(no subject)

[theaccursed]

[Let us forge peace between our realms. Let the terrors of the past be mended. Let us seek a common unity.

The proposal alone had been enough to send Malekith into a fury, nevermind details unspoken. For Asgard to have the audacity - to think that with such a thing, relations could be improved-

You carry the weight of our struggle greater than any, he had to be counseled, in a tongue ancient and quiet. Your rage is justified, but look beyond it and see. And so Malekith did, but in the long history of the Svartalfar, there was plenty to take into account. How long had they been living under Asgard's mindful eye? Too long - ever since the rebellion of Svartalfheim, quelled without question by Bor, and a defeat that hung bitter over Malekith. But where was the justice? Were the elves not free to try for a reclamation of their universe? By what order established the Asgardian life as the natural one?

It took quiet consideration, but Malekith understood. No opportunity could be ignored to fell Asgard, and if the invitation were being extended to form bonds, bonds that could be manipulated and twisted… One final reminder of a possession lost solidified his decision. The Aether.

I sacrifice myself for this arrangement, he had announced, claiming that no other elf should be reduced to the humiliation of an Asgardian betrothal.

And so arrangements were made, of which Malekith found himself most fortunate to not be part of. The planning of ceremonies and feasts - there were elves better suited to the task, elves who more amiable than he who could manage discussions with Asgardians in a civil manner. It was only in passing - he never cared to ask - that Malekith heard anything of relevance. Things like royal blood and sorcerer, the latter of which proved mildly intriguing…]

---

[The ceremony was the first real contact between them. Malekith had been absent from the Asgardian arrival upon Svartalfheim, and other elves had lead the procession into the city. But there they stood, Malekith of Svartalfheim, Sorcerer of Legend, and imminent Lord of the Realm, and Loki, Prince of Asgard, Son of Odin, the heir with no throne. Or, at least, there had been no throne to offer.

The affair found its life from the people around them, as Malekith had little to offer aside from stoney stares. There was no meaning in the crucible of a ceremony to him. An exchanging of crowns, a feast to sate the Asgardian need for celebration…]

---

[… And there they were, finally, unified by a promise of peace, a pact that Malekith made with hollowed words and sinister motives in mind. It's those thoughts he reflects upon, silently, as, from a window, he watches the last light of the Bifrost dissipate in the distance. Loki's mother, brother, friends and companions… Malekith couldn't be rid of them soon enough.

His silence had certainly said as much for the length of time they had been in the room - a chamber tall and dark, a room meant for appearances, never for living. The entire city reeked of the same aesthetic, upon the cliffs on which it was built. A place meant for gathering, a place where, once long ago, Malekith had rallied forces with speeches of restoration, of victory. And yet, despite all of that…

For all of his silence, Malekith finally moves, his head tilting just enough to watch a Harrow speed by overhead, the elves onboard undoubtedly traveling in the direction of the anchored Arks, ominous and overbearing, waiting for their inhabitants to return. Home, or as close as they would get to it.]

… Do not look for comfort within these walls. We embark come morning.

Comments

[tradire]

[ Loki remembers well, the day the life in which he had grown accustomed to ended. He remembers being called forth, a strange meeting within the darkest depths of the palace, mother, father, son and he, the dark horse that has never quite fit within the golden stable. He remembers Thor not looking his direction, studying the walls, the spines of tomes that flickered in the firelight. He remembers the sadness (nay, pity, he knows it to be pity, but refuses to accept it at value) that had drawn Frigga's eyes.

And oh, how he remembers the finality in Odin's voice, leaving no room for argument – a royal decree. Finally, Loki was of use to him, to this realm and it was never in a way Loki expected at all. Nor was it a way Loki ever wanted.

Loki also remembers stealing away in the dead of night to the Asgard Forest, laying waste to trees and flora alike in the wake of his anger. How dare he be sold off to make amends with a realm that no longer matters. How dare Odin not take his refusal. And how dare Thor for not having to suffer the indignation of a forced marriage.

He hates them all, right down to the angry pit of his heart. Fire roils within his belly, pumping through his veins at the very audacity –

They will pay. One day. He may not know when or how just yet, but he will make certain someone will burn.


When preparations begin, Loki resolutely makes himself scarce. He refuses all notions of participation. Frigga tries, near desperately at times, to involve Loki in choices and decisions. But, he closes her out, refuses any and all discussion on the matter. None of it is important – the very fact that he must suffer the indignation of a ceremony burns at him, eats away at the slivers of his soul.

Each time the elves make themselves known, he never reaches out to them. In fact, he never speaks to them. Only upturns his nose with an air of hauteur that he is superior to their kind. Though he may be lead into this against his will, they are still beneath him.


It further incites his ire that the ceremony must take place in Svartalfheim. Why must he go out of his way for such a ridiculous union? The very least that could have been offered was to have this mockery take place in the only home he has ever known.

There is no peace that will come from this. Loki knows that. There is no effort given from either side, this was a poor choice, a poor move upon the chessboard. Loki can only hope it will fall upon Odin's head and not his own.

This realm is abysmal. He is loathe to it already. And his feelings are rapidly becoming similar toward Malekith. Stone-faced and silent. Loki doesn't trust him at all. He suspects, there is another reason this Lord of Trash and Darkness accepted a treaty from Asgard. One way or another he will figure that out.

His eyes follow Malekith's, watching, waiting, calculating. A near silent laugh rolls in the back of Loki's throat, the sound hollow and devoid of mirth. As if there would be any comfort at all to seek within this realm. He is no fool. Malekith will learn that. ]

Embark to where, if I may? [ He asks, the question dripping with sarcasm and annoyance. ] To another location of lifeless rubble and decay?

[theaccursed]

[Loki's comment is one that causes Malekith to turn and fix the other man with with a stare, a movement that ripples down the cloak draped across his shoulders. There had been no opportunity to change, no need to, and despite still being dressed in the layers of Svartalfar ceremonial finery, Malekith stands tall and proud, unwavering despite the circumstances. Ah, but his crown - that he had deposited immediately after his entrance into the room. It was too gold, too Asgardian. There had been a considerable effort to fashion for them both something of beauty, something combining the grandeur of Asgard with the depth of Svartalfar, gold on dark, ancient metal, but… No force would be enough to accomplish any form of assimilation between them, not in Malekith's mind.

But as his gaze rests upon Loki, it is evident from his expression, or lack thereof, that Malekith holds no favor towards him. There is a predisposed loathing only, but that was no secret.]

We leave the city. It will take the night for your belongings to be transferred to the ship… [Malekith does not have to express his thoughts explicitly, but in his trailing off, his disdain is evident. You need too much, but should I have expected any less from an Asgardian, spoiled from birth?]

I would have assumed you were of the knowledge that this city does not act as permanent residence. A center of culture, yes, but there are locations otherwise that require my attention. We travel by Ark, and you will have quarters aboard the ship I call my own. The outlands call to us, and I… [He pauses, only to give Loki a quick look up and down, blatant in his judging.] … do hope you learn to love this rubble and decay. Svartalfheim is a realm blessedly free of your preconceived notion of charm.

[tradire]

[ There is nothing this man (man, can he even call him that? An elf by any other name – ) can do that will unsettle Loki. Nothing that will cause him to show any discord on the exterior. Though he will not remain stone-faced as his... companion, he will not betray his own facade. Sarcasm will paint the entirety of his features and that will be that.

Malekith's disdain for him, for anything related to Asgard and, of course, the realm itself, does not go unnoticed. It's easy to see the utter disregard that his roguish demeanor has no sense to hide. It hardly matters to Loki, let him shuffle off any connection to Asgard. There is one that will remain a pillar, a thorn in the side of this wretched elf. And, Loki, he would say, is more than satisfied to take that job upon himself.

Slowly, Loki blinks, his eyes on the horizon and then he is slow to turn his attention to Malekith. It burns him to be spoken to as if he knows nothing. Unlike his kin, and nearly the rest of Asgard itself, Loki holds knowledge of the other realms. Knowledge far more intimate than anyone else (or so he would like to believe). He has traveled between them more times than he can count; he has seen things others have only wished.

Still, carefully, a smile curls up his lips as his head tilts to the side. Malekith's trouble has only just begun. ]

I am certain I shall come to love this rubble and decay just as easily as your heart will open to me. [ Which, is fairly clear in saying he will never enjoy living here and will see fit to make Malekith regret making him come. ]

What is it, exactly, that calls to you? [ He makes a grand, sweeping gesture out to the barren lands. It's so dismal. Boring. Nothing to cause a lick of trouble. ] Do tell– [ Here, Loki gives a deliberate pause. ] husband.

[theaccursed]

[Husband - the word alone draws a terse line across Malekith's face, his brow tightening, his lips settling into a characteristic frown. It goes unspoken, unacknowledged, but it is a truth slapped into Malekith's face: they are two forces, neither of which willing to bow to the other. This Asgardian, with his nature so haughty... But could Malekith expect any less? The answer was in the analysis - Asgardian. Too arrogant for their own good, too commanding-

And upon his own realm. It insults Malekith.

There are worse ways to incite his fury, though, and it is only in roiling irritation that Malekith turns to step away from the window. It is a slow pace he uses - not unusual - but one that lacks a purpose greater than removing him from Loki's immediate presence. It offers a moment of deep silence, a moment where Malekith can look across the room. The barest of comforts occupy it - furnishings of ancient wood, tapestries woven telling of Svartalfar greatness... Like the city, it is unmeant to live in.

Still, it is in his turning from Loki that Malekith seeks words. Power. That would be the easiest answer, though the one requiring most explanation. We move to avoid the eyes of Asgard - that would also be satisfactory.]

Svartalfheim is a volatile realm, despite all appearances. It requires a constant surveillance to ensure that... events do not go unaccounted for. [Let Loki have his fun figuring out the meaning of Malekith's emphasis - he continues on without explanation.]

As Lord of the Realm, I have responsibilities to maintain. [The same responsibilities to tend to. To Malekith, his title is merely the approval from Asgard to keep at it, approval that he never sought.] It is also my duty, and in my best interests, to establish the rules you will maintain while upon this realm.

I will tolerate no acts of instigation, be it in foolery or aggression. Do not test me, for I have no patience for the brash arrogance that courses through the blood of your people. When the ships are anchored, I care not what you do with your time, but for your well-being- [Ha.] -and that of my brethren, you will keep to your quarters when we are in flight. An Ark- [And with this, Malekith turns to face Loki, and the window, once more, his attention focused upon the horizon where the mentioned ships lay.] -is capable of travel beyond the sky. I will not see you jeopardize its flight and until you are familiar with its interior, you will stay safe.

[There's a lot Malekith could say, its obvious, but for the moment, he peters off. Priorities, what is most important to state…]

... You will wield nor wear iron in any form. I know not what came among your possessions, but anything of iron... you will keep private.