A/N: This takes place after the end of Ragnarok, on the ship.

(To reassure you in advance: the OC in this part is a minor character, and there will be no underage sex or romance in this story.)

A pale, thin girl weaved through the party and dipped a curtsy. "Gatekeeper?" she said. "May I ask a question?"

He smiled at her. "I'm not the gatekeeper anymore, child." He tossed his hair behind his head. "But you can always ask me questions." He looked for her name. "Sigyn."

"I-. Yes." The recognition flustered her. "I-, I was just wondering, whether there will be opportunities for formal audiences some time. Whether we can… make petitions. Like people used to do at court."

"Ah." He glanced up. Thor was lounging against the window, nursing a large beer, just staring out at the stars. "I don't know if the King plans to hold court anytime soon, but you can always ask him. Thor!" he called, and beckoned.

"No-! No, I didn't…" Sigyn shook her head. "I didn't mean him. I wanted to talk to Prince Loki."

"Oh." By now Thor had come, and caught that last bit. Heimdall exchanged a glance with him. Loki was across the room, drink in hand, laughing with some of the aliens he had brought from the gladiators' planet.

Hardly princely. And hardly to be trusted. But Thor was nodding assent, so Heimdall looked hard in Loki's direction and thought at him: Loki. Come over here.

Loki perked up, looked around, and frowned at having been summoned. But he took his leave of his friends, and slouched over. "What?"

Heimdall indicated the girl with a nod. "This young lady would like to speak to you."

His smile was a little unfocused, a little dulled with drink or relaxation or gods knew what. "All right." He stood to his full height, and looked down at her. "Hi."

"Um-. Hi." Sigyn looked around at all of them, Loki to Heimdall to Thor, and back to Loki again, and finally made her move. "Prince Loki," she said, and sank into a deep and proper curtsy. "If you are hearing petitions, there's something I want to ask you for."

Loki chuckled. "This should be good. Certainly – what can I do for you? Besides save everyone's lives, of course – which I've already done."

"Not everyone's." The girl stood up, solemnly. "My mother didn't make it onto the ship. I suppose she was killed on the Rainbow Bridge – I don't know."

"I'm sorry-," Loki began, sobering, but she continued over him.

"And my father was killed on Hela's blades. So I have no parents – no one left to petition on my behalf. It falls to me, now, to make arrangements for my own future."

The speech was clearly rehearsed, delivered well and seriously. And Loki took it as such. "I'm very sorry you have been orphaned," he said. "Tell me how I can help you with your arrangements."

She took a deep breath. "I was raised at court and raised well," she said softly. "My father was loyal, and my mother was beautiful. I'm only twelve now, but when I turn fourteen and a woman, I want you to take me as one of your concubines. I know it's two years off, but I-, I formally request that you consider it."

"I-. I beg your pardon." Loki blinked rapidly.

"I'm virgin and I'll stay that way. I'll do whatever you ask; a place with you would be an honor I promise I will earn."

Before the girl could promsie any further, and before Loki could say something unwittingly cruel to her, Heimdall stepped in. Thor: stop this.

Thor nodded and cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Sigyn, is it?"

The girl's eyes didn't move from Loki. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"It's true that absent a father or mother, it's your right to speak on your own behalf. But you forget: Loki is not king here, I am. So before anyone is brought into his household – a royal household – you would have to have permission from me."

Finally she looked at him. "Then I formally petition for your permission. As well as petition Prince Loki to accept me."

Thor nodded gravely. "Loki and I need to confer about your request," he said. "Go rejoin your friends and we'll send for you later."

"Yes Your Majesty." She curtsied again. "But I don't have any friends." She threaded her way back through the crowd – head high.

Thor and Loki looked at each other. Loki spoke first. "What the hell was that?"

Thor grinned. "Earth calls them fangirls. I believe you have an admirer, Loki. Congratulations – isn't that what you always wanted?"

He hated to admit it, but Loki really did need a moment to think. He had to hand it to Thor for giving him one – except not really; the interference was clearly Heimdall's idea.

He heard Thor out and then took his drink off to a private nook to reflect. His brother was right – he had been waiting for adoration. But now that someone actually adored him, he found the situation incredibly disquieting. I did want women, he reminded himself. It's just a motherless twelve-year-old isn't quite what I had in mind.

Now that he thought back, he could remember this girl. She was one of the regulars at his theater productions – quiet, always alone. He thought he could remember seeing her spellcast on occasion.

But he certainly couldn't ever remember wanting to adopt her. Or bed her. Or whatever she was asking for.

You must be honest with her, Thor had told him. If you lie she will sense it, and she'll dig for truth. But be gentle, brother. Any unkind words from your lips – any glance of scorn, or pity – will cut her deep. I made such mistakes many times in my youth, and I regret them terribly.

Loki had resisted the urge to dump a drink over his head – because of course Thor's innumerable conquests had been just what he wanted to hear about! – but tried to take the advice to heart. Thor did have experience, and likely was right. A poor savior he would be if he saved the girl's life but broke her heart the next weekend.

The "throne" was unoccupied while Thor socialized, so he plunked himself down in it and called the girl to him with a gesture. She had been lurking aside and watching him the whole time, as he'd expected.

"Sigyn," he said. "I have carefully considered your proposal, and I must refuse. I cannot take you as a concubine. I'm sorry."

She stood straight with her hands clasped. "Why not."

"Uh-." Honesty? "Well, you're a child."

"I'll be grown in two years," she pointed out. "And anyway I've seen you conjure – you could make me look like whatever you wanted."

That was… a disturbing thought. (And why had he never, ever thought of trying that? His sex life could have been improved immensely, if only he'd had the bright idea of-) He tried to put it aside. "It's not you, it's that I can't take on any concubine." He had been caught off guard, and now spoke too fast and too truthfully. "I, I can't even take on a friend. Ask anyone – I'm not capable of it. I never have been."

"Not capable?" Her eyes flickered from his for a moment – to look down. "You mean-?"

"What-? No! No, not-. Not incapable like that." He crossed his legs. "I am definitely-. For fuck's sake. Never mind." He sighed. Passed his hands over his face.

"Then I don't understand," she said – pressing. As Thor had warned.

Neither do I, he should have said, if he were being truly honest. This was frightening him, and he didn't know why.

"You don't have to understand," he said at last, curt. "You only have to obey me. And I am telling you to let the matter drop. Your petition is denied. Do you understand that?"

The girl's pale face went red. She stood motionless, except for a twitch around her mouth.

She was trying not to cry. "I understand," she said at last, strained and shaky. Loki could himself remember producing sounds like that as a child. He would have died before he cried in front of Odin. "Thank you for hearing me." Proper to the last.

She curtsied fast, head bowed, and turned to flee.

That was ill done. He wished he could blame the disapproving voice in his head on Heimdall.

He soon realized that Sigyn wasn't the only child treating him strangely. Many of the others, boys and girls both, followed him with their eyes, pointed and whispered when they thought he wasn't looking.

It made him shy; it kept him largely sober; it prevented him from needling the green beast. (Which he longed to do; now that he'd had time to think about it he was sure he could return the creature to its weak human form via magic. And wouldn't that be an excellent reversal!)

And it kept him far, far away from Thor. Most especially when Thor took the men to the makeshift practice floor to work with weapons; he didn't want any of his audience to see him manhandled. He had to practice sometime, though, or his fighting skills would rust, and then the next time they got into it, which certainly would be sooner rather than later, he would be killed.

So he crept down alone in the early mornings to work out. Before long one of the children saw him, though, and then more started showing up, haunting the doorway, watching as he shadowboxed illusions and conjured blades to throw at targets.

(Hela had convinced him that it was a style worth exploring in more detail.).

Finally, one day one of the little boys actually entered the room with him as he finished up. "Prince Loki? Can I train with you?"

He wiped his face. "Train with me?"

"The way the men train with Thor." Loki frowned – Thor again. "And the women have the Valkyrie. But we have no one." He gestured to the other small ones in the hallway.

He laughed. "How old are you – six? Seven? If I start teaching you to kill things, your parents will call for my head."

"I'm almost ten," the boy said, severely. "And most of us don't have parents, so don't worry."

"Ah, right." His smile vanished on its own. "I'm sorry."

"Heimdall's been taking care of us, but he fights with Thor and he guides the ship and we want to practice every day. You're here every day – and you're obviously pretty good. Can you teach us?"

"Pretty good?" He was still panting a little. "Why thank you. But: will you teach us, you should have said."

"Please?" Another child – even smaller! – had edged into the room. "You fought so good against the Dark Elves!"

Another one: "That was only a play, stupid."

Another: "But it was based on a true story. And obviously he fought good, or he'd be dead."

"He was dead – that was the whole point of the play!"

"No! He was not. He's right here!"

Loki stared at them all as they filed in, bickering. When they finally became quiet again, the first boy just said: "Please?"

They all… wanted him. Genuinely. These children were the future of Asgard, and they had come to him of their own accord.

"I'm not going to stand over you while you do your pushups," he said at last. "But growing strong is helpful if you mean to be a fighter. So I'll show you exercises, at the end of the hour, and you can do them on your own." The younger ones were still just staring, but the older ones had started to exchange glances, small smiles of excitement. They knew he was saying yes, and they were delighted.

"What I will spend time with you on," he said, "Is fighting. In particular with knives. Most of you are too small to use swords, and contrary to what some Asgardian trainers used to think, it's stupid to give a small child an enormous sword." The trainer in question was now dead, but that only diminished his satisfaction a little bit. "For small quick people, knives are better." They nodded, wide-eyed and attentive.

He looked them over more critically. "Anyone not dressed for combat, go arrange yourselves. Girls, long dresses are an encumbrance – learn without them to start. Everyone else, pick a partner and start to get warm."

The chaos that resulted almost made him rethink the whole project. Some of the children began play-fighting with one another – as he'd intended. Others started to chase each other across the room. Some of the little ones began to hug. "Not warm like that," he tried to protest, but then had to turn and stop two of the more adventurous boys who had started to pick up his knives. While his back was turned someone else hit the ground hard; someone squealed; thumps and crashes sounded from every side. "All right all right all right: FREEZE!" he bellowed.

They froze. "Line up! Against that wall!" He barked his orders loud and sharp, and one of the little ones started to cry. A few others looked like they might start next.

"No no. Hush hush." He bent and scooped the child up – four or five years old, perhaps? – and bounced it on his hip while he talked. "Don't be upset," he told the group at large, "That's just how soldiers talk to each other. You'll never be heard on a battlefield if you don't learn to raise your voice. It's all right. Calm down. You're doing fine. Everyone's doing fine."

The little one stopped clinging to him and squirmed to be released. When he put it down, it scampered off to line up with the others. Excellent.

"Now. When I said choose a partner… choose one of these." He separated himself out, a dozen clones of as solid a composition as he could manage. They moved off to pair with the children.

"Just warm up," he explained. "You try to hit them, and don't let them hit you. Come here." He beckoned to one of the clones and demonstrated. When he tagged it in the head a shower of sparks resulted, and a few of the children squealed with excitement.

Such an easy audience. He loved children, he really did.

"Go on," he said. "Like that. Warm up. I'll be sitting over there." He couldn't realistically keep a room full of Lokis even remotely in check if he was running around active at the same time.

As it was it would be something of a stretch. He hoped none of the clones would get grouchy and do injury. He doubted it though; the clones were him at bottom, and he was coming to think that the children were fucking fantastic.

TBC.

Definitely let me know what you think. I'm not sure yet if I'm going to wrap this quickly, or let it grow into some sort of massive epic.