"The play's the thing

Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."

- Hamlet


"I am Thor, King of all Asgard and protector of the Nine Realms!"

Each of us, whether we know it or not, is made up of moments - moments of thought, moments of memory. We move between those moments, not noticing the divide between one and the next, and all around us the used moments pile up like drifts of snow, both colouring our way forward and describing what lies behind us. One moment of fear is enough to change our whole passage: one moment of joy enough to move us forward with greater speed. This phenomenon we call time, and we do rather take it for granted.

One moment of doubt, however small, can slow us down at crucial points. One moment of doubt can turn us against the current as easily as a butterfly turns against the air with a flick of its wings.

"I am Thor!"

Thor was one of those rare people pleasantly unhindered by doubt in that moment. He was enjoying himself immensely: while appreciating a good show, he had not previously understood the sensation that drove actors to act and players to play. This was such fun. Opposite him, in the centre of the feasting hall, with all the diners watching from behind their long tables, stood Loki, his spine very straight, his expression equally revelling in the game but merely intent where Thor was triumphant.

"Who will challenge the safety of Asgard while I rule as king? Who will come and taste Mjolnir's wrath?"

There was a scattering of cheers from the assembled audience at that point. Asgardians loved stories, especially if they were about fighting. They were told such stories in their cribs and grew up re-telling them - usually, in the case of small Asgardian boys, with themselves re-cast in the leading role. This was clearly a variation on one of their most popular tales, and Odin, watching carefully, recognised that he was usually the protagonist.

"I am the mighty Thor!" the man himself bellowed, and the cheering got louder. Even Frigga, despite herself, was smiling, because her son was so clearly happy. And even Fandral raised a fist in support, because Thor was infectious when he was like this. You would follow him into the mouth of the wolf behind the dying sun, under the feet of the giant, into the coils of the serpent.

Such people are dangerous. But there are other people more dangerous still.

"Asgard is safe while my strong arm protects it."

Thor stood still, his head turned away: and in that moment Loki moved. Every gesture, every turn of his body was calculated to give the impression he wanted: that of a pantomime villain. His performance would have easily been recognised on Midgard as that common in silent films - all he was lacking was a top hat, a big moustache and a railway track onto which he could tie the terrified girl.

Except that silent film villains are almost comical by modern standards, and something about Loki's predatory stance wasn't funny at all.

"You think I am Loki, but I am not," he said, softly, and his whisper carried uncomfortably close to the ear of every Asgardian seated at dinner. The cheering stopped, became a subdued murmur. "I am that which you all fear. I am the slow-growing ice, I am the unseen permafrost beneath your feet. I am the faithful dog which turns rabid and bites your children."

His words snapped at the audience's throats and wrists, and some even drew their hands back, rubbing the unbroken skin.

"I am your enemy clothed in a form you love," hissed Loki, and Odin actually leant forward in his chair. Thor was watching their father closely. "I am a Frost Giant, clothed in Jotun sorcery, and I am here to overthrow Asgard!"

That last phrase cracked like a whip, breaking the spell: the audience began to applaud. What an actor, the second son of Odin! What skill with words! What an imagination! And it was all so patently ludicrous that even Loki's terrible, crawling words could be safely enjoyed as part of a glorious fantasy. They began looking forward to the inevitable conflict. Here, presented clearly, was hero, and here was villain, too - the only possible outcome of this story was a fight, and Asgardians loved to see a fight. Odin himself seemed unusually still, but made no comment, either to support or deny.

"I see my brother Loki and I think he has run mad," declaimed Thor, brandishing Mjolnir (which also raised further cheers). "He threatens our safety. What may I do?"

Audience participation is also a popular theme in Asgardian theatre.

"Kill the Frost Giant!"

"Drive out the infiltrator!"

"Mjolnir! Mjolnir!"

Thor nodded, pacing, head up.

"My brother Loki would not threaten our safety. Therefore this is not my brother Loki."

Odin's expression was carefully unreadable. This egotistical jamboree of Thor's was like some hideous, waking nightmare. He saw the whole scene as if in slow motion around him, so clear he could almost count ash motes hanging in the air. There was Thor, behaving like the brash, arrogant child he evidently was, proclaiming himself king already and inviting public opinion to sway his decisions. Swinging the hammer around as if it were of no more importance than a soup spoon! And then there was Loki, shouting aloud for anyone to hear that he was in fact a Frost Giant.

Odin had been so careful: there was no possible way Loki could know the truth. No, it was evidently a horrible co-incidence, and Odin felt like laying the blame for it occurring at all squarely in Thor's lap. The idiot had obviously set this all up as a ploy to gain yet more popularity before his coronation, and getting Loki's co-operation in playing the villain would have been simplicity itself. Loki liked a chance to show off his skills as much as anybody, and putting on a good, imaginative show was certainly one of his strong points.

But what can I do….?

Demand the play stopped, and the people would want to know why the great Odin took such exception to a harmless fantasy. A harmless fantasy put on entirely for his benefit, and performed by their beloved Thor, indeed. Show any form of distress, even the smallest, and the confidence of the people in their old, weary king would falter still further. There would be murmurs that the Odinsleep was far too long overdue, and in the face of an even more popular Thor, what would they think? That perhaps there was some truth in the wretched story. And that option could never even be entertained, Odin considered, surprising even himself at how determined he was to protect Loki from finding out about his true origins - and at his motives for wanting to do so. It's not just about the long game, not anymore. I love that boy -

Or, at the very least, they would be bound to see Odin's reaction as a lack of confidence in his chosen heir. Another option that was utterly insupportable. By presenting his "revelation" in a public arena, Thor had made it impossible for Odin to react in any way that would seem reasonable. It was almost too perfect, this trap. But Thor couldn't possibly know how much of a difficult situation his ridiculous popularity gambit was putting his father in, and it would be a hot day in Jotunheim before Odin would ever admit to being cornered. The Allfather watched Loki stalk forward, and pushed his lips into a smile. He raised his tankard and took a drink, perfectly natural and normal. So I will do nothing…

"Asgard," snarled Loki to Thor, raising a hand which obediently wreathed itself in living fire at his command, "will fall. What will you do? Decide."

The assembled diners bayed in appreciation of the spectacle. Thor paused (overly long, thought Loki, wryly, we'll have to work on your timing, dear brother) before raising his hammer in answer to the threat, and laughing.

"I will slay you, for I know you are not my true brother!" he shouted. And swung at Loki's head.

Loki ducked. His hand spat flame, which screamed impressively (but harmlessly) past Thor's torso. The thunder god charged him like a bull, head down, and only Loki's swift reactions seemed to keep him from being trampled; he leapt the hammer as it took a punishing swipe at his knees. Sparks flew up from his fingers. Hogun, chewing a turkey leg morosely, winced at the memory of those sparks hitting his face.

It was a good show, and Thor, concentrating hard on not hurting his brother, could nevertheless feel that some of the diners had come to their feet, exhorting him with their cries to greater efforts. This was what being a king was all about. The people, and their admiration of your deeds.

Loki, darting and dodging with grace and ease, and laughing madly in the way that even now made Fandral twitch, only hoped that this would be over soon. He was very tired, now: the effort of the magic was draining, and he hadn't even had any dinner.

Mjolnir found its mark, as it was inevitable that it would. On impact, Loki's body dissolved into a million green butterflies, scattering upward in a spiralling column of wings. The audience gasped as one, silent at the sight: then broke into unified cheers and applause as the real Loki walked out from behind the dais, his hands raised, and bowed at their appreciation of his talents. He was smiling as he straightened, and then he met Odin's eye.

Between Odin and Loki at least, everything stopped. One awful moment in Loki's life seemed to stretch and slow as he saw the expression that Odin had fastened on him. He continued to smile, accept Thor thumping him on the back, the friendly blows jarring him. All he could see was that infinite, matchless single eye seeming to tear into his very soul, and knew that in this of all moments he could not afford to doubt his own abilities. But it was too hard -

Was it too much? Should I have chosen bats, or birds, not butterflies?

Does he suspect?

Does he know?

Odin stared silently for the duration of that moment, which to Loki (still smiling and accepting his applause) was agony. Then he slowly set down his tankard, brought his hands together, and joined the applause.