Warm and Real and Bright
Disclaimer: I do not own Thor or Tangled. Whatsoever.
Note: Made with love for Padaloki. Feel better soon!
~*.:L:.~*.:I:.~*.:G:.~*.:H:.~*.:T:.~*.:S:.~
"Daddy."
He looked down at his tiny daughter, her eyes wide and expectant as she clutched at his trouser leg. He smiled warmly and bent at the leg so that they were eye-to-eye. Almost, at least. "Yes, darling?"
"Tell me a story?" she entreated, face glowing.
He chuckled, tucking a curl of brown hair behind her ear. "And what story would you like to hear?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
Her nose wrinkled. "You know the one, Daddy." She held his hand and dragged him along towards her canopied bed. She leapt atop the silken indigo blanket and patted the spot beside her. "Please?"
He gave a long-suffering sigh and folded onto the feather mattress. "I suppose I could tell it for the umpteenth time." The child held out a roughly hewn tome, crafted with leather, love, and care. The binding was coming unglued; he would have to remedy that after she fell asleep tonight, he thought, for he knew that this one book would have to survive for a great many more years.
He began to read, and as he did, his voice transformed into a song, and symphony, of the richest velvet and the smoothest satin. The words became beautiful and rhythmic, and the child listened with bright, enchanted eyes.
"This is the story of one man's death and another's beginning, and as most stories do, it begins with these words:
"Once upon a time, a singular droplet of sunlight fell from the heavens to the forests of Alfheim. From this drop of sun grew a golden flower. This flower was magical, for it had the ability to heal the sick and injured. But even as magical as it was, it faded into myth and mystery, as many things do.
"As centuries passed, the reigning city of Alfheim prospered until it was almost as bright and shining as Asgard itself. Alfheim was ruled by a much beloved king and queen, and when the queen found out that she was with child, the kingdom rejoiced. The festivities would only last for so long, however, because the queen soon fell ill; very, very ill. She was clearly running out of time, and it is in these moments of fear and panic that people turn to legends in search for miracles.
"Or, in this case, a magical golden flower.
"Finding the flower would not be easy. A woman by the name of Zauberin had found the special bloom long ago. Like all other elves, Zauberin was immortal – but even those who are immortal cannot hide from the centuries as they pass. Zauberin was incredibly vain and did not wish to grow ugly with age, so instead of sharing the sun's gift, she hoarded its healing power and used it to keep herself young for hundreds of years.
"Despite Zauberin's best efforts to hide the flower, royal soldiers found the flower and took it to the queen. As expected, the magic healed the queen, and soon a healthy baby girl with beautiful golden hair was born. To celebrate her birth, the king and queen launched a flying lantern into the sky, and for that one moment, all was well.
"And then that moment ended.
"Zauberin broke into the castle and stole the child, for the princess now carried the magic of the flower in her golden hair. Just like that, the only daughter of the king and queen was gone. The kingdom searched collectively, but their efforts were for naught.
"Deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Zauberin raised the child as her own, for this time she was determined to keep her flower hidden.
"Although, the walls of that tower could not hide everything.
"Each year on the princess's birthday, the kingdom released thousands of lanterns into the sky, in hope that one day, the lost princess would return. And each year on her birthday, Rapunzel watched the night sky glow with mysterious golden lights, and she hoped that one day, she could see them from somewhere closer than her window…"
~*.:L:.~*.:I:.~*.:G:.~*.:H:.~*.:T:.~*.:S:.~
Loki Laufeyson was the bane of the Nine Realms, and he loved it. He even loved it as he ran for his life – no, his freedom – at that exact moment.
He wasn't quite sure what had brought him to Alfheim besides the visiting Freya and her thrice-accursed cloak, and even then he wasn't sure why possessing Freya's cloak had been so important to him. He only knew that absconding this horrid, ugly, ridiculous monstrosity of a cloak was crucial because his instinct told him so, and Loki had never gone against instinct when it spoke. After all, his instincts had never, not once, led him astray.
Of course, he couldn't deny that he was currently rather cross with his instincts, since it had been impossible – even with his broad skill set – to steal the cloak undetected, which now meant that he was on the run. Freya's guards were close on his tail.
He threw a mocking glance over his shoulder as he practically flew on his stoutly booted feet. "Highly trained guards that you are," he jeered, "and that is the best you can do? My dead 'father' could run faster!"
Three elves followed him on foot, the pastel colors of their skin already glistening with sweat. At his carefully barbed jibe, the leader skidded to a halt, scowled, raised a slim whistle to his lips, and blew. A high squealing split the air, and Loki almost stopped running to cover his ears. Almost immediately after the whistle came the resounding boom of hooves beating on the stones of the bridge.
A horse raced up to the elf's side. He was a handsome beast, constructed of sleek and sinewy muscles. He was built for speed; that much was clear.
Loki cussed loudly and quit gawking so that he could force himself to run faster. He had no hope of outrunning his pursuers now, but perhaps he could lose them another way.
I could just "teleport", as they call it on Midgard. But that wouldn't be nearly as entertaining.
Curse his penchant for theatrics.
~*.:L:.~*.:I:.~*.:G:.~*.:H:.~*.:T:.~*.:S:.~
His plan had been to lose Freya's guards – he certainly had to commend them for their determination – and so far it had been working well, if it weren't for that damned horse. The animal was far more intelligent than any animal should be, and that frustrated Loki. The horse was smarter than his masters, Loki would wager, and it dogged him more closely than the elves.
Loki's amusement was quickly waning, and he was almost ready to forfeit the thrill of the chase to teleport easily. But just as the thought crossed his mind, the telltale tingle of magic tangoed on his skin. Now, where was it…? Perhaps if he backed up a bit – there it was, nestled in the cleft between two boulders. A curtain of chartreuse lichen and vines shielded the cleft from view.
He slipped through the shroud of flora, and as he did so, his ears popped. He hummed in surprise and confusion. An enchantment? He reached out with long fingers of magic to stroke the enchantment as though it were a wayward feline.
A concealment spell, he realized, and a rather extensive one at that.
Out in the wilderness? Where was the sense in that?
In the manner of a juvenile pulling at his mother, Loki's curiosity tugged too insistently to be ignored. Before him stretched a carefully crafted tunnel of interwoven greenery. Balmy light squeezed through the plants and romped in mindless patterns on his pale skin. Loki heaved a sigh and allowed his curiosity to drag him further down the tunnel, following the intangible scent of magic. With every step he took, he felt the magic wax and swell in size. A very tremendous shield, indeed.
Now he truly wondered what it could possibly be hiding.
The tunnel spat him out in a valley clearing of tremendous scope. The swaying blades of grass seemed to dance as a gentle breath of wind blew. A stream burbled against a backdrop of monolithic mountains, while a waterfall somersaulted of the faces of a sheer cliff. Loki would have to crane his head back to see the sky, outlined by the rims of the mountains, but it was there, filling the clearing with a muted sort of light.
None of these interested him so much as the single tower that rose up in the center of the clearing. Blossoming vines twined around its height protectively; other than that, it was clean and well kept, suggesting that there was still someone here to take care of it. That would explain the enchantments.
"Yet who," Loki mused aloud, "would need to ferret him- or herself away so completely?"
Well. There was only one way to find out.
The God of Mischief advanced upon the poor, unsuspecting tower like a conquering champion until he reached the base and considered the best way to reach the top. He could use Freya's convoluted cloak, he supposed, or he could cast a spell to hinder gravity, or he could teleport. Teleporting was boring, and the cloak was so gods-awful that he didn't dare pull it from his satchel for fear of burning his eyes out of his skull, so anti-gravity it was.
Because who needs gravity when you have magic?
A shimmering bubble wrapped around him as he put one foot on the tower wall and began to calmly lope up the side, unruffled and unconcerned. He reached the top and sat on the sill, doing away with his spell so that he could press the windows open.
Loki inspected the inside carefully, determined that the coast was clear, and jumped inside.
WHAM.
…Maybe the coast wasn't so clear, after all.
~*.:L:.~*.:I:.~*.:G:.~*.:H:.~*.:T:.~*.:S:.~
Additional Notes: I realized after I wrote this awhile ago that I made a huge mistake: Freya hails from Vanaheim, not Alfheim. I realized too late in the game, and didn't want to backtrack, so I tried to convey that she was only a guest in Alfheim. You might have caught that in this chapter, but if not I'll make sure to mention it solidly later.
Projected length: it's mostly written already. This should come in three or four installments.