Prologue

So maybe it wasn't a good idea to bewitch the Enchantress's sister into becoming enamoured with a goat for the past week—but it was funny. And besides, no one else had the sense to tell her she'd been fawning over a farm animal, so it wasn't entirely his fault, now was it? He'd even seen Thor smirk a little at that one, though relieved as his brother had been that Lorelei was no longer after his own affections, he had given Loki a thorough scolding (which Loki had deflected with an eye roll and an exasperated sigh). It was all just a bit of fun, really. There was absolutely no reason for the Enchantress Amora to take it so seriously. It wasn't as if he'd tricked her into writing bad love songs that rhymed trotted with besotted and convinced her to sing them in front of the whole feasting hall. She had absolutely no reason to be upset.

Okay, maybe she had a bit of a reason to be upset. But, really, it wasn't his fault that some drunken moron had offered to set her up with his pig. And seeking her revenge on him rather than the swaying man with the suggestively waggling eyebrows and the spacious barn was really not fair. It seemed like everyone lacked a fair sense of justice when it came to dealing with Loki.

"Oh, come now, if you're really that jealous, I can set you up with a ram of your own!" Loki smirked as he backed away from the furious Enchantress, "You and your sister could write duets!"

She sent a power bolt blasting his way and he skittered to the side, feet nearly slipping on the slick surface of the Bifrost beneath his feet.

"Fine! Fine!" he huffed, "How about a stallion? I hear they're quite good at—" The breath was forced out of his lungs as a bolt caught him in the centre of the chest, knocking him down the Bifrost until he was a mere fifteen feet away from Heimdall, who guarded the way between Asgard and Midgard, home of the humans of which the God of Thunder was so fond.

Loki knocked Amora's next bolt out of the air before casting an illusion around her. Dozens of Lokis stood around her, making faces and cackling wickedly while the real Loki tried to sneak away undetected. A powerful hand came down on his shoulder and his illusion rippled like static before Loki could strengthen it once more. It was enough for the Enchantress to rip through the laughing hoard, the figures dissipating into smoke.

"Thank you, Heimdall," she smiled, her lithe fingers digging into the front of Loki's tunic so hard that her nails clawed into his chest. Loki shot a glare at the guardian whose actions were further proof of the whole unfairness the Aesir people seemed to direct solely towards the God of Mischief. Surely Heimdall wasn't still mad about Loki turning his sword into a snake? That was ages ago!

"I'm sorry about your sister," Loki pulled on his most apologetic expression, "but if I hadn't introduced her to her behooved betrothed then she never would have discovered her passion for poetry."

A crack like thunder jolted through the air as Loki's head struck the crystalline surface of the rainbow bridge.

"You just never learn do you, Loki?" the Enchantress's words were ice, stabbing deep into the Trickster's skull. "Not after Odin trapped you in that tree and not after the dwarves sewed your lying lips shut. Nothing you've done has ever been for the benefit of someone else and everything you've ever said has only been to hurt. If you couldn't speak for a million lifetimes it would still be too soon."

Loki squirmed in the woman's grip, feeling power that he's never felt before course through her fingers, trapping him as if Mjollnir was sitting on his chest rather than the twig of an Enchantress. "W-what are you doing?" he gasped, his words barely escaping his lips.

"I'm taking some inspiration from the dwarves and making sure that no one hears from you in a long time," she told him. "From this moment forth, you will not be able to speak or utter a sound. You will stay this way until someone is able to take away your words even when you are unable to say them."

She looked down at the gaping God beneath her, his green eyes staring panic-stricken up into her dark ones as his mouth formed a silent scream.

"How very unattractive," Amora said derisively, tilting Loki's face from side to side, "I understand why the dwarves decided to practice their needlework on you."

Loki's heart pounded rapidly in his chest. He could not think of a way to escape, his magic rendered useless now that he could no longer speak. It remained like a still pool inside of him, untouchable, blank, and distant. He was forced to watch as the Enchantress pulled a silver needle out of the air, its end trailing a wire as black as night behind it, and pierced it through his trembling lips. Her stitches were even and taut and nigh unbreakable.

"Good luck, God of Lies," she blew him a kiss before shoving him through the portal to Midgard, "Perhaps some foolish mortal will take pity on you."

Heimdall watched silently as Loki fell.

Sound of the drums
Beatin' in my heart
The thunder of guns
Tore me apart
You've been - thunderstruck

"THUNDERSTUCK!" Tony yelled out the lyrics as he took a hairpin turn at ninety miles an hour. Orange desert dust spewed up from his tires as he took the turn, filling the air like smoke before the car broke through into the clear dusk air. The headlights caught the figure on the road before he did, sending a sprawling shadow down the highway. "What the f—" Tony swerved out of the way, the tires of his sports car spinning as he regained control and screeched to a halt at the side of the road.

He left the headlights on while he got out to inspect the damage. "Dammit, I just gave this thing a new paint job!" Tony cursed. Not that it mattered—he could have the thing painted again in a matter of hours. It was just the fact of the thing. Just when he had taken the newly painted car out for a spin, some whackjob had to wander into the middle of the highway and ruin it.

"Hey!" Tony called out to the figure. He barely registered that the asphalt was shattered in an almost perfect circle around where the man stood swaying on his feet. "Hey, what do you think you're doing? You nearly wrecked my car! This is hardly the best place for a night-time stroll."

The man was moving his hands to clench at his mouth as if he were about to be sick before he collapsed to the ground.

"One of those nights, huh? Hey, man, if you've had too much to drink I'll call you a cab—" Tony halted a few feet away, finally close enough to discern the features of the person in front of him through the haze of his car's headlights, and it was Tony's turn to feel sick.

The person on the road in front of him was none other than the God of Lies and Mischief himself. This man—this God—had single-handedly caused the Earth so much trouble that he was constantly on the Avengers' 'Most Wanted (to kick the crap out of)' list. Last time, he'd turned nearly half of New York into the North Pole. Tony wished he had hit the bastard.

"What is wrong with your face?"