The boy stopped at the sound. He didn’t mean to, there were very few mortal sounds that were of any interest to him and this wasn’t one of them. But he stopped at the sound, looked around to locate where it was coming from and moved there.

It was a baby, wrapped in thin blankets, lying on a rock that somewhat resembled the shape of a basin. It was small and wrinkled and a sickly grayish-blue, and the sound it made had long ago stopped being crying and was now something else. Something pitiful that made him stop, and turn, and look for the source. And now he had it – a baby.

What in Hel was he supposed to do with a baby?

Nothing. He had nothing to do with a baby. He turned, about to leave.

It made the sound again.

He knew what it was then. The changeling. He’d heard about her from both the stable boys that worked in the slightly larger pile of rocks these Midgardians called houses, and from two of the girls he’d bedded. The sickly child who’d been left by the fairies instead of the tanner’s actual daughter, stolen in the night. When so many folk spoke of something while he was bedding them, it must be important.

They left her here in the hopes the fairies would take her back, return their own child. Left her out to die.

Without stopping to think – an entirely uncharacteristic move on his part – the boy picked up the baby and disappeared.

Mother would know what to do with it.

***

“Loki Odinson, explain yourself.”

Mother was not happy.

Not that he expected her to be, but it was quite possible he’d never seen her that angry. At him.

“They left her out to die,” he said, shrugging, letting her take the baby from him.

She nestled the child in the crook of her arm, running a hand in the air above her, the crease between her eyes growing deeper. “Allfather, she nearly is. You-“ Frigga’s eyes settled on a guard that stood by the door, “get me a healer. Run.”

She turned back to her son, “so you were out bedding the Midgardians again – against your father’s instructions again – and thought to yourself that stealing children is something new you should try, is that correct?”

His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“I can’t hear you,” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, mother.”  

Frigga rolled her eyes, shaking her head, muttered, “what am I going to do with you?” he opened his mouth to answer but shut it right back when she focused on him again. Silence was best. “Go to your rooms.”

He was dismissed.

***

They called her Lady Kate of Midgard, a variation on Catriona, which was the name one of the boys whispered to him in the darkened hayloft when he told him of her, and until she was running around on legs that have just straightened, her brown curls a mess on her head, he’d barely laid eyes on her again.

That was, until she crashed right into him, tangling between his legs and nearly making him tumble over her. The strain of curses he hurtled her way brought tears to her eyes and she ran out faster than she’d run in. He had no patience for children. He had better things to do, like that tall lanky fellow from The Guard who’d been eyeing him all evening. And after that, the blonde maid who was currently busy serving drinks around the table. If she’d let him. She hadn’t yet, giggling that he was too young although he was already of the same height as her and growing taller. He hoped tonight would be the night.

“Loki, what have you done to the child?” she looked like a toy in Thor’s arms, a little doll.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, already searching the crowd at the banquet for the guard. He had things to do.

“Then why is she crying, brother?”

“She’s a child, children cry.”

He turned, having spotted the fellow, and sauntered in his direction, straightening his back, getting the hair out of his eyes. Showtime.

He was intercepted by his mother, neatly stepping into stride with him, twining her arm with his. “Who’s the target?” she asked with a small smile, “him?” she motioned towards the man. Loki nodded. “Good choice,” she chuckled.

“Am I needed for something else, mother?” he asked.

“Not at the moment,” she said, but continued to walk with him.

He raised an eyebrow, an exact reflection of her own gesture. “You brought a child into this household, then left others to fend for her. That’s not how it works. She’s your responsibility, not mine, or your father’s, or your brother’s.”

He nodded, not sure where she was going with this. He hadn’t really seen the girl, but he made sure that she was taken care of. By people who weren’t him. People who had patience for children.

“You should be kinder to her, Loki,” his mother said, patting his arm, “you’ve got more in common with her than you think.” Then she walked away.

What in the name of Hel was that all about?

Nevermind, he’d reached his destination. He’d think about that later. He had better things to do.

***

He did as he was told. Or at least he tried to. He stopped yelling at the girl when she came too close, and every evening he’d take her hand and walk with her through the gardens, listening to her babble. She would speak, and he’d make the things she imagined appear out of thin air to make her laugh. It wasn’t long before they spent some time each evening on a cushioned bench in a hidden corner of the gardens, her curled up with her head on his lap, talking about the books she’d started reading. Sometimes he’d speak a different language just to see what she’d learned and help her practice. They taught her languages from across all the Nine Realms, but he insisted she’d learn more of the Midgardian ones. He didn’t know many of those and learned just ahead of her.

It was those evening walks that made him notice the alarming rate at which she grew. She was already higher than his waist, and she was catching up to him not just in height, but in intelligence as well. She was growing. She was growing fast.

“Well of course she is, Loki, she’s Midgardian,” his mother had said, when he came to her.

“Do something,” he asked.

“That’s just their lives, son, they live and they die in the blink of an eye.”

“Please mother,” Thor said, having joined him in this endeavor. His brother, too, was growing fond of the mortal child.

“Do. Something.” Loki repeated.

Frigga studied him for a very long time, he fought the urge to avert his eyes. Eventually she nodded.

They went to the child’s room, and while she slept, Frigga entwined them in magic so complex Loki’s head hurt trying to follow it. He watched intently, though, trying to understand, trying to learn. He’d never seen anything that intricate. It engulfed him, his brother, the child, pulling them together in some sort of pattern that disappeared into the girl’s skin. He didn’t know how long it lasted; he’d lost all track of time. Eventually, though, his mother said, “it’s done.”

“What did you do?” Loki asked. Thor listened intently, cocking his head to one side.

“Tied your lifelines together,” Frigga said. “This way, her lifeline takes a cue from yours, and it will slow down to match.”

“Fantastic,” Thor smiled, blonde hair falling on his forehead.

Loki didn’t smile, “what happens if we die?”

“You’ve still got centuries to live,” she answered.

“What happens if we die, mother?”

“The connection is severed; she’ll resume growing old in Midgardian speed.”

“What if it’s just one of us?” Thor asked. Loki looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t quite expected his brother to ask an intelligent question. Thor shot him a look as if he’d read his mind and was not impressed with Loki’s lack of faith.

“She’ll have the other’s lifeline to match.”