Dying Star

this is an experiment to see if i can do justice to the love of my life.

The golden city floats on the clouds. Rolling domes, towering pillars and tilted roofs form a river of shining gold, a lonely lighthouse in the dark ocean of cosmos.

The golden people roam the streets, laughing, smiling, adult faces lit in childish laughter. They have lived forever and seen many stars die, but they have forgotten war. They know no sadness. No death, no disease. They only know the light of the golden city and the magic that is its heart.

The golden people are strong, beautiful, and kind. They strive to be noble and strive to be brave. They train to fight for the glory of it, then learn to treat their enemies with kindness. Brothers and sisters play carefree. Neighbors love each other, strangers are hospitable. There is no unkind thing in their world.

For them.

These golden people know not of the sacrifices others have made to keep them safe. Darkness and light coexist. As long as the universe has existed there has been misdeed, wrongdoing, and hate. The creature they call All-father knows this. He has created a bubble for them, sending his warm power to keep the threats at bay.

Odin, All-father, they whisper in hushed awe. Their king for eons. Protector, savior, master.

Another being knows of darkness, too. Her name is Frigga, and she is the All-mother. Her love repels all hatred and her smile is the cure for all sadness. She is strong, no doubt, inbred with the instinct to defend all that is dear to her. Evil beings fear the All-father, but a different kind of fear is inspired by Frigga's name.

Frigga, all-mother, the golden people laugh. Queen for ages. Guardian, saving grace, loved.

In their golden palace on the shining hill lives their son, Asgard's child, Son of the Nine Realms. He is made of Odin's power and strength and Frigga's fierce love. He is bursting with power; when he smiles, lightning crackles in his eyes. This boy is beautiful and sweet, with a gentle, caring heart. He roams the streets with his people and is not only their prince, but their friend and companion.

Thor, the son, the people smile. Prince of the new dawn. Brave, noble, friend.

Not long after Thor's birth a cold night stole over the golden city. The people were terrified into hysteria. War, death, and hatred entered their lives once more. The ice giants frost stole into their hearts and they shivered in their homes, holding their children close. But their savior rose again and used his warm power to save the Realms. Frigga made peace as was in her good nature, and the shadow lifted, though some parts were to forever remain.

Then from the golden palace on the hill came joyous news- a second son from the all-mother. The golden people laughed and smiled. They rejoiced. The golden streets were flooded with celebrations and dancing people. They cheered not only for the child but for the peace and relief that war was past them again.

He was a quieter child who was often content walking behind his brother- but never more than one step away. Where Thor blazed brightly the second son shone more cautiously, a glimmering black instead of fiery red. His smile was a soft secret while Thor's was a brilliant gift thrown to the world. He walked the streets of Asgard, too, but silently. The golden people loved him with a bemused fondness.

Loki, they sigh fondly. The second son. Clever, silent, watcher.

The golden city shines now like it always has, but the golden people know what waits in the shadows. They cling to each other, but look to their king for guidance. They look to Frigga for love, Thor for hope. And Loki? To him, they look at a mystery forever unsolved.

~.~.~.~

As Asgard's Sons grow, so do the people.

They carry on with their simple lives- waking with the still-fresh sun, eating their morning meal on the steps with their neighbors, working only for their own satisfaction. Now, however, there is a new hunch to their shoulders. New wrinkles crease their seamless faces, and new frowns taint their perfect eyes. They realize the paradise they live in can be damaged. They awake as though coming out of a trance. The golden people dig through their thousand years of memory to recall a time before Odin when they were in danger, and find it frighteningly familiar.

Their children grow. The golden people do not die, and thus the city of Asgard keeps increasing in number. But so does its size. Despite the recent horror there is little imperfection in the golden city.

Life continuous, but slowly and painfully as the golden people cannot help but feel like they are waiting for something. They are in stasis...drifting, anticipating something to come.

Eternity, some realize, can be tedious.

So they turn elsewhere, setting their sights on other realms. Heimdall, the gatekeeper who sees all, lets them pass. They travel to the Nine Realms, even Midgard, the curious backwater where the creatures look like them but are so, so inferior. So unintelligent, in fact, they fashion gods out of the golden people. Their stories and power captivate the Midgardians. Legends of Odin and Frigga travel to Midgard, too, as does word of their sons (Thor and Loki would visit Midgard too, but word of them had reached the curious world before they were aware of it).

Setting foot in Midgard was meant to be an amusing passtime, but it changed the Asgardians forever.

They know what death is like, and how short and temporary everything can be. They begin to value themselves more, and so consider themselves superior. As the Asgardians become more self-aware they become more self-righteous, jealously guarding themselves from the other realms.

And because he is fashioned from the very life-breath of Asgard, the all-father and all-mother, Thor embodies their new mentality perfectly.

He is, like the Asgardians, proud. He saunters through the streets, a young boy still, but confident and bold. His sense of self is fierce and sure. Thor is sensitive, like his people, and when his pride is wounded he reacts. As the Asgardians grow arrogant, so does he.

But like his people he has a heart of kindness and compassion. He loves his people and wants the best for them. He wants to be brave and to be their protector. He loves to fight, for glory and for the surge of triumph as crowds chant his name. He is energetic and bold, so no wonder the skies of Asgard chose this creature born of the skies to embody them.

Thor of Thunder, he is known. Thor of Lightning. Thunder for his loud, booming personality, and lightning for the ferocity coursing through him.

The golden people can often find him jesting around in the village squares or the market, playing around with the young boys. Although the children do not realize it, there is a different aura around this boy, one of serious, foreboding power. This is why no child is faster than him and no one can catch him. No one bests him (and just as the Asgardians feel with the other realms) his head inflates.

" None can best me!" the prince cries, waving around a stick as he parades around the North Village square. Amused parents shake their heads at the mud-covered child. " I am Thor Odinson, champion of the Nine Realms!"

The other children look at him reproachfully. Several boys have muddy elbows and bruises from Thor's wooden stick-sword.

" Champion of stinking," one sniffs.

Thor just grins. " I behead you!" he cries, tackling the boy into the dirt. They tussle, but at the end both are smiling. This is Thor, light of his people.

Suddenly, a high-pitched voice breaks through the happy loudness. " Champion of the Nine Realms, eh?" says a girl, leaning against a fence post. She raises a dark eyebrow, brown eyes dancing with fire. " Of what Nine Realms do you speak?"

Thor steps away from his playmates, a slightly stunned look on his face. " Asgard, Midgard, Jotunhe-"

" I challenge you," the girl interrupts. She leaps away from the fence and lands in front of him, holding out her stick. She is clothed in drab brown trousers and tunic, blending in with the mud. Thor assesses her, shocked, mouth hanging open. She challenged him- a girl? She's skinny, but he can see the muscle lines of her arms. And the smirk she wears on her narrow face frightens him a little.

Frightened? The mighty Thor? He shakes himself mentally and holds out his own stick, grinning. Sparks gather at his eyelids.

" A girl wishes to challenge me?" he snorts, tossing his head and puffing out his chest.

The girl shrugs. " Yes."

" I'll go easy," he assures her. The girl's smile only grows wider, and she looks half-crazed.

" Have it your way," and without another word, fiery pain erupts from Thor's side. He gasps and stumbles forwards, vision flickering. Another blow hits him in the side, but he quickly spins around and regains his footing. The girl is standing, infuriatling still, twirling her stick idly. She raises an eyebrow.

" Unfair!" Thor splutters. " You did not tell me when to start-"

"-but I'll tell you when to finish." With blinding speed, the girl knocks him onto his rear and sends him skidding several feet in the mud.

Angry now, Thor surges back to his feet. The two children begin to duel, sticks clacking and clanging loudly as they fight. The mud churns beneath their feet as they move. Thor moves slowly but deliberately, each move powerful and strong, The girl is quick and fast, sliding and slipping all around him like a minnow. The air is charged, almost physically, with Thor's lightning and the girl's passion. They move so quickly and dangerously the children back away.

Finally, there is a loud shout. The frantic moving image of the two fighters stills and Thor stands above the girl, her stick lying on the ground several feet away. He grins playfully but she snarls and writhes, refusing to let him press his stick against her throat.

" I think I am still champion," he declares, and steps away. He offers his hand but the girl ignores him. She rises to her feet and miraculously the mud is gone. If possible she shines even brighter, and her eyes are glassy orbs of black. Thor blinks in shock but they return to normal in a second. She smirks.

" Watch your back, Thor Odinson," she says without malice, and darts away over the fence.

Thor does not know it yet, but he will meet her in sparring match again and again. Sometimes she bests him, the only warrior to ever do so in centuries. They become fast friends.

She is Sif, made of pure passion and rage. War Goddess and unquenchable flame.

The golden people know her well. She has no parents but comes and goes, a pretty, wild, untamed thing.

~.~.~

The golden city is but a speck of dust in the universe, but its people are special. They, unlike their Midgardian counterparts, are visible threads in the cosmic design.

Each embodies a certain fragment of personality. Sif with her passion, Frigga with her maternal love, Odin, King of Kings. The children of Asgard are special because they embody different fragments spliced together, and their children grow more complex as they combine their bloodlines into the physical embodiment of what we would call humanity.

Every Asgardian is special and treasured by the stars.

Well known among them is the young Fandral. He has been a young boy since the Asgardians came into being, and they cannot picture him as anything besides a teenager with a crooked smile. He is the embodiment of the swashbuckling, wild, roguish hero.

Fandral amuses the golden people. He is well-known and mostly well-liked, if not considered an annoyance by those who dislike his advances. He is fickle as a magpie, jumping from trinket to trinket without a care in the world.

He fell into the company of Sif and followed at her heels for centuries. Fandral fell in love with passion (and so Sif) but she pushed him away, often literally with the edge of her sword. Fandral soon turned his attention elsewhere but remained fast friends with War.

But before Sif Fandral had other friends. They were Hogun the Grim and Volstagg the Valiant. Hogun and Volstagg both aged but Fandral remained a child, making quite the odd trio as they wandered the streets of Asgard. Hogun was silent and stone-faced, every bit the tight-lipped warrior. He wore his honor like a badge and remained ferociously loyal to his friends and the Royal family though he had yet to meet them.

Volstagg is brave, too, but in a louder way. He boasts and brags in grand epics he tells to children, stories half truth, half imagination. Volstagg's heart is large and encompassing. He has scarcely said a harsh word to anyone, and his booming laugh is infectious. His greatest love affair is with food and drink. To see him without an enormous got leg in his hand is to see the sun without its shine.

Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg- or, as Fandral likes to jest, the 'Warriors Three'. Volstagg, with his strength? Yes. Hogun, with his silent, deadly grace? Yes. Fandral, the wild boy? Not so much.

They are a bit of a joke, these 'Warriors Three'. Not mocked, since the Asgardians are incapable of mocking their own (or, they were). But considered a peculiar, entertaining oddity.

All that was to change the day they met Thor.

Asgard's first prince was sparring with Sif again in the woods. He was a few centuries older now and growing into a boy Fandral's age. Intrestingly, Sif had started to grow from a child scarcely over ten to a girl much older. Her black hair whipped around her head like dark fire as she wove around Thor, slamming her spear into his legs and sending him sprawling onto the ground.

Thor grinned and rolled over, eyes bright with mirth. " Compared to you, I look like I wallow in mud when I fight."

Sif twirls her spear. " Accurate, Prince."

" Again?" Thor stands up, picking up his sword (he has moved beyond sticks and now carries one made out of gleaming metal).

But before Sif can reply, a new voice drawls, sliding between them. Thor looks up, startled, as a blond head appears between the leaves of the tree over them. Sif scowls as Fandral drops down, bowing mockingly to her. " Lady Sif- and Prince Thor."

" Have you been spying?" Thor says aggressively.

Fandral's lazy smile dances across his lips. " Not spying. Learning, from the mighty prince."

There was little hatred and strife on Asgard, and since the Prince was born of its lifeblood he is. " And have you been enlightened?" he teased, brown eyes sparkling.

" Mightily," Fandral replies, unable to stop his own genuine smile at the Prince's friendliness. He turns to Sif and gives her a mock frown. " But I thought you would easily defeat this pidgeon."

Thor chuckles. Sif shoots him a furious glare and draws herself to full height, sneering at Fandral. " Don't speak of defeating me, child who plays at being a man."

" At least I play the part convincingly."

" Not a chance," says the young girl-goddess, but her tone, too, is turning light. Fandral slips a hand into his tunic and brings out his own sword- smaller, shorter, and much lighter. Sif laughs openly. " Your sword compares to mine as does your intelligence."

Thor keeps laughing while Fandral smirks. " The lighter sword, the less burden on my arm."

" The lighter sword, the easier to knock away."

" Smaller sword, easier to dodge," Fandral fires back. Thor holds out his hand and Fandral places the sword in it. The prince turns it over in his hands and tosses it lightly, inspecting it with a tilt to his head.

" An efficient weapon. Who made it for you?" he says. Fandral puffs out his chest.

" I was Created with it," he announces proudly. Sif rolls her eyes while Thor's expression turns shocked.

" You are a Firstborn!"

Fandral shrugged. " If by Firstborn you mean I was born without parents at the start- then yes. The sword has been in my hand since the day I opened my eyes. I am one of the Warriors, meant to embody the spirit of the dashing adventurer-" another loud snort from Sif "- and have aged scarcely a Midgardian year."

Thor is still gaping. " What is it like, being born with a weapon?"

" It is part of me," Fandral says simply, inspecting his sword. " Just like another limb. Fighting with another sword feels wrong, like wearing clothes that don't fit right or using a cane."

The prince nods slowly, inspecting his own sword. " That must be a great feeling," he says a bit wistfully. " I still have not proved myself worthy of any weapon besides this." Thor gestured to his own sword, a moderately fine weapon.

Fandral looked at it. " Seems sturdy."

" The arcs are dreadfully clumsy." Thor swung as a demonstration. " And it's much clumsier compared to yours, or even Sif's."

" You should meet Hogun," Fandral said. " He fights with a mace."

" A mace!" Thor exclaimed. " That must be wondrous to watch."

Fandral nodded excitedly. " And my other friend, Volstagg, fights with an axe."

Thor gave a loud exclamation of excitement. " Would you like to train with us?" Fandral continued, pleased at the prince's interest.

Thor nodded. " Yes!"

" I don't know why you'd want to spend more time in Fandral's company," Sif crossed her arms, putting on an overly-aggressive scowl. Fandral laughed and punched her playfully on the arm.

" You'll come too, Sif?"

The girl shook her head, but Thor grabbed her hand and pulled her forwards. " Yes, she will. A direct order from her prince."

" I despise you," Sif announced, but Thor and Fandral only laughed.

And thus Thunder, War, Adventure, the Grim Warrior and the Valiant warrior became fast friends.

(Curiously enough, Fandral soon began to age- just as Thor was).