Thor wasn't very stealthy, and he knew it.

His boots thudded loudly against the stone floor, echoing in the long corridor, but he did not know how to make his footfalls lighter. Several of the guards along the corridor raised their eyebrows suspiciously at the young prince, but did not abandon their posts.

He was skipping his swordsmanship lessons today. Tyr, his teacher, would notice Thor's absence very soon, and would probably send word to his father about his truancy, so there was no time for attempting secrecy. What the All-Father would do if he caught him here, Thor didn't know, but undoubtedly the palace dungeons were no place for a prince to wander.

Thor was not usually one to choose a dank underground hall over fresh air and sparring with his friends, but like everyone else in Asgard, he had heard the rumors. And his curiosity burned.

The All-Father has brought a Frost Giant back as a prisoner.

Laufey's own son, they say.

Imagine one of those creatures, here!

Indeed, Thor could not imagine it. He'd never seen a real one up close before, but he had dozens of storybooks that showed pictures of the barbaric creatures, mortal enemies to Asgard and civilization itself. They roamed the frigid wilderness of Jotunheim, on the very fringes of Yggdrasil, but whenever they ventured elsewhere, they left destruction and bloodshed in their wake. They would have entombed Midgard in ice if Father had not imprisoned their source of power centuries ago.

They must be truly mad, to try and invade Midgard again without the Casket, Thor wondered, shaking his head. And yet they were attempting it now. It was further proof that they delighted in devastation, however fruitless it might be.

When I'm king, he thought, eagerly reaching for his sword, I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all, just like the heroes in the stories. Just like Father.

He slashed his sword through the air, lopping the head off the imaginary giant leering before him. Excepting his fantasies, he couldn't yet go out searching for beasts to kill—he would have to content himself with catching a glimpse of a caged one.

I'll look it straight in its red eyes without a hint of fear, he thought; I will make it dread me, the only son of its mortal enemy. Then everyone will know I am the Mighty Thor, Crown Prince of Asgard, fearless warrior…

Or at least, he would be, as soon as he was old enough to change his wooden sword out with steel.

He walked slowly past the dungeon cells, both eager to look inside and anxious to appear unimpressed. The only light came from the flickering torches along the walls, and the dim gleam of the magic barriers walling in the prisoners. The cells were stark and bare, except for the golden sheen of magic that divided them. Each one held at least two prisoners, pacing or wandering or sleeping to pass the time.

This cell held a former guard convicted of taking bribes.

The next, a servant accused of treason, awaiting trial.

Another, a noble who had murdered his brother to obtain his title.

Thor held each of their gazes in turn with a smug smile as he sauntered past. No, he was not afraid of enemies—traitors, cowards, liars, common criminals all. But his steps slowed as he wondered about what he would see at the end of the hallway. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists around his practice sword's wooden hilt, hearing his pulse drumming in his ears; his blue eyes gleamed with excitement.

Let the monster show itself, if it dares! I'm not afraid of it. Just wait until Sif hears the daring tale of my confrontation with a Frost Giant…

He rounded the corner, prepared for anything and everything when—

He saw it.

Not the nine-foot monstrosity he expected. Not a giant whose laughter could shake mountains, or whose hands could crush Æsir bones into dust. Not the roaring, violent enemy that he could gloat over.

Sitting in the center of a lonely cell was a tiny figure dressed in black, its knees drawn up to its chest. Motionless. Smaller than Thor. Its limbs seemed fragile and childlike.

Thor froze, disconcerted. He would not have guessed at the creature's species if he had not seen its hands, sapphire blue and engraved with strange markings. It sat in a circle of ice that formed on the ground around him; whether the creature had made it consciously or not, Thor did not know. As he watched, it raised its head and met his eyes briefly. A chill ran through the young prince at the startlingly crimson stare: if it held any emotion, it was impossible to determine.

The creature dropped its eyes and bowed buried its face in its knees again, its shoulders hunched.

Thor wanted to say, You are not supposed to be like this. His disappointed expectations made him almost indignant, though he wasn't sure why. His wooden sword hung limply at his side.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed Thor's shoulder, making him jump.

"And just what precisely are you doing here, Thor?"

Thor gulped: the voice, though quiet and calm, still managed to ring with stoic authority. He looked guiltily up into his father's stern face.

"The dungeons are no place for a young prince," said Odin, pulling him along the corridor by the collar. Thor struggled to keep pace with his long strides.

"H-how did you know I was here, Father?"

It was a foolish question—what with Heimdall's watchful gaze, the king's scrying-glass, and guards listening in nearly every room of the palace, Odin could be relied upon to know essentially everything that went on in Asgard.

The only true surprise was that his father had searched for Thor himself, when the king had so much on his mind of late. He had returned to Asgard only a few days ago from Midgard, to bring back the prisoner and gather more forces, but the siege on the mortal realm raged on in his absence.

"I thought curiosity might tempt you here," the All-Father responded. "But there is no need to antagonize the poor creature."

"I wasn't baiting it!" Thor protested. "Honest! I just wanted to see it."

"Yes, and that is why you took out your weapon," Odin responded dryly.

Odin's steps had slowed considerably now that Thor was following him obediently. They had reached the first level of the palace now, the corridor bathed in sunlight from the tall windows. It took Thor's eyes a few moments to adjust.

"And did the sight meet your expectations?"

Thor looked down at his boots, biting his lip. "It's so small. Why is it so small? I expected it to be gigantic, like the stories say," he pouted. His cheeks were still flushed with disappointment. "It's even smaller than I am."

"That is because he is even younger than you are," Odin said. "Although his size is unusual, it is not unheard of."

Thor laughed at the absurdity of a little giant.

"Now," said his father, suddenly brisk, "as to your punishment."

Thor opened his mouth indignantly to argue, but Odin cut him off. His single eye scowled at him.

"You know full well that you are not allowed in the dungeons," he said firmly. "And complacency is not befitting behavior for a warrior. You will have no sparring sessions this week. Your spare time will be spent on your studies—which, truth be told, could see some improvement anyway."

Thor was outraged. "But Father—!"

Odin sighed wearily. "Victory must be accepted gracefully, Thor. There is no merit in reveling while your enemy lies helpless on the ground. Honor means affording dignity to a worthy adversary when they are defeated."

"But Father," Thor said with a snort, "the Frost Giants are not worthy opponents. They are cheaters and cowards! They would never show us any pity!"

"Nonetheless, my son, mercy can have its own reward."

Thor's brow furrowed in confusion; he had never heard his father talk like this before. Where was this coming from? He had expected his father to be angry at him for playing truant, but not for this.

"I don't understand," he admitted baldly.

"I know, my son."

Odin kept his hand on Thor's shoulder as they walked, seemingly without direction. He did not speak for a moment, and Thor itched to question him further, but—try though he might to deny it—he dreaded his father most when he was quiet and impassive, because he could not guess what he was thinking.

"This prisoner," said Odin finally, "is a son of Laufey. He may know things that could be of use."

Thor eyed him cautiously.

"But he will not speak to me," his father continued, "out of fear, I think. Every adult who has tried to assure him has failed. However…" He trailed off, looking at his son shrewdly. "He may be more inclined to speak to one his age. He might be less alarmed by another child."

Thor frowned. "Why are you telling me this, Father?"

"Because I want you to return tomorrow and try to get the prisoner to speak to you."

"What?"

Thor stood rooted to the spot, refusing to follow after Odin. This conversation had taken a sudden surreal turn, and he wanted an end to the word-games. First his father scolded him for going to see the Frost Giant, and now he wanted him to repeat the offense.

"You wish me to interrogate a prisoner?" Thor asked, scratching at his mop of golden hair.

"Not interrogate. I merely want you to converse with him," Odin clarified. But his voice and his gaze turned sharp as he added, "You are not to provoke him or frighten him. That will be counter-productive. He will only speak to you if he trusts you. So if you wish to help Asgard, you will treat him with respect, as the political prisoner that he is, and not as a common criminal. Is that clear?"

Thor's head was swimming. Talk to a Frost Giant? Treat it with respect? If his father were not so deadly serious most of the time—now his face held not a glimmer of warmth—Thor would have thought this was a joke, all an absurd, elaborate joke.

"Is that clear, my son?" Odin repeated.

"Yes, Father," he said, though his cheeks were flushed with bottled annoyance. Was his father forcing him to suffer this indignity to teach him some lesson?

"Good. Now I believe you have some studying to attend to? I shall inform Tyr that you will be absent from sparring lessons this week."

To Thor's dismay, he realized they had been walking towards the library, and were now at the polished double-doors. He groaned. As Odin turned to go back the way they had come, Thor stalled him.

"Wait, Father! You have not told me what you wished to find out from the prisoner," he said. "What should I ask it—him?"

He felt a little panicked at being left to this task so unprepared.

"Do not fret about that, Thor. Just get him talking, and report back to me whatever he says." He put a hand on his son's head reassuringly, hesitating before adding, "I do not think it wise to inform your mother of this task. I am not asking you to lie to her, but if she does not ask, you need not tell her."

Thor nodded.

*****Author's Note: Just to clarify, in this story, Thor is meant to be about nine years old, or whatever the Asgardian equivalent is, and Loki is seven. Don't worry, I will explain a little more about what's going on with Jotunheim and Midgard in the next chapter, but it didn't seem to fit with this chapter.

This is my first stab at a multi-chapter fic, so any suggestions and helpful criticism is appreciated. As I am a college student, I sadly cannot promise really frequent updates, but I swear I will try my best. (Trust me, I'd rather be writing fanfiction than essays!) I have a general plan of where this story is going, but still a little uncertain on the ending, so please be patient with me. I'm not very experienced with this.

Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!