Lore: When a Trickster Meets His Match

Chapter One: Jotunheim

It was a realm of snow and ice. A place of quiet, near the end of the world. Or that was what everyone said. Perhaps it wasn't a physical end - it was possible that it continued for some distance still, an unconquerable trek into frost and chill - but perhaps it was the end to life. Perhaps life ended here.

There was an unerring silence that blanketed the white fields and crystal-sharp fractals when the travellers came. Silence had never felt more like death - except that it was so bright. Too bright. As if there was no cover for them, no place to hide if they were spotted - and they surely would be! Creatures of warm blood did not venture here. Betraying them, the sunlight here was a mockery - like a bright, pure white smile from the lips of an enemy that would strike you dead as soon as you turned your back. There was no warmth in the sunrays and no solace from the striking lashes of cold wind.

It was beautiful. Each tree had a garland of icicles around the slender boughs, like diamond necklaces on a wealthy woman's neck. There were gems of glaciers and jewels of permafrost hidden in the secret places. But no matter how beautiful it could have appeared, there was death and danger hibernating near them. The travellers could feel it. This place was beautiful in the way that a maiden's corpse was beautiful: pale, still and sinister in its beauty. A wasted thing. A cursed one.

"I don't want to be here."

The girl was shivering. The fur coat that she wore was thick and heavy, woven from the downy feathers of the Allfather's ravens as a costly gift, and the thick tunic she wore should have kept out the long fingers of the cold, but she shuddered still. Her words were true and ardent. She did not wish to be here. But her pleas were silenced by the disapproving looks of her companions. She hated the sound that the snow made underfoot - how it crunched like snapping skeletons. She hated the sheer amount of noise that their hunting party were making - but there was no silencing them. No matter how many times she whispered to them or cried herself hoarse, they would not listen.

"I don't want to be here." The girl whimpered. "Please, let us return to Asgard."

"Oh, stop your blubbering!" Answered a voice, strong and courageous, even if it teased her, "Have no doubts that you will be safe, my lady. You are being escorted by me and my warrior's three - and Lady Sif," He coughed nervously, "Of course. I will protect you with my very life, should any threat arise."

This should have stopped the girl from trembling but, verily, they did nothing to ease the growing chill in her heart. Even if they were offered by the crown prince of Asgard - blonde-haired, strong, and handsome - but Thor Odinson was too reckless and belligerent for her to truly feel at ease. It hadn't been long that the girl had known Thor, but she knew him well enough to know that he never turned down a quarrel and never ran from a fight.

"I still want to go home," The girl warbled. "Please."

Thor sighed. When he turned to look back at her, he seemed much older than she knew he was. Even then - fifteen and seventeen - they were nothing when compared to the age of others of her kind, who had lived for hundreds of thousands of years with the godly blood that flowed within them. There was so much for them to learn. So much they could not yet do.

They certainly weren't allowed to use Bifrost in such a cavalier way, to go journeying to another realm in search of adventure. Perhaps for the Prince of Asgard, it wasn't such a state. He had tasted the heat of battle already, had killed and defended in the name of righteousness and honour, and yet - she was different. She wasn't Aesir-blood like him: born of Odin Allfather, Frigga, Heimdall, Baldur or the other gods of Asgard - made for battle, blood and warcraft. Her people were gentle. Vanir-blood, the gods of craftsmen, magicians, farmers and artists. Perhaps it would be fine for them, but she - of all people - should not have been here!