*THIS IS A VERY ROUGH IDEA, I JUST BECAME BORED AND DECIDED TO POST IT. I KNOW I GOT NAMES/SPELLING/MYTHS WRONG, BECAUSE THIS IS MERELY ROUGH DRAFT. I'm gonna go back and make it more accurate once I've got some reviews and suggestions. I've edited this draft merely for making sure there are no serious errors, and yes, I know that Loki had been disguised when he refused to cry, but like I said, this is rough. Please, if you've read this, leave a comment or suggestion! Much obliged!*

"Deceiver, having smitten my son, Baldr—merely to prove a point—thou have been sentenced to decapitation!" The Allfather's voice boomed through the great hall, and the sorcerer and deceiver felt his heart stop. His green eyes grew wide, flashed red, yellow, and green, and he screeched at the top of his lungs, clasping his bound hands together in a begging gesture, calling, "Allfather, why dost thou do this to me? I have much potential not yet released! I bid thee, grant me one more chance!"

Hands in chains, the sorcerer below the Allfather stared up with mortal terror at the man who could decide his fate. He had his black hair cut short, but his bangs were tied in a tiny ponytail hardly thicker than a pinkie finger, hanging down by the right side of his face to his chin, a feather hanging from the thread that tied them. He had light-colored skin and jet-black hair and long, thin eyebrows, eyelashes making his light-colored eyes bold and noticeably horrified. He had a slender build and a triangular-shaped, narrow face, making his eyes appear all the larger.

The Allfather's eyes narrowed, and he stared down at the Trickster below him, who had just murdered his son at a feast. The Allfather's wife and Baldr's mother, Frigg, had gone to every creature in every realm and told them to not harm Baldr, and they all agreed, so Baldr was then untouchable by anything. Frigg had left out mistletoe—a young thing, too young to swear—so the deceiving sorcerer had tricked a blind god, Baldr's own brother, to stab Baldr with spear tipped with mistletoe. The Allfather stared down at the top of the black-haired head, and he boomed, "What say you, that I allow thee to smite others in turn?"

Tears filled the Trickster's eyes, and he looked up, eyes puffy and red, and he begged, "Allfather, prithee grant me life! One more chance—I shall deceive and trick no more! After all the trials we have been through together, wherefore thou decide to strike me down as though I am a criminal?"

Anger swelled up in the Allfather's guts. The other gods surrounded this happening, merely observing as it went. The Valkyries held their shields, spears, swords, hammers, and axes, preparing to leap after the Trickster if he decided to make a break for it. One of the Allfather's sons, Thor, watched with narrowed blue eyes. He had his noble hammer, Mjolnir, shrunk down to the size of an amulet around his neck. Mjolnir looked similar to an anchor or an upside-down cross, but Thor could make it expand to be a huge hammer that could create thunder and earthquakes.

Thor had long, flowing red hair, that went a little past his shoulders. His hair was pushed back behind his ears and tied back in two thin braids that tied into one at the back, and two thin ones that hung over his shoulders. He had a somewhat square, broad face, a beard that was cut close to his face. His thick eyebrows were low-set and furrowed above his narrowed blue eyes, the shade of blue as the sky after a thin layer of clouds, ready to burst, has stretched from horizon to horizon.

Thor saw the giant—very small-statured and attractive for a giant; call it a lucky birth defect—that had always been like an uncle or brother to him. Thor could not find pity, though, for this lonely creature—for killing Baldr, Thor's brother, he was unforgivable, and Thor was unforgiving.

"Thou oft play tricks and hoaxes, deceive and commit acts of treason!" Allfather screeched, "Even thine children are pure evil—the giant wolf, the serpent, and the gatekeeper of Helheim!"

Gulping, the sorcerer cried up to the Allfather, "But my son, Sleipnir, the Eight-Legged Horse—he is thine steed! If thou judge me on my children, then I bid of thee to look at thine horse!"

The Trickster, quick of tongue, caught Allfather off guard. Perhaps, the sorcerer thought deep in his small heart, that there may be hope for him yet! At that moment, Hermod, a messenger sent to Helheim to ask Hel to release Baldr, came riding in on his horse, excited. He jumped off of the horse and cried to the gods, "Listen! Hel saith that if all objects weep for Baldr, then he will be released!"

That was not a hard thing to do—many of the gods and goddesses, rocks, metals, plants, and animals had already been crying for beloved Baldr, the kindest, most fair of the gods. Everyone began to weep for joy, except for the killer of Baldr—the blind god had already been slain for his crime, despite the fact he had been deceived by the deceiver—who went by the title of "Trickster". He merely stared up at the Allfather, dumbfounded. His daughter had granted Baldr to come back? That could be good—they may not kill the Trickster now—but the Trickster had no tears to shed. His eyes flashed from green to red to gold then back to green then red, but his tears had all dried up—and they had been tears for himself.

Enraged, the gods and goddesses stared at the Trickster with fury in their eyes. Thor jumped to his feet, grabbing Mjolnir and making it grow into a huge hammer with a small handle, and he boomed down at the Trickster, "HOW DAREST YOU?! EVEN FOR THINE OWN LIFE, THOU DOTH NOT WEEP FOR THE MAN THAT THOU HAST KILLED?!"

Scrambling to think of an excuse, the giant cried, "My tears have all been dried up, Great One! I bid you, pity me for my inability to mourn!"

The Allfather rose to his feet, pointing his spear at the Trickster, and shouted, "WE SENTENCE THEE TO DEATH BY DECAPITATION ON THE MORROW!"

Pleas of mercy escaped the Trickster's lips, and he threw himself at the Allfather's feet and kissed his feet, begging, "ALLFATHER, DOTH THIS NOT TO ME! THOU KNOWEST NOT WHAT THEE DO!"

Any humanity for the deceiver had left Thor, seeing the giant cry not for the man whom he killed, so he pointed his hammer at the trembling sorcerer and shouted, "NAY, HE SHALL BE BEHEADED RIGHT NOW, WHERE HE KNEELS!"

One of the Valkyries, Skeggjold, stepped forward with her crescent-moon-shaped axe in her right hand, and said calmly, "Allfather, dost thou bid of me to smote him?" Skeggjold had tan skin, snow-white hair, cut straight at her chin—with two long extensions heading down to her hips, over her shoulders—bright ocean-green eyes—the whites of her eyes were black, as most Valkyries eyes were when they were preparing for combat—with white paint on her face, a line going under each eye then pointing down like tears. She had white feathers on her shoulders that adorned her white cape that almost reached her knees. She wore peach-colored boots that went to her thighs, tipped in white feathers. She wore white gloves, and a white belt that was merely a bunch of reflective metal plates strapped together. The rest of her outfit was sea-green, blue, and light green.

Panic clutched the Trickster, and he lived up to his title of a sorcerer and god of fire by screaming loudly in fear, hands bursting into flames. His metal binds instantly turned bright white and dripped down as scalding liquid, right onto the Allfather's feet. Just as the Allfather screeched in pain, the sorcerer wheeled around and bolted down the straight hall, shouting at the top of his lungs, "CATCH ME FIRST!"

Skeggjold gasped and raced after the sorcerer. She sprouted wings, glowing white until settling down to a normal shade of sea-green, and leapt into the air to tail the Trickster.

The Trickster waved his right hand, but only a silver flash above his hand was recognized. He then jumped into the air—hardly a foot off of the ground—and turned into a black-and-red falcon, flying straight toward the Bifrost—a rainbow bridge that connects the realms.

Eyes widening, the gods all knew that if the Trickster could get to Jotunheimr, then he would likely trick the jotunn into attack the gods. The Trickster reached Heimdallr, who stood in front of the Bifrost, waiting to allow people access to the bridge, and turned into Thor as he hurriedly told Heimdallr, "I shall grant thee any wish thou command if I can pass!"

Heimdallr glared at the Trickster, who glanced behind himself at the shape of the Valkyrie heading towards him. Heimdallr told the Trickster, "Nay, I allow not criminals to pass the Bifrost."

The Trickster's eyes widened, and he barked, "NEVERLESS, MY DEATH IS NOT TODAY NOR ON THE MORROW!"

Throwing his hands in front of himself, fire shot out of the palms of his hands. Heimdallr gasped and jumped out of the way of the flames, dropping his key—which is a mere key to be inserted into a large wall that will split to allow access into the Bifrost Bridge.

Snatching up the key, the Trickster threw it into the keyhole. The Bifrost opened, and the Trickster once again turned into a falcon and flew over the burning rainbow bridge.

Skeggjold reached the Bifrost right before the walls slammed shut. She flew over the burning bridge, following the Trickster close behind.

Meanwhile, the gods waited patiently for Skeggjold to return with the Trickster, then to behead him. Thor steamed, arms crossed, and imagined the puny giant being beheaded right in front of everyone. Quite the humiliation, Thor thought, and knew that he wouldn't mind the blood everywhere—it would be worth it.

Anxiously, Thor felt his neck for Mjolnir, but felt nothing. He gasped and jumped back to his feet, shouting to the Allfather, "Allfather, the Trickster has stolen Mjolnir!"

Fearing for their possessions, all the gods and goddesses began to check for their precious items. Mist, a blind Valkyrie—Skeggjold's sister, but Mist has pale white skin, pale white, pupil-less eyes, very long, messy white hair, small, flightless sea-green wings, a white staff, and wears pale peach-colored clothing; a dress that goes to her knees, leather shoes, fingerless gloves that go to her armpits, and a beaded headdress—noticed that her sea-green amulet, Honesty, was gone. She gasped and said, "He has stolen Honesty! Mayhap he wishes to deceive no more?" The last comment was said with the stinging tongue of spite dripping off of her pale lips.

The Allfather was enraged, noticing that his spear was gone. He rose to his feet as well and barked, "I WILL NOT ALLOW FOR THIS!"

Whistling, the Allfather beckoned for his horse, Sleipnir—the Trickster's own son, an eight-legged gray horse—and the beast came charging out of the air, forming from mist to a solid creature with glowing white eyes. Its mane and tale flowed and licked in the air like steam coming up off of water that a scalding white metal has been dipped in. The Allfather mounted his horse, and Thor followed, saying, "Allfather, I am coming along!"

Curtly nodding, the Allfather snapped the reins, and Sleipnir threw four front legs into the air, rearing up onto its back four, and neighed. The sound was like that of a rumble deep in a darkness-filled cave, bouncing along the walls in a funnel motion.

Freyja stepped forward, holding out her falcon skin, and told Thor, "Gain speed with this."

Thor thanked her and put on the skin, turning into a gold falcon. The Allfather and Sleipnir took off, Thor flying close behind. Heimdallr granted them passage, sweat still beading his body from the heat of the Trickster's flames.

Skeggjold was gaining speed on the black-and-red falcon, the Trickster. Behind her, she could hear Thor and the Allfather heading towards them, Thor shouting through his bird beak, "SKEGGJOLD, HE STOLE MJOLNIR, HONESTY, AND ALLFATHER'S SPEAR!"

Eyes widening, Skeggjold knew that those three major items could not be lost. The bridge was ending, Midgard noticeably rising up not-too-far in the distance. It was now or never. Skeggjold screeched like a hawk and raised her axe into the air, then brought it down at the bird. It passed simply through the bird, and she gasped, realizing that the bird was not real—the Trickster wasn't there!

Could he have actually gone to Jotunheim? Skeggjold wondered. She spun around, calling to the gods, "ALLFATHER, HE'S—"

Her eyes widened as she found herself staring right in the red eyes of the Trickster himself. He swung Mjolnir, smacking Skeggjold in the face. She screeched, clenching her eyes shut as her vision filled with blood, pain exploding in her mouth and on the left side of her face. The iron taste of blood filled her mouth, and her jaw felt like it was split in half. She fell onto her right side, skidding alongside the fiery bridge that pulsated red, then blue, then green, then yellow, then purple, then orange, and back again.

The Trickster stared down at Skeggjold, saw that her right wing was crinkled up in a very painful angle. He smiled with scarred lips, lips that had been sewn together as an alternative to beheading earlier in his mischievous life. His plain red fur-lined outfit glowed orange then continued to catch on fire. The fire faded to be a red, dark red, and yellow armor-plated uniform, smoke rising off of it. The green necklace was around his neck, the Allfather's spear clutched in his left hand, the butt of the spear pressed against his shoulder, the hammer in his right hand, held above his head.

Electricity stretched out of the abyss of stars and curled around the hammer of thunder and ran down the Trickster god. I coiled around the necklace and leaped onto the spear, making the spear glow yellow and hum. The Trickster aimed the spear at Skeggjold, then he heard the pounding of Sleipnir's hooves behind him.

"Sleipnir!" The Trickster gasped and wheeled around at the last moment, the spear shooting a huge amount of electricity at the bridge right in front of the Allfather and his horse. There was an explosion, and the Allfather flew back off of the steed. Sleipnir roared and jumped over the fire and smoke onto the other side of the bridge, disoriented and blinded by the smoke, then continued to run toward Midgard.

Skeggjold forced her eyes to open, blinded by the blood that leaked down her face. Freyja's falcon skin was blown off of Thor, landing in a crumpled heap of feathers on the bridge, Thor winded not too far from it.

Eyes widening in fear, the Trickster saw that Skeggjold, Allfather, and Thor were all after him. He began to tremble, then scary calm enveloped him. This could be fun. He aimed the spear at the Allfather. Electricity entangled around the spear, making it glow. He wasn't watching Thor as he got to his feet and threw on the falcon skin, now flying toward the Trickster. Thor's talons grabbed onto the Trickster by the eyebrows, making him screech as he was thrown back. The spear shot into space, going the-gods-knew-not-where.

"THOOOOOOOOAAAAWWWWWRRRRAAAAA!" The Trickster shrieked, throwing Mjolnir and the spear behind him. They clattered against the burning bridge. The gap between the Allfather, Thor, the Trickster, and Skeggjold, was growing, the bridge crumbling.

The Trickster grabbed onto the golden bird and wrenched him off of his face, throwing him behind himself as well. Blood pooled down into the Trickster's eyes, clogging his lashes, and he blinked quickly, trying to clear his vision. He stumbled back, and Skeggjold reached out with the little bit of sight she had and clutched the Trickster's ankles.

Caught off balance and blinded, the Trickster screeched and fell onto his back, the rainbow burning into his back—but it didn't bother him, since he controlled fire. Mist came running up, using her curled-tipped staff to find her way on the bridge. Her messy white hair flowed behind her, her white, sightless eyes staring into space, and she called, "STOP, THE BRIDGE IS BREAKING!"

Allfather gasped and grabbed for her, saying, "Heed thine own warnings!" but she passed his grasp like imagination, holding her staff in front of her. She felt pressure under the staff disappear as it reached the abyss, and she jumped, not able to hope for her small, flightless wings to glide her over. She grabbed onto the far end of the bridge, gasping and screaming, "HEELLLPP!"

She scrambled and clawed for a hold, eyes widening in fear and desperation. The Trickster saw this. His eyes widened, and he gasped, continuing to throw himself at her, grabbing onto the back of her hands with his. She felt hands tightly clutch her, and she recognized the smooth, gentle hands with a clutch of fear in her chest. The scheming sorcerer! She gasped and cried out, "NAY!" but he pulled her up instead of pushing her off. He threw her behind himself just as the bridge crumbled. He jumped back just in time, falling on top of the blind Valkyrie. She screeched in fear and desperation, clawing the air. Her fingernails scraped his neck, and he howled in pain and scrambled away, but not before the blind girl felt her amulet on his neck.

Jumping to his feet, he looked for his weapons. All he had was the amulet—NO, THAT BLIND GIRL STOLE IT! The sorcerer grasped his bleeding neck and realized that while she was clawing him, she pick-pocketed him! He had to admire that, even though it was a bad time.

He saw Skeggjold flopping toward the spear, unconscious Thor lying mere inches from his Mjolnir. The Trickster gasped, seeing his plans fading nearly instantly, and he raced toward Skeggjold. He grabbed Thor's hammer and swung it at Skeggjold again, letting go at the last moment to send it propelling through the air, but this time, it was a sloppy throw. Skeggjold ducked it, gasping and spitting out blood from her tongue—which had a crater in it from biting it when she was hit the first time—and grabbed onto the spear, spear turning from forest green to light blue in her grasp. She jabbed it at the Trickster, but he jumped back.

The Valkyrie had the upper-hand—she could attack from a longer distance than the sorcerer, but he was, after all, a sorcerer. He shouted an ancient rune at her, and she screeched in pain as she fell down onto the bridge, legs having turned into stone.

Seizing this opportunity, the Trickster wrenched the spear from the Valkyrie's hands and ran toward Mjolnir, the spear turning bright red in his grasp. He grabbed the hammer just as Thor did, the man's blue eyes opening. The Trickster stared down at the redhead, both of them emotionless, as if daring the other to make the first move. Then, taking his chance, the Trickster said, "HAH, NO THOU NOT DOST!" and yanked the hammer away from Thor.

Eyes burning with fury, Thor jumped to his feet and punched the Trickster, sending him flying backwards, the clothes on his back shredding as he skidded along the burning bridge. The Trickster gritted his teeth in pain, and Thor held his hand up, Mjolnir flying out of the Trickster's hand and into Thor's.

Skeggjold screeched, digging her fingers into the burning bridge. Her whole body felt like it was on fire, but she had to help her sister, Mist, whose staff was out of reach, bridge crumbling just behind her.

The Valkyrie slowly, very slowly, very painfully, dragged herself toward her sister and friend. Skeggjold's legs were stone, thanks to the scheming sorcerer. She held out her right hand, shakily, painfully, toward Mist, hearing the god and giant behind her combating, and she called to her sister, "Mist, come hither! Follow my voice, Mist!"

Blind eyes looked in Skeggjold's direction, and she called again, "Please, come! My legs are stone!"

Mist's jaw dropped, staring in Skeggjold's direction. Mist could do nothing to help her sister without her staff, and she had no clue where it was—where anything was. She couldn't feel anything on this burning bridge.

Suddenly, behind Mist, the bridge crumbled away at her feet. Mist screeched, feeling emptiness beneath herself. Skeggjold howled in fury and pain as Mist began to plummet down. Skeggjold pounded her palms on the burning bridge, and her hands became blue. Almost instantly, an icy blue trail from each hand snaked out and grabbed onto Mist's hands, freezing them to the bridge, preventing her from falling.

Hands frozen, Mist screeched, losing all feeling in her hands. She wailed, swinging her legs back and forth, feeling absolutely nothing beneath or around her. Skeggjold was dumbfounded, staring at the back of her blue hands. She could see her veins, bright red, snaking up and down on the surface of her skin. Her light green-blue eyes widened, and she began to tremble, but she did not feel cold.

"THIIIISSSS IIISSSSSS YOOOOUUURRRR FFAAULLLLTTTTTT!" Skeggjold screeched, imaging that this was some curse that the sorcerer placed on her. The stones that surrounded her legs turned to ice and shattered into dust, leaving her legs blue, a thin layer of white frost over them. Skeggjold got up and grabbed onto Mist, yanking her out of the ice. Mist screeched, clutching Skeggjold, afraid of the cold hands that grabbed her and of being covered in ice.

Skeggjold grabbed onto Mist's staff and set them both far away from the edge of the bridge. She grabbed onto her axe, and the axe became enveloped in tendrils of ice and frost. Shrieking at the top of her lungs, Skeggjold charged toward Thor and the Trickster, swinging her axe down at the Trickster. He gasped, blocking the attack with the Allfather's spear. At the clash, sparks exploded, and the three beings were all flung in opposite directions.

Filled with fear, the Trickster decided to abandon the other items. He tightened his grip onto the spear and ran toward the end of the bridge, toward Midgard. Thor noticed this and gasped, shouting, "NAY!"

He threw Mjolnir, but it missed the Trickster and smacked the bridge in front of him, leaving a big dent in the rainbow. The sorcerer gasped, eyes widening. The hammer flew back to Thor's hand before the Trickster to grab it, so he kept running, the realm of Midgard directly below him.

The Valkyries were holding hands, running toward Thor and the Trickster. They were now running vertically downwards, toward Midgard, and the three gods knew that if the Trickster got to Midgard, then something bad was bound to happen.

As Mist and Skeggjold passed the dent that Mjolnir left, it an idea hit her. She grabbed onto Mist's hips in her left arm, telling her, "Hang on to me!" Mist wrapped her arms around Skeggjold's neck, being held like luggage in her sister's left arm. Skeggjold used her wings, though broken, to glide painfully over the surface of the bridge. She caught up with Thor then passed him. He shouted at her, "Skeggjold, nay! Allow me to handle the deceiver!"

"I'M NOT TAKING HIM ON!" Skeggjold shouted and made a final leap into the air, flying over the Trickster. She alighted a couple yards in front of him, spinning around to face him. Below them, a green-and-blue, spherical realm awaited, but there was also a white sphere with craters in it between them, to the far right as you face Midgard.

The Trickster halted, eyeing the very sharp, two-prongs-on-one-side-and-axe-on-the-other crescent-moon axe, and braced for a fight. Skeggjold let out a battle cry, raising the axe into the air, clutching her sister in her left arm, and rammed the axe into the bridge, freezing the bridge.

Heart stopping, the Trickster stared at the Valkyrie, then dropped his gaze to the ice, then brought his gaze back up to the Valkyrie. What kind of sorcery is this? The only creatures that can manipulate ice to this degree are the Frost Jotunn…

Shrieking again, Skeggjold raised her axe once more and brought it down at the ice again, shaking it from side to side as she did so. The bridge gave one huge belch, shuttering as it did so, and it exploded, shattering into dust, and all of the four—two Valkyrie, a god, and a giant—all plummeted toward Midgard, their screams of surprise, fear, and wonder echoing into an endless abyss, never running into an outside force to stop the sounds.