Chapter 1.
Linwe first person POV:
Falling, the colourless lights of time and space rushing past, searing my eyes and freezing my body as if it had been struck by lightning as we fell to our fate, my newly branded palm latched onto my younger sister's wrist, for fear of losing her in this impossible place. The treason for which we had been cast out played out in my mind, father's cold grey eyes burning a hole in my mind as I protect my sister from his unfeeling glare.
I had stormed out of the great oak doors that guarded the entrance to the Council Chamber, livid at Father's decision to march into Nidavellirand quench the dwarfish rebellion. The dwarves were peaceful by nature and the secret allies of my sister and me, although, that isn't exactly public knowledge.
The dwarves are not allies of Alfheim, and therefore not allies of my father, but four hundred years ago my sister and I returned a sacred treasure to the dwarves to prevent all out war between our realms. A fight we would surely lose in our weakened state after the loss of the tablet of life to Asguard, realm of battle-ready fools and an ageing king. After returning the treasure the dwarves assured us of a truce and their alliance, to me and my sister. Not to our father, a truce ready to be broken by Elessar Inglorion, ruler of Alfheim, after a few well placed insults from the dwarves.
"Lin, wait! Do not let your temper get the better of you!" my sister Itarilde called after me, closely followed by her wolf guardian Feanaro and my white gyrfalcon; Aerandir, her blond hair streaming out behind her as she struggled to keep up with my brisk pace.
"There is nothing you can do to change Father's mind, he is a stubborn as you are. He will see sense and change his mind by morning."
"He will do nothing of the sort," I retorted, my voice sharp with fury. "As you said; he is as stubborn as I am. He has been waiting over four hundred years to declare war on Nidavellir. What he is too blind to see is that even if we could somehow have victory over the dwarves, Asguard will no doubt come to their aid. Odin has an unbreakable alliance with dwarves and has no love for the elves. They would think nothing of marching on Alfheim given the opportunity. I have no wish to see our people slaughtered for a cause we simply cannot win."
"I understand your frustration Lin, but there is nothing we can do! Do not preach to me as if it is I that has caused this."
"I'm sorry Tari; it is not you with whom I am angry". Aerandir landed softly on my shoulder, his cloud white feathers sweeping against my cheek. He nipped my ear, chiding me for shouting at my sister. I raised my hand and ran my fingers over his smooth feathers, calming myself with the action, and murmured quietly in elven-tongue. "Train with me in the arena?"
"Of course" she replied scratching her wolf behind his ear as he watched with interest.
We arrived at the training ground and I unsheathed my two swords, the gold on the hilts dancing in the midday sunlight. My sister walked over to an ancient tree, and from between the roots, retrieved the dwarven sword that had been given to her by the king of Nidavellir for our act of peace.
"Put that away!" I whispered "If Father or the guards were to see that, there is no knowing what would happen!" She pulled a face and reluctantly slid it back between the roots of the great tree.
We sparred for most of the afternoon, we were very evenly matched with her bow and knives and I with my dual swords. We only returned to the castle when a servant found us and told us that Father was waiting for us for the evening meal. Dinner was eaten in silence, as king Father sat at the head of the table and as heir to the throne I sat on his right. I pushed the food around the delicate silver plate, my anger spiking each time I gave a sideward glance towards my Father. Without much warning or sound, a guard rushed into the elaborately decorated dining room. His face a strange mixture of surprise, confusion and outrage and held gingerly in his hands the wrapped up form of my sister's dwarven blade, its thick contours showing through the silver threaded linen it was bound in.
"Hey, what are you doing with that? It's mine!" Itarilde exclaimed without thinking, her face falling into one of horror when she realised what she had said. Feanaro began to growl at her heels, knowing the severity of the situation, his thoughts in sync with Tari's. The guard knelt before Father and offered the sword to him, his head lowered before his king. Father unwound the fabric from the sword and let it glide to the floor. He seemed to gaze at the thick blade for an eternity before striking it down into the table in front of Itarilde, the hilt staring her in the face as she stared at it unmoving in front of her, as if it might bite her.
"Yours?" Father asked quietly, his voice dangerously soft, "How is this yours? This is a dwarven weapon, and a very well crafted one at that. How did you come to be in possession of such a blade?" His voice became louder and more severe at the last question, and without waiting for an answer he grabbed both my sister's wrists, and pulled from her mind the memories we had fought for so long to protect, the memories of us trying to preserve the peace between the two realms. In fact it had been my idea but I had dismissed it as the act would have been one of treason. It had been she who persuaded me to try and keep our realm from a bloody war; in all honesty it had been an easy task.
"So it was my own two daughters who stole my hard earned relic and returned it to those cave dwellers. This is an unspeakable act that I did not expect from my own flesh and blood."
"Father, you do not understand we were only trying to-" Itarilde was cut off; she had sunk to the floor, the pain of having the memories unwillingly taken from her mind sending painful spasms through her body.
"Hold your tongue!" his temper snapped "Is there nothing you would do the disgrace yourselves and me?"
"It is you that would send this realm into a war that we could not possibly win. Without the tablet of life our powers are almost nonexistent. The realm is dying Father surely you can see that. Wouldn't it be better to get the tablet back instead of waging pointless war against the dwarves, a war that Asguard would inevitably side with them in? The only disgrace here is your willingness to as good as slaughter your own soldiers." I pleaded running to stand in front of my sister, desperate to shield Tari from his wrath.
"It is not your place to question your king. By creating an alliance with Nidavellir you have turned your back on Alfheim and me. Your act of treason is unforgivable." He turned away. "You are no longer welcome in the realm of the elves.
"But Father," Tari pleaded, struggling to her feet, Feanaro letting her put her weight on him and showing his teeth at Father, "We did the right thing! We saved the realm from unnecessary bloodshed. Surely you do not want to see your friends and comrades slaughtered?"
Father turned around slowly, his anger stiffening his muscles; I could see his jaw clench at what my sister had said.
"It is not your place to question your king. You have committed treason by consorting with the enemy, and for that you are banished!" He spoke quickly in elven-tongue, his voice become harsher and more powerful with word of magic. My palm burned and when I looked down at it I saw an ugly black cross carving its way into my flesh. From my sister's cries I could tell the same thing was happening to her. Aerandir glided to my shoulder and gripped my shoulder pad. Feanaro ran to Tari letting her lean on his neck as she began to crumple under the power of the magic. With a sudden fluid movement he turned round to face us, his features contorted into a strange mixture of fury and pain as he threw his golden staff towards us. I could feel the tear behind us before I saw it, and without a backwards glance Elessar Inglorion, King of Alfheim and our Father, cast us into the void between worlds.
Suddenly I felt a change in the direction of our fall and without time for any further thought felt my back connect with the ground. The breath left my lungs sharply and lights danced before my eyes, weaving strange patterns of white before fading and allowing me to take in our surroundings. The sky was onyx with a pitiful amount of stars shining weakly. The ground beneath my feet was dusty and warm, probably from the sun during the day.
I turned to Itarilde, whose wrist was still caught in my grip. She was unconscious from the impact in the ground, as was Feanaro. Aerandir flew and landed on my shoulder as I checked Tari's pulse, which thank the fates, was strong and apart from a cut on her left temple and some bad bruising she was intact. I also checked myself over; I had no injuries any more serious than my sister. We were both still in our elven clothes, mostly fabric and leather. I felt for my knives, still in their hilts strapped to my thighs. A sudden burning in my left wrist made me glance at my palm, and on seeing the cross of the fallen, was reminded of our fate.
Looking back at Itarilde, I healed the wound on her head with a warm glow of magic, glad that in his haste and anger Father had forgotten to take our powers from us. It would make surviving in this world, wherever it was, an easier task.
A sudden noise behind me met my sensitive ears and instinct took over as I whirled round to meet the stranger, unsheathing my two daggers, both of them almost as long as my forearm. I crouched in an attack position, five hundred years of being one of the best fighters in my realm making actions second nature. The figure stepped forward and my muscles tightened in anticipation.
YAY! Chapter one done! I hope you liked it and I am currently writing chapter two with the help of my friend Itarilde! I joketh not. It would be great to hear what you think of the first chapter and the avengers will appear in the next one. For the purposes of this story Loki is working with the avengers for some odd reason that I cannot fathom because I wanted him in the story and not as the bad guy:) NO ONE CAN ESCAPE THE LOKI FEELS! thanks for reading.