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Loki stayed up late that night as he often did, studying, alone. No one was present to see the stranger materializing in his room, or nearby to hear their conversation.
Loki stood, out of habit picking up the dagger he always kept close to hand, and studied the stranger. A sorcerer, obviously, or he couldn’t have appeared out of thin air like that. The man looked oddly familiar, with his disheveled dark hair and pallid, angular face, dressed all in black. It was when Loki met the stranger’s rather wild green eyes, eyes which were taking him in curiously, that he realized.
“You’re my real father. Aren’t you?”
The stranger’s eyes widened for a moment. “I had forgotten that theory,” he murmured as if to himself.
Loki had been suspecting it for months now, ever since his fiftieth birthday had passed unnoticed. He had slain a dragon all by himself, sneaking away for the hunt so that Thor could not steal his thunder (so to speak), but Father hadn’t seemed to care at all. It had occurred to Loki many times over the years that he bore little resemblance to Odin, but he had ruthlessly suppressed those thoughts. In recent months, however, he had not been able to stop the suspicion that this could explain Odin’s indifference to him. If Frigga had been unfaithful, Loki must be a constant painful reminder of that.
Loki had tried to learn the identities of any likely candidates, but his search had been fruitless. And it wasn’t as if he could simply ask his mother if she were an adulteress.
The stranger looked… very much like Loki. This had to be his answer.
The stranger was watching him and evidently realized that hiding the truth was now impossible. He lifted his chin, resolved.
“Yes, Loki. I am your father. And - and I love you very much.” The older man hesitated only for a moment before holding out his arms. Loki moved into them without hesitation and closed his eyes in relief as he was clasped tightly.
After a time he became aware that his father was speaking to him, quietly.
“I am so sorry I cannot be with you. You might say I am under a curse. I have no escape. But I had to see you, to warn you.”
“Can’t I help you break it?” He stepped back to look at his father, without letting go of him. “There must be some way. If it’s dangerous, I am not afraid.”
Loki’s father looked at him in apparent wonder. “I was like this once,” he murmured. Then seemed to gather himself. “I am so proud of you.” He paused, and Loki wondered how his father, never having seen him before, could understand so well that Loki needed a moment to let those words sink into his soul.
His father finally resumed speaking. “If it were possible, believe me, I would ask for your help. Some things cannot be helped… my son.” Loki’s father looked him in the eye. “But never doubt that I love you.”
Loki swallowed and nodded. His mother was married to the most powerful man in the universe, of course there was no escape. He squared his shoulders. He would endure it bravely. He would be a worthy son. “What did you come to warn me about?”
“Do not go to Nornheim, a few days hence. Invent any excuse you must, but stay here.”
“If I don’t go, my brother - my half-brother - will get himself killed. He’s too brave for his own good.”
“Loki, I personally guarantee that your brother will return alive. I want him to survive as much as you do. But you must remain here. Can you not trust me? Would I have risked coming here were it not of the utmost importance?”
Loki nodded reluctantly. His father regarded him with a rueful smile.
“Also, take this warning as your most sacred oath: never go to Jotunheim. Never go near any Jotun. Never go near the Casket of Ancient Winters or any other Jotun artifact. Treat all things Jotun as if they had the plague. Swear to me.”
“I swear it, Father.”
Loki’s father stepped back and raised his hands to cast the spell that would take him away, but Loki had to keep him for just a few more moments. “Wait! Will I see you again?”
His father looked sad at that, and Loki realized with despair that his father was going to die soon, somehow, and knew it. And Loki could not do anything, though there was nothing, nothing he would not have done. “No. Forgive me, but there is no help for it.” He put a hand on the side of Loki’s neck, like Thor was always doing, and then crushed him close for another embrace.
After a moment, Loki felt his father fade away. He kept his eyes closed for a long time, pretending. And then he opened his eyes, and faced the rest of his life.
Thor took his friends, Sif and the Warriors Three, to Nornheim while Loki lay in the healing room, laid low by an ailment the healers could not diagnose. As it turned out, Thor’s warrior band was outnumbered by one hundred to five. Sif and the Three were killed, and Thor would have been as well if not for the timely intervention of a mysterious stranger, a sorcerer. He was an older man, all in black, wearing a helmet that obscured most of his face, but he had appeared out of thin air and snatched Thor from the blades of the enemy, depositing him in a safe spot and vanishing without a word of explanation.
Thor grieved for his friends. When he found new comrades-in-arms, they were more seasoned warriors, not prone to indulging Thor’s reckless whims. When he suggested an expedition that would have been tantamount to suicide, they firmly discouraged him instead of going along as Sif and the Three had. Of necessity, Thor learned more caution. When he reached a thousand years of age, Thor was a sober and steady man, ready to be a fine king. Loki had studied hard for years that he would be ready to counsel and serve his (half-)brother, and with his help, Thor’s first regency was a time of peace and safety for Asgard.
Loki never saw his true father again, but the memory of that one meeting fortified him through all the centuries that followed. He never won more than half-hearted approval from his mother’s husband, but the knowledge that his real father had saved his life comforted him and shielded him for the rest of his life.