'Traitor.'
The imprisoned prince curled up tighter under a scratchy blanket like straw, shivering.
'Weakling.'
The cold sunk into his gaunt body, frosting his bones. His pale skin like paper felt like ice. Perhaps it was.
'Monster!'
The prisoner bit down a cry, digging his grimy nails into his ears. Voices, whispers without end, chanting evermore with sadistic glee; "Monster! Monster! Jotun runt!"
They sounded in the dark, horribly, like Chituari war cries.
The prisoner chewed on his already battered and swollen tongue. He could sense the guards just outside, flickering torchlight crawling like dying beasts under the solid metal door. It wouldn't matter if he cried, they wouldn't help him.
'They don't care. Why should they? Monster! Frost Giant! Forsaken by all, the nameless beast! Pathetic.'
Frigga- The prisoner thought nearly desperately. The voices rushed back, snapping eagerly.
'Alone, all alone!' They crooned. 'Abandoned little ice prince, not even the most loving of all could love a monster, a mindless beast. How hurt she must be,' They taunted on, 'knowing she held a wailing babe and raised it to be a beast.'
Not her fault! The prisoner argued to the dark, his voice to weak for reason.
'No, not her fault.'
'You always were a failure,'
'A monster born-'
The abandoned prince drew his thin blanket around himself, shivering. He could almost feel the blue ice creep across his skin, turning it to poison, almost feel the ridges raise like goosebumps against his bare arms.
"Shut up." He croaked. They voices paused. He imagined himself rid of them, the acidic hissing gone from his ears, his mind free of their sour influence.
Most of all, he imagined himself free, to see the sun and the wind after a year in prison, without hope.
Then, they returned, taunting renewed, and all wishing fled, all light drained, all thoughts smothered.
Out in the corridor, beyond dark, stained walls and heavy chains, something approached. The prisoner could feel it, the pulse of pure, golden power washing away all bad thought and all dark feelings. Like the sun, warm and great and powerful, locked into a vessel, held together by a simple, genuine smile.
After a year in prison, without hope, it was nearly blinding.
There was a rasp of metal against leather sheaths, a cry of warning to the bright light, and the ring of sword meeting sword.
The prisoner crept towards the door, holding the chains in his hands to keep from clinking. Just beyond the oppressive barrier, a laugh like church bells clashing wove through the battle. A pure noise, fully meant, true delight taken in the speed of battle.
The door swung open without warning, a figure of light stood framed against the stone walls and metal frame. He offered a friendly hand, his smile blinding and absolutely free of manipulation or threat. Blood flecked the side of his face, and the guards, still and limp, stained the floor with their life's blood.
The strange being looked, for all the world, like a fox that caught a chicken, grinning around bloodied feathers.
"Well?" The creature laughed again, free and flighty as the wind. "You coming?"
The prisoner stood frozen, hands clasped around limb-binding chains. His mind, cobwebbed by constant night and solitude, gave a little stuttering jolt. Freedom, perhaps his only chance at it.
"Yes." He whispered, voice creaking like rusted armor. The being's smile grew, impossibly. They both glanced down the hall at the crash of heavy steps approaching. The cell was far from the surface of the world, but warriors moved fast.
"Father dammit." The being sighed, grabbing the prince's wrist. "Come along, Pond. We need to move, now!"
Shimmering into existence, burning with the strength and age of the sun, six massive golden wings unfolded from the creature's back. He offered the prisoner a toothy smile, full of mischief and confidence. The warriors of Asgard thundered into view, weapons drawn, blood-lust in their grins.
The two mischief gods offered cheeky waves, and vanished with the clap of wings meeting air.
Gabriel, in the form of a comet, streaked past the All-Seer Heimdall, flying for Midgard with the god of mischief clinging to his arm.
So, I went over all the chapters of this a while ago, two hours ago, to be precise, and decided I could do much better. So, waddya'll think?
I won't be updating new chapters for a while, seeing as it takes fifteen minutes to get this blasted computer to work, but I'm more then willing to glance over all my old work and tidy up some of the more obvious grammer mistakes and fix up the characters a little. Its been awhile since I've written any chapters for any story, but I think I can do it.
So, all y'all have ta do is ignore my accent, which does not actually exist, and review wither (ehehe) or not this is better then the previous chapter. I'll keep the first attempt up until I get a definite answer, and then delete the one least liked. If the new one is met with dislikes of any or all kind, simple, I'll make another, seperate book just called 'Tricksters-in-Arms-edit' or something.
Looking forward to reviews as yay or nay, as ever, Peace Off, Internets!