Chapter 4
Bruce teaches Loki to make the most fantastic treacle spice cake, after which Loki and Sleipnir somehow end up at an extremely awkward Avengers house meeting. Well, not so much a house meeting as. Uh. Family dinner. Loki’s just avoiding calling it that because the last time he had a family dinner Jotnar got into Asgard and Thor ended up pushing the table over in a fit of pique. (Loki had cooked a whole boar for him. A whole boar! And Thor just pushed the bloody table over!)
“So,” says Rogers bravely, breaking a ten-minute silence during which Barton has been glaring steadily at Bruce and Loki in turns and Sleipnir had taken one look at them all and galloped out of the room, knocking over a small vase on his way out. (Stark hadn’t seemed to mind, and Loki must admit that it was an exceptionally ugly vase.) Loki was tempted to go after him but he has a feeling he knows what Sleipnir’s up to, and he thinks his son would want a little privacy in case what he’s planning doesn’t work out the way he thinks it will.
“So,” echoes Romanova, raising her eyebrows.
“I hear you made dessert,” says Rogers.
Loki grins at Bruce. “With a little help.”
Barton lets out a grunt. “Probably poisoned.”
“Oh, indubitably,” says Loki, making sure to point his eeriest smile in Barton’s direction.
“It’s not poisoned,” says Bruce.
“Poisoned with deliciousness,” says Loki.
There’s a short silence.
“So,” says Rogers.
Stark thumps his head against the table.
Thor has been vibrating in his seat like a loon, biting his lip, and he finally speaks up. “Loki, I am so pleased that you have decided to dine with us,” he says, uncharacteristically soft. “Would you mind if I regaled the table with tales of our exploits?”
Loki’s blood curdles a little. He glances at Bruce and swallows. “I… have no preference.” He’s lying. Which is rubbish, because he’d given up the title God of Lies, but it’s a habit that’s hard to break. Lying – creating a mask to hide beneath – is easier than exposing himself. He has no wish for Thor to tell old stories. This is exactly what he had been glad to avoid, these last long years.
Bruce puts a hand on Loki’s beneath the table, and looks to Thor. “Why not a historical tale?” he suggests. “Something less personal, to get us started. So we don’t get too confused.”
“Of course!” says Thor, warming up to his subject. “I will tell of the mighty Snorri Þorbrandsson, whose brains were even larger than his spear, and whose spear was even larger than his spear, if you know of which spear I speak.” He pauses to waggle his eyebrows and Loki fights the urge to bury his head in his hands. “In an age of distant memory, Snorri travelled through the icy wilderness, wastelands so cold that his nostril-hairs froze and his eyelashes stuck together with frost, accompanied by his mighty steed Thurhragflagrangimar…”
Thurhragflagrangimar is not a real name. Thor just made that up.
Luckily Loki is saved from having his brain bleed out of his ears by a small nudge at the door. The movement is so slight that he would not have noticed if he were anyone but Loki, and he stands up abruptly and goes to the door.
“Brother?” says Thor, breaking off his story. “Is something the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter,” says Loki. “Return to your story.”
Thor looks rather deflated, but Loki ignores him and taps on the door.
“Sleipnir, dear,” he murmurs, “what is the matter? Did it not work? You know that I am very proud of you, whatever you have done.”
There is a small, embarrassed whinny, and a scuff against the floor. Loki realises what has happened and cannot help but grin.
“Darling, do not let your voice concern you,” he says. He is speaking in an undertone, but behind him the dinner table is entirely silent, all the Avengers straining to overhear him. They are horrible gossips, every one. “There is fish here, if you like, cooked with pepper and spices. Come in.”
Sleipnir pushes the door open bashfully, and sidles into the room.
Thor drops his mead-jug in shock.
Loki scowls at him. “Do not say a word,” he mouths, behind Sleipnir’s back so that he will not see. Sleipnir is currently wearing the form of a callow Jotun, a little taller than Loki, but he walks as if he is half Loki’s height, all timid and hunched over. Loki coaxes him to the table and seats him between himself and Bruce.
“Avengers,” he says, “this is my son, Sleipnir. Sleipnir, these are the buffoons that I am forced to work with on a near-fortnightly basis.”
Sleipnir whickers softly in greeting, and then ducks his head.
Stark is staring. “Uh,” he says. “Why does he sound like a horse?”
“Because he is a horse, you fool,” says Loki, baring his teeth. “Sleipnir has yet to learn the Alltongue, and so you tiny mortals cannot understand him.”
“Welcome, nephew,” says Thor, beaming. “I see that you have mastered a new form! Most splendid!”
Loki rolls his eyes a little. When Loki learnt to transform into a fish, or a fox, or a mare, Thor never thought it was splendid. Mostly he thought it was another opportunity to mock Loki to all and sundry.
“Try the swordfish,” says Bruce, heaping a meal onto Sleipnir’s plate. Sleipnir smiles a little, avoiding anyone’s gaze, and begins to dig in. Loki is a little worried – in Sleipnir’s usual form he is totally shameless, so it is strange to see him so nervous around others. Perhaps it is because he is shaped like a humanoid and yet he still cannot speak as a humanoid.
Bruce pulls a small pack of cards out of his pocket and begins to entertain Sleipnir with small magic tricks. Sleipnir is enthralled, though Loki cannot understand why; it is not real magic.
“This occasion requires a new saga to be shared,” declares Thor, slamming his fists against the table. Beside him Rogers winces a little and reaches out to stop his glass from tipping over. “I must tell the story of Sleipnir’s conception!”
Dead silence.
For the third time this evening.
“Ah, no,” interjects Loki. “I do not think that would be appropriate, Thor. Please pick another tale.”
Thor pouts. “What tale could be more appropriate, brother? Surely Sleipnir knows the thrilling saga already.”
“No,” says Loki flatly. “No, he doesn’t.”
Sleipnir is looking altogether too curious. Loki is starting to panic a little.
Bruce puts his pack of cards away, very slowly.
Stark raises his hand. “Um,” he says. “I’m interested.”
Thor grins widely at him. “Then it is settled! For it was a dark and troublesome night, when the mysterious giant Barri Boldrson –”
“Barry?” says Barton. “The giant’s name was Barry?”
“Barri,” hisses Loki, clenching his fingers together. “Get it right. Thor, cease this.”
Thor firms his mouth resolutely and continues. “Barri Boldrson, accompanied by the strongest stallion in all the world, promised to build a wall that would extend all around the palace of Asgard, and wagered that if he could do so within nine turns of the moon he would be due a marvellous treasure, including the sun, the moon, and the hand of the beautiful goddess Freyja.”
“Whoa,” says Stark. “You know that we don’t do that, right? Sell women off to the highest bidder?”
Thor frowns at him. “Do not be absurd,” he says. “The story does not end that way.”
“Oh,” says Stark, eyebrows high. “Well that’s all right then.” He is being sarcastic, but Thor doesn’t seem to notice. Loki is beginning to get a horrible headache.
“What happened?” asked Barton. “You sabotage the wall?”
“Of course not, for that would be cheating,” says Thor. “By the last day of the allotted time the builder Barri Boldrson had almost completed his task, and the gods of Asgard began to worry, and so held a great meeting, and all agreed that Loki was to blame.”
“What,” says Bruce. Loki fancies he can see a little bit of green in the man’s irises. “Based on what evidence?”
Thor looks perplexed. Loki feels like he wants to cry. “Well,” Thor starts. “Well, you must understand that usually when things went wrong, it was Loki’s fault. For my brother is a most excellent trickster!” He reaches around the table to slap Loki on the shoulder, but Loki shies away.
“Dude,” says Barton, looking disconcerted. “I don’t even like the guy, and that’s fucked up.”
“Well,” says Thor. He looks a little pale, like he has lost his narrative flow, and serve the bastard right, Loki thinks viciously. He had not wanted this story to be told, he had never wanted this story to be told, especially not in front of Sleipnir. He would take Sleipnir and leave here but he is frozen in his seat. He feels hot and cold and feverish. He does not know what to do. “Loki quickly realised that the reason for the giant’s success was his powerful stallion, whose name was Svadilfari.”
Sleipnir falls out of his seat, still not totally in tune with his new limbs. Thor pauses, waits for him to get back up, and then continues somewhat weakly.
“And, er, Loki transformed himself into a mare in heat and went off to distract the stallion,” he says. “And the builder did not complete the wall and Asgard was saved. Well done Loki!”
He begins to clap with his big, meaty hands, but nobody moves to join him. In fact they all look kind of sick.
“Thor,” says Rogers. “When you say distract…”
“They copulated!” says Thor brightly. “And thus my wonderful nephew was born!”
Romanova gets up abruptly and leaves the room. Thor looks confused and disheartened.
Loki is sitting very stiffly. He feels furious and terrified and for once in his life he has no words to rail back at Thor with. On top of that he still has a splitting headache which refuses to go away.
Bruce turns around and gives him a hug, and then Sleipnir joins in, and then Loki feels a little better.
“Thor,” says Bruce, muffled into Loki’s shoulder, “I think you’d better leave for a little bit. You can come back for dessert, if Loki’s okay with it.”
“You do not have to make him leave,” says Loki, nonplussed, but Thor gets up and traipses out anyway, throwing him a mournful look as he leaves.
“Loki,” says Bruce, somewhat hesitantly, “I think at some point we’re going to have to have a chat about, about coercion, and valid consent, but for now I’m just going to hug you and try not to let the Hulk out to smash things.”
“But the Hulk likes smashing things,” says Loki, in a very small voice.
“I know,” says Bruce, hugging him closer. “But now’s not the time.”
“I have other children,” says Loki, and Bruce freezes.
“You do?”
“Not like that,” Loki hastens to clarify. “Sleipnir is my only child of my body, and the only child of… ah… that is to say, my other children were born of a romantic coupling between myself and a giant named Angrboða. I have three others. One of them is on Midgard.”
“Have you visited him?”
Loki blinks and looks away. “I am not sure if a visit from me would be welcome,” he admits. “I have not seen Jörmungand in… such a very long time.”
“Better late than never,” says Bruce.
“I suppose,” says Loki.
Bruce looks very awkward for a moment and then says, “I could come with you?”
“Uh,” says Loki. He is feeling less uncomfortable and he is also feeling more uncomfortable. Midgard is very confusing. “Perhaps. I think we should let Thor back in.”
“All right,” says Bruce agreeably. “It would be a shame to deprive him of your treacle spice cake.”
“Our treacle spice cake,” corrects Loki.
Bruce smiles at him. “Yeah.”
Stark clears his throat loudly. “Okay, are we done with the emotional moment? We’re done. Good. Yes. Erm… Loki, I can fetch some bowls out, if you like. And cutlery. Well, I can get some robots to fetch bowls and cutlery. I can invent some robots and get them to fetch bowls and cutlery –”
“Thank you, I will be fine,” says Loki, getting up from the table. As he does so Thor trundles back into the room, looking very much like a scolded puppy.
The treacle spice cake really is amazing.
And Loki is in a forgiving mood, for once.
“Sit down,” he says to Thor. “I will be back in a moment.”
Thor’s smile blooms across his face like a sunset, and Loki thinks that things are beginning to be all right after all.