Tournament of Thieves

18

Loki landed in a partial crouch, one hand on the cold stone floor and his legs bent beneath him, ready to spring into action. As he slowly rose, he realized that he no longer had his shield. He had lost it sometime during his journey through the worlds, most likely when that portal had sucked him into Muspelheim.

He was standing at the end of a long corridor. The floor beneath him was tiled with stone, and thick wooden beams made up the walls, rising to the dark ceiling. The lighting was dim where he stood, although it brightened a little at the other end of the corridor. There, the shadows danced along the walls in the flickering light from two torches propped in wall sconces.

Lightning flashed, and Loki's eyes widened as the dark silhouette of a figure emerged from the lightning bolt. The figure was tall, but not too tall – so a small giant, if that was even his species. He had black hair from what Loki could tell, and eyes that gleamed in the light.

Green eyes.

As he was wondering whether he should walk down the corridor or not, the figure held out a hand and beckoned to him. "Come here, Loki."

It was the voice that had spoken to him in Muspelheim, Niflheim, and Ginnungagap.

Loki hesitated. As he was debating whether or not he should comply with the order, the corridor rippled beneath his feet and suddenly, the long, empty passage was gone. He was now standing right in front of the figure.

The figure stepped forward, so Loki could make out his features. His hair was definitely dark, and his green eyes had mischief written all over them. He was a frost giant, by the looks of it. His features had that strong, fierce look about them, and his skin was the typical pale of that race.

"Who are you?" Loki asked impetuously, suddenly and inexplicably afraid of there being any silence between him and this strange jotun.

The jotun grinned. Spreading his hands out, he said, "I am everyone, Loki."

Loki jumped as the jotun shifted, growing to the height of fifty feet, his features transforming into Skrymir's. Before Loki had time to register what had just happened, "Skrymir" shifted again, but this time into the seven foot Ragnarr. Then he returned to his first form and smiled again at Loki.

"Who are you really?" Loki demanded, moving from foot to foot nervously.

"You don't know me?" the jotun asked. "I suppose that's really not that surprising. You never had any reason to know me."

Loki wrinkled his brow as the jotun stepped towards him, eyes gleaming. "Loki, I am your father.

"I am Farbauti."

Loki froze. This...this was his father? He couldn't believe it. No, he just couldn't believe it. He couldn't. There was no way. There was simply no way.

Farbauti cocked his head, studying Loki inquisitively. "Don't believe me, I see. Boy, how else could I know exactly what your mother said to you about fire and ice?"

"That's not proof," Loki said quietly.

The jotun sighed and ran his fingers through his thick black hair. "What do you want, boy? How do you want me to prove it to you?" Striding towards Loki, Farbauti reached out to grab him. The trickster jumped back in shock.

"Relax, boy," Farbauti said, but his tone made it sound more authoritative than soothing. Eyes wide, Loki stood still as the jotun took his arm firmly. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not yet."

With that thinly veiled threat, Loki allowed Farbauti to yank him forward. He didn't have the strength to resist. He felt like he was ten years old again, asking his mother why he didn't know his father.