You'd think that Loki would fall somewhere dark and unpleasant, where perhaps Titans rule asteroids and his mind would be twisted – well, Loki's mind would be twisted, but not by the astoundingly malicious and egomaniacal villain that was named Thanos. Instead, Loki would be twisted by a magic outside the borders of Odin's realms, in a place that Heimdall had never seen and neither Bor nor his father had dared to touch, instead deciding to hide it away like one would a secret treasure, a sacred name or a golden ring that in any other universe might be called a horcrux.
Horcruxes, my dear reader, before you go any further, you must know are an abominable evil, made by means so heinous that the only books that carry such knowledge have long since been destroyed or taken into the custody of a witch far brighter than any star in the sky. They keep one alive by the splitting of the soul, tethering little more than half to the mortal plain so that the other remaining piece of soul will never pass over to the worlds beyond. This is also the part that is conscious and most self-autonomous, unfortunately. The creation of a horcrux is an act that is utterly vile and would never be attempted by any sorcerer that does not wish to attract the attention of demons and destinies far greater than themselves.
But I am getting off-track.
Loki fell and he fell to the land of Aman, Aman being the lands west of Arda. Part of the world so aptly named Middle Earth, for it does indeed middle between the Earth you know, reader and one you do not, Aman and Arda are two separate continents, Arda being the origin place of Aman's residents. Middle Earth is home to many beings you may – or may not – be unfamiliar with. For example, the dwarves and elves roam Arda, the elves returning to Aman when they suffer heartbreak, tragedy or are close to death – for elves, much like elves of many fictional stories, but unlike those of house-elves, who more resemble brownies, live a long, long, long time and did once call Aman home before their migration to the eastern lands.
Other beings you may be familiar with are Men and Wizards – though, these Wizards are no ordinary Wizards. These wise old beings are Maiar, or Istari in the common tongue of Westron. Istar is the singular term, just as Maia is the singular for Maiar. The Maiar are the lesser of the Valar, altogether the Ainur, but more powerful than the majority of Arda's occupants – with some very old, very wise and very magical elves being the exception.
When Arda was coming together as a land, only just being populated by elves, dwarves, men and hobbits – I'll get to them in a moment – five Maiar, each servants of a different Valar, came to the land of Arda and made themselves places in the world, helping in both war and common affairs…if they felt like it. Over the years, some of the Maiar drew away – those two Istari known as the Blue Wizards drew away from Arda, heading to the far, far east and the far, far south, never to be seen from again and the Istar known as the Brown Wizard tucked himself up nicely in the Greenwood of the Nandor Elves, or Wood Elves, as you may know them better in other pieces of fiction, tending to the plants and animals of his favoured forest.
It may please you to think that Loki ended up in Aman, considering the lords and ladies of the Maiar that live there and their supposedly extravagant powers and supposedly great responsibilities, but I am sorry to say that Loki did not sail from Aman to Arda and join the Order of Wizards or the White Council. In truth, I believe it would be more accurate to say that Loki, as per usual, caused an incident of great magnitude with consequences that were not very good for his mental health…as per usual.
Because you see, my dear readers, in the land of Aman, where Gods live and no-one dies, Loki died.
This caused an immediate panic. There isn't much reason it wouldn't – thousands upon thousands of elves live there, either as dead spirits themselves, or as physical beings who came to Aman when their time in Arda was Done. To realise that someone has the ability to die in the lands of the Undying – as it is so aptly named – is quite the horror shock.
Loki had come falling from space at hundreds of miles an hour, pulled by the gravity of Middle Earth as anything his over-all mass would be, not even mentioning how likely it is that his magic reached for the nearest safe place. Loki could have landed in the great ocean of Belegaer, or somewhere else just as unpleasant. At least in Aman, Loki was seen to, his body assessed and his magic – a writhing mess of emerald that looked something like the less-than-fictional Gravitonium of Midgard – kept in place, rather than let loose to potentially destroy, poison or otherwise harm another being in Aman.
This is when, of course, Yavanna the Gardener, Green Lady, wife of Aulë the Smith and Planter of Hobbits, realises something very important.
"He still has a soul," and of course, this is all the information her fellow Valar need to start arguing while Yavanna herself sneaks Loki's body and magic away, out of sight, taking him to her garden.
Hobbits, as I mentioned earlier, are another type of being that lives in Arda. Just as Aulë created the dwarves and Eru Ilúvatar, the Creator of All Things, made the Valar, Maiar, the elves and the race of men, Yavanna created her hobbits.
Now, my dear reader, you may be thinking some strange thoughts such as: what are hobbits?
Hobbits are creatures of the earth. They are a strange mix of things and many myths say that they are from the union of dwarf and elf, but this is simply not true – though, maybe Yavanna took inspiration, for the similarities are indeed striking. Hobbits come from three distinct stock – the Stoor Hobbit, the Fallohide Hobbit and the Harfoot Hobbit. Stoor hobbits have a fondness for water and have famously gotten on with Men, with pale skin and long limbs and extremities, if not tall height. In my research, however, I discovered that the average hobbit is three foot five, taking into account the tall Fallohides who prefer the company of elves and the shadows and boughs of tall trees and the small Harfoots with their browned skin, hairy, disproportionately large feet and infamous trade deals with dwarves.
Over time, of course, most hobbits are of mixed blood. Some might have rounded ears and some might have pointed, just as one may be two foot high and another four. Indeed, Yavanna seems to love diversity, within a standard template.
Hobbits themselves know where they come from, unlike Men who at times disbelieve that the Valar and Eru Ilúvatar exist at all. The reason that hobbits know who and how they were created however, is simply due to the fact that they recreate the process at least once within three generations of a single family.
When a set of hobbits – usually two, sometimes three, no more than five – want a child but are unable or do not want to conceive naturally, the partners would go to their garden where a circle of stones surrounds a patch of grassless earth. Then, they would bury a strand of hair from a minimum of two parents and each put in a single drop of blood alongside a gift – the drop of blood being the most important part of the ritual in some hobbit's eyes, as it indicates how many children the hobbit family wants.
Then, they bury the items, waiting, watching until Yavanna answers. The only known refusal in written hobbit history that I have been generously allowed access to indicates that Yavanna returned the gift given. A note: at the time, the two parents had both been unknowingly infected with a deadly poison and subsequently died quiet and unexpected deaths in their beds a month later.
Once the gift is accepted, a sprout will grow and very quickly it will be joined by a few hundred similar sprouts. In time, for it varies hobbit to hobbit, the sprouts will change, becoming flowers. Whether the flowers are bloomed are another matter, but at least once a day, the hobbit parents must Tend their Yavanna Patch, for with Yavanna's magic at work, many weeds that have known to strangle a growing Planted Child will creep between stems.
It would be a good moment to point out other aspects of this ritual – to note more on the meanings of flowers and suchlike and other traditions, an example being Valar Lockets, which all Planted Children receive at some point in their childhood – however I predict that is much too much information to swallow at one time and it would do well to continue on with Loki's adventure after dying.
Yavanna takes Loki to her garden and buries him gently in a hole in the ground. This hole is not smelly, nor is it wet nor cold. Rather, it is warm and homey, for all that a hole in the ground can be homey. Yavanna cuts her palm with a pair of garden scissors, pressing her bleeding palm to his cheek, where an open wound has long stopped weeping. Singing in her wind-like Greentongue, as her hobbits call it, magic comes from the earth around them, golden tendrils like dust rising up to encase the emerald magic. It fights for a while, a very, very long while and by the time Yavanna has coaxed it into the dead body, her brothers, sisters and husband surround them.
"Tis folly, beloved," Aulë tells her, "he is long gone."
"But his soul is still here and I have long loved Planting hobbits that have nothing in my Fields, not happiness, not joy…"
"He is no hobbit, sister," Irmo warns, "You can't know how it'll work with him as he is. Can you not see what base form his skin takes?"
A pause for me to explain, but Irmo, otherwise known as Lórien, the Lord and Master of Dreams, Visions and Desires, now references something that may not easily be seen by mortals eyes. Loki is a shapeshifter, as you, my reader, may or may not know. With this ability, Loki was able to hide himself, posing as an Aesir once he had a reference, which he received through Odin, King of Asgard, when he was picked up as a baby. Unfortunately, this also had the side-effect of Loki growing up misinterpreting his own race, not realising that his so-called base form was not pale-skinned, but blue as his Jotun, Frost Giant father's, marked with darkened, raised tribal markings that named him son of Laufey's Line.
Even dead, Loki's body stays stuck in his most familiar form, for shapeshifting is both a magic and physiological art that combines the two. However, the Valar can all see his 'base form' due to their ability to see souls as they are – and Loki's soul depicts him as a Jotun.
"I'm not blind, Irmo," Yavanna murmurs, before picking up a dried petal from the ground by her knee. "Golden everlasting. It's meant to be." She reaches forwards, tipping Loki's cracking jaw open until she can rest the petal on his tongue. "Have a good life that might end better than this one."
There is little to say about what happens next. It is an indescribable event that in its most basic essence, is the journey of a soul and all things connected to it either by chance or by fate into the small body of a Planted hobbit.