Hi there. This is the first time I publish something on this site that's not based on anime or cartoon.

It is set shortly after "Thor", assuming that there was a - however short - interim period when there was hope that Loki would yet return to Asgard, and Odin would not give him life, if he did. (Somehow, I can imagine the average Aesir going, "Well, everyone has their ten minutes of temporary madness. Did he kill one of ours? Tried to, sure. But didn't. *WTF*- let's get some mead!")

This story is about Loki being in a bad shape and asking for Thor to stay by his side, without getting tortured, raped, slashed or mentally broken. Which doesn't mean he doesn't feel like crying every now and then ("He's such an oaf, and I'm his step-brother, waargh!")

+++Spoiler warning: Contains lots of story information from "Avengers" and "Thor II: The Dark World" +++

(I'm terribly sorry I had not involved this when I first published. But the truth is, I had no idea - not an inkling - the story would go that way, and go it to such extent.)

***We've been at the movies, watching Thor: The Dark World, and the idea for this story was "born": So, this one's for you, Bibi.***

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, Loki, Thor, Jane et al., and I hold no rights to any of them. I do not make money from this.

+++ Chapter 1: Escape +++

Sneaking into Asgard was easy, if you knew the hidden pathways. Getting into the library without being noticed was a bit harder, but not an impossible challenge. The old librarian was half deaf and short-sighted, and he never looked at his visitors' faces. He was too busy reading.

Nevertheless, Loki suspected that Frigga bribed the man to ensure his continuing absent-mindedness. Their meetings had become well-guarded secrets since the "Jotunheim affair", and detection would mean Loki's instant capture and, probably, punishment.

Although he could not think of what Odin Allfather would do to him, since he was basically living in exile already.

He passed the librarian in the form of a druid he'd once met in Odin's court, then changed his glamour to his usual dark-haired appearance. It was probably a silly thing to do, but after three thousand years you tended to think of these things as "real". Especially, if you could not bring yourself to live with the blue-skinned, red-eyed truth.

Asgard's library was a maze. The room was three storeys high and, of course, full of book shelves that reached up to the domed ceiling. However, unlike the libraries of dwarves or humans, Asgard's book shelves were not set up in long lines, like a giant's play at dominoes. They curved and angled, following the lines of runes: If one had removed the ceiling and looked at the library from above, he would have found "written" in books the names by which Odin Allfather was known to the different people of the nine realms. It had taken Loki some time to figure out when he was first admitted as a boy. But from the time he understood the pattern, he'd have found his way blindfolded.

He followed the "Thridi"-curve now, up to "Bileigr" and turned left, entering "Helblindi". There, at right angles with "Grimnir", waited a table stacked with books. It was a friendly place, lit by a rare window instead of the diffuse magical light that seemed to filter right out of the walls.

Loki sat at the table, and his gaze wandered to the brightly blue sky. Asgard's sky. If that didn't give an outcast like him a sense of loss, then nothing would.

His gloomy mood lifted instantly, when the bird landed in the window. It was a falcon, a peregrine, and obviously not happy with perching on a sill.

An almost boyish smile appeared on Loki's face.

'Hello, mother!'

The falcon shrugged its wings. Its shape began to change, growing tall and shedding the feathers. Frigga stood before her son, giving him an affectionate hug which he returned.

'I'm so glad you could make it,' she said.

'Look who's talking,' Loki teased. He pointed at the wide brown-and-golden shirt she wore over her usual tunic. 'You must've been in a hurry to borrow Freya's falcon shirt. You never liked flying.'

'The morning was a hassle. Odin Allfather is receiving a delegation of dwarfs, and preparations seemed endless.' She paused. 'Their leader is Brock.'

'I've had my share of trouble with that withered old druid,' said Loki. 'He sewed my mouth shut once, so I will make no more words about him in return. But - does it mean we're safe? The old man won't pry on us? He won't send out his troops to put the prodigal son in iron?'

'Our king, Odin Allfather,' said Frigga with emphasis, 'would appreciate to welcome the prodigy back to Asgard.'

Loki pouted a little and rolled his eyes.

'Don't give me that look, Loki,' said Frigga. 'You know him. He's never been one to show his feelings. He's the king. But I know he's worried by what happened on that day. He told me that it was his lack of empathy when you needed his approval that made you let go of the spear. He said he now understood that he'd better offered you his hand instead of words. Pulled you back to safe ground, then talked.'

'You're a poor liar, mother, and I wish you'd not try. Odin Allfather has not spoken my name in kindness since he saw me falling into the abyss beyond Bifrost.'

'Loki...'

He put his hands to her shoulders, smiling sadly, 'Please, mother. No more of it. I haven't made my way across the void, sneaking past Heimdall, avoiding Hugin's and Munin's keen raven eyes and my brother's ever vigilant gang of friends just to fight with you.'

'You haven't, it's true.' Frigga sighed. 'You came to discuss Gangnir's theory on the possibility of realms existing beyond the Nine. And our means of conquering them.'

They sat at a desk, each opening a book from the stack that Frigga had earlier ordered to be put together. Discussing philosophy and the discoveries of the supernatural and natural world had always been an interest the two of them shared. In Asgard, this kind of disputes necessarily followed a certain form: There were two debaters, one of them asking questions, the other answering to the best of his knowledge. All contributions were given in alliterative verses. The structured lilt fascinated the skalds' audiences in front of fireplaces throughout the realm. But with magic users like Frigga and Loki, the possessive rhythm could even induce real visionary states. Prophesies had been made, when the dialogue reached a new level of intensity, where insights were combined and fresh connections found in the replying person's answers.

Loki usually volunteered for the role of the questioner.

He thought for a moment, then said, 'Truthfully tell me/ if true words thou hast/ The ways that to worlds unseen lead?/ Where warriors of Asgard will tread / To see foreign stars?'

Frigga countered, 'Share true tale I will/ for tidings I have/ That Bifrost will bend/ to bridge the great blank/ Beyond the nine stars.'

Loki looked up, 'They will use Bifrost again? How so?'

'Loki, please,' Frigga said mildly, 'Mind your alliterations.'

Loki sighed and thought for a moment, 'Truthfully tell me/ If truth thou dost seek/ About Aesirs assailing / ascending the arc / Heimdall's hoard is destroyed!'

Frigga smiled, 'Hear out my whole lore/ Heimdall's hoard will prevail...'

There must be an easier way to catch on with the latest gossip and developments, thought Loki. But there's definitely none more stylish.

It was hot and stuffy, and Thor was certain he'd not live to see the end of this ceremony. He hooked his finger into the collar of his shirt, trying to loosen it some and be able to breathe. It was a warm day in Asgardian spring. But dwarves were creatures of the fiery deeps, and to make them feel comfortable Odin Allfather had ordered the fireplace fueled with extra wood.

Thor peered at his father. The king did not even show a bead of sweat on his brow. And his resilience was not aided by magic. That creepy druid, Brock, would have noticed and taken offense.

As things were, the greeting went well. The visitor, whose head would not have reached up to Odin's waistline when standing up, sat on a floating chair like a fat toad on a lily pad. His long hair was of a yellowish white color that Thor associated with very old dogs. His shrunk face showed the hard lines of malevolence and deeply rooted suspicion. It seemed unlikely that Odin Allfather and this creature should sit and reminisce old lore, but that was exactly what they did. It was part of the protocol, the mutual remembering of those stories that bespoke of the everlasting friendship between the two people.

Some friendship, indeed, thought Thor.

No one had yet mentioned the somewhat unfortunate episode when Loki had gone into Brock's halls, asking for some special treasure to compensate for Sif's lost hair. Which he had clipped real short before, furtively, in order to prove to Thor and the Warriors Three that he had mastered a certain glamour spell.

Thor remembered the look of a furious Sif wielding her two-bladed sword at his bolting brother. It had struck the friends as absolutely hilarious, they way she was mad enough to see through every illusion the panicked trickster threw in her way.

Saved in the nick of time by Thor and the Warriors Three, Loki had seeked out Brock, who had a certain reputation for magical items. He returned with a wig of finest golden hair and a stupid wager on his head. During the following complications, his silver tongue spared him the worst. But Brock had made it known that Loki Odinson had better not set foot into his realm again.

Thor thought it possible that Brock had chosen this of all times to pay Asgard a visit, because the news of Loki's disappearance had spread and reached the druid's netherworld dwellings.

Again, the thunder god stifled a sigh. If everyone that Loki had offended, maltreated, threatened, crossed, duped or played tricks on decided to jump at the opportunity and renew acquaintance with Asgard's king and first-born son, he'd better say farewell to sunlight and fresh air for a long, long time.

It was beginning at last.

Loki and Frigga had been throwing alliterations at each other at an ever increasing speed, and now, Frigga's eyes had become a bit hazed. Loki was not principally averse to visions, as long as they messed with other people's brains.

He leaned forward, intrigued, 'Mother? What do you see?'

Frigga got up as if she didn't hear, hung the falcon shirt over her arm, and started to walk away. Loki followed her, more curious than concerned. Frigga was an experienced medium. She was not in distress, or he'd have known. This was the rune of Odin's alias "Widur", would she turn right into "Skilfingr" or left? Ah yes, "Yggr". So, they were approaching "Father of Victory", and there, right under the library's dome –

Frigga reached the circular space, about twenty foot in diameter, that demarcated the center of the library. She waved her hand, and a pedestal became visible. There was a single book on it, lit by a single beam of light that had its source at the hightest point of the vaulted ceiling. Frigga stepped up to it, hesitated but a moment as if in prayer, then took the book in her hands.

'Mother, what are you doing?' asked Loki.

She turned and held the book out to him, 'Take it, my son.'

'What?' It was no more than an audible breath.

'You must keep it safe.'

'I can't – ' Loki's voice caught in his throat. But his hands moved as if of their own volition, and he accepted the book. The vellum seemed to send a surge of heat through his body, but he realized it was only his pulse quickening. The center stone of Asgard's library. No one, save Odin Allfather and the inner circle of druids, ever touched these pages - and even they did so only on certain occasions, solstice celebrations or althing meetings.

'You can. You must! Take it away from here.' Frigga thrust the falcon shirt at him. 'Fly, Loki! Fly!'

'This cannot be real, mother. You cannot mean this – ' As he spoke, the sound of the library doors opening and closing travelled the distance and echoed from the dome like a friendly elf's warning.

'Excuse me, my lords,' said the librarian. 'You seem strangers to this place. Can I help – '

Thug!

Bonk!

'That was a bit stupid, Breki.' There was a peculiar accent to the voice. 'We needed his head on his shoulders to find the book.'

'Dwarves,' whispered Loki.

Frigga nodded, fully awake again. Her hand went to the dagger on her belt. 'Brock's not here to make friends, Loki. I've seen it in my mind's eye. He's here to steal Asgard's secret wisdom which is more valuable than gold or precious stones.'

'He's got enough of those.' Loki tucked the book in a secret pocket of his leather coat and slipped the falcon shirt on. There were sounds of ransacking, of books falling to the floor, vellum, paper and parchment being torn right through and shelves toppled over. Loki held out his hand, 'Quick, mother. I know the way.'

'So do I.' She smiled, but she accepted his hand.

He led her swiftly between "Oski" and"Weratyr", and then along the long side of "Sadr". There, she suddenly stopped. 'The window over there, Loki. Go.'

'But I cannot carry you as a falcon – '

Frigga smiled a hard, thin-lipped smile. 'I will go nowhere. The library must not fall into the hands of these barbarians.'

'Be reasonable, mother. We cannot help it now.' Loki was about to grab her elbow, when a white-bearded dwarf turned the corner. 'I thought I heard someone sneaking. You! Librarian! I want this book.' He pushed a slip of thin leather with a rune written on it under Loki's nose.

You want this book, dwarf? Guess what?

I have it.

'This book – ' Loki began, readying his dagger for the kill.

' – is not for lending,' Frigga finished. The point of her dagger broke through the dwarf's throat. She turned the blade, then pushed him away to free it. He stumbled forward wide-eyed, spluttering blood and groping blindly. Just before he tumbled out of the window, Loki snatched away the short-bladed sword from the dying warrior's belt.

'Catch, mother.' Loki threw Frigga the weapon, and she caught it neatly. Taking her stand, she was no longer a creature tamed by Asgard's court life and household chores. Now, she was free and wild, like the wind over the grasslands that were her tribe's home.

'Go,' she said, and stepped around the nearest shelf and out of sight. Loki could hear her taking on the first enemy and probably felling him with a series of quick strokes. 'Go, Loki, go, go! To Heimdall.'

Loki called upon the falcon shirt's magic. His body changed, it twisted and shrank and sprouted feathers. Instants later, he had turned into a peregrine. The book was under his talons. He looked about with golden eyes, gave a shrill scream and took off in a flurry of flapping wings.

Once outside the window, he soared, relishing the freedom and once more surprised at how easy it was. Of course, the falcon shirt's magic provided a certain amount of avian instinct so the user would not mess up altogether. But with Loki, it was even more than that. Always had been. Watching him fly for the first time, Frigga had stated with delight that he had a natural gift for navigating in three dimensions. (One of the few qualities of Odin's younger son that mighty Thor had never been able to match and usually preferred to deny.)

But Loki's hopes of making an unnoticed escape were utterly destroyed when some kind of alarm sounded from beneath. With his falcon eyesight, he made out two dwarves of Brock's company that were busy with their ponies. They were flustered, which was understandable. One minute ago, their chief had dropped dead from the library's window, and now a great bird left by the same exit, carrying a book in its talons. No wonder, they wanted to take a closer look.

A box was pulled off some saddle, and several shiny objects were released. They looked like ridiculously oversized dragonflies, but instead of a hum their wings produced a mechanical, whirring sound. The sunlight reflected from their metallic skin and the vicious mandibles that were basically tongs sharpened to bite, pierce and deal hurt.

They attacked, bent on forcing the peregrine to land.

Dodging and diving, Loki did his best to avoid them, while holding on to his precious burden. This book must not fall into the hands of Asgard's enemies. It was important, sacred, the source of uncountable songs among the Asgardians. It had been a source of unsatisfied curiosity for Odin's sons, but it occurred to Loki that his time had come - it was his now, his to read, if he chose to do so.

He realized that that alone should be reason enough (where did that spire come from?) for him to protect this book with his life. And that it didn't require any special effort of courage or self-motivation to do so (dragonfly at three o'clock), since his life was already at stake out here (spiral nosedive and awaayyy). And that, since Thor (where was that big oaf when you needed him, anyway?) didn't seem about to send a precisely aimed bolt of lightning (or two, or three), a not-very-happy ending was probably how things would turn out.

For him, Loki.

The majority of Asgard might feel otherwise.

+++End of chapter 1+++

A/N: I've always been fascinated by Freya's falcon shirt, and I'm happy I could eventually use it in a story. This garment - and Brock (as well as the story of him sewing Loki's mouth shut when he couldn't get the trickster's head) are part of the original myth. I think Brock was not a druid but a master smith, maybe both, but I'd have to look it up. I also tried to give as close an imitation to alliterative verse as possible. I don't think they're shining examples of their genre, though. All you linguists and literary scholars out there - please be lenient. (Boy, I've never been so desperate to find a word alliterating with "rainbow" before - and then I decided to simply "make that bridge" :) )

I'd be happy to get reviews (and story alerts. I love story alerts!), and I'll update as soon as I've found out exactly how Heimdall's going to get Loki out of Asgard :)