Tournament of Thieves

7

Loki enjoyed the stew.

Skadi told him to get some sleep; they'd start out the next day. Loki could tell she didn't trust him – the feeling was mutual – but he decided to get some rest anyway. He was talented at getting rest without actually sleeping. Nobody could teach that better than snake poison in your face for a millennium.

As he lay there, his body relaxed, he couldn't help but think about how they were going to find Utgard. He and Thor had kind of just walked up to it the first, and only, time he had been there. He agreed with Skadi that it probably wouldn't be so easy to find again.

So how were they going to find it? Loki turned it over and over in his mind, thinking back over his and Thor's visit to the fortress. They had been met by a giant who had offered to guide them there. On entering the towering Utgard, they had marveled at the size of everyone there. The grandness and complexity were beyond anything they had ever dreamed of being located in the cold Jotunheim. And then, Skrymir, their guide and the king of Utgard, had given them a series of trials to complete.

Thor, Loki, and Thor's servant Thialfi had all failed.

And now he was trying to go back there. What was he thinking?

Loki cleared his mind and settled into a state of quiet rest, allowing himself to be relaxed but ready for anything. In this way, he was able to restore his energy while ensuring if Skadi tried to kill him in his sleep, he'd be able to defend himself. In this way, he lay silent for a long time.

Skadi shook him halfway through the night, and the trickster walked over to the fire as Skadi rolled herself up in her cloak to get some rest. The fire crackled as he stared around at his surroundings, taking a deep breath.

Jotunheim was a fierce place, full of harsh beauty. The rocks, the ice...it was nothing like Asgard. Asgard was beautiful, too, but not like this. Asgard was tall and strong, but it had the delicateness of a flower about the world. It had a strong structure, but a frail beauty, something Loki had discovered was quite easy to snap, to shatter. Asgard seemed to be more of the beauty of life, of letting live. Jotunheim was the beauty of survival, of triumph over the hardest odds.

Loki shook his head. He was letting this get to him. He had never thought this way about Jotunheim before. Not since he was a kid.

Whoa. Stop right there.

Loki focused his gaze on the fire, seeking to eliminate those childhood memories from his mind. He had spent years trying to tamp down his memories of Jotunheim and of the years he spent here. He didn't want to remember. His years here were not his proud ones, and he would rather be an Asgardian any day.

Although he wasn't one anymore.

Loki forced his mind to clear by staring intensely into the flames. The various shades of colors danced in a rhythmic dance, the deep orange of the base lightening into the bright yellowish orange of the tips. Threads of a deeper color wound through the brighter portions, a medium blue hue edging the fire. The sight was mesmerizing.

He didn't know how long he had been staring into the flames before he realized he was slowly leaning closer and closer to the leaping tongues. A lock of his dark brown hair was almost touching the fire. He yanked back, fear jolting through his veins. That was way too close.

But the fire had already cast its spell over the trickster, and he couldn't prevent his arm from reaching out to the enchanting flames. Hyperventilating, Loki tried to pull his hand away, but he couldn't stop it. His muscles were beyond his control now, bending to the will of the fire that they longed to be immersed in.

His fingertips were within inches of the fire now. Loki could do nothing but watch in trepidation as his hand continued to approach the glowing flames. Internally bracing himself, Loki gritted his teeth as the flames began to lick at his hand as it entered the fire.

A warm, tingling sensation rushed through his flesh and he winced. Even after all these years, there was no pain. There never was.

The flames nestled into the palm of his hand just like a small kitten. Loki, regaining control over his muscles, slowly curled his fingers. Doubt flitted across his face as he removed his hand from the fire, eyes on the orange tongues. Dancing across his palm, the flames reached up into the air. They were perfectly fine without the fuel of the wood to burn on.

Loki could feel the energy, the power, the heat concealed within the orange tongues of flame. It was ravenous and fierce and yet contented and life-giving, all at the same time. The fire slithered across his skin, not burning him in any way. It wouldn't; fire was Loki's friend. Although Loki wasn't always fire's friend – he was almost surprised it still responded to him, even after all the times he had ignored it.

"That's impressive."

Loki started at the strange voice, clenching his fist to quench the flames. He stood and turned to face the stranger, who was standing at the edge of the circle of firelight.

"Skadi," Loki called in a low voice.

The frost giantess rolled over, glancing up at the trickster. "What is it?" she queried. She glanced in the direction Loki was facing and got to her feet, grabbing her bow, an arrow already nocked.

"I'm not an enemy," the stranger said in a placating voice, raising his hands. "I just want to talk."

"Then start talking," Skadi ordered, moving swiftly forward and covering the stranger with her bow. Loki felt a pain in his wounded arm just seeing her ready to fire it. "And no sudden movements or you're dead."

"I see you control fire," the stranger said, nodding in Loki's direction. "That's quite a skill. I don't see it often around here."

"Why are you here?" Loki demanded, striding forward. "Answer us."

The stranger, hands still raised, slowly stepped forward until he could be seen clearly by the light of the fire. He was a frost giant, about seven feet tall, with short black hair and gleaming grey eyes. The tips of his hair were frozen.

Seating himself on a rock, the frost giant looked up at Skadi and Loki serenely with a touch of mischief in his eyes. "I heard you're looking for Utgard."