Author's Notes: In Norse mythology Loki loses a bet against the dwarves, so they sew his lips shut. This is my own spin to it.
"How much?" Loki inquired, as he examined the hammer in his hand.
Loki was in Nidavellir, the land of the dwarves. Months earlier he had commissioned Brokkr and Eitri to make a weapon worthy for the god of thunder. Thor's birthday was tomorrow, and he wanted to give his brother something special to celebrate the occasion.
The dwarves didn't disappoint. They had forged the hammer in the heart of a dying star, and it was immeasurably powerful. Like Gungnir, it returns to the hand of its master when thrown, and never misses its mark. Thor would be pleased with this gift.
Brokkr smiled. "We want something of equal value for Mjolnir."
"Fair enough. It is a fine weapon," Loki remarked. He whispered an incantation, and a large sack of gold coins materialized before him. "Will this suffice?"
The dwarf shook his head. "We don't want your money. We already have plenty of that." Brokkr's eyes glinted wickedly at Loki, the eerie smile never leaving his face.
"What do you want? A favor? Do you want me to procure a rare artifact for you?" Loki drawled, affecting a bored tone even though fear started pooling in his stomach. The dwarf's expression was making him a tad uneasy. Whatever it was Brokkr wanted, didn't bode well for him.
Eitri, who had been quiet during the whole conversation, finally spoke.
"We want the pride of a prince."
Loki blinked. "Pardon?"
"Your words and magic are your greatest weapons. If we take those away, then what are you?" Eitri said simply.
It took Loki a while to respond. The trickster averted his eyes, recognizing Eitri made a valid point.
"I'm no one," he admitted finally.
Loki's answer seemed to satisfy the two dwarves.
"If you want Mjolnir, you have to give those two up. It's a fair trade, don't you think?" Brokkr said.
Loki hesitated. He didn't trust the dwarves one bit, but he had no choice. Brokkr and Eitri were the two finest metal smiths in the Nine Realms; no one else could make a weapon of this caliber. "Alright. But this is only temporary, yes?"
Brokkr laughed. "Of course. We don't want the All-Father or Thor coming after us." He picked up a needle and a spool of enchanted twine.
"Kneel."
Loki obeyed. The dwarves took a moment to gaze at the rare sight before them. They appeared to take great delight at seeing the haughty Aesir prince on his knees.
Eitri walked over and stood behind him, rough hands holding the trickster's head in place. The dwarf stroked the god's face, as one would soothe a pet. Loki's skin crawled at the unwanted contact. He wanted to get away, but he willed himself to keep still.
Brokkr swiftly pierced the edge of Loki's upper lip. Pain, sharp and bright, engulfed Loki's face and spread to the rest of his body, yet he didn't flinch or make a sound. The god merely stared resolutely ahead, never closing his eyes. His fists were clenched tightly, the only indication he was feeling any discomfort.
The thread was rough and it snagged flesh as Brokkr stabbed and pulled. Blood immediately welled up and started trickling down in steady rivulets, fat drops of crimson spattering the floor. The dwarf didn't bother being gentle with the prince. This was Loki's payment after all.
It didn't take long before the trickster's lips were sewn completely shut; Loki suspected he wasn't the first person the two brothers did this to. As the minutes passed, the pain gradually increased. He felt his magic, along with his healing power, fading away.
Loki stood up on shaky legs. The trickster gingerly pressed a hand to his lips, wincing at how tender it was.
Brokkr motioned for Eitri to hand over the hammer. "We will undo the spell when we see fit," he stated, while admiring his handiwork. "Once the twine vanishes, your magic will return."
Loki inclined his head, acknowledging the terms. He then took Mjolnir and left.
'Perhaps I didn't think this through,' Loki mused, as he plodded slowly along Nidavellir's rocky landscape. Unfortunately for him, he still had a couple of miles to traverse before he could reach the Bifrost site. He wondered for the nth time why he had a knack for getting into these types of situations.
Blood continued to dribble on his chin, down his neck, soaking his whole front. Loki ripped the hem of his tunic and applied pressure on his lips to stop the bleeding, but soon the fabric was sopping wet and it couldn't absorb anymore. He gave up and threw it away.
The trickster felt lightheaded, his grasp on Mjolnir getting weaker with each step. He then used both of his hands to carry it, staining the once pristine handle. Loki made a mental note to clean the hammer before giving it to Thor.
He learned a valuable lesson today: never make deals with dwarves. It was his last thought before he collapsed.
Thor's birthday feast was in full swing, the mead flowing freely in the Great Hall. Everybody in Asgard was invited, but the crown prince wasn't partaking in the revelry. He was in Loki's room, watching over his brother. It didn't seem right for him to be carousing while Loki was recuperating from his injuries.
Loki had lost a lot of blood before Thor found him. The god of thunder had never been so frightened his entire life; at first glance it appeared that Loki had died. His brother wasn't responding no matter how loud Thor yelled at him to wake him up. He had even threatened to give Loki a good thrashing if it was another one of his awful pranks. Thor was expecting Loki to jump up and start laughing at him for being so gullible; the trickster had pulled that particular stunt many times before.
'And people think I'm the reckless one,' Thor mused. He heard the door open and the All-Mother came in.
"How is he?" Frigga said quietly, carrying a basin full of water and a small towel.
"Still sleeping."
"Good. He needs to sleep for his body to heal," Frigga said, as she wrung the excess water from the cloth. She started dabbing at the blood that had encrusted on Loki's lips. "What were you thinking," she murmured, as she gently washed her son's wounds, "trotting off like that and making deals with dwarves. Honestly, you have no regard for your poor mother."
Frigga proceeded to wipe Loki's hands, frowning when she saw there was still some blood wedged underneath her son's fingernails. The royal healers had done a rather shoddy job of cleaning them. She was going to give them a talking to later.
"Once you're awake, you're grounded young man," the queen of Asgard said, shaking her head. She turned her attention to her other son. "Why did you leave so early? Your friends are looking for you."
"I'd rather stay here with Loki. I don't feel like celebrating today," Thor admitted. In truth, it vexed him that nobody appeared to show any concern for his brother even though the trickster had obtained such a powerful weapon for Asgard. The Aesir never seemed to acknowledge anything Loki did for them, and the thunderer, for the life of him, couldn't understand why.
"You should go mother. Queen Nerthus is probably missing your company," Thor suggested.
"I still have to put this salve on Loki's wounds. She can wait."
"I'll do it," Thor volunteered. "I'll take care of him."
Frigga hesitated for a moment then nodded. "Very well. I'll check on you two again later," she said, handing the jar of ointment to Thor. "Don't forget to put salve on his hands too." She kissed Loki's forehead then exited the room.
Thor reached out and grasped his brother's hand. He had always admired Loki's hands; his fingers were slender and delicate looking while Thor's were stubby and callused. The trickster's hands were those of a scholar's, more suitable for holding a book or a pen than gripping a sword or a lance. Thor peered closer and noticed deep, crescent-shaped marks on Loki's palms, where nails had bitten into skin.
Rage that had been smoldering since yesterday emerged again, as Thor applied the balm on Loki's hands. How dare those dwarves hurt his brother. He had half a mind right now to go to Nidavellir and pay Brokkr and Eitri a visit.
Loki whimpered in his sleep, snapping Thor out of his reverie. The younger god's brows were furrowed and he was breathing fast; it looked like he was having a bad dream.
"I'm here brother. You're safe," Thor said soothingly, rubbing his thumb across the trickster's knuckles. It seemed to calm Loki a bit.
Thor continued to talk. "Thank you for the gift Loki. It's a marvelous weapon," he murmured, looking at Mjolnir. He noticed the handle was caked with dried blood, making the leather darker than usual.
The thunderer fell silent, overcome. Words of gratitude seemed inadequate, seeing his brother like this. Loki willingly became mute and powerless just for him. He had paid for Mjolnir in blood and pain.
The crown prince gazed at his brother, angry red marks on his lips a stark contrast to his pale skin. Thor gently stroked Loki's cheek, careful not to wake him. For a moment Thor forgot how to breathe, Loki's beauty hitting him like a punch to the gut.
Loki had always been achingly beautiful. There was an ethereal quality to him that only he possessed, and the Aesir envied him for this. Most of them would be delighted to learn that the dwarves had disfigured the trickster.
Because once the twine disappears it would leave scars. It would stay with him forever.
But for Thor, it only made Loki more perfect in his eyes.