Malekith knew his destiny. It was carefully laid before him, meticulously arranged so he would stay on it without ever knowing.
He hated it.
The dark elf prince couldn't even think for himself without familiar words making their way in.
You will replace your father.
You will become King of Svartalfheim.
What about his wants, his desires?
What if instead of the throne, all he craved from life was a simplistic home, with a plain mate and perhaps children? What disgrace would he bring to his family then?
The answer sadly, was empty. His father already despised him with unfathomable hatred. It was clear while becoming a man where Malekith's spirits resided.
That undeniable fate had lit yet another spark between father and son, they were soon screeching at each other, annihilating any shard left of their vocals.
"You will never be a king! You're too careless! Remove your pathetic head from the skies, son! I'm declining as we stand. There are no other heirs!"
Malekith stood soundlessly at his father's feet, looking intently at the charcoal below. He knew better than to retort. There were enough welts on his back from his naive youth.
"Malekith, face your fate. You cannot deny it any longer."
With that, the mighty king leaves. The prince sprints forward, finding solace in the mysterious mountains, located just at the horizon.
Once there, the deep, murky caverns of sanctum bring a comfort to Malekith. Here was a home he'd never known, void of harsh stabs against him, and unfathomable pain.
Here, he was safe.
Yet, as his silver boots scrape across the blackened gravel, there's an off disturbance in the air. Someone else had been, or was in his secret palace.
The prince grabs his dagger with caution, ready to damage any unknown beast that had burrowed its way inside.
His heart drops as he hears a voice.
Smooth, meticulous. Gorgeous.
"Hello?"
Malekith doesn't breathe, and presses securely against a rock wall.
Then, the intruder emerges, in turn shell shocking the hidden warrior.
It was quite clear that whoever it was, they were not of Svartalfheim. Cool gray fabric drapes the notably male frame, steel like leaves lay orderly on his shoulders. Their skin is breathtaking, a soft color resembling the dark ground below. Golden eyes look upon Malekith with curious caution, stark white eyebrows rising with alarm.
He was a light elf.
"Who are you?" The prince takes on a rehearsed, stoic tone. No matter the utter complexity of the being, it could still be dangerous.
"Algrim, of Aflheim...what is this place?"
"Svartalfheim."
An expression of minute joy crosses the others features.
"Svartalfheim! Home of the Dark Elves?"
"Yes." Malekith can't help but furrow his brow. Why would such a prominent hierarchy be so enthralled? Their races were ancient enemies, almost polar opposites, and he was intrigued?
The two stand, an even reflection of one another. Behind Algrim, the eclipsed sun begins to set, cascading a lovely vermillion glow that Malekith would normally admire.
But sunset meant nightfall, and nightfall revealed just how long he had been up here.
He grabs Algrim's wrist, murmuring a small phrase before setting back to his palace.
"We need to leave."
Algrim knows his father would be furious back on Alfheim, perhaps cursing his sons name, or even rejoicing at the convenient loss. Yet here was the answer to his prayers, an elven prince and his palace, so he wasn't focused on his horrid past.
The kingdom is nothing like his own, matching the energy that the dark elves seemed to exert. Tall structures stretch to the sky, stoic and black with dominance. He dully notes the hurried shift in which Malekith moves, perhaps attempting to diverse attention from the duo.
They quickly enter what appears to Malekith's bed chamber, and when the prince turns, his face is grim.
"You do not belong here! Tell me how you found this place!"
Algrim is startled by the outburst, and shies back at first. As the words process, he grows angry.
"This was not my will! There was a portal, where-"
The elves are spared any more tired bickering from a loud slam, just outside the room.
Malekith goes stiff, staring at the door with fear that doesn't suit his features.
"Hide." It's a demanding command, but Algrim complies, crouching behind the bed.
Suddenly, the door crashes open, revealing a terrifying elf, clad in silver armor.
"What have you done now, Malekith? The guards say there are light elves in my kingdom, all because of you! Do you not realize what a threat they are?"
He slaps the prince with force similar to the pain Algrim had felt moments ago.
"Tell me where it is, and I'll show you mercy!"
He expects Malekith to turn him in, but it utterly shocked by the young elf.
"I do not know."
The next hit brings tears to Algrim's eyes with its ferocity.
"Lies! You have endangered your own species! I will find the vermin, and extinguish it! You are not allowed to leave this room until I do!"
The horrid man leaves, just as swiftly as he came. A lurid cloud forms in the room, keeping the visitor cemented to floor in fear.
Malekith only turns, making a slow stride to his bed, sitting down with a rigid posture. He stares intently at the floor.
Sorely, Algrim rises, moving cautiously to his new found friends side.
"I will reveal myself."
He understood Malekith's fear, though in the same position, he would stand his ground. But it seemed customs, even parenting, was much different here. His father wasn't a king, didn't command an entire race with an iron fist. Algrim was an intruder, a threat to society.
"No." Malekith turns, revealing dark maroon seeping down his cheek. "You will not endure the King's wrath at my expense."
The intruder gapes, searching in the dark elves face for consent to come closer. He finds it.
"You are wounded..."
Malekith doesn't answer, only raises a pale hand, dabbing at the fluid with caution.
Soon, Algrim settles himself down too.
They were complete strangers, yes, but know had a complicated connection that couldn't go unnoticed.
"My father is rather harsh as well..."
"Really? Does he call you worthless? Unworthy of your own race?"
Malekith views him with scrutiny, highly doubtful that any other living being could endure the same.
"Yes."
The prince's frozen blue eyes grow inaccurately wide.
Algrim continues, intent on locking stares.
"That is the nature of my visit to the mountains. I would always seek solace from the pure hatred he displayed."
"And I as well." Malekith breaks the hypnotizing glance, choosing instead to refocus on the floor board.
Algrim isn't quite sure what comes over him, but he's soon grazing the dark elf's wound, purposeful fingers summoning something within.
With noses mere inches apart, the light elf begins murmuring, eyes flashing a glow bright enough to draw Malekith's own closed.
But as the blacks and purples reappear on his eyelids, the warrior raises a fast hand to the injured skin, brushing Algrims withdrawing fingers in the process.
What he discovers is a minimal bump, slightly puffy, but otherwise healed completely.
"Amazing."
He breathes out shakily, reopening his tunnels of vision to glance admiringly at the visitor. The warm glows of an orange sun paint his skin in remarkable ways, and accentuate the breathtaking irises, almost burning like fire.
"I am a light elf. Healing is no miraculous task..."
It's Algrims turn to be shy, veering slightly to the warmth of outside. There were so many wonderful things simply begging for his acknowledgment out there. Yet, he was reluctant to even step foot out of the room, in fears of his promised fate. What did his people do to deserve such an exile here?
"Malekith."
It was the first time he had spoken the forbidden prince's name, and quite enjoyed the flow of it on his tongue.
"Why does your race despise my own?"
His companion only sighs, shifting slightly on his hands.
"It's very simple. You are the light..." His bright eyes momentarily look to the elf in question, before gesturing wildly to himself. "And I am the darkness. Natural enemies. Each others weakness. It's been that way since the beginning of time."
"Is that what I am to you? An enemy?"
Malekith stands, fists clenched tightly behind his back.
"Despite years of training to say yes, I'm afraid I can't bring myself to agree with legend."
The visitor stares melancholic, glancing over the wide mountains.
"I wish not to return to Alfheim. It is pure hel..."
"Algrim..."
The deep baritone of Malekith's voice sends a flurry of chills up and down his spine. Suddenly, his pure white hand rests delicately on Algrim's shoulder.
"Do not worry. I swear you will never return there."
The sentiment was unexpected, but felt right to the prince. Here was a broken soul, much like his own. If given the chance, he too would leave. Alas, the hatred Malekith withheld was for his father alone. The Dark Elves were a powerful race, raised on pride and honor. He could see no danger in Algrim joining that proud tradition.