Disclaimer: I don't own Thor, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

Chapter 17: I'm Only Here To Disappoint

A/N: I have had the hardest time working on this for the past six months. But I suppose that's obvious from the lack of updates. However, a lot of recent chatter with various people has helped me overcome that horrible bout of writer's block, and I'm back to finish this.

Oh, how easily fooled they were, the Jotunns. Barbaric, bloodthirsty to a fault, and, dare he say, ugly to boot. Quite fortunately, his time spent with the Aesir hadn't been a complete waste, for Loki possessed decorum, manners, restraint. He did not run about the Nine Realms, about Asgard, tearing to pieces anything and everything that dared to challenge him. Truth be told, it would have been easier, to end every conflict with the sound of heads rolling down the hall, but it wouldn't have gone over well with the people. And, were the Asgardians to revolt against the throne, against him, there would be trouble. A king that was the target of his own people's disdain and mistrust was a man who, in due time, would be sought out as a mark by the beasts that lived among Yggdrasil's branches.

He couldn't have that.

It would have been unfortunate, he thought, for the Gatekeeper to have not noticed his subtle schemes, the gentle brush of snow against his shoulder as he slipped back through the Bifrost. Loki could have played solely by his rules, used the unseen passages that none but his mother thought to be possible, but why out himself just yet? Why give Heimdall yet another reason to rightly suspect him?

The challenge was welcome, to have the Gatekeeper speak to him as though he had reason to fear, reason to beg forgiveness at Odin's bedside, confess his sins. But Heimdall had no power, none save that allotted him, and he could not use that against his king so long as he remained the keeper of the realm, the All-Seeing Eye. It was an endless cycle, one that could only be broken by the express command of Asgard's present king. And Loki, knowing that the guardian would likely turn on him immediately upon being relieved of his post, would never let those words slip past his lips.

"He was your king," Loki said, and how hard it was for him to appear serious, reserved. Though it was certain that the Gatekeeper knew what lay behind the charade. Absolute glee. "And you are sworn to obey me now, yes?"

Those golden eyes narrowed beneath the helm, and, for but a second, Loki smirked, raised his dark brows as if to say that he was waiting. The Gatekeeper's lip curled for but a moment, and he sighed.

"Yes."

That was what he'd wanted to hear. The great Heimdall, sworn to obey the king that a handful, those familiar with the inner workings of the palace, could not bear. They could not stop him, either. He was Loki, the God of Mischief, liar son of Odin. He had been stolen from the brink of death, saved and raised to be a king, the Allfather's undoing, the hand that would purge the Nine Realms of the barbarians that had had the misfortune to spawn him. Such irony it was. That the Frost Giants would leave to perish the man who would be king, would grind their icy little planet into naught but stardust. That thought made this all the more satisfying.

Even so, he had to play the part, though the Gatekeeper must have seen what lay within his heart, his wicked intentions.

"Then you will open the Bifrost to no one. Until I have repaired the damage that my brother has done!"

# - # - # - #

Fandral wanted to kick himself, hands folded behind his back as he stood solidly, awkwardly, in the center of the room. They had tried to stop him, the guards, saying that they could not allow him into the throne room until the king had returned. That had made him sick, seeing Loki's face in his mind as the word was spoken. As much as he'd tried to believe that the prince wasn't against them, against Thor, he'd never gotten used to thinking of the man as a king. Odin was the only man who seemed to fit such a heavy title. The only one worthy of it, as well. Even so, he could not keep his mind focused on such thoughts, not with his eyes shut and head bowed slightly to the floor.

Perhaps this, wanting to crawl into a hole and hide, was how Sif and the others felt when he bragged about his exploits. It wasn't terrible, certainly nothing in comparison to his fun, but seeing the woman positioned just so in his lap on the throne, the helmet teetering down the steps as it was shoved away, made his stomach sink and his mouth grow dry, for this was nothing but awkward.

"What in the devil are you doing?" Fandral nearly laughed as the words slipped from his tongue. Funny how he'd seen fit to bring the devil into all this, considering he was the one at the heart of the matter. Using Sif, lying to Asgard, to the queen. All things he should have seen weeks ago. Things that, with Sigyn hovering about, he'd never be able to get off his chest. The smile on his face was forced. This had to be believable. "I would think that there is a time and place for such things."

Loki snorted, leaned forward to lick the woman's lips, as if to insist to the warrior that he did as he pleased. "Yes, and you are certainly the one to lecture me on propriety."

"A suggestion," Fandral replied, and rocked back and forth on his feet. Sigyn glowered at him. "I would like a word, if I may."

She gave a breathy sigh, the hem of her gown trailing along behind as she stepped lightly down the stairs, casting the Valiant a displeased glance as she went padding out of the room. The doors shut firm behind her, Loki's expression having changed to that of a bemused stare as Fandral gripped the helmet by one of its horns and offered it to him.

His insides twisted, the hand that so falsely wielded Gungnir taking hold of the other horn and, with a harsh shock, sent the warrior skidding across the floor with a groan.

Fandral peered up, his eyes snapping shut again as the point of the spear dove towards him, missing the side of his cheek by little more than a hair's width as Loki set one hand about his throat.

"A word?" the snake parroted, raising a brow. "Would this... word happen to have anything to do with my arrangement with the Lady Sif?"

The warrior choked, his blue eyes narrowing in defiance.

"Arrangements?!" he blurted. The nerve. "Sif wants nothing to do with you, you bastard! Her only desire is that which lies with us the same: That you put aside your damned pride and bring Thor home! It is he who deserves to sit upon that throne; wield your stolen power! Thor should be king!"

"You think Thor could protect the realm, silence the very war that he sought out and created?!" Loki's voice hit a fever pitch, the glimmer in his eye no longer the ersatz gleam of confidence that Fandral had seen but a moment before. It must have been strangling to him, to know that he was losing control of all this. "Do you think he could protect Asgard, bring about an idea of peace to her people as I have? No. He would kill us all, upset the balance of the Nine Realms more than he has already–"

"And you've been doing what, exactly? Scheming? Lying? Playing king?" Fandral scoffed. "Tell me: Just what good does that do the rest of us? What service have you provided as our king, lurking in the shadows and slinking about behind our backs?"

A boom echoed in the warrior's ear, his eyes clamped shut in a moment of fear as Loki stepped off, the heel of his boot laid against Fandral's chest.

"Speak but a word of this," Silvertongue challenged, "and take comfort in the knowledge that I will kill you and your friends."

The weight upon the Valiant's armor vanished, his eyes opening wide as his head turned to see a distinct crack where Gungnir's point had cut into the floor. Sitting up, Fandral peered towards the doors, saw them open and wide as the guards stared at him in astonishment, clearly unaware of all that had transpired, as Loki vanished down the hallway, probably to lock himself in the library or, the warrior thought with a grimace, the trusting arms of Asgard's queen.

"Bastard..."

Loki would get his, he decided, and picked himself up off the floor. And, once the others caught wind of this, they would not lie down quietly and keep their mouths shut, either.