In all of Rumplestiltskin's life, he'd seen a great many things, all odd and terrifying and thrilling and new, and those experiences gave him a very specific, special insight that any other rarely possessed. He liked to think that was the reason for the countless visits he got from desperate souls, liked to believe that his power and his knowledge both shared an equal part in their decisions to make deals with him. He knew somewhere within him that the loosely-held notion was false, but he continued to disillusion himself, perhaps to stave off the loneliness residing in his mind and in his memories and deep down in his bones.

It was that exact loneliness that had plagued him persistently for months at a time, and it was the reason that he'd been staring at the dusty curtains, nailed carefully to the walls, crimson color now faded and lost to the past. It was the reason he'd been silent, sitting on his spinning stool and listening to the wind beat relentlessly against the closed windows, a storm raging just outside.

It was the reason he was made instantly vulnerable, caught by surprise, when a powerful beam of light struck the floor in the middle of the room, just beside the long, aged table, strong gusts of wind knocking over most of the furniture. But not his spinning wheel-he'd reinforced the ancient wheel long ago, reluctant to keep such a significant piece of his past but even more reluctant to leave it behind.

He almost fell off of his stool, overwhelmed from the strong blast of air, but it all vanished just as soon as it had appeared, leaving behind two men donned in gleaming armor and looking battle-ready. Rumple narrowed his eyes as the one with blond hair, with a burly frame and armor well-fitted to the defined muscles in his arms and legs, blue eyes bright and scanning searchingly about the room, looked to the man beside him, one with ebony strands of hair falling before his face and dark green eyes that seemed far too distrustful, with a lean, thinner build than that of his companion.

"It seems we're lost," he murmured lowly, a smooth, flowing accent masking the ghost of amusement hidden in his voice, and the blond stared at him, infuriated as he threw up his hands.

"You don't say?"

The response earned him a hard, annoyed glare, and he sighed in frustration. Rumple felt magic tickle the skin of his fingertips and prepared to fight with it, the instinct to harm coming to the surface. It was a developed thing, a practiced, mastered reflex created after so many years of being kicked around, a voice in the back of his head that yearned for revenge.

He slid out of his chair, stealthy and wary. The leaner man's eyes darted to where Rumple stood, and they stared at each other, wide-eyed and still, until the other caught sight of him, alerted by his companion's silence, and tightened his grip on the hammer held in his hand. It was an odd weapon, one Rumple had never seen before, and he immediately coveted it, wanted to hold it in his palm and run his fingers over the smooth stone and leather handle, wanted to feel up close the power he could sense from a distance. The green-eyed man took a slow, long breath, as if preparing himself for some immense battle, and his shoulders lowered the slightest when he at last sighed quietly.

"I am Loki, and this is my brother, Thor," he started carefully, and Rumple heard the makings of a very talented liar in his words, somehow knew in the next instant that here before him was someone dangerous, "and we're a bit lost, it seems. We don't intend to harm."

With his pale, slender hands held in front of him, placating, and his eyes unblinking and bright, Rumple found no reason to hurt them, and he relaxed, ridding himself of the tension coiled in his body. Loki seemed to relax, as well, and soon Thor followed his lead, looking around him curiously at the vast collection of trinkets Rumple owned.

"Where are you from?" Rumple asked, now more interested than hostile. Thor answered, his accent harsher than Loki's.

"We hail from Asgard." He took a step forward, staring imploringly at Rumple.

"Where are we?"

Rumple smirked, clasping his hands in front of his chest.

"You're in the Enchanted Forest, of course." There was a sing-song lilt to his voice, lurking beneath his Scottish accent, and the two seemed uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, as if they thought Rumple, too, was a dangerous kind of person that they should avoid. He felt a certain satisfaction when he realized they were right, and his grin widened.

Loki spread out his hand before him, waving it in the air as a faint green light emanated from his palm, and Rumple recognized, distantly, the magic flaring in Loki's blood, though it was of a far different type than he'd ever witnessed.

Seemingly satisfied after a few moments of silence, Loki retracted his hand and nodded to himself, sending Thor a meaningful look, and Thor returned the gesture.

"We've found our way. Goodbye," Thor murmured hastily, and Rumple closed his eyes to protect his vision from the blinding light that appeared before him, sucking the two men into it and away from, what Rumple suspected, the realm.

Asgard, he thought when they were gone. He'd have to remember the name, he thought, do some research, and figure out how to acquire that hammer Thor had been holding so tightly, as if it was a precious, cherished thing.

Based off a prompt given by ponycorns over on Tumblr.

I don't know where in FTL Rumple lives, so I just went with the Enchanted Forest.

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