3. Crime and Punishment

Loki was given a week of extra lessons on the battlefield as well as a long essay to write on The Art of War. For once he didn't mind; if he was going to rescue Natasha he wanted to be ready for anything he might encounter. It all meant the end of his daily sojourns in the woods and by the river rocks; as a result his prick ached for release by the seventh day.

That same night he saw Natasha in his bath, bare-breasted as a Valkyrie on horseback, and he nearly emptied at the sight. Loki tried to hide his arousal as he told her his name, murmured how beautiful she was. But when she bent forward to wash in another dimension and her dark nipples brushed the water, he could nearly feel them under his hands – those quivering tips. At once he released, shooting voluminously into the water. The orgasm made his entire body shudder with a delight he had never before experienced, not even with the wood nymphs.

Once he was able to breathe, Loki opened his eyes. Cold disappointment washed through him as he saw she had disappeared from his sight. Ah, but what a beauty! "Latveria," he whispered to himself. He was more determined than ever to find the place and rescue her. And if he was able to talk her into allowing him a kiss at the same time… Perhaps he should redouble his studies on Persuasion, as well.

Was it sympathy or loyalty? Or was it simply a chance to get close to Sif? Thor joined the extra lessons and helped Loki with several new skills, but after a wasted afternoon with Loki trying to throw rocks and heavy mallets at an imaginary enemy, Sif seemed to lose patience. "Stop!" she shouted. "He'll never make a fighter like that. Loki has an entirely different style – he's graceful, not overly muscled – more of a dancer than a soldier."

"Ooh, a dancer." Thor went on tiptoes and pretended to pirouette around Loki; he followed it with some lumbering leaps. A broad grin stretched his good-natured face.

"You just say that because you want Sif to notice you so you can kiss her some more." Loki made a series of loud smacks with his lips; at once Thor roared, wrestled him onto the ground, and sat on his legs.

"Stop it, both of you!" Sif whacked Thor's head with the flat of one hand; obviously she was sure of him at that point. And perhaps his brother liked bossy, dangerous females just as much as he did? Loki thought of Natasha and grinned; he could just tell from the few times they spoke she had plenty of spirit. Plus there was a look in the red beauty's eyes he recognized – the glint of a wolf or a wild thing.

"Try it this way instead." Sif demonstrated a few moves that incorporated balance and momentum; Loki was instantly attracted to the intelligence behind them. "You could use this with daggers instead of swords – you have always bested us at knifeplay."

"'Tis true." Thor was always quick to praise when it was due.

Loki tried a simple turn. Quickly he figured the point to release his knife and gain the most speed from it; furthermore, he could see how the spins could intersect, taking an imaginary lumbering enemy down at its legs while he skewered the sternum with his blade.

His brother watched closely. "Well done! I could see how such a fighting style could be invaluable – you would cut your way through a battlefield."

"Aye, exactly what I was thinking." Sif and Thor smiled, drew closer, and he put one arm around her waist. Loki shook his head, flung down the knife, and stalked off to the palace for extra reading on the art of Persuasion.

That night he sought Thor's bed for the first time in years. His brother lay face up on the pillows, one massive arm flung across his eyes as he snored softly.

Temptation was too much – Loki conjured a handful of pebbles and dropped them, one by one, into Thor's mouth. He made it to five before his brother snored himself awake, started to cough and spit, babbled about losing his teeth in the night.

The perpetrator fell back on the bed, clutching his belly with laughter. "Did you spit out your fangs, dragon?" he howled, in between paroxysms.

Thor hawked the stones into his fist, flung them at Loki, and caught him by the nightshirt with one fist. "You Helspawn! I shall feed you stone porridge, by Odin's beard. Open up!"

Footsteps in the passage made them grow quiet instantly. Thor flung the blankets over Loki to hide him; the door opened and Frigga stood in the passage. "Get to sleep, son," she ordered. "I will not have you yawning over breakfast in the morrow."

"Very well," Thor mumbled. "'Twas a dream, nothing more."

When she had gone, Loki climbed under the sheets and pushed his cold feet against Thor's warm legs. "Were you able to talk to Heimdall this week?" He tried to keep the anxious tone out of his voice.

"Aye." The short answer made his scalp prickle with fear.

"And did you discover any news of the place named Latveria?"

"Aye," Thor replied. "No such place exists, not in any of the nine realms."

"Damnation!" Loki flung his head back on the pillows and stared up into the darkness.

Thor pushed his arm under Loki's neck, and they clung together in the darkness. "However, Heimdall says there will be such a land in the future. It does not exist yet, but it will appear on Midgard one day."

"Midgard." Loki ran his fingernails over Thor's chest, and his brother groaned with pleasure. "Have you ever traveled there?"

Thor fisted his other hand under his head. "Several times. Gods, the females are beautiful!"

Once he would have argued the Aesir were the loveliest beings in the branches of Yggdrasil, but Loki thought of Natasha and didn't argue. Instead, he curled further into Thor's chest and clasped one arm around his waist. "If I go, will you come with me?"

"Yes, indeed!" Thor chuckled with delight. "Would I let you have all the glory of such a quest? But of course it is impossible – we cannot go forth in time."

Loki lay quiet until Thor's breathing evened out once more, a grin of pure mischief on his lips. The next item on his reading list was traveling throughout the ages themselves.

"Travel in time?" Frigga's eyes were very intent in the firelight, never moving from Loki's face. "Such a thing is dark magic, and very dangerous. The traveler could arrive inside a stone wall and expire instantly, or even turn inside-out from the strange forces without and within."

"There is no way to accomplish it?"

She leaned forward and put one insistent hand on his knee. "There are always ways, but I will not teach them to you and put your life at risk – I know your curiosity has no bounds, Loki. You must forget all about it."

"How about messages from time – words that have not yet been spoken? What if I begin to hear such things?"

One log crackled and spit; they both jumped slightly at the sudden noise. "Have you done so?" she asked.

If he answered Yes, Frigga would realize his plan before it was done and put a stop to it. He simply had to find the lovely Natasha, even if his life was jeopardized when he did. "Of course not," he laughed. "I simply wondered if it were possible."

"I sometimes believe all things are possible." Idly she created an image, one glowing seed that split, grew tendrils and became a shoot, a sapling, a tree bearing fruit.

Loki reached forward to catch a silver pear as they tumbled from the branches in all colors. "Beautiful! Your magic is so artistic – I feel I shall never get the hang of such power."

"You are very strong already. It is within you, and no one can take it away. Remember that."

He tried and produced a weak imitation; his illusion was a mere flower that wilted in a moment. Still, he would remember.

Books, scrolls, old letters, ancient journals. Loki spent the next few months studying everything he could find on the subject of time and magic. If Natasha were in danger, he reasoned as he reread a treatise on clockworks and runes, it had not actually happened yet – the entire affair was still in the future. So he had time to prepare himself, find a way to propel into Latveria - a country that still did not exist - and rescue Natasha - a girl not yet born.

She couldn't be a mortal, he reasoned. Everyone knew they were dull, simple creatures, capable only of simple tasks such as worshiping the gods of Asgard. No, she had to be something else: fae, perhaps? Maybe she had Vanir blood? Or was she a goddess herself, lost within a backwards realm? In any case, it was his chosen quest to discover the truth and rescue her.

At the same time he trained with Thor and Sif each day. New students joined them: Volstagg, a large Viking with a huge belly, and Hogun, a mysterious soldier from Vaneheim. Thor frowned when Fandral showed up one morning – the fellow was well known for seducing the prettiest maidens in the realm, and he winked several times at Sif during the first day they all trained together. Loki and Thor teamed up to bash him in the final round, and Sif smothered a smile at the courtier's bedraggled, mud-covered appearance.

Fandral would need to think twice about dallying with her when the Odinson boys were on the jousting fields after that.

It became obvious from Odin's words Thor was destined for the throne, not his brother. Loki tried to show his father he had merit too; he joined the fiercest quests, volunteered for the bloodiest battles. Unfortunately it was all undone during one Odinsleep by a series of dreadful events and his own mischief.

Loki stopped consorting with stones and trees – there was no more time between training, learning magic, and reading about movement in time. He was still intent on finding the lovely Natasha, but he knew he had centuries to complete the task. To gain experience and prove himself to Odin, Loki went on a trip to Muspelheim, got involved with a series of skirmishes, and nearly lost his left hand. He awoke in the cave dwelling with a woman attending his wounds; in the firelight she was a shadowy beauty with wild curls and the smile of a wild thing.

Several months later Angrboda reappeared at the palace to claim she bore Loki's child. Stifling his dismay, Loki wed her in a secret ritual under the mountains of Ringsfjord. As they traded vows, he bade a private goodbye to Natasha and his dreams of rescue.

Those thoughts vanished when his children were born: a wolf cub, a large serpent, and a girl who was half bone. To Loki they were perfect, but when a soothsayer at court discovered their presence and told Odin Fenrir would one day kill him, the wolf was sent to an island – banished and alone. Jorgmunsdir was given the task of holding back the oceans, and the AllFather handed Hela the rule of Helheim. Angrboda left after that, heartbroken at the loss of her children. Once she was gone, Loki and Odin had a heated argument, their shouts so loud they shook the realm like thunder.

Loki found a barrel of mead, got thoroughly drunk, and excoriated everyone at the banquet that evening; when he was finished, he looked around the room and realized he had just lost every friend he ever had.

Every friend? There was always one. That night, swaying from ale and too much mead, Loki crept to Thor's bed. It had been a century since the two shared a mattress, but he desperately needed a friendly voice and the feeling of warm skin against his own.

Slowly he opened the door to Thor's room. He took off his boots and was about to climb under the covers, when he stopped.

Thor was not alone in the huge bed. Next to him, eyes closed in slumber and snuggled on his broad chest, lay Sif. Her golden hair spread over the man's shoulders like a cloak, just as the god of Thunder had once imagined when he was a youth.

Yes, a golden cloak. And Loki knew he could steal it for daring to be where he wished to lie. He wanted to be next to Thor. He needed his brother's bed. The wine in his head made it all too easy – one twist of the hand, a muttered spell, and long snakes of yellow hair spilled from Loki's fist.

As soon as it was done he tried to put the curls back, but there was no spell for that.

Sif's hatred.

Thor's bewildered despair.

A trip to Nidavellir, several wagers and tricks, and the return to Asgard. He bore with him Sif's hair – now black like his own, not gold any longer.

And another souvenir: a line of golden stitches across his mouth, piercing his lips.

"I am perfectly happy Silvertongue no longer can spin his lies and tricks." It was spoken with a toss of long, black hair – Sif, filled with contempt and hatred for Loki.

"He will not be released until someone sheds a tear for his plight." That was Odin, his one eye filled with stern stricture when it looked down at his stricken son.

Frigga would have been the one to drop that tear, but she was out of Asgard, fighting a quest in Vaneheim. There was no one else – not even Thor sympathized. In the span of several months, Loki had lost everything. Wife, children, friends, the throne, brother, even his voice.

All gone.

He had been given a new suite of rooms when he came of age, complete with bookshelves, wardrobes, mirrors, magical equipment. Loki also had his own bath; no longer did he have to dash down the chilled corridor away from his brother's teasing laugh, afraid for his dignity and a disappearing towel. Sighing for that long-ago prank – what wouldn't he give now for Thor's chuckle and a cheerful argument? – Loki created a warm refuge in the tub, complete with scented steam and piles of bubbles.

He let his head tip back as several tears ran down his cheeks, but the gold wire holding his mouth shut wouldn't allow a single sound to pass his lips. Who else would shed a tear for him? He was destined to be silent forever, a trickster without words, a liar without tongue.

For hours Loki sat in the water, feeling it cool on his skin. He could have warmed it with magic, but he hadn't the will any longer. The steam disappeared, and the bubbles dissipated.

Slowly Loki became aware of a voice, as from far away. "Hey!" it said. "Hey!" There was the sound of someone snapping their fingers to get his attention. "You okay?"

Dully he opened his eyes. There in the bath was Natasha – the first time he had seen her in years. He sat up, cursing the stitches afresh. If only he could talk to her!

"Oh, my God," she continued. "What happened to your mouth? Holy shit! Look at you. It hurts, right? I can see it does. Crap, I wish I were there so I could help."

Natasha. After the long series of misfortunes he had gone through, perhaps it was enough just to see her. Loki felt a yearning look come over his face, and he reached out with his hand.

"There's nothing I can do…" Natasha blinked several times. With a shock of disbelief, Loki watched a tear course down her cheek.

The gold wire snicked through his lips, unlacing itself with a terrible heat. As it released his mouth, Loki screamed and flung his head back, shouting with pain. "Ahhh! It hurts!" he cried.

"I'm sorry! I didn't – what happened?" Natasha shook her head. "That thread just undid itself. It's beyond weird."

Carefully Loki wiped his mouth so he wouldn't disturb the vision in the water. At that moment the shimmering shade was all he had. "You saved me, that is what happened. You, Natasha."

A slight frown crossed her features. "But I'm not Natasha."

"What? Do not toy with me – not now! You are Natasha – you told me your name years ago."

"No." She shook her head decisively. "I work in the baths downstairs, and everyone calls me 5."