Watching Jarnverr at work both delighted and annoyed him.

It delighted him because the mortal was obviously talented in a forge; he breezed about the workshop the dwarves had more than willingly opened to him (not that Loki would have left them much choice on the matter), picking up tools and adjusting his work environment as if he'd manipulated metal all of his very, very short life. Not only was Jarnverr incredibly talented with his hands, but he had creativity and resourcefulness in spades for someone whose memory had been almost wiped clean. The fact that he could still create amazing pieces of armor hinted at a formidable talent resembling instinct, and Loki couldn't help his fascination for the man's imagination.

Besides, he'd never been one to deny the pursuit of one's interests, especially if those interests didn't lie in warfare. He'd acted as a patron before, in this realm and others.

And who knew if a somewhat familiar environment wouldn't help the Midgardian recover more of his memories, and thus shed light on the mystery of his interrealm trip?

But Loki wouldn't push him, not anymore. When he'd first used the name 'Jarnverr', he'd had to use both magic and physical strength to bring the mortal back to himself. By that point, he'd already decided that powerful magic was keeping the man's memories locked away. How else could the disturbance he'd sensed in the fabric of space-time be explained?

As soon as he'd relocated with the unconscious Midgardian to his rooms and laid him on his own bed, he'd entered what he thought of as a 'weaker' mind and scoured it for the barriers he was sure to find. The wall he'd discovered instead was thicker than expected, and completely impenetrable. The magical strength necessary to create it would have awed him had he not been so frustrated. He'd slapped the mortal awake with an iota of his usual strength and tried to bring that infuriating wall down by using key words.

'Jarnverr' hadn't got any reaction from the mortal beside puzzlement. 'Iron Man', however… Loki had stopped when his eyes had rolled back in theirs orbits and blood oozed from his nostrils and ears. He'd coaxed Jarnverr back to sleep with a gentle touch of his seiðr and transported him to his guest quarters.

Loki was jerked out of his thoughts by a warm laugher. His right hand twitched at his side as he took in the delighted expression on Jarnverr's face. And the delight was directed towards him, somehow. Coincidence? Purpose?

He comes from so far away. The one who shall help. The one who absolves you of your crimes.

What crimes would he commit, that he would need this man's help, and absolution? Cringing inwardly, he carefully schooled his expression to show polite interest and nothing more, nothing less.

"What is it?" he asked with feign exasperation. "You think you've gotten better than the dwarves, now?"

"Still working on it, but I'm getting there!" was all the mortal said before returning all of his formidable attention to his current work, a silver-lined arm piece that Loki found, to his dismay, simply mouth-watering in its complexity. Beautiful, like the man who'd made it.

He plucked that thought from his mind, regarded it with fury and pictured it bursting into flames, before walking up to one of the dwarves sitting comfortably on another working table with a note pad in his lap, writing incessantly. Of course, Loki could use the Allspeak to decipher the page, but he liked that dwarf well enough, and he already knew that those notes only pertained to the smithing aspects of the show Jarnverr was giving anyone who entered the workshop.

"Jarnverr," he whispered to himself, and the dwarf was wise enough not to raise his head from his note pad. Jarnverr, not Iron Man. The Midgardian's mind was too interesting, too entertaining, the mystery he embodied too important for Loki to risk damaging it beyond repair. He might be pushy at times, but mortals were fragile creatures, and Loki would be very, very angry if his new toy broke when he, the owner, had barely begun to study all of its facets, inwards and outwards.

He waited five minutes before approaching the mortal to look over his shoulders.

"Tell me about your work," he said in the voice he knew caused the mortal to shiver.

Jarnverr recovered more quickly than Loki expected. There was no fear in his eyes as he showed Loki what already looked like a breastplate. He spoke with passion, and whenever a word eluded him, he asked around until he got an answer that satisfied him. Jarnverr was curious and intelligent, and arrogant, too, at times, but not so much that he would prefer to remain ignorant.

Loki bit down his lip, stepping back as the Midgardian resumed his work. Watching him was delightful for sure, but also annoying, and that annoyance was in direct proportion to his delight.

He couldn't afford to be attracted to Jarnverr. But how could he not? The Midgardian positively glowed as he created purpose with every new metal plate that he bent to his will. The muscles in his toned arms were neatly defined in the sleeveless black tunic he was wearing, and Loki may or may not have gifted him with a small wardrobe of clothes that were more and more form-fitting over time. Charcoal was smeared on his cheeks and arms, his eyes were underlined by sleep deprivation, and yet they shone brightly, almost maniacally. Jarnverr looked so sure of himself, and determined; he was nothing like the lost, amnesic, fragile man Loki had found outside, half-starved to death. His talent and assurance, that warm smile Loki found more and more directed his way, caused his blood to boil.

All in all, Jarnverr was slowly driving him mad, and they'd barely known each other for weeks.

Or perhaps they hadn't? No, Loki would remember his face, would remember his voice, his body and his wits. And yet no matter how much he tried to ignore the strange sensation of familiarity that kept him awake at night, it would return when Jarnverr looked at him with either anger or annoyance, or when Loki touched him too fast, and fear filled the air between them.

Loki shuddered. In ten minutes, he was to attend a Council meeting with his parents and the usual witless lackeys whose use he severely doubted.

Ten minutes. If he hurried a little, he could afford a shower before he joined the Council.

A cold one.

"I trust you will continue to behave, Jarnverr," he said as a way of parting.

The mortal didn't look up from his work, but Loki saw his lips twitch in a not quite suppressed smile. Well, at least one of them was in a good mood today.

"Will you come by later today?"

"If the dwarves complain." The only dwarf present was busy being amazed by Jarnverr, so the probabilities weren't very high. "Or if I'm bored. After all, you're my guest, and guests should be entertaining."

"Of course. I wouldn't expect you to give me access to this amazing place for free."

"And yet you aren't building this… suit of armor for me."

"Do you need one?"

"I already have plenty."

"May I remind you, Loki, that I am the only mortal here?"

"Then you acknowledge that I am a god?"

He arched an eyebrow, and Jarnverr rolled his eyes. Loki would have to tell him not to do that in public, or questions would be asked. The fact that he didn't really mind such boldness annoyed him more than the eye-rolling itself.

Damn mortal.

"A god?" Jarnverr asked aloud, frowning as he studied a part of his breastplate more intensely. "Maybe, probably. What I know is that I've seen a couple of you fight the other day and you're all way stronger than me. So. I thought I would even the scales a bit, in case someone takes a fancy to, say, punch my face out of my skull or something like that."

There were just not that many people with whom Loki enjoyed bantering, and this mortal he didn't even know if he should know better was one of them. Desire pooled in his belly.

"A reasonable project, in your case. But there's no need: you're my guest."

"Am I under your protection, then?" Jarnverr appeared amused at the concept.

Loki's smile was all teeth. "As long as you behave."

"Might as well build the rest of that suit, then. I think…" The mortal got a faraway look in his eyes. "I think I tend to insult people on a regular basis, sometimes without meaning to." He shot Loki a pointed look. "Others might not be as tolerant as you are."

Loki was surprised, and pleased, by the mortal's understanding of his own situation. By his understanding of him.

"You are quite right about that," he said a little breathlessly. "Now I must go. Behave."

"Only for you, Loki." the other replied cheekily.

Loki's eyes flashed. By the Norns, this mortal's tongue was dangerous. He balled the hand that had been reaching for Jarnverr's shoulder and turned on his heels.

His cock was already half-hard by the time he entered the bathing area and soaped his way between his thighs. Leaning into the shower stall, he conjured a picture of Jarnverr in his work clothes, wet hair clinging to his brow, muscled arms glistening with sweat as he handled the hammer. His mortal, he thought, both angry and aroused as he wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock and pulled none too gently. The urge to possess the Midgardian, to claim him, and make it clear to everyone that Jarnverr belonged to him and no one else, was so strong he almost teleported to the forge without a stitch on, conventions be damned. There, he could press the Midgardian against his worktable and kiss him within an inch of his life, tear his pants to shreds and finger him open, tease him with such precision, such passion that the man would spread his ass cheeks without being prompted, begging for Loki's cock, for every one of Loki's touches.

His groin burnt. The mortal desired him too, at least a little. Loki knew it to be true; his pupils would darken when Loki looked at him just so, his breath would catch when Loki spoke to him in that sultry, dark tone of voice he usually reserved for lovers whose skills he particularly enjoyed. But did he desire him enough to ignore his fear whenever they touched for too long?

Would he kneel for him, and ask for Loki to spill his seed all over his face because he wanted to wear his god's scent?

Would begging appeal to him in a sexual context?

Precum leaked continuously down his wrist now. Throat closing, feverish, he thumbed repeatedly at the slit while he reached for his balls with his other hand to pinch the sensitive skin. He was too close, too fast, but oh, how he would enjoy to watch his cum drip down the man's goatee, glisten on his lips… Unless he spent himself down his throat, deep and unexpectedly?

His hand took on a rougher rhythm, and he threw his head back panting. He wanted it, and he could never indulge himself in that fashion, but he could still think about coming down Jarnverr's throat, could still picture the mortal humming around his cock as he masturbated, fucking into his own fist while he mouthed at the god's erection with gusto…

… wrapping Loki around his little finger, he who didn't remember his own name but wreaked havoc with space and time…

Loki let go of his erection and spun around, slamming one fist against the marble tile. Cracks appeared into the wall and spread further in every direction as he hit it a second time, eyes screwed close, breathing ragged.

When was the last time a woman or a man had bewitched him so that he couldn't stop thinking about them, couldn't do anything else but want them with every last cell of his being?

He couldn't remember, and it frightened him. Even the steady lover he'd had that Thor had sent to his death hadn't drilled such an ache in his chest. He was in too deep already.

He was compromised.

The laugh that tumbled from his lips was all pain.

The newcomer was a major subject of conversation, Loki discovered at the end of the Council meeting.

Three hours he'd spent sitting at the large table with Odin, Frigga, Thor and various counsellors, three hours he'd been bored out of his mind. At last, his father put an end to today's meeting, and the counsellors rose talking in low tones to each other.

More than half the conversations had to do with Jarnverr.

Odin directed him a pointed look, and Loki suppressed a sigh. He'd waited long enough, he supposed.

Thor, however, was faster.

"I thought Midgardians were not allowed to come here?"

Odin was looking at Loki, and Loki alone. Frigga excused herself and left the room to resume the negotiations with a Vanir diplomate who'd just returned to Asgard.

"Midgardians without supervision," Odin amended. "There had been rare occurrences when some among us had taken an… ah, interest, in an individual."

"You've been traveling, brother?"

Loki's head spun; he had to choose his next words carefully, and remain true to his name, even if he was loath to lie to both his father and brother.

"I've been… studying him, since our first meeting."

It was the truth. Now, to the problematic part.

"What do we know about their current level of knowledge, and technology? We haven't visited Midgard for a very long time, as far as I know. The suit of armor I've ordered Jarnverr to build for me should give us a hint."

Not quite a lie yet.

"You let him make weaponry? With dwarfish metal?" Thor asked, clearly taken aback, while Odin's eyes widened slightly.

Loki covered the cracks in his mask as soon as they appeared.

"Don't look so alarmed, brother. It is merely a trick to test his abilities."

"What if he isn't representative of his race?"

Loki already suspected that he wasn't. He wanted to tell Thor that Jarnverr was probably more brilliant than most, about his amnesia and the disturbance he'd felt when he'd returned home, but then the Midgardian would have to be put down, and Loki couldn't allow that. If Thor had returned earlier like he'd been supposed to instead of going for another battle, this meeting might very well have ended with Loki admitting to everything and Thor or Odin demanding Jarnverr's execution.

And Loki would have killed the mortal, and would never know the extent of his regret.

So far away. Help. Absolve.

Was he being egoistic in withholding part of the truth, or reasonable? One simply didn't disregard a prophecy made by the most powerful seerest of Asgard.

"There's a prophecy…"

The truth, only the truth, even if he left out the end. His mother didn't remember a word of it; he was the only one to hold this future, his future, in the palm of his hand.

His chest tightened. Still, he forced himself to stay seated and answer all his brother's and father' questions to their satisfactions. Keeping Jarnverr alive was paramount.

Keeping him close, a fixation he was aware of, but unable to dismiss.

He found Jarnverr asleep at his work station. The man sat on his favorite high stool and was bent over the metal plates he'd worked on all day, his right cheek hardly cushioned by the rounded part of the breastplate, which his arms encircled protectively.

The darkness put Loki at ease, and he allowed himself the barest of smiles. He didn't have to keep his mask on here, where no one could see him.

He was still compromised, though. If there hadn't been the prophecy, he would have been panicking, not merely worrying.

"Overexerting yourself again?" he asked softly. "Did you try to remember today, too? Stubborn mortal."

He'd better get him to his quarters, or else he would be sore on the next day. Midgardians tended to get joint and muscle pain so easily.

Loki wound an arm around Jarnverr's shoulders and meant to lift him from the stool when suddenly, the mortal threw his head back in a violent arch and hit him in the jaw.