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❛ ᴇᴛᴏɪʟᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴀ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴇʏ ᴏғ
ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜsᴀɴᴅ ᴍɪʟᴇs ꒱


❝ I WISH YOU GOOD
FORTUNE & EASY TRAVEL,
ASGARD'S WARRIORS.
PREPARE YOURSELVES ❞

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V A N A H E I M

The paths between worlds were not so hard to navigate as one might think, especially if one had seiðr to guide them. For lack of a better explanation, they were like cracks in glass: small fissures that were barely noticeable unless one looked directly at them. Herja was well-versed in these passageways; they were a good method to use if one did not want to bother with the Watcher and the Bifrost.

For those that have never been, Vanaheim was most like Midgard in its scenery. The trees were of average height, the sun set in relatively similar cycles, the waterways varied between salt, fresh and brackish and were drinkable for human consumption. Even the homes resembled those on Midgard, though admittedly they reflected a style that has long since passed— low-thatched roofs, clay siding and open windows without glass panes. Their tallest buildings were only a few stories high, a far cry from the spires of Alfheim or the palace of Asgard.

The roads were hard-packed dirt that wove through scraggly grass, which became muddy with too much rain. They used wheeled carts like those the pioneers on Midgard drove, pulled by horses or other four-legged creatures. Farm animals were the same on almost every major realm: goats and cows and pigs. Compared to Alfheim, Vanaheim was just a realm to sneeze at; even Midgard was more impressive with all of its progress.

Herja sneered at the humble surroundings, used to the grandeur of Vanaheim. She swept up her long, black skirts in one hand to keep them from getting soiled as she picked her way over the road. Across the way was one of the small, peasant homes that dotted the countryside. A young, lanky man with red hair was currently being yelled at by his mother while he worked on his chores. The witch could hear the other woman's voice even as it came from inside the home.

"Don't take less than a florin for him, Bernard! You understand?"

"Yes, mother," the man, Bernard, replied in a tired tone.

She continued, heedless of his agreement: "no dilly-dallying! And don't even think of stopping at the tavern, Bernard, or you'll be sorry!"

Pretending to take pity on him, Herja stalked past the gates of the home with the same confidence as if she owned the place. Stopping before the man, she waited until her presence caught his attention. Bernard looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of such a beautiful woman. She smiled at him with false kindness. "A florin for your goat, boy."

He looked down at the coin she held out to him. "Oh. He's a bit small to pull your cart."

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully, "you're quite right."

Herja lifted her hand as her pointer finger glowed with green fire. The man became apprehensive in the face of seiðr, as people often did. He didn't have any time to react, though, as she raised her hand until it was level with his forehead. The green mist swirled around the man as he shrunk. His body condensed itself as his limbs became more proportional. His red hair grew shaggier and began to cover his entire body. Once the transformation was complete, in place of where the red-haired man had been was now a goat of the same color.

"That's much better," the witch commented, now staring at one white goat and a reddish-brown one. But then she noticed something else— something far worse. She gasped as she lifted her hand to reveal that the age spots and wrinkles had returned, her skin no longer smooth and young.

✧ ✧ ✧

It was not long after she'd acquired her two goats that Herja stopped once more. This time, it was due to the sight of an obnoxiously yellow wagon that had been pulled off to the side of the road. A heavyset older woman with frizzy red, graying hair sat by a fire as she turned her meal on a stick. It was some kind of four-legged creature, but it had been so charred that its species was indiscernible.

"Who goes there? What do you want with me, a poor old flower. . . " the woman wheedled, leaning forward slightly as if to get a better look at the intruder.

Herja was in no mood for her theatrics; a witch could recognize a witch. "Oh, do shut up. I know what you are and I swear by the ordinances of the sisterhood to which we both belong that I mean you no harm. I wish to share your meal."

She sniffed, only a little put off by the unexpected intrusion. A light wind tousled their hair as it breezed through the valley. "Hmm, well, one can never be too careful. Sit down. I'll get you a seat."

She snapped her fingers. A bird Herja had not seen before— bright blue, its size small enough to fit into her palm— transformed in front of her eyes. A brunette woman appeared in its place. She was like any woman on Vanaheim— indeed, in the Nine Realms— with the exception of a silvery chain that was attached to her ankle. Without speaking, she located a stool inside the caravan and brought it over to the opposite side of the fire. After she'd placed it down, she looked over at the red-haired witch with a baleful glare. "Anything else?"

"Nope," the witch replied. She snapped her fingers once more and the bird returned in a puff of blue smoke. Herja took the now-available seat. "What's it to be? Heads or tails?"

"Heads," Herja answered simply.

The woman picked up a butcher's knife and cut the animal on the stick right in half. She handed Herja the requested side and picked up her own meal. "So, stranger, where are you headed off to on this fine day?"

"I seek a fallen star. She fell not far from here and when I find her, I shall take my great knife and cut out her heart while she still lives and the glory of our youth shall be restored." Herja paused, surprised that she'd shared so much information.

"Fallen star?" she repeated with interest. "That's the best news I've had in ages. I could do with losing a few years myself. So whereabouts did you. . ."

Herja suddenly realized why the information spilled so easily from her lips. She stood angrily, allowing her plate to crash to the ground and glowered at the other woman. "Limbus grass! You dare to steal truth from my lips by feeding me limbus grass? Do you have any idea what a big mistake you've made, Ditchwater Sal?"

Startled, the woman— Sal— looked up at her with wide eyes. "How do you know my. . . who are you?"

The sky rumbled overhead as clouds rolled in, darkening the surrounding area until it was almost as black as night. "Look again."

Instead of the beautiful young woman Herja's appearance presented itself as, Sal was able to see past it. Her once striking blue eyes became an abyssal depth, consumed by an unrelenting darkness that seemed to extinguish any flicker of humanity. They were rimmed with black shadows that cast a pallor over her pale skin.

In the face of such terrifying evil, Sal fell to her knees in front of the other witch. "I shall not seek the star, Your Dark Majesty. I swear."

Herja raised her finger, which was once more glowing with green magic. Her voice seemed to come from all around them as she spoke her spell into existence: "seek all you wish. You shall not see the star, touch it, smell or hear it. You will not perceive it even if it stands before you."

She let out a disappointed sigh as her other hand aged as a consequence of producing such powerful magic. Still, it was worth it to have one less competitor. Herja added a final warning before she departed: "pray you never meet me again, Ditchwater Sal."

✧ ✧ ✧

A S G A R D

Lady Sif and the Warriors Three reached the end of the Rainbow Bridge where Heimdall stood at his post. They had planned to leave together, at the very least, until their methods of star-finding took them on their separate ways. True to his word, Thor had yet to even pack; it appeared that he was going to wait until the last day to set out. His friends had no such qualms about using all of the time that had been given to them.

As expected, the Keeper of the Nine Realms was at his usual place inside the watchtower. He was facing outward, with his galaxy-colored eyes fixed on an unseeable point (for the average person) in the distance. His sword, Hofund, was positioned squarely between his feet with the tip of its blade resting against the floor. Both of his hands were folded comfortably over the hilt.

"Lady Sif, Volstagg, Fandral and Hogun. I've been expecting you," he greeted them without turning around.

"I'll never get used to that," Volstagg murmured to his friends.

Still facing the infinite galaxies, Heimdall allowed a faint smile before his features smoothed over once more. "You wish to go to Alfheim, do you not?"

"Yes, Gatekeeper," Lady Sif replied respectfully. "We are fulfilling the king's quest to find the Star."

He nodded, having been informed of the Allfather's ordinance. His thoughts were currently on Loki, whom had vanished from his Sight earlier that day. The last he had seen of the youngest prince was when he had left his rooms to begin the same quest. Still, it was not all that worrisome— yet. It was not the first time Loki had disappeared from his Sight, though if it persisted— or something catastrophic happened— he would inform the Allfather at once.

He turned away from the stars to walk over and placed his sword to activate the bridge. Before he turned it to call on the dimensional energy, he looked up at the quartet. "I wish you good fortune and easy travel, Asgard's warriors. Prepare yourselves."

Then, a bright, white light filled the room for a span of a blink of an eye. Once it had dissipated, Heimdall was alone once more. He returned to his post in the same position as if his Watch had never been interrupted.

✧ ✧ ✧

A L F H E I M

Eleanora remained stubbornly in place. "I want to go home. My mother would never approve of me going who-knows-where with a man who fell out of the sky."

"You aren't going home, pet. You will likely never see your home again— and you should be glad of it; there are far more opportunities for greatness in Asgard than there are. . . here," Loki retorted, losing patience with how impossible she was being.

"My name is Eleanora," she snapped. "Stop calling me pet."

"I will call you whatever I like," the dark-haired prince replied loftily. "And you would do well to watch your manners. You are speaking to a prince of Asgard, after all. 'Highness,' 'sire,' or, even better, 'Master' would suffice."

Eleanora's feelings were sent reeling at the last one, outraged at how degrading it was. "I will never call you those. Ass would be a more apt description. Or jerk— whichever you prefer. Now, let me go so we may never speak again."

"That is hardly likely. We have a long way back to Asgard; you best get used to the idea of the many miles before us."

"Why not just use what the method you did to get here? You're from Asgard— what about the Bifrost?"

Loki let out an irritated huff and started walking. The blonde limped several steps behind him, the chain nearly taught between them. "A Babylon candle is a very rare, magical item and it would be unwise to waste it. As for the Bifrost, Heimdall is a meddlesome fool; I wish to deal with him as little as possible. There are other ways to travel between realms if one knows where to find them."

"A bubbling candle? I've never heard of such a thing."

"A Babylon candle," he corrected her shortly. "And I wouldn't have expected you to. They are usually only found amongst powerful seiðr-wielders."

"You might at least heal my ankle," Eleanora argued, changing the subject. "It would help us walk faster."

The prince shook his head. "And risk the chance of you running off, should you escape my chain? I think not."

The girl fell into a sulky silence after that, glancing back every so often as the familiar lands around her house drew farther and farther away from her. There was a knot of apprehension in her stomach at the thought of going to places that she had never been before. Her eyes stung despite her best efforts to keep a confident front; the thought of never seeing her mother, or her home, or Stormhold again made her want to cry. Although she had spent many hours imagining being elsewhere, she'd never imagined not being able to return home.

✧ ✧ ✧

They set up camp several hours later once it had become too dark to walk easily. Loki secured the enchanted chain around a tree to keep the Star from wandering off. The look it had given him was full of hatred, but it had been blessedly silent for the remainder of their hike. He took out a bedroll from the satchel he'd brought and used his seiðr to start a fire.

"Do you eat, Star?" he asked after a prolonged silence.

"Of course I eat," Eleanora bit out. "You're not going to starve me, are you?"

Despite her brave words, her stomach tied itself into more knots at the thought. Thankfully, the prince shook his head. "I have no intention of harming you, you know. I am merely required to bring you to the palace."

"Oh, really? Then why did you break my ankle? Was that part of your ploy, too?"

He chuckled lowly. "You flatter me, pet. But no, that injury was just a happy coincidence."

That earned him another glare.

"You are cruel."

He shrugged. "I never said that I was otherwise."

They were quiet for a long while after that until there was a rustle in the bushes. At first they both thought was just an animal until it happened again. Loki stood. "Stay here, pet. I shall go investigate."

Eleanora lifted the arm that was attached to the chain. "Oh, yes, because I'm positively spoiled for choice with my vast array of options. Shall I sit or stand? Oh, the thrill of my freedom! Decisions, decisions!"

The Asgardian ignored her sarcastic tone and summoned his daggers— one of the easiest items to withdraw from his pockets. He left the warmth of the campfire as the bushes closed behind him, surrounding him in forest sounds. There came the rustle again.

He used the surrounding shadows to hide himself as he crept up on the source of the noise. A shape loomed out of the darkness, imperceptible of height and figure. He pounced with cat-like grace, slamming the being (well, it turned out to be a person) against the nearest tree as he held a knife to their throat. Recognizing who it was, he let out a soft laugh. "We meet again, Lady Sif."

"Unhand me," she retorted, freeing herself from his hold. "You have the Star?"

"Did you not see it in the clearing?" Loki asked pointedly. His knives vanished. "I am impressed that you tracked us this far. Where has your entourage gotten to?"

The brunette made an annoyed sound. "Thor has yet to leave the palace. Volstagg has elected to consult a soothsayer while Fandral has elected to use runes. I am not certain what Hogun's plan is, but I managed to lose him shortly after we arrived. We will certainly have enough time to return to the palace unchallenged; let us go collect it and return it to the Allfather to be done with this quest."

As she made to walk towards the campfire, he caught her arm to stop her. She glared daggers at him, prompting him to release her. "Not so fast, my lady. The Star is a suspicious little thing, and foul tempered at that. It would not do well to throw it into court. A weeks' travel will mellow it out enough for it to be presentable to my father."

Sif maintained her scowl as she studied his face. It was difficult to judge his expression in the lack of light to see if he was telling the truth or not. She knew better than to trust Loki of all people, but he currently had control of the Star. If she wanted to win she would have to let him have his way.

"Very well," she agreed begrudgingly. "But I will dodge your footsteps the whole way, should you try anything."

"Ah," Loki said, almost apologetically. "You see, that is where we disagree. I do so hate people being underfoot."

Before the shield-maiden could ask what he meant, there was a flash of green magic. There was a snake where the brunette had once stood, and it hissed angrily at him. He crouched down to speak to her. "It will be much harder for you to keep up with us this way, my lady. Our speed will require a certain number of. . . how should I put it? Yes, legs."

Chuckling to himself, he stood and made his way back to the camp. "There is nothing to worry about, pet, the rustling we heard was merely—"

He broke off at the sight that greeted him: the chain was broken and the Star was missing. He gave an irritated sigh. "Damn."