Even when Loki had been but a babe, there was something about him that made the hair on the backs of people's necks stand on end, goosebumps crawl like cockroaches across their skin.

There was something about him that turned heads when he entered a room, that hushed conversations with an apprehensive silence.

Something about him that caused Trouble to be attracted to him like moths to flame.

It was his power, Odin realized.

(It had been what had drawn him to the babe in the first place.)

The energy crackled softly in the air around him, and if one breathed in through their nose, there was the scent of ozone; or citrus, or lightning, depending on who you asked.

Those green eyes could stare, unblinking, till the person beneath the gaze felt as if their flesh was melting away, and they felt exposed, sure the boy could see down to the very marrow of their bones.

The Allfather knew Loki couldn't go on in Asgard like this, when his magical core—his connection to Yggdrasil—would only grow as he aged, become even more powerful and chaotic.

Because when he lashed out, his magic would lash out too.

And Odin would rather like to keep his castle intact.

So touching his fingertips to the boy's forehead, Odin closed his eye, calling up his own magic to form a dam, letting only a fraction of power through while the rest was concentrated in the boy's core, undetectable behind the walls of Odin's own magic.

(Sometimes Loki remember a hazy face above him, a cool touch, a colder rush of energy, and the feeling of suddenly being inexplicably alone.)

Odin didn't block everything of course; the buildup would have been too much and would have broken the dam eventually, and if the boy had power he needed to learn how to use it.

Holding the child as he bawled, Frigga cooed softly to him as she stroked his raven hair. She glared at her husband, but he stared back unflinchingly, knowing that she knew that this was as necessary as he knew it was.

It wasn't power one used to appear inconspicuous—it was the lack of it.


Loki eventually falls asleep, head on his arms, arms on the book in front of him, book on the library table.


There was a knock on the door of the washing room. "Can I come in?" Thor asked.

"No."

But Thor, like the oaf he was, burst into the washing room anyway, stopping dead as his eyes landed on Loki.

The younger boy drew himself up to his full height, which was still several inches shorter than Thor, and summoned all the cold pride and virulence he could muster with his entire body throbbing, dark bruises already forming on his bare arms and torso, blood still trickling from his lip.

"Brother," Thor breathed, voice thick with horror. "Who did this to you?"

"I thought I told you not to enter," Loki remarked, turning back to the wash basin and resuming rinsing his face. The idiot.

"Brother, tell me who did this to you, and I will smite—"

"I tripped and fell," Loki interrupted with a shrug, wiping his face with a towel as he straightened. "I'll adapt though," he said, trying for a smirk. But from the concern twisting even further the golden prince's features, it seemed he'd failed, and it had turned more into a grimace. "Your peers are a brutish bunch, but they won't catch me again."

He would be faster.

"And next time," he added, grin feeling feral and painful as it split his lip further, "I won't be afraid to hurt them."

He would be merciless.

(They would never hurt him again—they would be afraid. He would make them afraid.)

"Oh Loki," Thor said softly, voice trembling in such a way Loki cringed, sneering. "You need to tell Mother—"

"No!" Loki said, eyes wide. He took a deep breath. "No," he repeated, calmer this time. "She can't know. I don't want to worry her, and I..." he looked down, then back up at Thor, defiant. "I can deal with it myself. I don't need anyone to protect me."

Thor's mouth was open, but no words came out. Protests died on his lips as Loki glared at him, something in those green eyes threatening and... desperate.

"Promise me," Loki whispered. "Promise me you won't tell anyone."

He watched Thor's lips move soundlessly, before finally the blond said, "I promise." Though he couldn't have sounded more pained over it, and Loki had the urge to throw something at him.

"But here," Thor said, crossing over to the cabinet and removing healing salves, before turning back to his brother. "At least let me help you."

"I don't need—" Loki stiffened as Thor began gently rubbing the salve on his shoulders, before the mollifying effects of the salve kicked in, numbing the pain to a dull, ignorable ache.

Thor moved on to Loki's back, his chest, arms, neck, face. "I really wish you would tell me who did this to you," he murmured.

Stubborn silence was the only answer he received, and he fought the urge to sigh.

"Has this sort of thing happened before?" Thor asked.

More silence, and Thor's insides tightened, knowing that from Loki that was as good as a 'yes'.

"It won't happen again," was all Loki said. I won't need help again.

If he could have seen Thor's face, he would have been disgusted by the pain that twisted those strong features.

"There," Thor said finally, drawing back slightly and setting down the salves. "Does that feel better?"

Loki nodded, getting up to put his tunic back on, not managing to suppress the wince as he raised his arms over his head.

Then calloused hands were there, helping him into the tunic, so that he didn't have to strain himself.

When it was pulled down over his head so Loki could see again, he glared daggers at Thor, who reached out to place his hand on the back of Loki's neck, but as the younger boy flinched away, Thor's hand fell back to his side.

"Let me know if you need anything," Thor said finally, voice broken. "I just want to help you."

He left the room, hesitant as a spiderweb.

Loki felt numb. He felt numb all over.

(Thor brought him up dinner.)


The weather was far from tranquil. Gray-tinged clouds were herded across the blue fields of firmament by the biting wind, yipping and whimpering through the eaves of leaves above the princes' heads, brushing cool against the exposed skin of their hands and feet and faces.

Usually calm and mirror-like, the lake by which they lay was distorted with ripples, like a puddle of fallen, tortured sky.

Loki was using Thor as a pillow, and his head was jostled each time the older boy laughed.

"Stop laughing," Loki ordered, though his lips twitched.

Thor just laughed harder. "That was brilliant! I can't believe they fell for that!"

"It was quite amusing."

"Nay Brother—it was hilarious! Did you hear the way our professor roared and cursed when he turned around and saw that all that occupied our seats were portraits!"

Loki snorted, absentmindedly running his fingers through the grass, the heavy threat of rain in the air clinging to his skin. "Of course I did. All of Asgard probably heard him."

"Not Father!" Thor said gleefully.

"Father's in the Odinsleep. He did hear—he just can't do anything about it until he wakes up."

"I bet it gave Heimdall a headache."

"Don't you think that if that gave Heimdall a headache, he would have already smitten us for giving him migraines on a regular basis?"

Thor just chuckled, ruffling Loki's dark hair affectionately. "True, true."

"You do realize though," Loki said, arching his back off the ground so that he could tilt his head back and look at his brother upside-down, "That the only reason I agreed to ditch the History test today is so that you can get some more studying done, right?"

"Oh psht," Thor said, waving a hand dismissively, reflexively catching a leaf as it drifted by his face.

"We're going to have to take that test eventually."

Ripping up the leaf, Thor sprinkled the particles in Loki's face, making the younger boy scrunch his eyes shut and crinkle his nose, hand shooting up to grab Thor's wrist and force the red-clad arm down.

"Come," Loki admonished. "What's the capital of Jotunehim?"

"Lokiiiiiiiiii," Thor whined, letting his head fall back against the tree he was leaning against.

Loki just mocked him. "Thorrrrrrrr," he drawled.

"Ugh." Thor hit his head against the tree. "Something with a 'J', wasn't it?"

"No. A 'U,' actually."

"U... Uh..."

"Utgard, Thor. The capital of Jotunheim is the city of Utgard."

"How do you expect me to know that?!" Thor protested, ripping up blades of grass and using them to camouflage Loki's already verdant green tunic.

"Thor, we've been studying this! Alright then. What's the capital of Midgard?"

The older boy growled in annoyance. "I don't know!"

"Guess."

"Damn it... Norway?"

"No."

"Fine! Tell me what it is then!"

Loki rolled his green eyes. "Midgard doesn't have a capital. It isn't one unified nation, but many warring tribes."

"Oh!" Thor said, eyes brightening as he remembered something. "That's part of why they have no influence on any of the other realms—because they're too busy fighting with themselves. It's part of their weaknesses that allowed the Frost Giants to almost succeed conquering Midgard, before Asgard stepped in," he said.

"I'm impressed. Perhaps you're not quite as unprepared as you pretend to be."

"Loki."

"What?"

"I'll race you to Griffin Boulder!" And with that Thor leapt to his feet and sprinted off into the forest, Loki's head hitting the ground before he was up as well and racing after his whooping brother, the both of them weaving around trees, hurdling over fallen trunks and ducking beneath branches, till they ended up running side by side as they broke into the clearing and over to the boulder, hitting their hands against it.

"I won!"

"No you didn't!"

A pause. "Okay fine, I guess it was a tie."

They leaned against the dark rock, catching their breath, the air cool but humid.

"I think it's going to rain," Loki remarked.

Looking up, Thor noticed how the ashen clouds were collecting, darkening the sky to an illusion of eventide, even though it was still yet morn.

Something cold and wet landed on the top of his head, making him shiver.

"It's raining," Loki noted, as the raindrops quickened, peppering them with water. The rain left the slightest of indentations in the dirt where they fell, and beaded up on the leaves.

"Good," Thor grinned. "Now the guards will be more than reluctant to come after us. Looks like we have the whole day to ourselves!"

He smiled at Loki, and Loki smiled back.


Loki is awakened to footsteps.

He bolts upright, quickly closing the book and scrambling to put it back on the shelf as the sound of many echoing footfalls approach—about seven people, he guesses—and he just barely manages to tuck himself in a concealed corner between wall and shelves, when the group of Frost Giants enters.

A book is pulled out from the shelf and set with a thud on the table, the rustling sound of pages being turned strangely loud in the quiet of the morning.

"All revolts have been quashed in this region," a male voice says, to the sound of fingers brushing paper. "There are however still revolts here." He taps the paper again.

"Do we know the approximate location of Thrymheim yet?" speaks a voice that sounds distinctly like that of Laufey.

"We think perhaps it is in the region of Storm Fjell," another Jotun says, again to the brushing of paper.

Loki can't help but wish he were in a position to see what is going on.

"But we don't know for sure," the giant continues. "The scouts that were sent out never returned."

A frown is evident in Laufey's voice. "Thiassi was our best sorcerer in the War. He will be hard to beat when we have so few giants with any learned magical talent."

"But we have to try," another Jotun says. "Now that we have the Casket, we could—"

"The presence of the Casket will only make situations worse—" somebody else interrupts. "And if Thiassi gets hold of it—"

There is the sound of more running feet approaching the library, and the Jotuns pause to give the visitor their attention as he begins to speak.

"Your sire," he says, no doubt to Laufey, "There is a Jotun messenger waiting in the throne room for you, he says he has news about the threat."

"Thank you Grolf," Laufey says. "I'll be right there."

"I'll let him know, sire."

The sound of running feet traveling away.

Still arguing amongst themselves, the Jotuns leave, and Loki takes the chance to begin to creep out of his hiding spot. But as soon as he stands and steps a foot out from behind the shelf he freezes.

Laufey is still at the table, examining the map of Jotunheim with lines of frustration etched in his face. Just as he glances up Loki ducks back behind the shelf, holding his breath until he hears the king exit the chamber and stride down the hall.

He waits a few more seconds to be safe before creeping back out, walking softly to the table where the atlas has been left.

After examining it thoughtfully for a moment, Loki steals out into the corridor, glancing both ways to make sure it's empty before beginning to lope back up to his chamber.


Curiosity takes hold of him, and so Loki explores the contents of his closet.

(And besides, he doesn't relish the idea of standing out so blatantly in his Asgardian garb, with its thin verdant green material that stands out starkly against the icy blue and white of Jotunheim.)

Opening the closet, the scent of heavy scent of leather washes over him.

So it doesn't come as a surprise that most of the clothes are made of a dark leathery material, and there don't appear to be any tunics, or even shirts—just kilts. Quite a variety of kilts, and capes as well.

Near the back though he finds a few pairs of trousers, very nearly sighing with relief.

He understands the necessity of dressing like... his fellow Jotun, but he can't bring himself to go quite as far as kilts; and though he knows what they are there are no such garbs worn by Asgardians, and the idea of wearing such is more foreign than he feels comfortable with.

Pulling on the dark trousers, he's surprised by the near perfect fit, and he can't help but wonder how young the Jotun are that usually wear such small (for a giant) apparel.

Still, there are no shirts.

And though admittedly black is more his color, Loki chooses a furry, casual-looking cloak of an ashen white, clicking the silver clasp at his collarbone with the paranoia that at some point he will need to hide, and such a cloak can prove useful.

Whatever creature it came from had clearly adapted to the environment—it wasn't white like newly fallen snow bathed in daylight, but white like twilight-drenched snow that has been a frozen blanket to the frigid ground for centuries, well versed in both moans of light and croons of darkness.

Though he still wears his Asgardian travel pack slung around his hips.

His gaze darts to the door at the sound of running feet (there always seemed to be the sound of footfalls—the resonance of the huge icy chambers made every noise grow like shadows at sunset, and he longed for the muffling silence of snow), small and close together.

A knock at his door.

"You may enter, Helblindi."

The Jotun girl skips into the room, eyes glancing over his new attire in impressed surprise, offering, "It's a good look." She herself is wearing a similar cloak over her dress, though of a smoother, more silvery material.

"And why—"

"Come on!" Helblindi says, grabbing his hand and tugging on him. "I want to show you something!"

"Isn't—"

"Father's been all busy with Important Ruling The Kingdom Stuff lately, there's been revolts, or so I've heard, but that's okay because he won't know we're gone and we're going somewhere you can only get to if you're little. Which you are. So—"

"Why—" Loki starts again, bewilderedly letting her pull him along out his door and down the hallways, past windows upon cracks of windows, filled with snowflakes and wind and definitely no glass.

"Don't worry we'll stop in the kitchens for breakfast first—you like fish right? But anyways do you even know how exciting this is? I've never had anyone else small to share this stuff with, and now here you are," she jumps up to sit on the banister along the staircase, gesturing for him to join her before beginning to slide down.

He meets her at the bottom, shaking his head slightly as if his ears are filled with snow. "You're ridiculous," he manages.
"I know," she says blithely, giving him a grin, teeth strangely white against her blue face, before skipping off.

An exasperated breath escapes Loki's lips as he follows her.


They grab some open-faced sandwiches, with ice trout and some kind of bread-like substance that tasted like nothing on Asgard, and all Helblindi can tell him is that the plant is aquatic.

"Where are we going?" Loki asks, removing the sandwich from his mouth where he'd been holding it while they crawled out of the castle through a crevice behind the fifth pillar on the left in one of the more cavernous halls; a crevice that just when they are practically sliding on their stomachs and the thought strikes him that they might get stuck, there's light as Helblindi slips outside and he joins her, feeling the cold breathe of the breeze on his face.

"You'll just have to wait and see," she says tauntingly, giggling in anticipation.

She leads him through the city of Utgard.

Weak tendrils of morning light limp over the jagged mountainous horizon, but even in the dimness Jotuns are already up and going about their day, and as the two of them slip unnoticed through the bustling streets, he can't help but watch them with an apprehensive curiosity, how it's so different from the streets of Asgard and yet not at the same time.

Children running around and laughing while throwing snowballs around, women and men alike talking or leading carts drawn by large black oxen with furious red eyes and horns thicker around than Thor's biceps, and it seems so... normal.

They pass an arena where young Jotnar clash weapons of ice, yelling and cheering for their dueling colleagues.

Loki's fingers itch.

However as they get to the outer edges of the city, the Jotnar become fewer, and the buildings start looking abandoned, lying shattered or leaning into each other.

"Come on," Helblindi says, tapping Loki on the shoulder and wrenching his gaze from a blue-white lizard, the size of an Asgardian hunting dog, clinging to the side of one of the huge arches that criss-crossed and spiderwebbed over the city.

"This way. It's an amazing view once you get to the top."

She begins clambering up what seems to be a half-fallen watchtower leaning on its partner at an entrance in the dilapidated wall around the city, the both of them made of jagged stalagmites of ice that look as if they'd been built to impale the sky should it decide to fall.

As they climb through the crevices in the outside of the tower, hands and feet finding purchase on the melted and refrozen icicles that scatter its surface, Loki notices there's a winding staircase that weaves around and through it, no longer traversable because of gravity issues (namely that the tower was now sideways instead of vertical).

They head up towards the top of the standing tower, and though there's a staircase spiraling through that one as well, it has been significantly crushed by the fallen tower.

The ice is smooth and not at all cold against the skin of their palms and the bottoms of their feet.

"So, everyone," Loki said, encompassing with a gesture the sprawling, jagged-architectured city and the Jotuns within, "What do they do?" The question wasn't particularly eloquent, but Helblindi seems to his meaning well enough, and he continues to prompt answers from her.

She tilts her head to talk to him over her shoulder as she leads the way.

"Before the War," Helblindi starts.

Everything always seems to be either Before or After the War.

"We used to make items for trade with the other realms. But since Asgard imposed the embargo on Jotunheim after the War, we've become self-sufficient, making only what we need to get by. Mostly Jotuns are hunters and fishers, and we use the skins for clothes and the bones for tools, and sometimes ornaments."

"What's the currency?" Loki inquires.

"Currency?" Helblindi says, voice tilting up in confusion.

"You know, money. What you buy things with. Like in Asgard we had gold—"

Helblindi laughs. "Why would we need money? Everyone either makes what they need or we trade amongst each other."

Abruptly Loki's foot slips, and for a moment he hangs with his legs dangling in the air, slivers of ice falling like leaves from where his feet claw the side of the tower for purchase.

"Loki?" Helblindi asks, turning her head just in time to see Loki dig in his black nails and pull himself back onto the makeshift path, hissing air through his teeth with the effort.

"I'm alright," he says. He casts but a glance at the thousand meter drop, wondering idly if he should be feeling any sort of vertigo.

Reaching the point where the two towers have collided and melded into each other, Helblindi articulates another, "This way," as she grabs the top of a window ledge in the side of the standing tower, swinging her feet through.

Loki follows.

Inside the tower its dark as the death of eventide, shafts of light from the slitted windows splintering across the stairs and between their toes.

"This is where guards used to keep watch, before the War," Helblindi explains, running her hand along the wall as she walks. "Nobody comes up here anymore. But from the top, you can see out over the whole of Jotunheim, almost! Sometimes on especially clear days I think I can see Midgard," she continues, as at last they ascend to the watch chamber, heads clearing the opening in the floor before they both freeze (figuratively—not literally; they're Frost Giants, after all).

It's a relatively flat elliptical space completely open to the elements, with a few slender, icicled pillars around the circumference that suggest they once brandished a roof.

And if the two Jotuns were to stand up in the center of the floor and turn, they'd have a three-sixty degree view full of ice and glaciers and snow and mountains, regal in their harsh and perennial visage; but neither Helblindi nor Loki do, because their gazes are held by the huge eagle (huge as in, larger than they are) that is perched atop one of the pillars.

It turns its head to glare at them with luminous, cruel blue eyes, silver beak and talons glinting against its white feathers, which it ruffles in agitation. Shifting from foot to foot, it clicks its beak maliciously.

"A snow eagle," Helblindi murmurs, confusion evident in her voice. "But they live in the mountains and don't usually come out here near the city..."

Perturbed, Loki breaths, "Are its eyes supposed to be that color?"

"I don't think so—" Helblindi starts.

Loki curses as the raptor snaps open its wings, wingspan easily over three horse lengths across, and is suddenly diving towards them, screeching with a sound like a glacier slipping down a mountainside, carving its way through rock and crumbling it to dust and gravel.

Grabbing Helblindi's arm Loki practically yanks her down the stairs, slipping and stumbling down the slick surfaces with no regard for falling as they skip over six giant steps at a time, leaping like deer. The sound of beating wings is roaring behind them, and in his head Loki curses the Jotuns for making everything so large.

If they could just find a space to small for the eagle...

"That's a dead end!" Helbindi says, jerking Loki to a stop, "The stairs are crushed just around the corner—we have to get out this way," and she clambers out through the window, Loki giving her a boost as the eagle descends upon them, talons out.

As Loki throws himself through the window, he lets out a stifled yell as the talons gouge into his left shoulder and across his shoulder blade.

Then he's outside and he and Helblindi are running at breakneck pace across the fallen tower, adrenaline flying them over gaps that might make them hesitate in more normal instances where they weren't running from a huge savage eagle.

Unable to squeeze through the window, the eagle has to fly back up the stairwell and out through the top of the tower, before resuming its chase of the young Jotuns.

There's the sound of wingbeats behind them, and Loki spares a glance backwards, the decision causing him to lose his footing and begin rolling down the side of the tower. He manages to fall through the broken wall of ice and into the horizontal stairwell inside before rolling off the edge of the tower to the ground still hundreds of feet below.

Not that it's done him much good, he thinks wryly, as the eagle appears above him.

And Loki does what he always does when cornered.

He lashes out with his magic.


Reaching the bottom, Helblindi turns back only to realize that Loki isn't right behind her.

Panic ruptures in her chest.

"Loki!" she yells, just as there's an explosion of green that causes her to shield her eyes from the glare.

There's a scream, and the telltale rumbling of the beginning of an avalanche of ice.

When she looks back she sees the eagle flying away, its feathers crackling with green flames, and it's still screaming.

"Loki!" she cries again, as the tower snaps in the middle and both sides tumble to the ground.


Yes, I just ended it like that. Yes, I know I'm evil.