Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OCs, and most of them are heavily inspired by mythology.


"You are born into your family and your family is born into you. No returns. No exchanges."

The Art of Mending, Elizabeth Berg


Loki stands behind the bar, eyeing Eric intently as she wipes down a glass. 'You know... I never expected to see you here.'

The Viking glances about the bar scornfully. 'It was not my first choice of venue for tonight.'

She gives a rueful head shake at his sulky behaviour, and glances over to watch Pam handing out Fangtasia fliers.

'...Bill's in trouble.' Loki notes, not bothering to phase it as a question – because she knows the punishment for a vampire killing one of their own, and Eric probably does too.

In the corner of her eye, she sees his massive shoulders shrug. 'The less you know the better.'

'Fair enough.'

So Loki goes about her business, ignoring the towering un-dead Viking sheriff until he finally spits out whatever's on his mind.

But then he's suddenly right in her face – fuck, he's gorgeous – and fingering a stray black curl absently.

'You look beautiful tonight, Ms Storm.'

Loki has been hit on countless times in her life, but it's been some time since she actually welcomed a compliment; she's so startled by the revelation that she gifts him with a genuine smile before she can stop herself.

'Thank you.'

He hums, then zips away to join his business partner in the dining area.

'Thursdays are ladies nights, so be sure to bring a date.' Pam tells the room at large in her typical deadpan, before she leers down at a sweaty red-neck. 'That is, if you can get one.'

The rednecks friend – Royce – laughs meanly. 'She got you there.' He holds out a hand for a flyer, but Eric holds up a palm. Pam freezes.

'Not him. He doesn't get one.'

Royce scowls. 'What gives, bro?'

The Viking is immediately in his face – and not in the sexy way he had been with her. A few patrons gasp in fright at the sudden movement.

'What'd you do to your arm there… bro?' The silence is heavy – everyone in the bar knows Royce got hurt after the nest of vampires got Molotov cocktailed – and, though she can't see his face, Loki imagines Eric is giving the man his absolute scariest blank stare. Bill's re-entry in the room breaks to breathless tension. 'Bill, I take it your business here is done?'

The dark-haired vampire stiffens defensively. 'I came to talk to Sookie.'

'I'll give you three minutes.' Eric shoots back, unruffled by Bill's defiant tone. 'We have a tribunal to get to.'

Sookie gulps and allows herself to be led outside, but Loki frowns minutely at the implication behind the words. The "magister" for North America is ruthless and has no love for humans – she doubts any encounter with the infamously cruel vampire will end well.

'Oh, before I go, a word of advice:' Eric's voice snaps her out of her contemplation, and Loki glances up to see him addressing the whole bar with an empty smirk. 'We know when a human has wronged us. We can smell it. So do not make the mistake of letting the pretty vampire lady on television make you feel too comfortable. We may not have retaliated… yet… but we know who you are. Have a nice night.'

Once the bar is vampire free, Loki turns in time to catch Lafayette's eye, and they share a grim look.

xXx

She stays the night at Lafayette's again – under the layers of bravado he wears like a shield, he's been badly shaken by Eric's well-placed threat.

It's nice, Loki reflects, to have someone feel safe in her presence.

So they cuddle up on the sofa, all platonic affection and comfort, and watch cheesy movies until Lafayette falls asleep at four am and she clicks the television off.

It's a rarity for Loki to feel secure enough to sleep beside another person; the occasions when she entertains her oft-neglected libido and actually sleeps with someone, she's generally out the door the second her partner closes their eyes. But there were many times over her centuries on Earth when being in close quarters with others while resting was inescapable, so she adapted.

Meditation is a good way to centre herself, to calm her magic, and it passes time quickly. Vampires call it "down time" and often zone out, as they're physically incapable of sleeping whilst the sun is down. Though, in her current human form she couldn't meditate for hours with her eyes open like a vampire would.

So Loki closes her eyes and settles into that oddly aware headspace, still enough that to many she would appear to be napping peacefully, and blinks back into reality hours later to find her head cushioned on Lafayette's knee, the man watching "Gone with the Wind" and waxing his chest.

'You better not have got wax in my hair, Lala,' she warns, half-serious and feeling refreshed. He laughs.

'Bitch,' he pokes her affectionately with his toe and she clutches her side, moaning dramatically.

'Oh, your cruel, cruel words, Scarlett,' she mimes a dramatic swoon, 'they wound me so!'

Lafayette cackles. 'You iz crazy.'

'Course I am,' she grins up at him, 'but you love it.'

He shakes his head fondly. 'You musta' wrapped your daddy 'round your little finger with that look.'

Loki fights to maintain her grin, but only manages a weak chuckle. 'Not quite,' she tilts her head, considering, 'it's been known to work on my brothers though.'

Lafayette can play the drugged up man-whore all he wants – but he is sharp as a tack, and notices the deflection away from the subject of her father straight away.

He doesn't question it though, bless him.

'You have brothers?'

'Yeah, Ty and Th- Tom.' Loki coughs to cover her near slip. 'They're great.'

Lafayette turns back to the TV to give an illusion of disinterest. 'Where they at?'

'Tom lives two states away,' she answers vaguely, smiling a little, 'with his wife and daughter.'

'Apple pie life, huh?'

Loki nods, an old sadness filling her being. She does not begrudge Thor his happiness one bit – but the memory of the love in his eyes when he looks at his family is a gut-wrenching thing.

She'll never have that.

She doesn't realize she'd voiced the thought until her friend shoots her a concerned glance.

'Ah, never mind,' Loki shakes off the ennui with centuries of practice and hops to her feet, murmuring a half-hearted excuse to leave.

To escape the pity in her friends face.

Loki doesn't want to hate her family. But there are some wrongs that are never truly forgiven, and most of them understand. It's why her mother accepts her life on Midgard; why her brothers don't pester her to take on more official duties; why the people of Asgard forgive their princess for being so absent.

She teleports to the cosy living room of her plantation house with barely a thought, and huffs in frustration. Here she is, a supposed goddess, bathing in self-pity. She's Loki! Royalty of the Realm Eternal (1), all-power mage, Trickster...

Loki stills her agitated pacing, staring unseeingly at the hardwood floors.

Trickster. It has been far too long since she exercised her rights to that title. She shimmers out of existence with a Cheshire cat grin and a twinkle in her eye.

Hours pass to find Loki strutting into Merlotte's with a shit-eating smile – she's had a... productive day. Arlene, catching sight of her smile as she bustles past, pauses and tilts her head to study her co-worker.

'Sweetie, you're sure in a good mood. Did you meet a man?'

Loki laughs. 'No, no. No men. Just had a nice day is all.'

'Well, seems you're the only one,' the red-head gossips eagerly, 'folks have been comin' in all day complainin' 'bout something or other.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Mhhm. Mrs. Fortenberry was ranting about her oven exploding, and Andy Bellefleur – he was looking all shifty when he came in, like somethin' would jump out and scare 'im!'

Loki's eyes sparkle in personal triumph; while the tales of her cruelty are greatly exaggerated, she adores a little trouble-making. The conversation is bought to an abrupt pause when the Parish road crew tumble into the bar, laughing merrily.

'What's so funny?' The black-haired woman enquires, and Hoyt sniggers, momentarily losing the shyness he's displayed around her in the past as he beams.

'Rene's just been havin' some trouble with his belt.'

Arlene frowns, brows furrowing. 'What?'

'His pants won't stop fallin' down,' Jason pipes in giddily, slapping Rene on the shoulder, 'like his pockets were full'a led, or somethin'.'

'Oh dear.'

The fake-Cajun man shrugs. 'My belt must be too big.'

As if on cue, his jeans slip to the floor with a clunk, and the road crew roar in hysterics – Arlene gives a cry of "good Lord!" and fusses over him with red cheeks.

Loki daintily hides her smiling mouth behind her hand.

All in days work.

(It may not be healthy to repress her negative feelings towards her kin with pranks, but it sure is fun.)

xXx

Arlene and Rene's engagement party is in full-swing, and Loki is perched happily on the fringes of the dance-floor, watching the merriment with an idle smile. Despite her better judgement, she has found herself notably fond of the entire town – her house is beautiful, the Louisiana swamp is wild and green and practically buzzing with life, and the people, although sometimes small-minded, are kind enough.

Loki feels more at home in Bon Temps than she has in a long time, so she ignores the cynical voice in her head that insists it'll never last and revels in the feeling.

'Hey cher,' Sam smiles warmly as he appears at her side and hands her a cup of Dixie Draft, 'what're you doing sittin' all by your lonesome?'

She grins up at the shifter, accepting the red plastic cup and draining it expertly. 'Waiting for my boss to ask me for a dance, obviously.'

'Ah, my apologies, then,' he holds out a hand, eyes twinkling at the banter, 'may I have this dance, Ms. Storm?'

Loki bounces to her feet, and drags him out onto the floor. Dancing is a pastime completely unique to Midgard, and she delights in it. She'd never given it much thought until the "Roaring Twenties", and then, boy, did she have fun.

They sway in-sync, moving in comfortable circles. Sam smells of the wild Louisiana woods, and radiates heat as all mortal-shifters do. Even in the balmy Southern night air, Loki revels in the comfort of her boss's warmth.

'You know, you fit right in here,' he comments after a while – she beams at him.

'I love it here,' she replies honestly, 'it's been a while since I've had so many friends.'

Sam shakes his head gently. 'Naww, I don't believe it. You're a nice girl – you musta' had lots of friends in New York.'

Loki's nose crinkles at the memory of the city – the pollution was so thick there you could choke on it, and as much as she appreciates the buzzing energy of big cities, she'd never done well among the people of them. 'Not really.'

'What 'bout family?'

My, everyone is picking at that scab today.

'My older brother's in New Mexico and my parents live abroad.' Abroad. That's a good enough euphemism for "another dimension", she supposes. But Sam frowns at the information, studying her expression of forced neutrality.

'You're alone?'

Loki ignores the pang in her chest at the words, and pats Sam's stubbly cheek. 'I wouldn't say that – I've got friends here, don't I?'

His expression softens, and he draws her closer. 'Yeah. You do.'

They lapse into another comfortable silence, still dancing. Then Sam perks, catching a glimpse Sookie – dancing with Rene a little way away – and looks back at Loki with a guilty grimace.

The Æsir mage huffs. 'Go on and cut in,' she encourages with a smile, 'I need a rest anyway.'

The shifter squeezes her into a thankful hug and bounds away, and Loki shakes her head wistfully. Unrequited love; it's the great common factor between all humanoid creatures, she supposes as she navigates the crowd to find a seat, and she has seen it too many times to count.

Most the time it ends in tears; Sam Merlotte – even with his flaws and well hidden two-natured status – certainly deserves a little happiness. But the harsh reality of the situation is that Sookie will likely never be content with a man whose mind she can read. And, really, who could blame her?

'Vick! Over here!'

Loki jerks out of her contemplation. Arlene, looking blissfully happy and sitting with Amy, waves her over from a picnic table beside the drinks table, and Loki skips over obligingly.

'Hey, girls,' she greets, winking at the red-head, 'nice party.'

Arlene squeals in pleasure. 'Oh, isn't it just? Sam was just too kind to let us have it here, and the lanterns are so pretty and...'

Loki tunes the women's conversation out, occasionally nodding to give the illusion of interest. Arlene can be a little... loud, and Amy is full-on crazy. A peek into the girls head tells her that she and Jason Stackhouse have a vampire locked up in their basement, and the idea that Amy won't be around much longer one way or another fills her with relief.

A cruel as it sounds, Jason will either come to his senses and kick her out, or Eric Northman will deal with it. Loki could probably manipulate the whole situation so that everyone gets out in one piece, but she's pragmatic, and someone who's willing to capture and slowly drain a live vampire doesn't rank too high on her list of "people to protect".

Sookie joins them, flopping down beside Loki with a displeased frown. The magic-user risks a glance towards Sam, who is staring after the blonde with sad puppy-dog eyes on full blast.

Arlene acknowledges the telepath with a smile, but keeps on yapping. 'You know what I love most about Rene? Aside from his fine little Cajun butt. He's good to the kids. He's good to me. All the rest were fixer-uppers. But Rene, he's solid all the way to the foundation. I can count on him. And I've never had that in all my life.'

Amy grins, leaning forward eagerly. 'I know what you mean. I mean, I never knew I could have something like what I have with Jason. I'm not about to let anything destroy that.'

Scary psycho.

Sookie pipes up without looking away from the table-top. 'I don't know anyone can trust anybody these days. They're always keeping things from you. You don't even know who people are or what they are.'

Loki raises a bemused eyebrow – apparently someone figured out Sam's "nature". For a telepath, there are secrets just piling up around the girl. Silly fairy.

'Well, you know what I love about Jason?' Amy cuts in, breaking the awkward silence. 'Everything is just right there on the surface. You never have to wonder what he's thinking.'

'Yeah, because he ain't thinking.'

Loki snorts, and even Arlene giggles at the truth in Sookie's blunt words. However, the noise makes them all look at her beseechingly, and Loki blanches mentally at the realisation they want her to join in on the girl talk.

'What about you, Vick? You leave a handsome beau in the city?'

'I haven't had a boyfriend in a while.' She offers mildly – Arlene tsks.

'Why ever not? You're such a pretty little thing.'

'Thanks.' It's been a while since she'd been called "little". 'I haven't met anyone I like, I guess.'

The image of a certain blonde vampire flashes through her mind, impenetrable and glorious and with life-magic the colour of the night sky. Bad, bad brain, she scolds herself, I must not fantasise about the Viking Sheriff.

'Oh well, we could set you up,' Amy pipes in, 'I know some really nice single guys.'

'Oh, look, Lafayette's here!' Loki stands abruptly – she does not want to be set by with Crazy Amy's crazy friends. 'I aught'ta go say "hi".'

She zips over to her friend's side without acknowledging the women's goodbyes, and only once she reaches his side does she notice his agitated demeanour. 'What's wrong?'

Lafayette ignores her, storming over to where Jason stands on the outskirts of the party and shoving him to the ground – Loki watches passively, making no move to intervene.

'I kept my mouth shut.' Jason assures weakly, and the facts click into place in her brain. Lafayette sells "V"; Jason is an addict; Jason has a vampire held captive in his basement.

Oh, shit.

'My supplier. He gone. He fucking missing.' Her friend's words confirm her suspicions with awful certainty. 'If other vampires find out I been selling, the same shit is gonna…' His words trail off, and Lafayette runs a hand over his head. 'You understand? The same shit is gonna happen to me.'

The blonde man clenches his jaw. 'You got nothing to worry about.'

The words set Lafayette's ire up a notch. 'Bitch, you think life is just this one fuckin' game that you always win no matter how many dead folk are piling up around you. Maudette. Dawn. Your grandma. And I tell you one fucking thing: I ain't gonna be next, bitch. On my mama, motherfucker. I ain't gonna be next.' He spits at Jason's feet. 'Fucker…'

Lafayette storms away, and Loki gives chase after sending Jason a scathing look. She is going to be so pissed if her friends gets into vampire messes because of the village idiot.

'Lala, calm down.'

'Shit, Tori!' He rounds on her. 'Don't be tellin' me to calm down! I am so fucked.'

'Lafayette!' Loki's voice rises, and he stills – she almost never yells, but it is widely acknowledged that when she did, you listened. 'When you told me you were selling V, what did I tell you?'

He stares down at her blankly.

'I told you,' she reminds him, hands settling on his broad shoulders and holding his eyes, 'that I would protect you. And I will.' Finally, she smiles up at him. 'I've got your back on this.'

Lafayette's lips quirk up into tentative smile. 'Thanks, Tori,' he sighs, 'but I dunno if anyone can protect me if the vamps want me.'

Loki gives him a reassuring hug in lieu of responding – but he had no idea how wrong he is.

xXx

'Bill's back!'

The shriek makes Loki wince and pull the phone away from her ear, but she smiles nonetheless at the palpable relief in the telepath's voice. 'That's great, Sookie.'

'I know! He left me message saying he wasn't hurt, but he wouldn't tell me anything about what happened at the trial...'

'Tribunal.' The magic-user corrects absentmindedly. Sat on the porch swing of the Plantation house, staring out into the dark Louisiana night air, she losses herself in thought; Bill being back meant that the Magister had held back from wrapping him in silver and locking him in a coffin for fifty years, but Loki doubts it was an act of mercy. The bastard had probably devised some cruel and unusual punishment in its place, and for once she doesn't even want to know.

'Vick, are you listenin'?'

Loki almost startles, having completely forgotten Sookie in her contemplation, but is quick to soothe her co-worker. 'Of course; have you and Sam made up?'

The telepath made a noise of irritation. 'Sorta. He lied to me about something big, but he's helping me find the person that killed Gran.'

'Oh.' Sookie had told her all about the encounter with the murderer at Merlotte's. 'It's probably someone who was at the engagement party.'

'Sam thinks so too, but I just can't stomach the idea of someone from Bon Temps killin' people. I grew up with most of the town!'

'You'd be surprised what humans are capable of.' Loki advises sagely, repeating the exact words her Mother told her millennia ago. But the sudden heavy scent of ozone makes every muscle in her body tense and bite out some tense excuses before hanging up the phone and jumping to her feet.

The previously calm night sky shimmers with a sheet of silk blowing in the wind, and with a familiar flash of rainbow colours and a wave of ancient magic, a figure is dropped out of the air and onto Loki's front lawn with a slightly anticlimactic thump. She closes her eyes and exhales, deeply displeased at the invasion of a peaceful moment, before drawing herself up to her full height, posture straightening as the figure clambers to their feet and approaches the porch.

High-born citizens of Asgard are free to travel to Midgard as they please, but Odin had declared centuries ago that any who did should declare themselves to one of the royals on Earth – and, as Loki lived there, she was almost always the lucky Princess.

Hence why the Bifröst (2) had spat one of the Æsir onto her driveway.

He – now that he's closer, the figures gender became clear – halts five feet away, giving an almost too-deep bow. 'Your Highness.'

'Tell me your name, Man of Asgard.' She commands, tone devoid of all "Victoria Storm's" softness. Even after so long, it is all too easy to fall back into the role of her birthright.

'Fandral Ullsson, my lady (3).' Fandral straightens, and closer inspection reveals a pleasant, masculine face and brown eyes alight with humour. Loki dismisses the first inspection off the bat but is surprised by the second.

A good-humoured Æsir is about as rare as an unattractive one.

Shaking off the thought, Loki places her hand is his, allowing him to press a kiss to the back of it, the whiskers of his perfectly groomed facial hair tickling the skin there. 'Well met, Ullsson.' She tugs her hand free after the appropriate time. 'Why are you on Midgard?'

'I come to visit Prince Thor, my lady,' his lips twist into a rather wry smirk, 'I had hoped the Gatekeeper would deliver me to him, though our meeting was an unexpected pleasure.'

The court must love Fandral, Loki decides, but remains perfectly neutral. 'You're a friend to my brother?'

He nods, and a quick skim of his mind confirms it – along with a thorough appreciation of her attire.

(If she'd known she would be expecting visitors she would have changed out of her pyjamas. She'll be having words with Heimdallr (4) when she next sees him.)

'I have longed to meet our esteemed Princess.' Fandral waxes, tone free off sarcasm and chock-full of flirtation. 'The tales throughout Asgard of your beauty do not do you justice, my lady.'

Loki longs to make a comment about rumours on Asgard that would leave him spluttering apologies – it's well known that gossip is one of the reasons she refuses to return to her birthplace – but Fandral's words are not meant to antagonise.

He's a complete cad, but he's not cruel enough to bring up that particular sordid piece of history. So she continues as if he hadn't spoken: 'Thor resides far from here; I will transport you.'

'Many thanks, my lady.' Fandral barely falters at the turn in conversation. Loki can appreciate that kind of adaptability. 'But perhaps I could stay – continue our wonderful conversation?'

It's the Æsir flirting equivalent of asking to see her etchings, but she takes no offense. If anything, the bluntness is refreshing, and Loki has certainly been propositioned by worse men. But...

'I'm afraid conversation with eligible nobles would only encourage my Mother's plots for a son-in-law,' she informs him honestly, shrugging as if to say "oh well", 'though I wish you safety in your travels.'

'Oh.' He slumps a little, seduction thwarted, but bounces back quickly with a lascivious grin. 'Perhaps another time, then.'

The comment cracks Loki's regal demeanour, and her chuckles ring through the night even as she waves a hand and the Æsir noble is swept away in a tidal wave of magic.

She may never fully escape from her home, she thinks with a rueful shake of the head, but at least it brings her occasionally interesting people.

And handsome men.

xXx

Things move quickly after that night.

From a peek into Jason's brain, Amy had staked the imprisoned vampire – Eddie – with a plank of wood after an argument. It had made Loki frown, but a night later Amy got strangled by the Bon Temps murderer – she supposes that's what humans these days would call karma.

It wasn't the humane way to see things, but Loki had never claimed to be a paragon of compassion.

In a chain of events that Loki definitely should have seen coming, Rene – actually Drew Marshall – was revealed to be the killer, and put the beat down on Sookie and Sam before getting partially decapitated with a shovel.

Poetic justice, she decided, but still feels a passing sadness for Arlene, who seemed to cry for days on end at the news.

If you ignored the new murder – a woman with her heart missing, very messy – things could almost be called peaceful in Renard Parish.

But then Lafayette disappears from work mid-shift, and Loki gets a sick feeling in her gut.

She searches his house (nothing), calls his entire phonebook (nothing), and even asks around (nothing).

Faced with no other option and a little frantic with worry, Loki wraps herself in a cocoon of swirling gold magic and closes her eyes.

Take me to Lafayette, she thinks, and – much like it did Fandral – the hurricane of power whisks her away into the dark.


(1) The Realm Eternal is what Asgard is sometimes called.

(2) The Bifröst – or Rainbow Bridge – is, according to mythology, a bridge connecting Midgard and Asgard. (Anyone familiar with the movie Thor will know of it, an though this isn't a Thor/True Blood crossover, I have been heavily inspired by Marvel's representation of Norse gods. Oh, and, I don't own Thor.)

(3) Fandral is a character based on the Thor franchise. It's my way of tipping my hat to the genius' behind the Marvel'verse. He's a complete flirt – Marvel calls him "Fandral the Dashing", and is one of "The Warrior's Three". And I don't own him either. The name of his father – "Ullr", thus the "Ullsson" title – is completely made up on my part, although Ullr is a character in Norse Mythology.

(4) Heimdallr is a Norse god known for possessing foreknowledge, keen eyesight and hearing. He is said to stand watch over the Bifröst, and in this fic he's basically the man in charge of sending Æsir to and from Asgard.