Another story. I know, I know. I'm a terrible author for stringing you along in different directions. But, this is all you get for the next three months as school starts back up for me and (theoretically) I'll be studying that entire time. AK and WMHB won't be updated for some time I'm sorry to say (research required for the latter and AK's chapters are long, dammit all). But, I have a whole bunch of other Lokane fics that entice me and are half-finished, so maybe I can post something up between now and then. [Crosses fingers.]

Details on this story: Yeah, another AU. Magic, medieval-ish, summoners and demons and political intrigue and Loki/Jane. All good things. Not entirely sure of what kind of Loki I'll have here but it's not dark (not as I've planned it thus far) albeit he's not as sweet as WMHB's Loki either. This one should be more devious. If luck holds, Jane will be a kick-ass character here if constantly exasperated by Loki. Feel free to give me thoughts/opinions of where this could/should go.

Hawkz

To Wish Upon a Star

They've been in her life for as long as Jane can remember. Technically they were Uncle Erik's but as he never had children on his own and her father and he had been close as family for years, Jane was Erik Selvig's heiress. As a little girl, Jane sighed over the figure of her quasi-uncle, donned in his ceremonial robes, tattoos exposed, and incongruent scholar slouch; she thought he looked cool in traditional sentinel attire. Never before had she considered the role for herself. After the accident though, Erik sought out an apprentice. Jane. All in all, a matter of ill luck, misfortune and unhappy happenstance—Jane put decades of her life into academic pursuits, had planned her life around it. It was cruel of fate to take the mantle of scholar from her and replace it with stewardship. Even for Uncle Erik.

There was hope; Erik could get better, or find another apprentice—one who wanted to be an apprentice.

For now, Jane took comfort in the small things, the constant things. She wanted to brush reverent fingers over the books' leather spines. Uncle Erik's library was bibliolatry at its finest. Her fingers did their dance, skimming over spines and Jane mouthed the titles, able to recite most of their contents from memory, but that is not what held her focus today and she stepped away from the shelves, walking towards the windows. Today, Jane contemplated the beings in the courtyard, the familiars. She let her fingers press against the glass, the warmth her fingers radiated fogging the oriel. Her attention was on those beings below, visible from the windows even this high up.

Age did not affect them as it did her kind. Well, soon it would affect her less, too, but that was based on the assumption that she went through with the ritual binding. Sparing, sleeping, meditating—more than one donned a humanoid form as they relaxed in the courtyard, some of the ones with the telltale metallic trinket puncturing an earlobe: The mark of sodality, bondage to a mage. If she chose one, and one chose her, then her own familiar would don such telltale jewelry.

Jane shuddered at the unpleasant thought, and sat down at her desk to sort through her thoughts, rubbing at tired eyes. She returned to her mind to the papers, finding comfort in her books and quills and star charts. Mages and their familiars lived a different lifestyle, a fulfilling one to be sure, but a lifestyle Jane did not wish upon herself. She enjoyed her solitude for the most part, interspersed with visits of the few associates and family she had. No romantic partners, not in years, and friends, honest friends, low in number. Arguably just one. Nevertheless, it was what she wanted and it was enough. Her mind, her sky, and her desk in the library filled with books—again, the last being technically Erik's but she was set to inherit it all and it became unofficially hers after working there for as long as any can recall—were her holy trinity. The shine of beryl from refracted light washed her desk in green light and Jane stared into the fossilized dragon coiled at the center.

Erik had caught her looking at it; reverently touching it so many times that he bequeathed it to her. It glowed from some ancient ensorcellment, whether in the light or in the dark, and Jane never tired of looking at it. Taking comfort in its glow. It was one of many pretty objects of his estate that had been in his family for generations, thus Jane felt much loved when he gave it to her one eve many past. Coal black scales and mutinous yellow eyes, the luminous green imprisoning the reptile was a few inches past palm sized, hefty and imbued heavily with magic. No matter the season it tingled cool, almost cold, within her palm. As a child it had been awkward and too large for her to hold easily and despite growing up—in some ways—Jane needed two hands even now to examine the dragon imprisoned in emerald stone. There were no visible runes or charms etched on its surface and the creature was long dead, Jane knew, however lifelike it looked. She fingered the object with careless familiarity. As far as she knew this fossilized dragon and library would be the only reminders she had of better days long past, a comfort and a curse. Jane wondered how long it would take for the bitterness to replace the sorrow aching inside her chest.

Even though she shouldn't be. They told her. They warned her. Erik even beamed at the thought of Jane succeeding him and she, craven to her core, never found the courage to refute his claims. After all they did for her, gave her—her education—they now sought to collect their debt. She could achieve her own selfish desires at the cost of breaking her uncle's heart; Jane liked to think she wasn't that cruel. She loved her uncle.

Yet here she was, pining and praying for a miracle, an intervention.

Jane looked down at the bloody, smeared runes carved into her palm. "Dammit," she softly swore. Magic kept it from clotting and flowing—living—blood swirled up to the surface of her skin, swam along the shape of the enchantment carved on top of her skin and returned to her veins in a ceaseless flow. She was careful not to pick things up with her right hand least the blood smear onto another object as she so often did the first few days after the old mage inscribed her palm.

There was no knock. "Lady Jane?"

The heavy beryllium rock came precariously close to falling to the floor; Jane caught it right-handed. "Y-yes?"

"The Keeper of Cerberus requests your presence for the evening repast," the old steward relayed. Jane ignored the uncomfortable cold sensation spiking her palm.

"I understand. Please tell my uncle I'll dine with him during the hour of Aries. Thank you, Lusseyran." The old man gave a slight bow and departed the library. Jane set down the dragon, unmindful of the smoking blood as she left.

Beneath the emerald stone, blank yellow eyes moved.

With the slow, solemn pace of an acid, the rock oozed away in smoke and ate into the desk's wood to terrible effect. Rock gone aqueous ran down the desk in rivulets, crisscrossing one another and drenching whatever lay in its path, parchment curling up unhappily once wet. The heat from the melted beryllium stone steamed and scarred in its wake. Once the stone melted to its base the dragon shifted and growled, working its way free though its coiled center stayed tightly wound, almost defensive. The dragon hissed cheerfully as it's stubby legs worked free; a haze of green magic encircled the reptile and repositioned it in the center of the room. It was no longer small and its bulk took up much of the library's space. Only there did its coils untangle to reveal a man. More accurately, a humanoid. More accurately:

A demon.

He coughed and sputtered, slumping on boneless legs. Contradicting sensations buzzed in his body-everything from pins and needles to numbing cold to nausea and disequilibrium-until he lost his composure and retched spit and bile and blood. When the spots faded from his vision he dared to move and take in his surroundings. Even with his weakened vision—to his dismay everything felt weakened and himself halved, almost mutated in his frailty—he saw twilight dust the horizon through dust-smeared windows. Aside from the time of day, however, his other surroundings were all foreign and jarring in their otherness. Emptying out his mind, the humanoid practiced meditation, which drained the pain and replaced it with peace. It left him open to attack but he sensed no hostile forces nearby and his dragon slithered by his feet, familial and comforting. And so he gathered his wits; they more than his magical and physical strength he relied on for survival.

He knew not the passing of time but it was dark once he felt whole again, still weak but no longer sick, and the bodily sensations cooled as he adjusted to this new plane. He shuddered in a breath and coughed out the unfamiliar air.

This was not home.

Although he knew where he was from those runes on the books. Midgard.

Loki swore. Of all the places to wake up.

Jane didn't see the advantages to being a public figure. All those eyes constantly watching you, judging you. Once more Jane prayed Uncle Erik made a full recovery and recovered his senses, choosing another for the apprenticeship. She freshened up in her rooms and entered the dining room, the smile sliding into concern when she saw her uncle propped by cushions and attentive servers.

"How do you feel?" she asked, back of her hand touching the side of his face and glad at the absence of a fever.

"I'm fine. Fine. Feeling better and more alive each day. How has your studying progressed with out my guidance?" Without my discipline to focus your wandering mind, was unspoken albeit the mocking tone implied it. A small flush reddened her cheeks. So she liked to think; in a scholar that's a good thing. That her thoughts went to romances, quests, dragons, heroic tales and not her subject of study was another matter.

"They go well. You worry too much." She hadn't studied since he announced her candidacy as his apprentice.

Erik smiled. "That's good, good. I'm glad you'll be the one to replace me. That brutish Ymir clan will have to make do with less say in politics. They constantly try to dominate our democracy into a tyranny where their will is law. They wanted one of their sons to replace me." His smile grew as his hand found hers. "We'll show them."

Her lips twitched in an attempt at a smile. "Yes."

"Now sit. Eat. I wish to hear how you've been these past few weeks. I've finally gotten off that mind-numbing medicine and I plan to get into the swing of things again." Jane let herself fall into a facile dialogue with her uncle and pushed aside her anxieties for the duration of the meal. And then he had to ask that question.

"Then you've decided on a familiar?" Erik frowned when Jane choked a little on the cheese course. "I see. Well, it is a large decision. I've been out of sorts and unable to escort you to their quarters. Perhaps we can go this weekend. There's supposed to be a pankration tournament then. We'll see which ones are open to a contract." She nodded, not really trusting her tongue for the moment. It was happening; no way out of it.

"Jane, dear, are you alright?"

"Ah, yes. Just, thirsty. Dehydrated probably. Too much reading and not enough water throughout the day." Erik chuckled, knowingly.

If only he knew, Jane lamented.

"I'm sure. You'd live in the library if I let you. Go and get some rest. We'll talk on the morrow." When she got up, Erik managed to grab her hand once more. Startled, she looked him in the eyes. "Thank you for doing this Jane. I know you're young, but I have faith in your abilities." She kissed his temple.

"Anything for you Uncle." And she meant it.

She was doing this for him. For Uncle Erik.

It became her mantra during her walk back to the library, but Jane was so busy chanting it that when the hand snaked out lightning fast and seized her jaw she didn't even think to scream. When she saw those luminous storm dark eyes though, primal fear shocked her limbs back to life. Her blunt nails did nothing against his leather armor and her arms were too short to gouge out his eyes. Less than ten seconds into the fear, Jane felt her magic automatically rev up as breathing became difficult. So focused on maintaining eye contact—she couldn't look away, as if under some hypnotic spell—that when the involuntary wave of magic did rush over him it shocked her as much as him. Her body worked better than her brain as it scrambled away quick as a sprit. Alas, the man was as quick as she and adapted to his prey escaping. He threw a shot of magic at the door and it was something intrinsic—like the raising of the hairs on her nape—that had Jane rolling out of the way in time. She didn't stop, somersaulting in between shelves and running for one of the back doors or even a window at this rate.

Dampening down some of the fear Jane worked a protective barrier around herself. Just in time as he reached for her again—celestial stars, he's fast—when the barrier shocked him, white electrical sparks flying. He hissed and this time Jane did scream as he ripped off her barrier. Replacement magic bubbled to the surface to replace it, each time quicker than the last. Dread pooled in Jane's stomach when she realized what his actions meant: He was going to drain her magical reserves through her body's instinctual desire to shield itself. No matter how much her barrier sent electric shocks up his arm he did little more than hiss or grunt and Jane felt her equilibrium slip the more magic she used.

Just what sort of mage is he?

One far, far better than she but Jane was not without a few tricks up her sleeve. She wasn't Erik's apprentice for nothing.

Jane chanted fast and gestured even faster. Whiplash fast, thin tendrils of electricity snaked up his extended arm next time he reached out to rip off her protective layer. Loki hissed at the magic, grunting as he felt it hit pressure points all along his dominant arm. Alarm widened his eyes when he felt the pinprick of another at the nape of his neck.

When did she—?

Neuromuscular incapacitation came next in the form of a voltage strong enough to paralyze a charging hippopotamus. Loki went down, twitching and drooling. Firm as jelly, her legs kept Jane up a tick longer than her attacker until she sighed and sagged to the floor. Safe.

A vice grip on her wrist followed by two fingers poised at her throat nearly drove another scream from her. Silenced via a voiceless spell. Jane kicked at his head and he, sluggish from the electric jolt, loosened his grip. They rolled along the library floor, knocking into shelves and furniture, and causing a rightful loud ruckus. Loki managed to pin her once more, smiling a feral grin of all teeth, and Jane felt primal fear knock away sensible thought.

Which is why her right hand slapped his cheek, powered by the remnants of her magical reserves just as he began his own chant. The resulting cacophonous boom threw Loki off her and Jane into the stack behind her.

Painful groans wheezed out of him and each breath labored in a way that told him at least one rib was broken. Blood gushed liberally from a gash on his ear. High up his pinna was a cut as if someone ripped out a thin slice of his flesh. That would be tender for a while. The female was dazed and bleeding at the forehead, but not fatally injured far as he could see. If he were in less pain, Loki would applaud her skill. He had either gotten sloppy—not possible—or this wispy figure of female form got the better of him. The latter was only slightly less mortifying. Loki grit his teeth and pushed himself to his feet.

Bit by bit his senses returned to him and as they did Loki noticed the feel of something foreign in his veins. He narrowed his eyes and shook his wrists, thinking it a physical anomaly. The feeling remained.

Loki stumbled over to the woman.

"Wrench," he coughed. Definitely broken ribs. "What did you do to me? Wench!" She did not reply, an exhalation of pain the only thing passing her lips. The foreign feel revved up into something decidedly problematic. His chest tightened and something in him whined to act.

To help her.

Loki grunted those feelings aside. Still, he didn't want her dead. Looping an arm under her back and another behind her knees, Loki placed her on the closest couch. Condemned kingsmen, she was small. Focus flickered in and out of her eyes.

"Wench, wake up." Aside from a frown, she did not acknowledge his presence. Loki ground his teeth, ready to zap her with magic if need me. He shifted into position.

Jane snapped back into clear consciousness as if someone doused her with icy water. Her eyes took in the form of the man standing over her. She knew that stance. Archaic. Old. Powerful. It was a magic unpracticed by anyone in the last ten generations, maybe more, and his poise oozed "predator", not someone to irk.

She screamed.

"Stop your screaming woman. I do not intend to harm you unless forced."

How comforting. It really wasn't.

"But I need information. Where am I? Specifically, and who rules the gilded hall?" He looked too serious to be joking, and he seemed the prickly sort so Jane didn't laugh.

Loki did not mention the foreignness running in his veins after her touch and previous spell.

Jane considered her options. Dazed as she had been, vision still blurry, and magically fatigued, she did not have high hopes of beating him to the door with most her limbs in tact. Her tongue felt thick and slow but giving her mind something to concentrate on gave the rest of her body purpose and it accommodated her. Tingling sensations jolted along her bones in a foreign sort of way.

"You're in the country of Midgard, the city of Ironwood. The ancient forest of Ironwood is adjacent to us, just to the east. There is no gilded throne. We're a democracy. The last gilded throne was under King Valaskialf, but he died well over a thousand years ago and he was not of this land." Tremors shake her voice if one strained to listen, and calm seeps into her being when the hand at her throat slackens.

Disbelief paints his face before the snarl comes back and he's gripping her collar. "You jest mortal."

"Yes, let me piss off the guy threatening to strangle me," Jane snaps, a cough leaking out. "Brilliant plan. Why didn't I think of it?" He hisses at her sarcastic bite but Jane leans in, jabbing a finger at his chest. Damn her shortness. "Listen, obviously you're lost or confused. Not sure who hit your head recently but clearly you need to wear a helmet from now on. This is Midgard. Ironwood city. The home of Erik Selvig, the Keeper of Cerberus. Now let me go." Surprising the both of them, he does. Calculation cools his eyes. Jane's not sure that look makes her feel anymore comfortable but she refuses to let him see her fears regarding him. Her body feels more stable though Jane is not confident in standing just yet.

"What is your name woman?" His tone is clipped and compared to his previous actions, polite. All the same, he sounds like an ass.

She scoffs. "Why did that not sound like a question?" His jaw flexes in a way that suggests he is grinding his teeth and forces his body into a stiff bow, one hand extended.

"May I have the name of the lady I rudely…shocked with my actions. Actions for which I apologize." Clearly apologizing wasn't his thing but Jane wanted him gone. If her name was his one-way ticket of her hair, so be it.

"Foster." He quirks a brow, expectant for more. The silence stretches on and he proves more patient than she. "Jane," she finally snaps.

He tests the name on his tongue, not really speaking it out loud.

"You are a mage?" Jane rolls her eyes and gets to her feet now. Stubborn and proud, Jane doesn't let herself waver in front of him. She almost turns her back on him, which is a ludicrously stupid notion to consider but the danger and fear is strangely not present. Plus, now he appears more prickly and distant than violent. If all he sought were answers then fine. Jane had books to read. However, why guards had not come crashing through the doors was mildly disturbing. Sound suppressor spell? Over the entire library?

Alas her tongue and temper worked quicker than her brain oft times. "Your skills at observation will get you far, stranger. Door's on your left. Hit your head on the way out." She doesn't see the sneer on his face nor the swift mask that conceals it as she does give into the inclination to close her eyes and mend the wound on her forehead.

"For all my years away and still you Midgardians can't learn basic manners." Her eyes snap open.

"Excuse me, which of us just tried to choke the other?"

"Defensive measures, I assure you. You were in no real harm. Had you been you would not be breathing currently." That danger and fear snapped right back into her person at the delivery of his words. As if they were truths. He certainly spoke them as such and his belief in them was terrifying. Mad mages are not to be trifled with. She tries not to swallow too obviously, but this man is a true predator, able to smell fear. Jane reverts to anger to hide her nervousness.

"Who are you? Accusing us of lacking manners when you intrude another's home and proceed to attack them. Unprovoked." Jane's eyes are bright the more she focuses on his appearance. "You're…not human, are you?" His responding grin looks very inhuman.

He snorts condescension, grin gone.

"Forbid the thought. I am Loki of the heavens. Capricornus by the human tongue, I believe."

"What?"

Loki rolls his eyes. "Truly, mortal, how hard did you throw yourself at that stack of books to make you deaf and dumb. I am—"

"You're a demon?" she squeaks. Loki frowns.

"I have not been called such in some time, but I suppose so. I have been given numerous titles over the lifetimes."

Jane thinks she might be sick. "A demon," she mumbles. "Dear gods, no."

"I do prefer the title god over demon."

"Shut up you fool! Fool is the only title worthy of you!" Loki reels back from the hostility lacing her tone. His body responds in kind.

"Mortal you dare—" His hand reached out to touch her, squeeze that neck and show her why her kind thought him divine, when his knees buckled and palm burned. Jane swore and cited a nullification charm. "You, vile wench. What curse have you placed upon me?"

"I didn't do anything, demon. You should not have touched me. How do you not know about the rites?"

"Rites?"

Jane leaned back in the chair, one hand over her eyes as the consequences played with her imagination. "The rites. When a mage takes office in this city, they choose a familiar. A demon. One who will protect them and aid them in all matters until death. In return they—" Jane sat up straight with such speed not enough blood flowed to her brain and she wavered precariously on her feet.

Unbidden, Loki's hand reached out to steady her. He saw his actions and sharply withdrew. This is what she made him? A glorified baby-sitter?

"In return for what," he demanded. She ignored him, muttering to herself. Loki hissed and knocked her feet from under her, sending Jane back onto the couch. Good to know the, spell, did not impede him entirely.

"In return for what, mortal?"

Jane flinched coming back from her thoughts and finding him looming above her. She waved him off.

"It doesn't matter. I can fix this. We didn't do the entire rite. I don't know what you chanted or how our magic collided as it did but we can fix this."

"We?"

She glared at him. "Yes, we. You want to be stuck together?" The disdainful curl of his lip answered that. "Good, we're in agreement then.

"All I need to do is conjure up the proper dissolution potion, we each split a few drops of blood, toast, drink, done. This is good. Fine." Jane saw Loki continued to loom. "A little personal space, demon." He rolled his eyes but complied.

"You arrogance will win you no favors, mortal."

Jane snorted a laugh. "Speak from experience do you?" She bulldozed over his potential reply. "Besides, you don't hold the high card in this relationship, do you?" It was less of a question and more of a haughty reaffirmation. Loki ground his teeth at her belittling smirk.

"You best tread carefully, mortal. Choose wiser words least your enemies make you choke on your hubris in time."

"I can tell that bridge is already burned with you. Chivalry and civility don't harbor any space in your soul." Loki laughed at the caustic undertone of her words. Quick-witted, this woman was. Jane stood and Loki mockingly bowed out of the way to let her. She went for one of the shelves on the second floor and he followed, his footsteps light.

"You never fully explained this, 'rite', as you called it." His voice and posture pretended to be bored but Loki was keenly aware of each action she took. Whether it was the spell or not, he couldn't entirely say. She thoroughly ignored him, waving a hand in his general direction like an uninterested parent telling a child to go play. He growled and slammed a book down, gaining her attention.

"I am not one to be trifled with!"

Jane's frozen form melted under the heat of her anger and Loki heard her words of the Old Tongue.

His vocal cords didn't work any more.

"Ah, much better," Jane sighed.

His hand flexed and a prick of warning pain tingled his limbs. The rite. Clearly, it was designed to protect the mage from wayward, violent demons. Loki swallowed an irascible hiss.

A pox on human magic. It should not be strong enough to bind him yet here he stood, magically tethered to this woman. The demon breathed again, more slowly this time and centered his mind.

He would see just what kind of magic was at play here. Closing his eyes and opening his mind's eye inward, Loki traveled to the chamber that housed his magic. He proceeded to assess the situation.

It was a dire situation.

Whatever rite—spell—condemning curse—these mortals used, it was a powerfully old one. He did not know humans even had access to such old magic. They were not that old, he recalled. And this magic, it was familiar in a hazy, distant memory sort of way. He had studied magic for longer than most demons, gods, or humans and his knowledge eclipsed oceans in its volume. He should know what this was, but the details remained out of reach. Loki settled for analyzing.

It was not a swapping of soul parts as some marriages and ruling alliances did to their parties. He was whole as was she but the closer he inspected his core the better he read the faint marks there. A brand, a tether—he did not know precisely how to describe it physically—connected him to her and it looped around his center in intricate, complex ways. Most spells this complex does not take seconds to materialize but hours, if not days, to finalize.

Did his own spell catalyze this?

He meant no lasting harm on her, only wanted answers. Loki drifted back to those moments previous, searching the words and intents of his not-casted incantation. He desired answers and her submission, he recalled. She had been underneath him after that tussle, and—oh. Oh yes, he remembered now.

Loki sighed, coming back to the physical plane, and ran a hand thought his slick black hair. The fault lay more with him than he cared to admit. The demon blatantly stared at the mortal. Jane.

Foster.

But of course. How could he have forgotten such a name? He considered his options when he becomes aware of Jane telling him not to commit any harm, direct or indirect, to the people here and he feels the binding effects of her command. Loki internally snarled at the restriction as his outer body gives her an acknowledged nod. She says something else he does not catch. He is too busy observing her.

Long brown hair. Not even tied up, it hung in waves that she constantly had to push back and bend behind ears with a hand. Her movements spoke of habit. Brown eyes. If he looked more closely he would be able to tell which exact shade. So many of her kind had those same characteristics he could hardly be blamed for passing them over. He still did. Nothing special or distinctive there.

Structurally petite yet what fire and vigor. That, at least had not changed over the years. Blood begot truth and time would tell him more.

Mortal, that was for sure. Nothing his senses told him made her anything but human: No high arched elfin ears; no thick, warty dwarvish nose; no reflexes or strength rival to his own, albeit an intellect he may have underestimated. May have. Just once. (History would not repeat itself there.)

Jane looked up to find him blatantly staring; he smirks at her glower. "Go sit in the antechamber. Through the door in the back, to your right. I don't trust you to roam these halls." He doesn't move and Jane quirks a brow at him. Loki all but purrs as he slides up to her.

"Must we be so antagonistic towards one another? Why, this could be a grand experience for the both of us!"

Silence.

"Or you could just ask nicely when bossing me around. I do have a name you know."

Jane inclines her head. "The door. Good night. Loki." Consciously this time, her barrier creeps back up. For the first time he smiles precisely and Jane finds she does not like it. Warnings tingle her spine.

"Yes…good night. Jane Foster." He takes one step back, his spine inclined short of a bow, flickers, and then is gone. Jane eases out a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding.

Sweet Celestials, what was that? Whatever that was, he was gone. She didn't have to worry about him again until the following day when she had the dissolution potion on hand. Jane drew in a deep breath and went back to picking books from the shelves and reading. The rest of the night though, that innate sixth sense niggled her. Like someone was watching.