Prologue

His time on Midgard had been short the last time he had graced her fertile soils. Loki, the Norse God of fire, chaos, and mischief, had gone mad with power leaving his brother, Thor, in trouble. Naturally, he, Hogun, Volstagg, and Sif came to Thor's rescue. What would the giant, lovable oaf ever do without them? His visit had been mere hours, and while everything was alien and strange—much stranger than the hundreds of years that had passed between his previous visit—he and his companions were on a mission to save Thor. It was not to frolic in Midgardian fields.

Though his time then was much more bearable. At least a curse was not placed upon him, preventing him from returning home to Asgard. Or, travel to other worlds for that matter. No, he had become a prisoner on Midgard.

And whatever for? A tryst with a beautiful maiden? He should hardly be held accountable for that! What was it she had told him? Oh, yes. That he did not understand the meaning of love. What poppycock! If anyone understood what love was, it was Fandral the Dashing. He loved love! There was nothing more in the nine realms Fandral didn't love as much as love.

Inhaling sharply, Fandral took off into the setting sun toward civilization in hope of finding someone who could help. He only knew of two people on Midgard that could assist him in contacting Asgard. Thor had made mention of a shield of some sort, but Fandral wasn't exactly sure how a shield would be of use to him at the moment, and he didn't even know where to begin looking for said shield.

No, he had to find Jane Foster or Hayden Waltham. They were not only exceedingly smart women for Midgardians—not to mention, rather attractive—but they also had high relations to Asgard. While they might not be able to get him back home themselves, they could reach Heimdall, the All-Seer, and Heimdall could inform Thor of that wretched woman's curse. This was the last time he would ever touch an enchantress.

Oh, come now dear lad, do not get ahead of yourself, he warned, knowing full-well he had no intention of keeping such a promise. He would, however, make certain to steer clear of that enchantress. It was a shame he could not recall her name though.

Frowning, Fandral could see the city growing closer. He was appalled at the loud, abrasive sounds and offensive smells emitting from within. This will most definitely be a tale turned to song for the bards, he mused, padding through the desert wasteland, one that all of Asgard will regale in, he continued, the tale of Fandral the Dashing and his—

A loud, blaring sound stilled him in his thoughts as two bright lights blinded him where he stood. He raised a gloved hand to his face, squinting as a massive contraption swerved around him. A young man leaned out from the side of it and tossed some sort of soft, white container at him, splashing a red, sweet-smelling liquid all over his leather vest.

"Get out of the road, you freak," the boy shouted, jerking his head back inside the speeding contraption that continued toward the city.

Stunned, Fandral wiped off what he could of the strange liquid, bringing his gloves to his mouth. He carefully extended his tongue, flicking the tip like a lizard to his finger and smacked the cold, sweet taste coating his attire around his mouth. Fandral grimaced, uncertain of what it was, and unsure if he enjoyed the tangy taste or not—or if he was even supposed to. He did know for one thing for certain: he did not care for having the beverage thrown all over him.

He brought his gaze down to the well-worn pavement of black and white. Ah, this must be a Midgardian road. It's not particularly grand, and it's quite the eyesore, he thought on a frown. He knelt to inspect it, his sticky-gloved fingers grazed the ground when another contraption, similar to the previous one, emitted the same blaring noise and swerved around him.

Fandral stood up, deciding it would be best to stay off the Midgardian roads and stick to the sand and brush instead. Ahead the city grew brighter as the sun died down—how peculiar it was that Midgard only had one sun—and he noticed almost every building in the city ahead was alight.

"What is this magic?" he whispered aloud in awe. "The amount of candles they must go through is preposterous!"

His awe was cut short at the sudden rumbling of his stomach. Fandral frowned but pushed forward. Ignoring the ache in his feet as well, he desperately began to hope he was not on a fool's errand. Yet, every inch the city grew closer, Fandral found himself realizing his task might be beyond even him.