RATING: T
GENRE: Alternate Universe
SUMMARY: After more than a thousand years, the Aesir have returned to Midgard, and Loki, the cunning prince of the Realm Eternal, has been given a special task—one that doesn't bode well for Jane.

A/N: Fookasu221 requested "32. Knight" from the 100 prompts list on my Tumblr. This is completely AU where none of the events of the Thor and Avengers films have happened.

[32] KNIGHT

Loki stands next to Thor, doing a champion job of not rolling his eyes as his brother reads the Allfather's proclamation to the mortals. Midgard. Such a middling world. Hardly worthy of Realm Eternal's attention, let alone a full annex. The Aesir are swearing to protect these weak creatures, keep them safe. Blah. Blah. Blah. In truth, Odin cares very little for the mortals. Midgard is a strategic staging ground for the ongoing war with Svartalfheim, nothing more.

By the horrified, outraged expressions of the frail beings before Loki, they aren't particularly keen on being ruled by the gods they'd forgotten long ago. What had his father expected, that they'd all bow in willing supplication? He breathes out a thin sigh. He'll have to subdue the simpletons with his troop of skilled warriors, the Knights of Gungnir—the Allfather's Hand. Thor will deal with the leaders of this realm as Odin's Mouthpiece. They've already taken over all communication—it was deplorably simple—and every word spoken by the crown prince is being broadcast worldwide even now.

As soon as Thor finishes the proclamation, the crowd before them erupts in loud, incensed complaint. Oh, yes. They will have to be brought to kneel. Loki shares a look with his brother, the corners of Thor's mouth tipping up in a poorly concealed anticipatory grin. And everyone thinks Loki to be the dark prince, that he is the one consumed by the thrill of conflict. Battles, however, are only a means to end for him. He doesn't thirst for blood; his appetites lie elsewhere. But let others believe what they may. That serves his purposes just as well.

"I've got this," Thor says over the increasing roar of visceral protests. "You know your task."

Loki rolls his eyes then. Odin has ordered him on a page boy's errand, to seek out the mortal who had somehow sent a beacon through the branches of Yggdrasil, however briefly. That was terribly unwise. From what Loki has seen of Midgardian military prowess—or decided lack thereof—they are hardly prepared to enter the hostile universe, not without bringing utter annihilation down upon themselves. Loki's irksome task is to stop this brash imbecile from further garnering the attention of the other realms. Svartalfheim in particular.

He nods to two of his most accomplished knights and leaves the others to his brother's command. Theoric and Lorelei fall into step behind Loki as he lifts his hands, pressing them together and then pushing them apart to open a waygate to a barren wilderness. He ignores the gasps from nearby mortals and steps through onto the arid landscape, his knights on his heels. The waygate closes behind them, and yes. There. He can sense it through the seidr coursing through his veins, the very magic that stitches together all of reality. There's a filament that has been unraveled and rewoven, a miniscule disruption in the order of things. It hints of the same tang of the Bifrost. His mouth twitches with a grim smile. This mortal has unwittingly stumbled onto something very dangerous.

Loki traverses the main road of a village in a slow decay from the elements. Midgardians watch him pass with his knights, most not bothering to challenge his presence. Those few who seem to have a trace of foolhardy courage shrink back when he levels each with a cold smile, silently daring them to test his patience. The trail ends at a squat, round building in the same state of neglect as the rest of the village. The walls are made of glass, but his gaze rises to find a gleaming metallic device on its roof. Clever. He could almost commend the determined ingenuity behind its design. Pity that creativity has been wasted on a lifespan which will last little more than a blink in the Realm Eternal.

"Let me dispatch the insects for you, my lord," Lorelei murmurs at his shoulder. "And I will destroy the beacon."

"Careful, Lorelei," he warns. "Your unbridled ambition will be your undoing. The task was given to me." In a year or a thousand, she will finally realize that she can never do enough, never be enough to please him, and he'll have to slip a blade between her ribs when she inevitably betrays him out of spite.

Theoric is an unremitting bore, but Loki can count on his loyalty.

He yanks open the door. Inside, three mortals huddle together, an older man with two young women, staring at a screen that displays the Knights of Gungnir quelling riots. An insipid female voice describes the scene as if the viewers are too dull to understand what's happening. Perhaps they are.

One of the young women—the one with darker hair and a figure that Fandral would compose an ode to as he charmed her into his bed—sees the three uninvited guests, eyes growing round with fear.

"Uh, guys," she says to her companions. "Guys!"

"Darcy, what is…" the man begins with irritation in his tone, but his words die off when he discovers what has her transfixed with mounting terror.

"Oh my God," the other female breathes. She's petite as well, slender with delicate features. But there's intelligence in her sable gaze. Loki suspects that she is his target rather than the man. He's already dismissed the buxom brunette.

He stretches his mouth in a wide smile. "Well, yes," he agrees, stepping forward. "I am your god."

Duly cowed, Darcy and the nameless man retreat, but not the other young woman. No, steel edges in the clench of her jaw, in the glower she aims at him. Without warning, she charges him, swinging her fist at his face, a movement he doesn't bother to block. She can't bring him any real harm, but he admires the attempt, futile though it was.

"Get off my planet!" she demands through gritted teeth.

Oh, he likes that fire.

But then Lorelei is on the wisp, dagger point pressed against her neck. "How dare you lay a hand on Prince Loki of Asgard," she bites out. "You will die for your insolence!"

"Lorelei," he says in a low voice. He ticks a finger, and confusion wars with frustration on his knight's face. But she obeys, releasing the woman as she steps back to his side. He turns his attention back to his quarry. "What is your name, mortal?"

The woman brushes the hair from her face, squares her shoulders. "Jane Foster." Ah, so she can be brought to heel. But then she adds, "I don't recognize your authority here."

Lorelei reaches for her blade again, but Loki stills her with a raised hand. He's finding this exchange rather amusing. He wants to play.

"I'm impressed. Such bravery when facing an infinitely superior opponent," he says, closing in on Jane Foster with languid steps. "But you would do well not to offend your sovereign protectors."

She scoffs. "You're talking about that proclamation from your king? It's nothing but pretty lies from an invading warlord."

Loki grins. Pretty lies from the Allfather, indeed. She seems to have been graced with an uncanny intellect for her kind. "Invading? Why, Jane Foster, you invited us." Not precisely true; her beacon merely accelerated plans already in motion.

Her brows draw together in a fascinating blend of consternation and disbelief. "How?" she balks.

He glances up toward the ceiling, to the machine on the roof, and in the next beat, her breath catches in apparent understanding. "Foolish Midgardian," he murmurs, "you are to blame for the plight of your realm." Another manipulation of the truth, but he wants to see if that will finally splinter her iron resolve.

Horror washes over her face, but it's fleeting, replaced by abject defiance. "No," she argues, shaking her head. "Maybe I did get your attention with my test, but I didn't make you monsters. You already were."

Yes, he very much likes this. Unfortunately, he doesn't have time to make a proper game of it—not yet. He tilts his head toward Theoric. "Take her. She comes with us."

The other mortals find their voices then, raising desperate objections—though they lack the mettle to do more than that. Pathetic. Jane struggles impotently against Theoric as he grabs her arm. At least she tries.

Loki sends his other knight to demolish the device, and that, remarkably, is what elicits panic from the intractable Jane Foster.

"No!" she yells, vainly twisting in Theoric's grasp. "I built that! It's irreplaceable!"

Loki laughs softly. What an intriguing little thing she is. He pretends he doesn't witness her snatch a small journal from a nearby table as she's dragged out of the building with them. Let her have her trinket. It's worthless where she's going.

"Shall I put her in the catacombs, sire?" Theoric asks.

"No," Loki replies. "Bring her to the queen. She'll keep watch over the mortal until I return."

"What are going to do with me?" Jane asks. She's afraid, but hiding it well behind a venomous glare.

Loki doesn't answer her immediately but considers her in lazy perusal. She's so small, terribly fragile, and yet, he suspects this new toy of his isn't breakable. Such an unexpected bounty, this.

"I haven't decided," he confesses with an impish grin. "But, oh, what fun we're going to have together."

~FIN~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you have a minute to spare, I'd love to hear your thoughts!