Descent of the Dark One
Part 1: An Audience with The Elvenking
Malekith strode slowly around the raised platform in his ship looking at the hundreds of elves that were gathered and ready to serve him in a heartbeat . . . those that still needed a heart to serve. There were three other ships equally peopled, but it still troubled him as he glanced at the images playing from watching stones that were spying on realms. Vanaheim was greatly peopled, far more populated than before and so was Asgard. Midgard, however, was so populated that Malekith wondered if humans had done anything for the past few centuries but mate and then rear their young to do the same thing as early and often as possible. He growled and waved a hand over the watching stone of Midgard looking at the areas of interest to him, the laylines and their crossings that would allow him to strengthen his magic while on the planet. He frowned at the cities that had risen up and decayed and then somehow risen again. He growled and slammed a fist onto the display panel, cursing the numbers even his powerful armies would take down with ease. It wasn't enough, not right now. How he could he claim kingship by conquering if his people were outnumbered by such weaker creatures?
"Had Odin not cursed Svartalfheim, not sent us into hundreds of years of exile, and simply relinquished command to myself, a clearly superior being, we would not have lost those that we now need," Malekith hissed, spitting the word 'need' as if he didn't truly believe that they were needed for his plan, which they weren't, but wanted just for show instead. He strode around the panel once more, listening to the other elves off and on as they spoke of their glorious battle to ensue with Midgard and Asgard before plunging the universe back into utter cold and darkness. He took some comfort in that and permitted some resemblance of a smile within himself. He sighed deeply and noted that every so often there were interruptions in certain layline crossovers. He leaned closer over the stone as the event continued to occur. He raised one hand and instantly an elf trained in scholastic matters as well as the basic knowledge of war and death, suddenly appeared at his side, bowing his head to his master. "What is the meaning of this?"
(*)
Loki paced back and forth anxiously in his cell, sneering at the other prisoners in their glass cells and the guards set over them. He was a prince now, but he was still the rightful king and he knew that it would not be long before the old wind bag had to rest again. His mother would set it right, she had set it right to begin with. Would she? the doubting doppelganger created by Thanos and The Other chided. She's allowed you into this fishbowl and has not come to see you in 2 days; she prefers the company of Thor, you know she does. Besides, she's not even your real mother. "NO!" Loki shouted furiously at that part of himself, slamming a blast of magic in every direction, breaking several dishes, a chair, a desk leg, and putting the bed in disarray. "She is my mother, she will always be my mother! It is a father that I do not have!" He leaned against the glass of the prison and painted heavily as he heard some of the guards nearest him whispering. A few tears formed in his eyes and he hid them as he whispered the last few words. "And never will have." The guards began shouting orders to one another as the other prisoners began to grow restless. A younger guard was sent off to tell Odin that more damage had been done. "Yes, do tell that waddling old goat that his token burden is in need of more flasks of water."
The guards ignored him and didn't think that he could hear everything that they were saying. As time passed, and their blather began to bore him, Loki slid back to sitting against the wall and then heard something that piqued his interest. He froze and stared forward into nothing as the guards spoke. "There have been shadows spotted on the horizons, Heimdall has said so, but no ships," a guard remarked.
"Their magic would conceal their ships," another interjected. "Nasty creatures, elves, dark or not. They're tricksters at heart, every last one of them. And savage; as savage as a Bilgesnipe with a raging fever."
"Have some respect," another interjected. "Odin reveres the Ljosaralf. Malekith's treachery is no reason to hate them all."
"Unless they give some of theirs to his cause," the first corrected angrily.
"They're not similar enough to do that. Dark elves are just that and need the darkness," the third responded. "And there's no realm near enough with other elves that can tolerate darkness that would serve him."
"No, not near," Loki whispered with a smile. He closed his eyes and drifted out of his body, allowing himself to hear thoughts around the universe the way Heimdall saw visions throughout the universe. He honed in on Malekith's schemes and smirked all the more.
(*)
The elf summoned to Malekith's side looked carefully at the interruptions in the image as Malekith motioned towards them. "I believe this means that there is activity in the mirror-world to this realm as there are to so many others," the elf explained. Malekith turned to him. "Turning the stone to its other side switching the power source to the opposite polarity may display the other realm."
"Indeed," Malekith remarked. "The elves of Midgard would be indeed a powerful supplement to our ranks, but their numbers have fallen too far as well."
"Our ranks are in need?" the elf asked in confusion. Malekith turned and glared at the drone who lowered their head instantly. He knew he needed to change the subject and immediately. "I believe the mirror realm is still called Middle Earth, its name so similar that sometimes the two are confused in our histories."
"Middle Earth still linked to Midgard?" Malekith said with genuine pondering.
He had lived for more than 6,000 years and he had visited Middle Earth itself before the separation of the worlds due to some mischief; the Valar still blamed the Kinslaying on the mingling of the Dokkaralf with the Noldor. But this was nothing to Malekith who had played his own role in small conquests though oddly not initiated the rift through mischief by the now master of mischief himself imprisoned thankfully on Asgard. As powerful as Malekith was, he was well and irritatingly-matched magic-wise with Loki. His mind went back to Middle Earth in its earliest days, back when the Aesir and Valar were one, back before the Undying Lands and Asgard were one as well. He sighed at the memory of the terror he had visited on villages of humans, dwarves, and even their strange, but certainly strong elves.
The Noldor had been his favorite to mingle with and he had seemed to mingle well given the bloodlust of a specific faction that was also extremely powerful in the art of magic second only in that right to the Sindar. The Sindar were a more playful lot and indeed led to more personal enjoyment for Malekith than the Noldor had. In fact, he could recall having sired at least 3 offspring with a mild Sindar maiden and at least one had survived long enough to sire a line that led its way to Oropher. His eyes flashed. It had been millennia since he had visited Middle Earth. Perhaps the Sindar would be easy enough to round up, easier than the Noldor who were likely long gone, but still strong and similar in their need for darkness, a thirst for power and blood, and cravings for the same food that his own kind had. He smiled. Yes, he would keep the other ships near enough to Asgard and Midgard, poised for battle, but he had business on Middle Earth. What a wonder his kind would be once even greater in number!
(*)
"You make this too easy to slink in and thwart your pathetic elf-craft," Loki said to himself as he drew in a breath and drew his senses back to where he was captive. "Not to mention theirs. That might just be the fresh little bit of fun I need to break this hellish boredom that encases me." While he believed both Thor and Odin deserved the thrashing that Malekith would no doubt deal them, he could not abide the destruction of the realm itself while he was still waiting for his rightful place to be restored. It was doubtful that Malekith could be so easily manipulated, but he could be well-fought. "Dark elves are few and far between if he thinks in terms of those that tolerate the dark," he thought. "The Sindar of Greenwood the Great are the only last breed that fit that description, that and any Silvan that are needy or weak-minded enough to follow them. Oropher will slay Malekith in a heartbeat if the old fool hasn't the forethought to approach with strong magic and all creation help him if his son, Thranduil, is nearby."
He stood and moved slowly towards the glass aimed at the darkest corner of the room. It acted as a mirror for him and his eyes gleamed with magic as he neared. He would need to center himself fully and concentrate every ounce of energy on this mirror-surface if he was to use the stone he had kept from the Infinity Gauntlet in traveling. He drew in a deep breath and found his own center. He stood and smiled deviously as the stone began to glow. Despite the guards' best efforts to disarm him, his mother had been stern about leaving his dignity intact and that meant that his hidden oddments and certain propensities for magic remained intact. There would be very few uses for this stone unless he could increase his magic in the mirror-world to Midgard. That was plausible, but he didn't want to rouse too much suspicion in being away from the prison for long and he couldn't leave a double behind for more than a few hours which would buy him at least some time to get two more uses into the stone. He rolled it over in his hand nine times reciting the path he would take to bypass each realm in spirit and body. "Asgard to Nornheim. Nornheim to Niffleheim. Niffleheim to Midgard. Midgard to the mirror-port. And the mirror-port . . . ." he drew in a deep breath and squeezed the stone as he spoke the tenth and final destination with a full flip of the stone. ". . . to Middle Earth."
(*)
"A vision is oft times simply that," Thranduil scoffed at the she-elf kneeling before him. She hid the scowl that was forming on her features and simply bowed her head while clenching both fists before her king. Having been given the task of raising an elfling by himself, Thranduil was used to the nuances and small signals of negative emotional repression when facing an authority figure. So used to them in fact, that he had grown accustomed to seeing them in others as well. As he moved to step past the appointed Captain of his Guard, he smoothly reached down and took one of her fists. She turned sharply towards him with the flash of anger still in her eyes as he pulled her hand close to him and carefully undid the fist until he held her hand flat against his own, gazing back at her with genuine concern. "I gave the decree that none shall leave the forest and none shall be allowed in. Keep your mind and senses attuned to that alone and there can be no possible harm that would come to us that we would be unable to withstand."
"Yes, my lord," Tauriel replied with the not-so-hidden tone of resentment. As he passed she shook her head slowly and followed. Her age was a hindrance to being taken as seriously by the stern-minded king, but that hadn't seemed to matter when selecting her for the coveted position in his ranks. The dream had come to her three nights now: an enormous black arrow glowing red at its edges descending from an enormous grey circle in the sky in the mouth of a black fox with golden eyes. Strange cackling and howling from two sources resounded in the dream as the ranks of her king suddenly appeared in the forest, but the arrow they aimed towards suddenly became many and the fox leapt off to the side, crying desperately as its eyes grew red and the gold slid onto its paws and tail. Such strange images, such odd sounds; Tauriel somehow felt that none of them could be real because they felt far beyond her own understanding, but something else told her they were a real threat and coming quickly to plague them in the forest. How a fox could be a threat seemed a little ridiculous to Thranduil and, when she had spoken it aloud, Tauriel had to agree with him. And the notion that one black arrow might become so many and glowing red without coming from even the hint of an enemy's bow in the sky was difficult to swallow as well. Still, she was convinced that these threats were upon her people even if her king felt compelled to keep a watchful eye on more land-bound intruders.
"Go and make haste to the westernmost border at the farthest from the palace I have permitted. Keep your host at a safe distance from you and there keep watch unless some intruder come upon you," he ordered, turning back to her momentarily. His nearly white hair contrasted against the autumn colours intermingled in his earthen crown like blood on snow and the dark brows that crowned his grey-blue eyes hung low with diligent thought of protection like the canopy of the forest beneath the azure skies of Greenwood the Great. She nodded, once again sharply still hiding the youthful anger she withheld in his presence as she called for her best archers to follow her. Thranduil watched and suddenly felt a presence behind him. He frowned. "No," he said flatly. He heard uncomfortable shifting from the source that had just arrived, the lowering of a bow and a scowl as well. "I told you twice this morning to stay within the grounds of the palace and I meant it."
"You would continuously send your most skilled warrior by herself, instead of keeping her at your side, into the forest to face whatever might come for us? Don't you remember the last orc raid?" Legolas asked with the same ire, though far less hidden, as Tauriel's.
Thranduil turned, folding his arms and allowing the crimson over-coat to drape proudly over the silvery clothing he sported beneath it. He was very fond of white gems and silver; so much so that his wardrobe was practically fashioned of silk made of silver, platinum, diamond, and white gold. His son lowered his gaze ever so slightly and Thranduil could tell that Tauriel had confided the dream or vision with his son long before she had told him this morning. This irritated him, but not enough to address it outright. Tauriel was young and Legolas closer to her age in companionship, though Thranduil had hoped companionship is the farthest that it would go. Lord Elrond had a daughter and if he could make a proper alliance with an Elf-Lord that had the respect of the wizards than his position might yet be elevated beyond even this great and mighty fortress of living rock and carven oak. "I do," Thranduil replied calmly. "We were victorious. And I might remind you that it was said victory that earned Tauriel her position at my side." Legolas drew in a deep breath and clenched his jaw at those words. Thranduil raised a brow in amusement. Disapproval of their conjugation or not, it was diverting to see young elves attracted to one another so fondly in the roles of warriors as well as being prince and peasant. "Or would you prefer that I place her at your side for such a display?"
"Your jests are daggers, Ada," Legolas replied with greater anger, so great that there was no hesitation in a heated reply. "Each one a cut that will not heal until I am sent from this place by force."
"There is no force that would send you from this place without my word. I am the law of the forest, do you hear? The very law!" Thranduil retorted in a dangerously serious tone. Legolas frowned and turned away as he heard the last few steps of Tauriel and her archers pass the enchanted doorways of the halls. The Elvenking sighed and placed a hand gently on his son's shoulder. "My son, I do what I do, I ask only what I ask, out love; love for you. Do you understand?"
Legolas slowly looked up, the scowl unchanged as he slung his hunting bow back over his shoulder and leaned close to his father's face, the greatest insult he could manage short of being thoroughly punished and humiliated. "No," he replied angrily. "Nor do you. If you loved me, you would listen to me."
"I have spoken and spoke out of love before you were born, that is why I decree what I do for this realm, Legolas, and you will not challenge it out of anger, lust, or any other fool's sentiment. Am I clear?" Thranduil said with fury building behind his calm demeanor. This time Legolas gave a quick 'yes' before storming away. Thranduil shook his head sadly. No matter how he tried to speak to the youth, somehow Legolas did not see eye to eye with his father's wisdom and strength. Even having faced enemies as well, which Thranduil had hoped to keep from him, the boy still resisted and repulsed the affection of his sovereign and true sire. As the Elvenking descended the stairs towards his throne room and Legolas keenly made his way out after Tauriel, Tauriel found her place in the forest that she had been ordered to protect. She slunk around the trees, every so often climbing high enough to see what colour the sky was and always it remained a misty gray, but not the threatening gray swirl from her visions. She sighed heavily as she slipped back down onto a branch and then hid herself comfortably among some ferns.
(*)
Loki collided with a tree first and foremost and grasped his face in shock and slight pain, letting out an aggravated grunt. He cursed under his breath and slipped the stone into one of his pockets as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the forest and took in his surroundings. "This is more a muddled mess of underbrush than the farthest east regions of Nornheim. The Ljosaralf know how to keep their hedges trimmed, what keeps these elves from tending their greenery?" he wondered aloud. He slipped quickly and quietly through the forest sensing the central palace nearby. He had only seen maps and images in dreams of others, but he knew he was close. He knelt as he drew near a mild distanced radius from the palace and allowed his golden armor and impressive golden helmet to form as he summoned the now lifeless, but formidable scepter into his hand. The gem would not take the hearts of any here nor would it command the minds of any others without the Tesseract itself, but at least it was a weapon and a symbol of authority. He stood slowly, his grandeur flowing about him with the green on his tunic and leather as if he had sprouted from the forest itself. Yes, he would seem a great deal more than just a costumed performer to these creatures; they had seen gods and monsters and were more wizened in their reverence of them than any Midgardian. "They will kneel," he mused to himself in a whisper laced with a triumphant chuckle. "They will kneel and beg for my . . ."
"For your what?" a stern, feminine, and decidedly unfriendly voice asked. Loki suddenly felt the tip of a blade at the back of his neck. He couldn't be sure what sort of blade it was, but ambition was on the other end. He smirked. Tauriel pressed the arrow forward, shoving its tip a little deeper into his occipital skull. "Well?"
"There are not many people who can sneak up on me," Loki said with amusement. "But if I am not mistaken it would mean your hair is red. Your hair is red, is it not? That does seem to be one sound I cannot hear as it moves," he said with another chuckle. A lighter tone now graced his already graceful voice and Tauriel's heart beat rapidly at such a guess . . . or did he know, had he seen somehow? "I do wonder what that means about your alacrity beneath the warmth of a man?"
With those words, Tauriel growled and moved to fire the arrow. This creature had no garment like any of the men, elves, or even dwarves of her world, and his speech was far too crude to be allowed to continue. The shot she wanted to fire would've killed him instantly, but instead she quickly turned her bow to face downward into his shoulder. At the shot he let out a terrible cry and suddenly thrust one elbow backwards. Tauriel had not expected such strength from a creature that merely seemed like an elaborately dressed human. She flew backwards several paces and felt her left flank slam into the trunk of an old birch. She let out a cry of pain before shouting to the other archers to find and subdue the intruder. Loki was no expert in the Sindarin tongue, but he knew that this was not good. He turned and growled furiously at her as he ripped the arrow from his shoulder with another howl. Her eyes widened at this sound. It was one of the howls from her dream. He seethed, hissing and trying to gage a next move as the other archers made their way swiftly to her location. Loki instantly knelt, turning to face her and giving her a warning stare before black fur suddenly consumed him, his eyes turning blood red, and his form shrinking into a perfect fox. Tauriel let out a gasp as he left his helmet and scepter and bolted for the magical entrance to the palace.
Forget the rest for now, he thought to himself. It is their king that matters; he will be the one that Malekith is seeking.
Tauriel moved over to the golden helmet and scepter, trembling. She took the helmet into her grasp as a familiar set of hands landed on her shoulders. She looked up as Legolas helped her to stand. "What has happened?" he asked in fright. She looked down at the helmet in her hands, then over at the scepter, then towards the palace. Legolas snarled and pulled an arrow from his quiver meant for assassins, leaving Tauriel to hold the helmet and scepter still in shock.
(*)
Loki bounded through the enchanted doors and hopped along the hallways as deftly as a gust of wind in this fox-form. He stopped every so often to sniff his way to the throne room. It would have the largest traces of sound, sound that was orderly and often in a louder, but not shouted tone. He smiled as he peeked his head past a tapestry and saw for the first time the Elvenking. This was most certainly not the battle-hardened Oropher, this was Thranduil and he was as resplendent as the fairy tales had told. The silver tunic and leggings draped over him like water while a red overcoat accentuated his royal blood and the orange/red décor in his bizarre crown. Two rings were on his right hand; one a small silver band to prove that he had at one time had a mate, and a very large diamond set in white gold to prove that anyone in his realm was at his mercy. He held a scepter of carved oak, not unlike the golden scepter Loki had left behind. He carefully snuck up to the legs of the throne, carved of oak and yet decorated with the antlers of what must've been the largest Elk the realm had ever seen. Thranduil stirred at the sound of the fox breathing and Loki realized he could hide purposefully no longer. It didn't matter, though. Now was the time to plot the garden, to sow the seeds of discord, and make the promise of aid against a new and powerful enemy in return for magnificent favors. Loki knew well how to bargain and it was time to try it out on an entirely new species. He pranced out in fox form before the throne, back several paces, and then materialized himself, bowing low. A great series of murmurs came from the courtiers that were gathered as well as the bodyguards who now had their arrows aimed at the stranger or their swords drawn in the same manner. Thranduil raised a hand to stay their actions as he noticed this beautiful creature, obviously riddled with the devious and disobedience of beauty in youth denied its innocence. He was positively radiating it and while the Elvenking knew as this stranger knelt gracefully that his pretty words were likely the guise of dark magic, he felt inclined to listen.
"Hail, Thranduil, son of Oropher, Elvenking and Master of the Woodland Realm," Loki said in his most regal tone. He lifted only his jade green eyes to the king and smiled kindly. "I am Loki, of Asgard, Prince of its golden halls and favored of its fair queen, Frigga."
"Your name, your title, your realm, and any of its beautiful trinkets are entirely of no concern to me, Stranger Loki," Thranduil replied with an arrogant smirk. "What brings you to your immediate execution before the great halls of the Elvenking?"
"What crime is there that I have thusly done to deserve death, your majesty?" Loki asked in feigned fear and pain.
Thranduil frowned at him. "You are an intruder in my realm; a realm on the brink of war," he replied firmly.
"Yes," Loki replied sadly, looking away slightly, making sure the king's eyes followed and that he held his every attention. It pleased him to see just that happening. "Malekith's forces are moving against your people and none too slowly."
"Malekith?" Thranduil asked, scooting forward on his throne with intrigue and then settling back to ponder the sounds of the name. "That name is not Sindar, nor is it Avari, nor is it Silvan. What concern is this of mine, Stranger Loki?"
Tauriel, Legolas, and the archers that had accompanied them made it swiftly into the throne room and stared in amazement at the sight of the stranger. Loki sensed this and lifted the corners of his mouth for a beat before returning to a somber and cautionary gaze. "Because, your elegance," he replied smoothly. "He is coming for your throne."