A/N: I leave this Sunday for a 2-week vacation in Panama, and in preparing for this I have had very little time to write anything but a tease of this chapter. So here's a little snippet! The plan is to complete and post it while abroad, even if I have to abandon all structure and post in sporadic chunks. That just may be the fate of my following chapter as well because really, who needs structure while on vacation? =P

Thanks again for reading.

Loki had had it all wrong. It should not have been his third trial he was dreading, but instead the first two.

What a nightmare yesterday had been. He could still feel the animal flesh crawling through his organs, still taste the residue of indiscriminately cheap thrills upon his lips. Walking away from his second trial without purging his first trial all over the floor was a trial in itself. Yet, another that he had passed and that will undoubtedly prove more challenging than third, which was now revealing its very anticlimactic reality to him.

Alighting upon a rocky platform just large enough for his skiff, Loki scanned the expanse of Vanaheim. It was familiar from his books. He had traveled to Hogun's home realm countless times but never to this particular elevation, which the warrior's provided coordinates had led him to. It was typically off limits to tourists, even rogues like himself, protected by the magic of Vanir shamans. These were the grounds they specifically reserved for their people's vision quest, a silly coming of age ritual which their adolescents must endure. A joke of trial if that was indeed what Hogun had planned for Loki. How simple, myopic, cliche even. Apparently grimness sapped one of creativity.

What a waste of his time. It was insulting that Hogun deemed this a worthy trial for Loki of Many Questionable but Esteemed Titles, none of which included Prepubescent Vanir. At least the setting was pleasant enough though, towering rock formations reminiscent of Midgard's wild west only washed in grim blues and dressed in Vanaheim's signature clinging clouds. There were arches tall as titans silhouetted in the distance, and rocky outcroppings that seemed to float, shrouded by mist. It was a breathtaking view, even to one who was quickly preferring Volstagg's backyard over whatever menial psychological games were awaiting him.

Loki stepped out of the skiff for a lack of anything else to do. The pillar he was directed to did not connect to anything, no paths or bridges, not even a vine within reach to swing on like a bipedal primitive. There were no other life forms either save the occasional V of passing birds, their cries bouncing haphazardly off the surrounding natural monuments. He didn't know what he was supposed to do but he knew he was being watched. He could sense the foreign magic thick in the air, studying him, muting his own magic. This was the first test. And by the gods was it boring.

He turned, making to step back into the skiff but was thrown to the ground when the entire pillar began rumbling. He watched as the rock beneath his vessel cracked and crumbled, halving the safe surface area and sending the skiff to a falling fate. Loki clung to a small shrubbery, it's little roots offering just enough strength to anchor him while the platform shook and swayed. An unwelcome fear came over him. He wondered if this was not a trial at all, but a set-up. An assassination staged to look like a flying accident. Could a member of Thor's noble entourage sink to such conniving depths? It was hard to say with Hogun. He was a wild card.

Loki's fear shifted to anger, his knuckles white around the stems in his grip. He may be stripped of his magic, his vehicle, his equilibrium, but he was not defenseless, not while he had the might of mind and voice. Releasing the plants he rose upon gradually stabilizing legs, claiming a strong footing and enough balance to stand just shy of his full height.

"If you intend to murder me then at least spare me the plot of the coward," he shouted over the quaking din. "Face me like a true warrior, Hogun."

His voice was absorbed into the dust and mist, not even allowed the dignity of an echo. He awaited a response, riding the now predictable shifts of the platform, adjusting his weight as needed. The entire scenario called back memories of Chitauri space: the unstable alien surroundings, the isolation, his plays for even a glimpse of control. What was next? Interrogation? Threats? Torture? What could Vanaheim possibly confront him with that he hasn't already endured and conquered.

"I grow bored of your child's play," he taunted, arms held out expectantly. "Either drop me into the misty abyss or present me with something to hold my interest."

His request was heard this time, for another wave of rumbling overcame the platform, forcing Loki to a crouch as the rock under his feet rippled and multiplied, birthing a walkway that grew stone by stone and stretched into the mist. He watched wide-eyed, unable to deny his fascination in Vanir sorcery. The old tribal shamans were true masters of their craft.

He was already advancing down the path before it had finished completion, before the quaking ceased, his patience only reserved for special occasions. The mist ahead was inviting, the promise of a delicate caress to his beaded skin. He was dressed in full armor, the same set he had worn on Midgard, regal, empowering and, unfortunately, quite warm, especially with the cape. Perhaps one day he would face his opponents as the Jotnar do, unabashedly half-naked. But until that day he would just have to endure a persistent perspiration and seek relief wherever he could get it.

The mist was indeed a relief and it mercifully thickened as he went on. Visibility was limited but the drop in temperature and the sound of rushing of water told him he was entering a grotto. He stepped through a cooling curtain of a waterfall without hesitation, slicking his hair off his forehead, allowing the water to creep in beneath his heavy layers, sooth his skin.

He opened his eyes. When he emerged on the other side of the waterfall, he found himself in Germany.