Pairing: Huntsman/Loki, Thor/Loki
Rating: M
Word Count: Don't know and don't care
Warnings: Sassy Jotun!Loki
Don't own SWATH or Thor. Sadness.

Total crap summary but character limits bite me in the ass. Oh, and the full title is actually "The Huntsman, Loki, Thor, and Odin Who Needs to Mind His Own Damn Business." Again, character limits bite me in the ass. Idea from a fanart by ric941 on dA/under-base on Tumblr. Seriously, FrostHunt needs more love.

Chapter 1

Winter had come upon him again, but he should not have been surprised. Winter occurred at the same time every year, as with Spring, Summer and Autumn. This year, however, the winds seemed to make the skin of his face sting a bit more, the rain fell harder, the trees died earlier, the air was colder. Something was different.

When the muscles in his feet and lower legs began to protest, the Huntsman finally decided it was time to rest for the day and set up camp. He found an area under a canopy of trees where the ground was still relatively bare of snow and he had a chance of making a fire. After setting his pack down, he picked up his axe and machete and an empty satchel before heading out again to look for some firewood and possibly something to eat.

Finding the wood was simple, which he stuffed into the satchel he brought with him. It would not be as easy to maneuver around, but it wasn't like this was the first time he had done this.

A few minutes later he heard what sounded like running water nearby. Although he couldn't use what he had with him, he figured he may be able to find a long stick that could be altered for fishing. But when he stepped out of the trees and was able to actually see the river, he found that someone had already beaten him to it.

From what he could tell, where he was standing, they were smaller than him, and they had black hair that curled at the bottom. A cloak with a fur collar was draped over their shoulders, but that was all of their wardrobe that was visible. They were crouching on the ground and appeared to be trying to catch a fish with their hands. Blue hands.

"You there! Hello!"

He was somewhat taken aback when the crouched figure jerked their upper body around and he saw that their face was the same color blue as their hands. And their eyes were as red as rubies. Were they really so unwell that their eyes managed to turn so severely bloodshot? When the smaller figure suddenly stood up and took a few steps back, he held his hand out in front of him.

"I won't hurt you. I just want to help." Their black eyebrows furrowed in scrutiny.

"Help…me?" There was no tremor in his voice, just confusion.

"Yes, well, your skin has turned blue from the cold and…" The other male glanced down at his hands, then back up and looked at him as if he was stupid. As if they were supposed to be that color. "There is something I don't know."

The other male turned away and looked down at the water, his eyes shifting from side to side. The brunette was about to ask what he was doing when ice covered his right hand and he suddenly lunged forward and jabbed his arm into the water. Seconds later he straightened and raised his arm, revealing a yellow trout flapping around on the tip of the ice spear. The Huntsman didn't have time to be impressed before a fish came flying at him. He managed to catch it, barely. He watched as another fish fell prey to the icy weapon.

"My camp is nearby. We can cook these there. And you can warm up," The Huntsman said. All he received as a response was a nod.

As they made their way through the forest, the Huntsman would occasionally glance over his shoulder to see if his red-eyed companion was still there. He hid his smiles whenever he saw the blue figure every time.

When they reached the campsite, the brunette asked the other male to hold onto his fish while he started the fire. As soon as he finished that, he picked two extra sticks and used them as skewers to cook the fish over the fire. While the Huntsman poked at the burning twigs and leaves, he noticed that his companion was not sitting nearby but was standing at the edge of the trees with his arms crossed. His fur cloak had slid down to the crook of his elbows, revealing ornate markings along his shoulders and upper arms.

"Why don't you come sit over here where it is warm?"

"I am fine. Thank you."

"There is plenty of room."

"I'm. Fine. Thank you."

"I just don't want you to die from illness."

The other male whirled on him, his red eyes flashing and appearing to burn the same way as the fire.

"I'm not sick!"

"Then why are you blue?"

"I'm supposed to be blue. All Frost Giants are blue."

"Frost Giant?"

"Surely you know what a Frost Giant is."

"I know what a Frost Giant is. But…I thought they were, well, giant."

This seemed to strike a nerve, because the man's expression of annoyance quickly transformed into one of anger. At first the Huntsman thought he was going to leave, but he realized that he wouldn't because he still held his dinner hostage, in a sense. He looked away from the other male in favor of rotating the fish.

"What is your name?" He asked.

"I'm not interested in sharing and caring."

"Alright. If you are a Frost Giant, what are you doing all the way out here?"

"That is none of your concern either."

The Huntsman heaved a sigh and shook his head. When he looked again at the fire, he turned the fish once more before picking each one up by the end of the sticks. He held one out to the other male, but he didn't move.

"Your fish is done."

"Could…could you…bring it to me?"

"What? Scared of a little fire?" He asked with a chuckle.

"If it wasn't for me, you might still be wandering the woods right now looking for dinner."

"Yes, you are right. I suppose I do owe you that much."

The Huntsman rose from the rock where he was sitting and walked over to the smaller male, holding the fish out to him. He narrowed his black eyebrows with apprehension, and his red eyes glanced up at the larger man before he snatched the fish from his hands and took a bite. His eyes widened when he felt a hand on his bare shoulder.

"Thank you for catching these."

The Huntsman tried not to look surprised when the other male pulled away and stumbled back, yanking his cloak up and fully covering himself again. He also tried to convince himself that he did not see a pale pink handprint on his shoulder.

When the Huntsman awoke the next morning, it was because he felt the rumbling of his stomach. He felt colder, despite the faint sunlight shining through the trees, and he realized it was because his fire had burned out during the night. He knew asking his campmate to go catch their breakfast would be a dumb idea, but he was not awake enough to do it himself. But when he sat up and looked around, he found that he was alone.

After making sure that none of his belongings were missing, which they were not, he searched the surrounding area for any signs of the other male. He was good at covering his tracks, because there were no hints of where he had gone to be found. Because there had been no traces of blood or signs of a fight anywhere, the Huntsman figured that the man…Frost Giant…whatever had simply left while he was still sleeping.

"Hmph. Ungrateful little bastard anyway."

Being a Frost Giant and having the ability to encase your arm with ice really came in handy, pardon the pun, because trying to catch a fish with just a stick wasn't nearly as efficient. Eventually, the Huntsman gave up, snarling and throwing the stick like a javelin. He humorously hoped that he managed to hit something when he threw it.

He decided that all he could really do was wait until he made it out of the woods and found some form of civilization. If he came across any possible prey on the way, he could always use his trusty axe and vast array of knives if he needed to.

It was not long after that the Huntsman reached the edge of the forest and entered a village. The townsfolk were just waking up and opening their shops, inns, pubs and whatnot. Even though food is what he needed at the moment, he could really use a drink right now. Ale for breakfast. Doesn't get any better than that.

Unless you over indulge, which he did. He hadn't anticipated how frustrated he had become from the night before and he ended up drinking too much. As well as starting a bar fight, which began inside and moved outside…through the front window.

He landed on his side in the mud, sliding a couple feet before standing up on unsteady legs. The owner of the pub was maybe a few inches taller than him and had broader shoulders, but he was in no way intimidated. He had fought men bigger than that. He had not, however, fought against horses, so when the man dodged one of his punches and he hit the horse instead, earning a kick to the chest, it took him a while to get back up again.

After that, his vision became distorted and he could not find his balance. He was eventually knocked unconscious, but he can't recall when that happened. All he does remember is water filling his lungs and desperately trying to draw air into his body. The next thing he knows is that he's being yanked by his arms out of a tub of muddy water and is surrounded on all sides by men wearing armor and helmets decorated with what looked like wings.