I haven't written fanfiction in forever, so excuse my poor writing! I plan on writing much more now. By the way, this story takes place when Loki and Thor are younger, so the same event from the movie Thor occuring has different effects. I'm sure other people have had similar ideas to this one, but I hope mine is enjoyable!

Thanks for reading!

And of course I don't own anything Marvel.

Loki knew the sound of the Allfather's voice at its weakest of times, so he undoubtedly recognized the yell of anger that projected across the icy fields of Jotunheimr. The field of fighting warriors, many Jotun and six Aesir, paused to look up at his presence on a frozen cliff. The king held a certain grace around him even in his anger that commanded the attention of all below.

The young prince could predict the following conversation between Odin and Laufey practically word for word after the first seconds of speaking, knowing the nature of both monarchs. The frost giant would allow the escape of the Asgardians at Odin's promise of punishment for Thor. They would avoid war, though barely. Simple.

So something else held his attention tighter in those moments as the icy wind whipped his cloak around his feet, something more important than these diplomatic rambles.

Minutes earlier, the fury of battle had screeched with the flying snow, an effect that pumped warriors such as Thor with adrenaline, but only gave the younger brother a cold motivation to kill. He swung his staff swiftly down in front of him, driving the sharp tip into the arm of another frost giant as it lunged for the illusion he created. The prince chuckled as it screamed.

"Don't let them touch you!" Volstagg cried, holding the burns on his meaty arm. It seemed the Jotuns' icy skin had the ability to cause a sort of snow-burn per say, and a nasty one at that. Loki glanced behind him at the warrior to see Sif running to his aid, leaving himself vulnerable for a split second. In his moment of distraction, an icy hand had found a grip on his wrist, squeezing it tight. The giant's strength shattered the metal protecting the prince's forearm and pressed against his bare skin. Loki whipped around and squeezed his eyes closed in anticipation of the pain, cursing himself for his stupidity.

But no pain came. Loki opened his eyes, thinking for a second that someone had driven the frost giant away, but no. It stood there still, looking at the prince with confusion. And now he saw why.

From where the monster held his skin, something very peculiar was happening. A blue color crept down his arm and to his fingertips, leaving strange markings as it spread, causing his heart to beat fast in fear. What was the giant doing to him? Had the Jotuns acquired the spell books and magics the Asgardians hid in the years without conflict? A thousand thoughts ran through his head in that second.

But it seemed that the Jotun had not caused this deformity. Loki had early on learned to read people, their emotions and actions, and he doubted this giant was much different. The confusion in that blue face was uncanny.

For a moment they both stood there, the same dangerous thought forming in both minds, as they stared at the deepening blue of the Prince's palm. Both waiting for the same conformation. Was it possible, by some twist of fate? The very prince of Asgard himself?

Before those thoughts could solidify, or the frost giant make a move to harm him, Loki used his free arm to clench his golden staff and force into the enemy's chest, not fatally, but painfully enough to loosen the rough grip and yank his hand free.

Breathing heavily, he stepped back and watched as the blue disappeared from his skin once more. The battle raged around him still, and with a last shaky look to confirm that his flesh was still its rightful pale shade, he pushed the poisonous thoughts aside and stepped onto the battlefield once more.

And now the battle was over, peace agreed, with the five young warriors plus Loki waiting solemnly for the Allfather to speak. Despite his reputation as a warrior, the childlike look on Thor's face was a sharp reminder to the darker son that the two brothers had only just reached adulthood.

For a moment Loki felt the sting of guilt for anonymously letting the frost giants in, and for warning the guard of the warriors' departure, but he quickly pushed the feeling away. He should not be to blame for his brother's rash actions. Thor was not being punished for the giants' trespassing nor the guard's informing; he was being punished for his own misdeeds.

And punished he was. Odin's lecture in that knowing voice filled the halls of the throne room in which they stood. Accusations of being rash and immature and childish and unfit for the throne echoed off the walls of the open space and ricocheted mockingly above them. Sif and the Warriors Three cringed, keeping their mouths clamped shut in respect after failed attempts to take the blame. Loki stood with face like stone, revealing nothing.

The younger prince knew that, despite the apparent harshness of the Allfather, his punishments were gentle in comparison to what could have been. Loki would not put it past his father to even banish Thor had the older son been closer to the throne. Thankfully the day on which Thor would become king- or Loki for that matter, though the younger brother had long ago pushed that possibility bitterly out of his mind- was many a year away.

"And so, Thor Odinson, you are not to leave the walls of this palace until I deem you ready." All in the room knew this would last many years. "In addition, my son, you will be whipped twenty times, as that is what a commoner would suffer for the crimes you committed."

And lastly, I take from you your hammer, mjolnir, for twice the extent of your confinement unless I say otherwise." Odin lifted his hand, and the hammer tore itself from the blonde's belt. "You may leave now." His voice held a trace of despair, but the still present anger compelled the group to stay quiet. And with that the older prince turned from the room with his friends and brother following.

Loki had difficulty feeling sympathy for Thor. While he expressed regret to the elder brother's face, the young prince knew Thor had gotten off easily. Only a few years ago the younger prince had maliciously chopped off Sif's golden hair. His punishment had been not only a treacherous journey, but also the stitched lips he returned with. Those lasting pains and scars had surely hurt more than twenty lashes, as well as causing far worse humiliation. And his actions, though deprived of good intentions, had no potential to cause a war as Thor's had.

As Sif and the Warriors Three left for their chambers, the two brothers went their own way, as they had adjacent quarters. Clothed in the simple green garments he slept in, Loki slipped silently into Thor's room.

The blonde was sitting on his bed, clenching his fists in anger and quite visibly pouting.

"Brother! How long have you been there?" He exclaimed when he looked up to see Loki's shadowy figure.

"Not long." He answered. "But does it matter? It seems all you're doing here is wallowing in self-pity." He quipped. Thor looked down.

"I did not mean to cause trouble." He sighed. "And you warned me against those actions brother. I should have listened."

"Yes, you should have. It would have saved you a good bit of pain, no?" Loki smirked. "Twenty lashings. I don't know if a mighty warrior like yourself will be able to bear it." He said sarcastically, both comforting his brother and subtly pointing out the gentleness of the punishment when compared to his own in the past. Thor managed a small smile.

"Truth be told, I am much more distraught over confinement and the loss of mjolnir." He sighed. Loki knew this.

"You will be fine, brother." The younger son said as genuinely as he could manage. There was silence for a few minutes, as Loki had no other words to offer his brother that would not belittle him for his actions.

"I actually have something else to discuss with you, if you are up to it." Loki ventured after a while.

"And get my mind off the happenings of earlier? Happily." Thor grinned wearily.

"It is not altogether unrelated, but I will continue anyway." He turned his back to Thor. "When we were fighting the frost giants, one of them grabbed my arm." He didn't know why he was telling Thor of all people, but perhaps the innocence of the older brother's mind would banish the terrifying thoughts plaguing his own.

"What? Are you injured brother? If you are, it would undoubtedly be my fault." Thor exclaimed, guilt showing clearly in his voice.

"No, actually-" A knock on the door cut Loki off. He pursed his lips as Sif walked in.

"Good news. The Goldoak arena is considered within the boundaries of the palace. We can train there from now on. Perhaps you can grow more accustom to using a sword?" She smiled. Thor laughed at her words.

"That is great news! Thank you Sif." He turned to his brother. "What is it you were going to say?" Loki let his face fall into a stony mask again.

"Nothing of importance surely." His sarcasm fell on deaf ears.

"Then we should all get some sleep I'm sure." Sif nodded to the brothers. "A good night to you." She said and left. Loki headed out behind her, but was stopped by Thor's voice.

"Brother, do you need a healer to help you?" He asked. "The burns of frost giants are notoriously painful."

"No. I am fine."

As Loki walked down a corridor to his own room, he couldn't help but feel slight anger at the intrusion of Sif. But what good would consulting his brother do anyway? The younger brother knew he had a sharper mind than the older, so undoubtedly he had thought of every possibility Thor would. He would not allow his mind to linger on exactly what those possibilities were.

Loki's room had a mirror stretching across one of the walls, creating the illusion of more space than there actually was- not that the room of the prince was small by any means. And Loki liked illusions, and creating them, manipulating them, thus why he kept the most basic illusion, the reflection, dominating much of his room. Bookshelves lined the other walls in a golden brown, save a small corner holding a comparatively small bed and desk.

In front of his mirror the prince paced, thinking deeply. He knew what he had seen. But it made no sense. The markings of a Jotun on an Aesir? Impossible.

Or was it? It could explain why he was different in Asgard. Why his hair was raven and not light, why he did not find thrill in battle but rather in manipulation, why he chose magic over the sword or hammer. Why so many disliked him by nature, as the giants and Aesir were natural enemies.

Loki stopped and looked down at his shaking hands and clenched fists. A laugh escaped his throat, broken and approaching madness. He looked in the mirror, for once looking at his own reflection rather than the miracle of reflection alone. The thin, pasty figure stared back.

"Me? A frost giant? Perhaps I am as mad as they say I am." He spoke evenly with the slightest chuckle in his voice. Loki knew he did not look Aesir, but Jotun? Frost giants were twice the size of Asgardians on average. Lankier, yes, but much larger, and with substantial muscle. Blue skin. Red eyes. How could the small angular prince have any relation to that?

You're a shapeshifter, are you not? A voice in his mind whispered.

"Yes but that takes energy. Magic takes energy. And you don't have the energy to keep such a façade for your whole life. Not to the point of convincing yourself." He snickered condescendingly at his reflection, the way he would to Thor.

Then what happened today?

"Shapeshifting. My magic reached out to protect me on instinct." He answered easily, though he could not recall feeling the breath of change that surrounded him when shifting forms. It was a distinct sensation, as it drained him quickly and often left him exhausted. He pushed the fact aside.

He was over thinking things as usual. Turning a pointless glitch, a slight illusion, into a chaotic possibility. Ridiculous.

Before his mind could get away from him again, Loki slipped into bed and closed his eyes.

He woke up a few hours later. The prince had never been a deep sleeper. In his teenage years, the nights not filled with hours of studying, he had spent lying or sitting awake, immersed in thoughts or nightmares. This night reminded him of those, as his brain tormented him awake.

He needed confirmation. Not reassuring words from his brother or mother. Not some lie he told himself through strings of logic working their way through his mind. Confirmation. And there were only two ways to find it: approach his father directly, or investigate the issue at its source: Jotunheimr.