Disclaimer: I don't own Thor, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

Chapter 2: Maybe I Will, Maybe I Won't

He grinned, stepped back to admire his handiwork, and immediately frowned again. For nearly an hour now, Thor had been busy at work with piecing his pack together, stuffing various supplies into his bedroll in hopes of maintaining that wager made with Loki. Were he to have everything ready beforehand, there would be no way for him to lose. He could arise early on the first morn of Summer, run out to the stables and prepare his horse for their journey. And, though his brother had shown no desire to go along with the bet, that was a part of the game as well. Loki was a talented liar, and he did not like to lose.

Hands tugged at the strings that bound the bedroll, the thing popping open upon his mattress and sending his pouch and medicines skittering across the floor. The tent, on the other hand, stayed still. Thor chased after them, catching one of the jars before it split open, flinching as another made a loud sound, stayed in one piece and ended up rolling towards the door. His eyes followed it, moving up as the great barrier opened, his mother's gown appearing as she bent over to scoop up the glass container.

Thor looked to her and smiled.

"It's rather early to be packing, don't you think?" The prince sighed and got to his feet, accepting the jar as she crossed the room. Of course, Loki would have gone and told her of their plans. "Don't you think that's cheating?"

He laughed, retrieving the rest of the materials from across the room and tried again to stuff them into the tent and bedroll. "Loki cheats, Mother," Thor replied. "I plan ahead."

Frigga appeared beside him, brushed his hand away and nodded as she began to pack it for him, rolling the medicines and pouch inside the tent. Thor made a face. He'd seen her pack his things a hundred times, and still couldn't seem to manage it on his own.

"I see," she said, lifting the pack and settling it in his arms. It was bound tightly with the leather cords, no bigger than the saddle of Thor's horse. "Smallest things first, then the tent and the bedroll."

He nodded. "Of course."

The supplies were left on his bed then, his mother's hand slipping into his as they walked out of the room and down the warm hallways. The two of them wound through the gardens, and Frigga stopped for a time to watch the magicked fish swim in the ponds, take a small bucket and spread water across several of her plants. Thor sat on the edge of the fountain, listened as the water shifted through the opening in the decorated marble, dipped a hand into the pool and watched as the fish began nibbling on the ends of his fingers. When animals like this appeared, so real that they might have been but a dream, it was a sure sign that his brother had been about.

The air was fresh, warm enough to lift the scent of the flowers through the garden, the breeze strong enough to carry that of the distant pines on the mountain to waft about the palace. Thor smiled, for he loved that smell. He loved the sound of twigs cracking beneath his boots, the atmosphere of the mountain air as it hovered around him, filled him with all the sights and sounds of nature. Perhaps that was why the prince was so eager to leave, to get away from the bustling life of the the palace, of the city.

Thor smiled. He couldn't wait to get away.

# - # - # - #

"Aren't you the slightest bit worried?"

The book snapped shut, the sentence cut off as Loki looked up again, laid it flat on the library table. Fandral had a bad habit of nagging him at the worst of times, and though it hadn't happened in quite a while, it still wasn't welcome. He closed his eyes, breathed through his nose and waited, hoped that the warrior would take the hint and go the hell away. But, even after the passing of ten minutes, he still stood behind the chair, and Loki turned on him.

"About what?" he replied, an edge to his voice. Loki fought back the urge to yell at him.

The warrior made a face, as though he expected Loki to know exactly what he was talking about, and began playing at tracing the letters embossed into the front of the book. The prince scowled and slapped his hand away. It seemed Fandral was trying to bug him.

"Thor," came the reply, and the blond man moved to finger the spines of the books on the shelves, as though he were actually intelligent enough to understand half of the material within. "And his bet. Do you really think you can beat him? You haven't even started packing yet."

Loki sighed, leaned forward in the chair and shook his head. He didn't need to plan ahead, though it was certain that his brother would. Thor could easily spend the next four days preparing himself, waking before the break of dawn and the like, and Loki would still win. He was the God of Mischief, the trickster prince. Games were his forte, and, thus far, no one had been able to beat him at a game which Loki had claimed as his own. This pointless race to have their belongings packed and ready for departure would be no different. He didn't even need to try.

Fandral seemed to have heard the thought, his mouth opening in that knowing "Oh" of which he was so fond. The warrior smiled, seemed as though he were about to skip across the library like it were a field of pretty daisies.

"You're going to cheat," he whispered, snatching Loki's book and carrying it out of reach. The prince made no move to chase after him. "You always cheat; that's how you win!" Fandral made a mocking sound, that of disappointment. "Shameless."

"If you like," the trickster grinned, "I could take the liberty of changing that face of yours into something that suits your big mouth." The warrior dropped the book and stared. "A toad, perhaps?"

The man's mouth opened as though he were about to vomit and turned away, obviously appalled at the thought. Loki laughed and stood, crossed the room a ways to retrieve his book, and gave Fandral a good kick in the ass with a boot. The warrior tumbled forward with a whimper, rolled about on the carpet for a time with his hands pressed to his face, as though he feared that Loki would go through with his suggestion.

"Now, if you don't mind," the trickster grimaced, returning to his chair, "I'd like to finish my book. And I suggest you leave before I take back my good graces, and change my mind."

Fandral had never been seen running so fast.