May 29, 2012

Surrender, Chapter 3: Back in Asgard

Loki glanced around his room. All was as he had left it. Time passed differently between realms; perhaps an hour had elapsed in Asgard even though he'd spent close to twelve hours in Alfheim. Now it was time to test the “gift” he’d received in the grove.

He strode through the palace, staff in hand, searching for a test subject. As he passed the kitchens, several servants near its doorway paused in their duties to bow their heads to him respectfully with a humble, "My lord, Loki." Loki paused as well. He peered deeper into the kitchens with a growing frown on his face.

A man who had just retrieved a cask of wine from the cellar below asked him, "Are you hungry, my lord?"

"You might say that," Loki replied casually, his attention fixed on the busy room before him. He entered the kitchen to get a more accurate assessment of the long room. About 12 paces wide, 40 paces long...and 53 people, waiting like sheep. "But to be honest I'm more interested in the present work ethic..."

The manservant quickly bowed deeply, "What may we improve that would satisfy you, my lord?" Loki felt the man's nervousness and ignored the urge to laugh. I know just what they need.

"My, but it does look dreadfully boring down here. You are all so serious--so meek, mild, and mundane." Loki smiled at the servant, but the poor man was dumbfounded having no context for where Loki was going with his assessment. The servants ignored Loki’s speech and kept their attention on their work. "Live a little!" He gestured with the staff in a long arc in front of him that took in the entire room. Every cook, maid, and serving man ceased their duties, dropping their hands to their waists and staring blankly forward. Loki grinned in anticipation.

He gestured again with the same motion, and several of the servants began to clear a space in the center of the kitchen by moving tables, chairs, and racks to the sides of the room. Once a space large enough for a hall had been cleared, all the servants took places in the center of the room. They formed two lines facing one another. Loki looked them over thoughtfully.

"Well, go on. Have a ball!" Loki gestured a third time, but this time the staff seemed to shiver in his hands with excitement. L'Shale was stirring, it seemed. The servants bowed to one another and extended their hands to begin dancing. They circled one another and exchanged partners as they began to move about the room in imitation of a feast day dance.

The servants sang, laughed, and clapped as if they were lords and ladies of the palace. Yet if anyone were to glimpse the kitchen now they would think the servants had gone mad. The music and merriment was in their heads—an illusion that swallowed them all. Loki smirked in satisfaction as he watched them dance for a time. L'Shale quivered warmly in his grip—stretching after a long sleep—as if he wanted to leap in and join the festivities himself.

Loki was intrigued by L’Shale’s stirrings. It was truly tempting to feel the power of a rogue nature spirit—a power so great it was quelled only by the realm’s god. "Not so fast," Loki gripped the staff tighter and forced his own will upon L’Shale to subdue it—keep it caged. "I'm the one holding the staff if you hadn't noticed." L'Shale pushed back with a mental force that Loki had not anticipated, but was still controllable. Loki waved the staff with a quick snap this time, "I guess I'd better set them right or we'll all starve."

The servants halted mid-step and gave one another bewildered looks. The serving man who had spoken to Loki before ended up back in the same spot. He looked quite shaken after the brief jaunt. "What's going on? You were speaking one moment then I— I'm not sure what—" The man remembered his place, then bowed deeply, "Forgive me, my lord, but—"

"What are you all doing just standing about?" Loki scolded everyone in the kitchen quite loudly. "Get back to work! You have a palace to feed!" The servants resumed their hustle and bustle, first replacing the tables and equipment to their normal spots. They kept their heads down and mouths shut, just as servants should. There wouldn't be as much as a whisper spoken among them about what happened. Discussing such nonsense was unheard of especially when it included a member of the royal family.

He gave an angry scowl to a serving maid near the door for good measure. She yelped, nearly dropping the set of empty bowls she carried. He left the kitchens swiftly, but slowed after a few paces down the hall. He glanced behind himself, saw that he was alone, and burst out laughing.

*********

Elsewhere in the palace events ran smoothly. Servants completed their duties, warriors sparred and practiced, and King Odin paced about the balcony adjacent to his throne room. Since Loki's return a month ago he'd spent most of his afternoons there awaiting any who came seeking his audience. He also used the time to devise proper guidance for his troubled son. Disputes between Asgardians were rare, and complaints were non-existent, but as king he wanted to make himself available if his counsel was needed. In the past most dilemmas arose within the palace itself, usually involving his sons Thor and Loki in one way or another. Even more common were the conflicts between the two brothers. They might think Odin knew little of the tensions between them, but in their hearts they were aware that their father understood more than he would explain. It was a king's job to know his subjects, and Odin All-father was not just a king, he was also a god.

Diplomacy and defense were the trademarks of Odin's rule. It was a combination that frequently allowed his sons to rush headlong into predicaments he often pulled them out of by the scruff of their disobedient necks. Yet he was a forgiving father, and he accepted that his young sons must learn and gain wisdom through their own actions and decisions. It was the best way to prepare a boy for his future as king.

As for his sons' latest escapade, Thor brought Loki back to Asgard a month past, muzzled and chained with cold rage in his blue eyes—but there was a weariness, too. Loki's failed subjugation of Midgard had left Odin, for the first time in his life, at a loss for what to do with Loki. He did not want to exile him to Midgard as he had done to Thor previously. He wanted to keep a close eye on his devious son for he was in need of guidance, not punishment. He'd declared that Loki would stay in Asgard to be reformed. But even for all his good intentions, Odin feared Loki would not change.

Loki had been withdrawn and pensive since returning to Asgard as if he was trying to pull himself back together. Odin knew Loki would be a ticking time bomb if he still held the same contempt before his prolonged disappearance, but his son had changed. His face was harder, and his attention was more distant, but he also seemed more brittle—ready to snap like a hot blade cooled too quickly. Yet Loki slid easily back into the cold exterior Odin had so often seen on his troubled son. Loki spent most of his time in the library now and preferred to be alone except when Odin summoned him to talk. When asked Loki would reveal few details of his time away from Asgard, except what was known from his failed takeover in Midgard. Odin managed to glean that Loki spent an unknown amount of time in the void between realms—a place which had existed only in a faint memory until now. Remembering his experience drifting in the void seemed to bother Loki and had left an "incomprehensible scar" upon his psyche—or so he said. Loki played his own games, kept many secrets, and trusted no one.

Odin halted his pacing when he sensed that Loki had re-entered Asgard. He'd not realized his son was gone until he'd felt his return. Odin spoke to himself, "Loki. What is that boy up to now?" Odin's attention fell upon Heimdall guarding his post at the now broken, jagged-edged Rainbow Bridge across the city. He sensed no new information from Heimdall—he had not been aware that Loki had been away from Asgard either—which meant that Loki must have traveled between realms on his own and shielded himself from being seen. A close eye indeed.

This new development gave Odin mixed feelings. He was affronted that Loki would travel freely when he had been sent back to Asgard to be watched closely. Yet a small measure of bittersweet pride welled in him at the same time. Such are the feelings of a father eager to see his child grow, even if it is in a misguided direction. Why would he let me know he’s back if he didn’t want me to know he’d left? Odin sensed events that might come to pass, and knew that Loki must come to him. "So, he will seek me out. Then let us see which actions he would choose." But this is Loki, and I must be prepared to stop him if he will not heed my guidance. Such are a father's thoughts when he knows the heart of his son.

May 25, 2012

Surrender, Chapter 2: Research, Relics, Riddles

The several weeks leading up to Loki's Alfheim journey had been short, but productive. He'd spent most of his waking hours searching through old texts and dusty crates in Asgard's great library. At first he had no set path for his intention—to gain the upper hand again, of course—but as he skimmed volume after aged volume of books gathered from all the realms, Alfheim kept pulling his interest.

Alfheim—meaning “elf home”—was home to the Light Elves, Fae, and many other other spirits, souls, and aspects of nature. Light Elves were humanoid creatures who had kept their ties to nature. According to several sources the Light Elves reside in a vast city that has not been seen by any outsider for thousands of years. It’s location is either unknown, hidden, or perhaps it changes. The entire realm was supposedly large expanses of undeveloped forest land with one mountain range and various rivers.

Fae and other nature spirits reside in the forests and naturally emit a magic field that affects those who come near them. They can strengthen or turn it off at will. Fae spirits usually have a weakness which can sometimes be ridiculous or irrational—shoes, teacups, string, mirrors, certain words, certain smells—but they are powerless to react if their weakness is present.

Loki was particularly taken with Fae magic, glamour it was called. Fae glamour could work in different ways according to several accounts from victims and witnesses alike. A Fae's glamour could trap others in an illusion, compel them to carry out an act, control their mood, or simply influence the senses. All written information on the Fae was ancient and second- or third-hand. Alfheim’s inhabitants kept no written records and were content to live as one with nature and time.

In addition to the dusty tomes it housed, Asgard's great library held hall after hall of time-worn tapestries, broken marble statues, and huge structures of fossilized animal remains. Shelves were filled with small curios, forgotten relics, stone goblets, glass dishes, and chiseled stone busts. Loki usually found himself alone in the library. Asgard’s best were warriors, not scholars.

One morning he lucked out while rummaging through yet another room of cloth-covered crates and artifacts. Buried under items that had lain undisturbed for hundreds—or perhaps thousands—of years, he'd found a small nymph-shaped figure locked away in a disused box. The carving was no bigger than his palm and appeared to be made of wood, but to the touch it was hard as stone. The box labeled the figure as "Alfheim artifact; Description: wood carving of a nymph; Use: unknown.”

Through a little trial and error, Loki discovered that he could sense and manipulate a weak glamour field it generated. It was a simple trinket, sadly. Its effect was to appear as a mundane object for a short time—a cup, a ball, or a pouch, for example. But its usefulness had been in verifying the fact that Asgardians could be affected by Fae magic. The glamoured object fooled others easily, and none could sense it was anything other than what it appeared to be. Even Odin did not sense the glamour. At least he did not admit to it if he did. Loki was not of Asgard himself, though, so he assumed his Frost Giant lineage and natural magical abilities must have allowed him to sense the glamour, resist it, and see through it if he wished.. "There must be a way to control it," he kept repeating to himself over and over as he researched more and more, little as there was.

After this epiphany Loki returned to two particular Alfheim texts he'd come across earlier that week: Alfheim: A Study of Light Elves and Fae Spirits and Journeys Through the Fae Realm. The first contained all known abilities and descriptions of the inhabitants of Alfheim including Fae, Light Elves, and other nature spirits. Following his own “personal observations”, the author presented the theory that Asgardians couldn't sense Fae glamour at work. His descriptions of Elves and Fae were fanciful at best, sadly. Alfheim's author claimed Fae were little more than 8 inch high pixies that danced on water lilies and flitted about fields of flowers. After meeting a Fae, though, Loki reflected bitterly that he could write a shorter book containing more accurate information based on his one-day experience alone. So far the author's description of Freyr's position as the forest god had been accurate, but Loki hoped he wouldn't have cause to confirm that.

The latter book, Journeys, was written by an unfortunate human trapped in Alfheim for a time.
It contained a similar story to what Mirella had now confirmed for him. That was the key to his plan—the staff that allowed the weilder to use Fae glamour. The only information missing in the book's version had been the name of the staff and its location. Hence his need for consulting a Fae before beginning his trek across Alfheim.

The Journeys author had also been a cartographer, and Loki hoped the maps the mortal had drawn would be helpful in finding L’Shale’s grove. He was surprised to see that the author's descriptions of the landmarks and forestland matched perfectly, proving that he had indeed been to Alfheim. Journeys was supposedly a fictional tale, but much of the book’s contents were quite true indeed. Perhaps it was the only way a human could get such a book published. The foreword of a later volume of human poetry cited that the author of Journeys went mad shortly after publishing his book, claiming the Fae had taken him back to Alfheim. After spending years in an asylum he'd taken his own life. His last words were a scream of defiance, "Freyr will protect me! I am but a man! He will protect me!" Weak and pathetic mortal. At least he penned something practical amidst the nonsense.

His gamble to travel to Alfheim personally had paid off so far. He had confirmed the tale of the staff was true and not a madman's concoction. Assuming he could find L'Shale, the remainder of his plan would take time to come to fruition, though. He disliked waiting, but it would be necessary if L'Shale could not affect Odin, which he had to be prepared for given Odin's strength of will. With the staff I can ensnare Thor to believe whatever I want. His skills are certainly no match for Fae glamour. And with the help of my "brother", I will show Odin my true worth. I will succeed him as king instead of Thor. No Asgardian will know how I did it. And they will all obey my command as king—what I deserve to be.

*********

The trek from Mirella’s garden to the Great Mountains was fairly uneventful and took the rest of the day. Loki avoided encountering any other Fae—once was enough for him. The weather was fair, the land was easy enough to travel on foot, and for an hour or two the forests even gave way to expansive grasslands where he saw several packs of wild horses in the distance. A large river ran north to south, and he followed it for a time before turning farther west. Journeys’ maps had been useful indeed.

Loki reached the valley between the Great Mountains just as the sun was setting over the forests of Alfheim. Most of the wildlife had been unnaturally quiet since he left Mirella, but whether it was due to the loss of heightened senses or some other reason he did not know. With his mind on more important matters, he dismissed extraneous details. He only sought the staff called L'Shale, the key to his plan’s success.

He entered a grove of fruit trees within the valley aware that he was being watched. He was unconcerned with whoever—or whatever—was watching him, though. I can handle the creatures that walk these woods. I've already proven that. Even so, he quickened his pace.

It was late autumn so few of the trees still bore fruit. Most of the leaves had turned brilliant shades of gold, red, or orange except for the occasional evergreen. He did spot a few branches bearing ripe apples, but he knew better than to eat any food from this realm. He chuckled as he passed by them.

After a thorough searching of the grove twilight descended and brought with it softer shadows and washed out colors. He'd seen no altars, crypts, or secret passages. He sensed no deceptive or cloaking magics, although he could not be certain since Fae magic was radically different than his own strengths as a sorcerer. The grove was empty except for the trees, his unseen watcher, and himself. He could have been in any forest, yet somehow he felt he was in the right place.

There were a few taller trees throughout the grove, and a large redwood grew at the very center. He paused beneath the redwood while he pondered his next move. It's here in this grove waiting to be found. After some time he relented that he could get no further on his current information and decided to confront his watcher.

"Whoever watches me," he bellowed into the grove, "I seek that which you guard." For a moment there was nothing but silence.

Before doubt or irritation could take hold of him a low, booming voice from overhead answered, "What you seek cannot be found." The deep voice projected across the entire grove. The sound could have been a rumbling earthquake had it not spoken distinct words.

Loki looked up and surveyed the treetops for the source of the reply. He saw no movements save branches and leaves that swayed in the night’s breeze. He demanded this time, "Tell me where L'Shale is kept! I know it is in this grove!"

When the booming voice replied again, he saw that it was the redwood itself that had answered him. Three wide, healed-over gashes in its bark several paces up defined Redwood's eyes and mouth. Loki would have paid no mind to the scars had they not moved when it spoke. "L'Shale is kept beyond your reach, visitor. It cannot be taken."

It cannot be found. It cannot be taken. A riddle, perhaps? "It cannot be taken... Beyond your reach... visitor..." Loki mumbled to himself as he stared up at the tall tree. The short twilight slipped away, and darkness blanketed the grove. His sharp eyes had no problem making out Redwood’s features and the surrounding roots, though. He let his mind wander around Redwood’s words, and he stepped over the tree’s exposed roots idly circling the tree a couple times as he thought. The puzzle came together quickly, and he realized what the riddle was. It can only be given as a gift. He shouted upward, "Redwood, I have traveled from Asgard to know the magic of your grove. I would accept L'Shale as your gift to me!"

Redwood’s roots groaned and heaved in response. Loki jumped back to avoid the fissures created by the displaced, writhing roots and shifting earth. One of the larger roots nearest to where he stood rose from the ground to reveal a gnarled and twisted staff of pale willow wood. The staff's only adornment was a black, fist-sized granite shard capping its head. Besides that, it could have been a traveler’s walking stick.

As Loki reached for the staff, Redwood intoned, "We offer this staff as a gift from the grove, Asgardian." Loki grasped the staff with one hand and pulled it free of the earth and roots holding it. "To one of Asgard, he is but a staff. But should he awaken, beware his wrath. Enjoy your gift." Redwood’s rumbling voice made the word “gift” sound like “curse”, but Loki ignored the inflection. He had what he’d come all this way to retrieve.

"Thank you, Redwood." He brushed the loose dirt from the staff and examined the shard of hard granite. It was black as pitch in the early evening darkness. Flecks of lighter-colored stone throughout it glinted in the rising moonlight. "I shall enjoy your gift greatly." For now, it did feel like just a walking stick. We'll see its potential soon enough.

He pondered momentarily on why it had been so easy to claim the staff. No one in Alfheim has need of a staff that lets them use Fae glamour. They already have that power, and few people outside of Alfheim know of the staff much less that it actually exists. And now it's mine! Loki formed a gateway back to his room in Asgard grinning like a fool. All mine!

May 11, 2012

Surrender, Chapter 1: Into Fae Dreams

This week I've been writing in my free time, and apparently it was a desperate need. In three days I've written maybe a third of a growing story revolving around Loki. It began as a one-off encounter between Loki and a Fae of Alfheim. I was exploring Loki's reactions to a forced surrender of his will--a reaction to living in the moment, to freedom. A few small streams became a river, and now I'm several chapters into the progression of Loki's situation.

As I haven't written anything of this length and scope in some time, I wanted to get it out of my private journal and into somewhere public, however obscure. Not for feedback, but for closure; else I might continually edit it until it loses its spark. Let's not do that...

EDIT: This story may also be read on Fanfiction.net.

Surrender

Foreword

I've been dreaming of Loki. And not just night dreams—daydreams as well. I always ache to see love crack the fierce, evil exterior that villains put up. Loki's core is filled with jealousy and a thirst for recognition, for love. But he is absolutely unwilling to surrender to it. He fights it because he must control it. It is the only foundation, however unsteady, that he has to hold on to. He has built his precarious world of lies upon it. But what if he were made to surrender? What if he were shown love and freedom, just a fleeting glance? Would he miss it when it's gone?



Chapter 1: Into Fae Dreams

**********

Mirella gazed at her reflection in the small pool of her private garden. She ran her hands over the soft features of her pale, fairy-like face and drew her long, chestnut-colored hair over one shoulder. The gentle sounds of undisturbed nature floated through the air--birds chirped, squirrels foraged below the fallen leaves, the wind played lightly through the branches surrounding the grove, and somewhere in the distance the flow of a small stream underlined it all.

There was a rustling of something unnatural behind her near the garden's entry. A pair of boots? In my garden? She stood calmly. All of her motions contained the slow grace of a lounging cat. She turned to face her intruder, and a smile quirked her pink lips. A slim, black-haired man stood just inside the short, wild hedge that marked the garden's entry to the rest of the surrounding forest. Her garden could easily blend into the woods beyond, but the garden would be overlooked by any who were susceptible to Fae glamour--especially men. Why is this man here?

Her visitor was at least 18 inches taller than she was, but of average height for a man. His black hair fell to his shoulders and brushed the top of his forest-green cloak. He wore the garb of nobility, she recognized, even though none such designation existed in her own realm. She was familiar with the realms of men, as well as other realms where man-like beings dwelt. She had a genuine fondness for men unlike some of her peers who used all creatures for their own amusement. Men were different. Some men contained a will as strong as a wild stag. She held a certain respect for that.

She walked toward the intruder fluidly. She was clothed in faintly transparent gossamer fabric not unlike spiderwebs. It had a pinkish tint and billowed behind her gently as she moved. The tail of it trailed through the grass soundlessly. Dew drops scattered throughout the fabric shone like gems as they caught the the morning sun's light. Her movement barely made any sound. She was as much a part of the garden as it was of her--just another wild flower.

She stopped a few feet short of the man, and inclined her head slightly with an air of curiosity to look into his eyes. "Who are you that would enter my garden?" Her voice was as delicate and graceful as her stature, but a thin current of confidence and even mischief was detectable to her sensitive ears.

The man had an almost expressionless face, but Mirella could sense that he was picking his words carefully before he spoke. Perhaps he was having trouble even grasping at words; Fae had that effect on other creatures. The intruder knelt on one knee, and looked up slightly to meet Mirella's eyes. "I have come for your aid, if you would grant it."

*********

With an effort seldom needed, Loki ignored the Fae's glamour and stepped into the hedged area roughly 20 paces across. The garden's owner stood as he entered, and proceeded to approach him as naturally as ripples in a lake. Her beauty upon any other creature might have swayed his senses momentarily, but she was a Fae. I mustn't let her glamour affect me. Coming here had been very far from the top of his list, and dangerous at that, but he had little choice given his situation. The Fae realm, Alfheim, was one of the few places he could enter with little fear of word getting back to Asgard that he'd been away. The Fae kept to themselves unless someone was stupid enough to become trapped by their charms. I must stay focused.

The Fae was quite short and petite, but he knew better than to underestimate her abilities based on her appearances. I must be on my guard. She stopped a long pace from him and asked coolly, "Who are you that would enter my garden?" Her voice danced in his ears like the melody of a song bird. He struggled to keep his attention on his mission. Even his natural resistance to magic wasn't much help when it came to this. Fae glamour was powerful.  I must stay in control.

He put on his best game face and knelt before her. She must believe that I will submit to her, but I cannot falter. "I have come for your aid." He looked into her pale green eyes and for a moment a vision of new spring leaves disturbed by a light breeze wafted across his thoughts dreamily. He pushed it away. No. He quickly lowered his eyes to study the dead brown leaves on the ground in front of him, "If you would grant it." He hoped his demeanor appeared sturdier than he felt.

She looked at him a long moment and amusement touched her smile, "Oh, but you are a long way from your own realm. Come. Sit with me and discuss your wishes." She motioned with a slender arm to a nearby fallen tree trunk.

Loki felt the allure of her graceful movements pulling him to dance, but instead he managed to stand slowly. "Thank you, kind fairy." He bowed his head slightly with a tight smile.

He followed her a few paces to the tree trunk. He almost tripped, but covered his misstep by pausing a moment to watch her take a seat first. He tried to avoid her eyes as he sat down a few feet from her, but their sharpness pierced his thoughts with their playful urgings--laugh and dance with me, they sang, there is nothing but the song of the wind. Loki steeled himself against the glamour.

*********

Mirella sat comfortably upon the fallen trunk, never removing her eyes from the man who had entered her garden and asked for her aid. She beckoned him to sit next to her, but he chose a spot on the far side instead. The newcomer's motions were a clumsy bear's beside hers. He was avoiding her eyes now. Smart man. Smart, but futile, sadly. Men could not resist the natural glamour of Fae for long, if they resisted at all. Most men welcomed the freedom they felt while among the Fae. At least, men believed what they were feeling was freedom. Does a puppet ever look up to see its strings?

"Why has a man such as you come to my garden?" She laid her hands gently upon her lap. Her presence there fit naturally; she could have been a vine overgrowing the log.

"Oh, I am no man, kind fairy," a small grin touched his thin lips. "I am from a higher realm."

She surveyed his clothing again and found a seal upon part of his clothing that she had missed at first notice. She might have been familiar with men, but she was not good with manufactured, unnatural details. "My apologies, Asgardian," she said with a small smile. "It has been long years since one from your realm has walked beneath our canopy. What aid would you seek of me?"

**********

"I am Loki," He paused a moment awaiting her possible recognition. Many knew him by name if not by his face. "The son of Odin," he then added.

"Ah, the younger son of Odin has come to visit me," her voice sang in his ears again, but the word younger blazed in him like wildfire. I am the son of a king! I will have the power I deserve once I leave this wretched place. He thought the hatred he felt towards his family overshadowed any charm she could have cast upon him, but he kept his face smooth. "I am Mirella, son of Odin."

Loki came back to the center of his thoughts again, to the center of his mission. "I am sorry for intruding upon your garden, Mirella. I have come for knowledge that you may possess. I am in search of a staff." Mirella's eyebrows rose subtly at the mention of a staff. The cat sees a mouse. "A staff rumored to allow who wields it to..." He trailed off as he met her gaze once more, this time without incident. Mirella was distracted by this subject. Let's see if she pounces.

"To charm others with a Fae's glamour," she finished for him in a lower voice that seemed almost a purr. Gotcha. "That, Asgardian," she raised a smooth hand and ran it through the leaves of the nearest tree branch thoughtfully, "is a story unknown to most outside of Alfheim. There is not much to tell of it, but I may share the story if you answer a question for me." Amusement crossed her lips again.

There's no backing out now. I will have this information if I have to strangle it from her. "Ask your question, and I will answer, Mirella."

She arose with her cat's grace and strode a few paces briskly before she paused to look back at him. It was an effort for Loki to meet her green-eyed gaze without standing as well, but he stayed seated. Dance with the wind, he heard in his thoughts.

She leaned down to caress a small flower bud on a wild rosebush. "What is your true heart's desire, Loki, son of Odin?" She looked back to him, his eyes still upon hers, "I will know if you lie to me."

She lies herself. She cannot know my true wishes by watching me. All the same, Loki guarded his subconscious and answered carefully, "To rule Asgard." And all other realms of Yggdrasil. And I will make Thor pay dearly for holding me in his shadow! But he buried those thoughts deep within his mind far away from his current thoughts.

Mirella continued to admire the rosebush for a time, long enough that Loki began to wonder if she'd heard him. But eventually she glided back to the log and sat beside him, close beside him. She reached out towards his face, and he shied away, but she smiled and placed her hand on his cheek. I must play the part this Fae expects.

"Do not be afraid if you speak true, Asgardian." Mirella sounded as if she were enjoying herself, and Loki relaxed at her touch. Be steadfast.

In her hand he felt the warmth of the morning sun, the coolness of a mountain river, the softness of summer grass, and the sturdy heart of an oak tree--all within one touch. He no longer wanted to avoid her eyes and found himself relaxing even more. He began to notice the soft noises of birds and other small animals in her garden and the pure earthy smell of the deep forest surrounding them. He felt compelled to speak again.

"Mirella, I--" No. I will not give in. He instead stated, "that is my desire." I will remain focused.

"I see." She gave no outward hint that she sensed the blanket of lies he locked away within himself. "I will tell you the story you seek. Close your eyes, and I will show you," she closed her eyes and told the story he had come looking for within his mind.

"All Fae of Alfheim are born to respect the will of nature which is the will of the forest god, the will of Freyr. Many ages ago, a Fae named L'Shale coveted Freyr's power for his own. The forest god could not abide his attempt to disrupt the natural balance, so with the sacrifice of one of his devoted Fae, he bound L'Shale in a staff made of willow wood. The staff he is bound in now bears his name. Its precise location is unknown, but the tale says it lies hidden in a grove in the valley of the Great Mountains. While L'Shale was unable to claim the power of the gods, the tale says that any who wield the staff may charm others as a Fae."

She opened her eyes when she finished the story. Her hand lingered at his face a moment, and she frowned with sadness and longing. "Why do you resist the freedom of nature? Do you not see its beauty and hear its song?"

She's told me what I want. Time to go. Loki's stone face betrayed none of his satisfaction. "Your garden is indeed lovely, Mirella, but I must go now. I thank you greatly for the story. It's exactly what I was looking for." He began to stand, but she caught his hand and stood beside him.

"But perhaps, Loki, son of Odin, it is not what you needed. Would you dance with me a while before you depart?" She placed her free hand upon his shoulder, and he felt his steel resolve melt. She cannot do this to me!

Loki found himself unable to resist any longer. One dance could not hurt... The information he'd come for was now locked away and safe, but out of his reach as he again met Mirella's spring green eyes. Some part of him realized that he did not have to look down as far this time. She is...taller now. The forefront of his thoughts shifted to the purples and reds of the flowers in her garden and the natural curve of Mirella's slim waist as he placed his free hand around it. Her dress was as wispy soft as feather down. "Certainly, Mirella."

"Then let us dance to the song of the wind," the melody of her voice spurred him to dance. He began to feel a warmth grow within his heart. Warm spring replaced harsh winter, and he felt himself smile softly as they moved around the small garden lost in their own world. Time stood still.

I cannot stay. A voice in the back of his head tried to persuade him back to reality, but he ignored it--for now. I must leave! Not yet--please, not yet...

Loki closed his eyes as the two of them moved together, leaves riding the wind. The floral scent of Mirella's hair, the sweetness of her laugh, the crunch of leaves beneath his boots, and the tree branches that swept at him as they passed were the only focus in his mind. After an unknown amount of time, a thought floated to the surface that he might slip under the glamour completely if this continued much longer--an urge to wake from a dream. I cannot come back if I fall...I must come back...

Suddenly, Mirella stopped. Loki stopped with her and opened his eyes. He gazed down at her--she was again her normal height--and came somewhat to his senses. He managed a small murmur, "Oh."

Her voice was ice cold and regretful now, "Losing yourself in the moment is a great gift and a most dangerous curse. You are the strongest I have met, Loki, and for that, I cannot hold you. It would be against my nature to make you stay." Her weakness is strength of will. I am her weakness. Any other time he would have filed the useful information away until it was needed as leverage, but instead he chose to gently squeeze her small hand in his. She slid away from his grip reluctantly to become a part of her garden once more. "Farewell, Loki. My garden will always welcome you." She made a natural motion with her hand that could have been a wave or the wind swaying a branch.

Loki began to feel relief that he could leave without further struggle, but his words betrayed the longing that she left inside him, "Thank you, Mirella. I shall remember our...meeting..." How could I forget... He hesitated a moment and watched her retreat towards the small pond at the far side of the garden. A breeze twitched his cloak, but it was just a breeze. The moment was gone. The glamour was gone. The forest was a sea of brown again.

Loki stepped out of Mirella's garden and began his trek to the valley between the Great Mountains. His feet felt much heavier than they had just a few moments ago, and his heart was cold stone in his chest. The world was dim. He drew his blanket of lies tightly around him, but it held no warmth. He willed himself forward toward his goal, but his thoughts drifted to the hedge behind him. Maybe I will see her again...just once...