Miett
What would you do if your father deceived you? If he never told you the truth of your existence? My father did that. He is Thor Odinson, and ruler of Asgard. I am Miett, his daughter. 'Miett' means 'daughter of stealth'. I love that name, but I believe that we should begin at (where else?) the beginning.
"Father, tell me of your battle with the Destroyer again!" I exclaimed excitedly. "I love that story!"
My father laughed. "All right, little Miett," he said to nine-year-old me, and then began the tale of valor which he performed on far-away Earth. I always listened intently to his stories, especially the ones with Loki, my uncle in them. I somehow understood Uncle Loki's reasoning, his motives, and his character. I looked like my uncle more than my father, with my dark hair and my green eyes. I liked to wear the colors green and gold, as well.
Sitting on the floor in the Asgardian palace, I listened to tales told by my father, Thor, and by his friends, who had defended Earth from the Destroyer and stood against Uncle Loki with him.
"…and the Destroyer fell to Earth, never to rise again," Father finished. I applauded, snatched out of my reverie by his triumphant tone. "Good. I'm glad," I cried, then jumped up to sit on his lap. "Tell me another!"
"No, it's time for the princess of Asgard to head for her chambers, so she can get enough sleep."
"But, Father…" I whined.
"No. You're not old enough to stay up that late." Father called my chambermaid, who walked to me and picked me up. "Come, little Miett," she called softly. "Let's go dream of horses and parties."
"And fighting, and Uncle Loki, and Father, and…" My voice faded as I was carried into my room. A huge yawn widened my mouth and I climbed into bed. Father strode in and kissed my forehead. "Good night, my darling Miett."
"Good night, Father. I love you."
Ten years later…
Battle sounds came from a small courtyard within the palace of King Thor. I swung my staff at Father's silver head, but he ducked and my staff hit the wall. I "paused for breath", but when his hammer swung my direction, the staff in my hands flung up to meet it. "Ha!" I cried, but my triumph was short-lived. Father flipped his hammer so that the head caught my staff and jerked it out of my hands. "Ha!" he replied.
I flopped down on the ground. "Pause," I said. "I need to rest."
Father stiffly sat down beside me. He was older now, not as fluid-moving as he once was. But he was still a great warrior and king. "A week from today, you will receive your real staff," he told me.
"I know!" I exclaimed. "I can't wait to see it! What color is it? Does it have some sort of gemstone or something in it? Could it possibly have words of some sort engraved on it?" I badgered him with questions.
"Gold; yes; and maybe," he answered to me. "You'll just have to find out, won't you?"
"Oh…" I groaned. "I just can't wait!" A week passed, and soon I was to receive what was rightfully mine.
Asgardians roared in approval as I strode down the great hall of Thor, just as he himself had done many years ago. I lifted my hands, clenching them into fists. Reaching the throne dais, I kneeled in respect for Father. He stood and clanged his ceremonial staff against the floor. The hall fell silent.
Father reached toward the golden staff that would be mine on this date. "I now give you, Miett Thorsdaughter, this staff, and make you my heir should I ever die. As of now, you have been princess of Asgard. But this day, I, Thor, do pronounce you…"
Father was interrupted as the large doors at the end of the hall clanged open. A slight figure stood there. I was probably taller than him. He was dressed in green and gold armor with a flowing green cape and horned helmet. "Loki," Father breathed. I was shocked. Now I was seeing my uncle for the very first time.
"So, making my daughter your heir, hmm?" Loki asked, a smirk on his face. I whipped my head around to look at Father. "What does he mean?" Father made no reply. "Father!?"
Guards swarmed in to grab a hold of Loki, but he disappeared in a mist of green smoke. Father sat down on his throne with a tired look on his face. "Father, what did Uncle Loki mean? I'm not his daughter!" When Father got a guilty look on his face, I became suspicious. "Or am I? Well, Father? Or should I even call you that?"