My brother was young once—very young. We had a sort of ... mm, defiant and petulant streak, you could say. One day, where the green hills met the pale blue sky, the light elves were displaying their prowess in the art of horsemanship. My brother, a bit of a bully and more jealous than naught, was observing them with a former self of mine. He thought that he would be better than the greatest elvish equestrian, so ... my young, peevish, former self said to him, "It takes a great man to break a stallion, but an even greater man to break those more headstrong and stubborn—why not those pair of mountain goats?"

Goats, of course, are sour in temperament and even more prideful. The two of them, also brothers, would not bow their head as long as the other remained standing.

[ a little, wistful smile settles on his lips. ]

Needless to say, it was a long, painful summer for Thor.

[ the memory is a good one, while it's littered with Loki's own pettiness, it's also replaced of warm memories of an uncooperative Thor. ]

He did it, eventually, he broke the goats as one would break a horse. Big goats, too—two, three times the size of Midgardian goes? Three, most likely, the two of them pull Thor's chariot and breathe fire on occasion. They're as hard-headed as he is.

[ maybe it's just Thor that makes him happy. ]