Title: Nightmares and Dreamscapes- Chapter 7/?
Fandom: Lazytown
Pairing: Sportacus/Robbie
Rating: T
Summary: There is no such thing as magic...right? However, when Robbie starts noticing something strange about Sportacus and unusual things start occurring in Lazytown, that belief just might have to be changed.
Author's Notes: I'm not sure what to think about this chapter. Or any of the ones following it. Hmm. Opinions? (And dear god, am I ever mangling folktales and fairytales and everything else to pieces.)
Sportacus continued to twine that strangely familiar magic through his mind. There was something…just something almost familiar about it… both the magic and all the unusual things going around town… There was another twitch of the wispy tendrils of magic against his, the foreign magic dark and slippery. He remembered it from somewhere…
Little Sportacus ran into the small house and cried out, "Mamma!" He threw his arms around her, burying his face in her side.
His mamma laughed and drew her hand through his hair. "What is it, little one? Avoiding your Pabbi and training, hmm?"
He moved so he was looking up at her, big blue eyes wide, and pouted. "No," he answered, a little petulantly. Shifting his weight nervously, he asked, "Mamma, what are those statues in the forest?"
His mother frowned down at him, moving so he was against her front. "What statues are you talking about, Sportacus?"
Sportacus hid his face again and mumbled something.
Still frowning, she gently turned his face up to her. "What was that?"
"The scary statues in the forest. The ones that hide their faces." There were stone statues at the edges of the forest, seemingly fleeing from something, tangled hair flying in an invisible wind. They were elves, that much he could tell, but there was something about their faces that sent unease through him. However, many had their hands up, forearms and fingers blocking their faces.
"Ah," Mamma said and gathered him up in her arms. "Sportacus, you know we are ljósálfar."
Light elves. "Yes, Mamma."
Her pale blue eyes searched his face, one hand brushing away the blond curls spilling across his forehead. "Those statues are svartàlfar." Dark elves, black elves. She hesitated and then asked, "Could you feel their magic?"
Sportacus ducked his head and slowly nodded. The magic had stewed around the bases of the statues, stagnant and foul. It had slipped against his mind, oily and dark, very unlike the bright and radiant magic of his home. "It…was not nice magic," he mumbled.
Mamma sighed. "No, it usually is not. Svartàlfar are usually cruel and greedy." She stopped and said, stiltedly," But you must remember that they too have the capacity for kindness and selflessness." She paused, the corners of her mouth tipping down. "As rare as that is for their kind."
Sportacus squirmed in her grip. "Why are they statues then, Mamma?"
"Just like us, little one, they have their own magic, their own strengths and weaknesses. They are nocturnal creatures, only coming out at night. The touch of the sun causes them to turn into stone."
Ever curious, Sportacus asked, "Why?"
"Some say they are cursed by their creator to forever wander the night."
Sportacus wrinkled his nose at that. As a ljósálfar, Sportacus reveled in sunlight and gathered energy from it. It was simply unthinkable to him for some creature to be so removed from the sunlight. Hit with another aspect of her words, Sportacus frowned. "That's not nice," he said with all the naïve perceptions of a child.
Mamma smiled at that. "That's true, but they are rarely nice. They leave behind diseases, skin rashes, sharp pains…"
Sportacus's eyes were wide again; he bounced in her arms excitedly. "What else do they do?"
Mamma laughed. Her dear Sportacus, always so inquisitive and curious. "Hmm," she hummed, thinking back on the cautionary tales that had been told to her by her parents. "They cause fairy rings wherever they go." A circle of mushrooms, although there was nothing damaging about them. "They ride so fast that their hair tangles and they pass it on to others. And they have the power of mara."
Sportacus frowned again, small fingers absently twining in her light brown curls. "What is mara, Mamma?"
She hummed thoughtfully. Then, "You know how you sometimes dream, little one?" He nodded. "Well, mara are bad dreams. They take your fears and twist them into something that is scarier than you can imagine."
Sportacus looked confused. "And they do this?"
"Yes. They sit on you and sneak into your mind."
"Like the Elders?" Sportacus asked, enthused to find some connection between this tale and his life.
"Ah, but the Elders only use that power for good. The svartàlfar sneak into your mind and cause these bad dreams. And then you wake up, but since they are sitting on you, you can't move or speak or breathe…only when they move can you truly awaken."
Sportacus bounced a little. "But…Pabbi said going into minds needs a lot of magic and that's why only the Elders can do it."
"Yes, but this is their strength. They can go into minds and twist everything in there around. One must be careful with a svartàlfar."
She set Sportacus back on the ground. Suddenly, her tone changed. "Now, stop avoiding Pabbi. He's not going to be pleased if he finds you here. You're supposed to be practicing."
Sportacus turned innocent blue eyes up to her, face guileless; despite this, there was a mischievous quirk at the corner of his mouth. She wagged a finger at him. "Don't even try that face on me, Sportacus. Go on, before he looks here."
At the frightening thought of Pabbi hunting him down, Sportacus ran back outside, the scary tale being pushed to the back of his mind from the thought of bright sunlight and energetic flips.
Sportacus leaned back in his pilot's chair and touched the faint magic again. Yes, it was unmistakable now. The dark magic, the nightmares, the sharp pains the children were getting, the fairy ring by the garden he had helped, Stingy's rash, Stephanie's tangled hair…
There was a svartàlfar in Lazytown…and its sights were set on the inhabitants.