The acrid smoke hung thick in the heavy air of the caverns. It burned Loki's nose with every breath, making the uncomfortable journey even more bothersome. He wondered how the dwarves of Nidavellir lived in such oppressive and cramped quarters. For the hundredth time in less than an hour he was thankful that he had not been born a dwarf.

Loki watched as an old, sour-faced dwarf sidled up to him. While the man stood slightly shorter than him, Loki couldn't help but be astonished by his size. It appeared as though he was wider than he was tall, if that were even possible.

"What the Hel you want then?" asked the dwarf in a gruff, slurred voice.

"Uh – Odin sent me," Loki answered carefully.

The dwarf looked him over skeptically, one of his pudgy fingers digging deep into his bulbous nose.

"That so?"

"Yep," Loki answered with a smile. "I am his son after all!"

The dwarf grunted loudly and pulled his finger from his nose. "Name's Bran," he said as he extended his hand.

Loki did his best to hide his disgust as he looked at the dwarf's hand. Reluctantly, he shook it, a queasy sensation rolling through his stomach as he thought back to where the finger had just been.

"Whachu be needin'?"

Loki uncomfortably wiped his hand on his trousers before continuing. Digging into his pocket, he pulled forth a scrap of paper and handed it to the dwarf. "That," he said as he nodded to the sketching.

Bran's brow furrowed as he inspected the drawing carefully. The design was simple enough – nothing more than an ornate dagger with a hidden compartment in the hilt and a detachable blade. It hardly seemed worth the time and effort to make it.

"This all?" Bran asked with a sneer. "I'm expected to interrupt our work fer this?"

Loki grinned and nodded vigorously. "That's right. Do you like it? I drew the design on the blade myself."

The dwarf gave a loud snort before spitting at Loki's feet. He couldn't help but wonder where the spit would have landed had he not been Odin's son. He refused to let the dwarf's unruly manners bother him. He had important business to take care of, and the small man would certainly face the consequences of his act – they always did.

"Follow me," Bran announced in a resigned voice. He quickly stalked down the muggy corridor, not bothering to see whether Loki was actually following. The loud thudding of his lumbering steps was quickly drowned out by the droning clang of hammers against metal. It was impossible to find the source of the cacophony as the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Before long they reached a heavy, soot-covered wooden door. With a grunt, Bran kicked at the door, causing it to swing open and violently crash into the wall. The loud thump of the door against the smooth stone wall startled the dwarf on the other side from his slumber.

"Wha –," the crease-faced dwarf muttered as he looked to the door through bleary eyes.

"Get up, Trig, you got work to do." Bran threw Loki's drawings at the dwarf as he impatiently waited for him to wake up.

Scratching his knotted red hair, Trig picked up the sketches and studied them carefully. "Just this?"

Bran nodded. "Odin sent the boy to get it made, so do it right."

Trig looked at Loki, noticing the thin boy for the first time. It wasn't often that Loki wished to disappear, but the look on the dwarf's face made him wish for exactly that. A vicious snarl appeared on Trig's face as he grinded his teeth sharply.

"I ain't work for that boy!" he bellowed as he lurched from his chair. "He ain't nothing but a dirty thief and a liar!"

"You ain't working for him," Bran said flatly, the tone of his voice making it abundantly clear that he wasn't open to discussion. "You're working for Odin. Do your work and give the boy the dagger. After that, you can do whatever the hell you want. Got me?"

Trig's eyes darted between Bran and Loki as he considered his options. Slowly, the anger melted from his face and was replaced by a small, forced smile. Shoving the paper in his pocket, he walked towards Loki and placed a large, meaty hand on the boy's thin shoulder.

"Come on kid," said Trig in a measured voice, "you can come watch me work."

In truth, there were countless places that Loki would rather be than in Nidavellir watching a dwarf work, particularly when that dwarf was Trig. The diminutive man watched Loki like a hawk as he worked, only taking his eyes off the boy when it became absolutely necessary.

For his part, Loki could not understand why Trig hated him so deeply. Sure, he had sabotaged his wagon and stolen some valuable weapons or ingots while the dwarf was distracted, but Loki didn't think that was worthy of such enmity. If anything, he thought Trig should be commending him for his efforts. After all, the planning and preparation that went into the efforts was considerable. The fact that everything went off without a hitch and he had gotten away with ease was praiseworthy.

If he hadn't gone back to gloat about his amazing feat, Loki was certain that Trig never would have discovered his actions. There was a small part of him that wondered if bragging to the man he had just robbed had been a mistake. Surely his trip into Nidavellir would have gone much smooth had he not done that, but it still struck him as a good idea. What's the point in playing a trick on someone if you can't enjoy it with everyone else?

Loki's wandering mind helped the time pass much faster than he expected. Indeed, even Trig's icy stares and angry mutterings drifted past him as he reminisced about his past and future exploits. It was no until Trig's angry bellowing filled his ears that his attention came back to reality.

"Wake up you damned boy! Take your precious dagger already so I can give you my fist!"

Loki looked down at the proffered dagger with a sly smile. Purposefully slow, he reached out and places his fingers lightly on the cool metal without grabbing it. "It looks very nice, Trig," said Loki calmly. "You certainly know a lot more about making weapons than you do about fixing wagons."

Trig's face burned bright red as he thrust the hilt of the weapon towards Loki. "Take it you fool."

Giving a slight shrug, Loki grasped the dagger and quickly placed it in his bag. "Well, I can't say it was nice seeing you again, Trig," Loki said amiably as he secured the weapon. "Let's not do it again, what do you say?"

Letting forth an angry growl, Trig lunged towards Loki, his large fist leading the way. The fist struck Loki firmly on the chin, but it did not have the effect that Trig had hoped. Instead of sending the boy to the ground, he found his hand firmly lodged in the boy's face.

"Entirely too predictable!" Loki said mirthfully from across the room. "You were so focused on me that you never noticed that I was over here the entire time."

Trig's teeth ground together loudly as he struggled to free his arm from the fake Loki. The rubber-like decoy held his hand firmly, refusing to budge even an inch.

"Be careful there," Loki said as he cautiously approached the struggling dwarf. "That stuff is very volatile. Move your hand around too much and it's liable to catch fire."

The dwarf watched Loki as he retrieved the dagger from the decoy's possession. He wondered whether he was telling the truth, or if the warning had simply been another lie to make him look the fool.

"Get my arm outa this thing, or else!" Trig shouted as Loki strolled confidently towards the door.

Looking over his shoulder, Loki flashed him a devious grin. "Don't worry, it will disappear after a few days. I hope you're left-handed."

Letting out a chuckle, Loki left the room and closed the door quietly behind him. His dislike of Nidavellir had suddenly disappeared. He was almost excited to come back some day and play with Trig once more.