Work Text:
Blitz wasn’t expecting company, he never really was. In fact, he hadn’t expected the day to be any different from any other day; sitting at home, losing himself in his designs, ignoring the cruel world outside. He was very engrossed in his work, blissfully unaware of goings on outside of his little apartment.
His mind focussed only on the fabric under his fingertips, and the steady needle weaving itself up and down, side to side. His thoughts were filled with color pallets, threading patterns, and how the finished product would work. The air was filled only with the sounds of breathing and the quiet hum of his machinery.
Until a loud thud at his door ripped his attention from his work, immediately throwing him out of his rhythm. He frowned and tried to ignore the sound, hoping whatever asshole had decided to distract him would be gone soon.
There were no more sounds, as Blitzen worked in continued silence for a few moments longer. He couldn’t help the nagging feeling that something was wrong, though, and it was distracting enough he decided to investigate.
With a heavy sigh, he paused in his work, carefully arranging the fabric on his desk so that it wouldn’t fall when he stood. He walked out of his office and to that front door. He pulled the door open and looked down the street. Right, left, down-- that was when he saw something that, though he didn’t know it, would change his life forever.
Lying on Blitz’s porch, his arms bent at what must have been an uncomfortable angle, was a pale, tall man, with light blond hair and black clothing. He appeared to be unconscious.
Blitz knelt down, sending a silent prayer to Odin that he hadn’t just found a dead man on his porch, and checked the man’s pulse. That was when he noticed the green tint to the man’s skin, and things started to click together in his mind. The tall stranger was an elf.
With a quiet curse, Blitz’s dug his fingers into the stranger’s neck, until he located a slow, steady pulse. He sighed in relief. “Alright,” he muttered, “Guess I can’t let you die in my yard.”
He carefully shifted the elf, until he could hook his arms under the stranger’s shoulders, and pulled him into his apartment, relieved to find the elf didn’t weigh much.
He shut the door and locked it, as he always did, and set the elf on his couch. Blitz put his hands on his hips and stared down at the stranger thoughtfully. He had a lot of questions for the visitor, mainly, what the Helheim was an elf doing in Nidavellir?
Before he could bother contemplating much further though, he realized he was going to have to find a way to keep this guy from dying right then and there, he was clearly sun deprived, his skin even paler than Blitz had ever imagined from the tales he had heard of elves. Then again, he wasn’t sure just how white elves were supposed to be.
The elf shuddered, and his breathing suddenly grew labored, and Blitz decided to stop staring and get to work. This guy was not dying before he had the chance to figure out how he got there.
It was clear what he had to do. Blitz moved quickly, pulling out his father’s old tools, which hardly saw much light recently, and moving to the practically unused forge. He didn’t even glance at his unfinished sewing project as he passed.
Blitz had never been very good at making anything other than clothes, and the memories of every test he had failed in high school found its way to the front of his mind at the same time, causing him to tremble, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.
What if he failed? What if this strange elf died in his couch? Even though he didn’t know the guy, the idea of being responsible for his death was heavy. The idea that someone’s entire future rested in Blitzen’s ability to craft.
The dwarf took a deep breath and steadied himself against the wall. The man on his couch was relying on him. This was no time to be nervous, he needed, now more than ever, to pull himself together and focus.
He pushed aside all of his negative thoughts, to the best of his ability. “You can do this,” he muttered, then straightened himself. “I can do this,” he said, more loudly, and turned to the now-hot forge. He clenched his jaw and set to work.
Blitz was tasked with not only constructing, but designing a tanning bed, one that would be safe to have in his living room, one that could revive an elf without harming a dwarf. He had never attempted anything in the way of electronics, certainly not something that could emit artificial sunlight.
Nevertheless, he was determined. Once the design was finished, he started on building, all the while his mind flashing back to the unconscious elf in his living room, wondering over and over if he was still alive. He prayed to all the gods in Asgard that the stranger would make it.
He dragged all of the parts from his forge into his living room, allowing himself a short break to make sure the elf was still breathing.
The stranger had moved, so that he lay curled up on himself. He looked bad, shaking, sweaty, his skin practically translucent, bright green veins pulsing on his neck and hands. It made Blitz’s blood run cold, while also filling him with steely resolve.
“Hang in there, buddy,” he muttered, as he turned away and set about the last step in saving the elf’s life.
Less than half an hour later, Blitz’ project was finished. Now, he just had to make sure it worked. He sent out another prayer as he scooped up the elf in his arms, bridal-style, and set him in the machine. He closed the bed and switched in on -- he had installed power switches on the inside and the outside, for safety purposes.
Now all there was left to do was wait.
Blitz leaned against the divider between his kitchen and living room, staring at the bed. Once the churning in his stomach had settled a little, Blitz came to the realization that the new furniture would need a name.
He thought on this for a moment, welcoming the distraction from the seriousness of his current situation. The bed’s primary function was light, and heat. It currently held the role of his living room’s centerpiece. “Hearth,” he thought aloud. He hummed thoughtfully. That name seemed incomplete. He observed the off-white marble encasing the machine, designed to protect himself from the light within.
“Hearthstone,” he said, and a small smile crawled onto his face. Hearthstone seemed very fitting.
At some point, Blitz must have fallen asleep, since he woke up to the sound of a loud latch being opened. He startled and lifted his neck from the back of the couch, wincing as the muscles twitched unhappily in protest.
Sitting on the edge of Hearthstone, bright yellow light illuminating his delicate features, was the elf.
“Good mossglow!” Blitz said, pulling himself off the couch. “Do you know where you are?”
The elf didn’t seem to hear him, and looked around the room in confusion, his eyes unfocused in the dim light. Blitz realized he probably had very little experience with darkness. The elves eyes finally landed on Blitz, and he jumped, as though he hadn’t noticed his host. Strange.
“Hey,” Blitz reiterated, frowning a bit. “How are you feeling?”
The elf made a gesture with his hands, a frown low on his face.
“Oh, gods, are you deaf?” Blitz asked with sudden realization. The elf nodded, his expression apologetic. He signed something else, and Blitz sighed. “I have no idea what you’re saying,” Blitz told him. “Maybe, uh, we can communicate using yes and no for now?”
The elf nodded, looking disappointed.
“Do you know where you are?” Blitz asked again. The elf shook his head. “You’re in Nidavellir.”
The elf startled. He pointed to Hearthstone, and raised an eyebrow.
Blitz wasn’t sure what he was asking, so he decided to give the best explanation of the situation he could. “You sort of appeared on my doorstep, unconscious. You looked pretty beat up, so I built that.”
The elf’s expression was hard to decipher. He looked surprised at first, then maybe… Sad? Before Blitz could decipher the look, the elf turned away from him, staring at Hearthstone for a second, before the light suddenly switched off. He kept his back to Blitz for a moment, and took a deep breath.
Blitz stood up and walked into his office, grabbing a pen and a notepad. He gently sat a hand on the elf’s shoulder to get his attention, and immediately regretted it when the elf visibly recoiled, as though he expected the touch to hurt. Blitz cringed, as the elf looked up at him, looking apologetic. He held out the notepad and pen to the elf, who took them carefully.
Blitz sat back down and, once the elf was looking at him again, asked, “How did you get here?”
The elf thought for a moment, before scribbling down something on the paper. Escape family with magic .
The meaning of the words sunk in and Blitzen suddenly felt very protective of the elf. He resisted the sympathetic look that tried to sneak into his features, knowing full-well that wasn’t what the elf needed. Next question. “What’s your name?”
The elf hesitated for a moment. ELTOAR , he wrote, Hate that. I need new name.
Blitz nodded understandingly. He glanced at the bed atop which the elf sat, and, before he could stop himself, said, “What about Hearthstone?”
The elf’s face lit up at that. He nodded, smiling a bit. Blitz decided then that he like this elf’s -- Hearthstone’s smile.
“Can I call you Hearth?” Blitz asked.
Hearthstone nodded, his smile grew, and his pale cheeks became tinted with green. I love my new name he wrote, Thank you.
Blitz grinned. “You're welcome," he replied.
Hearth seemed to realize something, and started to scribble on the paper again. What is your name?
Blitz gestured to the notepad, figuring it would be sort of a hard word to read. "May I?" Hearth nodded and handed it over. Blitz wrote down his name on the paper and handed it back.
Hearth smiled fondly at the page, wrote down his reply, and held up the paper to Blitz again. Thank you for saving me, Blitz, it read.
Blitz smiled in reply. "You're welcome," he answered. "Now, are you hungry?" Hearth nodded eagerly, and Blitz stood up. "Good, because it would be a sin for you to visit without trying my pancakes. They're the best in Nidavellir."