Thor Fic: "Kill all the pretty lies" (Darcy, Loki, PG-13), 1/10
Boom, baby.
Title: Kill all the pretty lies (Part 1: Searching)
Characters: Darcy, Loki, Jane, Erik, Odin, original characters including ones based on Norse mythology, mention of Thor, eventual appearances by Heimdall, Coulson, Sif and the Warriors Three
Pairings: Thor/Jane and eventual Darcy/Loki...sort of
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, gore, dark themes, implied sex
Length: 4,270 words
Summary: Darcy only wanted to get away for awhile. Loki only wanted to indulge his curiosity. But fate has set their paths to crossing, with each other and with something more; something that will prove to be very, very dangerous to the both of them.
Notes: Many thanks to geministep for looking over this chapter and assuring me it was something people would actually find worth reading, and for serving as a sounding board for all my ideas.
And another thanks to machi_neko for her highly talented assistance (you'll find out what I mean, soon enough). ETA: Like what you see? Check out her deviantART page or her personal website, to see more of her work.
For the record, the villain is this is in fact a canon character from the comics. They're just not associated with Thor and his little corner of the Marvel-verse. But given their backstory, I thought it was too brilliant to resist when I had an idea to make these two cross paths.
Also, I am very familiar with Norse mythology. But I've done the same thing here that the comics and the movie have done: change things as necessary in the sake of a good story. The names are mostly the same but the particulars have been condensed and edited. If you're interested in how the original myths go, check your local library. Or, you know, just use Wikipedia.
Part 1: Searching
Contrary to what might’ve been popular belief, Darcy did in fact have a life outside being an undergrad underling in a highly classified physics project that she only grasped the basics of.
It was a pretty simple life, true. It involved a lot of YouTube and Facebook and other stellar time-wasters, her actually accomplishing work while she bitched about doing it, and then bitching again some more after it was done just to keep all her bases covered. And somewhere in there was class-work for whatever she was taking online at the moment, and, whenever she had the chance, mocking any suited-up drone that dropped by from SHIELD.
Even further outside, though, were the other significant yet often overlooked fundamental layers of her existence. The crust to her pie, as it were.
Like how she had two brothers - one older, one younger - a mom she talked to fairly often, and a dad she talked to not nearly as much. Like how she had a string of former boyfriends that’d ended in a series of mostly amicable breakups, some of whom she still occasionally Facebook-stalked. Like how her major was Political Science and she was actually kind of interested in that, dammit.
Like how she actually did have friends.
She was pretty sure a lot of people, like say, Jane and Erik, had at some point taken it for granted that she didn’t. Possibly because she didn’t get along with anyone in Puente Antigo because people in Puente Antigo sucked.
But in fact there were others she was close to because as if it hadn’t already been clearly established: hello, internet.
One such of these was Ruth. Darcy had met Ruth her second semester freshman year and about immediately approved of her crazy sense of humor, as well as her hearty appreciations for both sarcasm and fruit rollups. They’d stayed in contact ever since, even after Darcy had found herself somewhat more permanently relocated to no-seriously-I-can’t-talk-about-it-it’s-classified Puente Antigo.
‘Okay,’ Ruth had at one point written to Darcy, ‘but my Christmas present this year had better be a dead alien’s toenail clipping. Covertly disguised as one of those necklaces that’s my name on a grain of rice.’
Even though all they had were emails, there were honestly some times when reading a message from Ruth was the brightest part of her day.
Which was why, when Ruth ended up working some archaeological dig in Colorado, like not even a full day’s drive away, and she emailed Darcy eagerly telling her she should swing by and visit the site for an extended weekend, Darcy’s reaction was basically, holy shit, no brainer.
Because even if it was four days in the dirt with yet another group of professional scientists whose work she might not understand that well, it was Ruth, and not having to listen to an astrophysicist moon over a literal god and a rainbow bridge, and maybe possibly some cute anthropologist guys, and she could think of a lot worse ways to spend a weekend than that.
And really, Darcy figured she probably could use a change in scenery anyway. Because as boring as it was on the day-to-day, it was still trying to create a wormhole for a secret government organization so they could reach a land of mystic Vikings.
It could only be a good thing to take a break and do something relatively normal for a change.
*
“Are we there yet?”
“Dude, seriously? You really going to start with that?”
About three paces in front of his buddy on the dirt path, Jake looked back with clear disbelief.
Casey met his gaze and shrugged, not the least bit ashamed.
“It feels like we’ve been walking out here for hours.”
“Yeah. Like, one and a half.” Jake started walking again. Casey had little choice but to follow along or risk getting left behind. “That guy back in town said it was a two hour hike to the site. So suck it up, pussy, and keep those feet moving.”
Casey groaned, rolling his eyes, which prompted Jake to shoot him another look.
“Hey.” He laughed incredulously. “Whole reason we’re stuck doing this is because you didn’t want to drive from campus, remember? You wanted to take the bus. Tell me, hot shot. Still in love with that idea now?”
“My car’s a beater, Jake,” Casey retorted, irritated. “Like hell I’m dragging it all the way out to fuck-nowhere in the middle of the woods.”
He glanced around, like the very presence of the trees and moss offended him. “What I don’t get is why the hell we’re even doing this. I mean, it’s Bio 102. How badly do you need extra credit in Bio 102?”
“Speak for yourself, man.” Jake shifted the strap of his backpack. “If I don’t pull at least a C, it doesn’t count for my major. And I’m not sitting through those lectures again. One weekend in ‘fuck-nowhere’ volunteering; a hundred points. Sounds like easy math to me.”
“You wouldn’t need it if you didn’t keep sleeping through lab,” Casey said.
Jake ignored that. “Besides, do you know what’s at these archaeological sites?”
“Um…old stuff? Dirt?” Casey guessed badly on purpose, uninterested. “Rocks? Bugs?”
“No; anthropology majors, that’s what are at these sites.”
“So?”
“So, you ever taken an Anthro course? It’s like eighty percent chicks.” Jake stopped to grin at him. “Hot chicks. The nerdy kind of hot.”
Casey didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh. “See. It’s all starting to make sense now.”
Jake moved more purposefully in comparison to his slow, resentful steps, so he quickly outpaced him again. “I’m telling you, pal. When we get there…you’ll see.”
Casey stared at the trees because he needed a break from that stupid expression on Jake’s face. “You know if you spent less time thinking with your dick and a little more with your textbook we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
When the other boy didn’t respond, he turned to give him a more pointed look…and froze in surprise as he didn’t see Jake anywhere.
“Jake? Man, where did you go?”
The path before him was mostly clear, pretty much a straight-shot that’d been cut between trees, going at a slight uphill angle. But a few feet ahead it curved behind an oak’s trunk, the foliage thick enough he couldn’t see past it.
Casey marched toward that spot, figuring Jake must’ve moved fast enough to reach it and be hidden from him on the other side.
“Jake,” he called again. “Jake. Very fucking funny. It’ll serve you right when we get to the place and these ‘honeys’ you’re looking forward to are nothing but a bunch of-”
But on the other side of the tree cover, there was no sign of him either. Casey started feeling less pissed off and began to be a little alarmed. Unless Jake had broken into a run, and he really didn’t think he was enough of a douche to do that to him, he shouldn’t have disappeared so completely.
So where in the world had he gone?
Casey turned around, on the wild chance he’d missed his friend behind him somehow, and that’s when he saw the rock, tucked securely beneath the shade of the oak tree’s branches.
It was a gray boulder of a thing, sort of shaped like wide oval. It was about as tall as he was and with something manmade definitely carved into it. He went for a closer look.
He had to crouch a bit, squinting, as he brushed off some of the moss. There was a human-looking image that took up the central shape of the rock, female he thought. But below her were two much smaller images, figures in profile locked in combat.
The one on the right was a man with a long beard and wearing a helmet, wielding a sword or maybe a stick. The other one; Casey squinted harder…most of the details were faded away…
“Gotten lost, have you.”
Casey whirled around at the voice, startled.
There was a woman standing in the path where there sure hadn’t been anyone before, eyeing him with a cool smile.
Casey had to stare at her. She was unnaturally pale and wearing all black, hood covering her hair. There were tattoos along her cheekbones, another on her chin. A freaking sword hung from her belt, and it didn’t exactly look like the cheap replica kind.
“I-” he opened his mouth to speak, dazed, but she was already taking brisk steps towards him.
“Don’t worry,” she said. Her voice was gravelly and completely devoid of emotion. “I’ll make sure you get where you need to.”
And then she was grabbing his face between her hands, fingers digging into his skin, her grip like a vise.
The woman opened her mouth wide, baring a set of inhuman fangs, her eyes boring into Casey’s, who found himself unable to move, unable to even blink.
There was some sort of light coming off of his skin. It spiraled through the air, twisting itself into a single thread, which the woman was drawing into her open mouth with an unending hiss.
Casey’s vision was fading, and he could feel himself getting weaker, his pulse rising, his stomach clenching as his lungs went into spasms, struggling to breathe. He tried to pull away but he couldn’t, there was nothing he could do, and he could feel the life leaving his body…
The woman let go, making a small, distracted sound of satisfaction.
As she released him Casey’s body and clothes, even the items he’d been carrying, crumpled into dust and disintegrated completely, everything there was to him vanishing into the air. Not leaving behind a single trace.
*
So much time, so little to do - to twist a common phrase.
Not that Loki did not know how to wait for something. Indeed, patience was an art form he’d long perfected, many years ago. One oft overlooked and underappreciated, dismissed as useless by the Asgardians he had grown up alongside…like magic, and cunning.
And deception.
No, Loki knew that sometimes, if you wanted something, the best way to get it was to bide your time. Watching. Waiting for all the right pieces to fall into place.
Then, and only then, would it be worthwhile to make a move.
Precisely what he was up to, at present: waiting - for all the seeds he’d planted to come to fruition. To see what developed. And then decide, how next to proceed.
There was only so much he could do on Midgard right then, anyway. Every move he made was a cautious one, using magic to cloak his steps, to keep himself hidden from Heimdall’s ever-vigilant eye.
He knew everyone on Asgard had to think he was dead. Small wonder, considering that’s what Loki himself expected, when he let himself fall.
But he had survived, and no one knew to even look for him, giving him quite the advantage. One he planned to utilize as long as he possibly could.
Eventually he would be ready to face off again with Thor, as soon as he had a plan together. Right now he was still in the stage of gathering resources.
The power source that the human scientists at SHIELD were working on, for example. Loki made sure to keep a very close eye on that. He’d also dug his fingers into one of the men involved, Erik Selvig; using magic to pull his strings a bit, keep him twisting in the directions Loki preferred, the mortal of course none the wiser.
Even when Loki wasn’t manipulating his puppet he made a point to keep observing him. Wouldn’t do to have his pawn getting unwanted ideas of its own, deciding to go off-script.
So like many days he found himself in Selvig’s workspace, the one he shared with Thor’s chosen mortal paramour, Jane Foster. The woman that thought she actually stood a chance of reinventing the Bifrost.
Loki supposed he should’ve been indignant at her arrogance, but really, he found the idea more intriguing than anything. And he’d seen enough of her notes, understood just enough of the Earth science, to know she might actually not be all that far off.
Not that he had any intention of making things easier for her.
Loki leaned against the countertop, arms folded, invisible as he watched the scientist search through the notes on her desk, flustered.
“Erik,” she called, flipping over the same notebook for the third time. “Erik!”
“Hmm?” The other mortal wandered in, mug of coffee in hand. Jane waved her hands at him.
“The graphs I had made up of that data on aurora clusters. Have you seen them?” Frustrated, she returned to futilely shuffling her papers around. “I swear that they were right here, but I can’t find them anywhere.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time something’s gone missing over these past few months,” Selvig remarked sagely, rubbing his forehead. “Think we all must be working too hard.”
Part of the man’s exhaustion was, actually, a side-effect of all the magic he’d experienced in a very short period of time. Not that he stood any chance of knowing that. Feeling particularly callous that day, Loki gestured with his fingers - Selvig grimaced as he took a sip of his drink and discovered it had turned ice cold.
Cursing, he approached the coffeepot. “Maybe Darcy knows where it is.”
“Maybe I know where what is?” Their assistant bounded into the room as if on cue.
“My aurora graphs.” Jane slammed the cover of a book shut. “This is ridiculous. They were right in my hand not half an hour ago, now I can’t find them anywhere!”
“They didn’t just grow legs and boogie on out of here,” the other woman replied. She took in the state of the desk. “They’ve gotta be around someplace. It is kind of a major disaster area.”
Jane glared at her, looking for a target to her anger. “And whose fault is that?”
Darcy only rolled her eyes and went to the kitchenette. “You don’t pay to me clean. You want a maid use some of SHIELD’s funding to hire one. Or maybe they can send over one of their secret agents. Have them do something remotely useful for us for a change.”
As she opened up a cupboard she added, “By the way, Erik, have you thought about that thing I asked you?”
“The…” He gazed blankly at her, puzzled; it seemed like he vaguely remembered having this conversation but couldn’t recall any specifics. “The what?”
She came back over, unwrapping the foil from one of those rectangular pastries she seemed to like so much. “I asked if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride to the bus station tomorrow, right?” She took a bite, pulling a face at him. “Wow, you are going totally senile.”
He gave her a dirty look but didn’t comment. “I think I can probably do that.”
“Cool, thanks.” She sat herself in a chair next to one of the computers, swiveling around on its wheels. Joking, she went, “You guys gonna be able to get along without me for a whole four days?”
There was a crash as Jane let a stack of binders drop to the floor, livid at her lack of success finding what she was looking for, and then stormed out of the room to continue her search elsewhere.
Meeting Darcy’s eyes, Selvig deadpanned, “I’m sure we’ll find some way to manage.”
Drinking his coffee, he continued, “Where did you say you were going again? An archaeological dig?”
“Yeah; a friend of mine from school is working on it. Some kind of prehistoric, cave people site. I guess there’s evidence of a long term settlement and some human remains and stuff.” She chewed her pastry. “You know, it’s actually kind of funny: Ruth said that the people running the excavation think some of the artifacts look almost Viking-like in design.”
Loki had just been on the verge of deciding to leave the mortals alone, for now. But hearing that got his attention.
“Oh?” he prompted; and like a good little puppet, Selvig repeated out loud, “Oh?”
“Yeah. Like the iconography’s really similar. Like, creepily similar. Especially when you consider how long ago these guys must’ve lived and it’s not like they could’ve met any Norsemen themselves face-to-face.”
“Well there’s always the possibility of a similar origin between two cultures,” Selvig offered. He frowned as he tried to shake off the daze Loki’s prodding had momentarily thrown him into.
“Yeah, that’s true,” Darcy said.
“Or, who knows…” Selvig chuckled. “Maybe they crossed paths with some ancient visitors from Asgard.”
Almost funny that he mentioned it. It was a thought that crossed Loki’s mind as well.
It wasn’t impossible: highly improbable, but by no means impossible. He knew that warriors had been travelling from Asgard to the other realms since long before they’d been worshipped as gods by the Old Norse, long before even the war with Jotunheim.
And surely there would’ve been some instances where they’d have made on the locals an…impression.
Loki decided right then it was worth checking out. He would follow the mortal girl on her little trip and see these artifacts for himself. Who knew; if there really was a connection to Asgard, he might find something useful.
Something he could use in his inevitable war against his brother.
“Yeah, right,” Darcy was saying, with a sigh. “Well, as neat as that might be, I hope it’s just a coincidence. I could use a break from the whole horned helmet, road to Valhalla trip for awhile.”
“Real Viking sailors didn’t actually wear horned helmets,” Selvig corrected her automatically.
“Whatever.”
And then Darcy let out a squeal as she went falling to the floor, her chair pulled out from under her by an invisible force.
As she groaned and rubbed her injured body, Selvig helping her back up, Loki scowled at her.
Impetuous little mortal. In a way he hoped she was right after all. The less time he had to spend in her vicinity, the better.
*
The battle was over, and they had fought hard, and won.
Odin Borson removed his helmet, drawing in a breath of the Midgard evening air.
Turning his head, he looked to his Asgardian kinsmen, who were already lost to the glory of a successful fight’s aftermath, roaring and beating their shields with their fists.
The human warriors they had fought alongside raised their clubs and stone blades to the sky, shaking them as they celebrated their victory with howls and shrill cries.
Their weapons might have been crude, their bodies unarmored and mortal, but they had battled fiercely. They had proven themselves more than worthy to be friends of the sons of Asgard this day.
Dismounting Odin led his steed by the reins, so that he could walk alongside the mortals as they returned to their village. Their leader marched up to place beside him.
“Your people fight like the gods, Woden Borson. You fight with great joy. And honor.”
“As do yours, Brynhild,” the young king returned, speaking in the All-Tongue so that he knew he would be understood clearly. “You should be most proud.”
She grinned. “You think that I am not? What leader isn’t proud of bringing her warriors to a mighty victory?”
Odin had to return her smile. “A grim one, indeed.”
Reaching their home the mortals ran forth, quickly beginning to make preparations for a victory feast. Their new allies were invited, of course, and even if Odin had not already wished to stay, he wouldn’t have dared deny his men the pleasure.
As the smoke began to rise from the campfire however, he spotted a lone figure approaching the outer ring of the village: a woman, darkly-clad. She remained at a distance and watched the villagers, calmly.
One of the men, noticing, came up to Odin’s side.
“The shaman,” he explained in a hushed tone. “Very powerful woman. Great friend to our people.”
Intrigued, Odin approached her. She saw him coming and turned to face him, otherwise motionless and silent as she waited.
“Greetings,” she hailed him, once they were face to face. “You are the one they call Odin, Son of Bor. They say that you are King of the Aesir.”
“That I am,” he returned. “And what name do they call you?”
“I have had a few in my time. Brynhild’s people call me Selinde.” She smiled enigmatically. “But my first name is Selene.”
Even if she had not been pointed out to him as a shaman, Odin would’ve likely known her one on sight. Her face was covered in red and black paint, her dark hair in a waist-length braid across one shoulder, plaited with dozens of charms and tokens. Beneath her furs he glimpsed a bone knife in her belt, thick-handled and engraved with signs.
“You have collected many signs of power,” he noted, knowing something of magic as he did. “Almost too many to have been earned in what seems your few years.”
“Ah,” Selene said. “But perhaps I am older than my years appear to be.”
Odin had no trouble believing it. When he looked into her eyes he saw something very old indeed. Much older than any normal mortal’s lifespan.
That wasn’t all that he saw in Selene’s eyes. Though her manner was pleasant enough, her way of speaking both obliging and polite, there was something about her that troubled him. Something dark, and malicious. A feeling that rose off her and prickled along Odin’s skin.
Though they had just met and had every reason to be allies, Odin did not trust Selene.
There was something about her that he feared would one day bring great trouble.
*
Shaking off her cobwebbed dreams of the past, Selene rose in the cavern she had made her circle of power, yawning at the morning.
Though she had ‘fed’ the day previous and therefore had power aplenty, she was cautious and alert as she made her usual patrol of the nearby woods.
The humans with their excavation had drawn a lot of new activity to the area; activity that she could just as easily suffer as profit by if she was not careful. After all these years, it wouldn’t do to have anyone unwanted find her latest hiding space.
Luckily even after all these centuries, this area of what they’d named Colorado had plenty of untamed wilderness still. Wilderness Selene knew on instinct, while most dared not even attempt to tread.
As she crept along the leaf-strewn trails and between the rocks of the hills however Selene sensed something. Muted to human senses but very clear to her after ages of practicing spell-craft. A mystical disturbance in the air.
She quickly began following the feeling, trying to pinpoint it.
Not far away from there was an area where the ley-lines, the natural magic of the land, ran much thinner than usual. An inherent weakness between the realties, Selene was well aware of its location. It made a good place for various kinds of sorcery particularly any which called for the creation of a doorway between dimensions.
And now Selene’s senses had it calling to her; its magics shifted by some strange hand, its powers having somehow been utilized already this day.
When she reached the spot Selene crouched down. She scanned the dirt and the grass with her eyes but found no sign of footprints. Not that that meant anything, to an accomplished mage.
She could still see - though perhaps not with her eyes - the traces of magic, the lingering remnants of spell-craft, there on the ground.
Cupping her hands together she took a slow, purposeful breath and then blew into them, shaking her hands as if to rattle the air inside, and then swiftly made a hole between her fingers for the air to escape out as she still exhaled.
As if concealed by some dust that her breath had stirred away, in between the blades of grass a circle of entwined lines about three stride-lengths across appeared.
Selene stared at it, her eyes wide. “Asgardian magic,” she noted in astonishment.
One of the Aesir, here, after so long? But there was no mistaking the distinctive patterns of one of their travel spells - rare as it was to see one used by an individual, when most travelled by their Bifrost.
She had reason to fear the righteous fury of Asgard, but it seemed doubtful this one was hunting her. After all, why would they suspect her of returning to her old grounds after so long? More likely it was a coincidence.
What a coincidence. In fact, if she played her cards right, a most fortuitous one for Selene.
She grasped a fistful of dirt from the outer-most ring of the spell, bringing it to her face and sniffing, trying to sense the essence of the one that had cast it.
What she discovered brought a deep frown to her face.
“Asgardian magic,” she repeated, perplexed, “but Jotun blood?”
The war between realms had come long after her dealings with the King of Asgard, but certainly she had heard of it, through the tales of lands far to the North. The combination of the two magics; she could make no sense of this.
Well, little did it matter, she soon decided. Either Jotun or Asgardian, both were a strong race with plenty of energy. Strength enough to put even the healthiest mortal to shame.
It looked as though Selene had found herself her next quarry. She smiled, calculating and cold.
CONTINUE TO PART TWO
Title: Kill all the pretty lies (Part 1: Searching)
Characters: Darcy, Loki, Jane, Erik, Odin, original characters including ones based on Norse mythology, mention of Thor, eventual appearances by Heimdall, Coulson, Sif and the Warriors Three
Pairings: Thor/Jane and eventual Darcy/Loki...sort of
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, gore, dark themes, implied sex
Length: 4,270 words
Summary: Darcy only wanted to get away for awhile. Loki only wanted to indulge his curiosity. But fate has set their paths to crossing, with each other and with something more; something that will prove to be very, very dangerous to the both of them.
Notes: Many thanks to geministep for looking over this chapter and assuring me it was something people would actually find worth reading, and for serving as a sounding board for all my ideas.
And another thanks to machi_neko for her highly talented assistance (you'll find out what I mean, soon enough). ETA: Like what you see? Check out her deviantART page or her personal website, to see more of her work.
For the record, the villain is this is in fact a canon character from the comics. They're just not associated with Thor and his little corner of the Marvel-verse. But given their backstory, I thought it was too brilliant to resist when I had an idea to make these two cross paths.
Also, I am very familiar with Norse mythology. But I've done the same thing here that the comics and the movie have done: change things as necessary in the sake of a good story. The names are mostly the same but the particulars have been condensed and edited. If you're interested in how the original myths go, check your local library. Or, you know, just use Wikipedia.
Part 1: Searching
Contrary to what might’ve been popular belief, Darcy did in fact have a life outside being an undergrad underling in a highly classified physics project that she only grasped the basics of.
It was a pretty simple life, true. It involved a lot of YouTube and Facebook and other stellar time-wasters, her actually accomplishing work while she bitched about doing it, and then bitching again some more after it was done just to keep all her bases covered. And somewhere in there was class-work for whatever she was taking online at the moment, and, whenever she had the chance, mocking any suited-up drone that dropped by from SHIELD.
Even further outside, though, were the other significant yet often overlooked fundamental layers of her existence. The crust to her pie, as it were.
Like how she had two brothers - one older, one younger - a mom she talked to fairly often, and a dad she talked to not nearly as much. Like how she had a string of former boyfriends that’d ended in a series of mostly amicable breakups, some of whom she still occasionally Facebook-stalked. Like how her major was Political Science and she was actually kind of interested in that, dammit.
Like how she actually did have friends.
She was pretty sure a lot of people, like say, Jane and Erik, had at some point taken it for granted that she didn’t. Possibly because she didn’t get along with anyone in Puente Antigo because people in Puente Antigo sucked.
But in fact there were others she was close to because as if it hadn’t already been clearly established: hello, internet.
One such of these was Ruth. Darcy had met Ruth her second semester freshman year and about immediately approved of her crazy sense of humor, as well as her hearty appreciations for both sarcasm and fruit rollups. They’d stayed in contact ever since, even after Darcy had found herself somewhat more permanently relocated to no-seriously-I-can’t-talk-about-it-it’s-classified Puente Antigo.
‘Okay,’ Ruth had at one point written to Darcy, ‘but my Christmas present this year had better be a dead alien’s toenail clipping. Covertly disguised as one of those necklaces that’s my name on a grain of rice.’
Even though all they had were emails, there were honestly some times when reading a message from Ruth was the brightest part of her day.
Which was why, when Ruth ended up working some archaeological dig in Colorado, like not even a full day’s drive away, and she emailed Darcy eagerly telling her she should swing by and visit the site for an extended weekend, Darcy’s reaction was basically, holy shit, no brainer.
Because even if it was four days in the dirt with yet another group of professional scientists whose work she might not understand that well, it was Ruth, and not having to listen to an astrophysicist moon over a literal god and a rainbow bridge, and maybe possibly some cute anthropologist guys, and she could think of a lot worse ways to spend a weekend than that.
And really, Darcy figured she probably could use a change in scenery anyway. Because as boring as it was on the day-to-day, it was still trying to create a wormhole for a secret government organization so they could reach a land of mystic Vikings.
It could only be a good thing to take a break and do something relatively normal for a change.
*
“Are we there yet?”
“Dude, seriously? You really going to start with that?”
About three paces in front of his buddy on the dirt path, Jake looked back with clear disbelief.
Casey met his gaze and shrugged, not the least bit ashamed.
“It feels like we’ve been walking out here for hours.”
“Yeah. Like, one and a half.” Jake started walking again. Casey had little choice but to follow along or risk getting left behind. “That guy back in town said it was a two hour hike to the site. So suck it up, pussy, and keep those feet moving.”
Casey groaned, rolling his eyes, which prompted Jake to shoot him another look.
“Hey.” He laughed incredulously. “Whole reason we’re stuck doing this is because you didn’t want to drive from campus, remember? You wanted to take the bus. Tell me, hot shot. Still in love with that idea now?”
“My car’s a beater, Jake,” Casey retorted, irritated. “Like hell I’m dragging it all the way out to fuck-nowhere in the middle of the woods.”
He glanced around, like the very presence of the trees and moss offended him. “What I don’t get is why the hell we’re even doing this. I mean, it’s Bio 102. How badly do you need extra credit in Bio 102?”
“Speak for yourself, man.” Jake shifted the strap of his backpack. “If I don’t pull at least a C, it doesn’t count for my major. And I’m not sitting through those lectures again. One weekend in ‘fuck-nowhere’ volunteering; a hundred points. Sounds like easy math to me.”
“You wouldn’t need it if you didn’t keep sleeping through lab,” Casey said.
Jake ignored that. “Besides, do you know what’s at these archaeological sites?”
“Um…old stuff? Dirt?” Casey guessed badly on purpose, uninterested. “Rocks? Bugs?”
“No; anthropology majors, that’s what are at these sites.”
“So?”
“So, you ever taken an Anthro course? It’s like eighty percent chicks.” Jake stopped to grin at him. “Hot chicks. The nerdy kind of hot.”
Casey didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh. “See. It’s all starting to make sense now.”
Jake moved more purposefully in comparison to his slow, resentful steps, so he quickly outpaced him again. “I’m telling you, pal. When we get there…you’ll see.”
Casey stared at the trees because he needed a break from that stupid expression on Jake’s face. “You know if you spent less time thinking with your dick and a little more with your textbook we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
When the other boy didn’t respond, he turned to give him a more pointed look…and froze in surprise as he didn’t see Jake anywhere.
“Jake? Man, where did you go?”
The path before him was mostly clear, pretty much a straight-shot that’d been cut between trees, going at a slight uphill angle. But a few feet ahead it curved behind an oak’s trunk, the foliage thick enough he couldn’t see past it.
Casey marched toward that spot, figuring Jake must’ve moved fast enough to reach it and be hidden from him on the other side.
“Jake,” he called again. “Jake. Very fucking funny. It’ll serve you right when we get to the place and these ‘honeys’ you’re looking forward to are nothing but a bunch of-”
But on the other side of the tree cover, there was no sign of him either. Casey started feeling less pissed off and began to be a little alarmed. Unless Jake had broken into a run, and he really didn’t think he was enough of a douche to do that to him, he shouldn’t have disappeared so completely.
So where in the world had he gone?
Casey turned around, on the wild chance he’d missed his friend behind him somehow, and that’s when he saw the rock, tucked securely beneath the shade of the oak tree’s branches.
It was a gray boulder of a thing, sort of shaped like wide oval. It was about as tall as he was and with something manmade definitely carved into it. He went for a closer look.
He had to crouch a bit, squinting, as he brushed off some of the moss. There was a human-looking image that took up the central shape of the rock, female he thought. But below her were two much smaller images, figures in profile locked in combat.
The one on the right was a man with a long beard and wearing a helmet, wielding a sword or maybe a stick. The other one; Casey squinted harder…most of the details were faded away…
“Gotten lost, have you.”
Casey whirled around at the voice, startled.
There was a woman standing in the path where there sure hadn’t been anyone before, eyeing him with a cool smile.
Casey had to stare at her. She was unnaturally pale and wearing all black, hood covering her hair. There were tattoos along her cheekbones, another on her chin. A freaking sword hung from her belt, and it didn’t exactly look like the cheap replica kind.
“I-” he opened his mouth to speak, dazed, but she was already taking brisk steps towards him.
“Don’t worry,” she said. Her voice was gravelly and completely devoid of emotion. “I’ll make sure you get where you need to.”
And then she was grabbing his face between her hands, fingers digging into his skin, her grip like a vise.
The woman opened her mouth wide, baring a set of inhuman fangs, her eyes boring into Casey’s, who found himself unable to move, unable to even blink.
There was some sort of light coming off of his skin. It spiraled through the air, twisting itself into a single thread, which the woman was drawing into her open mouth with an unending hiss.
Casey’s vision was fading, and he could feel himself getting weaker, his pulse rising, his stomach clenching as his lungs went into spasms, struggling to breathe. He tried to pull away but he couldn’t, there was nothing he could do, and he could feel the life leaving his body…
The woman let go, making a small, distracted sound of satisfaction.
As she released him Casey’s body and clothes, even the items he’d been carrying, crumpled into dust and disintegrated completely, everything there was to him vanishing into the air. Not leaving behind a single trace.
*
So much time, so little to do - to twist a common phrase.
Not that Loki did not know how to wait for something. Indeed, patience was an art form he’d long perfected, many years ago. One oft overlooked and underappreciated, dismissed as useless by the Asgardians he had grown up alongside…like magic, and cunning.
And deception.
No, Loki knew that sometimes, if you wanted something, the best way to get it was to bide your time. Watching. Waiting for all the right pieces to fall into place.
Then, and only then, would it be worthwhile to make a move.
Precisely what he was up to, at present: waiting - for all the seeds he’d planted to come to fruition. To see what developed. And then decide, how next to proceed.
There was only so much he could do on Midgard right then, anyway. Every move he made was a cautious one, using magic to cloak his steps, to keep himself hidden from Heimdall’s ever-vigilant eye.
He knew everyone on Asgard had to think he was dead. Small wonder, considering that’s what Loki himself expected, when he let himself fall.
But he had survived, and no one knew to even look for him, giving him quite the advantage. One he planned to utilize as long as he possibly could.
Eventually he would be ready to face off again with Thor, as soon as he had a plan together. Right now he was still in the stage of gathering resources.
The power source that the human scientists at SHIELD were working on, for example. Loki made sure to keep a very close eye on that. He’d also dug his fingers into one of the men involved, Erik Selvig; using magic to pull his strings a bit, keep him twisting in the directions Loki preferred, the mortal of course none the wiser.
Even when Loki wasn’t manipulating his puppet he made a point to keep observing him. Wouldn’t do to have his pawn getting unwanted ideas of its own, deciding to go off-script.
So like many days he found himself in Selvig’s workspace, the one he shared with Thor’s chosen mortal paramour, Jane Foster. The woman that thought she actually stood a chance of reinventing the Bifrost.
Loki supposed he should’ve been indignant at her arrogance, but really, he found the idea more intriguing than anything. And he’d seen enough of her notes, understood just enough of the Earth science, to know she might actually not be all that far off.
Not that he had any intention of making things easier for her.
Loki leaned against the countertop, arms folded, invisible as he watched the scientist search through the notes on her desk, flustered.
“Erik,” she called, flipping over the same notebook for the third time. “Erik!”
“Hmm?” The other mortal wandered in, mug of coffee in hand. Jane waved her hands at him.
“The graphs I had made up of that data on aurora clusters. Have you seen them?” Frustrated, she returned to futilely shuffling her papers around. “I swear that they were right here, but I can’t find them anywhere.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time something’s gone missing over these past few months,” Selvig remarked sagely, rubbing his forehead. “Think we all must be working too hard.”
Part of the man’s exhaustion was, actually, a side-effect of all the magic he’d experienced in a very short period of time. Not that he stood any chance of knowing that. Feeling particularly callous that day, Loki gestured with his fingers - Selvig grimaced as he took a sip of his drink and discovered it had turned ice cold.
Cursing, he approached the coffeepot. “Maybe Darcy knows where it is.”
“Maybe I know where what is?” Their assistant bounded into the room as if on cue.
“My aurora graphs.” Jane slammed the cover of a book shut. “This is ridiculous. They were right in my hand not half an hour ago, now I can’t find them anywhere!”
“They didn’t just grow legs and boogie on out of here,” the other woman replied. She took in the state of the desk. “They’ve gotta be around someplace. It is kind of a major disaster area.”
Jane glared at her, looking for a target to her anger. “And whose fault is that?”
Darcy only rolled her eyes and went to the kitchenette. “You don’t pay to me clean. You want a maid use some of SHIELD’s funding to hire one. Or maybe they can send over one of their secret agents. Have them do something remotely useful for us for a change.”
As she opened up a cupboard she added, “By the way, Erik, have you thought about that thing I asked you?”
“The…” He gazed blankly at her, puzzled; it seemed like he vaguely remembered having this conversation but couldn’t recall any specifics. “The what?”
She came back over, unwrapping the foil from one of those rectangular pastries she seemed to like so much. “I asked if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride to the bus station tomorrow, right?” She took a bite, pulling a face at him. “Wow, you are going totally senile.”
He gave her a dirty look but didn’t comment. “I think I can probably do that.”
“Cool, thanks.” She sat herself in a chair next to one of the computers, swiveling around on its wheels. Joking, she went, “You guys gonna be able to get along without me for a whole four days?”
There was a crash as Jane let a stack of binders drop to the floor, livid at her lack of success finding what she was looking for, and then stormed out of the room to continue her search elsewhere.
Meeting Darcy’s eyes, Selvig deadpanned, “I’m sure we’ll find some way to manage.”
Drinking his coffee, he continued, “Where did you say you were going again? An archaeological dig?”
“Yeah; a friend of mine from school is working on it. Some kind of prehistoric, cave people site. I guess there’s evidence of a long term settlement and some human remains and stuff.” She chewed her pastry. “You know, it’s actually kind of funny: Ruth said that the people running the excavation think some of the artifacts look almost Viking-like in design.”
Loki had just been on the verge of deciding to leave the mortals alone, for now. But hearing that got his attention.
“Oh?” he prompted; and like a good little puppet, Selvig repeated out loud, “Oh?”
“Yeah. Like the iconography’s really similar. Like, creepily similar. Especially when you consider how long ago these guys must’ve lived and it’s not like they could’ve met any Norsemen themselves face-to-face.”
“Well there’s always the possibility of a similar origin between two cultures,” Selvig offered. He frowned as he tried to shake off the daze Loki’s prodding had momentarily thrown him into.
“Yeah, that’s true,” Darcy said.
“Or, who knows…” Selvig chuckled. “Maybe they crossed paths with some ancient visitors from Asgard.”
Almost funny that he mentioned it. It was a thought that crossed Loki’s mind as well.
It wasn’t impossible: highly improbable, but by no means impossible. He knew that warriors had been travelling from Asgard to the other realms since long before they’d been worshipped as gods by the Old Norse, long before even the war with Jotunheim.
And surely there would’ve been some instances where they’d have made on the locals an…impression.
Loki decided right then it was worth checking out. He would follow the mortal girl on her little trip and see these artifacts for himself. Who knew; if there really was a connection to Asgard, he might find something useful.
Something he could use in his inevitable war against his brother.
“Yeah, right,” Darcy was saying, with a sigh. “Well, as neat as that might be, I hope it’s just a coincidence. I could use a break from the whole horned helmet, road to Valhalla trip for awhile.”
“Real Viking sailors didn’t actually wear horned helmets,” Selvig corrected her automatically.
“Whatever.”
And then Darcy let out a squeal as she went falling to the floor, her chair pulled out from under her by an invisible force.
As she groaned and rubbed her injured body, Selvig helping her back up, Loki scowled at her.
Impetuous little mortal. In a way he hoped she was right after all. The less time he had to spend in her vicinity, the better.
*
The battle was over, and they had fought hard, and won.
Odin Borson removed his helmet, drawing in a breath of the Midgard evening air.
Turning his head, he looked to his Asgardian kinsmen, who were already lost to the glory of a successful fight’s aftermath, roaring and beating their shields with their fists.
The human warriors they had fought alongside raised their clubs and stone blades to the sky, shaking them as they celebrated their victory with howls and shrill cries.
Their weapons might have been crude, their bodies unarmored and mortal, but they had battled fiercely. They had proven themselves more than worthy to be friends of the sons of Asgard this day.
Dismounting Odin led his steed by the reins, so that he could walk alongside the mortals as they returned to their village. Their leader marched up to place beside him.
“Your people fight like the gods, Woden Borson. You fight with great joy. And honor.”
“As do yours, Brynhild,” the young king returned, speaking in the All-Tongue so that he knew he would be understood clearly. “You should be most proud.”
She grinned. “You think that I am not? What leader isn’t proud of bringing her warriors to a mighty victory?”
Odin had to return her smile. “A grim one, indeed.”
Reaching their home the mortals ran forth, quickly beginning to make preparations for a victory feast. Their new allies were invited, of course, and even if Odin had not already wished to stay, he wouldn’t have dared deny his men the pleasure.
As the smoke began to rise from the campfire however, he spotted a lone figure approaching the outer ring of the village: a woman, darkly-clad. She remained at a distance and watched the villagers, calmly.
One of the men, noticing, came up to Odin’s side.
“The shaman,” he explained in a hushed tone. “Very powerful woman. Great friend to our people.”
Intrigued, Odin approached her. She saw him coming and turned to face him, otherwise motionless and silent as she waited.
“Greetings,” she hailed him, once they were face to face. “You are the one they call Odin, Son of Bor. They say that you are King of the Aesir.”
“That I am,” he returned. “And what name do they call you?”
“I have had a few in my time. Brynhild’s people call me Selinde.” She smiled enigmatically. “But my first name is Selene.”
Even if she had not been pointed out to him as a shaman, Odin would’ve likely known her one on sight. Her face was covered in red and black paint, her dark hair in a waist-length braid across one shoulder, plaited with dozens of charms and tokens. Beneath her furs he glimpsed a bone knife in her belt, thick-handled and engraved with signs.
“You have collected many signs of power,” he noted, knowing something of magic as he did. “Almost too many to have been earned in what seems your few years.”
“Ah,” Selene said. “But perhaps I am older than my years appear to be.”
Odin had no trouble believing it. When he looked into her eyes he saw something very old indeed. Much older than any normal mortal’s lifespan.
That wasn’t all that he saw in Selene’s eyes. Though her manner was pleasant enough, her way of speaking both obliging and polite, there was something about her that troubled him. Something dark, and malicious. A feeling that rose off her and prickled along Odin’s skin.
Though they had just met and had every reason to be allies, Odin did not trust Selene.
There was something about her that he feared would one day bring great trouble.
*
Shaking off her cobwebbed dreams of the past, Selene rose in the cavern she had made her circle of power, yawning at the morning.
Though she had ‘fed’ the day previous and therefore had power aplenty, she was cautious and alert as she made her usual patrol of the nearby woods.
The humans with their excavation had drawn a lot of new activity to the area; activity that she could just as easily suffer as profit by if she was not careful. After all these years, it wouldn’t do to have anyone unwanted find her latest hiding space.
Luckily even after all these centuries, this area of what they’d named Colorado had plenty of untamed wilderness still. Wilderness Selene knew on instinct, while most dared not even attempt to tread.
As she crept along the leaf-strewn trails and between the rocks of the hills however Selene sensed something. Muted to human senses but very clear to her after ages of practicing spell-craft. A mystical disturbance in the air.
She quickly began following the feeling, trying to pinpoint it.
Not far away from there was an area where the ley-lines, the natural magic of the land, ran much thinner than usual. An inherent weakness between the realties, Selene was well aware of its location. It made a good place for various kinds of sorcery particularly any which called for the creation of a doorway between dimensions.
And now Selene’s senses had it calling to her; its magics shifted by some strange hand, its powers having somehow been utilized already this day.
When she reached the spot Selene crouched down. She scanned the dirt and the grass with her eyes but found no sign of footprints. Not that that meant anything, to an accomplished mage.
She could still see - though perhaps not with her eyes - the traces of magic, the lingering remnants of spell-craft, there on the ground.
Cupping her hands together she took a slow, purposeful breath and then blew into them, shaking her hands as if to rattle the air inside, and then swiftly made a hole between her fingers for the air to escape out as she still exhaled.
As if concealed by some dust that her breath had stirred away, in between the blades of grass a circle of entwined lines about three stride-lengths across appeared.
Selene stared at it, her eyes wide. “Asgardian magic,” she noted in astonishment.
One of the Aesir, here, after so long? But there was no mistaking the distinctive patterns of one of their travel spells - rare as it was to see one used by an individual, when most travelled by their Bifrost.
She had reason to fear the righteous fury of Asgard, but it seemed doubtful this one was hunting her. After all, why would they suspect her of returning to her old grounds after so long? More likely it was a coincidence.
What a coincidence. In fact, if she played her cards right, a most fortuitous one for Selene.
She grasped a fistful of dirt from the outer-most ring of the spell, bringing it to her face and sniffing, trying to sense the essence of the one that had cast it.
What she discovered brought a deep frown to her face.
“Asgardian magic,” she repeated, perplexed, “but Jotun blood?”
The war between realms had come long after her dealings with the King of Asgard, but certainly she had heard of it, through the tales of lands far to the North. The combination of the two magics; she could make no sense of this.
Well, little did it matter, she soon decided. Either Jotun or Asgardian, both were a strong race with plenty of energy. Strength enough to put even the healthiest mortal to shame.
It looked as though Selene had found herself her next quarry. She smiled, calculating and cold.
CONTINUE TO PART TWO