The door was yanked open before Loki could even lay a hand to the wood. Astrid gaped at the man that now stood before her.

He was tall, with high cheekbones and a long nose that did not look altogether like a beak, but more majestic than most elderly noses did. The lower half of his face was mostly hidden by a thick covering of cloudy tangled beard braided down at the bottom, which dangled down his chest over a loose grey shirt. Over the shirt was a knee-length coat, and when the man's sleeves were rolled back, strong arms riddled with scars and blackened with intricate patterns of tattooed runes. The runes were faded and done in black ink, not merely decorative art, but more likely powerful incantations in their written form scribed on skin. Many of them were protective shielding spells, others almost random as though he were a child scribbling hidden notes on his palm before an exam. Silver hair spilled over his shoulders, and he looked both wizard and warrior in the dim light of whatever fire he had in his chambers that caused the hazel color of his eyes to blaze with gold.

"Master," Loki greeted, bowing his head respectfully. The old man's eyes crinkled in some bemused mischief that made him appear years younger.

"I see that you have brought a friend!" he exclaimed. The voice was a deep baritone although still clear. A bushy snarled eyebrow raised. "And a lady one at that." He caught wind of the napkin of sweets in Astrid's arms. "And you have brought me cakes and pasties! My boy, you do spoil me. Not that I am disappointed in your doting on an old man, of course, do not take me wrong. Who is this lovely young lady you bring to me today? I have not seen her face before. Not that," he added solemnly, "I see many faces in the first place if you know what I mean."

"This is Astrid, Master," the young god of mischief announced, gesturing to her. "She managed to find me somehow in the library and saw me practicing magic. She came with me because she wants to see more."

The old man's brow furrowed deeply. "Never before have you brought anyone to see me. Also, why a female, and what is this girl doing away from the palace servants—or her parents for that matter?" His gaze bored into Astrid's soul, leaving her feeling exposed. Summoning up what little courage she had, she told him what had happened, how she had escaped her mother and wandered into the library to use it as a safe haven and met the Prince, who had been doing something incredible that she had never seen before.

"Excuse me, sir," she squeaked out, "but does anyone else know of Loki's abilities?"

"His mother at the moment. He has refrained from telling his brother, and even more so his father."

"Why? It is a marvelous gift, he shouldn't be afraid to share it."

Loki rolled his eyes and attempted to explain. "My brother Thor would hardly care one way or another if he knew of my powers. Honestly, I wish to keep them secret from him so that one day my magic might be stronger than that confounded hammer he boasts of wielding so carelessly. Mjolnir was forged in a river of magic, although most only speak of the brute strength in its enhanced iron. As for my father…he would not support my chosen revenue of profession."

Astrid raised an eyebrow. "But he's your father," she protested. "Surely he would welcome talent?"

"His father does not find favor even in women using magic," the old man replied with a sour grimace of disproval. "He seems to despise the art itself. Now please do come in; I hate leaving people on my doorstep."

He stepped away from the door and ushered them in. The room itself was even more fascinating than the man himself, if that was possible.

It was completely circular to begin with, the walls wrapped around to create a smooth surface. For some unknown reason, there were rafters webbing under a domed ceiling, and from the rafters dangled trinkets in all shapes and sizes: bundles of dried herbs, strands of intricate sea shells, wood carvings on strings and pieces of multicolored sea glass tied together. There were no windows, but a large fireplace behind a roughly carven dining table littered with huge old tomes snapped merrily, tongues of flame lapping peacefully as sparks were tossed onto the hearth. The floor was a shade darker than the walls, and it had a rippling pattern to its grain, reminding Astrid fondly of the rivers of Vanaheim. There was a cot pushed to the side as though sleep mattered little, and there was a closet that latched shut, and a nightstand with a glass plate on top, stacked high with mounds of white candles in a castle-like pile of random turrets. Astrid spun around to absorb her surroundings.

"So…this is where you live?" she wondered aloud. The room did not radiate the presence of a sorcerer or a powerful magical being. In fact, it was almost homey in structure. The one clue to who lived here was the bookshelf next to the bed stocked to the ceiling with spell books and ingredients for potions and elixirs. "It's quite comfortable. I like it."

The old man chuckled. "Thank you very much. The name's Myron," he added as he settled himself into a spindle-legged chair before the fire. The flames cast strange shadows on his face and clothes and caused some of the individual hairs of his great beard to glitter like hot wires. "My pupil here tells me that you wanted to see more magic."

"Yes, yes I do sir, very much," Astrid said, scrambling with her words. She had little to no practice with communicating with wizards or mages—or Princes for that matter. When Loki had spoken to her as though he was no greater in society than she was, it had taken her for a surprise. It was odd to think of the image of the younger Prince of Asgard that had been implanted in her mind before she had met him. That more dim-witted, brawnier, more golden image. It was like imagining a sunrise and getting midnight instead, or preparing for summer only to get a snowstorm. Loki currently stood beside her, tall frame relaxed in this environment. There was that same tingling feeling in the air that the library had held. "Although I did not think that the Prince would bring me here to see you." She fiddled with the hem of her tunic.

Myron grinned pleasantly. "Worry not, my dear. It is just as much a surprise to you as it is to me. The boy is not one for bringing anyone to me as a simple show of kindness. Though unannounced, I think that I may make an exception for one who shows such interest in the ether world outside of mundane grasp. Where is your mother, may I ask?"

"She is probably talking politics," Astrid told him. "At least, that's what Mother calls it. I think that it is all rather boring." She flushed when Myron raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Sorry, it's just that it is all rather dull." She bowed her head, and looked up in surprise when she heard the Prince laugh softly under his breath. "My lord?"

"Loki," he chuckled, looking up at her with his eyes twinkling in amusement. "And you may be the first girl to accurately describe the courtly behaviors in this palace."

"He is not all that fond of the courtiers," Myron told Astrid in a stage whisper. She giggled, envisioning the exchanges between the strange young man and the frilly ladies of the court. Loki glared at them both.

"I fail to find the humor in this," he drawled. "There is nothing amusing about a small army of deranged women after your flesh."

"And your title and wealth, don't forget," Myron added in sympathetically. The Prince huffed.

"Women," he grumbled.

Astrid narrowed her eyes at him indignantly. "We are not all so bad. Some of us can be quite civilized when we put our minds to it, that is, if we actually try."

"No wonder your mother does not seem altogether distressed by your disappearance. You are a bit too untamed for her taste, I would presume." The Prince smirked lightly with the corner of his lips. He seemed to understand her, at least, he understood that she did not belong, being a lone wolf himself. The loners knew their own pack.

Myron broke into their conversation, twisting some of the long hairs of his beard around his forefinger. "Nevertheless, you came here to observe magic. You know, if you do enjoy it, perhaps I might give you a few lessons, seeing if you are up to the task or even magically gifted." A secretive smile had painted itself over his countenance.

"You would?"

"Most definitely, my dear." He snatched up a pastry and took a ravenous bite from the flaky sugar-encrusted dessert as though he had not eaten in days. Seeing the piles of books on the table, pages freshly turned and free of dust, it was to be assumed that this was true. The way that he finished of the pastry, a large lump of delicately folded dough filled with creamy fruit jams, was animalistic. He finished it in a matter of seconds. Loki sighed.

"When was the last time that you ate a meal, Master?" he questioned, pulling out a chair at the table first for Astrid, and then one for himself. He reclined placidly into the back of the chair as if he had not relaxed so much in weeks. Sitting down, Astrid had to bend her head to avoid a hanging clump of dried out fruit pits tied together with strands of herbs, most likely for poultices. Myron ignored Loki. He certainly was a strange old man. However, there was something in that hazel gaze that spoke of depth and wisdom beyond even his ancient unnumbered years. He extended a long-fingered hand and grasped the corner of one of the books, pulling it closer to him. Dust flew into the air as it was moved across the table's surface. Something came to life in the Prince's expression.

Myron removed his long coat and draped it over the back of his own spindly chair, revealing those heavily inked arms. There was no telling where the runes ended or where they began. They spiraled around his flesh in some mesmerizing dance of shaped black shadows. His fingers flipped through the pages of the giant tome like a stone skipping over smooth waters. Pushing up his sleeves, he stretched before bending down, nose almost touching the yellowed paper, scrutinizing the spidery writing. At last after a long silence his head snapped up and he exclaimed, "I found it!" Astrid jumped. Her chair creaked in protest. Myron ignored her. "Now," he said as he rubbed his hands together, an invisible energy emitting from them. The energy filled the room like ozone and electricity would during a thunderstorm, "who wants to see some magic?"