The God of Mischief

Sometimes, he wonders if it would have been better if Odin had not brought him to Asgard; forgotten him at the Grand Temple of Jotunheim as his birth father Fárbauti had, because growing up, he sees the difference in the way in which Odin looks at Thor and at him.

He sees it in the fact that when Odin looks at Thor he sees justice, honour and courage, and in the disappointment that is always there in his eyes when he looks at him.

He sees it in the fact that Thor, like the lightning and thunderstorms he weilds, is the light of Asgard, blazing and radiant and good. That Thor, like the light, is truth and righteousness.

He sees it in the fact that when the Asgardians look upon Thor they see him as a blessing, and in Loki they see a curse, something that is twisted and warped and wrong. Liesmith, they call him, and he pretends it does not burn and sear him like Thor's fire; accepts it because it is befitting of the darkness that has always been within himself.

He has always been uttering falsehoods to people; speech is as much a weapon for him as the darkness that bears it. And finally, it seems he has found a meaning - that like Thor, the weilder of thunder, he is the weilder of lies. He, who can command language to dance and sing to his will.

Silvertongue, they call him, and with his tongue he creates chaos; creates chaos to hide the emptiness of his mind. He knows that this emptiness is his power. But even the knowledge that he himself is a lie, that he is no more to Odin than the weapon that his mind is to him, is better than this emptiness.

He laughs at the irony, because Odin has taught him to call what he is a monster. Jötun, that is what he is, and he lies to himself when he believes that he was anything but a falsehood. Because even Odin's lie, his Æsir disguise, cannot hide what he is. Monster, like the frozen and frigid brethen of the realm he never knew.

He nurtures the emptiness of his mind because it shields his disbelief and bitterness and desperation, hides the source of his darkness even if it cannot hide his darkness. But even in that he knows that all his lies cannot hide the fact that he himself is a lie, everything he pretends to be is a lie because he has never been anything but a monster.

Sometimes, he wonders if that is why Thor and he were never equals, wonders why Odin's love for Thor was as much a truth as it was a lie for him. He wonders if the only thing he has ever known are lies because unlike Thor, he is a lie.

He does not deny the fact that he is a Frost Giant, because even under his impenetrable lies the truth is transparent, even if he hides the darkness of his soul he cannot hide the poison that flows from his tongue. His words are honey laced with venom and silver blades in golden scabbards, brutal and vicious, designed to tempt and break. Not swiftly, like a knife hurled, but slowly, like a knife that twists and bleeds.

He lies, because if he can never do anything right, if he cannot be golden and right like Thor, he would be silver and wrong. He wonders if that is why even his truth is a falsehood, why only his lies are ever believed, because Thor is the truth and he is a mere shadow of his brother, no matter what he does.

Because no matter what he does, he cannot change what he is. Silvertongue, Liesmith, Sly One, Trickster, Harbringer of Doom, God of Mischief.

Trickster, they call him, and it is the only name he is proud of, because he has earned it. His mind has always been his strength, and unlike the blunt, ungraceful manner of combat which reflects Thor's nature, he dances.

He moves with the same sinewy grace as the language which he weilds, moves as swiftly as the mind which is his power.

He discovers his talent when he is a mere child. Magic. An ancient art and science, far more powerful than Thor's physical strength. He is Loki, the greatest sorcerer in all nine realms.

He wonders if he should not have discovered it because even if it is unappreciated, he hoped it would be more than another disappointment to Odin. He wonders why if Thor can use his strength, he cannot use his. He wonders why, no matter what he does and who he is, it is never enough.

He mocks and sneers and smirks at those who dare think he is the truth when he is only a lie, crafts truthful lies with a silver tongue and laughs at the tears and screams he has crafted, because this is what he always was, lies because he himself is a lie. And like the language he weilds, his silver tongue gives him a meaning, and for once he is not second - best.

He is Silvertongue because he lies to himself when he thinks he is anything but a monster; he is Trickster because he deceives himself when he believes that he is not worthless; and he is Liesmith because he himself is a lie.