Author's Notes: I officially have no idea what I am doing with this fic anymore. It was supposed to be a pretty straightforward retelling of the Lokka táttur, three parts and a quick epilogue. Obviously this is not a quick epilogue and no place to end it. So uh... yeah. I guess this is not done? No idea what I have planned for the rest, though, or if I even want to keep going with it. :(a


Lokki fared with the boy back homeward,
The wife and the peasant gave them embrace.
"Here I have the young son of yours."

-Lokka táttur (kvædi)

The Loki's Tale Ballad


All told, it was easier than he thought it'd be- and considering Tony Stark was a man often accused by the unflappable Ms. Potts of thinking the world fell over itself every morning in a contest to see who could bring him breakfast, that was saying something.

With two teammates whose technical knowledge extended about as far as pressing the "power" button on the remote, Barton and Romanov out of the country on SHIELD business, and Banner big and green and not thinking too straight, no one thought it was a little funny the way that spike had lodged in the head of one very skewered robot. The severed leg took a bit of work, but some rapid-fire mechanical jargon about how he'd wired the repulsors in his left glove to run temporarily on the power line below the school tied up those loose ends in a neat little bow. As for the suit, well- he took it off, of course. Some people couldn't bench press cars, thanks very much, and walking was a tall order when you're all wrapped up in dead weight.

Where did it go? He was a genius, not a clairvoyant. Psychic helpline had a 24/7 number, though. And he'd whipped out his cell and found the number- had put it to the ear of a very confused Steve Rogers and told him that they had master psychics standing by right now. It was worth it just to hear their illustrious leader tell the phone that actually, no thank you, ma'am, I don't think I need a tarot card reading, after all.

So that was that. His ride back to the tower was not quite as high-style as usual- somehow, being tucked under the arm of the Norse god of thunder just didn't have the appeal of sleek, red, and smoother than the bottle of cognac he kept stashed in the cabinet in his bedroom- but against all odds, he was home and in one piece. Despite the fact that about an hour ago, he'd been the poster boy for a hero workplace safety campaign, all-over burns and helpless at the hands of public enemy number one- here he stood, not a mark on him. It was kind of nice for a change, actually, to come home feeling like he hadn't been trampled by an elephant.

It would have been better if his brain wasn't busy tying itself in knots trying to work out the ulterior motives, but hey, you couldn't have everything. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the other foot to fall- and when it did, that bitch was gonna be in steel-toed boots.

But, miracle of miracles- and didn't all religious connotations have a whole new meaning to Tony these days?- the other foot didn't fall. There was time to replace the suit he'd lost, time to tinker with aerodynamics, time to add a compartment with a gun not powered by the arc reactor, so if he ever got trapped in a stomped-out school with a killer robot again, he'd be set. There was time to go after Hydra for breaking into one of Shield's labs, and to sign those papers Pepper'd been following him with for weeks, and to start work on a little kitchen robot that made pizza- and if he had time to waste on pizza robots, Tony Stark thought, maybe the universe had finally seen his side of things and was doing its best to make up for past wrongs.

Typically, it was the day after he'd thought it that the boot he'd been waiting on came and kicked the door down.

"Sir," said Jarvis, as he rocketed across the city in pursuit of Doom's newest creation, "the energy signature you requested tracked has been detected."

"Yeah? Gimme details." Tony lifted one hand and shot a bolt of energy into the little bunch of wires that exposed itself every time the robot banked left. Sloppy work, Tony thought with satisfaction, and proceeded to exploit the hell out it.

"Near the corner of Delancey and Grand, sir." There was a fractional pause as Jarvis processed more data. "The target is currently on the roof of the Day's Rest cafe."

Three short blasts followed as Tony let loose Space Invaders-style, and there was a gratifying shower of sparks when the Doombot started its downward spiral. "See that, Cap?" he said into his intercom. "I started the Fourth of July early for you."

"Hold onto those fireworks," Steve's voice replied in his ear, equal parts amused and exasperated. "If yours is down, that should be the last of them. Regroup at City Hall and let's get one of these things back to your lab so you can pick it apart."

Tony was only half-listening, really- he was busy keeping an eye on the glowing green dot that Jarvis had marked on his tracking display. It flashed like it didn't give a damn, not budging an inch. "The target appears to be immobile, sir."

"Thanks, Jarvis. Needed the help on that one." But it'd got Tony's attention, all right. Loki, sitting out in the open like a neon billboard advertising an all-night strip joint? Loki, hanging out without a disguise in the middle of a busy shopping street? That boded about as well as Banner driving in rush-hour traffic. To Steve, he said, "Gonna give this one a miss, if it's all the same to you. Pick up a souvenir for me, would you?"

And before there was a chance for Steve to reply that it wasn't all the same to him, Tony'd cut the comm and was gunning it across the skies of New York toward Delancey and Grand. Yeah, it probably wasn't the best move he'd ever made, rushing off to to see what Thor's crazy little brother was up to without backup, but if the rest of the team was around he wouldn't get to ask the questions he wanted to ask. Maybe there'd be answers; maybe there wouldn't. Maybe he should know by now that every time Loki's mouth was moving lies were coming out, but what the hell. He figured it was worth a shot, anyway- and no one had ever tried to claim he wasn't a gambling man.

The roof of the Day's Rest cafe, sadly, did not quite live up to expectations. Tony didn't know exactly what those expectations had been, but they well and truly were not met. Some part of him had anticipated the patently ridiculous- that the god of mischief would be out there working on his non-existent tan with a glass of lemonade and whatever passed for those tacky fabric sun umbrellas in Asgard. But on first pass, he didn't spot the trickster at all. The second pass was a no-go, too, even though that little green dot had stayed right where it was on his tracking screen, and that set alarm bells to ringing.

He landed with the heavy thump of metal on concrete and scanned the area- picked up signs of life from near the chimney and started toward it. Small wonder he'd missed the slippery bastard; from that angle, he'd be invisible from the air. "Olly olly oxen free," Tony said. "Mr. Stark calling for a Mr. Laufeyson." He lifted one hand and pointed it toward the chimney, prepared to fire. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

There was a pause longer than the one he'd thought would come, and then Loki's voice, sounding oddly distant. "He isn't in just now, regrettably. Do see yourself out, won't you?"

Tony rounded the chimney with all the caution and weapon-readiness he'd come to love in the spy films of his youth- and drew himself up short at the sight that greeted him. For there lay the god of mischief, crumpled against the roof's only shelter, arm slung across his stomach and face not just pale but bones-soaked-in-bleach white. Beneath him, the hot concrete was staining slowly red as Loki's blood leaked out to do the paint job.

"Jesus," said Tony, and put the face plate up. The hand that had been raised to attack lowered in the moment of surprise. "The hell happened to you?"

"A miscalculation," the trickster managed, "which is no concern of yours." The words were weak but carefully formed, each syllable measured out the way a drunk pays closer attention to his enunciation when he's trying to seem sober. "I was hardly in jest with regards to you leaving, you realize."

"Hey, what do you know?" Tony cocked his head, as though it were something he'd just realized himself. "I don't take orders from crazies bleeding out on rooftops."

"I was under the impression," the god of mischief rasped, with what might have been soft laughter if not for the unhealthy gurgling sound that came with it, "that you were not partial to orders at all."

"Good memory." Tony flashed his most irritating grin and stepped forward- looked the trickster over for weapons to hand or any obvious signs of a trap. There weren't any that he could see, not that that meant much with Loki, but he crouched anyway to try and get a look at the wound. Part of him was screaming that he hadn't had an idea this bad since the week he'd tried equipping DUM-E with a voice chip- and another part of him was screaming that he would be the world's biggest asshole if he walked away. "Looks like someone else could use a little divine intervention about now," he said, to shut his thoughts up. "Better get out the rosary- I think it starts 'Tony Stark, who art in heaven...'"

Loki's face wasn't just pale, up close; it was creeping over into grey, and that couldn't be a good sign. "Is it absolutely necessary to spend my final moments listening to you attempt to be clever?"

"Attempt? Come on, now. Be clever. It's do or not do- there is no try." He snapped the faceplate down and bent forward- spent a minute working out how this was going to happen if he wanted the use of his hands to keep his flight steady. "Lucky you, though- we won't find out today. Dying's called on account of rain." He regarded the downed Asgardian again and firmly quashed the part of him that hadn't shut up about how stupid it is to believe a god of lies. "Think you can hang on for a quick spin?"

That sound came again, quieter, and definitely more gurgle than laughter this time. "I do not require transport. You are mistaken, man of iron; there is no prayer here to be answered."

"Good thing I don't do prayers, then. Only favors." He worked one of the suit's arms around Loki's shoulders and tried to lever him up- help him to stand. The words probably would have made more of an impact, Tony thought, if the guy he was meant to be rescuing hadn't passed out halfway.