Hi, everybody. I'm glad you're back, reading. Thank you, anastacianott, for reviewing. I hope you enjoy the way things turn out :-) Oh, and if you like my way of getting Loki drunk, try reading "Marvelous Jobs". It's an Avengers fanfic, but, well, even as a trickster you cannot always choose your opponents (or the contents of their mini-bar), can you? :-)

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor, Loki, Odin or any other characters in this story. This fanfic is done for the love of trickster deities, and I do not make money from it.

+++Chapter 6: I should arrest you. Or something... +++

'Thor? Can I come in?'

'Sure, Fandral.' Thor was in his private quarters, polishing a leather armor. Whiling away the time till the revival of the festivities. He pointed the cloth at the entering warrior. 'What's that?'

'I thought you could do with some fruit for a change.' Fandral put a large bowl on a trunk beside the door. It contained apples, plums, pears, a handful of nuts and tiny, red strawberries. 'You've been living on mead and meat lately.'

Tiny wrinkles creased the corners of the prince's eyes as he smiled, 'The goes together nicely, if you ask me.'

Fandral passed over the remark. He held out an apple to Thor, 'Here. Try one.'

'Not now. I'm busy.'

'Before you return to the hall, then. Promise me you'll eat an apple.'

Thor's amused smile gave way to a frown. 'Not. Now,' he repeated. 'Why do you insist so?'

'I used to be concerned for my prince's well-being. But my future king's health, I am worried about.'

'Well spoken, old friend.' Thor laughed, reconciled by the smooth answer. 'When I return to the hall, I'll show you that there's nothing for you to worry about. Save cutting off the future king's supply to mead and meat, that is.'

Fandral hovered by the door, as if he wanted to say more or waited for something.

Thor returned to treating the worn leather with oil and pretended he did not notice.

When he looked up again, the blond warrior had left.

The bowl was sitting on the trunk (one apple before you return to the hall) - waiting patiently for him to fulfill a promise he'd never actually made.

'Oooh, the cold! I'm freezing!'

'Shhh. Sit, sister, sit patiently, and wait...the only way these things can be made to work...'

The voices registered, but the meaning of the words took a moment longer to penetrate. Loki realized that his eyes were half open. But he could not see. He squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked again. Something moved against his face, something brittle and rustling like a bag of straw emptied on his head. Already annoyed by this strange mode of waking, he turned his face away from the nuisance. As he reached up, his hands clutched at a bunch of feathers.

Somewhere, someone gave a squealing noise. The feathers in his hands jerked, as if a big bird had been stirred up.

Cackling voices broke into birdlike laughter. 'Look who's hatching.'

With both hands, Loki shoved and pushed the rustling quills out of his face. Showing no unnecessary haste, the harpy got to its chicken feet, planting them firmly on his left and right collarbone. It moved away as dignified as it could and joined its sisters that stood observing.

Loki jumped to his feet, then found that he had moved too fast for his sense of balance and swayed.

'She tricked me,' he moaned, pressing one hand to his brow.

'She's a heartless snake,' agreed one harpy readily.

'A cold bitch,' supplied another, although she cast her sister a look as if to ask "Who?"

Loki stared at the creature, 'You sat on my face.'

'Instinct. You were out cold, stone cold. What's a bird gonna do?' The harpy seemed to shrug.

'Sister nearly froze her bum off,' said the second harpy.

Loki mumbled something apologetic.

'Thought we'd tell you,' said the third creature cheerfully. 'In case you think you got reason to complain.'

Loki thought that, yes, he had. But then again, he had more immediate things to take care of: 'The casket. They're going to steal it.'

'No good, inviting thieves into Asgard. No good telling them how to sneak past Heimdall's sight. You made a mess, boy. And only because you have a crush on that female - '

Loki broke into a run. The three harpies looked after him.

'What are we going to do now?'

'Have patience. Watch,' the oldest sister decided. 'These things are best treated sitting on and observing.'

The relic vault was glittering with ice. The Asgardian guards lay dead, the shock of the surprise attack still frozen in their wide, staring eyes. Four blue-skinned frost giants and a lady in Asgardian attire stood in a semi-circle around the casket they had come to take home. They looked at the emanating blue light as if mesmerized by the glow. In its splendour they could already see Jotunheim's glory restored, the palaces rebuilt, the eternally slate gray sky returned to a cloudless blue.

'I feel like I should make some memorable words.' Reverently, Angrboda took the casket with both hands and lifted it up. 'Let's go home, my friends.'

She turned and briskly strode toward the door.

She had not made it halfway up the stairs, when Loki stepped out in front of her. A dead guard's spear was in his hand, and he brandished it with resolve and practiced ease.

At his sight, the Jotuns slowed and finally halted, although not necessarily out of respect or anxiety. Loki was aware that the point of his weapon hardly reached up to the chin of the smallest opponent. If he stood very, very straight, that was. But seeing the precious casket, the trophy of his father's victory, in Angrboda's hands he could not have cared less about advantages and - ah, silver tongue, the pun - shortcomings.

'Hand over the casket!' he demanded, his voice reasonably controlled.

'Says you and what army?' asked the Jotun right behind Angrboda. A chuckle rippled through the gang of giants.

Loki's eyes snapped to the metal grid behind which slept the Destroyer. Again and again, he had tried to invoke the magic armor to assist him. But Asgard's most effective warrior would listen to Odin's voice alone, take orders only from the King of Asgard himself.

Seeing Loki distracted, Angrboda made a dash for the exit. Loki brought down his spear in a quick arc and tripped her. She stumbled and landed on one knee. Going down, she tossed the casket to her nearest comrade - her maid, barely recognizable with her changed colors and size. Loki immediately went after it. Swea passed the casket on to the Jotun beside her.

'Reyk, the casket!' shouted Angrboda from her sprawled position on the stairs. 'Don't let him touch it!'

Reyk twisted his large body and evaded Loki's assault easily. He held the casket up, well outside of the smaller man's limited reach.

'Stop your antics, Jotun!' yelled Loki. 'Give that back!'

Reyk hoisted the casket up on his shoulder, looking at the door above. The outraged Asgardian prince before him clearly bothered him about as much as would a yapping puppy at his heels.

'Thief! Traitor!' Finding himself thus ignored, Loki was flying into a veritable rage and preparing to use his weapon.

'Loki!' screamed Angrboda. 'I'm dead, if you touch the casket! The queen will kill me! You hear me?'

He heard, of course, but he didn't gave a damn, and she didn't make sense, and he would have snatched the casket from Reyk anytime.

But he couldn't.

And now the Jotun threw the casket to another companion. Loki charged after it - and after the next throw – and before long, he found himself in the center of the most peculiar ball game Asgard had seen in centuries. It felt like playing with Thor and his friends in their days of childhood. For a couple of decades, Loki had been the smallest of the boys, and once he lost the ball and got to stand in the center, it took him like ages to catch the ball again and be allowed back to the circle.

The experience had been humiliating, to say the least. If anything, it had taught him not to waste too many futile attempts on leaping, jumping and noisy protest, before resorting to magic: Illusionary images of himself popped up everywhere in the relic vault and started to attack the Jotuns. The real Loki retreated to the background and observed the frost giants's confused reaction. Just as he had suspected! The Jotuns might be masters at disguise. But even they could not see through his spell.

Protected by a multitude of Lokis, the genuine article slid up to Reyk and kicked the Jotun in the shin. It was a base move, but still as efficient as it had been with Volstagg, who was the tallest, most massive boy you could imagine. Reyk gave a yelp of pain and swayed. Another Jotun sprang to his rescue. Loki spun around and thrust his elbow at this new adversary's stomach. The giant huffed and doubled over, just as Reyk threw the casket his way. Loki leaped high up into the air to catch it. His fingers were about to close on the trophy, when out of nowhere, Angrboda flew at him.

Only she was no longer a slender, weak Asgardian lady. She was a nine foot monster, and she slammed him to the ground with brute force.

'I said I'm dead, if you touch that casket,' she spat savagely, like a giant cat.

Loki rolled himself over and rose to his knees as a first, painful step to regaining his feet. Angrboda grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up until they were face-to-face. Her red eyes bore into his. 'Have you heard me, Loki? Give it up. By my life, you cannot fathom the disaster that might stem from this - '

Loki glared at her. 'Try me!' he croaked.

Voices sounded over from the corridor. Voices, shouting orders to fan up and get the weapons ready.

'My lady,' called Reyk. 'More Asgardians!'

'You brought them here?' Angrboda turned back to Loki, who had tasted blood on his lips and was wiping it off with the back of his hand.

He interrupted his occupation to shake his head and put on an arrogant face. 'Heimdall,' he said simply.

'Heimdall? But the pouch - the amber - ' Angrboda even produced the little bag to wave it in front of his nose.

'Throw it away,' Loki told her with dark glee. 'It's nothing but resin turned to stone and crushed to dust.'

'But you said - '

'Did you really believe I would show an enemy of Asgard how to avoid Heimdall's watch?' Loki guffawed. 'Oh, he did not see us while I wanted some privacy – while we were wandering the streets together and talking under that willow. But once you left my side... how his negligence must have struck him right in the face when he saw you gather your little band and head for this vault!' Loki laughed, a hoarse sound, full of spite.

Angrboda snarled and, with the full power of a giant's sinew, muscle, and ill will, dealt him a backhand blow.

Loki was lifted off the floor and hurled across the vault, where he crashed into the Destroyer's metal grid. As he curled up, a desperate thought flickered through his mind: Oh, would that the metal face plate opened, alive with fire, ready to assist! Then came the plunge, a good three meters straight to the floor, and the dull shock of the impact. Searing pain in his hands and knee-caps added to the agony in his back, where it had connected with the metal grid. Got to get up, keep fighting! But Angrboda's blow to his unprotected face had taken his fighting spirit out of him. All he could do was draw up his knees and hope to hang on to consciousness long enough to see his father's guards take over this place once more.

There was a commotion, someone shouting at someone else to surrender, then -

'My prince!' A warm, Asgardian hand, thank goodness, touched his wrist, his neck. Looking for a pulse. Just how finished did he look?

'I'm not dead yet,' Loki mumbled.

The guard sounded not entirely convinced, 'Your face, my prince. Are you badly hurt?'

'You did not actually tell them to "freeze", did you? Those are frost giants.' Loki rolled over onto his back and, alarmed by the guard's words, put his hand to his face. His cheekbone was sensitive to the touch, and the skin around his left eye felt hot and puffy. He looked over to where the Jotuns stood surrounded by guards, glaring defiantly at the smaller men. He could not help himself. He broke into laughter. 'Monsters, claiming to be viewed and treated like men. Arrest them. Break the news to the king. And to my brother.'

He wondered if he should wear the black eye for Thor's coronation ceremony. Thor Odinson receives the scepter from Odin One-Eye, and is greeted by his black-eyed brother. If that wasn't an omen, then what was? The image turned his mirthless laughter into semi-hysterical giggles.

Then, everything went dark.

When Loki came to himself again, his brother was with him. Thor leaned against the opposite wall, right where the man on the bed would spot him easily and watched with crossed arms as Loki orientated himself: The row of low beds, the unadorned walls, the high windows...

'Eir's infirmary?' Loki rose onto his elbows, preparing to sit up. A sharp pain in his head made him change his mind. He did not want to, but he winced anyway.

'Easy, brother. You got punched in the head,' said Thor, pushing off the wall and coming over.

'How long have I been unconscious?'

'About an hour.' Thor stooped, looking at something in Loki's face. 'Hmm, the bruises are almost gone. But don't touch your face just now. Eir has healed your black eye, but the cheek bone was cracked and needs yet to harden.'

Loki grimaced and felt the skin under his left eye stretch uncomfortably. 'What happened to the Jotuns?'

Thor sat on the edge of the bed. 'Father decided against locking them away in the dungeon. On the grounds that they're delegates, after all. They are under arrest in their quarters.'

'Including the lady?'

'Now you listen well, brother.' Thor put his hand to his brother's jaw line, so that his finger pressed against his Loki's neck, just behind the ear. 'You never ever be so silly and stand up against those monsters on your own, you hear me?'

Loki gave his brother a thoughtful look. Then, he caught Thor's face between his own hands, pulled him close and pressed his lips to his brother's mouth.

Thor struggled, but not as fiercely as he could have done.

He did not melt into the kiss as Loki had hoped, either.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' Thor mumbled again and again, in the short, sparse intervals when they came up for breath.

When Loki eventually released his grip, he looked into moss green eyes. He was just the tiniest bit relieved. But then, he had known, had he not?

'Alright. What was that?' Angrboda asked, breathless.

'You mean the kiss?'

'Don't you do it again. Never.'

He disobeyed instantly.

'No, stop,' Angrboda murmured.

'Why? Don't you like kissing?'

'We don't do it. It's the lips. They'll freeze together,' Angrboda said as if talking to a child. Although she was probably sharing basic knowledge even the smallest Jotun children knew. 'How did you know it was me, anyway? Or is kees-sing something you usually share with your brother?'

'Kissing,' Loki corrected without thinking.

'Kees-sing,' she repeated. The word seemed to sound very strange to her ears and feel even stranger coming off her tongue.

'No, that's – ah, never mind.' Loki shook his head. 'In the vault, I noticed you missing from the group the guards had surrounded. I noticed how you've just evaded my question. And besides, please grant me to know that my brother would sit by my side, not watch from the far wall as I came to my senses and figured out my where-abouts.'

'And I thought I had captured his attitude of nonchalance so perfectly,' Angrboda said with an impish smile. 'I even held your neck the way he does. I saw him do it at breakfast and figured it meant something. A private gesture and communication between brothers.'

Loki had never really come to see it that way. To be honest, he had not thought much of it at all, so he could not immediately tell why it had felt wrong. It was in the pressure, he realized. Everything Thor wanted to tell him was encrypted in the way his fingers pressed into Loki's skin and bone. Do this! Do that! Be quiet and listen! Get a grip! Little brother Thor's frrriend... With Angrboda's recent effort, the feel had just not matched the message. But if he could not fully explain it, how was the observant Jotun supposed to imitate the gesture?

He sat up. 'How come you're still free? You been walking around in Thor's form all the time?'

'At first, I played "dead guard on the vault's floor". When no-one was looking my way, I revived as your brother and received the news of the incident in his place. Everyone was fooled.' She gave him a deep, meaningful look. 'Everyone but you, I should say.'

'You're a thief. I should arrest you or something.'

'Yes,' she agreed lightly. 'Or something. Snow bunny.'

Somehow, Loki managed to close his arms around her, pull her down and turn her around in one swift movement, bringing her to lie on her back with himself on top without either of them falling off the bed, and kissing her again. Then he set to work undoing the laces of her corset.

She squirmed impatiently, 'Tear them off.'

He kept fumbling, 'That would ruin the garment.'

Of course it would. Swea would spend all night fixing it. She'd know, naturally. But she already knew now, and – what did he think everyone thought they'd do once they actually got down to it?

Angrboda reached up, opened her corset then wriggled out of it. Loki looked absolutely rapt. Probably never met a girl that was not too protocol to make the first move, Angrboda thought with some satisfaction.

Her lover set to the task with focus and devotion. Before long, the focus was gone, and "devotion" was about to go out of the window, as well.

Angrboda liked watching his passion win out over his attitude of arrogance and sarcasm.

She didn't like what she saw next, though... but it did not come without a warning, did it? The way his skin changed to blue when she froze his helmet should have taught her. Oh, it had been a fleeting change, barely more than a hue passing over him as he collapsed. Yet, it was a fact: Exposing Loki to Jotun magic tended to suspend the spells of his Asgardian looks and bring out his true nature. The more intense the exposure, the greater the effect, or so she guessed... and this body of hers, it was an illusion brought forth and upheld by pure Jotun magic...

Angrboda knew then, that she had pushed her luck, and she must stop this, before the damage became irreversible.

'You know, Sweet Innocence,' she remarked casually, 'I keep trying to think of snow bunnies...'

She had to repeat her introduction twice to get Loki's attention.

'Huh?' he asked, looking up blankly.

'Snow bunnies,' she repeated patiently, trying not to show how his red eyes made her feel jumpy. 'I try to think of them. But all I can picture is those miserable rodents, from the downside of the great floes.'

'What?'

'Rodents. Pathetic little critters that are constantly afraid of getting their feet wet.'

'Rodents?' asked Loki, creasing his blue brow as her words slowly sunk in...

Two years later, a human billionaire, inventor, philanthropist would suggest to Loki that performance issues were a problem in one out of five erotic encounters. And although the origin and purpose of Angrboda's sudden spite had long since been known to him, Loki would suddenly remember how her statement snapped him out of his passion, stammering like some simpleton waking from a dream. How she took his face between her both hands and said, in a solemn tone of regret, 'Your father, your brother, they really broke your hopping legs, turned you into one of them, didn't they, poor bunny? What a pity, but this won't work. - Now, let me sit up, my sweet. I could already draw from memory every stupid crack in those wooden beams you people call a ceiling.'

Of course, Tony Stark had not known about this moment of utmost confusion and mortal embarrassment in his opponent's life. If he had, maybe then he wouldn't have been so surprised when he found himself crashing through a window, one hundred stories above the ground.

Sunlight slanted through the window, announcing the afternoon hour. Almost time to return to the great hall. Thor put down the cloth, the bottle of oil and the leather arm plate he was working on. He wiped his brow on his sleeve and got up. His knee creaked. He looked at it and laughed. Well, he was getting older, was he not?

Time had passed, and now, soon, he would become king.

And a great king he planned to be! His father had never been conquered by any foe. But he had become lenient. Certain realms thought that the new king would need time to establish himself. Already, they schemed to make their move. Well, they would learn fast that Odin's son was not to be jested with...

Thor passed by the bowl with fruit and picked up an apple. Fandral had behaved strangely. But these fruit looked appetizing.

And there would be feasts... tournaments, balls and receptions, to be renowned and praised in realms far beyond Asgard's borders.

He wiped the apple on the linen of his shirt.

He would have to go a-courting, of course. True, sometimes, he thought that Sif looked at him with those eyes. But she was a valkyre and an old friend. So, it couldn't really be those eyes, could it?

He took a hearty bite of the apple.

Loki really seemed to have a crush on that Jotun girl.

Thor chewed.

Well, one would have to think like a king.

He choked.

Maybe tomorrow, ordering his brother to marry off to Jotunheim and secure that realm of fragile peace for Asgard was not quite the threat it had seemed yesterday...

He choked again, and this time, he ran short on breath. He clutched at his throat and looked at the apple, as if the fruit was to blame for his mishap. He coughed. The lump in his throat would not go away. In fact, it seemed to swell to painful proportions and block his windpipe. Thor was far from panicking, but - the future king of Asgard, choked to death on a piece of apple? Blue sky have mercy, the idiocy of it!

Thor banged his fist against his chest several times. No help. He tried to call for assistance, for the guards, for Loki.

No air. His voice seemed stuck in his throat along with that cursed fruit.

Now, he did start to feel a bit uneasy (not nervous. Thor would never be known to become nervous, even if there was no one to witness him do it).

He stumbled in the direction of the door, but the distance seemed far, very far. Too far. After four steps, he went to his knees. The apple fell from his hand and rolled away. His very last breath was wasted on another futile attempt to scream his brother's name.

The future king of Asgard passed out.

+++End of Chapter 6+++