I am no one. I have no memory. The beginning and the end of my being is pain, pain from the tips of my fingers right down to the base of my spine.
My legs are numb, lifeless things I drag behind me. They must have always been. My arms are things that reach out in front of me, grasp on to hand holds and drag. I am not sure why I keep doing this. It causes me nothing but pain. All I know is that I must go up. I must go up, and I must speak a name.
The broken, bleeding body dragged itself slowly up the ash covered hillside. It lay in a pile of scree, scrambling with its hands for holds on rocks large enough to support its weight, dragging itself over the stones, worsening its already catastrophic injuries and opening new wounds. It made no sound, however. No cry of pain or sob of anguish. The only sound audible was the knocking of stones, the rustling of shredded cloth, and the steady 'Tink, Tink, Tink' as the heavy manacles on the wrists clanked into the stones as it pulled itself ever upward.
After an eternity of up, and an infinite number of drags, I reach my hands out before me for another hold, and grasp nothing but air. I feebly peel my eyes open, and after several moments, I realize that I have reached the top.
I lay my head down, and try to remember what the point of all that had been. I must go up. I must speak a name. The name. I can't remember speaking. I experiment trying to shape it with my lips. The first time I whisper the name so quietly, I cannot even hear myself.
"Heimdall"
Nothing happened. Try again, louder.
"HEIMDALL!" The figure screamed the name out with all the strength it had left, and it collapsed back to the earth. The scream caused blood to gurgle up through its mouth, and it choked and began to faint.
The world is going dark, and I have failed. Suddenly, all the world is light and color. I feel weightless for an instant, and know that I have died at last.
...
All the palace was in uproar. For the first time since anyone could remember, Heimdall left his post in the midst of his duty. He strode into the palace and up to the healing rooms bearing a bloody body with him. The news about an injured off worlder spread like wildfire.
The healers were at their wits end. The body was so badly mangled and unrecognizable they could not be certain of its species, let alone its gender or age. They placed it in the Soulforge, and began to try to take stock of the injuries. There was a break in the spinal column, and the legs were paralyzed and without life. The left eye was gone from the ravaged face entirely. More of the bones were broken than whole. Most horrifying of all, the body had almost no skin. What was not open wound or bleeding scrape was covered in burn marks, wheals and blisters.
Surprisingly, the heart still beat: strong and determined in the chest even though the body should not live. The healers began to pour magic into the wounds, speaking prayers for recovery, but the wounds did not respond, remaining as open and hideous as ever before.
Time went on as they studied the injuries, hoping to find an answer. Eventually, Odin himself came to the sick room seeking out the source of all the commotion and was shocked at the sight. Demanding to know who this person was, he cast about the room for a reply. None of the healers could give him an answer.
Odin inspected the broken figure, a look of horror on his face at the sight of such suffering. It was not until he came close to the body that the figure moved - its hand unclenched, and something glittering dropped from its clutch. Its fall was arrested, however, as it was attached to something still tangled around the bloody and burned fingers. Odin gently untangled the object, which proved to be a necklace.
He gazed at it with shock, and whispered: "No. Anything but that." He turned the object over in his hands again and again. It was a pretty thing, even smeared with the ichor from the body. It was an Asgardian pendant of robins egg blue. A flat, round stone with a knot-work tree carved into its surface. On the back, an inscription read, "For My Beloved Maeva." Odin's hands began to shake. "Save this person. Save them no matter the cost!" Odin proclaimed.
One young maiden healer came forward, although she trembled like a leaf. "Allfather," she squeaked, "our magic will not touch these wounds. I fear that there must be a curse at work."
"Any curse can be broken!" The Allfather retorted.
"My king," the maiden almost whispered, "We cannot understand the source of this magic."
Odin leaned heavily on a nearby table, grasping it so tight, his knuckles began to whiten. "Call for my son" he ordered at last.
"But, my king," replied the girl, "I do not know what Thor could do…."
"Not Thor." Odin cut her off, "No, bring Loki here."