Tranquillity seems misplaced in a realm such as this. Etched into these very walls is the imagery of war, battles fought and enemies conquered, down to the most minute of details. A tapestry of glory by bloodshed woven into prideful gold. Outside, the courtyard plays host to that of a makeshift battleground —— Aleina had witnessed them on her wandering of the palace, warriors consumed in the heat of training, the furious clashing of the blade against blade rang out amidst cries of passioned rage. To die by the blades embrace was, of Asgards belief, the greatest honour.
Hers was a world of peace, an empire built of gentle marble and coloured glass that would illuminate the dancing light of day.
“ —— Peace, too often is confused with weakness.” King Uldrik had told her when she was but a small girl. “Those that mistake us for weak. NEVER do so again. Strength does not equate a need for violence, or cruelty.” Those words had circled through her mind as she watched the sparring warriors. He had, King Ulrdrik, always been such a formidable man. So full of wisdom, and wrath and unyielding strength for one who was also so soft and so kind. As a child, she could not fathom how this man, he who had taken her in, raised her as though she were his own and whose tender hands wiped away her tears, could have layer upon layer of BLOOD upon those same hands. Now she was older, wiser and more capable of understanding. To rule was to balance a delicate scale of love and fear, for there was no kindness without cruelty and no crown without weight. King Uldrik had held balance to that scale his entire life.
His son could do with learning such things. If he was not so arrogance enough to pay attention.
Malius, the kings oldest son by birth and heir to the throne. A vile man-child, entitled and hungry for power. Aleina was glad not to be present in whatever diplomatic conversations may be going on, to be away from the Alfur prince and his incessant mewling was a blessing. She browsed, scouring the shelved titles, though not looking for anything in particular. Asgardian literature was largely unsurprising. Detailed documentation of past war and political history filled the pages of these books and while she did not find such things boring exactly, she knew a great deal of it already, surely this realm held more than a blad and a tankard of ale.
A sudden surge, a shift in the energy of the air flowed through the ground and coursed through her. Magic, she knew it instantly, so ingrained was it to nature of her being that it was unmistakable. The sensation grew, prickling pleasantly across her skin, it drew her forward to it and on instinct, she followed. Curiosity ever-growing her footsteps lead her on, drawing a corner she was met suddenly with the source of flowing energy. So different was it from the rest of Asgard, a rhythm that flowed almost entirely separate. Approaching from behind her eyes glanced over the many books surrounding the figure, books far older than those stacked on the surrounding shelves, parchments and scrolls of old knowledge —– aeons worth of documentation on the realms, runes and ritual and transcripts she had never seen before. Perhaps he was a scholar.
“Excuse me.” She said softly, shifting around so that she may enter his line of sight. Her own eyes fall unto the casted spell in wonder, the circling runes afloat before him and a small flicker of delight graces her features. “Amazing.” She murmurs, a curious, yet enthused gaze as her eyes study the runes carefully for a brief moment before she blinks, regaining her focus to him.
“Forgive me, I had not meant to interrupt you” Straightening herself, Aleina bows her head apologetically.
a younger loki might have startled at her sudden appearance, but not today’s loki. the younger prince of asgard simply exhales softly, lips pursed, as bright green eyes slowly flick over to his unexpected visitor.
she’s not of asgard, that much is more than certain ; loki vaguely recalls being told of the delegation arriving from alfheim today, so she must be among them ... a light elf. but there’s more to it than that ... something ethereal that intrigues the realm’s young seiðrmaster : she feels ... magickal. a KINDRED SPIRIT, perhaps.
“ you are hardly interrupting, ” the liesmith admonishes, dropping his free hand to close the pages of the ancient jötun text. “ i’ve found my answers. i was merely trying to identify the realm from whence this text originates ; father would not tell me, & mother is not here to assist me ... so here i am. ”
meaning ... he hadn’t wasted his time asking odin. he knows that the allfather has no care for his younger son’s scholarly pursuits ; he has chosen to funnel all of his time & energy into perfecting his golden son for the throne. part of loki is relieved to not have the god of the hanged breathing down his neck day in & day out ... & yet ...
“ to what do i owe the pleasure of a visit from one of alfheim’s delegates? ”
tangentwithtanner
2087
andulkaphoto
theartofmadeline
prguitarman
