The Armorer

I went down the stairs slowly, to avoid jostling my ribs, and stopped at the guard kiosk outside the door to the cell room. The books that Odin had sent along were here, and the guards had thoroughly examined them. I approved; while it was to Odin's benefit that Loki was locked up, you just never know if there's a deeper game going on here. What with the lifespan of Asgardians, anything is possible. The books had been x-rayed and physically examined, and the conclusion was that there was nothing there but ink on beautifully bound vellum, the leather bindings tooled and gilded and jeweled. As to the contents of those pages...well, who can say? Nobody at the facility read what looked like Old Norse, and the age of the books was such that there couldn't be any more recent information added. The guard wanded me; I left my belt with the metal buckle at the security station along with the electronic fob that worked on most of the rest of the doors in the complex. I knew that the Avengers had the right of free access to this room at any time, but truthfully, I didn't really feel like an Avenger. I was support staff. Everybody'd heard about one of Steve and Tony's legendary head-butting incidents in which Tony reportedly told Steve that all that was special about him came out of a bottle. Well, that patently wasn't true; Steve's personal qualities were what gained him the right to volunteer for the Super Soldier serum and inspired trust and loyalty all over the world, not just among Avengers or Americans. That was Tony's insecurities and sharp tongue talking, but he'd be right about me. All that was special about me came from a lab accident that enabled me to be moderately useful. And while it was awesome to be able to see atoms and particles and heat, because of it, what it got me was a lot of money and nowhere to spend it. Was this a midlife crisis? I wondered as I listened for the release of the locks on the door.

Inside, Loki looked up where he was sitting, gazing at the wall. "We meet again," he said lazily. It was funny how Asgardian accents sounded all upper-crusty British. It was like even aliens bought into American movie perceptions that really smart people and the best villians all sported that accent. And look, here was somebody who was both.

"Hello," I responded. "I have some books for you if you'd like them." His gaze sharpened in interest and he got up, moving over to the narrow slot where meals and things like books could be slipped through without compromising the containment cell. I passed them to him one at a time. He smoothed their covers and flipped through a few.

"When did you see Odin?" he asked.

"Few days ago," I said. "He asked me to visit you and give you these books."

He dropped the priceless volumes on the floor with a thud. I winced at the disregard for the craftsmanship. "Dude," I said in protest, and he smiled.

"And how is my dear brother?" he inquired silkily, and I began to wish I hadn't come. Family drama is the worst kind.

"Fine," I said, shrugging. "Typically...Thor-like." He chuckled. He had an excellent voice, full of seduction and promises.

"Thor-like. Very appropriate," he approved. "He's a decent enough fellow, but as I've heard your kind say, as deep as a puddle."

"There are worse things," I noted.

"Oh?"

"To have a razor-sharp mind and be locked away from events you could use it on."

"A palpable hit," he said, regarding me with interest. "And do you have one? A razor-sharp mind?"

"Hardly," I snorted. "That role is filled by Tony Stark. I'm just a blacksmith." As we spoke, I noticed a slight flaw in the inner workings of one of the support brackets and moved a few molecules to correct it.

Loki noticed my interest. "Typical Asgardian design," he said. "That's one of the problems with Asgard. There's no innovation."

"They do nice work," I said. "You'd be hard-pressed to find this level of ornamentation on Earth in new construction these days."

"Oh?" he invited me to continue.

I ran my hand lightly down the golden sheathing. "Current tastes are for clean lines and no ornamentation. It's called minimalism, and it's pretty well accepted. It works for most architecture because there's generally not a lot of space in new builds. To use this kind of ornamentation effectively, you need very high ceilings, very large rooms. Otherwise it's just crowded and difficult to appreciate. And these qualities are very expensive. The materials are expensive, and it would be hideously expensive to hire the master craftsman to do the work. You see exquisite craftsmanship and a lot of detail in castles and palaces and old public buildings. Budgets don't run for the extensive hire of masters anymore; the beauty of natural stone is used as a substitute, for example. So you're lucky that the artisans of Asgard worked on your prison, even if you don't care to acknowledge it. Beats the crap out of what we'd have provided for you if we'd been responsible. There's a style of architecture called Brutalism that was being bandied about for this. I doubt you'd like it. There's even less to admire."

Loki acknowledged this, then turned his quicksilver mind. "While I'm not unappreciative of the loan of the books, couldn't you bring me something different?"

"Like what?" I asked carefully.

"What about some of your Earth books?"

"I don't think it's wise to educate you more about this world," I said dryly. "You tried to conquer the planet knowing nothing about it. I shudder to think what you could do with actual knowledge."

He spread his hands, all innocence. "What could I possibly do from in here?"

"It's what you'd do outside it that worries me. And no, I don't think you'll be in there forever. I voted against having you here."

"And why was that?"

"Because I believe you'll escape and there will be more bad things happening because of it. I could do without that."

"Then why am I here?"

"I was outvoted." I snort. "You can't honestly believe that I'm in charge here."

"It looks like it to me," he said, cocking his head, studying me. "You're the first visitor I've been allowed. You know of my incarceration here, you go back and forth to Asgard, you have a relationship with the ruling elite of Asgard. I've heard guards refer to 'her' and 'she' which must be you. So it seems that you are in charge here."

"Not really, so you don't have to waste your time sucking up. There are enough security protocols in place that no one has any appreciable level of autonomy."

"And why am I here?" he said, abruptly challenging me.

"Because Odin came down and asked us to keep you. The Avengers are funding this project, but they're not terribly hands-on, which you might be glad for. Clint would still like to pummel you senseless."

"And did you tell Odin the reasons why you would have liked to decline his request?"

"I did. And the rest of the voting group. Odin didn't like my reasons, and the others liked the idea of doing a god-king a favor."

"You don't like Odin much, do you?" Loki said suddenly.

"He's fine, he's been very nice to me personally. It's more that I don't trust him. I expect that he has plenty of reasons for wanting you here that he didn't articulate in his proposal." Loki studied me with growing interest. Crap.

"You see the Allfather plainer than most," he said thoughtfully.

"Care to share some insights?"

He laughed, a musical peal of delight. It seemed unfair that someone whose special gift is chaos and discord would have such a wonderful voice. "Not especially. Besides, you seem perceptive enough."

I smiled sourly and stood. "Aside from books, do you need anything?"

"Aside from freedom?"

"That's right."

"No, my needs are cared for well enough." He paused. "Will you be coming back?"

I studied him. "Odin requested that I visit you. He also leaned on Thor, but I don't know if he'll come."

"I propose a trade." I eyed him warily. "For each visit, I promise that I will not actively attempt to escape." And right there I saw that coming down here had opened up a situation. Loki hadn't tried anything, but now that there was somebody to engage with, I had no doubt that he'd be plotting and planning. Still...

"How long are we talking about?"

"A day." I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

"I have my own job. I don't have time to come every day just to give you the opportunity to pick my brain, even in exchange for your promise not to escape."

He was silent a moment, considering his options. "A week."

"A month."

"Two weeks."

"Ok."

"And will you bring books?"

Give him an inch..."I'll have to see. Perhaps, if you don't cause the guards any trouble. What's wrong with those ones?"

"I've read them." His lips twisted. "They were Frigga's."

"Then I'm surprised you aren't treating them with more respect." I folded my arms. "Everything I've heard was that she loved you very much. Perhaps too much." I considered him. "Well, that's not my problem either." He considered me too, then nodded after long moments.

"Then you can plan on bringing me books. Do I get to choose the topic?"

I smiled. "Nope. It'll be a surprise."

"That will be a novelty."

"Later," I said, and walked to the door. The locks buzzed and I pulled the door open. I didn't look back.