**Author's Note: Warning for a little bit of blood in this chapter-it's not gory, but it's a bit gross if you're squeamish. Just a heads up.

When Loki opened his eyes a fraction, the light almost blinded him. He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. His limbs felt heavy as lead, and the faint sounds around him seemed muffled, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton.

He swallowed and tried to sit up and look around himself—but a gentle hand kept him from rising.

"Not so fast, young man," said a soft voice. Underneath the evident fondness, there was something else in her tone—relief, perhaps? "You've been very ill. Take it slowly."

"My Lady?" he croaked.

She appeared in his field of vision, and his stomach twisted with guilt at the sight of the dark circles under her eyes. Her smile, however, was radiant.

"How are you feeling, dear one?"

He propped himself up on his elbows, slowly so as to not alarm her. "Better. How long have I been sick? I don't remember…"

"Almost a week. You had quite a fever there, and I…" She pressed her lips together and shook her head before forcing a smile. "You had me quite worried there, Loki."

When he opened his mouth to apologize for causing her anxiety, she shushed him sternly. He couldn't understand how she could look so damned pleased to see him, how she could tuck the covers around him, beaming as if he had done something wonderful, when he'd been nothing but trouble for her.

The softened sunlight coming from cracks between the curtains, and the quiet serenity of the scene, was such a stark contrast to Loki's nightmares that his head spun. With Frigga guarding his bedside like this, it was difficult to believe that any of that was real—as if her kindness could banish the darkness.

Unfortunately, Loki knew that was just an illusion. The darkness could creep back in as soon as Frigga left.

"You're going to be just fine, Eir says. I don't know what Asgard would do without her."

Appearing in Loki's line of vision, Eir scoffed. "Probably all succumb to simple childhood diseases and foolish injuries, that's what." Turning to the prince, she informed him, "I'm going to take your temperature now, so remain still please."

Loki tensed, but was motionless. She wore thick gloves while checking his vitals, he noticed, and it seemed to protect her from the chill of his skin. The healer straightened up with a satisfied nod.

"Please get some rest, Eir," Frigga murmured. "You've done more than enough."

"As you wish, My Lady." It did not escape Loki's notice that she raised her eyebrows pointedly at Frigga, as if to chide her for hypocrisy.

"Was someone else here earlier?" he wondered aloud. "I thought I heard you talking with a man…" Loki shook his head. It had probably just been a part of one of his dreams.

But Frigga said, "Yes, the All-Father was here last night."

"Is he still in Asgard?"

"Yes, he came back to—"

Loki sat bolt upright in bed, electrified with purpose. "My Lady, may I please speak to him?" When Frigga looked puzzled, he added, "I know he must be very busy. I would not ask if it wasn't very important. Please."

Startled by the request, and Loki's sudden urgency, Frigga said slowly, "I will do what I can. He may be holed up in his war council for a few hours, but I will inform him that you wish to speak with him." Frowning slightly, she added, "Is it something you could tell me, Loki?"

He licked his lips, torn. "Forgive me, My Lady. It is something for the king's ears alone."

She did not seem offended, to his relief, but she did still seem confused. "Very well, Loki. I will—where do you think you are going?"

For he had started hoisted himself out of bed. "To talk—"

"No you don't. I will bring him here, Loki. You still need rest." Her tone did not allow for argument, though her lips twitched.

"Yes, My Lady," he grumbled.

Her smirk became more pronounced. "You're as bad as Thor," she remarked under her breath, but it didn't sound like an insult. For some reason, Loki felt butterflies in his stomach, being casually grouped alongside Thor in her mind.

Frigga allowed herself one last backward look before exiting, as if assuring herself that Loki was, in fact, remaining in bed.

"I'm afraid you will have to take this twice a week, for at least a week," said Eir conversationally. She was grinding some herbs with a mortar and pestle on his nightstand. "It isn't going to taste very good, I'm afraid, but it's necessary. I could add a spoonful of honey, if that makes it easier for you."

Loki suppressed a grin—he imagined her suggestion was from years of experience dealing with a finicky Thor. "That won't be necessary, Lady Eir."

As she carefully measured out a dose of potion for him, he felt bold enough to ask, "Lady Eir? Is it…is it possible to make yourself forget something? Something you do not want to remember?"

Her eyes flicked briefly to his face and back to the draught she was pouring. "I believe it is possible, yes. Our minds do a great number of strange things with the aim of protecting us. I do not, however, believe it is advisable to run away from our troubles. They have a strange way of catching up to us eventually." She handed him the glass and scrutinized him. "Why do you ask?"

He gulped down the vile concoction with a shudder and smiled innocently. "I was only curious."

He knew he had not fooled her, for she raised an eyebrow skeptically as she packed away her instruments, but she did not press the matter. Loki wondered how much she knew, or guessed—had he talked in his sleep, revealed his shameful secrets in his feverish state?

But now that his sickness had dredged up those memories, had forced him to confront the ugly reality that he wished he did not know, the burden of keeping it a secret was an unbearable weight. He thought his heart might be crushed under this fear and uncertainty. Only here, in the bright sunlight of this room, wrapped in warmth and guarded by Frigga, was he safe. He felt so far removed from home that maybe, just maybe, Laufey could not reach him here.

"I shall return in the evening to administer another dose," said the healer briskly. "Until then, you are not to exert yourself. And stick to simple broth for now, anything more substantial may upset your stomach. Am I clear?"

Loki nodded, eyes round and earnest. Satisfied, Eir turned to leave, but he timidly called after her, "Th—thank you, Lady Eir."

She seemed taken aback—but couldn't she understand that no one had ever invested this much time and effort toward his wellbeing? That, back home, there are many who would simply let Jotunheim take him back, and say it was for the best?

"Of course, Prince Loki."

When Eir left him alone, Loki all but ran for the bath, though his legs were shaky from disuse. Frigga had said Odin might be occupied in meetings for a while, so this gave Loki some time to make himself presentable for the king.

If he was to be taken seriously, he would have to conduct himself in as mature and reasonable a manner as possible, he thought as he frantically scrubbed himself clean. He couldn't let himself seem overcome with emotion, for he doubted that would move the stoic All-Father, and it might make Odin disgusted with him.

As he combed his damp hair away from his face, Loki struggled to breathe evenly.

You cannot let him see your fear. He must respect you as a prince of an enemy realm, as a possible ally. If you are a sniveling coward he won't believe a word you say…

His hands shook as he rolled up the sleeves of Thor's old red tunic that he had to wear. Intending to obey Eir's injunction to rest, he returned to the bed and tried flipping through a library book.

His heart jumped into his throat when the door burst open—but it was not Odin.

"You're awake!" Thor hopped onto the bed beside Loki, bobbing up and down in excitement. "I thought you'd never wake."

"So did I," said Loki wryly, stretching. His voice was still hoarse from sickness and drowsiness, so he reached for the pitcher of water on his nightstand.

Thor, who was sitting closer to it, poured him a cup of water and watched him with a gleeful smile, as if proud of his skills at nursing him back to health.

"Did Mother tell you?"

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Tell me what?"

"I was the one that cured you," said Thor smugly. "The antidote was in my blood, so they gave some to you, and now you are well!"

"Oh." Loki's head spun with this information. He surreptitiously studied the vein in his arm, as if he would be able to tell the difference—he did not feel any different, aside from slight weakness from being recently ill. But a corner of his mind wondered, foolishly, if having some of Thor's blood made him any less Jotun. If it made him a little bit Æsir.

But Thor was prattling happily away. "We are almost like blood brothers, Loki!"

Loki frowned, disconcerted. "What are you talking about? We are not—"

"Oh, I suppose you do not have these in Jotunheim. But they're in all the sagas."

He scooched closer, eyes shining with excitement, but Loki squirmed away nervously, afraid Thor might accidentally touch him.

Thor explained, "Usually the hero of the story has a companion they love above all else, and they make a pact to be friends forever—a promise that cannot be broken until death."

Loki snickered. "And you see yourself as the hero of a saga, don't you?" he teased. But his mind was racing, tripping over itself as he tried not to hope.

Thor laughed good-naturedly with him. "Well, why not? And you can be my loyal companion, and we can go slay dragons and rescue fair maidens, and stories will be told of us!"

The boys dissolved into giggles at this odd image—a little Æsir boy whose boasting did not match his strength, and a miniature Frost Giant, marching off into the wilderness to face monsters together. Yet the fantasy made Loki giddy.

As their mirth died, his eyes began to sting with another emotion. What was going to happen to them? Even if he managed to survive in Jotunheim, even if he was allowed to grow up, what then? He and Thor were the heirs to a legacy of hatred and conflict. Would they have to fight when they were grown?

Loki pulled his knees up to his chin and confessed in a small voice, "I don't want to go back to Jotunheim, Thor."

Thor sighed, a dark cloud of gloom settling over him. "I don't want you to go, either."

They sat in melancholy silence, studying the pattern stitched into Loki's comforter.

"I know!" Thor clapped his hands, making Loki jump. "It's obvious, isn't it? Blood brothers."

"You're not making sense."

"If we swear the oath to each other, we have to stay by each other's sides. So my father cannot send you away, or else I would have to go with you!"

Loki narrowed his eyes, skeptical. "Are you certain that's how it works?"

"Of course," Thor said with a shrug. "All promises are sacred, but blood oaths most of all. Even my father cannot undo them."

Loki chewed on his lower lip, thinking. He still felt there was little that could be done to defy the All-Father, should the king of Asgard decide to cast him out, and he did not trust that Odin's sense of honor was as simplistic and inflexible as his son's.

Yet the hopeful, eager look in Thor's eyes made Loki slowly relax, and quieted all the cynical doubts in his mind. He found himself blurting out, "What must we do?"

Thor searched the room for a moment. Frigga had left sewing supplies on the chair beside the bed—keeping her hands busy as she watched over Loki—and so Thor snatched up a pair of scissors. Then he took Loki's cup and filled it with water again, saying sheepishly, "It's supposed to be wine, but this will work."

"Have you done this before?" Loki asked.

"No," Thor admitted, "but I've listened to enough ballads."

Before Loki could stop him, Thor pressed his thumb against the blade of the scissors until he broke the skin. He winced in pain, but held his bleeding thumb over the cup so that a few red drops fell inside.

"Your turn," Thor said, handing him the scissors. "Don't cut too deep. Just a couple of drops."

Loki balked. He was not afraid of a little pain—he had been through far worse already, had he not? Certainly more than the spoiled prince of Asgard, so if he can do it…

He swiped the blade across his finger, and the water in the cup turned a deeper scarlet. It was strange, Loki mused, that they bled the same color despite how different their flesh was.

Thor's face was solemn as they held the cup between them. "Now we have to make the oath. I, Thor, son of Odin, hereby claim you as my blood brother. Your enemies are my enemies, and my friends are your friends. I will guard your back in battle, and avenge you if you fall. Let no force in Yggdrasil break this bond."

He sounded as if he were reciting something from memory, though he stumbled a few times. At his encouragement, Loki repeated the oath in a shaky voice, occasionally needing prompting when he forgot a phrase.

"And now we have to drink," said Thor. "May the Norns witness our vow."

He made a face after taking a sip, but took another without hesitating.

Loki took the cup and brought it to his lips, never taking his eyes from Thor's.

After a lifetime of rejection, the possibility that someone might choose to be his family was inconceivable. But here they were, binding their fates together.

If this is just another fever dream, I don't want to wake up, Loki thought, before taking a drink. The metallic taste of the blood made him shudder.

A knock at the door jerked them both from the quiet ceremony.

"Loki? Please unlock the door. You wished to speak with me, did you not?"

The boys looked guiltily at each other upon hearing Odin's voice from the hall. Loki hastily set the cup on his nightstand, hoping the adults would not notice the pinkish tinge in his water.

Then Thor's hand was on his shoulder, and he whispered, "Everything is going to be alright. You'll see—brother."

And for a moment, lost in the warmth and conviction of his new brother's voice, Loki believed him.