"Elsa come on! I need that!"
The white haired queen giggled in a voice like bells from where she sat above Anna. The sisters were, once again, goofing off before an important event and Elsa had frozen the redhead's brooch in a cube of ice. The queen herself smiled cheekily down at her sister as she drummed her fingers on the new sculpture, swinging her feet off the makeshift tower of ice she had created in haste to escape Anna.
"No fair, Elsa! You know I don't have any powers!"
Elsa shrugged, "Not my problem."
Anna narrowed her eyes, "Oh, when I get up there…"
"All you have to do to get it back is take back what you said about my new shoes," Elsa offered, tongue in cheek.
"Never," the younger sister refused defiantly, "They're ugly and you know it!"
Elsa pretended to examine her nails, "Hm. Looks like you won't be getting your brooch back, then."
"That's it! I am coming up there!" Anna proclaimed as she started to climb the tower of ice, huffing and puffing with exaggerated effort. Attempted would have been a better word—her hands kept slipping and her slippered feet weren't able to find any grip whatsoever on the cold, wet surface.
The queen laughed, "There's a nice foothold to your left!" she hollered down to her sister.
"Thanks for the tip!" Anna shouted back sarcastically.
A muffled knock at the large, wooden door made both of the sisters freeze and turn their heads, braids swinging.
"Who is it?" Elsa called regally, suddenly all business.
"Your majesty," a gruff voice answered, "we are opening the doors to the palace in ten minutes."
The queen grimaced to herself as she sent the guard off with a polite "Alright! Thank you!" She quickly started shrinking the structure she sat on until she was able to hop off easily, now face to face with a smirking Anna. The redhead raised an eyebrow expectantly and held out her hand for the stolen brooch.
Elsa rolled her eyes, faking a heavy sigh as she handed the stolen item, still cold from the ice it had been inside a moment ago, into her sister's palm.
"You know, this is a party for you," Anna said pointedly, not paying attention as she crookedly fastened the brooch at her neck. It gleamed emerald in the dimmed winter light, shining in from one of the large, almost cathedral like windows on the wall to their left.
Elsa rolled her eyes once more, intending the gesture at first to mask her discomfort, then allowing a worried frown to darken her expression slightly, remembering that hiding emotions was what had made her first coronation so unpleasant in the first place. As the anniversary of that event, tonight was already bringing back unpleasant memories of guilt, accusations, and, above all, isolation.
Tonight won't be like that, the queen attempted to reassure herself. Yes, she had to think positively. But what if people decided they didn't like her powers anymore? What if the same things happened as before? What if Anna met another Hans? And if the Duke of Weselton showed up she'd have to explain her increasingly forceful refusals to his trade proposals, and-
"Elsaaaaa," Anna groaned, bringing Elsa out of her mental tirade, "Did you hear anything I just said?" The queen blinked, shaking her head as if to clear it.
"Uh, no, well, I…" the usually articulate queen was stumbling over her words, now worried that she'd upset Anna as well-
"Elsa!"
The queen blinked a few times more, now focusing all her attention on her sister.
"…you're really worried, aren't you?" Anna said softly, studying Elsa. The elder girl stared at the intricate carpeting as she nodded.
"Elsa, hey," the redhead took hold of her sister's shoulders, turning her so they were directly facing one another, "It's not going to be like last time. That party sucked. You've done a great job your first year, and you're only gonna get better! Plus, this year we have Kristoff, and Olaf, and-"
"What if they remember?" Elsa interrupted quietly, still looking at the floor.
"Duh! Of course they'll remember. But they'll see you now and they'll see how much more awesome you are now!" The queen finally raised her eyes to meet her sister's and saw that she was beaming.
Elsa couldn't resist a small smile. She was already feeling better, and a few snowflakes fluttered around her fingertips as she felt a boost of confidence.
"You're right," she acknowledged.
"You bet your royal butt I am! Now let's finish getting ready! Who knows? Maybe you'll find yourself a hot southern king to help you celebrate!" Anna winked mischievously, and Elsa snorted, following her sister out the door.
"The only thing I need to help me celebrate is some marzipan chocolates," the queen joked snidely.
Anna laughed, "Amen to that. At least the chocolates won't leave halfway through the party to talk to their reindeer."
"I'm certain Sven actually has quite a way with words," Elsa joked.
Anna raised her arm in an elaborate gesture as she responded, "Quoth the raven, where are my carrots?"
Elsa gave a rather un-queenly snort, covering her mouth as they walked and dissolved into giggles. Servants bustling past barely paid the still-not-dressed royals any notice, rushing to put the last preparations in place for the party. Footsteps were muffled by carpet over the wood flooring, making the whole situation seem less of a panicked one than it really was. At this point, the castle staff was used to last minute preparations. At least, all except for one.
"M'lady!" a shrill voice broke the girls out of their laughing fit. Both pairs of eyes soon were focused on a portly woman running towards them as quick as her short legs would carry her. She was brown haired, rosy cheeked, and flustered, as usual, over Elsa's current state.
Anna concealed a smirk as she gave the queen a semi-sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
"Mia!" Elsa greeted pleasantly. She offered a sheepish grin in apology for the stress she had likely caused her handmaiden. Though, admittedly, this did happen every time Arendelle had an important event.
"My queen," Mia hastily curtsied before her hand closed like an iron cuff around Elsa's wrist, dragging her along beside her in a mad dash to her chambers, "The anniversary of your coronation. Of all things! This ball is of tip top importance, it is the defining moment of your first year as queen, it is the epitome of sophistication…"
Elsa tuned out for a minute, pausing to marvel at the strange fact that listening to this woman was actually calming her frayed nerves. She turned back as best she could to give Anna a quick 'see you later' glance. The redhead stuck out her tongue and grinned before spinning on her heel, losing her balance, and continuing down a few doors before she reached her own. Typical.
"…and should a suitor have arrived early, my queen, oh, then we'd be in a real pickle, now wouldn't we? And that sister of yours is only encouraging this foolishness! It's her I blame. And that snowman…"
"Olaf?" Elsa asked incredulously as Mia threw the door to the queen's chambers open with an air of grandeur.
The handmaiden sighed, "Yes, dear, Olaf," she began throwing articles of clothing at the queen unceremoniously, and Elsa caught each one without skipping a beat.
As ruler of Arendelle, she could have had seven, or seventeen, maidens attending to her every need, though Elsa never failed in insisting that she only wanted Mia. There was a sort of pleasantness that came with their banter. Other handmaidens didn't listen to her insistence that she could dress herself…Mia did. In fact, the woman most likely didn't mind. She knew Elsa was capable of cleaning up nicely—the queen just needed to be shepherded into getting dressed.
"Oh, your majesty," Mia beamed at Elsa, who was now examining her figure in the mirror, "You look stunning, as always. You and Anna will be in the eyes and hearts of many, tonight."
"Hopefully," the queen replied demurely, thinking of Hans, "only in the eyes of the worthy, this time around."
"Now, now," the handmaiden shook a scolding finger at Elsa, "Be careful. Who determines what is worthy?"
The queen gave a small smile. Their conversations were certainly outside of the boundaries most queens had with their maidens, though she couldn't say she wanted it any other way.
"You're right, as usual," Elsa conceded with a soft smile, "Will you please assist me with my hair?"
"Of course, love," Mia started her handiwork, "Once I'm finished with you, no suitors will deny you a dance!"
Elsa doubted they would regardless of how she looked, but she kept this more sinister thought to herself, along with the fact that the thought of dancing with strangers still made her feel a bit sick. Parties, if she was completely honest with herself, would never really be her forte. There were too many faked smiles, too many forced conversations, too many people who she didn't want to pretend to like. She would much rather spend a night with the citizens of Arendelle. Not royals from far and wide, come to whisper and gape at the so called 'Ice Queen'.
Perspective, she reminded herself.
It was one night. She had been through so much worse. And as Anna said, there may be someone worth meeting there.
As Mia finished working with her hair, the queen straightened her shoulders, gave her reflection one last glance over, and strolled towards her door.
br /
Loki was falling.
He wasn't sure how long he had been tumbling through nothingness, but he didn't particularly care. Odin hadn't even cared that he'd let go. Thor didn't care. None of them cared. His so called 'father' had last spoken to him that, no, he was not capable. He was not capable, according to Odin, of doing good for him, or the kingdom, or anyone for that matter.
After Thor and Odin, along with the bifrost, had faded from his sight, Loki had closed his eyes, not particularly caring where he was headed, only that it was far, far away.
Somewhere harsh. Somewhere cold. Somewhere unforgiving. Yes. That was what he needed. What he needed was to have cold bite into his skin, hurting him so that he didn't have to feel anymore. He was so, so sick of feeling.
Empty air rushed past him and for a brief moment, the God of Mischief wondered if this was how he was destined to spend eternity. Tumbling through space and time, cursed to an existence of nothingness. Perhaps that was what he deserved. If he was the monster they all thought him, Asgardians all over would rejoice at his absence. They would all sleep easier.
They were all such fools. He was the rightful king; how could they not see? Loki was frustrated to find he could not even feel the familiar heat of anger in his stomach as he tumbled through nothingness. All he felt was a hatred so deep it was embedding itself in fact, substituting memories of laughing with Thor as children with the newly discovered idea that he had been miserable all along. He had always been a misfit, right?
Loki felt a brief pressure coupled with heat around him, then nothing again. Only this time… there was something else there. It was a slight wetness against his skin. Barely there, but still definitely there, coupled with the wind whipping past him.
Wind.
It was clear that there was definitely resistance to him coming from his left, which meant…which meant he wasn't between worlds anymore. The dampness must have been clouds.
Loki mentally uttered a string of profanities so vulgar he was sure it would have made his mother faint.
Curse it. Curse everything. He was going to be trapped. If he was crash landing anywhere other than Asgard, which was physically impossible, given the location of the bifrost when he had fallen off, he would likely be stuck there a very long time. And it wasn't as though Thor or Odin was going to rescue him.
What if he landed on Jotunheim? He was surely dead. For the love of the Allfather, he was certainly dead almost anywhere he landed. Midgard was perhaps the only realm with even a possibility of safety, and that wasn't much. As weak as Midgardians were, their entire planet revolved around a monetary system very difficult to break into. That, and most of their world was nearly covered with oceans so deep that they gave Asgard's a run for their money. Who knew what lurked beneath those depths? His earlier visits had been planned, and they had still been horrible. Not only that; he had heard a legend in which an interstellar traveler crash landed in a Midgardian desert, and upon searching for assistance was captured and held captive to be dissected by so called 'officials'.
Yes, Midgard was not a world he was hoping for. But really, what was there to hope for? Svartalfheim? He supposed from there he could eventually find a way back to Asgard, but survival would depend on where he landed, which was completely dependent on luck. The Dark Elves were not a friendly race. Alfheim, perhaps, but even that was not going to be easy. He could tell from the fact that the temperature of the air around him was still low that he was on a cold planet, so at least his wish was granted in that case. But what if he was on Jotunheim? Would they welcome him? Likely not, as they had discarded him from the start. Perhaps he could make a bargain; show that his loyalties were changed. Though that wouldn't solve the lack of respect they held for him…
Suddenly, the god's body collided with something solid. He barely had time to let out an 'oof!' before he was falling again. Only this time, the fall lasted fewer than five seconds. His descent was interrupted once again by an obstruction, only this time, it was scratchy and pungent. He could feel wood raking across his skin as he fell through layer after layer of foliage, scrunching his eyes shut so as not to damage them as much as the rest of his body.
At least it wasn't Jotunheim. The greenery guaranteed that much.
After what seemed a century, the scratching stopped and Loki found himself surrounded by what he guessed was snow. He prayed for some sort, any sort, of soft landing as he continued to tumble down a steep slope, rolling over rocks, tree stumps, and Allfather knows what else. Dimly, he wondered if when he finally stopped there would be a trail of blood behind him.
For a brief (admittedly terrifying) moment, Loki felt himself falling through nothingness again, and his stomach dropped. However, it was mere seconds before he once again hit solid ground, starting to roll again only to slam into something solid back first, finally bringing him to a stop with one last grunt.
He rolled over onto his stomach, face first into the snow, and groaned. The icy cold of the snow did nothing to numb the pain, as biologically he was predisposed to survive in freezing temperatures. Every inch of his body ached, and scratches large and small, inflicted by the greenery he had fallen through, stung and burned. He truly, at this point, wasn't eager to discover where exactly he had landed, but the amount of pain in his right arm was worrying, and he wasn't about to risk attracting wild animals with the smell of his blood. Reluctantly, Loki lifted his head out of the snow, resting his weight on his good arm.
Hm. This was new.
There were peculiar cone shaped, needle-covered trees around him on all sides, save for the toppled one that must have stopped his descent. That one had a much thicker trunk, with bark that appeared sturdier and less flaky. With distaste, the god realized that he reeked of an unfamiliar, extremely strong earthy scent. Fantastic. That must have come from falling through the trees, along with the sticky, amber liquid that he was beginning to notice on his hands. If that was in his hair…
The high slope of a mountain was behind him, so he was likely entering a valley of some sort. The air was quite cold compared to Asgard, and a layer of snow about a foot deep covered the ground in a thick white blanket. It was also dark, but not pitch black, so the sun must have just finished setting. When he looked up, he could just make out a single moon, gleaming down on him.
He must be on Midgard, then. It wasn't exactly reassuring, given that he had never in his life seen Midgardian land that looked like this. Where was all the noise? Asgard was far more developed than this, and that was far less populated than Midgard. This was sheer wilderness. What if there wasn't a settlement for miles? He knew basic healing, but that didn't mean anything with no supplies, and all Asgardian cities had some form of bandages and disinfectant available for injuries. Here he had nothing to work with.
He heard an ominous howl in the distance, and felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. That didn't sound good. Animals smelled better than they saw. His magic would be useless to hide himself.
Loki risked a glance down at his injured arm, and swore. The wound was deep; he must have gotten it from one of the rocks as he'd rolled down the mountain. That was definitely going to need bandages. He'd barely laid here five minutes, and already it had managed to stain an alarming amount of the snow around it red.
He was oddly comforted by the sight. His blood was the same color as Thor's, Sif's, or that of any other Asgardian. Perhaps he was not so cursed.
Then why did they reject you? A snide voice spoke up from a corner of his mind.
Damn it all. He didn't have time to think about this. It was visibly getting darker and he needed to figure out what he was going to do to stay alive. Obviously snow would account for water, but what he would eat, he had no idea. Then there was the matter of fire and tending his wound and shelter—
His thoughts were interrupted by a voice several meters to his left, almost making him jump. The god of mischief quickly set an illusion over himself so as to make him invisible, and watched as the figure of a bulky, likely male, Midgardian approached, along with a large horned creature with four legs.
"But Anna's gonna be mad that you're so late," the male said in a strange, almost mocking voice. Was he talking to himself? Just his luck. Loki found the one man in the forest, and he was completely mad.
"I know, Sven. But she's just gonna have to deal with it. Lots of surveying to do before we officially start the harvest, tomorrow. And they're still fixing my sled, so-" the male had changed his tone now to a normal one.
"Tonight is your first big party with the royals, though," the voice switched back, and as the two figures drew closer, Loki was able to make out more details of their appearances. The Midgardian was blonde, with short yet voluminous, healthy hair that likely would have been soft to the touch, had it not been soaked with snow. The horned creature was covered in soft fur from head to hoof, and was likely a pet, as it followed the man eagerly without a lead.
The blonde turned around towards the animal, "Yeah, but ice comes first."
Was he actually talking to the creature? Loki fought off a sudden urge to groan at the poor madman's stupidity. He had mentioned 'royals'. What did that mean? Was there a settlement, nearby? One with a political structure and proper shelters and medicine? The thought was mouth watering, despite the fact that Midgardian amenities were primitive at best. Anything was better than staying out here and dying.
Although, if the Midgardian truly was as mad as he acted, this could easily all mean nothing. Royals could simply be referring to a rock collection he kept on his windowsill. Or at the mouth of the cave he lived in. What sort of a place harvested ice, for Allfather's sake? It wasn't as though in these temperatures it would be hard to come by.
"What's that, Sven? Someone here?"
Loki was instantly on his toes again (metaphorically—he was still lying down, the hand of his good arm cradling his injured one), ready to run or fight if need be. He still had the illusion to protect him, but animals were tricky.
The god of mischief held his breath as the creature and his master walked closer and closer to where he lie. He could actually smell the great beast, they were so close, and he realized now how much he had underestimated its size. He almost admired the madman for managing to tame such a dull, lumbering creature.
The blonde's forehead scrunched as he examined the disrupted snow that showed where Loki had fallen, rubbing his chin in confusion. He raised his eyebrows a little when his eyes fell on the blood stained snow from the god's injured arm. Damn. Loki should have hidden that. He bit his lip as they inched closer to where he lie, and the large animal started to sniff about an inch from his face.
"Sven, there's nothing there."
The animal snorted, almost indignantly.
"Though, it is weird that there's no footprints leading away…"
Loki cursed.
"C'mon, Sven. I'm sure it's nothing," the large man started to walk away, but the animal remained in place, staring directly at an invisible Loki.
I'll make you into a throw rug if you don't go away, the god thought.
"Sven. Come on. Anna's already going to kill me. Plus, there's wolves out tonight. I mean, I'd rather take the wolves over angry Anna, but still. If I get there soon enough, I won't have to choose."
With great reluctance, the animal, or Sven, as the Midgardian had called it, tore his eyes away from Loki and followed his master. The god let out a small breath he hadn't realized he was holding when they were far away enough, and dropped the illusion.
Loki decided he was better off following them than staying put. At the very worst, if they didn't lead him anywhere helpful, he could kill the man and make a meal of his pet. Either way, he would be better off than he was now. It was starting to snow, and darkness was falling rapidly now that clouds had moved in with darker hours of night.
Stifling a groan as best he could, the god awkwardly got to his feet, cradling his injured arm and experimentally flexing the muscles in it. It hurt, and badly. But, at least he could move it. Shaking the strange needles out of his hair, along with snow, and brushing the rest of himself down hastily, Loki replaced the invisibility illusion once more. Ignoring how drained he felt, and forcing himself to believe that he wasn't feeling nauseous and dizzy from the amount of pain coursing through his body, he set off following the footprints of the Midgardian madman and his pet.
Loki followed the trail for what felt like hours, trudging through the deep snow with only his misery for company. After a time, however, the trees mercifully started to thin, and soon enough, he found himself out of the woods, looking down from the side of the mountain.
Relief flooded his senses as the god's eyes found a village next to what looked like a bay. Many large ships were docked there, and the city was not nearly as brightly lit as other Midgardian cities he had seen. In fact, from what he observed, this looked to be an extremely primitive settlement. Where were the skyscrapers? He didn't even see any roads leading to the place. Not to mention the absurd methods of transport the mortals used… he couldn't remember what they were called. There largest building he could see was a sizeable castle, overlooking the water, but even that was tiny compared to what was custom on Midgard. Just his luck. He lands on Midgard, but without everything that made it useful. He doubted a place with thatched rooftops would have decent medical supplies to patch him up.
But he was so exhausted. Maybe he could just rest up here, and steal a ship tomorrow. Or, if they were stupid enough, he could proclaim himself a god and demand their service; have them on their knees for him. Though then they probably wouldn't let him leave…still, the idea wasn't unappealing.
It was an idea that required effort and willpower, though, both of which he was quickly running out of. And so, Loki half walked half stumbled his way down the rest of the mountain, somehow managing to further soak himself through with snow, and finally found himself level with the city. Without another thought, he shook some of the snow out of his hair and proceeded to enter the streets.
Now that he was closer, he supposed the buildings weren't as tiny as he'd initially thought—though they were still dollhouses compared to Asgardian standard. The streets were cobblestoned, and littered with what looked like flower petals. Strange, given the time of year, though he supposed he didn't know that much about this part of Midgard, anyway. Evidently, there was a sort of celebration taking place, as streamers and other decorations were strung over every available surface, and the sweet scent of food teased his nostrils and made his mouth water. He didn't particularly care what it was; if he didn't eat something soon, he'd end up consuming his injured arm.
"Momma, are we gonna see Elsa?" asked a small child eagerly as he and his mother passed Loki.
"Not until tomorrow. She's at the castle tonight with the other kings and queens," the patient mother replied.
"Are there lots of princesses there?"
"Yes, and princes."
"Are they pretty?"
The mother chuckled, "Most of them are very pretty, yes."
"I wanna marry a princess!"
Loki never got to hear the mother's reply, though that wasn't the part of the conversation that intrigued him. Other kings and queens. So there was a sort of royal convention taking place, then? How cute. It seemed he had a destination, then. He didn't think it would prove too difficult to pass for royalty. He already was getting glances from a few of the many villagers crowding the streets. Though, admittedly, that could have easily been because he looked so battered.
Or his clothing. With a sudden pang of realization, the god remembered that he was still in Asgardian clothes. He at least could attempt to fit in. Quiet as a shadow, Loki slipped into the darkness of an alley and, with more effort than it should have taken, managed to disguise himself, imitating the clothing he had seen in the streets, with a slight undertone of wealth. He could always fix it more once he was in the castle.
After no more than a minute, a Loki wearing dry clothes and hair perfectly in place emerged from the shadows and took a moment to observe the square in front of him, eyes finally settling on a young brunette in a purple silk dress, escorted by a dashing male of similar hair color. Perfect.
The god, not wanting to waste any more time or energy, briskly strode over to the pair and ignored the male's suspicious glare as he greeted them.
"Pardon, are the two of you heading to the castle?"
The girl smiled invitingly, and the male relaxed slightly, "Sure are! Are you here for Queen Elsa's coronation anniversary, too?"
Loki forced a small smile in return, hoping it didn't seem like a grimace, "Of course. It's the event of the season, is it not?" His eyes met the man's.
The male seemed to decide Loki was safe, and he gave a sideways, toothy smirk, "Ha. Elsa sure doesn't think so. Rumor is it she hates parties." The girl elbowed him in the side, frowning.
"That's not true," she said, "Elsa is anything but a killjoy. Just look at the sculptures she made for the festival!" The girl made a wide gesture, and Loki was confused until his eyes fell upon a gleaming, translucent structure about five meters away from them.
It was beautiful. He assumed it must be ice, given the current weather and what the madman had mentioned earlier about ice harvests. The frozen water was thick as his arm in some places, but barely a hair's width in others. It rose and fell in arcs that created the illusion that an ordinary fountain had been frozen with the snap of a finger, keeping the fluidity of the water perfectly illustrated. He was, he had to admit, impressed. Loki couldn't say it made sense to him why someone would create a masterpiece that was destined to eventually melt, but it was talented work, all the same.
"I've never seen talent like that," the god commented, eyes still fixed on the sculpture.
"Yeah, she's got all kinds of talent, and making ice sculptures is only one of them," the man added in, "I'm Eugene, and this is Rapunzel, by the way."
Doesn't use their royal titles. He's a commoner who married rich.
The man stuck out his hand, and Loki stared at it in confusion. He'd never paid much attention to Midgardian customs, and hadn't the faintest idea what he was supposed to do to complete the gesture. At the risk of offending the man and starting a riot, the god decided it was better to simply do nothing but raise a confused eyebrow.
After a moment of silence, Rapunzel spoke up, giving him an almost apologetic smile, "Do they not shake hands where you're from?"
"Ah, no…" Loki explained awkwardly, "I am not familiar with many of the…customs…."
Eugene snorted, "Just how far away are you from that they don't shake hands?" he asked skeptically.
The god of mischief stared the man straight in the eyes, debating his answer for a moment before finally deciding what to say, "…Asgard. I am prince Loki."
"Pleasure to meet you, prince Loki of Asgard!" Rapunzel piped up, "Are you a suitor for her majesty?"
Loki resisted a grin. The queen was accepting suitors? This was almost too easy.
"We'll see what she thinks," he answered slyly, and Eugene rolled his eyes.
"Alright, well, good luck with that," he said, "If you'll follow us, we can show you the way to the castle."
"That would be terrific."
