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Chapter Text

Anthony Howardson was a genius. That was commonly acknowledged. Of all the weapons on Asgard, his creations were considered not merely the best but works of art. Due to his advancements in the science of war, the edges of his swords never blunted, the metal never rusted, the blades never bent. His shields could take the brunt of any onslaught without shattering, yet they were light enough for a child to lift easily. His spears whistled through the air with such speed that they were nearly invisible, their aim invariably true. Arrows launched from his bows reached their targets with such accuracy that even an archer of modest skill could hit a single cherry still hanging from a tree at the distance of half a mile. Beyond this, the products of his labor were stunningly beautiful, and the detail he lavished on each piece showed both his skill and his pride in his work. Anyone who had the remarkably good fortune to wield a Howardson weapon emblazoned with his maker’s mark was assured the best advantage in any battle.

That was the reason Loki was currently standing in Howardson’s shop, weighing a particularly sumptuous dagger in his hand, carefully inspecting its balance. Its handle, made of a copper-colored metal unknown on Asgard, was inlaid with onyx. He held it almost with reverence, then in a blink hurled it towards a wooden post. It quivered, its blade impaled into the wood to the depth of a man’s hand.

“I have never seen its like before,” Loki said, turning to the beaming smith. “This is superb.”

“Thank you, Prince Loki,” Anthony replied, reveling in the appreciation of his work.

“Superb enough that, on my father’s behalf, I would commission you to produce enough of these to outfit each member of the Einherjar,” Loki said, pulling the dagger from the post with some difficulty. He examined it by the light of the forge. “It’s still perfect. Not the smallest nick. Extraordinary.”

“I am very gratified that it pleases you,” Anthony said, “and I am honored by your request. I will begin tomorrow morning, giving the royal order top priority over my other commissions.”

“Where did you train?” Loki asked.

The man had piqued his curiosity. While it was his reputation that had brought Loki here, he had not be prepared for the man to be not only talented but handsome.

“My father was a weaponsmith, and he taught me since I was five years old. He died when I was still only a youth, though, so I travelled to Vanaheim and Alfheim to study,” Anthony said.

“Both?” Loki said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, it’s unusual,” Anthony admitted.

“It’s unheard of,” Loki said, sounding impressed. “Once a craftsman finishes an apprenticeship in Vanaheim, Alfheim will refuse to train him out of spite, and vice versa.”

“That is true,” Anthony said.

“How did you manage it, then?” Loki asked.

“I apprenticed in Alfheim first. At one point, an ambassador from Vanaheim was visiting and happened to stop in front of my old master’s shop. It was past nightfall, and a group of ruffians noticed the richness of his saddle and bridle and attempted to relieve him of the burden of owning them,” Anthony said with a grin.

“And you stopped them, earning a recommendation from him to apprentice in Vanaheim,” Loki concluded.

Anthony nodded, his grin getting wider.

Loki returned to examining the dagger, then let his eye wander around the interior of the shop, being met with example after example of the fine work that blended the teaching of Asgard, Vanaheim, and Alfheim into stunning and lethal weaponry. An idea struck him, and the more he considered it, the wiser it seemed.

The weaponsmith had wandered back near the ample fireplace in the room that was blazing away in the evening air, polishing the blade of a sword that was so bright it almost hurt to look at it. While the sword was impressive, it wasn’t the only thing drawing the prince’s attention. The firelight painted Howardson’s features to good advantage, making his brown eyes sparkle with intelligence and what Loki hoped was more than a bit of mischief. He was, to his surprise, smitten.

“I have a proposition for you,” Loki said, breaking the silence.

“What is that, my prince?”

“I believe an inclusion of magic might be compatible with this design,” he said, examining the original dagger and regarding his own reflection in the blade.

“Magic?”

“Indeed,” Loki said, putting the dagger down on the table. “I think that, good as this is, I may be able to introduce some small improvement to it.”

“What sort of improvement?” Howardson asked, and Loki saw a shadow of suspicion cloud the man’s eyes.

It was a reaction that was all too familiar from the other Aesir whenever Loki mentioned magic, but it still stung. Loki felt a moment of anger, and whatever expression came over his face must have made it obvious he was displeased as Howardson took an automatic step backwards. Loki sighed. He really had no desire to use fear as an inspiration with this man. Glancing around the room, he checked that they were alone before deciding to entrust him with the basic idea of the spell. After all, it was the craftsman’s creation; why shouldn’t he be averse to a change he neither thought of nor understood?

“Onyx can be used in a spell to reveal deceit,” Loki said. “These blades could be made to glow red in the hands of anyone who is lying. It might prevent treachery.”

“You can do that?” Howardson asked, looking surprised.

“I believe so, yes,” Loki said. “I have already done it once or twice on a smaller scale with excellent success. This would be more taxing, but it should be feasible. And, obviously, as the originator of the design, you would have full control of approving or rejecting the result.”

“If I find it unsatisfactory, I can simply say so without consequences?” Howardson asked.

“I give you my word,” Loki said, and while he was certain that his word wasn’t given much weight in some circles, Howardson considered it for a moment, then nodded.

“Agreed,” he said.

“Excellent,” Loki said. “I would rather keep the details we have been discussing private. Completely private.”

Loki gave him a meaningful look.

“If that’s what you wish, I can do that,” Howardson said.

“Fine, then,” Loki said. “I shall return tomorrow.”

“I will look forward to it,” Howardson said, bowing.

The weaponsmith’s features were arranged in an artless smile, one that edged into excitement, probably at the thought of creating something new, but the effect was enough to steal Loki’s breath. Yes, all sorts of lovely possibilities were in the offing.

“As will I,” Loki said, turning with only a slightly overly-dramatic twirl of his cloak as he opened the door and went off into the early evening starlight, still dazzled by Howardson’s smile.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Loki awoke with a sense of mild excitement. The project of imbuing the daggers with a spell to reveal deceit was a challenge, and he enjoyed challenges. However, he had barely entered the dining room to eat a fast breakfast when his good mood shattered. His father looked livid, Thor’s scowl was enough to curdle the butter, and his mother’s normally kind features were shocked and angry.

“What did I do?” Loki asked reflexively.

“It is not you,” Thor said, gesturing to a letter on the table. “News has just come from the battlefield in the fight against the usurpers in Vanaheim.”

“What news?” Loki asked, frowning.

A band of renegades had been attempting an overthrow of Vanaheim’s ruling families for the last few months, and the treaty with Asgard had come into effect. Several battalions of Einherjar had been sent to defend their allies, though the battle didn’t seem like it would be one of any particular note, hence Thor’s decision to remain home. The rebels were poorly armed, and while even a rock could be a deadly weapon, it seemed unlikely that there would be any real fighting. In fact, Loki was surprised Vanaheim had even called for aid.

“We have lost a third of the soldiers we sent,” Odin said, not touching the bowl before him.

“How?” Loki asked, genuinely shocked.

“The rebels were far better armed than we suspected,” he said.

“Even so,” Loki said, “that level of casualties is unheard of!”

“Yes,” Frigga agreed. “Some treason is present in all this.”

“Father, the daggers Hogun mentioned to me last week proved to be of excellent quality,” Loki said. “I commissioned Howardson to arm the Einherjar with them yesterday, and I will be working with him to increase their efficacy.”

“Through magic?” Thor asked, his tone slightly appalled.

“Yes,” Loki said.

“Is that not cheating?” Thor said, looking at his father.

“Thor, if you had a larger sword than your opponent, would you refuse to fight him? Or a better horse? Or more arrows?” Loki asked bitterly.

“Of course not,” Thor said.

“Then why is magic any different?” he said.

“I don’t know,” Thor said crossly. “It just seems like it is!”

“And what of Mjolnir?” Loki said.

“What of it?” Thor said, glancing to where it sat next to the butter on the table.

“Typically, hammers do not return when thrown or allow one to fly,” Loki said in dry voice. “You are aware it is magical, yes?”

“That is… beside the point,” Thor said, failing to find a defense and resting his hand on Mjolnir’s handle defensively.

“You find using your hammer acceptable, but I think magic itself bothers you because you do not know how to use it,” Loki said.

“Because it is the specialty of women,” Thor said dismissively, “like cooking or rearing children. There is nothing wrong with it, but it is not for warriors.”

Frigga glared at her son.

“No offense meant, Mother,” Thor said, blushing.

“Much taken,” Frigga said, folding her arms. “Loki is correct, of course. You fear and disparage magic because you do not understand it.”

Thor looked slightly chastened and remained silent.

“These daggers,” Odin said, “have them ready as soon as possible.”

“Father, were the Warriors Three or Sif injured?” Loki asked.

“Not seriously,” Odin said. “Hogun sustained a wound to the leg that should soon heal, but the others were not listed among the casualties.”

Loki nodded. There had been more than a few awkward moments between Thor’s friends and him, but he had no desire to see them seriously hurt.

“With your permission, I will leave now for the weaponsmith’s workshop,” Loki said.

Odin nodded his permission, and Loki, giving Thor a sour glare, chose to teleport from the table to the street outside the shop simply because he could.

Loki glanced up and down the mostly deserted street. It was still early morning, but he could smell the fire already kindled in the forge. Howardson was up and working already. Straightening his cloak, he rapped sharply on the door.

“I am not yet open!” called the man’s voice from within.

“I think perhaps you can make an exception,” he said.

A handful of seconds later, the door sprang open to reveal Howardson, his face and hands smeared with soot.

“Good morning,” he said. “I had not expected you so early.”

“Nor did I,” Loki said, entering immediately. “Bad news has come from Vanaheim, and the king wishes to speed along his order.”

“Bad news?” Howardson said.

“A third of the force we sent was wiped out,” Loki said.

“Against the rebels of Vanaheim?” Howardson said, shocked. “How?”

“They have vastly more sophisticated weapons than our intelligence suggested,” Loki said, walking to a table where several of the ordered daggers were already lined up. “Are these complete?”

“Yes.”

“Then if you will kindly keep the door locked, I will begin my part in this,” Loki said, sitting at the table and examining one of them.

“Have you need of anything?” Howardson asked.

“No,” Loki said, reaching into his pocket dimension for the necessary supplies. “Just silence.”

“My apprentice will be here soon,” Howardson said. “He’s a trusty lad.”

“You are certain of that?” Loki said, fixing Howardson with a stern look.

“I would stake my life upon it.”

Loki considered before asking, “Will his presence help to expedite the creation of these?”

“Definitely.”

“Then in the interest of time, I accept your recommendation of him,” Loki said.

There was little conversation after that. Loki began to lay spells upon the onyx stones embedded in the handles of the daggers, and while the spell itself wasn’t usually taxing, the repetition on each dagger became wearing. He heard the arrival of the apprentice, a young boy named Peter who appeared overwhelmed at the presence of the second prince at his workplace. Howardson shushed him quickly, and Loki found his assessment of the boy’s skill was true. He was an excellent worker, and a pile of new daggers quickly began to form in addition to the ones already there. Before any of them realized it, the day had moved forward until the noon sun hung directly overhead.

“Are you hungry, Prince Loki?” Howardson asked.

In truth, he had skipped breakfast and hadn’t had even a glass of water since the previous night. This combined with the energy he was expending on the spells was starting to weaken him.

“Did the roiling in my stomach give me away?” Loki asked.

“Perhaps,” Howardson said, chancing a small smile. “I’m hungry myself. Peter, go to the baker and get the usual, with an extra for our noble guest.”

The boy quickly went out the door.

“You have no idea how odd it is not to hear him talking,” Howardson said. “Usually he chatters incessantly.”

“Am I frightening him?” Loki asked. He realized he often had that effect on people even when it wasn’t something he was trying to provoke.

“Probably,” Howardson said, shrugging. “I admit to being a little afraid of you myself.”

“You have no cause,” Loki said, going back to the pile of daggers. “I am pleased with your work.”

Peter had already returned with three parcels and a jug.

“That was quick,” Loki said, making eye contact with the boy.

“The baker is just next door, and he had our order already made, so he only needed to add another sandwich,” he said, his voice pitched high. Granted, when Loki had been that age, his voice had sometimes squeaked just as badly whether he was fearful or not, but he suspected the boy was making an effort of will just by opening his mouth.

“Good lad,” he said, smiling, and he heard Peter release a breath.

Loki took a paper-wrapped sandwich from his outstretched hand. Howardson took another, and Peter put his own next to the hearth and ran to the next room, returning with three mugs. He poured the contents of the jug into them and then put one next to each of the men before retreating to a stool in the corner with his own. Loki unwrapped the package and was met with a simple meat and cheese sandwich on fresh bread, but the smell of it was divine. Still working with his right hand, he used his left to hold the sandwich as he took bites out of it, chewing between incantations and sipping the ale from the mug until it was gone.

Hours passed, and the sun became low. At long last, the pile of daggers was done, the last one added to the pile of those Loki had enchanted with the truth spell.

“I will have these sent to the Einherjar captain now, if you are satisfied, Prince Loki,” Howardson said.

“I am very well satisfied,” Loki said, standing and stretching his aching back. “There should be only one last thing to do, and that should take moments.”

“Then Peter, get the delivery cart ready. After you have presented these to the captain, return home for dinner before your aunt flays me alive for keeping you too late,” Howardson said, and the boy left through the backdoor. “He’ll see everything arrives safely. What else needs to be done?”

“Just a quick test,” Loki said, picking up the final dagger and handing it to the other man. “Now, you may either tell the truth or lie. That attack on Alfheim that happened so conveniently when the ambassador happened to be passing, ingratiating you into a second apprenticeship. Were those robbers, by any chance, hired by you?”

Howardson looked momentarily frightened, but the prince gave him a wicked grin.

“Yes,” he admitted, and the stone in the handle remained black.

“I thought so,” Loki said, laughing. “It was far too perfect a coincidence.”

“No one was to be harmed,” he said quickly.

“I have no doubt,” Loki said, waving away his concerns. “Really, you have managed to impress me even more. Now, lie about anything you wish.”

He looked down at the dagger, then back at Loki with a twinkle in his eye and said, “Having you here has been a nightmare, and I hope never to see you again.”

The stone glowed a brilliant red, and Loki tried to stamp down the swell of hope in his chest so it wouldn’t be too plain on his face.

“I believe a small celebration is in order,” Loki said. “You have accomplished your task very well, and dinner is the least I can provide for such a service.”

The offer could be taken any number of ways, but Loki felt his pulse race, hoping he would at least accept the invitation.

“I believe I would enjoy that,” Howardson said, “but as you will be paying me for my work, allow me to return the favor and buy you a meal.”

Loki’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but he smiled. He wasn’t entirely sure if Howardson was flirting or merely being polite, but any excuse to spend more time with the handsome and talented smith was a good one.

Howardson closed up the shop and led Loki to a friendly-looking local tavern where he waved at the two proprietors behind the bar before taking what was obviously his customary table. Loki was unfamiliar with the establishment, but it seemed typical enough: roaring fireplace, dark wood, rough hewn tables and chairs, and a variety of patrons who seemed to all be enjoying themselves. The atmosphere was refreshingly friendly and informal, and Loki took an instant liking to it. A few moments later, one of the owners, an attractive woman with reddish hair pulled up into a braided bun, threaded her way through the customers and to their table.

“Tony! It’s been too long,” she said, smiling warmly at him. He stood at once and drew her into a hug. “And you’ve brought company!”

“Yes,” he said, releasing her, her smile reflected on his own face, and a small stab of jealousy poked Loki. “Pepper, obviously this is Prince Loki, a new customer of mine. My prince, this is Pepper. She and her husband Rhodey, one of my oldest friends, own this tavern, which is the finest in Asgard, in my opinion.”

Her eyes grew momentarily enormous before she dropped into an appropriate curtsey.

“No need for ceremony,” Loki said, whose jealousy had evaporated at the mention of her husband, or at least mostly, “and you may call me simply Loki outside of the court, Howardson.”

“Fine, then there’s no need to call me Howardson,” the man said. “I occasionally prefer to forget my father’s name. Pepper, could you get us two mugs of the house brewed mead? We’re celebrating.”

“Right away,” Pepper said, bustling off towards the kitchens.

“She seems pleasant,” Loki said, searching for a topic of conversation while skirting around the mention of Anthony’s father.

“She’s one in a million. I courted her for quite a while,” he said, grabbing a handful of walnuts from the bowl on the table and cracking one open. “Very nearly married her.”

“Really?” Loki said, surprised at the lack of animosity in his voice.

“Mmm. It would have been a massive mistake, though,” he said, popping the nut in his mouth. “We’re much better as friends.”

“It is incredibly rare that friendship is possible after the end of a romance, whatever lies people say to one another when it happens,” Loki said, eyeing him curiously.

“Is it?” Anthony said, then shrugged. “Maybe that’s true, but I don’t spend that amount of time with someone unless I like them to begin with. I still care for her and always will, regardless.”

Loki was more than a little suspicious that Anthony was still at least partly in love with her, and Anthony seemed to read his mind.

“Had we wed, she would have mother-henned me to death and I would have turned into a lazy, incorrigible slob,” Tony said. “Instead, after we parted, I set her up with Rhodey, and that’s obviously gone well.”

“You introduced her to her husband?” Loki asked.

“Sort of. They already knew each other. Rhodey’s my oldest and best friend, so of course they’d met before,” he said. “I just gave then a little nudge.”

“And how did you do that?” Loki asked.

“I accidentally locked them overnight in the forge,” Anthony said, then grinned wickedly, “and by ‘accidentally’ I mean completely on purpose, which I’m certain they realized when they saw the wine, the glasses, and the note that said, ‘Quit hesitating! You are perfect together!’”

“Not that you held an opinion on the topic at all,” Loki said, grinning back.

“Oh, no, completely unbiased and without premeditation,” Anthony said, chuckling.

Just then, Pepper returned with the mead along with a man Loki assumed was Rhodey. She slid the mugs towards them with practiced aim.

“Tony!” the other man said, grasping his hand affectionately. “How are you?”

“Working,” he said, “hence.”

“You overdo,” Pepper said, shaking her head.

“I do overdo,” he agreed, “but I have only two modes of work: too much and not enough.”

“Never a happy medium,” Rhodey said, punching him in the shoulder. “What’ll it be?”

“Usual,” Anthony said.

“Beef stew with biscuits, coming up,” Rhodey said, then turned to Loki. “And for y--Norns, you’re the second prince.”

Loki waved away the look of panic that he seemed to inspire in people everywhere he went. Thor most often dealt with adulation, but the populace lavished him with trembling and fear instead. He found it annoying.

“I believe I will have the same,” Loki said.

Rhodey nodded and shot Pepper a look that meant she hadn’t told him who the other person at the table was, then disappeared into the kitchen.

“If I don’t make him lose his composure at least once a day, I’m not doing my job,” Pepper said with a wink and left to handle the bar again.

The stew arrived quickly, carried by a still slightly shaken Rhodey, and while Loki considered transforming the man’s shoes into fish on general principle, he decided against it. As it turned out, the meal was good, simple but warming, and somehow precisely what was needed after the constant labor of the day. They both fell silent as they ate, but the quiet was pleasant, not awkward. Eventually they lingered over the mead, and Loki watched the other customers, aware of the occasional furtive stare, but mainly they were a relaxed, happy bunch.

“You enjoyed your dinner?” Anthony asked.

“Indeed, it was very pleasant, and the mead is excellent,” Loki said. “All in all, it has been a good day. I hope we can work together again.”

“I would like that,” Anthony said, and there was that smile again, lighting up his face like a star. “The three of us worked well together, though a more mismatched set I have never seen: a prince, a smith, and an orphan.”

“Peter is no kin to you?” Loki asked.

“No. He’s being raised by his aunt, who is, I admit, both beautiful and terrifying,” he said, laughing.

“The best women always are,” Loki said, beginning to feel that his interest was doomed to failure.

“True,” Anthony said, motioning to Rhodey to bring another round when he noticed both of their mugs were almost empty. “Peter’s a fine boy, though, very clever, and he shows promise of becoming a good weaponsmith himself. Perhaps the forge will one day be his.”

“Then do you have no family of your own?” Loki said.

“As I mentioned, my father died when I was quite young, and my mother with him. I have no siblings,” Anthony said.

“The latter is a condition I sometimes wish for myself,” Loki said.

“I suppose the mighty Thor could be a little challenging to have as a brother,” Anthony said, obviously being careful with his choice of words.

“You have no idea,” Loki grumbled, taking a particularly long swig from the new mug.

“My father’s old friend Obadiah is rather like family, though,” Anthony said, looking into his mead with a strangely pensive expression. “He has certainly been around long enough.”

The gaze Anthony was giving his mead said volumes about his mixed feelings towards this Obadiah. Loki read between the lines quickly and decided that, family friend or not, he would make certain not to speak of anything potentially important to the security of Asgard or its soldiers around him.

It was growing late, and Loki took note that the other patrons were starting to drift away as Rhodey began washing mugs and Pepper wiped down tables. He had really enjoyed himself, and while he had expected to be treated to a view of the handsome smith over his dinner, he found that at least as much as seeing him, Loki had relished speaking with him. While previously he might have hoped to bed the man, he was starting to reassess his goals. It was entirely possible that the other man wouldn’t even be interested in pursuing anything at all with him, but right now, Loki simply wanted to spend a little more time in his company.

“The night is growing old,” Anthony said, stretching.

“It is, and I am off,” Loki said, standing. “Thank you for your hospitality, Anthony.”

“The pleasure is mine. If Asgard is in need of aught else for our warriors, come to me and we shall puzzle it out together,” Anthony said.

“I believe I will look forward to that,” Loki said, smiling at him in a way that often caused maids and men alike to drop into his bed like overripe apples falling from the tree, but it seemed to have no effect on his dinner companion. Disappointment irked him briefly, but he was too tired to dwell on it.

They left the tavern, each going their own way, Anthony back to his home behind the workshop, and Loki disappearing in a quiet pop to reappear in his own chambers where, exhausted from the day, he lay down on his bed fully clothed and was asleep in moments. His dreams were filled with the heat of the forge and the deep brown of Anthony’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Four months had passed. In that time, Loki’s presence at the Anthony’s workshop had become almost commonplace. While he enjoyed the time he spent in the clever weaponsmith’s company, that pleasure was not the sole focus of his visits. The Einherjar were still the best trained and best outfitted warriors in the Nine Realms, but they kept meeting unexpectedly advanced resistance from increasingly unlikely quarters. While the groups were always defeated, their weapons were of such high quality that the casualties among the Aesir were far higher than they had ever been, and there were quiet murmurings that the ruffians and rebels were only test cases, designed to assess whether a full-scale invasion by some yet-unknown foe would be likely to succeed. Whether it was the Dark Elves or the Mad Titan or some other enemy, the citizens were becoming worried, and Loki could not blame them. In fact, he was suspicious of the same plot.

Consequently, Odin pressed Loki to work with Anthony to create new, better, more powerful weapons, and with the mingling of the prince’s magic and the smith’s expertise, spectacular results followed. They invented swords that repelled anyone but the person holding the hilt for a fifteen-foot radius; an arrow that, once launched, shot ten other arrows from its shaft; and a cannon that produced sound waves capable of leveling anything in front of it for half a mile. The king was impressed, and Loki experienced the rare feeling of his father’s approval, basking in the attention.

The one odd spot in all of this was Obadiah Zebediahson. The man made Loki’s flesh crawl, and he could tell Anthony felt much the same. The older man never said or did anything specifically wrong. He spoke respectfully to Loki in the same tone every courtier used. With Anthony, he was more relaxed, inquiring after his projects and smiling at all the right times, but the smile never reached his eyes. As much as Loki liked snakes, the man’s gaze reminded him of a serpent watching prey from tall grass, and it chilled him. Peter tended to put himself as far from the man as possible, almost as though he sensed something. Still, Obadiah had been a friend of Anthony’s father, had helped raise Anthony after the death of his parents, and from all appearances was a good, loyal friend as any rational person could see.

Loki, however, had never been fond of perfectly rational conclusions. He disliked the man on gut instinct and had no guilt over it. However, it was Anthony’s workshop, not his own, and he said nothing, though he did keep a close watch on him.

“I still wish we could lay hands on some of these weapons that are being used against us,” Anthony said at the end of another long day, surveying the newest order they had completed. “It’s maddening that they never remain intact when the Einherjar capture them.”

“Either they have some kind of automatic incendiary capability or another mage is involved, but without exception, the moment one of our warriors picks them up, everything turns to ash,” Loki said. “There’s nothing that can be learned from it.”

“Shall we adjourn for dinner?” Anthony asked, taking his cloak from a nearby hook and tossing the prince his own from one he had hung next to it.

“Yes,” Loki said, watching as the dark red cloak was wrapped around the man’s strong form. He realized he was envying the fabric for clinging so close to him and promptly felt like a fool. “I believe it is my turn to treat you.”

The short walk to the tavern was familiar now. Peter almost always went home to his aunt’s for dinner, but the pair of them had become a common sight at Rhodey and Pepper’s establishment. Loki often felt more at home there than at the palace now.

“I wonder,” Tony said later, sitting across from him at the table in the tavern that was now their usual dinner spot. “Even ash may tell tales. If it happens again, try to preserve a sample of it.”

Loki agreed, but he silently thought the idea futile, not unlike his continued feelings for the other man. While familiarity often could breed contempt, that had been anything but the case for him with Anthony. Over the weeks they had worked together, he had grown increasingly smitten with the handsome weaponsmith. When less busy moments were present, they traded banter and ideas on all sorts of topics, from literature and art to what cobbler sold the best boots. Anthony had a keen mind, and that alone was often enough to have Loki half in love with someone.

But he was being careful, not quite letting his interest be visible. Loki was well aware there could be problems when a noble courted a commoner, even one as influential and wealthy as Anthony Howardson. He had no desire for the man to feel pressured, or worse, compelled to submit to Loki’s feelings as a duty to his sovereign’s son. That would be far worse than never having him at all. For that reason, he felt like he was playing a silent game of chess, waiting for the other man to move the first piece, when in truth Loki was not even sure Anthony was aware a game was being played.

“Peter did very well today,” Loki mentioned, bringing up a subject that never failed to make Anthony beam.

“He did,” Anthony said. “His ingenuity increases day by day. His aunt has much to be proud of.”

“His aunt is indeed a worthy lady,” Loki said, having met the formidable Aunt May several times now, and he had one or two suspicions about her. He decided to test a theory. “She is very lovely as well.”

“A comely woman indeed,” Anthony said, but not with any particular lasciviousness or even interest. Then a sly look came into his face. “Loki, are you taken with her?”

“What? No!” Loki said, realizing his ploy was backfiring. “No, no, I merely wondered if perhaps, should you show interest, you might be able to make a real family for Peter.”

“Peter already is part of my real family,” Anthony said firmly. “I need not wed his aunt to make that any more definite. He is my son in all ways that matter.”

“But if you were to marry and have a son by blood?” Loki said.

“Then I should have two sons,” Anthony said. “Peter’s spot in my heart will not be usurped, even if it were ever shared, but I do not think that way is likely for me.”

“Oh?”

“No,” Anthony said, using the last of his bread to scrape the bottom of his bowl. “If I were to have taken a woman to wife, it would have been Pepper. But in truth, I did not love her in that wise, and I do not think another woman draws breath in this realm or any other who could write her name upon my heart.”

Perhaps it was the ale or the many hours of work or the uncertainty that had haunted his steps for the months that he had spent near Anthony, but Loki drew a breath and, noting the lack of anyone else within earshot, he said quietly, “And could there perhaps be a man who might match you?”

Anthony’s head turned quickly in Loki’s direction with an air of surprise, and for a horrifying moment Loki thought he might be angry or even appalled. The attitudes on Asgard towards men who loved men ranged the full gamut from easy acceptance to loud hatred, but Anthony had never struck him as one to fall into the category of the latter stupid brutes. Still, to admit to such a tendency had its risks, and Loki might have sent his rook too far into enemy territory.

But then, after a glance that confirmed they were alone, Anthony looked down into his empty bowl and smiled with a wistful gentleness, then nodded.

“There could,” he said.

He lifted his gaze towards Loki’s, and the prince’s breath was taken away at the hope in the other’s eyes. Loki carefully moved his hand so that his fingers barely grazed Anthony’s. A flush crept up the other man’s neck, and he cleared his throat.

“But not just yet,” Anthony said, breaking the moment by lifting his hand to motion Rhodey to the table.

Loki backed up a little, only just realizing he had been leaning forward towards Anthony, and he felt himself start to breathe again as the dishes were taken off to the kitchen and the last swallow of ale eased down his throat before the mugs were whisked away as well. It was his turn, so Loki left the coins on the table to cover the meal, then the pair of them walked out the door and into the quiet street. It was later than Loki had thought, nearly midnight.

“Anthony,” he said softly, prompting them to stop just outside the workshop, “I know our work is of paramount importance now, and distractions cannot be allowed.”

“Regrettably so,” Anthony said.

“But when the situation is at last resolved,” Loki said, drawing a breath that shuddered slightly, “would you do me the honor of permitting me to court you?”

Loki felt Anthony’s hand touch his own, the rough fingers of the weaponsmith gentle against the prince’s smoother skin.

“Yes,” he said, a simple word that carried the warmth and light of a thousand suns.

“Then I bid you goodnight so that I may be here all the earlier to help unriddle our problem,” Loki said, smiling in turn, and whatever Anthony saw on his face, it made the weaponsmith’s smile deepen further.

Anthony unlocked the door of the shop, and with a glance over his shoulder and a playful wiggle of his eyebrows that made Loki chuckle, he went in and shut the door again. Loki took a few steps down the street before he readied himself to teleport back to the palace, but just as the street was fading from view and his own rooms replacing it, he caught sight of Obadiah standing at the upstairs window, looking down into the street with a frown, and for some reason, despite his happiness, Loki’s blood ran cold.

Chapter Text

The morning after his dinner with Anthony, Loki went to Thor with the issue of trying to collect the dust from one of the enemy weapons. Thor looked grim.

“I shall inform the warriors of this endeavor,” Thor said, “and I shall attempt to do as you ask, but it is no easy task to pocket mere ash in the midst of a battle. Attention is usually elsewhere, such as keeping oneself alive.”

“And by doing this, so you shall,” Loki said.

“True enough, brother,” Thor said. “If it can be done, it will.”

Whatever differences lay between them, Loki had no doubt Thor would do anything up to and including sacrificing himself for the benefit of his shield brothers at the nearest opportunity, and one presented itself swiftly. Less than a week later, a group of about a hundred pirates went so far as to try to attack Asgard itself. Heimdall had seen them from a good distance, and the attack was doomed to failure, but not so quickly as it should have been. Before the end of the battle, ten Einherjar lay dead, and both Hogun and Fandral were wounded. It was a strange projectile from Hogun’s injury that Thor was able to grasp before while it reduced to cinders, and he carefully swept them into a pouch at his side.

“Brother!” he called in the relative quiet after the fight was over. “I have what you sought!”

Loki, who had been called out to fight along with the rest of the warriors since an attack on Asgard required his presence, moved Thor to a less exposed spot. He quickly grasped the bag his brother offered him.

“Did you see what sort of weapon it was?” Loki asked.

“Briefly,” Thor said. “Hogun appeared to have been struck with an arrow, but it was unlike any I have seen before. It was longer, though not so long as a spear, and its color was deep black, but it did not seem to be forged of iron. I believe its explosion caused a worse wound than its penetration.”

“A projectile incendiary,” Loki said, frowning. It was strangely like one of Anthony’s designs, though some of the details were markedly different.

“Is it what you needed?” Thor asked.

“It should be,” Loki said, then added, “And Hogun?”

“I believe he shall live,” Thor said, but worry creased his brow.

“I hope so as well,” Loki said, then vanished.

He reappeared in Anthony’s workshop a moment later, and his abrupt arrival prompted a scream from Peter, who toppled off his stool by the fire. Normally, he would have had to stifle a chuckle, but Loki was in no mood to laugh.

“Anthony!” he called, and the man entered through the back door at full speed.

“Are you well?” he asked. “This battle was not something I foresaw.”

“I am fine, but we have the ash from one of the weapons,” Loki said, handing him the pouch. “I do not know what it will reveal, if anything.”

“It’s worth a try,” Anthony said, bringing out a clean sheet of parchment and scattering the cinders from the bag onto the paper.

At first glance, they discovered nothing remarkable. The dust was uniformly black as soot, fine as powder, but it carried a strange odor.

“Do you smell that?” Anthony asked.

“Yes,” Loki said slowly. “It’s familiar.”

“It should be,” Anthony said, turning around and taking a large, sealed container from the other side of the workshop. “It’s Alfheim oak. I use it myself in some of my work. It has a peculiarly bitter scent when burned.”

“So the weapon came from Alfheim?” Peter asked.

“Too quick a judgment,” Loki said to him over his shoulder. “It’s possible, but anyone can buy this material. It’s not illegal to own or sell, so a buyer anywhere could have purchased it.”

Peter looked a little disappointed, but then all of them had been hoping for a more definite answer.

“There’s something else,” Anthony said, examining the ashes carefully. “The coloration is odd.”

“It’s black,” Loki said. “What’s odd in that?”

“Alfheim oak doesn’t usually turn pure black when burned. It’s a very dark gray, but not this dark. This is mixed with something else, but I don’t know what,” Anthony said, grimacing.

“It may not be a physical substance,” Loki said. “Certain spells and charms can change an item’s attributes down to the molecular level, particularly ones that involve camouflage or visual transformation.”

“So it might be magic?” Peter said, more carefully than before.

“Yes, possibly,” Loki said, “but there would be residual energy left from such a spell. I may be able to check for that, but I don’t have the necessary equipment and ingredients here. I would need to bring this back to my own chambers in the palace.”

“Then do so,” Anthony said. “The sooner we find out what’s happening, the more lives may be saved.”

Loki silently added that the sooner their work was done, the sooner their long-delayed courtship could begin in earnest, but he fought down the more selfish reason, took hold of the bag containing the remaining ash, and teleported to his rooms.

Because he was unsure what he was looking for, the tests Loki had to use were not only difficult, but also time-consuming and required a complete lack of interruption. Loki placed wards on his door, making it clear not even to knock or the result would be dire. For three days, he sifted through every fragment of ash. Incantations, spells, herbs, gemstones, chemicals, and a wide variety of other tricks of his magic were employed until, at long last, he was certain. The weapon had indeed been enchanted, and the mage’s spellwork had left a clear signature. Loki was familiar with the pulsing violet-colored energy that infused the ash; it was the work of a particularly vicious practitioner rumored to have come from Niflheim. Their name was unknown, but every object they created was filled with magic so dark even Loki shuddered. However, at last, they knew the culprit.

Sleep, food, and a long soak in a hot tub sounded beyond lovely as it had taken three full days and nights without any of them to get the results, but Loki needed to report this to his father at once. He opened the door for the first time with a sigh of relief and a sense that all would be well until he saw Thor standing against the wall on the other side of the corridor. He looked like he had been there a long time, and his face was grim.

“I know who is forging the weapons,” Loki said.

“So do we,” Thor said. “It is Anthony Howardson.”

Chapter Text

“What? That’s impossible!”

Loki was poised between exasperation at Thor’s stupidity and outright fury at the mere suggestion of Anthony’s guilt. There was simply no way that Anthony could be responsible for these weapons, none. They were crude, cruel, and possessed none of the artistry that was the weaponsmith’s hallmark. The idea that he would be behind this fiasco was ludicrous; however, Loki was also aware that the kingdom was looking for an answer to the mysteriously powerful weapons, and if one presented itself, perhaps those in authority might choose to accuse and condemn on less proof than usual. In short, Anthony would make a convenient scapegoat.

“Nevertheless,” Thor said, looking at him with pity as though Loki were deluded, “he was arrested two days ago.”

“Two days! Why was I not told?” Loki asked angrily.

“Your chambers were too strongly warded,” Thor said. “No one could contact you.”

Loki silently cursed himself for not thinking to leave some emergency entrance, and his self-blame only increase his anger.

“Anthony cannot have been arrested. That’s absurd! On what evidence?”

“The weapon that lodged in Fandral’s back in the most recent battle did not disintegrate as the others have done,” Thor said. “It bears Howardson’s mark.”

“That could easily be a forgery,” Loki said dismissively, shocked how easily others believed this nonsense. “It is far too convenient that the only weapon that did not turn to ash also happens to bear his mark!”

“I too thought this,” Thor said, “but when the evidence was brought to his forge, Howardson himself admitted the weapon was his. He is now being held in the dungeon. Loki, Father intends to pass a sentence of death on him tomorrow.”

Without another word, Loki walked directly past Thor and into the corridor, all but running in the direction of the palace dungeons. He would have liked to teleport straight to the dungeon, but it was warded against any attempts at unauthorized entrance or exit, including magic. Thor, annoyingly, followed close behind him.

“Is it not possible you are mistaken about the innocence of this man?” Thor said.

“No.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I am! These were made by a mage on Niflheim!”

“Were they truly made there, or did this mage provide only the concealment spells needed to remove Howardson from any possible suspicion?”

“Anthony has nothing to do with this!”

“Can you prove that?” Thor asked.

“If given enough time, yes,” Loki snapped, but in truth he wasn’t so certain.

By the time they had reached the lowest floor of the palace, Thor was out of breath and Loki had no idea what he was going to say to Anthony. The Einherjar at the door glared at both princes as they entered, but nothing was done to stop them.

“Is Fandral alive?” Loki finally thought to ask.

“Yes. He will mend.”

Loki gave no indication he had even heard. He was too focused on finding which cell housed Anthony. His eyes flicked over the various invisible walls and their assortment of criminals until finally he found one that contained five prisoners, two of whom were currently restraining Anthony as the other two ruthlessly pummeled him.

“Stop!” he called out, so furious that sparks appeared around him as he ran to the cell. “Unhand him!”

“He’s a traitor and he’s dying tomorrow,” one of them sneered, not releasing his hold. “He has no rights.”

“If you touch him again, it will be you who dies before tomorrow,” Loki said, the crackling around him becoming so strong that it began to resemble Thor’s lighting, “or rather, you will wish for death, and it will not be granted.”

The four other occupants exchanged looks, then reluctantly dropped Anthony to the ground and stepped back, sitting against the far wall as there was no furniture in the cell. Anthony didn’t move, and for one horrifying moment Loki thought he was dead. Then, slowly, he saw the other man’s back twitch as he drew a deep breath.

“Anthony?” Loki said gently.

Anthony painfully pulled himself into a sitting position and looked at Loki through a rapidly swelling left eye. A trickle of blood came from his lip, and Loki ached to brush it away with his thumb. The bruises on his face showed this had been far from his first beating, and his posture sagged forward, his eyes firmly on the ground.

“How badly are you injured?” Loki asked, hoping that what he couldn’t see wasn’t worse than what he could.

“Does it even matter?” he said. “Odin will kill me tomorrow.”

“Was that truly one of your weapons?” Loki asked.

“It was.”

Loki drew back marginally and frowned.

“What aren’t you saying?” he asked.

“I never manufactured it,” Anthony said, “but I did create the plans for it. It was a spear that, when thrown, would inject a deadly, slow-acting poison into the victim. It was during one of my darker moments, and when I realized how horrific it really was, I threw the plans into the fire, or I thought I did. Someone must have found them and built it.”

“But it wasn’t you,” Loki said.

“It is still my responsibility!” Anthony said. “When the Einherjar came to my forge, I told them of the poison. It was a nightmare, thinking one of our warriors might die in horrible agony because of something I dreamed up.”

“The antidote you gave them worked,” Thor said, and Loki startled, having almost forgotten he was there. “Fandral shows no sign of the toxin.”

“Good,” Tony said, then shuddered. “But if there is one of those spears out there, more might exist.”

“You did not make them,” Loki insisted again.

“No, but they were my thought,” Anthony said, looking at the floor, shame on his features.

“And I’ve thought of a thousand heinous things I never acted upon,” Loki said. “Should I feel guilt for what I chose not to do? You are a weaponsmith.”

“Yes, my trade is death,” Anthony said, looking up at him.

“Or protection,” Loki countered. “Anthony, more of these weapons could indeed have been crafted, but they were not made by you. Whoever is making them is still out there and needs to be stopped. Whoever gave them your discarded plans needs to be found as well.”

“I don’t know who they are,” Anthony said. “I have no idea.”

“My tests showed signs of a mage from Niflheim,” Loki said quickly, realizing the guards’ patience was nearly at an end. “Does that mean anything?”

“No,” Anthony said. “Nothing. Loki, please, look after Peter for me.”

“I refuse to listen to your dying wishes because you will not die!” Loki yelled, then forced himself to be calm. He put his hand against the invisible barrier. “Whatever you think, Anthony, this is not your fault. You are no traitor.”

Anthony looked away, but at that moment, two Einherjar appeared beside Loki and Thor.

“You need to leave,” one said, and the scowl he gave showed he too thought Anthony guilty.

“Anyone who harms Anthony Howardson will incur my wrath,” Loki said in a clear but lethal voice. “I want that understood.”

“Including the king?” the other Einherjar asked.

“My father will not have this man executed,” Loki said.

As they left, Thor looked less sure of Anthony’s guilt than before they had spoken to him

“Loki—”

“Unless your next words are a plan to help prove Anthony’s innocence—a good plan, not a stupid one, you imbecile—hold your tongue, brother.”

“Are you absolutely certain he speaks the truth?” Thor asked.

Loki stopped and turned the full power of his glare on him.

“Was it not you who dubbed me the god of lies when we were but children?” Loki asked. “I know the scent of a liar, and it is not on him.”

Thor still looked uncertain, but he asked only, “Where are we going?”

“I am going to Anthony’s workshop,” Loki said. “I care not where you go.”

“I am coming with you,” Thor said. “If the man is truly innocent, I would not see him executed. Treason has been committed, and Asgardian lives have been lost. I want the real guilty party punished so that it will stop.”

Loki remained silent, but he said nothing more about Thor leaving. With so little time, any ally was useful.

Loki opened the door to the forge to find Peter inside, sitting on his usual stool, his face showing signs of recent tears.

“Peter,” Loki said in a voice so gentle it surprised Thor, “are you well?”

“No,” he said, looking up at him. “They took him away, Loki. They’re going to kill him!”

“No, they’re not,” Loki said more confidently than he felt. “I looked at the ash Anthony gave me, and it showed a connection to Niflheim. Peter, think carefully. Does that mean anything to you?”

Peter looked frightened for a moment, then quietly whispered, “Yes.”

He looked upwards fearfully at the floor above where Obadiah usually slept.

Without another thought, Loki took hold of Thor’s bicep with one hand and Peter’s elbow with the other and teleported all of them back to his rooms in the palace.

“Nothing will harm you here,” Loki said. “You cannot be overheard, and you are safe.”

“Did we just—”

“Teleport, yes,” Loki said. “Try to focus, Peter. What do you mean about Niflheim?”

“Obadiah sent a message there about a year ago,” Peter said. “He hired a courier for it. Tony was out for the evening, and I had gone home, but I came back because I thought I had left my gloves at the forge. It turned out I hadn’t; they were at the baker’s. But Obadiah was coming downstairs, and I suddenly felt something was very wrong. I have that sense sometimes, a feeling when something bad is going to happen, and I was sure he wouldn’t want me to be there. So I hid.”

“Where?” Loki asked. “The workshop doesn’t have many places that would hide someone your size.”

“Um,” Peter looked embarrassed, “on the ceiling?”

“The what?” Thor asked, looking stunned.

“How?” Loki asked.

Peter shrugged, then taking a breath, he put a hand on one of the walls and, to the complete shock of both Loki and Thor, proceeded to crawl up it, then, defying all the laws of gravity, continued his path across the ceiling.

“How is that possible?” Thor said, looking at Loki as though he would be able to explain.

“How in Hel would I know?” Loki shot back.

“It looks like magic,” Thor said defensively. “You know magic.”

“Well, I don’t know this,” Loki said. “Peter? Do you have an explanation?”

“I don’t really know either,” he said, and even hanging upside down from the ceiling of Loki’s bedroom it was clear how self-conscious he was. “When I was a couple of decades old, something bit me. I don’t know what. A few days later, I could do this.”

Thor and Loki just stared up at him, matching looks of bewilderment on their faces.

“This is disturbing,” Thor said. “It is like he is some human-insect hybrid.”

“Please don’t tell anybody,” Peter said, abruptly falling from the ceiling and landing perfectly on his feet in front of them, a beseeching look on his face. “I don’t want everyone to know I’m some sort of freak.”

“You are not a freak. Regardless of that,” Loki said, shaking his head to clear it. “You saw Obadiah from where you were hidden?”

“Yes,” Peter said. “I’m certain he didn’t see me, though. No one ever thinks to look above them. He opened the door, and a man I had never seen before came in. Obadiah went over to the table by the backdoor and returned with a sealed envelope and told the man to deliver it to Niflheim.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, and the man asked how he would know the recipient, that there were many beings in that realm, and Obadiah said, ‘He will find you.’ Then he left and Obadiah went back upstairs and I went home. I didn’t see anything really wrong in it despite what I sensed. It was just odd.”

“And the other man, did you ever see him again?” Thor asked.

“No, but I would know him if I saw him,” Peter said. “He had one brown eye and one blue one.”

“Wait,” Thor said, thinking. “Was he tall and quite thin?”

“Yes,” Peter said, “he was.”

“That sounds like Bjarne,” Thor said, turning to Loki. “He was a warrior, but he was removed from the ranks of the Einherjar, though precisely why was never made public. The rumor was he had stolen something from the royal treasury, but whatever he took was so secret that the case was dropped rather than reveal its existence. It was a scandal at the time, but that was over ninety years ago.”

“Do you know where to find him?” Loki asked.

“No, but Volstagg might,” Thor said. “I believe they were distantly related, third cousins or something of that sort.”

“Peter,” Loki said, putting his hands gently on the boy’s shoulders, “I know you wish to keep your condition a secret, and I do not blame you. I will do what I can to protect you, but if you must testify in the open before my father, would you do so? It may save Anthony’s life.”

“Yes,” Peter said immediately.

“Good man,” Loki said, smiling at him. “Stay here today. The wards on my rooms will keep you safe. Open the door to no one. If I wish to return, I will let myself in. Thor, where would Volstagg be now?”

“It’s near noon,” Thor said. “Eating, probably.”

“You mean definitely,” Loki said.

They found him in the third eating house they tried, thankfully not yet drunk but surrounded by the bones of no fewer than fifteen fish.

“Do you know where your kinsman Bjarne is?” Thor asked, not pausing.

“That rascal?” Volstagg said, and laughed. “He’s not worth speaking of. Come, Thor, try this salmon. It is beyond delicious!”

“We need to know where he is,” Thor said. “It is a matter of life or death. . . though that does look excellent.”

“The best in Asgard,” Volstagg said, laughing again. “Come, come, nothing with that fellow can be of importance.”

“It can and it is,” Loki said, giving Thor a glare that stopped him in the middle of reaching for one of the remaining fish. “Where is he?”

“He stays in a rented room above the Golden Lark Tavern,” Volstagg said. “He would be there now. He never wakes before mid-afternoon.”

“I know where that is,” Loki said, and without another word hestrode quickly out the door.

Thor caught up to him a moment later, and with a roll of his eyes, Loki realized he had taken one of the fish with him.

“I don’t want my stomach rumbling when we interrogate him,” Thor said.

Loki shook his head and muttered, “How are we even related?”

Loki teleported both of them immediately to the tavern’s front door. Loki walked through it, Thor following in his wake.

“I need to find Bjarne,” Loki said to a man standing behind a bar. “Where is he?”

“Third door on the right at the top of the stairs,” the man said.

“That was oddly easy,” Thor said as they went up.

“Apparently he’s none too popular here,” Loki said.

He didn’t bother to knock at the door, choosing instead to blast it open with magic. The result was a scream from the man inside, who tried to run past them.

“Bjarne,” Thor said, stopping him easily with a firm hand on his shoulder. “I would say seeing you again is a pleasure, but that would be a lie.”

“Prince Thor,” he said, blinking his mismatched eyes. “Why are you here?”

“My brother would have words with you,” Thor said, and Bjarne stared at Loki as though he hadn’t noticed him before.

“You work sometimes as a courier,” Loki said. “We know this already, so do not bother to deny it. My question concerns a message you delivered roughly a year ago to Niflheim. Do you recall that?”

“Hard not to,” the man said. “It’s the only time I’ve ever been in that realm, and I hope it’s the last.”

“Who hired you?” Loki said.

“It would be against professional ethics to say,” the man said.

Loki moved his fingers gracefully through the air and produced a dagger from nowhere.

“Try again,” he said. “Who hired you?”

“Bald fellow who lived in a metalworker’s shop about two miles from here next to a bakery,” Bjarne said very quickly.

“I’m glad your understanding of ethics has improved,” Loki said. “Now, what did the letter say?”

“How should I know? It was sealed,” he said.

“You’re lying,” Thor said.

“Yes, he is,” Loki said. “The possibility of getting information for potential blackmail must have been far too tempting, yet, in spite of the appealing contents of the letter, you remained silent, which means the consequences of trying to get gold out of your employers were too terrible to consider using what you had learned. So, what did the letter say? I assure you, whatever tortures you think either of them would have visited upon you, I am capable of far, far worse.”

“And he’s not lying,” Thor said.

Bjarne’s eyes flicked between the pair of them, then he closed them tightly before saying, “He was making a deal with someone named Thanos about selling weapons. He could send samples of weapons to him, even gave him a blueprint that was crispy with burn marks as an extra incentive he could play with. Thanos was supposed to change them around so they weren’t easily recognizable, with the only condition of their arrangement being he was to keep secret where the weapons came from for the time being. The amount of gold he wanted was enough to dwarf the treasure rooms of many a king, and I brought a message back accepting the deal and a big box full of coins.”

“Thanos,” Loki said to Thor. “The Mad Titan. So that’s who’s been behind this. He’s no mage, but he has enough resources to hire the best—or the worst, as the case may be.”

“I’ll bring this to father,” Thor said, gesturing with disgust to Bjarne. “But the other man? Obadiah? Where is he now?”

“Leave that to me,” Loki said, a grin curling his lips, and he disappeared.

But, when he arrived at the workshop, no one was there. Loki broke open the door of Obadiah’s room, but there was no need. It was empty, his things gone. He had escaped.

Chapter Text

In a few short hours, Thor and Loki presented both Peter and Bjarne to Odin, with Anthony, still covered in bruises and shackled hand and foot, standing before the king’s throne. Loki’s heart broke when he saw him, his shoulders slumped from pain and grief. More than anything, he wanted to soothe him, tell him that he was not at fault for what others had chosen to do to his designs, but for now, the second prince remained silent, only standing by his side in support. He avoided looking to the left of the king’s throne where a hooded Einherjar stood, an enormous ax in his grasp, ready to fulfill the command of execution at once.

Odin had insisted on making the trial public since it was a case of treason, which meant the people were entitled to hear the evidence. The result was the room was packed. Wincing, Loki watched as Peter was called forward. He was pale, but he kept his head high. When he spoke, he left out not a single detail.

“You can sense danger and climb walls without regard for gravity?” Odin asked, looking incredulous.

“I can.”

“Show me,” Odin demanded.

As Anthony stared in complete astonishment, Peter proceeded to easily climb one of the columns in the throne room, then continued without a pause across the ceiling until he stopped at the exact center of the room. He kept his eyes fixed on Odin, but Loki could tell Peter was trying to ignore the whispering of the assembled population of Asgard. The poor lad was living his worst nightmare, being treated like a freak in front of everyone he had ever met as his oddities were put on public display, but he remained as dignified as it was possible to be while hanging upside down from the ceiling by his fingers and toes.

“Come down, child,” Frigga said, giving her husband a reproachful look as he continued to gape at the boy. She had not spoken until this point, sitting quietly beside Odin and observing as was tradition in such matters, but she broke protocol due to her own tendency towards kindness. Loki had never been fonder of her than at that moment. “Thank you for your honesty, young Peter. I am certain that was not easy for you.”

Peter gave a polite nod and quickly skittered down the wall. Even Loki found it rather unnerving, but he was fiercely proud of him.

“And you heard the man Obadiah Zebediahson contract Bjarne to deliver a missive to Niflheim?” Frigga asked gently, obviously trying to move the proceedings away from Peter’s unusual abilities and back to the matter at hand.

“I did,” he said. “I swear to that.”

“Thank you,” Odin managed, still stunned. “Bjarne, what say you?”

While Peter had been eager to help Anthony and had answered all questions quickly and fully without regard for the consequences to himself, Bjarne tried to wheedle his way out of any responsibility. Odin had to threaten him with five years in the dungeons before he finally explained the complete contents of the letters he had carried back and forth. When at last he was done speaking, silence filled the throne room.

“It appears that the true culprit, Obadiah Zebediahson, has eluded us, at least for the moment,” Odin said. “I find no true blame in Anthony Howardson. Do the people agree?”

Loki’s heart stopped until the cry of “Aye!” was heard loudly echoing from every mouth present, including, Loki noted, Thor’s and Frigga’s. At that instant, the shackles fell from Anthony’s feet and wrists, leaving him still battered, but free once again.

“Thank you, my king,” Anthony said quietly

Odin nodded his acceptance before he and the queen left the dais, followed by the ax-wielding Einherjar. The people began to move out, back to their own lives.

Anthony stood perfectly motionless. The weight of the chains was gone, but he still seemed rooted to the spot, as though he was unsure what to do. That problem was solved when Peter shot towards him like a barn owl swooping down on a mouse. He threw his arms around the man in a tight hug.

“Thank you, Peter,” Anthony said softly, “for everything. The queen was right; that must have been very difficult for you.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re free again,” Peter said, finally letting him go. “I will see you back at the workshop.”

“Yes, we have much to do,” Anthony said.

Loki looked at the apprentice’s retreating form with a fond smile, then turned his attention to Anthony.

“I thank you, most sincerely,” Anthony said, looking at both Loki and Thor, who was now standing beside his brother.

“No need,” Thor said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must speak with the other warriors. We have a traitor to catch.”

Few people were left in the throne room now, and Loki felt relief begin to sweep through him. He very nearly sobbed with it, and he felt Anthony’s hand grasp his wrist, his thumb gently stroking over the place where his pulse was pounding.

“I apologize,” he said.

“For what?” Loki asked.

“I caused you grief. I had no desire ever to do so,” Anthony said, then took a shuddering breath before he looked the other man straight in the eye. “I have only ever wanted to make you happy.”

Loki knew there were others still watching, but he found he didn’t care. Slowly, he bent forward, placing his lips to the other man’s temple and letting his kiss linger there before drawing the weaponsmith against him, pressing his chin against Anthony’s hair. He heard a sigh, felt the air of it against his throat, and for a moment he debated bringing their lips together in the kiss he had desired for so long, one he had been afraid he would never feel.

“Can you remove us from this place?” Anthony whispered. “Please? I don’t think I can bear to be on display any longer.”

In an instant, the pair of them were no longer within the palace walls but standing under the willow tree in the scrubby garden behind Anthony’s forge. Loki wrapped his arms around the other man, reassuring both of them that he was truly there, free from possible death, alive and held in his embrace. He was so consumed with the joy of holding him that he was surprised when Anthony suddenly lifted his face upwards and tentatively kissed him. The warm presence of Anthony’s lips was like something out of a dream, only better, because it was real. Loki let himself respond, melting into it, the tension of his body in the last few days finally releasing, muscles unclenching that he hadn’t even realized were knotted with worry. For now, this, holding Anthony, feeling his nearness, gently kissing him in safety and happiness, this was exactly enough.

When Anthony eventually drew back, Loki was startled to see a tear on his cheek. Instinctively, he darted forward and kissed it away, letting his long fingers stroke through Anthony’s beard, the prickly sensation exactly what he had craved for so long. Anthony curled his whole body towards him, burying his face in Loki’s chest, and as Loki held him close, he felt the other man silently weeping. Loki made no move to stop him. Instead, he held him for a long time, soothing him with soft words of reassurance, the gentle touch of his hands on his back, and sweet kisses in his hair until he was still once again. By then, the candles were lit in the forge. Peter had returned. When he found them sitting on the bench outside, Anthony, having finally succumbed to sleep, was resting against the prince, whose arms still held him tightly. Not wanting to disturb Anthony, Loki looked up at Peter, who smiled in understanding and silently shut the forge door once again.

When at last Anthony awoke, he and Loki walked back into the workshop under the glow of starlight. They found all the tools perfectly put away and two bowls of stew and bread sitting on one of the tables, still piping hot. Beside them was a note scrawled in a woman’s handwriting: “Quit hesitating! You are perfect together!”

“Pepper?” Loki asked.

“Pepper,” Anthony confirmed with a grin. “She knows me well.”

“Apparently she knows me well, too,” Loki said. “Shall we eat before it grows cold?

They spent the night talking together, laughing in relief, enjoying the delicious knowledge this was only the beginning of what would be something beautiful and strong. Anthony began to lay forth plans to change the trajectory of his business. He had amazing ideas for protective armor for the Einherjar, suits that would keep them safe in the midst of battle. While his own father had followed a path of weapons and he had first chosen to continue in his footsteps, Anthony saw another way ahead, one that might lead someday not to war but to peace. Loki listened to him, adding his own ideas from his magic, spells of protection that could be placed on helms and shields, charms that would work to repel arrows and shrapnel. Their fingers laced naturally together as they spoke and ate, and Loki’s heart felt full in a way he had never permitted it to feel before.

Weeks passed. The protective suits stood in gleaming rows in Anthony’s shop, rank upon rank of silver and gold armor. Though Peter’s revelation had caused quite a stir among the other Aesir at first, things began to quiet back down again, possibly in no small part due to Loki’s tendency to glare menacingly at anyone in his vicinity whom he caught making the young man uncomfortable. After one particularly loud gossiper suddenly realized his shoes were on fire, people left Peter alone. Now, Anthony was proudly surveying a new defensive apparatus that Peter himself had suggested and was helping to design. It was affixed at the wrist of each gauntlet, and merely by flicking one’s hand so that the wrist pointed at an adversary, a thin, strong cord burst from a hidden hole, wrapping around the person’s legs and toppling them to the ground. It really was a rather brilliant idea, and Loki was able to work with the cord to make it adhesive to the point of being nearly impossible to remove without the right countercharm.

“Good,” Anthony said, looking around the workshop with a dazzlingly happy grin. “These are close to perfect, and by this time tomorrow, I think we will be able to take away the words ‘close to.’ I still want to add the Vanaheim technique for protecting them against extreme cold. Right now, if they were used on a place like Jotunheim, the cord might possibly misfire if frost formed around the gauntlet. All we need to do is spray them down with a solution of essence of fireleaf, but it has to be cleaned off again exactly twelve hours later or the metal will begin to melt.”

The solution was quickly prepared, and the trio of them wiped every gauntlet inside and out liberally with it, the spicy scent of the fireleaf occasionally making them sneeze. In less than two hours, it was done.

“Nine o’clock by the tower bells,” Loki said as the soft pealing rang out over the city.

“I believe that ends our work for the day,” Anthony said, slapping Peter on the back. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

Peter bid them both a tired goodnight and left.

“Do you fancy some mead in celebration?” Loki asked.

“A good idea,” Anthony said, grabbing his jacket and throwing it over his shoulders like an impromptu cape. “Would my prince be ashamed to be seen with so filthy a workman?”

“No, only proud to be seen with so handsome and clever an artist,” Loki corrected him with a grin, then slipped his arms around him to pull him into a kiss.

He had thought of Anthony’s mouth all day, hungering for this kiss as he might for a succulent sweet just out of reach, and now that he had it, his hunger only increased with the having. His hands moved to the shorter man’s shoulders, slipping down his arms and back up again, feeling the rough fabric, lingering and letting his fingers take in every sensation of the strong biceps that were his to touch. Anthony shivered at the contact, his own hands splaying against the front of Loki’s silk tunic, then gripping it tightly over his heart. Loki allowed his mouth to wander over the smith’s throat, back to his ear, nipping lightly and savoring the sweetness of the low moan that passed Anthony’s lips. In that moment, Loki found the courage to say what he had wanted to for so long.

“If I were any more in love with you, I would forget how to breathe,” Loki confessed in a whisper, pulling back so he could look at Anthony’s face. “My heart is yours as surely as if you had branded it with your mark.”

“You love me?” Anthony said, and wonder lit his face, making his eyes dance with happiness. “You truly love me as I love you?”

Loki nodded, fearing his voice would fail him if he tried to speak. Anthony’s trembling hands were clasping Loki’s own. Holding his gaze and letting his feelings gleam deep in his eyes, Loki slowly kissed the back of Anthony’s hands, then turned them over and placed his lips to the roughened palms.

“Will you stay tonight?” Anthony asked him while looking up at him with a grin that was both hopeful and seductive, his hands now slipping gently from his grip and resting against Loki’s sides under the edge of his tunic, tentatively stroking his bare skin. Loki all but purred in response, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

“I would stay with you forever,” he said, pressing Anthony to him in a kiss sweet and hot with desire.

A moment later, the room was empty save for a handful of shimmering emerald and gold sparks.

Chapter Text

Loki awoke the next morning to the sensation of a soft kiss against his bare shoulder. As he gradually opened his eyes, he remembered. His first conscious thought was that he loved and was loved in return. He was lying on his side, and his arms were wrapped around Anthony, who was gently scattering kisses over his throat now, soft as the petals of a flower. The inexpressible joy of awaking to the feel of his Anthony touching him, caressing him, the undeniable certainty that he was not alone but surrounded by their love for one another, the almost unbearable sweetness of leaving behind sleep to find his life was more wonderful than any dream, all of it swept over him in a wave of warmth like summer sunlight. Memories of the night before slowly played in his mind’s eye, a collage of images of the two of them together in the weaponsmith’s bed. Loki hummed quietly in satisfaction, drawing his arms more tightly around his lover, holding him as though he were the most precious thing in the world, for to him, he was.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispered before lazily kissing the shell of Anthony’s ear. “So very, very good.”

They kissed, languid and unabashedly sensual. Loki rolled them slowly over until Anthony was atop him, and he used the new position to run his hands down the length of his back, resting his fingers against his warm flesh, gently kneading it as his lover turned his face to one side to nuzzle against his chest and press open-mouthed kisses over his heart.

“You are truly expert at that,” Loki groaned, arching his back at the attention.

“Are you insinuating I am promiscuous, my prince?” Anthony said, raising an eyebrow but with an impish glint in his eye that meant no offense was taken.

“I am saying directly you are the most flexible,” Loki kissed him, nipping playfully at his lip, “passionate,” and again, slowly drawing his lower lip into his mouth and sucking on it like a ripe peach before releasing it, “beautiful,” he murmured, letting his nose gently tease against Anthony’s in lazy circles, “talented lover it has ever been my absolute pleasure to lay with,” he said, ending with a kiss so intense that it seemed to be on the verge of liquifying Anthony’s brain.

“I may as well have said the same words to you,” Anthony said, letting his hands wander through Loki’s hair and grinning at him.

“Did you know,” Loki said as conversationally as possible while slowly massaging the other man’s lower back, gradually letting his hands stroke lower until Anthony was sighing with happiness, “that today is the day of my birth?”

“Is it indeed?” Anthony said, looking up at him coyly through his lashes.

“It is,” Loki said, inhaling the scent of his skin, a mix of the metal of the forge and the warmth of woodsmoke. “It’s a national holiday, right there on the calendar in bright green.”

Anthony tutted quietly in response, shifting his hips slightly in a way that made Loki draw in a sharp breath.

“I believe you are owed a present, then,” he said, trying to look innocent and failing completely. “What would you like?”

“You, obviously,” Loki answered, quickly flipping them over and kissing him again.

“Ah, but you already unwrapped me last night,” Anthony said. “Where’s the sport in that? No, you must have something else, too.”

“Fine, then,” Loki said, drawing back a little and looking into his lover’s eyes, his mood suddenly more serious. “I will take a promise.”

“What would you have me promise?” Anthony asked.

“The gift of a kiss,” Loki said, caressing Anthony’s lips with his thumb. “Each year, for the rest of our lives, on my birthday, promise me that you will give me a kiss, that you will be beside me, and on this one day we will never be separated so that we can remember this joy.”

“You meant what you said last night,” Anthony said, kissing the tip of his thumb and smiling. “It was not the meaningless babblings of lovemaking.”

“I meant every word,” he said.

“Then I owe you a mug of mead,” Anthony said.

“And I owe you a ring,” Loki said before claiming his mouth in a searing kiss, stopping only when his lungs burned. “I would have you as my own, now and forever. I would make that vow before my father and all Asgard.”

“And I vow that on your birthday, for all the rest of our lives, you shall have your kiss,” Anthony said, smiling at him as they joined together again.

All too soon, the bells of the clock tower rang, startling both of them back to awareness of the world outside of their bed.

“Was that eight bells?” Anthony asked.

“Indeed,” Loki said.

“Damn!” Anthony said, leaping out of the bed so quickly Loki nearly landed on the floor.

“What?”

“The gauntlets! Only an hour remains for the solution to be removed or they will be ruined,” Anthony said, hunting for his tunic.

“All that needs to be done is for them to be soaked in a vat of water. There should be plenty of time for that,” Loki said, relaxing back against the pillows and doing his best to look enticing. “Come back to bed.”

“Peter will be here within five minutes, and when he finds the forge locked, I guarantee he’ll all but break down my door looking for us,” Anthony said. “Do you really want him to wander in here while we’re doing what you’re thinking of?”

“Norns, where are my pants?” Loki said, his eyes growing enormous as he all but shot off the bed himself.

“It will be fine. I can put the gauntlets in to soak, send Peter home, and we will spend the rest of your birthday here, in bed, fulfilling your wish over and over again,” Anthony said. “Just stay as you are. I want you there, in my bed, looking just like that, when I come back.”

“I think I like this plan,” Loki said, grinning. “Be quick, yes?”

“Only a few minutes,” Anthony said. “I promise. After that…”

Anthony smirked, putting both of his hands to the seat of pants and slapping them rapidly in a wild mimicry of a drum roll.

“You are ridiculous,” Loki said, laughing.

“And you love it.”

“You know that I do.”

He was out the door seconds later, and Loki collapsed back on the bed, not moving for a whole minute before his curiosity got the better of him. He got up and began looking around the room, observing the paintings on the walls, the furniture, the titles on the shelves full of books, none of which he had taken the time to notice the night before. In spite of Anthony’s words, he did dress, deciding that a quick stop at the bakery for fresh bread for their breakfast was in order. As it was only next door and the morning was a pleasant one, he decided to walk rather than teleport, opening the door of Anthony’s home and strolling through the small garden along a well-worn path that led between the two shops.

All seemed perfect until he heard a scream. His head whipped towards the sound.

“Peter,” Loki breathed, recognizing the voice at once and teleporting immediately into the workshop.

What he saw made no sense at first. Peter was standing in the middle of the workshop, sobbing uncontrollably, then he collapsed to the floor.

“Peter, what’s happened?” Loki said, crouching beside him.

“I had to!” Peter said. “He had a knife!”

Loki sprang to his feet again and noticed the worktable had been overturned. Obadiah’s body was propped against it, lifeless, one of Anthony’s spears piercing through his heart and into the wood.

“Anthony!” Loki yelled. “Where are you?”

“He’s behind the table!” Peter said, still sobbing. “Obadiah stabbed him!”

Loki threw the obviously dead body and the table to the other side of the room with a flick of his fingers and revealed Anthony lying on the floor, the handle of a knife buried deep in his chest, but somehow, he was still blinking, not yet dead.

“No,” Loki murmured, his eyes widening until he looked almost mad, “no, this is not happening. I will not permit it!”

He dropped to the floor next to Anthony, pulling him into his lap and stroking his hair back from his forehead as he spasmed wildly. It took all of one second for Loki to make a decision.

“Peter, look away,” he ordered as he opened one of his pocket dimensions and drew forth a dagger, one of the ones Anthony and he had made together for the Einherjar shortly after they first met.

“Close your eyes, Anthony,” Loki whispered, his voice ragged. “Do not watch this. Everything is going to be fine.”

The handle glowed red from the lie.

Anthony stubbornly kept his eyes open, but there was no time for persuasion. Loki turned the dagger towards himself and without a pause stabbed it deep into his own chest, screaming in pain, but he forced himself to remain conscious. He muttered words of power so strong that he had been loathe ever to utter them before, but now they came easily. After he had exposed his own heart, he gritted his teeth, reached in, and wrenched out the still beating organ, his fingers dripping in blood. With a twist of his hand, he sliced the heart cleanly in two. The pull of oblivion was sapping what little strength he had left, but Loki forced himself to cling to life and cast a spell that made each half into a separate, whole heart. Knowing he had only seconds before they would both be dead, he quickly yanked the knife from Anthony’s chest. The other man, whose eyes were wide with horror, groaned weakly as Loki increased the size of the gash and pulled out Anthony’s fatally wounded heart, replacing it with the one he had made from half of his own. As unconsciousness threatened to overtake him and the edges of his vision dimmed, Loki shoved his own heart back into his chest and murmured a spell to close both wounds. The skin began to knit back together, but he slipped into darkness, the loss of blood and the drain on his magic too great to bear any longer.

Chapter Text

When Loki awoke in the Healing Room, the first thing he saw was Frigga’s relieved face.

“Anthony?” he managed to whisper through the driest throat he had ever felt.

“He’s alive,” she assured him, sitting next to his bed and carefully taking hold of his hand. “He will survive.”

“How long ago?”

“You have been here eight days,” Frigga said.

“How—"

“Save your strength,” Frigga said, stroking his cheek. “Peter helped staunch the flow of blood and raised an alarm to have both of you brought here, which is most likely the only reason you are both still alive.”

She poured a glass of water from a carafe on the bedside table and gently held it to his lips. The water felt rough going down, but the coolness helped him feel more alert.

“That is not all. Zechariahson is dead,” Loki said. “Peter killed him after that wretch tried to murder Tony.”

“Yes, I know,” Frigga said. “The lad is still very shaken. The last I saw of him, he was hanging upside-down from the ceiling of one of the guest bedrooms in the palace.”

“Why is he not with his aunt?”

“He wanted to remain close,” Frigga said. “It seems to be the only way he can sleep.”

“But Anthony is well? The spell worked?” Loki asked.

“That was incredibly dangerous,” Frigga said, turning to put the glass on the table, then sitting back and absentmindedly picking at the skin of the palm of her left hand.

“Something is wrong,” Loki said. “You only do that when you are worried.”

She flinched at the obvious tell and stopped immediately.

“How much do you know of the spell you used?” Frigga asked.

“It does not always work,” Loki said, “but as we are both still living, that does not seem to be the case, thankfully.”

“Yes, but what else?” Frigga said.

“The heart that is used needs to be removed while the owner is still alive, which is why Obadiah’s would have been useless. Dividing it and then replicating the missing half of each side has to be done at once, and the injured heart must be taken out and replaced quickly,” Loki said.

“All true, though you have neglected to mention the excruciating pain you went through,” Frigga said. “Your love for this man must indeed be deep.”

“It is,” Loki said.

She shuddered as though her worst fear had been confirmed. Loki frowned, confused.

“What is wrong? You have said and proven more times than I can count that my inclinations do not repulse you,” Loki said.

“And they do not. My one complaint is that you have never introduced me to your love, but that is not the issue,” Frigga said. “There is another problem with the spell you used.”

“It proves immediately fatal for both parties about nine times out of ten,” Loki said. “I knew that, but the Norns smiled on us there.”

“No, that is not what I meant,” Frigga said. She drew a deep breath before saying, “The one who gives and the one who takes must be compatible.”

“Obviously,” Loki said, feeling the conversation was going nowhere. “One could not, for example, give a heart from an Aesir to someone from Vanaheim without complications, but Anthony and I are both Aesir, so that is not a problem.”

Frigga rubbed her head with her hand as though fighting a bad headache before sighing and saying, “No, that is precisely the problem.”

“Anthony isn’t Aesir?” Loki said, confused. “Does his family have Alfheim blood or—”

Frigga grasped his hand and seemed to be steeling herself, “No, darling. You are the one who is not Aesir.”

Loki sat in silence a long moment, utterly baffled, before he finally asked, “Is it you or father who isn’t Aesir? Or both of you?”

“No,” she said. “We are both Aesir. It is you who are not.”

“I—”

He stopped.

“Mother, I don’t understand,” he said, though a dark suspicion was starting to form in his mind. “What am I?”

She drew a breath again, then said, “Odin came to me with a baby after the war with Jotunheim. At first he tried to lie, claiming that he had fathered the child with another woman. In honesty, it would have been neither his first nor his last infidelity, but I soon realized it was not the truth.”

“I am this child?” Loki said, horror starting to twist his features. “I am not the son of either of you?”

“You are,” Frigga said firmly. “In all ways that matter, you are my son, and I could not love you more than I do if I had borne you myself.”

His head was spinning from the revelation, and while his mind cried out that it simply wasn’t possible, a voice in the back of his mind whispered that it would explain a great deal, including his father’s inability to approve of him and his favoritism towards Thor going all the way back to their earliest childhood.

“And Thor?” he asked. “Is Thor your true son?”

“You are my true son,” Frigga insisted, “but Thor is of my blood, yes, and your father’s.”

“He is not my father,” Loki said sharply, his voice rising. “And why is he not here with you for this revelation?”

Frigga looked pained, but remained silent, and Loki became even more angry.

“Why, if I were so lovingly adopted and taken fully into the bosom of my new family as you say, was I never told this before? Am I the offspring of some criminal? Some villainous elf? Perhaps a wastrel from Midgard? If so, did you put one of Idunn’s apples between my infant lips to lengthen my life and keep the secret?”

“No, you already had the gift of long life,” Frigga said. “And I would have told you sooner, but Odin extracted an oath from me not to reveal this unless I had no other choice.”

“And now you believe that is true,” Loki said, feeling the color drain from his face. “What have I done to Anthony without knowing?”

“He is alive, and that is your doing through your bravery and self-sacrifice,” Frigga said, but he slipped his hand from her fingers. “Nothing will change that.”

“But something crucial is wrong,” Loki said. “If it were not, this secret would not have been revealed. What is it? What price must my lover pay for my gift to him of a poisoned heart?”

“I do not fully understand it myself as I know of no precedent,” Frigga said, “and I have searched for one. Anthony woke two days ago, and he is well in body and mind.”

“So far, your news is good, but your expression says you are telling only half the tale,” Loki said. “If you truly have any love for me, be honest at least in this and spare me the torment of not knowing. What is wrong?”

She attempted smiling at him, but her features crumbled into sorrow before she said, “My darling, he cannot love.”

He heard the words but couldn’t understand them.

“I first noticed something was wrong when Peter came to wish him well. Anthony knew who he was, calling him by name, but there was a,” she paused, “a coldness. He never asked after the boy or you, showed no gratitude over what both of you did when it was explained beside simple thanks, but heard all of it as though the speaker were listing off the capital cities of the Nine Realms. It was as though it were the history of a stranger, one for whom he had no feelings at all.”

“He is in shock,” Loki said, his voice breaking. “It must be that.”

“No, it is not shock,” Frigga said. “The healers have looked at his brain, and the symptoms of it are not present. He is only perfectly calm. Too calm. He remains polite. There is nothing about him that gives offense, understand. He simply does not love in much the same way that a rock does not love. He is incapable of it.”

“This is madness!” Loki said. “Whatever the poets say, the mind and not the heart is the seat of love! Is that damaged in some wise?”

“Oh, Loki, you speak of medicine and science, good, solid fact,” Frigga said, looking sad. “We both know magic flies in the face of such things, its power rooted in its ability to overthrow the laws of Nature. When magic goes awry, anything is possible, including the impossible, my son.”

“I am not your son!” Loki all but screamed. “Tell me! Who was it that the King of Asgard plundered to bring me here? Who am I!”

“Be calm! You are but newly healing from grave injuries. You will hurt yourself!”

“Tell me!” he repeated, his volume only rising.

“You were the son of Laufey,” Frigga admitted. “He cast you away, and I am glad of it, for it let you come to us.”

“Laufey,” Loki said, looking at her as though she had gone mad. “A frost giant? They are three times my height with blood-colored eyes and skin the hue of burning sulphur!”

“An illusion,” Frigga said softly, and she moved her hand, allowing the layers of camouflage to disintegrate for the first time since his infancy.

Loki looked at his transformed hands and saw she spoke the truth. His mouth gasped for air, his eyes begging his mother to wake him from a nightmare, and then his mind took pity upon him as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

More than a week passed since Loki’s revelation from his mother. After he had regained consciousness, he had forbidden the healers to permit her to enter the room again, and while the queen could easily have overridden his order, she did not press him. As for Odin, the king made no attempt to speak with him, but Loki found he did not care. He wanted to be left alone. In the wake of all he had learned, that was the only thing he seemed to be able to want.

When he realized he would not be released by the healers until he agreed to eat and drink, to move, to speak, he forced himself to do these things again, but the physical pain from the scars over his heart was nothing compared to the leaden weight of sorrow that lay inside his chest, dragging him down with every step.

At last, the healers declared him well enough to return home. Rather than return to his chambers in the palace, he walked out the doors of the Healing Room and directly into the city. He knew where his feet were taking him on instinct. Anthony had returned to his forge days earlier. Loki needed to go there. He needed to see for himself the damage that he had done.

For a moment, he stood outside the door, hand raised, poised to knock. He bit his lip, then rapped on the door.

“Enter.”

It was Anthony’s voice. That much had not changed, and when Loki opened the door and saw him standing by the fire, nothing looked different. Anthony’s back was to him as he tended to one of the gauntlets that had apparently been salvaged from that day. Loki took a moment to revel in the color of his hair by firelight, the smooth line of his back, the broadness of his shoulders, the strength visible in his arms. He was wearing a simple tunic and pants, work clothes, already smudged with soot from the forge, and the scent of the place, a perfume he associated with a feeling of yearning and belonging, nearly made Loki dizzy with homesickness.

“Anthony,” he said, and his voice cracked on the word.

The other man turned towards him, and the face was Anthony’s, but his eyes seemed wrong somehow. Loki couldn’t put his finger on the subtle change.

“Yes,” he said, rubbing his hands on his pants, “I had thought you might stop by.”

“Are you well?” Loki asked.

“I have some scars, but that’s much better than being dead, of course, and without your help, that’s what I would be,” Anthony said. “I thank you for that.”

“There is no need,” Loki said.

“But you have been put aware of the other effects from the situation, have you not?” Anthony asked, not looking him in the eye.

“Yes,” Loki said.

Anthony nodded.

“My memory is clear,” he said. “It is not that I have forgotten you in any way.”

“You remember our first meeting?” Loki asked.

“Yes,” Anthony said, but he frowned, “but it is as though it happened to someone else. I remember working with you. I even remember you asking to court me, and the night before all this happened, when we…”

He paused and coughed, looking, to Loki’s horror, embarrassed.

“When we made love,” Loki finished, but he could feel the heart in his chest smashing in a thousand pieces.

“Yes,” Anthony said, not looking at him. “You were an excellent partner in all ways. I believe we should continue our work together on armor for Asgard’s warriors. It would be of benefit to them and to both of us as we would stand to make a good profit.”

“Profit,” Loki repeated quietly, watching as the man he loved efficiently put some of his tools back in their places.

“Nothing wrong with profit,” Anthony said, smiling at him in the same vacant way that Loki had seen on the faces of countless courtiers who were schooled to be polite.

“No, no, of course not,” Loki said. “I would be willing to continue our work.”

“Fine,” Anthony said, but Loki caught his gaze again, and this time, there was no escaping the cold difference. The man drew a breath, then sat on one of the stools at the worktable and gestured for Loki to do the same. “Join me?”

Loki sat, but his hands were trembling against his will, so he hid them beneath the table.

“I have no wish to cause you pain,” Anthony said. “I do not mean harm to anyone, though I think that has already happened. Peter, for example. He’s a good worker, and I will keep him on, but though I remember that I felt almost a father’s pride in him, I see him now as only another apprentice in a long line of apprentices, one who will eventually move on to other things and leave and be replaced, and that will be fine. I know I do not treat him as I did, and I think he is made unhappy by it.”

Loki’s chest hurt from the thought of Peter being banished from Anthony’s heart.

“He sacrificed his anonymity to save you, and he is a good, kind, brave lad,” Loki said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I am sure he is,” Anthony said, “I just can’t… I feel nothing for him except basic concern that he does his work and that I fulfill all parts of his training adequately.”

Loki brought his hand to his own chin and rubbed it, trying to will himself to have the courage to ask the question on his mind.

“And what of your feelings for me?” he said.

“I am sorry for you,” Anthony said, and his eyes, which still looked wrong to Loki, filled with the smallest bit of something that resembled the man he loved. “You did nothing wrong, and I am grateful that you saved my life, of course. I know I loved you deeply, with all of the heart I had, but I feel—”

“Nothing,” Loki said, realizing at last what he saw in the other’s eyes. “You feel nothing at all for me.”

“I do not want to lie to you,” Anthony said.

“Anthony, I am still in love with you,” Loki said, and to his shame he felt tears burning in his eyes. “I meant every word I said to you that night. You are the dearest thing in this world to me, and I have given you my heart not just in flesh but in truth. Is there nothing at all that could reawaken what you once felt for me?”

“I know part of me is missing,” Anthony admitted. “I just can’t seem to care about it. However, if you like, I would consent to let you bed me again in the future. I recall that you are very skilled at it, so it would be no hardship for me and may prove advantageous to you.”

Loki was horrified by the cold, business-like way Anthony made the offer.

“No,” he said, “that I will not do.”

Anthony nodded as though the answer made no difference to him, and Loki stared into his almost mechanical eyes, searching for another spark of his Anthony in them, but they remained coldly detached.

“I will give aid as far as any magic you choose to put into your designs,” Loki said, then drew a shuddering breath and added, “and with your permission, I am going to search for a way to put this right, Anthony. There must be a spell or charm, something that will undo the hurt I have done to you.”

“If you can find something, I would appreciate it,” Anthony said. “I am truly sorry to hurt you in this way.”

Loki hesitantly moved towards him, allowing his fingers to barely caress the other man’s face, trying to memorize the feel of his skin, his warmth, the prickle of his beard under his fingertips. Anthony never moved to stop him, allowing it, though he did not lean into his touch.

“I love you,” Loki swore, “and I will always love you. I promise you I will find the cure for this.”

“You are a very powerful mage,” Anthony said. “I believe if it is possible, you will, but if it isn’t, well then, it isn’t, and the stars will still burn either way. I will contact you about any future projects.”

Loki’s hand slid down Anthony’s face in a final caress.

“This is my doing,” Loki whispered. “Not yours. Know that I do not hold you in any anger for this.”

“Thank you,” Anthony said.

Loki rose, going to the door, but when he put his hand on the latch, he paused. Pain was cutting through him with every breath, and the possibility of never touching Anthony again filled him with a despair so great his heart threatened to split.

“I have a request,” he said, not turning around.

“Name it,” Anthony said.

“You gave me a promise,” Loki said, closing his eyes and gripping the handle of the door so tightly the wood bit into his flesh. “Would you be willing to keep it?”

“A kiss each year upon the day of your birth?” Anthony asked.

“Yes,” Loki said, looking at him over his shoulder. He knew how he must look, all but begging, his pride broken, his heart in tatters. “Would you consent to that?”

“I would,” Anthony said. “I owe you at least that.”

“I thank you,” Loki said, then opened the door and went into the street without looking back.

From there, he teleported deep into the woods, far from any sentient eyes. For long moments he was motionless among the trees. Then his breath began to come in rough gasps, harder and faster each time, until at last a scream tore from his lips, one that threatened to leave his throat bathed in blood. Still screaming, he dropped to his knees in the dirt, tears pouring down his face, as he collapsed into the dirt and wept for the loss of his lover’s heart.

Loki had no idea how long he stayed there. The animals kept far from him, and the cold of evening began to chill his frame. He didn’t want to go home, to see the people who until recently had been his mother, his brother, his father. He didn’t want to see the bed where he had planned to bring Anthony when they were at last married. Even the library, the source of solace to him in all other times of grief, loomed in his mind like a prison built of words, none of them capable of pointing the way to fix his sorrow. Instead, he began to walk aimlessly, the motion the only thing that gave him some tiny piece of solace.

At length, he found himself walking towards the Bifrost, the luminescent colors of the bridge echoing his footfalls, and he let his gaze fall on the countless stars that spilled across the sky, overhead, underfoot, glittering to his left and right. Once, as a small child, he had asked his mother to teach him to walk among them, and she had laughed and caught his hand, telling him she would show him the secret paths of the galaxies, and she had. The memory hurt. Everything seemed to hurt now.

It was at that moment when a weight slammed into him from behind so hard that he nearly toppled forward onto his face.

“Brother! You are well again!” boomed Thor’s voice as his arms went around him in a hug that would crush a mortal’s bones and that was rather painful given Loki’s recent injuries.

“Get off me, you great hairy oaf!” Loki yelled out of force of habit, but Thor only laughed as he let go.

“You must indeed be in good health. You sound like your old self,” Thor said

When he turned to face him to continue complaining about his clumsiness, only then did Loki notice Peter standing at Thor’s elbow.

“I understand this brave young man is at least partially to be credited with your continued existence,” Thor said, clapping Peter on the shoulder with a gigantic paw of a hand. “He has waited many days to see you.”

Loki took one look at him and realized how hard the time had been on the apprentice. His face was drawn, and circles were prominent beneath his eyes. While he held himself with dignity, Loki noticed tension in his shoulders that spoke of worry.

“Hello, Peter,” he said quietly. “Are you well?”

“Not especially,” Peter admitted.

“Honesty,” Loki said, giving him a sad smile. “In all the lies that have surrounded me, I nearly forgot what it sounded like.”

Thor looked away for a moment, then said, “Mother has spoken to me about the circumstances of your birth. Truly, I did not know.”

“I believe you,” Loki said, “but I would rather not discuss it just now.”

“As you wish, brother,” Thor said, laying heavy emphasis on the last word, and Loki understood from that alone that Thor saw no difference. He was not sure yet whether he could say the same for himself.

“Are you going to see Tony?” Peter asked.

“I already have,” Loki said.

“He’s not…” Peter paused, uncertain. “He is as good a teacher as ever, and his work is still marvelous, still perfect.”

“But he is not the same,” Loki said.

“No,” Peter said, dropping his gaze to the shifting colors of the bridge. “He is not.”

Loki nodded, putting a hand on the lad’s shoulder.

“You did nothing wrong,” he said. “Thor is right. You killed Obadiah, then stopped the two of us from bleeding to death and brought help. Nothing was your fault.”

“It feels like it is,” Peter said. “I was… I was five minutes late. I had stopped in the street to speak with… someone. If I had been there earlier, maybe I could have stopped him before he hurt Tony.”

“Or maybe you would have been stabbed too into the bargain,” Loki said. “No, the Norns decided your path that morning. You did exactly as you should have.”

“Then so did you,” Peter said.

Loki grimaced, but Peter’s earnest expression was so without guile that he couldn’t help realizing that, had he done anything else, Anthony would indeed be dead. Even though the hope of bringing back the Anthony who loved him was frail, it was still there so long as he was alive, and if it existed, Loki would find it.

Loki quickly changed tactics, pasting on a grin he didn’t feel yet and adding, “So, what is the lady’s name?”

“Who?”

“This ‘someone’ you were speaking with,” Loki said, and perhaps there was just the smallest bit of mischief kindling in his eyes.

“Michelle,” Peter admitted, and a blush tinged his face.

Loki truly grinned, and Thor shook his head.

“Peter, you have handed him ammunition that I assure you he will use at the first opportunity,” he said, stifling a laugh.

“You wouldn’t,” Peter said, suddenly several shades whiter.

“Of course not,” Loki said too smoothly as he began to walk back with them towards the city.

“Liar,” Thor said, giving him a knowing look.

“That’s a very impolite accusation to make, brother, particularly with no evidence whatsoever,” Loki said. “Now, where does she live and what is her favorite flower?”

He felt almost normal for a moment. Some things were still good in the wide universe. And there had to be a way to heal Anthony’s heart. In doing so, he knew he would heal his own.

Chapter Text

Days and weeks passed into months and years, but Loki still yearned for the man who held half his heart. For the good of Asgard, they continued to work together, and their projects were credited with protecting both the kingdom and its warriors. However, Anthony’s creations were different. Where Anthony had once been both an inventor and an artist, the sense of beauty was gone from what he made. Flourishes, colors, and the simple elegance that were the signature of his designs were replaced with efficiency and nothing more. It was as though a great poet had taken to writing clear, perfect lists of historical facts, omitting nothing, exact in every detail, achieving the desired outcome of his words, but forgetting words could make spirits take flight.

Loki saw the signs and knew what they meant. Anthony’s heart was no longer in his work. Worse than that, he saw how it affected Peter. Anthony was never unkind, never spoke a cruel word to him, but Peter was now only a worker to him. There was no fatherly pride in the lad’s successful inventions and additions, only an additional bit of pay as a reward for his contributions. For his part, Loki took Peter under his wing more often, making a point of eating luncheon with him so that neither of them dined alone at midday. Anthony tended not to pause at all for food. Often the pair of them went to the tavern, and Pepper or Rhodey would fuss over them, Pepper with a sad smile, Rhodey never forgetting to ask if his old friend was well. Anthony never went there anymore. He ate only in the mornings before work and at night before bed, always alone.

None of this made Loki love him any less. He blamed himself, though even now he did not know what else he could have done. If he had insisted on accompanying Anthony back to the forge that morning rather than lolling about in bed, perhaps Obadiah wouldn’t have attacked at all or the pair of them could have beaten him. If they had been able to find Obadiah and bring him before Odin before he had the opportunity to plot Anthony’s murder, if Loki had listened to his instincts about the treacherous man from the beginning, if and if and if again. However, Anthony was free of any guilt in his mind. He couldn’t find it in his heart to blame him, but that same heart screamed his own guilt, even though he couldn’t have known what the consequences would be.

On days when there was no work for him at the forge and in the evenings when the shop was closed, Loki was inevitably to be found in the library. He went through mountains of spell books, medical texts, anatomy diagrams of Aesir and Jotun hearts, anything that might show even a glimmer of hope for reversing the effects of connecting the body of an Asgardian to a frost giant’s heart. He found nothing. As far as he could tell, it was without precedent. Though he was certain Jotuns could love from his own experience, there was no written proof of it on Asgard. He suspected that was no accident. Even the librarians, who had often been suspicious and aloof around him, looked at him with pity, going so far as attempting to find long-forgotten texts for him that might be of use, but unfortunately, nothing ever helped.

Most nights, Loki returned to his chambers so tired that he could barely undress and climb into his bed before he slept. When he was fortunate, his exhaustion carried him into oblivious sleep until morning. When he was not, either in wakefulness or even the tantalizing world of dreams, he saw his Anthony as he had been, filled with passion for every part of his life: his work, his friends, his adopted son, and almost unbelievably, for him. He remembered the joy and hopefulness in the soft brown warmth of his lover’s eyes on the night Loki had confessed how deep his feelings ran, and Loki had wanted to live within that warmth forever. Some nights he all but tortured himself with the remembered feel of Anthony’s skin, the sound of his sighs, that morning awakening in bed to sweet kisses on his throat.

In his darkest days, he wished his own heart were as empty as Anthony’s so that he need not feel the pain of loneliness anymore. But the ache of it was at least real and reminded him of what had once been and what, he tried to convince himself, might be again.

The betrayal from the lies that had stained his relationship with his family didn’t go away. At least Thor had played no part in it, and the crown prince seemed shocked by his mother’s role in keeping the secret, but he was far more repulsed by Odin’s dismissive attitude towards the pain of the man he had once called his own son. In time, Loki was able to forgive Frigga. She had always treated him as a son, not a bargaining chip to be played when the time was ripe, and at length he was once more able to believe her love for him was real. Odin, however, showed no remorse for his deceptions, and when he learned of Anthony’s plight, he spoke not one word about it. If anything, he seemed disgusted.

Odin kept his distance from Loki, and Loki was glad of it.

In time, Loki learned to manage the pain of forever pining for his Anthony. Luckily, Loki was skilled in lying, and he learned to lie in every gesture and word when Anthony was near. But those who truly knew him were not fooled.

“I know you are still in love with him,” Peter said without warning one day as they ate together at the tavern.

Loki nearly dropped the bread he had been buttering.

“I would never say anything,” Peter added quickly, “not to him.”

“And when did you come to suspect this?” Loki said.

Peter looked up at him and laughed.

“I think I figured out the two of you were in love before both of you did,” Peter said.

“And I show my lovelorn nature now by doing what?” Loki asked petulantly.

“Nothing,” Peter said. “That’s just it. You’re very careful not to show anything. Too careful.”

“You are too observant by half, young one,” Loki said, sighing.

“He doesn’t know, though,” Peter added, taking a mouthful of cheese. “Since it happened, he just doesn’t look closely enough at anything to really see it.”

“And your Michelle? Does she see you?” Loki said, changing the subject abruptly.

“Maybe,” Peter said, smiling at his plate then glancing up at him. “I send her marigolds each week.”

“You are still very young, Peter,” Loki said, ruffling his hair fondly. “Enjoy the slow, sweet thrill of the chase.”

“I am not sure I would even know what to do if I caught her,” Peter said, his brow puckering into a frown.

“And that is a conversation I will leave to your aunt,” Loki said, chuckling before paying their bill.

Loki chose to walk that night, accompanying Peter home as it was on his way, then continuing towards the palace. His heart was twisting inside him, and he wondered if he should perhaps not come to the forge tomorrow at all. It would be closed, as it always was upon his birthday, but not for him.

Anthony would keep his vow. Every year, he had allowed Loki one kiss, and every year Loki had taken it. The first time, he had hoped that like some fairy tale, a kiss would awaken his love’s heart, but the hope was dashed by reality. As his birthday drew nearer, he toyed with the idea of not kissing Anthony, of keeping his distance and what shreds of dignity he still had. He knew the other man acted only out of pity. But inevitably, unable to withstand the temptation of feeling his lips, breathing in his scent, holding him close if only for a handful of minutes, he would take what scraps were offered. He had no pride left, only the desperate, mad hope that someday Anthony would kiss him again with love.

Loki did not sleep that night. He tossed and turned, and finally, giving up, he dressed again and went to the library shortly after midnight, still looking for answers. As he tried yet another book that held information only vaguely related to his problem on the off chance he might learn something useful, he was startled by a voice behind him.

“You still search, brother. Your perseverance is truly to be lauded.”

“What are you doing in the library?” Loki asked as Thor sat next to him at the table piled high with weak possibilities. “Did every tavern burn down in the whole of Asgard?”

Thor laughed quietly.

“No such tragedy has happened, though I admit, I do not recall the last time I walked through these doors. I was looking for you, and Fandral said he thought he had seen you heading this way,” Thor said. “Is there really nothing in all of this great mass of print that would heal the hurt that has been done to your Anthony?”

“Nothing I have found yet,” Loki said. “Why were you trying to find me?”

“It is your birthday tomorrow, or today, rather, and I will not be home in the evening as father is sending me on a diplomatic mission to Alfheim,” Thor said. “I only just learned of it, and I wanted to wish you health and happiness in the next year.”

“Thank you,” Loki said, strangely touched.

“I have ordered your favorite mead from Alfheim, and I will bring it home with me when I return,” Thor said. “We shall drink, and the world will be well.”

“Some things in it, at least,” Loki said, smiling, but it took effort.

Thor noticed, and looking a little embarrassed, glanced around to be sure they were alone before saying, “It saddens me to think of you alone on this day. Would you like me to make you a second gift of some hired company? I know a great many beautiful women whose talents I can personally vouch for, but if you would prefer a man, I am certain I can arrange something to your tastes.”

Loki nearly choked in shock before saying, “Thank you, but no.”

“You are more steadfast and loyal than I would ever have suspected,” Thor said, thumping him on the back. “I wish you success in your quest, brother.”

“I hope all goes well with your meetings on Alfheim,” Loki said, and Thor smiled at him and left.

Loki went back to his chambers after that, and he managed to sleep for a few hours before the sun rose, beckoning him for his single, heartless kiss. Heavy in his sadness but certain, he let himself awaken. He bathed, dressed, ate, all of it mechanically, then left the palace and walked to the forge, wanting the air, desperate for the light.

The workshop was, as always, closed when he arrived, but he went in, and Anthony was waiting there, expecting him. He looked resigned, even perhaps sorry for Loki. No malice was in him, but no love, either.

“Hello, Loki.”

Loki allowed himself the indulgence of reveling at the sound of Anthony’s lips saying his name, not his title, just a simple greeting. He shut the door, noting that, as usual, the windows were closed, the room lit only with candles. Daylight was banned, and on the off chance some blundering customer might arrive and try to look through the windows to see why the shop was closed, all was shuttered. It was a small courtesy, this privacy, but the darkened and locked chamber reminded Loki of Anthony’s darkened and locked heart. But he would not allow that thought to tarnish this.

“Anthony,” he said, trying to sound casually indifferent, though his mere presence showed that was a lie.

He walked to Anthony, waiting for some permission, but the other man said only, “You have not changed your mind?”

Part of Loki wanted to say he had, to have the strength to turn around and walk away from what would be a kiss from only one side, but looking at him, he couldn’t make himself do so.

“No,” he said, watching as Anthony was momentarily weighed down with the knowledge that he was missing something within him, something he could never find but only remember.

Loki closed the little distance remaining between them, allowing his fingers to touch Anthony’s face. He tried to keep his own features impassive, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do so for long, not with the warmth of Anthony’s skin under his hand and his thumb tracing the curve of his chin, so he moved, bringing their lips together.

The noise that was dragged from Loki at the touch was one of hopeless wanting, and no matter how hard he tried to silence it each year, it always resurfaced, a sob and a sigh combined. Anthony’s hands rested on Loki’s sides, gentle, trying to give some small bit of comfort, and Loki memorized the feel of his lips again, tucking the sensation into his brain to savor for the next year. Anthony’s mouth never opened to him, his lips still as stone. When the kiss ended, Loki allowed himself a few silent moments of resting his head against the other man’s hair, breathing in his scent. His heart was in agony as surely as if he had once again taken hold of the dagger by the hilt and plunged it into his chest.

Taking a breath, Loki ended it. Keeping his eyes firmly on the floor, he let Anthony go, then turned to leave.

“Loki?”

He turned at the sound of his name again, hoping against hope, knowing it was impossible but still not able to keep himself from wishing.

“Happy day of your birth.”

The sadness-tinged words felt like salt on a wound, but he nodded his thanks and left, closing the door behind him.

He knew, in that moment, it was the last time he would call on Anthony to keep his vow. Every year the pain was worse, and as he stood on the other side of the wooden door and shook with suppressed sobs in the morning daylight on a busy street, he realized that it was folly to continue something that brought only tears. In a blink, he was back in his chambers. He returned to his bed and fell asleep once more, not waking again for many hours.

At his birthday dinner, sorrow sat heavy on his heart while his mother wished him a good year and Odin gruffly nodded in agreement before finding an excuse to leave the table quickly. With Thor’s place empty as well, the table was too vacant, too silent, too full of holes where people he had once loved should be. A servant brought forward the traditional cake alit with candles, and though he thought it was folly, he closed his eyes and made a wish for prosperity and luck. As the candles sputtered out, Loki saw no reason to believe this year would be any different than the ones before it.

He would be proven wrong.

Chapter Text

More than three weeks passed without Thor returning to Asgard. The mission to Alfheim had closed surprisingly successfully, and Hogun and Volstagg, who had attended the meetings with him, returned with positive reports over new trade agreements. Odin actually smiled at the results, looking a good few centuries younger. But Thor was not with them when the Bifrost brought them home.

“Your son offers his apologies, but he has other business to attend to before he will be back,” Hogun said to the king and queen.

Odin accepted the excuse without question, but Frigga seemed concerned. Loki was unsure what to make of it. Perhaps Thor was having a liaison with a buxom elf or had caught wind of an adventure, maybe both. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. But a few hours later, Hogun knocked on Loki’s door.

“Enter,” Loki said, surprised. He couldn’t remember the man ever coming to his chambers before.

“Your brother bid me give you this in private,” Hogun said, handing him a parchment sealed in wax.

“Thank you,” he said, completely baffled, and the moment the door shut once more and he was alone, he tore it open to see Thor’s haphazard, messy scrawl.

I am seeking something to do with what we discussed and will be delayed.

That was the entire message, except for Thor’s signature, the T, as usual, a doodle of Mjolnir.

Loki replayed their last conversation in his mind.

“Please, Norns, he isn’t looking for an acceptable prostitute he thinks will distract me,” Loki said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead.

But another thought occurred to him, a tiny whisper in the back of his mind, wondering if perhaps Thor had found some shred of hope about Anthony’s heart. It seemed wildly unlikely that his brother might stumble into something on pure chance when Loki had spent years searching every possible source, but then, odder things had happened.

Two months came and went, and by now Frigga, though she never complained, was nearly beside herself with worry, and Loki was growing concerned as well. Wherever he was, Thor was not visible to Heimdall, and that was deeply troubling. If Thor really had come to harm in trying to aid him, ridiculous and ill-advised as his plans usually were, Loki wasn’t sure his heart could take the sorrow of this as well before it cracked apart. In spite of everything, blood or not, he realized he loved his dunderheaded but ultimately goodhearted brother.

Both Peter and Anthony realized the strain he was under, though Loki had told no one of his suspicions regarding Thor’s absence. At lunch, Peter had started offering Loki the sweets his aunt sometimes baked for him. They were, honestly, horrible, but Loki appreciated the thought. Anthony, for his part, was even more quiet than usual. He did assure Loki that he needn’t come to the forge if he was required elsewhere, but sitting and staring at the walls of his chambers or wandering the corridors of the palace was wearing on his nerves. At least at the workshop, he felt useful.

It was there that the messenger found Loki.

“My prince,” the man said, bowing and holding the sealed letter out to him, “a message from your brother.”

“Thank you,” he said, feeling himself go numb as he took the scroll.

The man departed at once, and Peter and Anthony looked at one another with matching expressions of dread.

“Should we stay or go?” Peter asked.

“I should like a few minutes alone, I believe,” Loki said. “Excuse me.”

He immediately disappeared, teleporting to his chambers and sitting in front of the fire. Preparing himself for practically anything, he took a deep breath, then broke the seal.

Brother, on Alfheim, several Jotuns were also present to speak with the Elves regarding trade. As you know, Alfheim is on much better terms with Jotunheim than Asgard is. While I was there, I entreated some of the Alfheim dignitaries to ask whether there might be any solution to the problem of your heart residing in Anthony’s body, leaving out the particulars of whom this had happened to, of course.

Loki’s eyebrows were raised in surprise. The idea that Thor would even consider asking Jotuns directly about the situation was completely unexpected. While Frigga had repeatedly joined him in the library and attempted to aid him, Thor tracking down a potential lead was completely new.

While it took over a week to even broach the subject, I was surprised to find the Jotuns were amenable to at least speaking about it. One thing I learned, as you no doubt already know, is that the Jotuns do not usually entrust spells to writing.

Loki nodded at the letter, stunned. Thor was entirely correct. He had been limited to reading accounts or commentaries about different charms from those few outsiders who had witnessed Jotun magic, but nothing directly from a Jotun mage.

However, though they do not give away their secrets lightly, at least one Jotun I met was open to the possibility of bargaining for this bit of information.

Loki’s heart completely stopped. It simply wasn’t possible.

I am hopeful I may be able to offer something that will procure us the answer to your quandary. Understand, I may be delayed for some time. Give my regards to Mother.

Loki re-read the letter three times, each time lurching between confusion and wild hope. Eventually, he realized that he would need more information before he could draw any real conclusions. A thousand things could go wrong. All possibilities considered, he chose to remain silent for now where Anthony and Peter were concerned. He would speak of it to Frigga because she might have some knowledge of the subject, but no one else.

He quickly teleported to his mother’s chamber door and knocked a little too loudly. She opened the door almost at once.

“What is wrong?” she asked immediately, and he noticed again how drawn she looked.

“Nothing,” he assured her quickly. “I have news from Thor. He is well.”

“Is he?” Frigga said, but she didn’t look convinced. “Come in.”

Loki showed her the note, but her face appeared no less worried.

“I do not like the sound of this,” Frigga said. “It could be a trap to lure Thor and turn him into a hostage. The Jotuns are notoriously jealous in guarding their magic. This seems too easy, and my mind already misgives. I have had troubling dreams about him of late, and this fits them too well.”

“You believe he has fallen into a snare?” Loki said, then sighed. “Entirely too plausible a concern, I fear.”

“He means well,” Frigga said, “but his confidence in his strength makes him overbold.”

“If anything harms him because he wishes to help me and mine,” Loki said, leaving the thought unfinished.

Time crawled, and still nothing more was heard from Thor. A full month passed, and Odin had begun sending emissaries to the various realms to search quietly for him, but nothing was discovered.

It was just past midnight one evening when a knock upon Loki’s door jolted him from sleep. He got out of bed immediately and charmed on his clothes in the seconds it took to reach and open the door. To his shock, Heimdall himself stood on the other side.

“My prince, your brother has returned,” he said quietly. “He used the Bifrost and has asked me to tell you he is in his rooms.”

“Is he well?” Loki asked.

“You should go to him,” Heimdall said, his expression dark, “at once.”

Heimdall then strode off down the corridor, undoubtedly returning to his post. His mere appearance anywhere other than the Bifrost was frightening for its rarity, but his words were enough to send a chill down Loki’s spine. Even more disturbing, Heimdall had chosen him for this message, not Odin or Frigga.

Loki appeared so quickly outside Thor’s door he didn’t even remember willing himself to teleport. He bit back the urge to pound on the door and instead knocked, then waited.

“Loki?”

It was Thor’s voice, but he sounded weak. If Heimdall’s words weren’t haunting him, Loki would have wondered if he had accidentally roused him from sleep.

“Yes. Heimdall told me of your arrival. Is aught wrong?”

There was a shuffling noise, and then he heard something land heavily on the floor with an accompanying grunt. No longer standing on manners, Loki banged the door open to find his brother lying on the floor in a crumpled heap, barely moving. For a wild moment, he thought Thor might be drunk. He’d half-carried his brother home more than once after a victory party, but instinct told him this wasn’t that.

“What ails you?” he asked quickly, kneeling beside him.

“I have it,” Thor mumbled. “It is in an envelope on the table. But beware, it has never before been used by a Jotun on an Aesir, only on someone from Vanaheim.”

“Good, yes, but what is wrong with you?” Loki said.

“The price was a heavy one, brother,” he said, then slowly raised his head to look at Loki, whose face went white as paper.

“What have you done?” Loki said, choosing not to believe what he saw. “Thor, what happened to your eye!”

Thor grimaced, then winced in pain.

“It was part of the required payment,” Thor said. “After months of negotiations, of assuring them that no nefarious use would be the result of giving me the information, they said that to earn the spell, they demanded a show of my dedication to achieving my goal. The price was my right eye with a vow of no retaliation.”

Loki stared in disbelief.

“They might have been lying,” Loki said. “You realize this all may have been done for no other reason than to humiliate you?”

“I do,” Thor said, then smiled at him, his remaining eye still managing to twinkle. “But if there is a chance it will repair your Anthony’s heart, it is worth the risk.”

“You stupid, oversized, idiotic fool!” Loki yelled, but by the time he had finished the insult, he was sobbing, his arms around Thor’s neck. “I swear to you, brother, you will have a new eye if I have to give you a mismatched set by plucking out one of my own!”

Loki felt Thor’s arms wrap around him tightly, and from that moment, Loki never again doubted that he was truly his brother.

“Now, if you would be so kind as to give me a hand up,” Thor said, “I stumbled over something and fell. My depth perception is askew. Also, I have felt better. I would rather Mother in particular did not see me just yet.”

“But the healers?” Loki suggested, tugging him upwards to his feet.

“Yes, I will go to them, but I wanted to deliver the information to you in private first,” Thor said.

Loki nodded, slipping the envelope into an inside pocket of his jacket, then took hold of his brother’s arm again and immediately teleported them to the Healing Room. After a moment of startled confusion, five healers were seeing to Thor at once, who collapsed in exhaustion onto a bed.

“In an hour I will call on Mother and let her know,” Loki said. “That should give the healers enough time to tidy you up adequately. Until then, rest well, brother. And thank you.”

Loki left the healers to their work, disappearing quickly and returning to his chambers. When he reached them, he was almost terrified to open the parchment, half certain it would contain nothing at all. When he finally did break the seal, he was startled to read what certainly appeared to be an authentic account of a situation similar in most details to his own. A Jotun had been present when a Vanaheim warrior had been cleaved through the heart by an assassin, and the same trick of taking out his own, splitting it in two, rapidly growing each half into a whole, and then placing one back into his own chest and the other into the warrior’s was all too familiar. So was the expected result: the warrior lived, but without the ability to love.

But that was not where the account ended.

The answer to the problem had come from another Jotun mage who had suggested that the issue stemmed from the difference in temperature between a Vanaheim heart and a Jotun one. In an effort to protect itself from the overwhelming heat of the foreign body, the Jotun heart had essentially frozen itself, and in doing so, had somehow affected the warrior’s soul, numbing it on a psychic level. It was still there, but, for lack of a better description, encased in ice.

The mage had managed to perform a spell to warm the natural state of the Jotun heart enough that it no longer felt it was being attacked, and once that was accomplished, it adjusted quickly to its new host. The end result was the warrior’s soul was awakened, and all had been well.

But, in spite of the joy Loki felt at the words, there was also concern. Thor was right. While the Aesir looked much like the inhabitants of Vanaheim, biological differences were still present. Their body temperatures were not identical, and a variety of other factors would also need to be examined. This might be the answer, but it would have to be carefully researched and adapted to ensure no further harm would befall Anthony. He would not risk another mistake. Not again.

The hour had passed, and Loki tucked the parchment back into his pocket. Taking a steadying breath, he teleported to the door of the king and queen’s apartments. Minutes later, the whole palace was in an uproar as the knowledge spread far and wide that the crown prince, though injured, was at long last home once more.

Chapter Text

Later that morning, Loki sent a brief message to Peter and Anthony regarding Thor’s discovery. He left out specifics, saying only that what Thor had found looked promising, but no more. That was the last anyone heard of the second prince for days. He remained locked in his chambers, stopping only to receive word from the healers that they were certain Thor was healing properly. Aside from that, he neither ate not slept. Frigga was the only one he permitted to enter, allowing her to look over the instructions he had been given.

“This may be possible,” she said seriously, then, putting out her hand to brush his hair from his forehead, “or it may not. Can you accept that second possibility if it happens?”

“I will not allow it to happen,” he said, adding yet another volume of research to the growing piles on the floor.

“I believe that if it can be, you will make it so,” Frigga said.

“A Jotun heart can love,” Loki said. “It is its natural state as much as for an Aesir heart, though I would never have believed it before all of this happened.”

“I knew that long ago,” Frigga said, smiling at him.

“Have you any other suggestions to make?” Loki said a shade too abruptly.

“That you should sleep and eat,” she said ruefully, “not that you will listen to your mother.”

“I must finish this now,” he said. “I will not allow myself those luxuries until I have completed my goal.”

In spite of this, after Frigga left, not two hours passed before someone was pounding on his door so forcefully that he was forced to stop and open it. To his surprise, Pepper was standing on the other side, holding an enormous tray. She must have been kicking the door with her foot.

“Your mother stopped by,” she said, pushing her way past him and into the room. “You will eat.”

“I have no time for—”

“It was not a suggestion. Sit down and finish this,” she ordered, putting a bowl of the familiar stew and a loaf of bread on the only clear spot on his desk. “I am not leaving until it is gone.”

Whether it was the stern look in Pepper’s eyes or the familiar scent of the meal he had eaten so often with Anthony, he gave up fighting. He sighed and moved to the desk, not bothering with a spoon and instead tearing the loaf apart and dipping it into the piping hot stew. His famished body nearly went into shock over how good it was.

“That is better,” she said. “I cannot force you to sleep, but, in spite of the vicious rumors about your honesty, I do not believe you will lie to me. Will you promise me that you will rest?”

Loki glared at her, but it fell flat. Her glare was stronger.

“When did you last sleep?” she asked.

“I do not know,” he answered. “Days, I suppose.”

“And has that helped you find an answer?”

“Well, no,” Loki admitted. In truth, the words were beginning to blur. The last thing he wanted to do was make a mistake brought on by exhaustion.

“Then sleep,” she said, taking back the empty bowl, but giving him a smile. “If you need anything else, only ask for it. You have friends, my prince, as does Anthony, and they would help you in this endeavor if you would but let them know what they could do. I will be back in eight hours with more food, and you are going to eat it. Yes?”

Loki felt a chuckle, the first in a very long time, shake his chest.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I promise.”

She nodded, picked up the empty tray, and left, using her foot to close the door behind her.

“One more hour, then rest,” he mumbled to himself.

“Now!” demanded Pepper’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Fine! Now!” he called back, annoyed but strangely grateful, and he fell into bed, asleep in moments.

Dawn rose, and he awoke again. A tray from the bakery next door to the forge sat on his desk, evidence that somehow Pepper had managed to gain entry again while he slept. He hadn’t even stirred. He took a moment to splash water on his face, grabbed a large pastry filled with sliced apples and cinnamon, and began reading again.

Shortly before noon, he knew he was as certain as he would ever be. Taking a deep breath, he closed the final book with a snap, double checked that he had packed all the necessary items in his bag, and teleported directly to the front door of the forge. The door already stood open.

“Did you find it?” Peter asked immediately, hopping up from his spot by the fire and all but running to him. “Will it work?”

“I hope so,” Loki said. “At any rate, I am now certain it will do no harm. Where is Anthony?”

“Next door, buying bread.”

Loki put his bag on the table and began pulling out vials of different colored liquids, parchment packets of herbs, and a variety of other things that really shouldn’t have been able to fit in the small leather pouch, but Peter barely noticed.

“I should leave,” Peter said.

“It might be wise,” Loki agreed.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No,” Loki said.

“You’re not going to cut your heart out and start bleeding all over the floor and need people to carry you to the healers again, are you?” Peter asked very rapidly, trying to sound calm.

Loki stared at him a moment before reassuring him, “No. That is not part of the spell this time.”

“Fantastic,” he said, visibly relaxing. “Just checking. Good luck!”

Peter left at once. After he did, the workshop grew strangely colder. Loki shivered, wondering if the shade of Obadiah was making itself felt. He glanced at the spot on the floor where the man’s body had been, and a very dim outline of a stain could still be seen. Loki didn’t believe in ghosts. He had no need for belief since he knew they were fact and had conversed with several of them.

“Understand, damned one, that if you ever attempt even the slightest harm on the one who killed you or anyone else, I will visit upon you terrors so great that you will wish for the comforts of Hel,” Loki said. “You know I do not lie. Begone.”

To be safe, he sprinkled needles of windwort in the area where the man had died, but he still felt a chill that he knew had nothing to do with a ghost. His palms were covered in cold sweat, and he sat down on Peter’s stool by the fire, his stomach in knots.

Loki felt as though he waited for Anthony’s return for an hour, but in reality it was only a handful of minutes before the door opened once more. Anthony remained motionless in the doorframe, knowing immediately what Loki’s presence meant. Loki stood.

“You have found a way to do it?” Anthony asked.

“Possibly,” Loki said. “I am not certain if it will work, but I know it cannot hurt you.”

Anthony stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, then drew the bolt.

“Do you still want me to do this?” Loki asked.

Anthony said nothing for a moment, putting down the package from the bakery.

“There have been some benefits to not being able to feel love,” Anthony admitted. “I have no jealousy, no fears of heartbreak. I feel more efficient. But I do want to feel again. I need the part of me that is sleeping to wake.”

Loki stood near him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I will do what I can,” he said. “Casting the spell will not take long, and you will sleep through it. When you wake, I will be in the garden, sitting on the bench under the willow if you should… wish to speak with me. If not, you need say nothing at all. I will understand.”

Anthony put his own hand on top of Loki’s.

“I know this is difficult for you,” he said, “and it is not your fault. You have done your best, and I am grateful to you. Your loyalty has been extraordinary, but if the spell does not work, then seek some other love. You deserve happiness, and perhaps the Norns have fated you to be with someone else.”

Loki didn’t speak his thoughts, not wanting to make the man feel guilt, but there was no changing the fact that Anthony would always hold his heart in every way. There would never be another love for him. He knew it as well as he knew his own name.

The spell began. Loki was absorbed in every step, his concentration so complete that it was almost painful. When at last it was done, he looked at Anthony’s sleeping form resting on the table, his breaths deep and slow.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, allowing himself the liberty of placing a single lingering kiss on Anthony’s forehead. “Please.”

Loki walked out the back door, leaving it open. He went towards the willow tree where they had first kissed, then sat on the bench, facing the back of the forge, his heart racing.

The afternoon was bright, the sky cloudless. The willow’s shade stretched across the path, keeping the bench in a cool shadow. Sounds from the street reached him but were muffled, distant, as though they belonged in some other world. For Loki, all that existed was this scruffy little garden. All that mattered was waiting. He barely dared to blink, his every muscle tense as his eyes were trained on the door.

Hours passed.

Nothing happened.

He had no idea how long Anthony would sleep. Perhaps he had awakened already and had decided to leave Loki alone, that there had been no change. What little pride he had left nettled him, telling him he was waiting pathetically for a man who had already told him he had no love in his heart for him and who was now doing him the favor of not rubbing his foolishness in his face. Glancing at the sky through the willow’s leaves, he decided he would wait until sunset. It wouldn’t be long now.

Loki watched as the last light of day slipped slowly below the rooftops bit by bit, taking any remaining hope with it. The air turned gray and cold, clouds covered the sky, and he knew. The time had passed. Anthony must be awake by now. Loki had failed.

Slowly, his cramped legs straightened, and he stood, swaying slightly on the spot from changing his position after hours of ceaseless tension. He shouldered his bag, ready to disappear and return to his rooms, but the strain proved too much. He wanted to leave with dignity, but he felt tears on his face before he even realized he was weeping. Unable to see, he collapsed back onto the bench, his heart tearing itself into shreds as pain coursed through him. It was over. He had lost his Anthony forever.

Loki nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Anthony slowly knelt before him on the ground, one hand gently stroking his arm. Loki stopped breathing. A single drop of rain fell on his shoulder, then another.

“On the day you walked into my workshop, I noticed your eyes. I had never seen eyes so green. They took my breath away, and I worried that I must have looked like a fool, trying to speak normally when all I could think about was how beautiful you were,” he said.

“Anthony?” he whispered, his heart pounding in wild hope as the rain began coming down harder. He looked into his eyes, and he knew. Their brown depths were warm and soft once more, the eyes of the man he had never stopped loving.

“I began to fall in love with you for a thousand little things: the shape of your hands, the sound of your voice, the way you made me laugh, the kindness you showed Peter, the brilliant ideas you had, the mischief you brought into my life. When you touched my hand for the first time in the tavern, when you asked to court me, it took every bit of self-control I had not to kiss you right then,” he said, and by now he was sitting beside Loki on the bench, holding both of his hands in his own.

The rain was still falling, and neither of them cared.

“When you freed me from prison and we came here, and I kissed you for the first time, I feared it was only a dream, that I was still locked in the dungeon and would wake to find you gone from me, believing the lies Obadiah had seeded,” he said. “But you were here. You were real, and when you told me you loved me, when we finally became lovers on the eve of your birthday, I had never been so happy in all my life.”

Anthony brought Loki’s hand to his lips as the raindrops fell thick around them and thunder rolled through the sky above.

“My love for you never died, Loki,” he said. “I have been right here, seeing everything you did, striving to break free and awaken, wanting so desperately to take away your pain. I was in agony, trapped inside, frozen. But you made me whole again. For the second time, you have freed me. And I love you.”

Loki lifted a trembling hand to Anthony’s cheek, stroking through his beard, reveling in the way he turned into his touch, shutting his eyes and smiling softly.

“I thought I would never truly hold you again,” Loki said before he took him into his arms

He was just about to kiss him when the rain washed over them in torrents. Loki paused, a thought occurring to him.

“Thor!” he yelled towards the sky. “While your enthusiasm for our reunion is appreciated, you can stop now! Also, a bit of privacy, please!”

The rain ceased immediately.

Anthony began to laugh, Loki joining in, until at last their lips met, the taste of the rain still clinging to them. Loki remembered every detail: the slight chapping on Anthony’s lips, his woodsmoke scent, the warmth of his breath against his drenched skin, and the sound of his sighs. It had been so very long, and yet all of it was his once again. The moment Anthony pressed closer to him, his hands running the length of his back and his mouth opening to him, allowing him in, Loki finally believed his nightmare was over. Anthony’s heart was mended, and they would love each other forever.

Anthony drew back only enough to breathe.

“I still owe you a mug of mead,” he said, smiling at him before kissing him again.

“And I still owe you a ring,” Loki countered, mouthing against the other man’s neck, delighting in the feel of his skin beneath his lips and giddy from happiness as Anthony groaned. “Shall we adjourn inside to complete our reunion, or shall I just take you against this tree?”

Anthony smiled cheekily as he stood. He gave the trunk of the willow an appraising look and raised an eyebrow at Loki, seeming to consider the possibility for a moment. Then he laughed and took Loki’s hand in his. He grew serious again, looking into the eyes of his lover as he led him through the door of his home.

Peter arrived nervously at the forge the next morning to find a note with his name on it tacked to the door. When he read it, he smiled in relief. It said simply, “Take a holiday for the rest of the week. Anthony has come home.”

Chapter Text

“Why are you not terrified?” Thor said, squinting at his brother. “All grooms are terrified, or so I have been told.”

Loki rolled his eyes at him and straightened the last fold of his formal suit, checking the mirror critically, and, finding nothing amiss, smirking. He knew he looked delectable. He was dressed in a jacket and leggings of perfectly tailored black leather with green silk insets in the sleeves and across his chest, just over his heart. Golden piping along the seams completed the effect, and he had expertly draped a black cloak lined in emerald over one shoulder, adding a gold pin in the shape of a snake to hold it in place, a wedding gift Anthony had made for him at his forge.

“Then most grooms are fools,” he said, scrutinizing the effect from the front and back and minutely adjusting the gold crown he wore that was the twin of the one he had given his husband-to-be. “My only fear was that this day would not come, not that it would.”

Thor quirked an eyebrow at him, but his eyes showed nothing but happiness. The replacement for the eye he had lost was indistinguishable from the original. Anthony had designed it not only to match his old one, but Thor could now also see with absolute clarity to a distance of several miles as well as perfectly in the dark. For his part, Loki had made certain that magic locked it firmly into the socket; he was convinced Thor would lose his own head if it weren’t attached, and he had no intention of testing whether that would also be true of his eye.

For the last several months, ever since their reunion, Anthony and Loki had never spent a night outside of one another’s company, the one before their wedding making the only exception. As his brother’s best man, Thor had insisted a night of excessive drinking and merrymaking was crucial to bring luck to their marriage. Loki had indulged him, but in truth he would rather have been with Anthony. The ridiculous custom of not seeing one’s spouse the night before the wedding had never made any sense to him.

Anthony, on the other hand, had been feted at Rhodey and Pepper’s tavern. While Loki was blissfully unaware of the exact nature of what had happened, he did know Anthony had sent a messenger to his room shortly before dawn, begging for a hangover potion. Loki had, of course, brewed two in advance, and he sent one to his betrothed before downing the other one himself.

Thor, who had insisted he was immune to any ill effects of their night of frivolity, was still looking a bit bleary, but he was otherwise in high spirits.

“I am truly glad for you,” Thor said, slapping Loki so hard on the back that he wobbled dangerously in his heeled boots. “Both of you deserve happiness today and all the days ahead. You waited long for your beloved, and he is a good man.”

“Yes, he is,” Loki agreed.

“I do regret Father’s absence, though,” Thor said, his face darkening.

“I do not,” Loki said, straightening Thor’s jacket for him. “He is your father, not mine, brother. That is his choice, and my choice is not to speak of him on this day.”

Thor sighed, but he still smiled.

“Mother is a better officiant in any case,” Thor said.

“She is,” Loki said, smiling.

Frigga had wept with happiness when he told her that he and Anthony were engaged, and the tears had only multiplied when they had both asked her to preside over the ceremony. It was to be small, at least by Asgardian royal standards, but Loki was not the crown prince and had no obligation to invite dignitaries from every realm to his nuptials.

“I believe it is time,” Thor said.

Loki gave the mirror one last glance.

“Do you have the ring?” he asked.

Thor patted the pocket of his jacket where a bulge showed he had not forgotten

“Then at last I can keep my promise,” Loki said, his smile soft.

“Are you ready?” Thor asked, slinging an arm around Loki’s shoulders.

“I have been ready for a good many years, brother.”

The celebration took place in a garden behind the palace. Frigga, dressed in gold, beamed as both grooms walked towards her down the aisle. Thor strode behind Loki, and Peter, looking rather awkward and overwhelmed, was behind Anthony. Rhodey and Pepper, who couldn’t stop dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, sat together in the first row.

Oddly, Loki had very little memory of the ceremony. He knew his mother spoke the traditional words, he could recall the feel of the heavy golden cord that wrapped his hand to his beloved’s, but mostly what he remembered was looking into Anthony’s eyes and seeing them filled with so much love that they seemed likely to become stars. When their fingers touched as he slipped the ring upon his lover’s finger, claiming him as his own before all Asgard, his heart nearly burst with happiness, leaving him breathless. His dreams had come true.

“Darlings,” Frigga said, clearing her throat. “I said, ‘you may now pledge your union with a kiss.’”

“Three times!” Rhodey yelled, immediately elbowed by a mortified Pepper.

With a smile, Anthony whispered, “Happy birthday, my love,” then gave him a kiss.