Into Darkness [Chapter One] Petrichor [Loki]
Summary: Born in Vanaheim, a realm associated with nature and magic, Asta Skírnisdóttir has always felt like she's never belonged. When she is ready, her father, Skírnir, a vassal of the fertility God Freyr, takes her to Asgard on a brief task where she meets Thor and Loki.
Upon a favor from Odin, to which she must retrieve the 'Chest of Strength', an artifact containing a mystical mirror that reflects the true aspects of the soul, she learns about her hazy past and the connection she has to the dark elves of Svartalfheim.
A/n: This is my first attempt at a Marvel story. The updates are going to be slow, so be patient, please. This story is heavily inspired by Nose Mythology, the MCU, and the comics. There might be facts I mess up so I apologize. Please enjoy.
Warning(s): implied/referenced death, original female character, Norse mythology, magic.
Skírnir, a sturdy man with fair hair knitted in 3 braids, tramped into the thick woodland, leaving impressions on the earth, soft from the heavy rain of the night before. In the glade ahead he halted to take in the petrichor of the forest. Its soothing fragrance made his tattooed skin tingle, but he was in too much of a hurry to appreciate it.
With a heavy sigh, he darted his keen dark eyes across the meadow. Drops of water shifted the blades of grass but otherwise, the glade was still. The deer that occasionally made this area their feeding ground were bed down somewhere nearby, a sign that Freyr, God of rain and fertility, had plans to bring more showers.
So what was she doing out here so early?
Skírnir stood and listened. Above the wind he heard a silvery voice, recognizing it as belonging to her. The tune she sang was familiar; one that he had heard eons ago on Midgard, the abode of mankind, though he knew that she hadn't heard it there, most likely her mother - who unfortunately passed - considering she never left the realm, not as he often did in the service of his Lord, Freyr.
He tramped toward the voice, coming to a halt beneath a large ash tree, and found her on a low branch with her stained maple wood bow resting in her lap. Her thin braided hair was dark, unlike his own, and fell down her back in a mess as she leaned against the trunk with her eyes on the meadow, albeit unwary as she didn't notice him approaching her.
"Asta! Did you not hear me calling you?!" Skírnir asked in an assertive tone.
The woman in question suddenly paused and glanced down at the wall of a man. His dark eyes were narrowed, but he didn't appear to be annoyed with her. Despite his sturdy, muscular physique, he was lenient when it came to her.
Sliding her bowstring over her shoulder, Asta descended the ash tree, careful not to dirty her linen tunic and apron. The glass beads across her chest attached to brass oval brooches on her apron, swung like a cord as she planted her feet on the ground.
"Forgive me, Father. I was lost in thought."
As she always was, he noted.
Skírnir saw the hunting knife attached to her leather belt and raised a scarred brow.
"Hunting were you? A day after a heavy storm."
"I am not daft," she retorted with a huff. "The deer are smart. They sense that rain is coming and their activity is altered."
Skírnir guffawed in pride, having taught her about deer and their patterns when she was old enough to shoot a bow.
"A fine observation."
He saw the grief in her blue-gray eyes and narrowed his own. Her feelings were something he as a father took notice of but was uncomfortable discussing. If only her mother were still alive; the reason for Asta's grief no doubt, as her memory of the woman was shrouded in confusion. Resting a heavy hand on her shoulder, he sighed deeply.
"Come. Let us return. I have something to ask you," Skírnir ordered.
Asta raised her brow and followed him from the glade. Her grief remained, but she was eager to know what her father had to ask of her.
"The time has come for Prince Thor to inherit the throne of Asgard. His coronation ceremony is in a month during Skerpla (May to June)," Skírnir brought up.
"Is Lord Odin ill?" Asta asked in interest.
She hated to think that he was dying, though the aspect of death was not something she assumed the All-father feared, considering in death he'd be granted passage to the halls of Valhalla where he would live forever in paradise.
"No… But he is aged," Skírnir answered briefly. "And as the eldest, Prince Thor is fated by the Norns to take his place as ruler of the Æsir."
Asta didn't know what to say. She had never met either of Odin's sons; Thor and Loki, but she had heard tales of them from Hogun the Grim, a member of the Warriors Three - along with Lady Sif - who often accompanied Thor. The Vanir warrior showed respect for the Prince and never spoke rudely of him.
She supposed he would make for a decent king, but she wasn't sure why her father was mentioning this to her. There was only one reason she could think of.
"Are you… Leaving again?"
Skírnir pushed aside brush from the path and chuckled; drops of water fell onto Asta's head as she passed, following close.
"I am not certain. Lord Freyr is sending me to Asgard this morning to confirm his attendance at the coronation, but often Lord Odin has a task for me."
Asta was aware. He along with his Gambanteinn, a magic wand, and the Sword of Freyr had done many favors for the All-father, being that he was a crafty vassal. As a child she recalled him leaving weeks at a time, the longest being a fortnight.
"I want you to go with me, should I have to go away again," Skírnir mentioned.
Her eyes widened.
"You jest."
Her father guffawed. He peered at her over his shoulder and found her shocked expression humorous.
"I do not. It is time you joined me. There is more to the Nine Realms than Vanaheim."
Asta felt much better. This news was astounding. She smiled cheerfully and quickened her pace until she was walking side by side with her father. She could not believe that he was finally allowing her to leave Vanaheim.
"Does this mean I too can go with you to Asgard?"
Skírnir hummed. He wasn't sure about taking her to the palace, considering she was not expected, but he supposed if she remained outside then Lord Odin wouldn't mind her sudden presence. It would be interesting to see if Heimdall, the Gatekeeper of Asgard, would open the Bifrost to her, knowing this.
"Very well," Skírnir uttered. "But you must do whatever I tell you. Do you understand?"
"When do I not?" Asta argued.
An assertive look from her father made her grin.
"I understand."
Skírnir deeply sighed. He wasn't sure this was a good idea. But he was pleased that Asta was in a better mood.
She hurried through the thick foliage and passed the treeline into the village where she was born. A small river cut through the clearing connecting to a larger river further northwest of them, providing farmers with an adequate ecosystem to raise livestock and grow crops. Her home, a wooden house with a thatched roof sat closest to the forest, not as big as the longhouse the chief, and the families who worked for him lived in, but just as pleasant, considering her father built it.
Njord's temple, the home of the Vanir ruler, was beyond the forest to the east, a place Asta rarely visited alone.
She slowed her pace and sauntered to the side of the house where burned into the ground was a mark of the Bifrost, a circular pattern branded with runes. Her father used this landing site often to avoid leaving scorch marks around the village. He soon joined her.
"Are you eager?" Skírnir asked with a grin.
Asta gripped her bowstring and agreed with a nod. However, her chest was tight with anxiety. The idea of a new realm, one quite different from the vast woodlands of Vanaheim that she was familiar with frightened her a bit. Then there was the Bifrost. Her father told her very little about it besides the fact it was like a bridge that allowed instantaneous travel within the Nine Realms; he claimed that it was rather intense.
"I have never traveled by Bifrost before. It is something to be eager about," she uttered, answering his question.
"We shall see how you feel about it after we arrive in Asgard," Skírnir retorted.
A feeling of dread turned her stomach. Asta took a deep and uneasy breath, attempting to calm her nerves.
"You tease. It can not be that unpleasant."
Skírnir grinned and glanced at the sky, leaving her statement unanswered.
"Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!"
A radiant beam of multicolored light shot down from the sky and consumed them. The petrichor of the forest soon faded away, replaced by the sweet and pungent smell of ozone.
