In the morning, Loki was gone. The journey to Svartálfaheimr was a cumbersome one, as the Bifrost was not an option for unofficial business. Loki did not relish the thought of explaining to Heimdall what his dealings in the realm of the dwarves were. So he traversed Great Yggdrasil, slipping between the cracks in the realms and space, and trekking through Her massive branches until he reached his destination. Lacking his horned helm, Loki still bore the leather and golden armor of his more regal attire, hoping to afford himself a slightly more hospitable stay were he recognized as an Aesir prince. While the dwarven kingdom was not allies with Asgard, they remained cordial in their relations; many Aesir still sought dwarven-forged weapons and armor, as it was the most coveted in all the realms. Their forges were renowned for the best craftsmanship, and it was for these forges that Loki journeyed forth. He had a request of the four brothers, the renowned sons of Ivaldi. They were second to none in terms of skill, and Loki needed the best craftsmen to forge what he sought after. Conjuring his magic to him, he hiked to the castle's entrance, staying alert to his surroundings.
Sif was bored. This was one of the many inconveniences she dealt with during Loki's absences; she no longer had anyone to occupy her time. She had already sparred with Thor, who had left the arena with a huff after she disarmed him for the third time, muttering about shield maidens and their bad tempers. The Warriors Three had wisely retreated to the banquet halls, well accustomed to Sif's ire when Loki was missing. They chalked it up to her lack of someone to pester, as Loki was the favored target of her aggression. Hogun was perhaps the only one who could see her penchant for harassing the God of Mischief for what it really was: affection. However even the grim warrior didn't know the true depth of their fondness for each other. None of them knew the way Loki's green silk sheets were more familiar to her than her own furs; didn't know the way Loki was the only one allowed to touch her hair besides her mother. Didn't know the way Loki's eyes would always shine so brightly when she trusted her long hair to his ministrations, despite what he had done to it many years ago. Didn't know the way that it burned at his heart and reminded him not only of his failures, but also the depth of emotion he held for the Goddess of War. That she trusted him so readily was a daily tribute to the Goddess of War and her forgiveness.
The forges were not hard to find, smoke and brimstone filling the air. The guards that had met him at the entrance of the castle took the lead; guiding him to the brothers he sought. It wasn't long before they reached the entrance to a cave. Loki couldn't see inside the dark chasm, but followed diligently behind, though still wary of the dwarves that guided him. The darkness of the cave mixed with the dust and soot pervading the air made it difficult to breathe, and Loki did his best to stifle the urge to cough, always the diplomat. He did not want to provoke the dwarves' ire. Not yet, at least. Finally they reached their destination, as two soot-covered dwarves pounded on a freshly-forged sword, still glowing red from the fire, sparks flying and illuminating the dark cave as their hammers struck the glowing steel. Loki could feel the heat from the forge, and mentally cursed his idea to wear his formal leather armor, as sweat pooled on his brow and at the small of his back. "This is why I never come to Svartálfaheimr," Loki thought resentfully, putting on his best diplomatic smile and striding forward to meet the brothers.
Satisfied that the brothers would complete the items he had tasked them with, Loki left the dark cave, thankful to inhale a breath of fresh air. The perspiration had slicked back his dark hair, and the leather now chafed at his skin. The guards had left him to his own devices once he had finished his business with the brothers, so he was forced to find his own way around. Making his way back to the main village, Loki looked for a place to stay, as he planned on remaining in the dwarven realm until the brothers were done with his items. While he knew he could easily find a cave to keep him for the night, the comforts of a warm bed and hearty food were hard to pass up, and he made his way to what looked like a popular tavern among the dwarves. Loki took a place at a table in the corner, not wanting to be too auspicious. The shadows suited him better, anyways. Taking a long draw from the mead he had received, Loki listened to the conversations going on around him, always taking the opportunity to gain new intel about rumors or uprisings that could potentially be of importance to Asgard. Most of the dwarves prattled on about trivial matters, and another large portion of the clientele was there solely to become intoxicated. There was a group of dwarves, however, that, while slightly intoxicated, let the libations loosen their lips on more intriguing matters. Loki focused on them.
"Really, Brokk? I find that hard to believe!" A bearded dwarf commented, raising his bushy eyebrow.
"Aye! It be truth! There be naught which my kin and I cannot forge!" The second one bragged, lifting his hefty stein of ale to his lips. Loki smirked, knowing this to be a lie. It was widespread knowledge that the sons of Ivaldi were the best of their craft. Alcohol, of course, was the likely culprit for such a grandiose statement. Still, the dwarf's confidence intrigued him, and Loki found himself motioning to the bartender and sending more drinks the way of the two dwarves, hoping to hear more. They gladly accepted the tankards, calling over to Loki.
"Friend, join us!" the first dwarf cajoled, his ale sloshing haphazardly as he raised his mug.
Loki, sensing it would be rude to ignore the dwarf's offer, emerged from the shadows, settling into the empty seat next to the two dwarves. To say they were intoxicated would be a vast understatement, as the odor of alcohol seemed to pervade the air, mixing with their determinate lack of hygiene, it was an unholy aroma. Loki forced himself to smile in the direction of his new companions, mentally cursing himself for meddling with these loathsome creatures.
Seventeen tankards of ale, and there was not a sober person left at the table. While Loki had been drinking significantly less than the dwarves, the demanding pace they had set, and their competitive nature left Loki less than lucid. And after they had moved passed the usual jovial camaraderie, the dwarf called Brokk returned to his boasting, his friend (whose name Loki could not be bothered to remember) rolling his eyes. The dark prince smirked, taking the opportunity to finally confront the dwarf Brokk.
"Surely there must be someone that has bested you in the forge," Loki began, raising his ale to his lips.
Brokk spluttered, swinging his massive tankard to jab it at Loki, who had already defensively grabbed one of his knives strapped to his ankle. "Do not doubt me and my kin, ye of Asgard!" He shouted somewhat slurred, the mug in his hand swaying slightly. "I can best any smith from any realm!" He glared at Loki, trying his best to impress his conviction upon the trickster god.
"Then I don't suppose you would be afraid of a little wager?" Loki began slowly, luring the drunken dwarf into his snare. It would really be all too easy to con this dwarf out of some priceless treasures, simply because he could not hold his liquor.
Brokk's eyes widened, intrigued by the challenge, and sized up the God of Mischief, setting down his mug of ale, his companion eyeing him warily. "What propose ye, Asgardian?"
Loki smirked, letting his confidence color his words. "I have commissioned a few great treasures from dwarven smiths. Their makers would have me believe they are second to none. Would you prove them wrong? Or would you let their boasts go uncontested?" Loki challenged Brokk pointedly, knowing that there was no way the dwarf could let his ego be slighted.
Brokk spluttered, not anticipating such a direct challenge from one of his own race. Meeting Loki's eyes, he proclaimed loudly, "I shall best this smith—he knows not whom he faces! I shall forge treasures greater than ye could have even thought to commission!" Brokk's companion eyed him with trepidation, obviously sensing the danger that Loki presented, but unable to communicate this to his severely intoxicated friend. Loki grinned predatorily, sensing victory.
"Then your items shall be judged against mine, upon completion." Brokk nodded along, agreeing anxiously. "And if my items are proved to be superior, I will gain possession of everything." Loki continued, Brokk considering the terms laid out. Loki knew his terms were steep, but after the affront on the dwarf's ego, there was no way he could resist the challenge.
Brokk, with brows furrowed, met Loki with hard eyes. "Aye, I agree to the terms. But if I win, yer head be mine."
If it had not been for centuries of practice keeping his face a blank mask, Loki would have balked, shocked at the dwarf's demand. Of all the things to demand…but Loki was not about to go back on his deal, so sure was he of the Ivaldi brother's skills, and so great was his desire for the treasures the dwarf Brokk promised to produce. Surely this was simply the custom on Svartálfaheimr, demanding someone's head as repayment for a bet lost. Whether it was the innumerable tankards of ale that influenced him, or the promise of yet unforged treasure, Loki stuck out his hand, taking the dwarf up on his perilous bet. It was not the first time the trickster god had made bets with such dire consequences upon losing, and usually his odds were not nearly as good. He had nothing to fear from this dwarf, Brokk. Soon he would return to Asgard, arms laden with treasures, and spirit away to his lady's quarters to once again envelop her in a passionate embrace. Just a few more days.
So sorry for the wait everyone! I hope the length makes up for it. Thank you all for your reviews on the last chapter, let me know how you liked this one!