Prodigal

Ch. 10

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~s~S~s~

Warmth and cold; that was the first thing Thor registered in his mind as he slowly, as if at a crawl, drew himself out of the pit of unconsciousness. The Thunderer groaned, struggling under the heavy weight pressed over his entire body. The weight gave him warmth though, something he knew he so desperately needed. Though why he needed it, he wasn't sure. His whole body felt numb, sensation completely blocked off.

It was dark, wherever this place was – or perhaps his eyes were closed? A slight flex of his brow confirmed that his eyes were indeed closed, and he could not find the strength to open them. He tried to move his hands, wiggle his fingers, but his body simply would not obey him. He was stuck, trapped under this heavy, heated weight and at the mercy of whoever stumbled upon him.

A sound then, just off to his side. A grumbling noise, and then something was pressed to his lips – a bowl of some kind.

"Drink," commanded a gruff, elderly voice.

Still too disoriented to argue about being ordered around, Thor opened his mouth and let whatever was in the bowl roll down his throat.

Water.

Thor suddenly found strength, and with a great heave, shot his arm out and tipped the bowl further forward, nearly spilling the water all over himself. He had no idea he was so thirsty.

"Bah!" The bowl was suddenly taken away, much to Thor's dismay. He made a sound of protest, reaching out blindly for the water, but a large – very large – hand around his wrist stopped him.

"Brat Prince, you could have choked yourself!" the voice said, sounding quite a bit irritated.

"Hrff…" Thor groaned, trying to form words, trying to open his eyes.

The man – for it certainly did not sound like a woman – scoffed and released Thor's wrist. The sound of pouring water was heard, and soon the bowl was pressed back to his lips.

"Drink slowly, or you get none at all." The man snarled.

Thor made a vague motion of nodding, prompting a satisfied grunt from the man. Forcing himself to not outright chug the water, Thor took deep, long sips from the bowl.

The water now gone, the bowl was pulled away and Thor groaned, head sinking back into the large, soft pillow he was propped against.

"Speak," the man ordered.

Thor scowled weakly. "I do not take orders, even from people who saved my life…"

A scoff. "I did not save your life, Brat Prince. I merely healed you and kept you from dying of hypothermia."

"Stop calling me-!"

"It is what you are." The man growled. "Now, stop your mewling and open your eyes."

Thor growled, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His fingers brushed against the bare flesh of his thigh, dearly wishing for his hammer-

He paused.

Touching his thigh again, he found himself a bit perplexed. Something…wasn't right. The heavy weight of what he could only now assume was a thick blanket felt coarse against his skin…that also didn't sound right. What was he…?

And then it hit him.

"Where in Hel's name are my clothes?!" he snapped, sitting bolt upright and eyes wide open.

He finally caught sight of the man who tended to him, and suddenly his lack of clothing was no longer his main concern.

Big, bald, eyes a dark wine-like red, blue skinned and scared, horns cracked and one broken protruding from his forehead, and a scowl that would do any sour old man proud. He towered above Thor over the too large bed, arms crossed and aged faced laden with scars and a few wrinkles. His leathery skin was a shade darker than what Thor remembered, but there was no mistaking what this man was.

He was a Jotun.

Thor blanched, blinking rapidly, as if to make the image of the Jotun disappear.

"Jo-…Jotun…!" he rasped.

The Jotun rolled his eyes, not the least bit impressed. He crossed his arms and loomed over Thor.

"How quaint, the Brat knows I am Jotun," he grumbled. "He should also know that his clothes had to be torn and cut away because they were frozen to his body."

Thor blinked, dumbfounded. A large part of his brain was simply not registering where he was, who he was with, or why. He suddenly snarled, hands tightening over the large fur pelt on his lap – and the apparent source of heavy heat he had experienced earlier.

"What have you done with my companions?!" he snapped.

The Jotun blinked slowly, like a very unimpressed cat. He pointed a calloused finger to Thor's left. The Thunderer turned, and let out a sigh of relief.

His friends were all right there with him, all appearing unconscious and piled over with the same thick pelt as he was. And judging by the slight peek of their bare shoulders, they were also stripped of their clothing.

Confused, Thor looked back at the elderly Jotun.

"Who are you…?" he asked tentatively.

"I am Mengloth," the Jotun grunted. "The Royal Healer."

Thor blinked again, slightly taken aback. A healer…? This beast was a healer? He seemed to be more a mockery of the title. Healers were not typically so ill-tempered or rude, especially in the presence of royalty!

Thor scowled, jaw clenching. "What do you want with us?"

"Nothing," The Jotun, Mengloth, said, "Our scouts found you in the drifts, unconscious and nearly frozen. You should be grateful, Brat Prince. I don't normally waste my medical tools and elixirs on fools."

Thor felt his cheeks burn, a rather lovely sensation given his still chilled skin. He made as if to retort, but paused as he finally seemed to take in the Jotun's appearance. He frowned.

Thor could somewhat recall how the Jotnar dressed when he and his friends first came to Jotunheim. He could only recall short skirts, kilts, and armored pelvic guards, and nothing much else. Yet here, Mengloth was completely and utterly dressed…

He wore a rather traditional Healer's garb – with just a few ornamental accents, a testament to his status as a Royal Healer. His robes were a light grey color, ending just below his knees, a sash a shade darker than his robes cinched tightly about his waist. The wide sleeves of his robes were rolled up and held up securely to a button on each bicep, probably as a means to keep the sleeves clean and devoid of blood or other fluids from a patient. His exposed arms, while thick, were not overly muscular like a warrior's, but they did boast various scars and calluses, as well as the more customary Jotun markings.

Save all this, Mengloth only wore a simple jade pendent around his neck. His feet were completely bare, the toenails black and slightly sharpened. His fingernails were also black, but they were blunt and clipped short – the better to make it less likely to accidently cut or scratch a patient.

He glared at Thor.

"I do not appreciate being gawked at, Brat Prince." He growled.

Thor snarled. "I am not-!"

"I know who you are," Mengloth interrupted, "You are Prince Thor of Asgard, heir to Odin's throne."

Thor was once more taken aback, but he no sooner held his ground. He itched to have a weapon with him, something, anything he could work with. But the closest thing within reach was the empty bowl used to feed him water at his bedside.

So instead, he took a page out of his dead brother's book and tried to figure out just where he was in this situation.

"Why were we taken?" he asked.

"Are you deaf? I told you, you were found in the drifts and rescued," Mengloth snarled, before he turned towards a worktable near Thor's bed. "Children. I swear, back in my day, they had more respect for their elders…"

Thor, at any other time, would have made a sarcastic retort, but right now he was so damn confused. Why wasn't this Jotun trying to kill him? Why had this Jotun saved him and his friends? Why wasn't anything making sense anymore?!

"I don't understand…" Thor heard himself saying, rather useless and uncertain.

"I should think not," Mengloth muttered, washing his hands in a basin of water. "No stupid boy with half a brain would wander into the drifts outside the barrier. Honestly, you young people these days are-"

"No, not that!" Thor snapped. "Why did you heal us? Why would a Jotun save us?"

Mengloth paused, turning his head to look at Thor. His scowl intensified, his sharp canines bared. Thor swallowed, but made no move as Mengloth marched over to him. A large hand reached out and pressed firmly against Thor's collar, pushing the Aesir back into his pillow until he was nearly swallowed by the plush cushion.

"You Aesir all think alike," Mengloth snarled, "Us Jotnar are nothing but beasts to you, lower than animals. And yet we took time out of our lives, medicine from out stocks to ensure your survival. And you now have the gall-!"

"Mengloth."

The two men veered around towards the door, Thor's eyes wide. They only widened further at the tall, slim Jotun in the doorway.

The Jotun was lithe and tall, though a bit shorter than Mengloth. He was, unlike Mengloth, dressed regally yet sparingly. He wore a long dark red skirt that matched his eyes, a thick white fur belt about his hips and a single sling of fur over one shoulder. A silver and jade jeweled collar, thick and covering most of the top portion of his chest, circled his neck and part of his shoulders. A single sling of red fabric attached to the furred shoulder and ending attached to his wrist by a silver gauntlet completed the outfit. Silver jewelry adorned his arms and bare ankles. His feet, like Mengloth's, were bare and boasted nails as black as obsidian.

He was slender and tall, yet boasted whipcord muscles and streamlined sinew. An intricate silver diadem boasting brilliant sapphires and jade sat primly just above the Jotun's long, curved horns, holding back – Thor did a double-take – his waist length, straight white hair.

Thor had a sudden flash of his brother in his mind, adorned with his horned gold helmet. The sharp garnet eyes – so unlike Loki's yet so similar – the narrow face, the lean build…it all screamed Loki to him.

Mengloth grumbled, standing back and slightly away from Thor. He eyed Thor in distain, his scowl deepening at his obvious gaping at the other Jotun.

"Show some respect, Brat." He growled.

"Mengloth," the Jotun said again in warning, crossing his arms elegantly. "That is not how we treat a guest."

Mengloth snorted something sarcastic, but made no solid reply. The other Jotun sighed, turning to face Thor. And while his expression was blank, Thor felt himself flush slightly. His eyes were intense, fiery and burning with an unknown emotion Thor could not place. It made him uneasy, and he clutched at the furs on his lap anxiously as he regarded the Jotun.

"Prince Thor Odinson…" The Jotun inclined his head, the less than proper way to greet a prince. "May I inquire as to why you have entered my realm?"

Thor swallowed, suddenly wishing for more water. He made as if to speak, but paused with a frown.

"Your realm?" he inquired.

The Jotun quirked a brow, bemusement flashing briefly in his eyes. Mengloth scoffed somewhere off to the side, stomping over to his worktable again.

"Norns, it's like dealing with a dim child…" he muttered.

The other Jotun sighed. "That will be all, Mengloth…"

His eyes narrowed suddenly, and Thor reeled; this Jotun's almost-but-not-quite scowl was identical to his brother's…

"Perhaps you should see to your other patient?" he suggested – or perhaps 'suggested' was a rather loose term. Subtly demanded was more accurate.

Mengloth growled lowly, but did not argue. He cast Thor one last scathing look before turning to another door in the back of the room – private healing rooms perhaps?

"You would do well to respect Laufey King," he growled, before opening and loudly closing the door behind him.

Thor blinked, his brain slowly processing the information he was given. It took a moment for Mengloth's words to sink in, but when they did, he turned back to the other Jotun with wide, stunned eyes.

This was King Laufey?!

~s~s~S~s~s~

Mengloth, in general, was not a very gentle or sensitive Jotun. Though he was a Healer, he did not tolerate whining, bickering, or truly any nonsense. He was too old for such things. And as a former field Healer during the Asgard-Jotunheim war, he's seen his fair share of brutality and life's unkind ways. He was no fool, and perhaps it was this experience that hardened him so much over the centuries.

Regardless, he was still a Healer, and he was damn well good at what he did. He just wasn't known for being too gentle…

"This will make your tenth injury this month," he grunted.

"Piss off."

A rumbling chuckle was heard as large, rough hands diligently working to free the arrow of his rather small patient's shoulder. The small Jotun hissed as the Healer shifted the arrow, the pointed head digging into torn and injured muscle. It was a bit difficult since the small Jotun's cloak was in the way, but he blatantly refused to let Mengloth cut it away. It had been made and lovingly embroidered by his Dam after all, and Mengloth was well aware of how serious an offense it was to damage something made by a family member to the small Jotun.

"You are lucky it missed a lung or your heart," Mengloth muttered.

"And you are lucky I do not take that arrow and shove it up your-"

"Yes, yes…"

The small Jotun growled, but held still as the Healer continued to prolong his discomfort. He could imagine the sick satisfaction Mengloth took from this. Perhaps he was dragging it out to get back at him for that prank he pulled on the old Healer last month. It certainly sounded like something he'd do…

Cruel bastard, he thought. But he respected the gruff Healer, if for no other reason than he was quite a good match to his own sharp tongue and venomous spite.

He sighed, shifting uneasily on the too large cot. "Will you hurry it up? You've dragged this out long enou-GAH!"

He missed the rather smug look as Mengloth quite skillfully silenced his patient with a quick tug and a twist of the arrow, removing it cleanly and without a single tear. All that was left was the small – to him – wound left by the arrow, barely any blood surrounding the tiny hole.

The wound was so tiny, the average Jotun could compare it to the rare splinter. Yet Laufey had been so distraught when the small Jotun had ridden up to their gates with an arrow sticking out of his back, even Mengloth had to take a note of concern for the small Jotun.

He sighed, shaking his head fondly. Dams…

"You will live," he grunted, tossing the arrow into a basin beside the bed. He took out a salve and bandages, prompting the small Jotun to finally remove his cloak and tunic.

Said Jotun growled, but complied all the same. Tossing his hood back and unclasping the cloak, he let the green and black fabric fall away from his shoulders. He unlaced the back of his tunic and slid that off as well, revealing light sapphire blue skin and familiar markings.

The Jotun smoothed a hand down his long black hair as the Healer treated and bound his wound, sighing in exasperation and exhaustion.

"Dam is going to have a few choice words for me…" he muttered.

Mengloth chuckled, tearing off the excess gauze.

"He is only worried for you, do not blame him for being a good Dam." He said, shuffling back to a cabinet to put away the gauze. His patient rubbed his forehead, fingers grazing short, stunted horns – they could barely be called horns for how small they were, but he felt proud of them all the same.

They symbolized sacrifice after all, and he would hold his head high and carry the stunted horns with pride.

Looking down at his feet, he scowled at the knee-high leather boots on his feet. With a wave of his hand and a pulse of green energy, the offensive footwear vanished, and he grinned at his now bare feet, wiggling his freed toes.

"Much better," he said.

"You better not have stuck them in my bed again," Mengloth grunted, "They do not smell like roses, you know."

"Shut up." The stunted Jotun flopped back onto the medical cot, fingers running over the soft fur blanket.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of his home. Though it was diluted with the smell of potions, elixirs, and sterile medicines, it was still home. He could not wait to get back into his rooms and sleep in his own bed. To finally enjoy a meal at home, recounting his journey to his eager and attentive brothers. Though he would have to leave out a few of the dangerous parts, lest his Dam ban him from leaving the palace ever again. Though perhaps if he got his Sire on his side, they could actually beat his Dam in an argument. For once.

'Not likely…' he reminded himself.

"How has everyone been while I was gone?" he asked.

"The usual," Mengloth said, rubbing a salve into his aged and callused hands. "Your hellion brother, Byleistr, has been an absolute terror. He mixed up the labels of my potions last week, and I nearly gave a patient a purgative instead of a pain reliever."

"Pft…!" The small Jotun laughed, trembling on the cot. Oh, he wasn't going to regret telling his brother of that particular prank idea, but he wasn't about to tell the Healer it was his idea.

"And Helblindi?" he inquired.

"Restless. He worries for you almost as much as your Dam." Mengloth shrugged. "Buries himself in work and political papers, assisting your Dam and Sire to the point of collapsing. Honestly, that boy is going to kill himself one day…"

A roll of garnet eyes was Mengloth's response, but the Healer continued all the same.

"Your Sire has been rather busy patrolling the borders of the barrier, helping supply and trading routes stay open to reach other villages," he said, "He's been obsessively checking the barrier pillars as well."

"He worries too much…"

"Oh, don't say that just yet." Mengloth smirked. "Your poor Dam has been quite anxious. I think he's cleared out a few of the tailor's fabric stores and made you and your brothers new wardrobes."

"Norns, Mengloth, break my balls while you're at it…"

"I gladly will. Now then, Angrboda – the poor lad. Those little students of yours will be eating him alive any day now…"

"Mengloth…"

The Healer laughed, deep and guttural, like the deep bellow of a lion's roar. He looked back at his prince, crossing his scarred arms as he grinned smugly down at the small Jotun.

"I merely jest, but they all have worried for you," he said, before he sobered. "Perhaps it is time you took a break from these ridiculous ventures of yours."

"These 'ridiculous ventures' have gotten you dozens of updated medical books and hundreds of new herbs for improved potions and medicines…"

Mengloth sighed, shaking his head.

"You have done more for this realm and her people than anyone could ever give you credit for…" he said evenly. "But it would all be forgotten if our treasured prince was ever lost to us again…"

"Careful, Mengloth," was the smug reply. "You're starting to sound like you care."

"Try not to be too surprised, but I do care," the Healer deadpanned. "We all do; your family, your friends, your students, that crafty lover of yours; the whole kingdom adores you. And I doubt your Dam's heart could handle losing you a second time."

The little prince sighed, sobering. Though Mengloth was right, he knew he could not stop just yet. He was the only one capable of going out into the other realms for the things his people needed. And he was the only one who could blend in. Angrboda was a talented and very elusive Jotun, and his Seidr was growing by the day. But he was not ready to go out into the other realms with him; none of his students were. But they were getting there, and very quickly, and he couldn't be more proud of them.

Norns, he couldn't wait to start teaching again. The little Seidr school his parents gifted him with twenty years ago had caught on in popularity in just one night, and he had dozens of students to teach in the art of magic – both children and adults. It was only made more popular since the students didn't even need to pay to be taught. At the time it first opened, no one had enough for even a basic education, so the school – and many others in Jotunheim – ran on volunteer and charity work; most of which was provided by the royal family.

He sighed, sitting back up on the cot again. He regarded Mengloth seriously.

"I know I have caused much grief," he said, "But look at all that has been done! If I never went out to bring back food, books, and anything else we needed, we would still be desolate. There would be no schools, no food, no medicine, nothing!"

"While that is true, it is not what you bring back that has saved us," Mengloth said in a surprisingly gentle yet firm tone. "It is the fact you come back that gives us hope – the fact that you are alive and here to give us hope."

The prince groaned, rubbing the base of one of his horns. "Nosy old goat…"

"And damn proud to be." Mengloth snorted in amusement. "At the very least, for your Dam's sake, take a month off to spend time with your family. It would do all of you a world of good."

The prince hummed thoughtfully. It couldn't hurt to take a month or two off; Jotunheim was at the peak of prosperity now, and stability in the economy was at its strongest. Perhaps Mengloth was right; maybe a break wouldn't be so bad. He's missed his family too, and a little quality time with them and Angrboda would do him wonders.

"Add to that, I bet your son is getting quite tired of hauling your royal arse around the realms."

"Do you have to decimate any hope I hold for you having anything but a stone for a heart?"

"I'm old, it's my job to appear as heartless as possible."

The prince snorted, but nonetheless smirked at the Healer's tone. As much as Mengloth made himself out to be a cold, heartless bastard, he truly did care about him and his family. He's been the Royal Healer even before Laufey had been born, and he had overseen his parents' birth, and his and his brothers' births.

'It's no wonder babies scream when they are born if their first glimpse of the outside world is Mengloth…' he thought humorously.

Stretching, his wound now numb from the salve used on it, the small Jotun hopped from the bed and onto the cool stone floor. He gathered his things in one arm, turning to Mengloth cheekily.

"Am I free to go now?" he asked.

Mengloth nodded. "Yes, just don't strain yourself. No heavy lifting for the rest of the day, and eat something hearty. You're still such a scrawny little mite…"

"Duly noted," the prince deadpanned, turning for the door. He paused.

"Do they know I am here?" he asked quietly.

Mengloth eyed the small Jotun, lowering his arms to his sides.

"No," he said, "They likely think the Sky Traveler is somewhere here, but they do not know where you are or who you are."

The prince nodded, long black hair slightly loosened from its tightly woven braid.

"And Thor?"

"Oblivious."

"The pendent he wore…"

"All of their possessions are with the guards, including the pendent."

"Hmm…" He sighed. "Frigga was always too clever…"

Mengloth didn't comment, instead watching as the Jotun prince turned away from the door and faced the Healer.

"You will see to Sleipnr as well; he is in the west garden." He said, before in a flicker of green magic, he disappeared.

Mengloth smiled, chuckling lowly to himself.

"Yes, Loki Prince."

To be continued…

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Mengloth - Mengloth is an actual Jotun healer, supposedly Eir's polar opposition. Menglth is actually female, but by this point we all know the fandom does sex changes without a second thought. Mengloth here in this fic is like Ratchet from Transformers in terms of attitude and personality lol he cares though~

I found Mengloth's name in 'The Jotunbok' written by Raven Kaldera. I HIGHLY recommend this book if you want to study the Jotnar.

The more you know!

~S~