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Loki had learned at a young age to never accept any offer to spar. Assuming they were genuine and not out to mock him, it always ended terribly. Even were he to win it would never be satisfactory or accepted by anyone.
Truthfully, the only reason someone had to spar with him was to gain a chance to attack him without consequence. Loki had stopped accepting fights on Asgard centuries ago. The only ones he allowed were on Alfheim or when his brother insisted with enough force and annoyance that it was easier to simply capitulate to get the man off his back.
Unfortunately, despite most Aesir leaving him alone, there was always one stubborn fool whom couldn’t be dissuaded.
Anthony Howardson; famed weaponsmith, competent fighter and handsome favourite of many women had ignored all reasonable advice and, despite numerous rejections, persisted in trying to gain a spar.
Loki was becoming quite tired of it.
He merely needed to wander near the training grounds and the man was at his side, trying to convince him into a battle. Once, he had even left the side of an Einherjar he’d been about to verse to try and fight with him.
Normally, such preference would be flattering, but instead it increased Loki’s ire. He knew the man would be like every other Aesir; out for glory and a chance to shame the second prince. To bad mouth him for his ‘cheating’ use of seidr (even if he did not once use it).
He simply could never win honourably when facing off with an Aesir. They would never believe he had won on his own merit and Loki had long given up trying.
And, unfortunately for him, the weaponsmith was present when he was dragged to the training grounds by his brother. The man had enough decorum to only approach when Thor and his band of imbeciles had picked their targets and wandered off.
The man was advancing with determined strides and a charming smile, and frankly, Loki was growing tired of refusing. While he’d had no plans to dirty himself on the training grounds, sacrifices would need to be made if it would get the man to leave him in peace.
It also had the additional bonus of keeping Thor from pestering him into a round. Just because he did not choose to fight, it didn’t mean he wasn’t proficient at it. He might not be able to beat his brother with brute force, but a weaponsmith whom rarely saw battle? Loki was certain he could triumph.
“Prince Loki,” Howardson said, stopping in front of him. “What a delight to find you at the training grounds. Would you care for a spar?”
He knew the man wouldn’t be expecting it, and he took some amusement from replying, “Certainly.”
Howardson had the grace to only look briefly startled before a wide smile overtook his face. His features were bright with delight and Loki found it bitterly fitting that such a handsome Aesir would find pleasure in harming him.
Typical.
Still, he followed along placidly as the man directed him to an available training field. Loki watched with some intrigue as the man grabbed not the usual fighting implements but instead donned what was obviously a hand-crafted sword and shield. He supposed it made sense for a weaponsmith to showcase his craft, but there was something in the man’s manner that screamed eagerness. Something seemed… off, although Loki could not pinpoint why.
He conjured a spear from his rooms. An item he often used at the training grounds, rather than his usual daggers. It minimised the mockery, even if it did not assist in improving anyone’s opinion of his skills.
Still, it did allow him to be underestimated, something that he was certain would be the case with the persistent weaponsmith.
“Ready when you are, Prince Loki.”
The delight on his face seemed genuine, not malicious, but Loki doubted it would remain that way. Once the man learned he was out-classed. When he realised that cowardly, seidr-using Loki, was still a capable fighter whom could not be bested – the anger would come, as would the disgust and shouts of ‘cheat’.
Loki hoped it would be over quickly.
Gripping his spear tightly, he stepped forward and jutted it forward for the first blow. The man parried, and Loki jabbed outwards, searching for weaknesses and an idea of the man’s tactics. However, he quickly discovered, the man was good.
It seemed; he had underestimated the man. While clearly not a seasoned fighter, he was remarkably fast on his feet and, when Loki pressed harder, discovered he was inventive and not entrenched in the strict warrior doctrine practice by most Aesir.
This was a man who knew how to fight.
And clearly, he was determined to prove his worth.
A crowd was even beginning to form and Loki was forced to put serious consideration into each move; to match the man and avoid each well-timed jab of a blade or slash of a shield.
“What is the matter, Prince?” Howardson taunted. “Are you not faster on your feet than this?”
Loki gritted his teeth. He knew the man was trying to goad him into a false move, and yet, he also wanted to snipe back. He bit his tongue and continued to search for an opening to knock the man to the ground.
“What of your famed seidr?” Howardson questioned. “When shall you bring that into play?”
Loki snarled and lunged a little too openly, needing to quickly draw back and parry the man’s blow. It locked their weapons and they were pressed close. Their breathing was coming harsh but Howardson still grinned at him.
“Do I not verse a mage? Or is that title a simple lie?”
“Watch your tongue,” Loki snapped.
“Or what?” Howardson demanded. “I thought you a master wordsmith. Surely, you can do better than that?”
Loki broke them apart and they stood with a metre between them, they were both breathing heavily as they sized the other up. The crowd was cheering and, in some cases, jeering. Loki could hear many chants of Howardson’s name, yet the weaponsmith never looked away to his congratulatory crowd.
He was smart enough to keep his gaze locked on Loki.
“Are you going to fight me or not, Prince Loki?” Howardson teased.
And Loki was annoyed. He’d been agitated at the man for weeks and it was a taunt too far. He acted instinctively and summoned and flicked a dagger at him. The man danced out of the way. The crowd gasped and started to whisper.
But, above it all, a single, surprising sound carried.
Howardson laughed.
He caught Loki’s gaze again and smirked. His words were teasing, “Oh please, prince. Is that all you have?”
His ire growing at both the unusual reaction and a further snipe. He threw his seidr at him in a tendril of green magic – and the man raised his shield and blocked it. The shield absorbed it and runes flared along the edges. They were gone too fast to read but Loki saw Alfheim script among them.
The crowd gasped but Loki stared in complete shock.
But the weaponsmith, when he grinned, it was something proud and near feral.
“Finally,” he said. “Now, we shall have some fun.” He winked. “If you can keep up with me, Prince Loki.”
Loki’s shock doubled as he realised he had been wrong all along. It was not a snipe or a taunt the way a typical Aesir would growl. No, the weaponsmith was… he was flyting with him. Or at least, he had been trying.
“Oh, Howardson,” Loki said, letting seidr pool in his hand. “I believe it is you who will be left far behind.”
Howardson’s delight only grew, further proving Loki’s assessment.
His next moves were still tentative as he moved forward with the spear, as he hurled seidr at the man – only to have his attack blocked, his seidr deflected. And when he brought out clones, Loki had never seen anyone, even an elf, look so happy at the prospect.
The man took it all as a challenge, and when he shot a barb at Loki, he responded back, until it was simply another layer of the battle.
Loki had never had such fun nor had such a genuine test of his skills among the Aesir. It was exhausting, it was exhilarating and when he finally conquered the weaponsmith and knocked him to the ground with the tip of his spear at the man’s throat. He didn’t grumble, he didn’t scowl or curse or proclaim it a cheat.
Instead, he laughed, sounding genuine and amused. Loki smiled faintly and pulled back the spear.
“Well, it seems you bested me, Prince Loki.” His eyes twinkled. “But I think I gave a fair challenge. I now need to improve and knock your clones back with greater speed. They truly are as difficult to detect as I imagined.”
Loki felt a rush of pride at the compliment which he knew now was genuine.
It was why he only hesitated for a moment before offering his hand. The man had released his sword upon being beaten. He didn’t pick it up, instead, he grasped Loki’s palm allowing him to haul the weaponsmith to his feet.
They ended up close and without a sword and spear between them, Loki realised exactly how handsome the man was, and the way he smelt not just of sweat and dirt, but coal and smoke from a forge.
“I shall have to improve my shielding. I think the runes could be amended, but my Elvish is not as good as it could be. Do you think I might bother you with advice on the proper runes? And, of course, a fresh spar in a few weeks? I’m sure I could make it worth your while. A round of drinks in a tavern every time you best me? After all, I can hardly improve unless I am versing the best Asgard has to offer.”
Loki looked at the man, so utterly peculiar, so completely oblivious or uncaring at the looks of the Aesir around them. So bold as to pronounce all his intentions and wishes to the second prince. So… absent in announcing him the ‘best’.
(And yet, the man had continually disregarded others to try and spar with him. He had been showcasing it all along. And Loki had… missed it all.)
Loki found himself so completely ensnared with curiosity and excitement. He had never encountered another Aesir like him. He’d never imagined he would, it was how he had misread the man from the very start.
But now, he had a greater understanding, and he only wanted to know more.
“Your shielding will need improvement,” Loki said, hoping to keep some of his eagerness contained. “But I’m certain I can find time to assist you, if only to allow me a decent partner with which to practice my skills.”
Howardson’s smile remained large and friendly.
“Then, shall I take you for a round of drinks? After all, it is clear that you have won today.”
You have won.
The words were a balm on so many wounds. The man’s smile was equally soothing on so many slights.
“I would enjoy a drink with you, Howardson.”
“Why not, Anthony? I’ve had your spear at my throat, surely, we can dispense with the formalities.”
Loki chuckled. “You are incredibly bold.” He inclined his head. “But very well, Anthony.”
Anthony bent down and grabbed his sword. He sheathed it but kept his shield accessible. Loki couldn’t help admiring the craftsmanship and the hidden runes. So subtly woven into the interlay that they were easily missed if one didn’t know they were there.
“I have the perfect tavern,” Anthony began, while gesturing for Loki to follow him.
He completely ignored the people around them, his gaze only on Loki as he continued to talk. Loki felt as if the man was as well hidden as the runes he’d carved; completely lost among the Aesir until one knew what they were looking at.
Loki was certainly looking now, and he planned to unravel everything there was to know about Anthony Howardson.
He already knew it was a decision he would never regret.