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The North Valley
Asgard, Spring of 984 CE
Early Morning
Fandral scanned the countryside for signs of trouble, but all was quiet. He and Loki paused their horses at the treeline and stretched as they watched the vista slowly growing lighter. The sun just had begun its ascent in the west, casting the sky in deep shades of pink, violet, and blue. Woodland creatures moved about peacefully in the morning mist, casually nipping at the first growth of spring.
Fandral cleared his throat and turned to Loki, who was yawning in his saddle. "What exactly are we out here for, again?"
"Call it an errand," the prince smiled.
Fandral looked at him doubtfully. "Your 'errands' have an uncanny way of stirring up trouble, Highness."
Loki gave an exasperated sigh. "I do have a name, you know."
"Well, Prince Loki, what sort of mischief will it be this time?" Fandral asked, grinning.
"Just a short excursion, nothing more," Loki said, shrugging innocently.
"Do not make me turn these horses around," Fandral said, only half seriously.
Loki flashed him a playful look and Fandral shook his head with fond exasperation as they continued along the winding dirt path. He had known the prince since befriending his older brother in their youth; Loki was quite the precocious child back then, and he was even more so now at nineteen. Thor had often brought him along for adventures with his friends, and though he was smaller than the rest of them, he had become every bit as fearless. While Thor had his own brazen antics, it was Loki who had helped them get into their favorite sort of trouble: using his mother's magick to conceal them as they snuck in and out of the dining hall cupboards, pilfering forbidden libations to taste in secret. Fandral wondered what the prince had up his sleeve this time.
Along the forest's edge was the beginning of a rocky ridge where an enormous tree had grown into the cleft of a broken boulder, tall and wide, limbs curling in all directions. Cemented around the hollowed underside of one long-dead limb was a massive honeybee hive.
They dismounted and crept forward on foot. Loki set his shoulder bag into the grass and withdrew a glass jar he'd stolen from the kitchens. He pulled on a leather cord around his neck and brought a rune stone out of his tunic, laying it on his chest as he whispered a spell. Fandral watched closely, shaking his head in disapproval.
"Please tell me that you are not about to do what I think you are."
"I do this all the time, Fan." Loki winked at him as he walked toward the hive. "I would stay back, as unfortunately the barrier only extends to me personally."
"What barrier?" Fandral asked, brows rising.
Loki smiled to himself as he approached the tree, his hand extended, another spell working its way across his lips as he went. Fandral observed cautiously from a few dozen paces back as Loki stood directly at the mouth of the hive. Its proprietors swarmed angrily around him at the intrusion, buffered back by an invisible veil of magical shielding, their collective wrath roaring like a waterfall. They were impossible to count but Fandral estimated the bevy to be in the upper hundreds, all of them in constant motion.
As Loki drew closer, the swarm grew quieter and they collected themselves in a squirming layer across the surface of the tree. He held the glass jar in one hand and pushed back the sleeve of his other arm before tapping his fingertips lightly along the paper-wax hive until he found a weak spot. He drew a dagger from his belt and gently carved into it.
Fandral cleared his throat at him.
"I am perfectly fine," Loki said calmly over his shoulder. "I've never hurt them, and they've never hurt me. They're nearly asleep."
The sight of it made Fandral uneasy nonetheless. Asgardian warrior-in-training or not, even he knew better than to trifle with an entire colony of airborne stingers. A few strays circled near Fandral as he watched Loki dip a hand inside the hive and very slowly withdraw a wedge of honeycomb, twice the size of his hand, oozing with the delicacy which made it all worthwhile. He tipped it carefully down into the jar and backed away slowly.
Fandral stood with arms folded across his armor as Loki strode past him, nonchalantly licking his fingers with a boyish grin.
"There is plenty to be had, if you would like a taste," Loki said sweetly, dipping his dagger into the jar. He held it out to Fandral; a golden, bite sized offering upon its flat edge. "As reward for your trouble this morning."
Fandral bowed his head graciously. "You are no trouble at all, Highness."
"Aren't I?" Loki asked, feigning disappointment.
He glanced down at the blade and back up to Fandral, and they studied one another for a long moment. There was a spark of challenge, a playful invitation behind the prince's emerald eyes; his dark hair moved almost fluidly in the gentle breeze that stirred the valley. He tilted his head and a coy little grin started at the corners of his mouth. Fandral gave him a knowing smile and reached into his saddle bag for his paring knife.
"Complicit as I am in this little errand of yours," he began, gently scraping the offering onto his own knife.
"May as well share in the spoils." Loki brought the empty blade up to his mouth, grinning as he slowly drew the flat of it across his tongue.
"I suppose it is harmless, just this once," Fandral sighed, quietly savoring the rich sweetness.
The sun had finally crested the mountains and was spilling across the valley, bathing their path in gold as they turned back for the palace.