Burdened

Much More

“So, this is the man?” 

The guards entered the Great Hall, their leather and armour clinking and shuffling to a halt, letting silence take the hall before the All Fathers voice boomed out over them.

“The Skraeling.”

He sat in the golden throne, as the situation called for such formal procedures: the AEsirs prefer to be seen, from the very first meeting, at the highest of order, respected and powerful in every way.  He was now robed in rich and expensive armour, made for presentation rather than battle, but was just the same in the matters of looking mighty, the makings of a feared ruler.

The man in question was surrounded by the remaining guard, looking just as dark and forbidding as ever, and perhaps, if the thought was allowed, amused.  The word ‘forbidding’ is used for the simple fact that it was clear- from the tilt of his chin to the glitter in his eyes- that he planned to reveal nothing. 

“Yes, All Father.” Heimdallr responded stiffly. He moved to the front of the guard to face Odin, straightening to his height, grinding his teeth, obviously unhappy with whatever the situation bore.  “This is then man who fell from the sky in a burning ship, the man I spoke of to you before.”

“Yes, I realize that.  And why, I ask, does he appear to be a prisoner rather than a guest?  I expected more of you, Heimdallr.”  Odin spoke gruffly.  He may have continued if Loki had not come striding into the room, stooping in a bow, right arm crossed his chest as he advanced towards the middle of the room, stopping in front of the cluster of soldiers.  He was now dressed in his leather and emerald dress clothes and they floated around him elegantly, the leather flapping about his legs, gold extenuating his every feature.

“Father,” he began “I heard of a foreigner in our lands.  I hope I am not too late.  I came as quickly as I could.”  His voice had rang out across the room with what the guards and Odin would have mistaken for concerned sincerity, but the moment it touched the Skrealing’s ears he knew.   Immediately he stood taller and a small smile painted his sly lips: this was Prince Loki, God of Mischief, and he did not come out of concern for his people and Asgard.  No, he came for he was curious and he craved knowledge, for you can do incredible things with knowledge.  Knowledge is… fun.

A burning need to talk to this AEsir grasped the man and suddenly he wanted Loki to know just who he was, to tell him, just him.  But before the man could act on such desires, he reeled himself back in, composing himself for the interrogation to come, returning to his cold mask as Odin responded to Loki.

“Yes, my son.  You heard correct.  You are not too late; the man stands behind you.” Odin spoke with the tone of a father, if not a bit annoyed.  It was not in their manners to be interrupted as such, but they all knew that there was no stopping Loki, and though they would have normally punished such behaviour, they let it pass, far too gone in themselves to care for the AEsir.

Loki turned his head marginally and looked at the standing guard from the corner of his eyes, the green catching sight of the man, assessing him momentarily, interest piquing, before turning front again.

“And does this man have a name?” he asked. 

Heimdallr rocked forwards to answer Loki’s question, opening his mouth to say that this man refused to tell them anything before he had been brought to the All Father, but he did not have the chance. The deep, resonating voice of the foreigner came from behind Loki, causing him to turn around.

“My name is Khan Noonein Singh.   I come from Midgard and I would appreciate it if your people would unhand me.”

“So you do have a name, Skraeling?” Thor announced boldly as he strode into the hall, carrying the body of the deceased soldier.  Khan twisted his head to look at the AEsir who just walked in and smirked as he caught sight of the man in his arms.  Thor turned to the nearest guard, one of many that adorned the fiery hall and thrust the body at him.