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Feb. 20th, 2014 08:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.
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.
