Chapter 3- Drifting

I am called into Asgard's throne room. Terror is engraved into my people's faces. The four guards and I loom through the hall; I float, they grind. Our shadows' bounce, reflecting on the ever changing outcomes in my mind.

Bor's son, Odin, could be as fierce as his predecessor. He could condemn us to a public execution. It could be imprisonment for life. Whatever the verdict, it will not be favorable.

Two Einherjar open the intricate doors and they groan just like I am inside. It's as if someone has taken a magnifying glass and zoomed in tightly onto one man: Odin. My spirit pulls my feet away, but the guard's throw me in front of his throne.

The cold gold hits my face, and I lay there for a second. My head pulses, crying out. The previous confidence that I had has now been shifted; I'm off beat.

When I can bring my face off the floor, humiliation floods me. The guard's are snickering. I've been brought down from my regality. Odin's ice cold eyes hit, and I pull back as if a blinding light has been shined in my eyes.

Before I can regain my composure, he speaks, spewing out his words.

"Elf, I have little sympathy for your kind. Your leader, Malekith, killed my wife and son, and brought ruin and chaos to my kingdom. If you wish for mercy, the only way to garner it would be to somehow convince me that you don't deserve my fury. Seeing as that is impossible, I'll give you one chance, thus not waste my time."

How can he be so heartless? Why does this shock me, though? My heart immediately chastises me. There is always a hidden person. Always. I must find that shadow, that hidden figure, and grab it; squeeze it's heart.

Odin lost his wife and son. I obviously didn't do it, but the guilt is probably taking over him; he wants someone to blame.

I need him to pity us. For him to realize we have lost things, too.

Well, here goes nothing.

I take a deep breath. "Allfather, I understand you must be pained from your losses." He coughs, and I bow out of my power a bit. "I have recently found out that my brother is dead. While nearly everything he did infuriated me, he was my brother all the same. Although my loss is not near as tender as yours, I understand your pain." I continue on, fast pace, trying to rid myself of empty sympathy.

"But please have mercy on us. I'm not sure if we deserve it, but the only reason we are here right now was to escape Malekith's tyranny. They are not him; they are innocents. Please realize that we never tried to go after the Aether, we tried to survive.

"I'm not sure if this plea is enough, but please spare my people."

My words settle around the room like ashes after a fire. Odin's menacing eyes try to grasp mine. I stare straight ahead, refusing to let a tear slip; a tear of passion. My throat is tight.

"Your people are still Malekith's people, no matter the circumstance." My insides are screaming. I want to rip free of this body. Go off to the woods and cry out for my life. Because dear God, why am I here?

"The small pity that is inside of me is only enough to not dole out death." Odin's voice is gruff, as if he is using an axe to cut a tree; cutting an entire forest of family trees. "You and your people will serve as slaves to the Asgardians and the palace. They will not be allowed to have children with one another, for I won't have Dark Elves try to start an uprising against my people. Again."

My throat is still clenched. These words need to be released from my throat: "You would let an entire race die?" My voice is high; shrieking.

Odin visibly winces. Then he seems to go back into his haze of anger, and pounds his staff into the ground. Angrily, Odin declares, "I shall do what I feel is best for my kingdom, and these nine realms!"

I look to the sky, trying to vaporize my tears. It could be worse. But it's still a stab.

This was it, then. Eternal servitude. Fun fun.

With my luck, I am sentenced to the worst place in the Asgardian palace: the kitchens. Of course, after starving for a month, the kitchen seemed like a great place at first. I soon learn I was mistaken.

Many people in the palace= lots of mouths to feed. Not only that, but the Asgardians are constantly having feasts. The kitchen staff never stops cooking all day. We have to wake up before sunrise and don't stop until the last dish has been washed from supper.

The guard's had announced the verdict of Odin's judgement. Silence was the only thing that exuberated. Of course we were glad to not be sentenced to death, but was this alternative much better? At least in death we might have found some peace.

No sooner did they hear the news than they were torn away: children away from their mothers, vise versa, and the few men away from their wives. Guard's clamored and ripped through the hall, finding gruesome pleasure in the wails that bounced around the hall. The gold halls seemed to be wrap around us, then released when only a few of us women were left. I was numb. This is how it will be. I can't let my emotions bleed.

Lili and I were in this group. Immediately we were escorted down to the servants quarters. Although more plain than the main palace, they were still more grand than anything on Svartalfheim. A harried and plump women took over and we were taken to a large bathing room. There we were striped down and had buckets of either freezing cold or boiling hot water dumped on our heads.

It was embarrassing. Not only was I naked, but the looks from the women dumping liquids atop us, were of absolute repulsion. My previous thoughts of toughening up were melting away with the water. I wanted to run to my room and cry. Alone; away from all this pain that I could do nothing about.

Clothed, bathed, and our white hair tied back in cloth, us elves were sent to various parts of the palace to start our assigned jobs. A few were sent to cleaning the palace, but most are on kitchen duty.

A large Asgardian women, the head of the kitchen, immediately put us to work; no matter that it had been hours since we slept. I was sent to wash the dishes. Obviously.

The water was warm when I started. It periodically gets refreshed, and it scalds my hands. As I scrubbed, splashing the water all over myself, my whole body began to ache. I've never watched dishes before. I'm soon soaked. The head, Hlen, will not let me sit down. As the hours tick by, my emotions scald my insides. Soon, I'll scab over. But it's not happening fast enough.

The last pot is finally washed. Everyone has left the kitchen. The dinner was busy. Steam was pushed around the kitchen, and I stayed at the dishes the whole time, my load slowly growing. Hlen wouldn't let me leave like everyone.

I slowly trudge through the hall to my room. Lili is going into the room that we share. She gives me a passing and caring look, then walks inside. When I arrive she throws herself onto the bed, and when she looks up, I see the tears in her eyes. "This is horrible Sigyn! Me and Lyra had to clean the palace all day without break. When the guard's saw I was an elf, they spat at me! How are we going to do this for the rest of our lives?!"

The room is windowless and plain: a convincing cage. We are to spend the rest of our lives here. Locked up while they make use of us. All of this feels oddly familiar, and the sick feeling that is blooming in my stomach will soon spread like a weed. But Lili. Dear, sweet Lili needs my help. Her gentle spirit is being crushed by the vicious hatred of the Asgardians.

I go and sit on her bed, gently rubbing her back. "I know it's hard Lili. They just don't understand." I sigh. " Their queen and prince were killed by Malekith. When we fought them for eternal darkness we each saw different sides. They could not imagine living in a world of darkness, while we could not imagine a world full of light. There are always two sides to a story, but you only want to see your's." Lili's tears fall upon the sheets, and spread out into a blanket of sorrows; she will soon lay underneath them, rather than facing her reality. But she must let them out. We cannot keep things inside us long without them hurting us trying to break out. "Seeing past our differences is a hard thing. They don't see you for who you really are. They don't know you like we do: the sweet, gentle, and caring girl who wouldn't hurt a riu. Malekith and his horrors are all they see, not you. Please hold your head up and prove to them that you are different."

At this, Lily looks up and gives me a small smile. Her eyes are red, wishing they could cry blood. No words are needed to show her pain, but gratefulness.

I bury myself into my own bed. The fierce need for the same kind of comfort burbles inside me. Yes, my words were true and they consoled me to some extent. But what is that compared to understanding? Something I will never have.

Tears drop down my face. They most likely catch the candlelight, and sparkle like diamonds. They say that beauty comes from ugliness. And I can't help thinking of what Lili said yesterday evening: "Maybe life will turn out better than it ever was before."

Yeah, right.

I awake to the soft sound of Lily snoring. The candle was blown out. All is completely dark. Asgard is asleep.

Trying to fall back asleep proves to be impossible. My whole body is screaming to get up, but my mind says no. I just have too, though.

The feathers in my bed melt beneath my touch. Lili sleeps restlessly, but is not awoken by the squeaky kitchen is black. The steam and bustle of the day has been absorbed by the night. I grab an empty tray with a fancy golden lid, and head quietly up one of the stairways that is used to take food up to the central palace.

Although I meet no one on my way up, I am still cautious as I peek my head through the doorway. Nobody is there. This is one of the larger dining rooms used for big feasts. It's so ginormous. We never had anything near as grand on Svartalfheim.

The grandness of the room makes me want to swish and spin around, and I curl around the benches; swerving and dancing around them. The dress they gave me- a light blue one with a sloping neckline- makes me feel like a princess.

Oh, could you imagine being the princess of such a place?

Torches form shadows along the walls, but nothing can stop the brightness of the gold. It is growing sickening. I feel more conspicuous. The tray helps; maybe it could be a royal midnight snack.

A few guards pass. My heart skips a beat. Where am I going? I just needed to get out. I don't want a cage to hold me in forever.

I want to fly away as the birds do. I've read of them- birds- in books. They fly around with wings, like our ships, free to go wherever they please. They have children, and feed them until they can fly on their own. They share a call with their people. Even the ones that aren't similar, they all call to each other. They accept each other, yet allow them uniqueness. I've longed for many things in my life. The longing to be like a bird, free, is foremost. But something, or someone, created birds. If they cared enough about them, surely they may care about me?

I leave my crevice. I pass more guards, but thankfully they don't question my presence. The cap that I fell asleep in does not show my white hair. Thus, since my face is not that different, they do not know that I am an elf. My very being is a danger to my people.

I hear two people approaching, talking loudly. "There is no need to be worried about these Dark elves, Volstagg. There is plenty of guards in the palace to make sure no harm comes to your children. I will personally make sure of that. The Allfather has things under control."

I look around quickly but don't see a space to go. Too late. They round the corner.

"Thank you Sif. Now, tell me all about your happenings with this Kree!" A large bearded man shouts joyfully.

The women named Sif begins speaking, then quickly stops when she sees me. I try to ignore her intense gaze, but I begin to quiver slightly.

"Hold on now!" My heart leaps. The large man holds out a chicken sized arm to stop me. He laughs. "What's this you have?"

He stares hungrily at the tray. Oh, right. Thinking quickly as Volstagg eagerly opens the cover, I make an apparition of some greens I saw in the kitchen. His open mouth closes and, putting the lid back on, Volstagg straights his belt, clears his throat and says, "Hgm, uh, delicious. Hope whoever this is for enjoys their small feast. Please continue." He and the lady Sif walk on.

Well, that was close.

My walk carries on for a while without anymore interruptions, but nothing interests me.

Maybe I should go back….

A glass door rimmed in gold radiates warmth; it beckons me. I don't even pay attention if anyone is inside. Thousands upon thousands of books rest inside, sleeping until you gently awaken them and ask for their knowledge. My body is possessed. I drift into the grand room. The smell of old books wanders into my nose.

The bookshelves are made from lacquered wood of the finest kind. This must be a side door, because all the shelves are in lines in front of me. At the front an old man is sleeping with some tea in his hand.

Stair cases lead up to more books, making a maze of sorts. Right next to me are steps and I head up.

Colors are stacked against each other, forming a rich palate. I run my fingers delicately across them. I had learned to read Asgardian during the war, and now use that to read the titles. The History of Niflheim -The World of Fog and Mist. Bilgesnipe- How to Eat Them and Avoid Being Eaten. The Hunger Games. I just want to grab one off the shelves and absorb myself within it. I want to run away with one, and into one of the books world's; escape the cruel reality I am painted into now.

Svartalfheim only had a few books; education was a foreign idea to us. I read all we had. Now I have so many before me. I stop suddenly at one particular book; I can sense the magic emanating off it.

Gently, I take the book and slide it out. It's beautiful. The book itself is magical. Words on the page undulate, and the scrolls, spirals, and swirls come off the page and dance in soft, curling movements. I have to read it.

But I feel too vulnerable right on the walkway. If someone were to find me, they might think I was trying to steal the book.

I spot a veranda. Perfect.

A torch bounces off the door and reflects my face as I open it. It's as if someone from a parallel world is escaping as well. But when the door flips, a guard fills my image's place.

My heart freezes over when his cool eyes penetrate me. More light has flooded his mezzanine and I must look like a bilge caught in the lantern light. We both remain immobile, caught inside our mistakes.

But he is caught within a trap of sadness as well. That veil that lays over us when in grieving is evident on him. Tears lay in his eyes. I feel as if he has wrapped the veil around me, too. Sadness weaves it's way inside me immediately.

We have both been compromised. Technically, he shouldn't be here either. I begin to slowly back away, but he does too. A collision occurs. I drop the book. He picks it up. We both stare again.

Without saying a word, he tears his eyes away and looks at the book. It's as if he's seen a ghost.

"You know magic?"

My first instinct is to run as soon as he speaks. But that wouldn't be wise. So instead, I lie. "No, I just thought the book was beautiful."

"It is." He scans my face. His voice is rich and creamy, yet questioning in every syllable. "Well, sit down if you like. I can't report you, otherwise I myself would get in trouble."

"Thank you," I respond. His eyes remain upon me. Everyone on Asgard must know of the elves coming to work in the castle. No doubt he is wondering if I am one.

It's awkward with him looking at me, but the book is calling my name. Colors and sparks burst out when I open it. A floating animation unfolds before me, and levitates above the paper. The title of the book- Spells and Incantations- is practically bursting from the page.

I gasp. After the title, the first illustration is of a young woman falling asleep. A comatose spell. The picture itself shows the movement of the girl awake and then asleep.

I'm so mesmerized by the book, that when the Einherjar guard speaks, I'm once again surprised by his presence. I thought he had left the veranda. "You should look at this page," he says. He's been looking over my shoulder.

The guard flips the pages and lands on one with a dragon on it. It breathes pretend fire onto my face, which soon dissipates into the midnight sky. I smile and look to see what the spell is: How to Make a Dragon

The Einherjars presence presses upon me. I uncomfortably move to the side, so he may better see the book. He continues flipping pages. I must find a way to leave this. But how? I'm trapped.

"You've read this book before?" I say, hoping to probe some information out of him. When I first saw him on the veranda he seemed very distressed. I can either make him trust me, or make him so galled that he will leave.

"When I was younger, yes. Although, it has been a great deal of time since I have last seen it."

"You often come to the library?"

This question dissolves the memories on the tips of his pupils. "Perhaps."

That's not an answer.

"You don't know if you come to this library often? Does someone occasionally possess your body and come here without your knowledge?" I scoff.

He assumes a miffed attitude. "Yes, I come to this library fairly often, but I don't like telling random servants everything about my personal life."

"You're not much better than a servant yourself. You're a guard."

Angrily, he says, "I'm no guard, I'm the-" but quickly stops himself.

Instead, he grabs the book from my hands and states, "You shouldn't be taking books like these from the shelves. Go back to your chambers."

It seems I have upset him. Oh well.

"If I wish to stay here, I can! You can't force me to leave, you will get punished for being here, too."

"I could tell them you were doing something else horrible, and make your life miserable." the Einherjar replies snarkily.

"My life is already miserable so good luck with that!" I snap. "Why do you think I'm out here? Isn't that why you're here? Life wants to bash us down over and over." Tears well, and my voice cracks. "That's why I'm out here, because I couldn't stand it anymore. These books hold more of a life than we will ever have."

I fall into my seat, practically curling into it. The guard's face is passive. But I can see the fireworks back in his eyes. He reaches forward and takes the cap off my head. Underneath is my white hair that falls like snow around my face.

He stares at me. Just stares.

"I understand. Meet me here tomorrow night." And with that, he disappears into the light of the library. The bookshelves break apart, and slowly shroud him in their wood until he is beyond my vision.

First night here and I already have a date.