Nightingale

By: Lalaith Quetzalli

She was joy and song, life and love…she was his match, his Nightingale. A mortal girl, with a body of glass, a will of iron, a heart of gold and a voice capable of enchanting a god. With his match by his side the Trickster God shall never be the same again…

The First Song

The First Song was one without words, a melody of the spirit, a yearning for freedom…

I was eleven years old when I first met him, on a hidden corner of my back-garden. My name is Silbhé Salani, the name due to the Irish inheritance of my mother, while my father was a half-English, half-Australian…or something along those lines. I was actually born in England, lived there for a few years, until my father decided we should move to America; my Aunt, my dad's sister, was the only one who chose to accompany us. My mom's family chose to stay in England, and I haven't seen them since.

I've always been small for my age, at eleven I didn't even reach the meter and a half; my mother was said to have been petite, though it might also be a consequence of my constant sicknesses as a child. My skin is very light, almost porcelain white, with the barest hint of peach in the tone, except for my cheeks, so rosy it looks as if I were always blushing; the barest hint of freckles on my nose and shoulders. My hair is the darkest auburn, almost brunette, though I've been told red highlights can be seen on the right light, falling down in thin loose curls; while my eyes are hazel… really more brown than anything.

My mother was beautiful and I wished so much to be like her…or at least that's what I'd come to believe through the pictures in my cousins', the Evans's, place. Truth is, she died when I was very young, an infant in fact, and I have no memories of her. My father is always working, and my aunt had taken care of me for as long as I could remember, the only parent I truly knew. She had explained to me when I was still very young that I needed to spend a lot of time inside the house, to try and prevent sickness as much as possible. It served so I wouldn't catch the flu, or fevers, or other sicknesses as often as I might have otherwise; but it didn't change how weak and tired I felt most of the time.

Eventually things had gotten better, I wasn't as sick anymore; but some things had remained. I had gotten used to being homeschooled, and my aunt said I was advancing fast through the curriculum, so it might even be better that I stay like that. She was sure I would be finished with high-school by the time I was fifteen, maybe even earlier.

Still, even without going to school, she tried hard to make me connect with children my age, taking me to parks, to the movies, malls, all sort of carnivals, markets, etc.; it did not work. I just felt strange when I was with other children in my age-group, they always wanted to play sports or with game consoles; in the latter, I much preferred books over TV or videogames; and in regards to the former…even without being sick all the time, I still tired easily and had little strength, the children soon learnt not to choose me for their team, as there was very little I could offer in any sport and most games they might want to play. Even when that didn't happen, most girls my age were so interested in clothes, make-up, current singers, movie-stars and the like…and it all just didn't seem that important to me, which immediately made them see me like I was strange and lose whatever interest they might have had in hanging out with me. So really, it was a vicious circle, sooner or later I would end up alone again.

That's how my life was until at that point, at age eleven, one spring morning, when most children would be going to the park to play (or, baring that, sleeping in for a few more hours); I instead was sitting on a small crook in a corner of the beautiful garden in the backyard of my home, surrounded by roses, a half-finished book of basic Greek abandoned by my side (I had always been very interested in languages, already knowing English, Spanish and Gaelic, I wanted to learn more), as I looked at the birds flying around the roses. They were small, beautiful birds, with soft, melodic songs. Amazing… The most beautiful creatures I had seen in my life (which granted, wasn't much at the time, but still).

In that moment, as I heard the birds singing, I couldn't help but want to be like them. I wanted to be free, dreamt about being able to fly, to soar the skies to lands unknown…and yet it wasn't only that, the song they produced…it was wonderful. I hummed, whistled, trying to imitate the sound, I couldn't do it.

"Why try do you to sound like a bird when you so clearly are not?" A low but strong barely childlike voice spoke in front of me.

I looked down (since I had been with my eyes upwards), managing to tear my attention from the birds all around me to see what looked like a boy crouching in front of me and a bit to the side, in front of one of the rosebushes that flanked me. He looked barely two or three years older than me, with light skin, raven-black hair and emerald green eyes, dressed in a gray long-sleeved shirt, forest green vest and pants and dark boots. So different to the denim skirt and lilac peasant blouse I was wearing as I sat on the ground.

"Who are you?" I asked in turn. "How did you get in here? This is my house, my garden, you shouldn't be able to get in…"

"Why haven't you answered my question?" He asked, cocking his head to the side in confusion with the barest hint of annoyance. "I asked first."

"I do not even know who you are." I replied, my own eyes narrowing. "My aunt has told me to never talk to strangers, which you are…a stranger who somehow got inside my house, when you shouldn't be able to…"

"Why aren't you running for help then?"

"I don't think you are bad…When my aunt talked about strangers she meant bad ones, you aren't like that…"

"What makes you so sure?"

"I just am. My aunt says it's called instinct and that my instincts are good." I shrugged, that had always been enough explanation for me… "Will you tell me your name? If you do, then we won't be strangers anymore." I extended my hand to him, deciding to give the first step. "I am Silbhé Salani."

"Lo…Luka, Luka Hveðrungr."

"Luka Hveðrungr…" I repeated his name, it sounded strange on my tongue, and I couldn't say it quite right. "It's a strange name…"

He shrugged, though his eyes narrowed, he obviously did not like my comment.

"I mean no insult!" I told him immediately, moving to kneel in front of him. "Truly. I just had never heard something like it before. You probably aren't from around here…"

"I am not." He admitted, then he cocked his head to the other side and added. "You have yet to tell me why you were trying to sing like a bird, when you're not one…"

"You have yet to tell me how you got inside my house, when you shouldn't be able to." I reminded him in turn, trying my best to imitate his formal speech, before smiling and answering his own question. "I like how they sing, sometimes I wish I could be a bird too, so I could fly and sing like they do…"

"You would like to be a Nightingale?"

"More than anything else in the world!"

"Silbhé!" The voice of my aunt could be heard from the kitchen. "Come on! Lunch is ready!"

I reacted instantly, scrambling to my feet in a somewhat clumsy move, scooping my book as an afterthought; it was until I had given a couple of steps in the direction of the kitchen that I remembered Luka and turned back.

"Hey, why don't you…?"

I never finished my sentence, I had no one to say it to, Luka was gone. As suddenly as he'd appeared, he'd vanished, almost as if he'd dissolved into thin air…

xXx

I didn't see him again for many weeks, though I made it a habit to walk through the gardens, stopping to sit for long periods of time, in the same spot I had been when I first saw him, day after day, until my aunt began asking me if I was alright. I told her I was, how I just liked that spot, and walking around, watching all the beautiful flowers she'd filled the garden with in the years since we'd moved to Maine. The townhouse there was smaller than the one we owned in Wales, much better considering there was only the three of us.

The gardens were a special addition, my aunt's personal project when we'd moved in. It had begun with a couple of roses, lilies, petunias and carnations; it had grown so much since, now we had more than a dozen different blossoms, in a variety of colors. I also loved the nightingales, and they seemed to favor the rosebushes, which was a good enough reason for me to spend long hours sitting on a small mat in between two of them. (The mat had been my aunt's idea too, so I wouldn't leave dirt all over my skirts when I wanted to sit there, since the two benches were on the other side of the garden)

I did not see him for the longest time (or at least what to a child would feel like the longest time), but I saw something else. Early one afternoon, right after I had had lunch and then taken a short, lazy stroll through the gardens, I found something waiting for me on top of the mat where I usually sat. It was a small white silk semi-translucent bag, tied closed with a ribbon of golden thread. Curious, I took my usual seat, placing the bag on my lap before opening it. From inside came the most surprising object I could have ever imagined: it was a flute, though it did not look like the ones I had seen the musical groups from the downtown park playing. This one was a dark color and seemed to be made from some kind of stone, the holes were also somewhat different. Still, it was absolutely beautiful.

I had no idea who could have left that gift there for me, and it obviously was for me, since no one else went to that particular spot, and not many knew I did either.

For the longest time I just contemplated the flute, turning it in my hands over and over, as if it could somehow give me the answers to questions I hadn't even decided on yet. In the end, the curiosity was too strong, placing the edge of the flute against my lips, I blew softly on it.

The result marveled me. The sound…it was almost like the nightingale's song!

Suddenly, unbidden, the memory of a voice, of words, came to my mind:

"You would like to be a Nightingale?"

"More than anything else in the world!"

I smiled, to think that he, someone I had seen but one time (and after the weeks since then I had even begun to doubt that meeting, considering how short it had been, and how no one else had seen him; wondering if I hadn't just imagined the whole thing), who from just some words exchanged (the shortest conversation I'd ever been a part of) had gotten the idea to give me such a present. The flute was beautiful, and I knew, even without having any details, that it was no normal instrument…it's wonderful.

On the course of the next days I buried myself in books as well as the internet, I wasn't very good in the last, but was getting better, and it's the best way to find something…particularly when I wasn't even sure what it was I was looking for.

I found out quite a few things: like the fact that the flute I had was a Chinese transversal flute called Dizi. They were usually made of bamboo, but the one I'd been gifted with was made of black jade. Beautiful, obviously hand-crafted, it was a black color that threw green reflects under certain lights, and it had a golden tassel near the top. It was a collector's item, obvious since the sound was so good, when stone flutes didn't have that good sound usually, at least according to what I'd read during my research.

I learnt as much as I could of how to play it, and soon I was making my own combination of notes, trying to imitate the birds playing among the flowers.

During that time I also found the two names the strange boy had given to me in his introduction, and a lot more…

It was several more weeks before I saw him again. By that point I had stopped walking so much around the garden, going back to spending most of the time sitting between the rose bushes, with the birds flying around; except this time I would do so with my flute, doing my best to join the birds in their songs.

My aunt had seen me once, asked me about the instrument, I just told her it was a gift from a friend. She was so happy that I actually had a friend, even when I told her it was someone from another town and so I couldn't actually introduce him to her…still, the mere idea of me having a friend was novel enough that she didn't ask too many questions, not about him, or about the strange black flute in my hands. It's a good thing, since there was no way I could have explained her how someone I barely knew had given such an obviously expensive instrument; it wasn't like I had even shown any interest in flutes or in anything musical before I had received it either, though since I'd been reading a number of books on flutes, wind instruments and music in general (and then there's the additional fact that I'd just found out the object was worth over a thousand dollars!).

That particular day I was having some fun, sitting among the roses, playing a few notes on the flute, waiting for the birds around me to answer to the sound with their own melody, before repeating the process, again and again. If I closed my eyes and let go it was almost like I was one of them…except for the part where I was human and no bird…but really, the imagination can do wonderful things…which is what I at first believed to be the origin of the voice that suddenly interrupted my line of thought.

"You look almost like you're about to sprout out wings and go flying with the rest of the birds." It was the same low but strong voice as before.

I managed to force myself to push my alarm far down and finish the long note I was playing with just the slightest hitch before I cleaned the mouthpiece with a small handkerchief I kept on hand for that very purpose, placed the flute carefully on my lap and opened my eyes.

"Such an idea is as wondrous as it is impossible." I said after what seemed like forever. "Though what a wonderful dream it would make…"

I closed my eyes briefly, focusing on that thought alone, wondering what it would be like to actually be able to do as he said…until suddenly I could feel it: as if there were a soft breeze enveloping me, I could no longer feel the ground beneath me, only the wind…I was floating, I was flying…like a bird…

"Ohh…" I gasped in shock.

My eyes snapped open abruptly, and the moment they did I once again felt my own legs curled beneath myself, the white skirt I was wearing that day covering my feet, the edges smudged with the dirt from my sandals and the roses.

"You did that, didn't you?" The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could think about them. "You made me feel like I was flying…"

"You wanted it." He said simply.

"I did." I agreed, still feeling a bit high at the memory. "Thank you."

He sat in the dirt in front of me, legs crossed, ignoring completely the dirt and leaves staining his slacks; eyes fixing on the flute still on my lap.

"Did you like it?" He asked, signaling to the instrument.

"Very much, it's beautiful, and the sounds…" I smiled brightly, pulling the flute against my chest, it was my greatest treasure… "Thank you Loki…"

For a second or two nothing happened, then, in the time that it took me to blink, he was abruptly on his feet, taking a couple of rushed step backwards and watching me with a mix of shock, confusion and something else I couldn't quite point out.

"Wha…?" He didn't even seem to know what to ask, or how to.

"That is your real name, right?" I asked him, head to a side, trying to fix my eyes on him even when he was suddenly much higher than I, with the sun over us. "Loki, of Asgard, the God of Mischief and Lies, the Trickster…"

"How do you even know all that?!" He interrupted me in a hiss.

"Research." I answered simply, really, it was the most obvious thing in the world, at least to me. "I wanted to know what kind of flute this one was…found out quite a bit about it actually. Chinese transversal flute, called a Dizi flute; and this one in particular is made of black jade… Once again, thank you." I bowed my head in gratitude. "Anyway, I was looking the flute up and then, at some point, I got really curious about the name you gave me, especially your family name: Hveðrungr. It sounded old, the kind of family that one would expect to have been lost in time…I am a very curious person…"

"That I can see." He muttered, still angry. "So you read a few books and suddenly you knew who I really was?"

"Actually…I didn't know, not for sure." I winced slightly at my own admittance. "The way you reacted kind'a gave you away, though."

For a moment Loki looked absolutely furious, like he might even attack me…and then, he let a loud sigh, running his hands through his hair. The gesture didn't seem to fit with him, with the boy he looked to be, and it reminded me of something else.

"You know, you don't have to keep that image…if it's not your real one, I mean." I said softly.

The mix of shock and-something-else that he directed at me showed that apparently I'd once again noticed something I shouldn't have.

"What?!" He almost spat.

"The legends I read, they're from so long ago…over a millennia. If even half of them are true there's no way you can look as if you were thirteen-years-old. You don't have to hide with me, I mean, I already know you're not human, and while I certainly have no idea of how a god, or at least someone humans from over a thousand years ago believed to be a god might look like…I promise I won't run away screaming…"

"Really?" His brow raised, a glint of…danger, or something like that, in his eyes.

"Just…do you look like, blue, or green, with horns…or something like that?" I asked him abruptly. "Not that I have anything against it if you do, really, I promise. I just…I would like to just…well, have a heads up, you know?"

He laughed, actually laughed at me; I wanted to look indignant and he just laughed even more.

"Sorry to disappoint…but no, I'm not blue, or green, or any other color." He told me, lopsided grin adorning his expression. "Nor do I have horns or any other…odd appendage. We Aesir appear actually very much like you Midgardians…"

"Midgardian?" I repeated, testing the word on my lips. "You mean humans?"

"Yes, that." He nodded. "It's odd to think of the names you have given yourselves, this world. In Asgard we have our own names. It's been so long since any of us Asgardians had actual contact with someone from this world…we've never considered the implications."

"Well, I don't mind if you call me Midgardian…really, it would have been strange already if you called me human, so not much difference there. Though, you can always call me by my name, you know? It's…"

"Silbhé, I know, I have not forgotten." He assured me. "Though it is a name that doesn't really fit one such as you…"

"One such as I?" I repeated, confused. "What does that mean?"

"It's a human name, and even in that form, I can sense you're meant for more than that."

"Like what?"

"A free spirit…a…Nightingale…"

I couldn't help the wide-smile in my face. Really, I was barely eleven-years-old, there's no way anyone my age, even someone who read and loved to learn as much as I did, could have even begun to understand the implications of the words being said, by either one of us, by both of us. I'm not sure even he was fully conscious of everything. All I cared about was that someone was talking to me, someone who seemed to hold me in high esteem, something no one besides my aunt ever had (and I didn't even think on the implications of those thoughts coming from a god). Then there was the fact that he comparing me with the most beautiful creature in the world…as far as I was concerned.

There was a hint of a smile on his face as he dropped to the ground in front of me once again, resuming his position from when he'd first appeared earlier. Except that as he touched the floor, it was like some kind of ripple went through him and his form changed: he became taller, leaner, his factions more refined, his hair a bit longer and slightly ruffled, though still the same raven-black, his eyes emerald green…He was wearing charcoal gray pants, a forest-green tunic-like long-sleeved shirt, dark boots and a long dark leather vest.

"This is me." He announced, signaling to himself.

"Hello Loki." I bowed my head in a respectful greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He liked my greeting, it was obvious by the smile that lit his features making him look amazing, like some kind of mystic hero, or prince…

"The pleasure is all mine." He said theatrically, taking my hand and kissing the back of it. "Nightingale…"

It gave me great pleasure to hear him calling me that, Nightingale…comparing me to the birds I so loved…though one would wonder how I could fixate on that when my focus should have been the fact that I was interacting with a god…guess I was just too young to understand…

"Would you play for me, my Lady Nightingale?" He asked me in a mock solemn tone.

"I shall, my Lord Loki…" I nodded at him in the same manner.

I smiled, before bringing the flute to my lips. Not a single word more was said that day, instead we just spent the time sitting together in between the roses, relaxing in the melody created by the nightingales and my flute…

And so was the beginning of a beautiful friendship...and this new fic of mine. Hope you'll enjoy it, I've recently become obsessed with Loki, and this is what came out. The cover isn't the best I've ever done, but I couldn't find many Loki pics in which he wasn't either wearing that strange helmet or looking at someone as if he wanted to kill him so...yeah. Hope you still like the pic. You can see it better in my deviant-art page.

Also, as you might be able to guess already, and if not I'll clear it out now: each chapter will have a song. In this case, if you want to get an idea of the kind of thing she might have been playing, look up Yanni in Youtube, anything that includes a dizi flute. He is the very reason why I gave Silbhé that instrument.

So, since right now I'm working on two fics, it'll be one week this one, one week the other one. Which means the next chapter for this fic is coming in two weeks. Hope you'll have no problem with that arrangement.

Next chapter: Years pass and the friendship grows. Also, the reason behind Silbhé's constant sickness in revealed, and in such a way as to give even a god a stroke! Next Song: Dreams...