried not to think of her tired father or her deceased mother.

Against her will, her eyesight began to drift, and before she knew it, she was watching Loki. He had indeed found himself amongst books, in what she assumed to be a library. He was perched on a wide windowsill, one long leg stretched out far in front of himself, the other bent and pulled up to his chest. An open book hovered before his face as he leaned back, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He looked so at home here, so content, with even a hint of a smile gracing his lips. It did not sit well with her to watch people without their knowledge, especially people she knew, but sometimes it was more difficult to control; and he looked so strangely unguarded that she didn't want to look away.

Drinking her tea, she glanced at the book that had so absorbed him enough to make him this vulnerable. As she had already expected, it was a treatise on rare forms of magic—and the pages he was flipping through were concerned specifically with transportation magic. With a sigh, she remembered the All-father's warning—more like threat, honestly, and the thought of it still made her body bristle—and made a mental note to speak with him soon, and discourage him from pursuing such interests.

With one final, lingering look at his noble profile, illuminated by the light of the stars through the window, she turned her sight away and restricted it to the confines of her bedroom. She drained the rest of her tea and set the cup aside on her nightstand, falling back to her pillows and burrowing beneath her blankets. She would have a hard day tomorrow; but, God, there was no way it could be worse than that damned feast.

The next day was much worse than the feast—and the day after that, and the day after that, and every day for weeks and months. Her body grew sore in ways she had never imagined it could, and she ended every day by wrapping her wounds and collapsing into bed, utterly exhausted. Brandr was a hard man and a harder teacher, and seemed to have made it his goal in life to break her completely, in every way imaginable. He pushed her far beyond her limits, then cursed her for being so weak, spurring her to further anger and weakening her senses as she tried to attack him, blind with rage.

And then one day he pushed too far, and discovered just how strong she could be.

They had been fighting with training swords, blunt rods of metal, equal to the weight of her sword but only able to crush rather than slice. He had her on her back and stood above her, one booted foot on her wrist to keep her from swinging up at him, the other bearing down on her chest and making it difficult to breathe and impossible to move.

"I thought that you were weak, but I was wrong. You are so much less than that. You are nothing," he spat, "and certainly not worth my time. Damn your birth—and damn the parents that birthed you! Your mother was a slut, and your father was a fool for ever giving her his cock!"

Something inside her snapped. She shouted up at him, some wordless cry beyond any language, letting the magic fill and consume her. She vanished in a flash of white, reappearing behind him as he stumbled from the sudden lack of her presence beneath him. She took full advantage of his loss of balance and hit him hard, pleased with the crunch made by the heavy blow. Before he could turn and block her, she disappeared and reappeared on his opposite side, landing another hit just beneath his ribcage that made him howl in pain. When she disappeared the next time, he tried to anticipate her; but she didn't appear where he expected her to and she caught him off his guard again, bringing her sword down on his leg, forcing him to his knees. His arm shot up to hit her, but she blocked it easily. Grabbing the rounded blade of the sword, she used the leverage of his blocked sword to deck him in the jaw with the handle of hers, throwing him to his back.

She snarled above him, raising her sword up high to bring it down on his head; but even in her senseless fury, she couldn't bring herself to land it. He sensed her hesitation, lurching up to catch her with the sword still gripped in his hand. But her body still glowed with white light, and before he could come close she vanished and reappeared behind him. Spinning on her heel, she landed a heavy blow against his ear, powerful enough to lift him from the ground and throw him halfway across the training circle where he skidded to a stop, the training sword falling from his limp hand.

She stalked to him slowly, just to make sure he was still breathing, though she wouldn't greatly care if he wasn't. His chest was heaving as he watched her approach, eyes wide and blinking against the blood that flowed from the gash on the side of his head.

"Better," he coughed, gasping for breath, "better. Never hesitate. You fight with gods now, not your pathetic mortals. You are too weak to be able to afford mercy."

She threw her sword away, denying herself the temptation to flatten his skull and show him merciless. Instead, she spat on him, only half surprised when it came mixed with blood. "Never insult my parents again," she growled lowly.

There must have been something wild and threatening in her look, something that convinced him to lick his lips and nod. "Fine. Fine." She turned and strode away from him, her body quaking. "Sághildr!" he gasped, and she hesitated but did not turn to face him. "Take… Take tomorrow off."

She made no acknowledgment that she'd heard him, and vanished from the training ground, reappearing to stumble through the front door of their home and trudging to her bedroom to assess and dress her wounds.

Her muscles screamed in protest when she woke the next day, so she allowed herself to go back to sleep. She finally crawled out of bed around midday, and after a quick meal of some unknown fruit (she was still learning the names and flavors of Asgardian fare) and a steaming, soothing bath, she decided to try to find the library in which she'd seen Loki after the feast. She hadn't seen him since that night, and she tried to deny how badly she wanted to.

She redressed her wounds and slipped into a pair of brown leggings and a white tunic, too used to the clothes she'd worn for training to even consider wearing a dress. Then she slipped into her boots and wrapped a green cloak around her neck, pulling the collar high to hide a particularly nasty bruise on her jaw, and pinned it in place with a tiny golden greatsword—her father's symbol, in case any of the palace guards tried to stop her and bar her entrance.

Sága appeared just outside the front doors to the palace, not willing to exacerbate the All-father's distrust for her magic by accidentally showing up somewhere she shouldn't be. She kept her head down and skirted around the guards, moving quickly through the winding halls, until finally she came to the library she'd seen so long ago.

It was blessedly empty when she entered; she thought about looking around to find Loki, but was so utterly awed by the multitude of books and scrolls and tomes that all other thought escaped her. She practically ran through the stacks with a giddy smile, cutting herself off when she found ten texts to read, and settled into a plush armchair. She felt positively blissful there, surrounded by paper and ink and leather.

She lost all track of time, and didn't realize how dark it had become until the door opened, startling her from her reading. She looked up from the book, a history of the völur, to see Loki Odinson striding toward her, rubbing his fingers against the palm of his opposite hand. His steps faltered when he looked up and saw her, surprise crossing his features before settling into a pleased smirk. He waved his hand, and another armchair glided over the carpet and settled across from her; and he placed his feet on the cushion and sat himself on the back, placing his elbows on his knees and peering down at her.

"Hello again, Sághildr."

She grinned. "Hello, Loki."

His smirk grew. "I see you have found my…sanctuary," he said, gesturing around the library.

"Oh!" She ducked her head, slowly shutting the book in her lap. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was yours. I wouldn't have intruded, I just—"

"No, no," he cut her off, "these are not my personal quarters. It's just that no one else ever comes here. But you actually do seem to appreciate the knowledge to be found," he said, gesturing at the books piled around her. "You are surely welcome here."

She smiled up at him, surprised and glad that he was willing to let her into this world of his. "Thank you. I just wanted to spend my day off with a bit of comfort. And...I suppose I was hoping to see you again."

"I was hoping to see you as well." He hopped down, sitting regularly in the chair, back on her level. "In fact, many have. By now, the whole realm has surely heard that Brandr was beaten within an inch of his life by the mortal-born daughter of Heimdall."

Sága frowned. "What do you mean?"

He cocked his head to the side. "You don't know? Brandr has been with the healers since yesterday, badly concussed."

"I…" She glanced down at the floor. "I did not realize. He seemed fine when I left him." He was staring at her incredulously, and she shrugged. "He insulted my mother."

Realization dawned in his eyes, and he nodded. "Ah." He reached across and placed his hand over hers. She could feel his eyes on her, but could not bring herself to meet his gaze. "Did you know, Sághildr, that it was over a decade before Thor and I ever bested Brandr in combat?"

She laughed. "Oh, now you must be lying to me!"

"No, no, it's true!" He grinned, leaning forward, eager to tell his story. "Mother didn't want us learning to fight. Of course, we did it anyway. We thought ourselves so very strong then, beating each other with sticks in the gardens," he laughed. "And then Frigga finally gave in, and Odin hired Brandr to 'instruct' us. He did nothing but beat the shit out of us for years. In fact, I am convinced those were father's exact instructions."

"You're kidding me!"

"I assure you, it's all true!" She laughed, more out of delight at his excited expression and sweeping hand gestures than anything else. "Eventually we were able to hold our own, but it was still some time before either of us defeated him. And you managed to do so in a matter of days. That is quite an achievement."

She rolled her eyes and shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I'm sure he will accuse me of cheating, since I used my magic to do so."

All of his good humor vanished immediately, brow wrinkling, his mouth pulling down into a frown. "Why would you say that? Did he tell you to not use magic?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, on our first day. He said there is no place for magic in combat."

Loki positively seethed, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Pay no heed to that bile, Sághildr," he snarled. "He only wishes to restrict what could be your greatest strength. If you are not to use what comes naturally to you, then he should cut off his own right arm before going into battle. Or I could cut it off for him…"

He looked furious, and ready to go now to amputate Brandr; so she leaned forward and placed a hand on his tightly clenched fist, trying to soothe his anger. "It is no matter now, Loki. He has paid well for his mistake."

His eyes were hard as he considered her words, his jaw clenched and his mouth pulled into a tight line. He breathed heavily through his nose, but eventually his shoulders relaxed and his fist loosened, his long fingers curling around her hand and holding it tight in a surprisingly intimate gesture.

Without warning, his free hand darted out to grip the collar of her cloak, tugging it down and pulling her forward sharply, his eyes focused on the bruise at her jaw. "Did he do this?" he asked softly. She bit her lip and nodded, not liking the darkness in his eyes. "Oh, he will lose two limbs," he growled, releasing her and rising to his feet, turning as if to leave.

Sága jumped to her feet, letting the book fall to the ground, snatching at his arms and pulling him back to her. "Loki, don't, please. It's only a bruise. He's the one with the concussion, remember? He's the one having to visit the healers. He has paid well."

His jaw was clenched, his nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed; but he allowed her to pull him back to his chair, and sat back down with great reluctance. "And why haven't you?" he asked, his voice still tight. "Visited the healers, I mean. Or at least healed this yourself?"

She shrugged, picking up the book she'd dropped and placing it atop one of the others. "I visited the healers on the first day of training, but they did not take kindly to my requests for aid. For an Asgardian, my wounds would have been negligible at most. I thought it best not to waste their time again. And I do not know any healing magic."

His eyes had begun to burn again at the thought of the healers turning away; but his fury faded into surprise at her last words. "No healing magic? You can transport yourself immediately, anywhere you wish, but you don't know even a simple healing spell?"

She shrugged again, relieved that he was more intent on teasing her than on committing violence. "My magic is instinctual, as natural to me as breathing. But I had been living on Midgard; who do you think would I have possibly found to teach me spells?"

A corner of his mouth twitched up in what was almost a chuckle, but it faded quickly. He sat there silently for a long moment, eyes roaming over her in appraisal. "Take off your clothes."

Sága frowned, pulling away from him. "What did you just say to me?"

He rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh, as though she was the one saying something ridiculous. "Take off your clothes, that I may heal you," he clarified.

Her frown deepened, and she watched him closely for a moment, searching for any sign of deception. When she found none, she reached up to unpin her cloak and remove it. "You couldn't have just said that?" She pulled her tunic off slowly, hesitantly, leaving her in her leggings and bra. That would do for now; she did not trust herself to be entirely bare before him. "Are women normally so enamored by you that they will immediately undress at nothing more than your word to do so?"

It was his turn to shrug now, paired with an arrogant smirk. "I am a prince of Asgard," he reminded, leaning in close and brushing his fingertips against her jaw. "Normally, people do as I say. And I am Loki, so most would rather not hear my motives, lest they be forced to admit that my actions are valid."

His touch was gentle and cool and refreshing. She felt the faint thrum of magic, familiar, but distinctly different from her own. It felt…thicker, or fuller, or…somehow more substantive than hers, a cloud or fog compared to her mist. The soreness in her jaw eased away; but he leaned in closer rather than drawing away, speaking softly against her ear. "When I bed you, it will be of your instigation. You will not need me to tell you what to do."

She should slap him for such insolence; but his nearness, his fingers tracing light patterns against her neck and jaw, and his cool breath against her ear flustered her beyond belief. He pulled away with a grin, noting the flush to her cheeks and the way she wouldn't meet his eye. With a low chuckle, he lowered his gaze and his hands, pulling away her bandages and transferring magic over her skin to heal her wounds.

"You are far too confident of your charm, Loki."

His lips curled into a wicked smirk. "Not at all. It is just that I am patient enough to wait for you to come around."

She smacked his arm; but it was accompanied by a laugh, which took most of the force out of it. He gripped his arm with an overdramatic wail, "So this is how you murdered Brandr!" which only made her laugh harder. Before she knew it, he was in her lap, tickling mercilessly, and she was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down her cheeks.

This was the most ridiculous man she had ever met. His moods were all over the place, and his transitions between them were as rapid as they were unpredictable. She only vaguely recognized the feel of his magic pouring from his hands and easing away her cuts and scrapes. Mostly she laughed and cried and tried to push him off, wondering if she would ever grow accustomed to him.

Sághildr was saved from her torture when the library door opened and a maid walked in, finding her in a state of undress with Loki in her lap, his hands splayed all over her bare skin. He clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her lingering laughs and labored breaths. His expression was devoid of any shame or embarrassment as he looked to the maid expectantly, crossing his legs and propping his chin in his free hand as if there was nothing wrong.

The poor woman's eyes were wide open and her face was bright red as she bowed before him. "Please e-excuse my intrusion, your highness. Prince Thor requests the pleasure of your company as he dines with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three."

He rolled his eyes with a groan, looking down at Sága who was still struggling to regain her breath. "I'm sure Thor is the only one who would consider my company a pleasure. But I suppose I could bear it if you went with me, Sághildr. Or I could just stay right here for the rest of the night?" She shook her head furiously, trying to shove him off though her hands were pinned. "No? Then you'll go with me?" She glared at him, but nodded. "Splendid." He turned back to the maid. "Please tell my brother that Lady Sághildr and I will be joining them shortly."

He slowly slid from her lap and stood, removing his hands as the maid bowed and turned to go. "Now, take off your pants," he instructed, causing the poor, flustered maid to hurry her steps, practically racing out of the library to avoid seeing any further indecency.

Sága grabbed her tunic and hit him with it before putting it back on, tugging her boots off, and shimmying out of her leggings. "Great, thank you for that. I can't wait to hear the rumors that will spring from this!"

He shrugged, kneeling before her and pressing his magic into the few cuts and bruises on her legs. "It is no matter. Everyone is still reeling from what you did to that idiot swordsman. They think you too dangerous to have the confidence to question your decency now."

She leaned back, wrapping her arms around herself and considering his words, trying to decide whether that knowledge was a comfort or not. "And you? Do you think I am dangerous?"

He smirked. "Certainly not. I know you are. I think only that I have chosen my friend wisely." He placed his hands on her knees and stood, looking down at her with a gentle smile. "There, now. Is that better?"

She stood and stretched, surprised at the renewed quickness of her movements and the lack of pain and soreness. "That is much better! Thank you, Loki." He bowed his head, and stepped back to give her room to get dressed again. Fastening her cloak, she grinned up at him. "We had better get going. It would be a shame to keep your brother waiting."

He scoffed at the thought, but put his arm around her shoulders and began to lead her toward the door. She glanced back, meaning to at least put her books away, but he kept pulling her along. "They will be here when you return tomorrow," he assured, opening the door and leading her out into the hall.

"Oh? You think I will return here tomorrow?"

He shrugged, nonchalant. "You will if you wish me to teach you magic."

Sága froze, her feet planted, her mouth hanging open. He turned to face her, brow raised in expectation. "You… You will teach me magic?"

"If you wish it."

She hurled herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace, burying her head in his chest. No one was ever kind to her in this way, to offer her something so freely, simply because she desired it. "Thank you," she murmured softly.

Slowly, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close, one hand resting over her hair. "You are most welcome. But do not think I will go easy on you," he warned.

She laughed, pulling away. "You had better not!" she scolded with a grin. He kept his arm around her and steered her down the halls, toward dinner with Thor and his friends. She couldn't deny that she wasn't looking forward to it; but with Loki there, it might not be horrible.

He hesitated with his hand on the door, noticing her trepidation. "What is the matter, Sághildr?"

"It's nothing," she shrugged. "It's just… I have not had the pleasure of speaking with Thor's friends since, uh…since I first ran into you. I'm not greatly looking forward to a repeat."

When he looked at her, his eyes were filled with affection and compassion and understanding—and not a hint of trickery. "I will not let them harm you again, Sághildr. We will make it known that Brandr's condition is due to his words against your mother. They will never insult her again. You have my word; I will rip their tongues out before I allow them to mock you again. No one else does, and for good reason; but you may trust me."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. There was something pleading in his eyes as well, begging her not to leave him to face them alone, either. So she unwound his arm from her shoulders and held his hand tightly, nodding. He opened the door, exposing them to the group's raucous laughter and what sounded like Volstagg's singing, loud and out of tune.

She knew how foolish and ill-advised it must be, clinging to the Trickster, the god of lies. But she gripped his hand all the tighter, letting his presence wash over her, tamping down her anxiety and setting her anger to simmer rather than boil.

It felt like she could do anything, with him by her side.