A/N: Written for a prompt on Norsekink LJ which asked that Loki in the movies, at least after Thor's botched coronation, was not the real Loki but an impostor, who was found out after The Avengers.

Disclaimer: not mine, no money

Music: "Wooden Pints" by Korpiklaani

Back from Helheim

They finally found Loki in Utgard, a wild realm split into small kingdoms inhabited by local trolls and rock giants as well as outcasts and adventurers from many a different species. Thor and the Warriors Four had quested here often in the past, and from those times had some connections that allowed the party to seek food and shelter in well-protected dryads' groves, goblins' burrows, and on one noteworthy occasion even spend the night in a mountain giant's glove.

The smalltown Heimdall had pointed them to was a bustling marketplace, where the travellers wound their way between piles of fruit and vegetables, craftsmen advertising custom-made magic weapons and armour, sacks of seeds and fertilizer (ranging from unicorn droppings to dragon dung, as the selling Earth Giant advertised), and other merchandize.

Vendors with trays tried selling the newcomers sausages in buns, 'personality pies', or smorgasbord – 'the real one with real board' (in the flavours cedar, oak and pearwood, organic). From shaded booths, Troll women glistening with suntan lotion were offering horns of warm mead fresh from the goat, stout from the yak, or – brand new – whisky from the highland cow.

A pair of dwarven smiths offered a bag of vibranium coins for Tony's iron man suit. Some scantily clad Elven women advertised their services to Fandral and Steve, the latter of whom turned less red than expected (soldiers probably had their needs seen to even back in WW2), but Bruce put his foot down and shooed them off. In this realm of magic giants, everyone seemed to sense the Hulk in him, and they gave him room.

The party made their way to the largest building, which they took to be the chieftain's residence or town hall. Up close, though, a sign identified it as „The Greedy Goblin Gambling Hall". Two Frost Giants flanked the door – icy, towering, red eyes scanning the crowd. Thor gripped Mjölnir harder, and Sif extended her glaive.

„Whoa there, big guy, keep cool!" Tony Stark tried to control the situation. „Let Brucie handle the Blue Man Group, 'kay?"

But before their own green giant could interfere, one of the blue bouncers spoke up, smirking: „Here we meet again, little princess. Remember me?"

Volstagg, Steve and Hogun had to restrain Thor. Thunderclouds gathered above them, and lightning struck in nearby hills. Bruce assumed the lotos position, taking deep, calming breaths.

A crowd of spectators was quickly gathering.

„Two silver kronar that the fatty can't restrain the hammer-guy."

„Not gonna take that one."

„Five kronar they'll wreck the casino."

„Norns beware! My sister works there. Six öre Thrym can bend the tin man in a knot."

„Done."

„Aww, isn't the red-head pretty?"

„Too small for you, Skrymer. You couldn't put your ..."

„Gentlemen, ladies! Please disperse. There's nothing to see here, everything under control. Of course you are all welcome to place your bets and enjoy yourselves in the Greedy Goblin Gambling Hall."

The human man with dark receding hair looked small and vulnerable between the giants flanking him, but somehow emanated authority.

„Son of Coul!" Thor's rage evaporated as quickly as it had set in. The clouds above dissolved.

Even Hawkeye did a double take: Agent Coulson, alive and well, clad in dark green, with plate armour and vambraces adorned with curling vine motives, quite similar to Haldir's outfit in the Lord of the Rings movie; a sight to behold.

„Well met, friend! How come you are alive? I saw you run through right before my eyes. Loki – no, that foul creature in his shape ..."

„And a good day to you, prince Thor. Captain, Mr Stark, Dr Banner, agents, everyone. Here you are, finally; I'm touched. Give me a minute to hand over shift, and change."

A minute later, Coulson, now in casual Dökkalf wear – dark leather trousers and a jerkin – joined them and explained. Indeed he had been dead. Queen Hela of Niflheim had told him he had earned a place in Valhalla, but had asked him to postpone that and first meet her father, Loki. Loki, who, as it turned out, had committed suicide by melting his Frost Giant self in a volcano on Earth right after discovering his heritage.

The 'Loki' to take the throne had already been the impostor, that creature's later fall from the bifröst just its way of returning to its lord Thanos out of fear of being found out.

Talks with queen Hela had been quite the revelation for the agent. For one, she was a couple of billion years older than her father currently. As she explained, she'd been in existance ever since mortal life-forms that could die from old age had evolved. Her father, as god of chaos, needed to die and be reborn now and then. She'd lamented this too-short and shitty life of his. He had died young before, she'd said, sometimes in gruesome ways, but never been depressed like this.

The queen of the dead had then professed her trust that the mortal to whom Thor had sworn allegiance after barely meeting him would be able to help with her father's mental state. Coulson had agreed.

Talking on the way, they reached a kind of garden café, advertised by a large wrought-iron sign above the hedge as 'Hassan's Mittguardian Specialties Restoran' in English and runes. The place wasn't overly busy early in the afternoon, so the company got quickly seated. (Oriental style, on cushions around a tablecloth on the ground. No doubt so that the same furniture worked for guests of different sizes.)

Two waitresses inquired eagerly after frieds and family in New York, and badgered Tony and Steve for autographs, until the manager shooed them off. While Volstagg and the other Asgardians dug into their shawarma like starved gluttons, Phil made introductions.

Hassan complained animatedly about the hazards of running a restaurant on a foreign planet. There was no coffee in Utgard. No coffee! Tea neither, only herbal. How was he to attract customers in the afternoon if he couldn't serve coffee with his wife's homemade baklava? There were also no almonds to be had, no rice, no tomatoes, and no ketchup. They'd improvised burgers with sweet mustard (Root Gnome Brand), and those went reasonably well with the curious local populace, as did the lahmacun they sold as pizza, but they'd given up on fries. The realm had no potatoes either, and deep-fried parsnips with mayonnaise just could not compare.

More and more humans trickled in, all of them dressed in local garb, or what the Avengers took for it: from threadbare white gowns (hand-me-downs from Vanirian charity, Fandral suggested) through uniforms like Coulson had worn on the job, to shaggy fur loincloths for some of the guys (that probably some charitable Troll youth had grown out of).

Apparently, the word had spread that the Avengers were in town.