Eyes closed, he took a deep breath.

There was silence for the first time in many moons on this night, no wind blew in this icy world, no snow fell. The kingdom carved from ice glittered and shone in the pale waning moon.

The youngest of five, and the smallest of all of the giants, he had been the ideal child for the partnership. He never had been big, in fact, he was the but size of a midgardian, perhaps just a step taller than any Midgard children who would have been close to his age. Fourteen winters had passed since Loki Laufson's birth, and it had all been grooming, for this exact purpose.

He stood calmly in the freezing air, his rose-red eyes slowly opening, watching, waiting curiously for the Bifrost to open, to reveal his new caregiver, and soon to be husband.

He sneered at the idea, his blue skin wrinkling around his nose, the darker lines and ruins etched in his skin crinkling. He hated the idea of being bound to some big headed Prince, son of the Allfather, no less.

His father gave him a sharp look, as if sensing his son's irritation. It took no more than the giant's eyes narrowing for the child to bow his head meekly. For a child he still was, despite the hints of man hood inching around Loki's features. Gone was the softness of child hood, and here were the slightly sharp lines from his fight training. Loki wasn't much of a physical fighter, though he was quick with a staff and throwing knife, he found his wit quicker, and sharper than any weapon.

His nursemaid, and elder frost bent to adjust Loki's green cape, the white fur trim, and heavy, handsome robes beneath assuring he would not be cold after the blue was chased from his skin by Odin and his son. After all, a frost giant could hardly survive in the halls of Valhalla, no better than a midgardian could survive in the kingdom of Frost giants.

Now all there was to do was wait.

Thor didn't know why Mother had insisted on him wearing his finest clothes to meet his soon-to-be-consort and hated the way the silk from Alfheimr clung to his skin, keeping him from moving freely as his armor would. They Father was with him, as magnificent as ever, a victor, not bearing any weapons even though they were going to what was up util recently the home of their mortal enemies. Thor didn't know why they did that, why they had chosen for him this degrading union instead of making the Jötunns pay the price for their arrogance as they had paid for the years that had followed the end of the war. He grits his teeth, walks with a dignified air into the Bifröst that will bring them to Jötunheimr. Heimdall looks at him with unflinching eyes that indicate neither and approval of his father's choice or a sympathy for the prince's predicament. Thor raises his chin high, trying to look dignified.

The ground and the sky disappear in a twirl of light and they're in Jötunnheimr. The night is calm. In front of them is the head of state of the land of snow and ice.

There was something frightening in the anatomy of the Jötunns, how their disproportioned limbs were covered by markings Thor couldn't make out, something about dark, cowardly magic that Asgardians had long ago chose to forbid. They were the children of the monsters from the songs of the heroes of the ages past, thirsty for blood and relishing in chaos. Thor had only seen Jötunns once before, at the court, an ambassador from Jötunheimr, and the sight of his blue skin marked by cuts of magic and enchantments had been enough to make him run back to Mother, sobbing as his four-year-old-self only could. He remembered to only know of them as the monsters his father had slain, so many years ago.

The war against Jötunheimr had raged for so many years, and the peace that Father had brought to the Nine Realms had been bought with the blood of Jötunns and Asgardians alike. Thor could hardly believe that, after centuries of shared hatred, the conflict that had opposed Asgard to Jötunheimr could be solved with something as petty as what would be his loveless union to the youngest son of the Jötunn King.

How can you go so low, Father ? Don't you have any pride left from the glorious days when you vanquished Laufey in his own realm ?

Laufey looked old, his heart cold as ice and, somehow, he failed to live up to the myth that surrounded his person, the horrible, treacherous lord of the ice lands, using the power of the Casket of Ancient Winters instead of fighting like a true warrior. He looked old, weary, his heart a frozen as the land on which he reigned. The Jötunn King was surrounded by his numerous family and the highest ranking officers of his army, recognizable by their impressive helmets made out of animal horns and skin and elaborate metal engravings. Thor eyed the court that had followed him here, at the border of his ice kingdom, wondering which one of the strange blue beings he had been promised to. He didn't have the time to give it a proper reflexion, though, as Father presented salutations to the Jötunns.

"Laufey, King of the Jötunns and Lord of the Snowlands, fourteen summers and twenty winters have gone by since our two kingdoms have achieved peace. Now is the time for our houses to join as to celebrate this durable peace and ensure its future. I present you my first born, Thor, who has proved himself a brave warrior and a worthy leader for the Asgardians. With who shall he exchange vows for our kingdoms to be united, not by war but by marriage ?"

Waiting for the Allfather and his son would be forever remembered as the most difficult stretch of time in all of Loki's young life. He could hear his only sister behind him, sniffing, bravely trying to hold back tears, his three brothers murmured amungst themselves and once in a while would reach out a large hand to cover his shoulder and squeeze as gently as he could. It had been a joke around the palace when Loki had been a tiny toddling child, that the boy could only be part Jotun. Look at his size! They had whispered. His hands are tiny, his feet no bigger, how could he truely be a prince of us?

His hands were still slim, delicate, hidden in brown furred gloves. They soon grew restless, bringing his long, braided black hair over his shoulder to toy with, but his hands were soon batted away by his nursemaid. "A young prince does not fidget, my dear." Shiek whispered, bending her knees so she could be closer to his level. He looked at his feet, solumnly, until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up, finding the old woman holding a staff in her hand. It was golden, obviously meant for channeling magic by the sight of the emerald green scurrying orb. "Your mother had this made when you were born. 'He will be a great sorceror.' She had predicted." The old woman spoke slowly, her lower lip quivering slightly as she brought the young boy close for a hug.

"Her predictions are never wrong." She assured, allowing the boy to take the staff in his gloved hands. "She wanted you to have it for your sixteenth winter.. but..."

She didn't get to say any more as the Bifrost was opened. Loki squared his thin shoulders, standing as tall as he could manage - Even the two were taller than him! - stepping away from the only mother he had ever really knew. "I'll write you," He promised to the woman, and his sibblings as Odin began to speak.

"Odin Allfather, I have brought the youngest of my sons to you, he has proved to be the wisest of his peers, even with the peers of his siblings, and is a prodigy in the sorcery arts of our kind." the old giant stepped away, reveling his tiny son, who held himself proudly and strode forward until he was standing beside his father, under inspection of the king of Asgard and his son.

Dropping to one knee, a hand clasped over his heart, Loki bowed, addressing the Allfather. "I, Loki Laufson, would be honored to wed your son, king Odin, and unite our kingdoms." Loki said, his soft voice piercing the still night air.

He stood slowly and turned towards his father, knowing but fearing what came next. A single one of his father's giant fingers was placed against his forehead, and in response, the blue of his skin began to melt away, leaving delicate, snow-pale skin behind. Gone were his ruins and signs of magic, replaced by one toned, smooth skin, and gone were his red eyes, leaving shocking emerald green where red once lain.

"Though you no longer have our skin, my son, you are still of the Jotun. Forget this not." The king whispered before turning Loki for Odin and Thor.

Cold. He felt the cold for the first time, biting at his cheeks and nose, turning them a delicate shade of pink. He shivered lightly, his breath coming out in curious puffs of smoke before disappearing all together.

Thor looked at the boy with a mix of curiosity and distrust. He knew that the magic of the Laufey was a powerful one, nearly as powerful a magic user as the All-Father, but the transformation had unsettled him. Were all Jotuns able to change into Asgardians ? Did they do it to spy on their realm ? He searched for Father's gaze, only receiving back this cold, dignified impression from his unflinching expression. Thor tried not to look nervous, keeping his chin high and his arm crossed against his chest.

The young prince, under this form, was small, a dwarf among the Jotuns and just as small compared to an Asgardian, thin in an almost womanly fashion, unlike a real warrior and unlike someone worthy of sitting, one day alongside him, at the throne of Asgard. A sorcerer, the youngest of Laufey's sons, was to be betrothed to him. He kept himself from wincing at the thought of having to marry one of the monsters, one of the enemies, to follow Father's orders and step on the pride of his ancestors who had bravely battled the giants of Jotunheim. Instead, he presented his hand to the boy, as he wished only to get back to Asgard and hit target practice with his hammer until they broke.

They had covered him in layers of rich fabrics and he was holding a long, gilded spear. Jotuns weren't known for their prowesses in the field of smithing, but this one was a lance made for a prince and looked accordingly, decorated with old, undecipherable runes on its tip and handle. Thor couldn't help but to wonder how such a scrawny boy could fight with such a large weapon, but he kept himself from making any derisory remarks. This union was unavoidable, he knew it, but he needed time to come to terms with the idea that Father had chosen a Jotun, of all the races of the Nine Realms, to be his consort.

Father spoke with that same deep, unflinching, official voice, placing his hand on the Jotun prince's shoulder. There was however a hint of satisfaction in it, as he seemed pleased that the meeting had gone so well.

"We will take care of your son, Laufey, teach him the ways of our lands, and our houses shall unite when Thor will come of age, a little less than a few moons from now. I now bid you farewell, and wish that this wedding will bring peace to the Nine Realms."

And, on these words, they were gone, cutting through bright coloured light, heading by to Asgard under the calm, unflinching stare of the Heimdall. As they passed stars and looked at worlds starting and ending in the blink of a eye, Thor felt the Jotun's hand in his own, cold and delicate under his fingertips. It felt odd, to be so close to an enemy, and Thor wondered if the boy felt the same thing as he did and how they would manage to tolerate each other if they ever came to power together.

He didn't have to think it more thoroughly. The light disappeared. Asgard stood in front of them, proudly pointing at the starry sky, and Thor smiled at the sight. It was good to be home.

The minute he saw the Asgardian prince reach for his hand, Loki couldn't help the way he glanced back at his kind before removing his glove and setting his small hand in Thor's. He wanted nothing more than to run back into the arms of his father and Shiek, to go back and train with his big brothers and learn to dance with his sister. He didn't want this.

He held his casting staff tightly, despite the fact it towered over him. He knew he was tiny, and the way the prince was appraising him wasn't helping. He could see the distrust, the hate for his kind. Loki held the boy's gaze, doing his best to school his features into the calmest look he could manage to give the tall warrior.

He shrunk a little when the AllFather dropped his hand heavily on his shoulder, frightening him a little with how much force the man had behind such a simple touch. How would he be able to keep up with such strength? He wondered. Loki was good with fight with a wooden staff, and decent at archery, but he would never have the amount of strength!

He glanced back at Odin's words, back to his family. His sister gave an encouraging wave, though the tears in her ruby eyes did nothing but distress him. "Farewell, Odin, farewell, my son."

No, no, no! Suddenly, Loki wanted nothing more than to disappear. The sorrowful tone, the tired, given up sound, was the drop that over filled the cup. But before Loki could do more than look up and meet his father's eyes, they were whisked away.

Suddenly, Loki was staring into the eyes of Heimdall, universes and stars passing in a few mere blinks of his now green eyes. He had never really been into the Bifrost, and the new sensation and sights had Loki forgetting his predicament for a moment, his lips twitching into just the slightest smile.

Then suddenly, they were in Asgard. His eyes widen a little as he took in the golden spires and... That must have been grass! The rolling green hills had him staring, and when he noticed the Allfather and Thor staring at him he blushed. "I... I've never seen grass before. Only in my books." Loki admitted, clearing his throat and straightening, trying to maintain some of his dignity.

Thor looked at the boy with amusement and something else entirely, something he wasn't sure he wanted to fully acknowledge. It was... It was somehow endearing, how utterly inoffensive the Jotun prince looked, how genuinely surprised he was to be here. Thor shook his head, tried not to laugh. The sting of humiliation was still there and there was no amount of time that would make him believe that Father's decision was the right one.

"Then you must visit the queen's library, as she holds books dear in her heart and those might help you adjust to the new life you will lead here alongside my son." Father said, his voice warm but still keeping that dignified tone that seemed never to leave him.

Thor tried not to make a face, as library had always, for him, rhymed with long, uneventful afternoons of forced study with the tutors Mother appointed for him. He had never been one for books, preferring the hammer to the subtleties of language. However, he had found himself fascinated by the songs of his ancestors and the glorious battles they led.

Heimdall, with his usual unflinching expression, welcomed the return of the sovereign of Asgard with a reserved bow. He had never been one for flattery, but the guardian of the Bifrost always showed an infinite respect for ceremonials. He stayed true to his post, watching them without a word as they left his sight.

They were then led by Father to the horses that would bring them to Asgard across the rainbow bridge. His own horse was Lightning, a golden Asgardian purebred that had been given to him after he had turned thirteen and the best racer Thor had ever seen. It had proved itself a valiant companion and a trustful ally, either in the field of battle or the long journeys Father made him accomplish to foreign lands as his training as a future Asgardian king.

In one swift movement, he presented the reigns of Snow, the mixed-race white stallion, to the Jotun prince.

"Do you know how to ride ?" he asked, his contempt barely hiding under his otherwise neutral voice. "I heard that horses can't live in Jotunheim, and that your people believe that it is unlike a warrior to have a companion to go to battle."

The was a certain gleam in Loki's eyes at the mention of a library, one of excitement and wonder. The private library of Queen Frigga. Oh, what he could learn, what wonders could he read of? There was so much to learn in the nine realms! Policies, language, the different people, animals and plant life that were there! For Loki, learning and reading wasn't at all dull, it was an escape, a luxury he used to sneak away for. He would books beneath his bed and read by moonlight, until the sun began to peak out again.

"I would love to have the opportunity to explore the library, if Queen Frigga would allow me. Thank you, my liege." Loki's gentle tenor voice wafted on the gentle warm breeze that blew, easing a few long strands of hair from his braid.

As they made their way to the rainbow bridge, Loki finally eased his hand from Thor's, having forgotten that the teen had even taken it, and he took the moment to examine the father and his son. The Allfather was nothing short of awe inspiring, simply the way he carried himself brought about a sense of confidence and an air of strength. Thor wasn't far behind his father. Though the teen couldn't be more than two winters older than him, he was tall, broad shoulders and chest, obviously built for fighting.

The young Jotun was startled from his thoughts when they came to the amazing rainbow bridge, in fact, Loki ignored the horses to examine the bridge and the town with wide eyes.

When the reins were pressed into his hands, he met Thor's contempt and gaze with a cool, calm look, moving to gently introduce himself to the stallion by allowing him to sniff and nuzzle his hand.

"Our ambassador to Asgard explained to me how to ride. Consider this, Prince Thor, have you ever seen a horse big enough or strong enough to carry a normal Jotun? I am an abnormality in my land, there are non as small as me, there fore, non that could ride a horse comfortably," Loki was careful to keep his words gentle, to keep from insulting his consort and the King.

After a moment of assuring himself the horse was gentle and would take good care of him, Loki murmured gentling words to Snow as he mounted him, settling into the saddle and holding the reins firmly, to keep the horse calm. He patted the animal's flank, almost affectionately, before urging the animal to follow Odin and Thor.

The Jotun had wit and spoke Asgardian without a hint of an accent, and it unsettled Thor, as he had thought he was to be betrothed to some kind of illiterate monster. He was like the water of the sea, and there was something dangerous under the calm surface of his piercing green eyes.

The ride back to Asgard was an uneventful one, as they crossed the bridge that seemed to go on and on forever. The silhouette of Asgard's large buildings grew larger and larger over the horizon, and Thor, wind blowing over his face, closed his eyes and breathed through the night air. It was nice, to be back from the land of endless ice and snow, to bask in the light of the city of the Asgardians.

They passed the gates without much of a fuss, as it was still early in the morning and the sun hadn't risen yet over the river that bordered the city. The horses slowed down nearly by automatism, their footsteps clicking in a slow rhythm on the paved, empty streets of the higher levels of the metropolis. They arrived to the palace through the smaller, eastern entrance, welcomed only by the night guards, who opened the large, undecorated doors and looked at this new Jotun prince with a mix of contempt and horror. Father's decision to marry him to a Jotun, Thor knew, hadn't been a popular one. The Allfather had been however deaf to the protests of the main noble houses of the realm and had decided to follow through his marital plans. The palaces guards were known for their conservatism, and nothing but sheer respect and loyalty for the king kept them from contesting his decision and chase the intruder.

They got rid of the horses and enterred the main building without exchanging a word. Thor had demanded for his apartments to be separated from the Jotun's own, at least until the wedding, and Father had denied him it. There was no opposition possible to the will of the Allfather and Thor had begrudgingly followed orders. It didn't please him, but he had grown more and more aware, as the days passed, that his future role as a king of Asgard wasn't meant to be a pleasing one.

"Thor will show you to your quarters, Loki Laufeyson, while I shall go back to my queen. Tomorow, you are to be presented to the court of Asgard. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask my son, as he is indeed to be your king and husband in the near future."

And, upon those words, Father walked away, leaving Thor alone with the Jotun who soon be his consort at the head of the most powerful of the Nine Realms. At first, he didn't move, feeling like he had been frozen onto the ground, but soon enough he could move once again, turning slowly toward his betrothed.

"Let's go."

Valhalla was a large, impressive building, with halls and rooms that seemed to go on forever and rich, traditional Asgardian architecture that mixed the curved, delicate lines of floral patterns and the strong, severe straight lines of perfect geometry. They passed through richly decorated archways, climbed up the staircase for the west wing of the palace in silence. The rich decoration of the halls felt somehow oppressive and heavy, making their silhouettes seemingly minuscule as their made their way to the top of the western tower, where his room rested. Soon enough, they were there, standing in front of the golden door, and Thor stopped, not sure if he wanted to push the door open or scream out of rage.

"Listen, Jotun," he said as he extended his hand slowly, pushing the door open. "Neither of us wanted this and there is nothing that could hurt my honor even more than this union Father seems so decided to make happen. Our kinds aren't made to be together, the same way ice and fire will never be able to coexist without destroying each other. Father might believe in chimeras but I do not."

He sighed, took a step forward.

"I just wanted this to make this clear right away."

Loki had, surprisingly, enjoyed the swift horse, though he had needed to adjust his seating so as to avoid any injury to his legs, he had locked his knees in his nervousness. Foolish of him, of course, but had never seen a live horse, let alone ridden one as it thundered down the bridge into Asgard. He stroked the animal's neck as they slowed, craning his neck every which way, his eyes couldn't possibly widen more! Flicking over every new sight, cataloging, absorbing anything that could be useful, anything his new eyes found interesting.

When they arrived at the palace of the great Valhalla, Loki gave the great beast one last affectionate pat before stumbling out of the saddle, giving a glare to the leather strap that had tried to keep his foot wrapped in its clutches. He straightened his neat Asgardian-style tunic and trousers before removing the thick cloak that had covered him before. The tunic was silk, bottle green with silver edging, fitting his body well and accenting what little muscle he had on his body.

He was quite aware of the looks the guards and everyone they pass are giving him, it takes every ounce of his will to keep his head high. It was not his blasted idea! He was just as much of a victim to this as their beloved prince. Despite this mental reasoning he couldn't help the way he ducked his head just the slightest at every look, his hands holding tightly to the green cloak and the over-large staff. He could do this. For my father, for my sister, for my people... The slow mantra came easily to mind, repeating all the reasons he was doing this. All the reasons he was going to - literally within a few moons - lie with the enemy.

He bade the Allfather a soft farewell, daring not to say more in the presence of his consort. The young frost giant could see the tension and frustration practically rolling off the prince in thick, choking waves. Finally, the older prince turned and said not but two words to him.

He followed silently, almost expecting the young man to lash out, to blame him, to make a ruckus. In his worry, he barely paid attention to what ways they went and the intricate designs of the halls and arches. He would have time to admire them later; he was sure, for all of the years of his painfully long life.

But as they came to the room, the prince simply... Stated the obvious. Loki wanted to roll his eyes as the words came from Thor's mouth, but he was careful not to do so. His magic maybe strong, but it was not fully managed, nor under his control, and if he angered the prince, surely he may just find himself dropped from one of those high towers he had just been admiring.

The doors were pushed open, and finally, Loki spoke. "There is no one who could possibly understand better than i." He whispered softly, moving into the room only after Thor had, hanging his cloak hesitantly on the rack he could barely reach. "I will miss my brother's coronation, my sister's wedding... I-I've been forced from my home... I know you think of my kind as monsters, but we feel just as much as you, or even those of midgard." He managed the small speech with an even, soft tone, which is more than he could have said when he gave it to his closest brother, Faiador, not a fortnight ago. He had raged, thrown everything in his reach, and then retracted into a small, blue ball of sobbing Loki, which even the second youngest child had no difficulties picking up.

"Forgive me; I did not realize i would be intruding your private rooms. I had thought perhaps we would have separate rooms for the time." He looked around curiously but did not move from his place by the door. He was rather hesitant to do much other than clutch his staff, as if it were his life support. He was not welcome here, that much was obvious, as far away from his home as possible, in new skin even, and he would never be welcomed. Not by his soon-to-be husband, nor Thor's people... He would live his life likely quite alone, attending only what was necessary to keep up their bond between Asgards and the Jotuns. Or at least, that's what his young frightened mind supplied.

~Thor's expression kept the same hard, resolute expression, and he walked into his rooms without another word. He was tired of the Jotun's small, equal voice, the way he seemed to avoid every wrong step with the agility of a rat. He felt weary in the core of his bones, not from today's ride and their meeting with the king of Jotunheim, but at the idea that, now that the disguised ice prince lived with them, it would be even harder for him to persuade Father to come back on his decision. He let his whole body fall on the large seats that decorated his antechambers, made a noncommittal move of the hand, gesturing the way to his bedroom. The rules of hospitality were clear, and applied as well to Asgardians as to Jotuns. Father could order him to share his rooms with the intruder as much as he wished, there was no obligation on his part to lie with him, at least until the day of the wedding.

Drained, he closed his eyes, passed his hand over his face, hoping the Jotun would simply disappear from his life tomorrow morning. It wasn't going to happen. Father had worked for this alliance for too long, and the king would let him marry a princess of Vanaheim or one of the daughters of the noble houses of Asgard if he could use his eldest son to insure the future peace of the Nine Realms.

He didn't move for a moment, letting his mind wander in a state of half-consciousness. He remembered the battered armies coming back to the capital with tales of dark, ancient magic and giants with hearts of ice. There had been terror and rage in their faces, poetry in the way they sharpened their blades. He had been but a young boy when the war had ended, and one of the first memories he had kept from his childhood was the disfigured face of one of his father's generals, coming back from the campaign in Midgard. The sack of Utgarda had been feasted for days in Asgard, and the surrender of the Jotun army had been the object of many songs of the most talented bards of his generation since then. He remembered wishing to destroy them all, the monsters that menaced the realm of his ancestors, lifting his first hammer with thoughts of revenge.

On these thoughts, he felt himself slowly drifting to sleep, still clothed on the chair of his parlor, as the first sun rays pierced through the horizon.

Loki had been about to insist that he take the antechamber, after all, he was the one interrupting Thor's life, but the Asgardian had none of it. Loki was too weary to attempt to fight. It had been a long day, preparing for this, and he would have happily slept on the floor at this point. Finally he bade the young prince a good night before moving through the door. He dared not touch the trinkets or any of his betrothed's personal items, settling for propping his staff up on the side of the bed, unbuckling his bag of personal effects that had been strapped to his back and placing it beside the staff. From the bag, he fished his night clothes and a thick journal, pausing to examine the room.

To be quite frank, Loki would have rather slept outside than in this room, for though Thor lay outside the walls of the bedroom, his presence was a constant one.

He was surrounded by the prince's things; armour, lesson books, spoils of hunts, different weaponry, even the scent he found clinging to the young prince's skin was smothering him, no matter where he took a breath .. Loki gave a shudder, drawing his knees up close to his chest, wrapping his arms around him. Everything about this was unfamiliar, and it didn't set well with him. What he would give to be back in his room, the scent of frost lilies wafting from his basin, the feel of the soft furs he slept on... He would have given everything to be back home.

Slowly, Loki began to undress, removing the gold ribbon that had been woven into the braid, letting his long hair free. It touched just below the small of his back, though he would likely have to cut it shorter. Hair was a luxury in Jotunhiem. If you had it, you were high up on the pyramid and kept it long. Being the youngest prince, he had that luxury. Had he not been training for this role all of his life, it was quite likely Loki would have lived a very easy childhood. Instead it was all about learning the Asgardian customs and ways, grooming to be the very best consort, in hopes of pleasing the Allfather and keeping the piece.

Slowly he stripped from the silken tunic and trousers, easing instead into a sleeping shirt and pair of shorts. To conclude his nightly ritual, he pulled out a thick, leather bound journal, opening it to the first page. He had charmed it himself, the pages would appear blank, until one wrote the password on the very first page, in the very middle of the page. It was a very simply password, the name of his mother, and almost instantly, every journal entry he ever wrote had appeared, starting from his tenth birthday. Another neat little charm. The book had infinite pages that never grew loose or faded, so he could keep track of every entry.

He wrote of the meeting and the rituals before it, how nerve wracking the whole experience was, and how unwelcomed he felt. Despite these feelings, Loki found himself eased by this small bit of normalcy, and was soon closing the feather quill pen in his journal before curling on top of the covers. That was another thing, even in his new skin, he was far too warm here, it felt as if someone had pulled a body suit of wool over him.

He adjusted one last time, moving the pillow in order to better curl himself in the corner of the bed, his eyes finally closing. He would make the best of this, if only to have something positive to write to his family about.

With that last thought, Loki allowed himself to be swept away by the sweet waves of unconsciousness lulling at his mind, easing his mind and body into a look of serenity and peace.