That Thor's binding oath would be put to the test wasn't so much of an "if" as a "when." Not surprisingly it was Stark that first tested just how strong Loki's leash really was. After over a week of "Loki Watch" –as Stark called it—everyone was beginning to be a bit antsy. It had apparently been decided upon that no fewer than three Avengers could be at the lodge at any time. Or so Loki surmised given the snatches of conversation he'd overheard and the fact that only two of the Avengers would be absent at any one time, often a new pair setting off directly after the others returned.

Loki too had to admit to being a bit frayed. At all times he was aware of being watched. If he found an out of the way spot to read, inevitably someone would come strolling by or find some reason to retrieve something from the room he was in. The house may have been blind in most rooms, but J.A.R.V.I.S. could at least track where everyone was simply by listening for subtle signs of life and movement. This didn't mean he could tell what they were doing or where exactly they were in a room, but this meant he could always track Loki down for the Avengers.

At first it had been somewhat amusing to secret himself away in a room just so that at first glance his minder would not see him despite J.A.R.V.I.S.'s insistence that he was present. This lost its entertainment value after a few days. Going outside made the Avengers nervous, and he got even less solitude because behind every tree or hemlock break he was running into one of them.

An uneasy night had done nothing for his willingness to deal with Thor's mortals. But he was hungry enough to brave a visit to the kitchen even with it full of Avengers. He'd even delayed himself by visiting with Book in the hopes that breakfast would be over by the time he arrived. Unfortunately, it seemed his jailers were in no particular hurry.

"Morning's greetings!" said Thor as Loki padded down the steps into the great room. It was a traditional Asgardian greeting, and he automatically had the urge to reply with the customary "mine and the day's." This was the shortened, less formal form used between family and friends, those who knew one another well, but more than the perfunctorily polite "bles' dawning"—a slurred version of "blessed day's dawning"—which would be given to passersby or shared between merchants as they set up shop in the morning.

Loki was not so sleep-muddled as to actually mindlessly return Thor's greeting—though over a thousand years of habit dragged at him. He wandered over to the cabinet and pulled down a mug, frowned at the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia and put it back. For a covert operation, they certainly liked to plaster their logo all over everything. Glancing to the side, he realized Romanov had his favorite mug and instead selected another.

The spy perched on the counter, cradling the cup in her hands. It was odd seeing her like this, hair rumpled from sleep, clothes comfortably loose, and no makeup in sight. It was akin to seeing a dagger devoid of ornamentation or polish—no more impressive than a table knife. And yet still perfectly capable of killing you—Loki watched her even as she watched him without appearing to—and probably killing you in style, baggy t-shirt and sweats or not.

A groan announced Stark's arrival. Running a hand over his face, he smacked his lips and blinked owlishly at everyone. A red mark creased along one side of his face—oddly wrench shaped—evidence to his falling asleep in his makeshift lab again.

"Coffee," he mumbled.

"I'm afraid I am not yet wired into the coffee pot, sir," said J.A.R.V.I.S. crisply.

Stark eyed the empty carafe and Loki's brimming cup with grouchy disdain. "Least you could do was start another pot—they not teach you that in ye olde cape-land?"

"That was what the lower classes were for," said Loki haughtily. He didn't mention that he'd heard Stark coming and intentionally chosen a mug large enough to finish off the pot.

Thor watched with obvious reproach—odd since normally Loki had been the one reproving him for his manners—but held his tongue. Romanov merely sipped at her drink.

"So is it all a show or do you actually believe all that delusions of grandeur garbage you're always spouting?" asked Stark. He glared at the can of coffee grounds sitting next to the still empty carafe, as if they had personally offended him by their non-liquid state. He leaned back, resting his elbows on the counter behind him. "Cause you talk. A lot. But I'm not seeing much follow-through."

"Tony, just get your coffee and stop baiting the prisoner," said Romanov, managing to sound both amused and annoyed at the same time. Her posture remained relaxed, and her attention was fully back on her drink, but Loki knew this had been a tactical decision. Likely she sensed the underlying irritation beginning to gather in the room.

He ought to merely ignore Stark, or somewhat satisfyingly, throw a barbed remark in his direction and leave. That would keep the peace. It was such a shame Loki had grown tired of playing the good prisoner. As a youth he'd never really spoiled for a fight the way Thor had. Not that he hadn't started plenty of them, but there had always been at least some advantage other than merely wishing to fight. Half the time he wasn't even involved, merely sitting back and watching with gleeful amusement.

But right now, Loki wanted to poke, prod, and incense the annoying little man. Some part of his brain whispered that it was just the confinement getting to him, another that he shouldn't give in to such urges when there was nothing really to be gained from it. The voice Loki chose to listen to was the one telling him to bring Stark's woman into it. Petty, mean, predictable—but nonetheless a satisfying tactic.

"So shortsighted, these mortals," Loki turned to Thor conversationally. "Myopic in their vision, at such a disadvantage when it comes to seeing the big picture. But really, how could one expect an insect to comprehend the building of an empire when it would not live beyond the laying of the first few stones." He turned back to Stark. "You observe one setback and believe yourselves to have been victorious."

"Yeah, well your setback left an awfully impressive hole in my floor," said Stark affably. "I wanted to make it into a fish pond, but Pepper wouldn't let me. Didn't fill it, though. Covered it with glass and put a little plaque next to it: 'Alien interloper handed ass here'." He glanced significantly at Romanov and grinned. "Nothing says focal point like imprint-o-Norse-deity."

"Tony," she said evenly, warning in her tone as she looked over her glass toward Loki. A Loki who was smiling with gleeful malice—the kind of grin she expected a wolf to wear before it pounced.

"Your Miss Potts seems to have good taste in all things but men," he mused. He ignored Thor's grip on his forearm. "But from what I hear she's a not your typical fare—maybe that's why she's lasted so long. A creature of such beauty and brains must be a rare find—how long, I wonder before she realizes that her pity isn't enough to keep her tied to you."

Stark sucked on a retort and shook his head as if this had been Loki's primary attack. It wasn't.

"But then," he paused as if this strange thought had just leapt unbidden into his mind, "her loyalty isn't really what's in question." He leaned in. "How long before you manage to drive her away. Before your inconstant nature sabotages your hope of something real in your world of mirrors and shadows."

The unsuccessful attempt at hiding the blow only confirmed what Loki already knew. Stark didn't fear this Pepper growing tired of him and moving on to greener—less self-absorbed—pastures. He feared what he'd always feared, himself and his destructive choices. He took what was real in his life and would trade it every time for what was transient, fake, and superficial—because those were safe.

There was no explosive anger or yelled retort—but then, Loki hadn't expected one. The bite in Stark's tone was enough to mark the points had hit their mark. "I'd like to point out that…I'm adorable. And rich. And a genius. Oh and I do a little super-heroing on the side. I'm a dream come true."

"You bluster and posture and brag, little man, thinking it will hide the stench of your fear." Loki loomed over Stark, leaning ever so slightly into the man's personal space. "Maybe it once was enough. Enough for abduction, betrayal, and even torture." His voice dropped to where only Stark could hear him. "But now you know what it is to fall."

The man's half smile stayed firmly on his face, but his eyes betrayed his thoughts had torn back to the dark sucking void and the inexorable pull of death.

Loki blinked calmly and without malice. "Do I remind you of falling?"

Neither Thor, nor Romanov said anything as Stark shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. "You sure you're not the God of Pissing People Off? Cause I think it's more accurate than God of Mischief. We could rebrand you—I've got excellent PR people. They could probably even spin that," he gestured vaguely at the scars ringing Loki's mouth. "Someone in Asgard decide they'd had enough of your lip?" Stark reached for the coffee grounds. "Stitched you right up. Not a bad idea, really."

With great precision, Loki set his mug down. He—like a fool—had forgotten he bore such an obvious target on his face. "Something of the like," he said, the words not quite escaping the back of his throat. Both Thor and Romanov stiffened at his tone. Though his face was blank, he inwardly cursed Thor's frivolous oath. He wanted to turn Stark inside out, but his magic merely knotted back on itself. Gingerly he released the mug's handle and flexed his fingers. His muscles refused to obey even when he commanded them to fling the mug at Stark's head. Thrice-damn Thor.

A strange, choking sensation clutched at the base of his throat as his rage and inability to act shoved against one another. Gritting his teeth, all he could do was nod at the group and turn his back on them. Only then did his muscles begin to relax and allow him to move freely. He made it three steps before his abandoned mug shattered across the end table. Only a slight pause and backward glance betrayed his knowledge of it. Thor was up and moving after him before he was out of sight.

"I've had just about enough of our house guest," growled Stark as he grabbed a dish towel to swipe at the mess, only making it worse in the process.

Natasha leaned against the counter, arms crossed as she frowned. "Must you poke the unstable alien with a stick? Things are tense enough without you adding to it."

A large chunk of glass thunked into the trash. Tony carefully shook the towel out as well, gingerly gripping the corners. "His issues aren't my problem. Think he'd go to a shrink? Talk out all that pent-up aggression and daddy issues he's got. But then Loki talking is a problem isn't it. Asgardians' got the right idea—wish they'd gone for the tongue instead." He looked up and caught Natasha's disapproving glare. "What?"

"Those weren't new, Tony. They're old, stretched and faded. Scars like that," she paused, thoughtful, "he got them when he was a child." She pushed off from the counter and made for the great room. "I ought to know what that looks like."

The thick air of a wet fall day blurred the edges of the woods as the colors faded into the mist. Gold and red blazed against the wet-black trunks and spider webs were strung with crystal beads. Thor followed Loki's darkened footprints across the dew-silvered grass to a copse of hemlocks. A fine shower rained down on him as he pushed his way under a low-hanging bough. Wetness streaked his cape and a scattering of fine dew settled along his hair and shoulders.

He paused. Loki stood with his back to the woods, waiting for him.

"And here you are. Come to play the part of the caring brother?" He tapped a finger to his scarred lips. "Try it with a bit more worry this time—that'll sell it."

Thor refused to rise to the bait. "Will you tell me?"

"What? Where I came by these?" Loki grinned wide, the scars twisting his lips a bit in the process. "Surely the Mighty Thor has better things to do than listen to the ancient troubles of one such as myself."

Determination glinted in Thor's gaze as he sat down on one of the rocks and waited.

A slight narrowing of his eyes and then Loki shook himself. "So be it. You recall when you lost Mjolnir to the dwarves before it was really yours?"

Thor nodded. "You retrieved it before Father found out."

"I had yet to figure out that it wasn't in anyone's best interest to coddle you." He stalked forward. "And what happened next."

Thor frowned, thinking back to the incident. "Your voice. You could not speak for a year because you'd bartered your voice for the hammer. A bad deal in a magically binding bet. That's what you told Father." He kept staring at the jagged puncture marks. "I don't think Mother ever really believed you."

"The whole thing would have come to light if she hadn't been away on Vanaheim for most of it. The dwarves weren't going to give up the hammer; they had always felt cheated by the price your grandfather paid for its creation. It required treachery to retrieve." Loki began pacing. "Oh, I was clever, and the dwarves soon learned that I am not to be trusted." His smile dripped bitterness. "It was a thing of beauty, how deftly I manipulated them, with nothing but my words. Then the hammer was mine.

Swallowing, he continued.

"But dwarves are clever too it seems—after their own fashion. I had the hammer and they were oathbound that it and I should return to Asgard. They didn't want to start a war with Asgard by killing a prince—even if I was only the second son. They also knew that I couldn't be allowed to leave unpunished." Fingers drifted toward the scars before clenching shut. "So they took away the thing I had used to trick them, and they rightly guessed that I would do everything in my power to keep my weakness," he swallowed thickly, "my shame from ever being known. Thus they feared no retaliation for sewing my lips shut. And I couldn't stop them." His features tightened, remembering the awl stabbing through flesh, young voice muffling into silence. Stitch by stitch, the golden thread turning red. Dwarves were not gentle creatures.

"Why did you not…"

"Cut it? Of course I tried. Nearly sliced through my cheek in the process. The thread's magic was too much—I could only wait until my debt was paid and the spell faded."

Thor placed a hand on his shoulder. "No, why did you hide? All those months and we never knew you were suffering."

The memory surfaced of blood dripping down his throat, choking him, threatening to drown him. The fear of starvation and constant wrench of hunger. The leanness of that time had never really left him. He couldn't quite push down the childish thoughts that rode the swell of his fear. The thought that they should have seen, that if they'd really cared they would have noticed. How could they not see him? His gaze slid briefly to Thor, "When was my suffering ever a concern of yours?"

A deep sigh rumbled through Thor's frame. "Not as often as it should have been." He stared intently at Loki, as if searching for something. "You have worn the glamour ever since?"

Shrugging, Loki turned away. "They did not suit my vanity." He said nothing of the shame. Any other Asgardian would have had the strength to fight and take what he wanted—they would not have allowed themselves to be held down and maimed. But he wasn't like other Asgardians, was he? Strength too often failed him. What he had was his wits. And he hadn't been near clever enough.

"I am sorry, Brother."

Amused confusion quirked his brow. "For what? Even I see that the situation was more of my own making than most."

Shaking his head, Thor made as if to place his hand on Loki's shoulder again, but instead let it fall to his side. "No. I am sorry that we muzzled you in New York. It clearly distressed you, but I was too angry to care. I thought you deserved it."

Loki blinked and leaned back against a tree. The cold wetness of the wood began to seep through his shirt, the dampness spreading between his shoulder blades. "Considering my deeds, I likely deserved far worse."

"No, you were afraid—and even if I did not know what you had suffered, I ought to have let it be."

Loki ignored the spark of delight at Thor's admission. Instead, he latched onto the tendrils of unease that boiled off the memory. All too well he felt the choking panic that had run through him as Thor and Stark had approached with the muzzle. He'd fought them, unable to hold his composure as the metal touched his lips, childhood panic swarming to the surface. Thankfully none of them had noticed the terror betrayed in his actions. Then they'd left him mercifully alone. When they came to haul him to the Bifrost, the terror was gone, stamped down beneath simmering rage.

A/N: This is one of those little chapters that doesn't have a lot going on, but that still has quite a bit that I enjoy. Everything from the domestic interactions to the little bits of Asgardian culture, to the chance to really think about describing a damp fall day. And of course we finally get the truth behind Loki's scars. I stuck a bit closer to the details of the original myth here than I did with Sleipnir, but I (like other authors) saw it as a good opportunity to tie in his childhood experiences to what it must have been like to be muzzled.

This is also the first time where we more overtly hit the theme of "seeing" that runs through this story, that Thor hasn't always actually seen his brother or what was going on with him, but he's starting to. Obviously this ties in perfectly with the scene in TDW where Thor knows Loki has put up an illusion after their mother's death and calls him out with Loki replying, "now you see me brother." And you know what? I'd already written this part of the story and been working on the idea of Thor "seeing" Loki before TDW ever came out. I was beyond excited to see my interpretations being mirrored in canon.

Next Week: The Avengers learn that they don't have as accurate a picture of the Chitauri invasion as they thought they did.

Molleyn: Aw, thank you! I love imagining what they would have been like as kids. And really, shouldn't it be "gods blessed horse"? 😉 I mean really, Sleipnir is quite lucky Loki, of all Asgardians, came along when he did.

Silverfrost: Yes, I earned a third degree black belt in Senido karate, though I am well out of practice, so I certainly don't consider myself at the black belt level right now (grad school and work threw me out of having much in the way of hobbies for years). I loved doing karate, though, and this rather unknown style worked well for me (it was largely based on Isshinryu but was more like a mixed martial art because it took what they thought were the best elements from other styles—so the kicks from Taekwondo, ground work from Judo, even a little Greco-Roman wrestling thrown in). I highly recommend doing your research and finding a style and dojo that suit your needs/wants. I wanted a style that pushed you (it took me a good ten years to earn my black belt, so they weren't exactly handing them out) and emphasized control and respect, but where you'd also actually learn to fight and hone self defense skills without having to do something crazy like punch a tree (I'm not that hardcore).

TripleLLL: Glad to see you're back! And that the new setting didn't bore you. Aww, thank you. I'm rather fond of my version of Sleipnir because…yeah, the mythic version of the story is pretty awkward and some retellings really get into the squick territory for me. As for J.A.R.V.I.S., honestly his attitude toward Loki was largely just an excuse to have the whole "infuriating man" back and forth…because it amuses me. Don't get me wrong, I like Tony, but I think he and Loki are far too alike to hit it off well at first (kind of like Tony and Dr. Strange-good grief, can you imagine the three of them in one room?) despite the fact that there may eventually be some grudging respect. As to the canonicity of anything beyond Avengers…not in this story simply because it doesn't stretch that far into the future. I have other ideas floating around in my head for further stories set in this continuity and those would probably incorporate events of the other movies, though, some might change drastically due simply to the changes on the timeline that this story would cause. Or things could be completely and totally different.