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fallegur

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You met him on Vanaheimr.
He stood tall, yet hidden among his crowd - among his family. He stood lost in the aftermath of the power of those before him. He knew it, too. His hands tangled within one another, crossing shly over his chest. His head tipped down low, his eyes meeting the floor. He was hiding himself. He was afraid to be seen among such powers. (Someone as small and delicate as him standing next to the gods of new and old? Someone would certainly question why he had a right to stand among them. He did, so why wouldn’t everyone else?)

He would try and hide this feeling. He could conceal his truth from most, but you saw him transparently. From the moment you saw those emerald eyes you understood them. They were kind in part, dark in another - scared in part, prideful in another.
Magical. Mystical. Mischievous.

He could feel your gaze on him. He could sense it, and the moment he looked up to identify whom it was that would choose to stare at him (the moment his eyes met your own) you got lost in those dark, prideful eyes. The green pools ripped your attention from those you were meant to be listening to, those you were to be reporting to, and Odin was not known to be a patient man.

“For a race that can foresee the future you, my boy, are clearly unaware of the consequences that come with trying my patience.”

Your eyes went wide, seeing flashes of armed guards, seeing Odin’s golden staff slamming against the marble floor, orders spurting from lips. You hardly wanted the man who ruled the nine realms to take more control away from you than he already had and, it seemed, that was exactly what would come to pass if your attention went back to the fallegur green-eyed boy ahead of you.

You (half shaken and nervous, half overjoyed and love-ridden) smiled at him once more, “For another time then.”