Thor Fic: "We Are Our Own Folklore" (R, Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane), 2/7
LINK TO PART ONE
Title: We Are Our Own Folklore (Part 2: Apples of Discord)
Characters: Loki, Thor, Darcy, Jane, Frigga, Odin, Heimdall, Sif, Volstagg, Freya, Nanna, original characters
Pairings: Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane, Frigga/Odin, Volstagg/OC
Rating: R for grimness, dark themes, gender weirdness, mild gore and semi-explicit sexuality
Length: 10,325 words
Summary: After what might seem to some like the world's longest courtship, Loki and Darcy are finally dating, and Thor and Jane are set to be married. But during the engagement party several intervening parties are out to throw a wrench into both relationships in a big way. Some of them are outsiders, but some come from much closer, and through uncomfortable ties to the past.
Notes: Part of my ongoing series. For further notes see part one.
Alternate link to story at AO3; please comment either here or there.
Part 2: Apples of Discord
Vanaheim had once been entirely a holding of Asgard, the first of the Nine Realms to be settled and conquered in the unruly days of kings of ancient times long past.
Of all realms it was they who could the least be considered truly ‘separate’. Time and distance had allowed Vanaheim to keep slightly different custom, but they bowed to no leader other than that of Asgard’s, and belonged to no race other than Asgardian. They were one people, separated only by the distance of two worlds.
A daunting enough limitation at the outset, but in reality a small gap to be crossed.
The journey from Vanaheim to Asgard’s capital had never at any point in history been a comparatively long one, and now with the Bifrost restored it was nothing at all. When Frigga had said they could expect the convoy from Vanaheim to arrive in a matter of days, she had spoken only the truth.
It was now not even a full week later, and that very afternoon the guests from Vanaheim would put in their appearance. Most of the palace was abuzz with interest and excitement in the proceedings.
Thor however, could not help but look on the situation with a goodly amount of dread, a feeling he was certain was mirrored in sentiment by the rest of his family.
Not that any of them openly shared these feelings, even amongst each other. But Thor knew his parents: after the centuries he’d gotten fairly adept at reading them. The All-Father had become notably more quiet and serious, a look on his face often that indicated he’d withdrawn into contemplation. Frigga did her best to quietly reassure her sons while all the while nursing her own anxious uncertainty.
And Loki…how Loki was handling things, what he felt, Thor could not say. It was easy to guess he had his own thoughts of foreboding on the matter, but he kept his emotions too carefully guarded to be seen. And he would not speak of it with his brother.
In fact in the days intervening since they’d heard the news, Loki had barely spoken to Thor at all.
In anger Thor was so like the storm he embodied. There would be audible rumblings and grumblings as tension began to build, a visible growing darkness as a sign of warning. And then sudden and violent would be the fury unleashed, threatening to tear through all in its path, unstoppable until everything blew over.
But if his temper burned harsh as a lightning strike, it came on and was dismissed just as suddenly - one single blinding searing burst, and then it was no more.
Had the circumstances been even slightly different, Thor may not have remembered that he and his brother had quarreled. But the things that’d been said were not of the sort so easily taken back.
Now though he mainly wished he and Loki had not fought at all.
He had no more understanding of what caused Loki to bring up the subject he did than he had at the time, and the memory still upset him. But it did not concern him greatly anymore, having been supplanted by Nanna and Freya’s imminent arrival, and Thor regretted that the conversation lingered as barrier between them, when he wanted nothing so much as to lend an ear to his brother’s woes.
Loki would not confide in him, however, and Thor was left feeling helpless and adrift.
No matter, he told himself. He had never needed Loki’s permission to offer aid or sympathy. There was no telling what would happen once their aunts arrived, but Thor would be there regardless.
Come what may he would support his brother.
The hours ticked by. Thor stood anxiously at the top of an archway mounted above two flights of stairs overlooking the throne room. Banners had been strung and carpets laid out, a wide expanse of polished space cleared for what was expected to be the many members of court that’d seek the honor of being present to witness the Vanaheim nobility’s arrival.
Thor himself was in his best finery, full regalia with battle armor and billowing cape. He pressed both his palms into the stone atop the arch’s walls and looked down.
At the farther side of the balcony his mother and father waited with him, silent and patient. They too wore their best. The All-Father had on his gleaming helmet and held Gungnir at his side, and his queen looked resplendent in a gilt-lined dress, her hair well off her neck in a style piled over her head. Their relatives would be there soon and it was their duty to greet them together with due pomp and formality.
There was only one member of the royal family that wasn’t present, and that was Loki.
Thor squeezed his hands tighter against the arch. Where was he? True, there were several hours to go, but it did them well to be able to stand together as they waited. Why did Loki dismiss them by not putting in an appearance?
He’d put off going to find Jane in order to be with him, Thor thought peevishly. The least Loki could do was be prompt. Such tardiness was unlike him…
Or worse, meant he was up to something.
“Ah, here we all are,” a familiar voice drawled breathily from the doorway behind them. “Am I really the last? My most profound apologies are offered for keeping their royal highnesses waiting.”
It was Loki’s voice - but it was not. Thor at once spun around, eyes wide, shoulders going preemptively rigid in disbelief.
He couldn’t have…not even Loki would dare…
His brother stood there in the female guise he was sometimes fond of taking.
Perhaps his entrance being so delayed was explicable, for obvious alterations aside it could’ve taken no short time to get dressed. Where Loki had found such feminine finery was something Thor couldn’t think on.
The gown was deep jade green, rich fabric flowing over form with enough closeness for alluring flattery. Slender leather gloves covered from fingers to elbow, a dark woven underdress bearing a pattern that effected chainmail. Long black hair brushed until it fell in elegant waves, tresses decorated with small golden ornaments. A finely-lined cloak was pinned to the shoulders and trimmed with fur. There was even a headpiece fit snug against Loki’s crown, with two great horns that swept backward, identical in design to the ones from his helmet.
It was a very regal effect, and most becoming. No fault to be found save the most obvious: the appearance was not Loki’s own, not his true form. To take his place on such a formal occasion wearing it would be shocking.
Thor strode toward him. “What insult is this?” he demanded. “Have you taken leave of your senses, brother? Revert to yourself, at once!”
Loki favored him with a detached look, head tilted so despite Thor’s height he appeared to be looking down past his nose at him.
“Remind yourself, Thor, that though I respect you I do not follow your every command,” Loki said loftily, voice soft. “It is not your place to give me orders.” He spread his arms. “Besides, I fail to see what insult my appearance could garner. Am I not suitably attired for greeting royal guests?”
“You know better than this,” Thor huffed. “It is one thing to parade through the palace in one of your many disguises. But to sully an occasion such as this by wearing the wrong shape is to degrade yourself and make a mockery! You know that Father has more than once directly forbid it.”
The instant the words fell from Thor’s lips, unthinking, he froze. Loki’s own mouth pressed together hard as he clenched his jaw, and his eyes flickered aside towards their parents.
Frigga had her hands clasped together; used as she was to Loki’s charades her expression was markedly calm, but there seemed a hint of nervousness as she looked to her husband.
The All-Father’s face was completely unreadable.
What Thor had said was true. Though it could be said the All-Father put up with much from Loki, both in terms of disrespect and what was simply outrageous, there were lines he refused to let his son cross. And one had always been that Loki was not allowed to shapeshift if he was going to putting in an appearance somewhere that represented the throne or the royal family. To do so, the king had stated, would be bandying about falsehood in a way that spoke ill of the crown, and he wouldn’t have it.
The three of them waited, silent, as Odin gazed upon Loki’s current shape. Loki looked back with perfect composure, but heated self-righteousness in his eyes - and Thor realized he was daring him to say something.
Finally, Odin spoke. There was tiredness and disapproval clear in both his face and voice.
But he only said, “If this is how you wish to be seen in public and for the first time in centuries by your aunts, then so be it. You are old enough now that it’s no affair of mine.”
He turned his back and without another word, without so much as a sigh, left the vicinity.
Thor let out the breath he’d been holding.
“You are lucky Father is in an indulgent mood,” he turned to say to his brother, pettishly. But at the look on Loki’s face he stopped dead, and whatever else words he had were lost to silence.
Loki’s eyes were wider, and he stared off in the direction that’d last held Odin’s retreating back, unaccountably angry.
Frigga reached for his arm. “He didn’t want to upset you,” she gathered, her tone soothing.
Loki pulled away from her. “This is how he treats me now, and thinks it an improvement?” he bit out, cheeks high with color, body shaking with hurt rage. “As if he should never say anything? As if I cannot even be disciplined, else I break, my being so fragile as glass?”
Before their mother could reach for him again, or say anything, Loki whirled away and he too stalked off and left them.
Thor stood there, speechless and uncomfortable, his hands uselessly at his sides.
Frigga gazed off into the space Loki had occupied. Then slowly she turned to face her older son. She met his eyes and if only by a fraction, her composure crumbled.
“Oh, Thor,” she exhaled, carrying a note of misery. She came closer to him, her turn to look at the great hall far down below them, with a mournful face.
“This is supposed to be such a happy occasion for you,” she lamented. She shook her head with a brief, rueful smile. “But now no one in our family is happy.”
Thor placed his hand gingerly on her shoulder, and she moved and let him embrace her.
“Don’t worry, Mother.” He tried to be comforting. “I’m sure that somehow, everything will turn out all right.”
*
While the royal family gathered and most of those employed in the palace hurried to put the finishing touches on preparations, the two lady guests from Midgard were left to their own devices.
Knowing she wouldn’t be seeing Thor until later, Jane had a quick and small breakfast, before pulling out her hidden cache of papers and calculations to eagerly get in a chance for some work.
Before she’d made as much progress as she’d have liked, however, she was dragged from her room by a team of polite but persistent handmaidens for a perfumed bath, the equivalent of a few spa treatments, and to dress her hair before the visitors arrived.
Being that Jane was after all the crown prince’s fiancée, she would be waiting on the dais alongside him when they greeted the ambassadors from Vanaheim.
And while they could admire that naturally she was a beautiful woman, some of the more ‘refined’ Asgardians at the palace were of the opinion she was tragically lax in attending to her appearance. She’d need to be trained into putting on a little polish if she was to one day make a worthy queen - in the meantime, though, the more pressing concern was making her look good enough for the guests.
At the same time Jane was being begrudgingly pampered, a restless Darcy was wandering the palace.
She’d awoken that morning in her guest bedroom to find Loki had already left her, and so far she’d seen no sign of him. In addition to her wayward boyfriend she had yet to cross paths with anyone else she knew, either.
Darcy sighed. Funny how in-between being rushed to state dinners and formal dress parties, there were plenty of opportunities to get bored.
She could always find someone to talk to, if she wanted. All she had to do was locate a cluster of Asgardians and sit down - the snobs who looked down on her for being human were way outnumbered by those that found her fascinatingly entertaining for her ‘exoticness’. Not to mention the brownnosers eager to get closer to the royals through her favor.
But today Darcy wasn’t in the mood to explain YouTube or get her ass kissed. Maybe she was feeling homesick or something, because all she wanted was to do something relatively normal.
Winding her way down yet another giant and mostly indistinguishable corridor, her expression brightened when she finally spotted a pair of familiar faces.
Volstagg was standing there with his wife, and the two of them looked to be in the middle of a quiet conversation. Oblivious to the fact that maybe they wanted to be alone, Darcy waved at them and hurried over.
“Hey, you guys!” She beamed at her friends, relieved. “How are you both doing today?”
Though her sudden arrival startled him, Volstagg gave no sign at being annoyed by the interruption. He returned her greeting with a boisterous one of his own, reaching forward to hug her.
“Well, if it isn’t Darcy! What a pleasant surprise. Funny how in spite of the length of your stay, it seems we’ve scarcely had a chance to get a glimpse of you!”
“Yeah.” When he released her and she could breathe normally again, Darcy gave a slight roll of her eyes. “They’ve been keeping me and Jane pretty well monopolized with all the ‘guest of honor’ stuff.” Her gaze shifted to Siún. “How about you, lady? How have you been?”
The noblewoman gave a shy but warm smile.
“I have been quite well, thank you. There days I have more than a few complaints but…” with one hand she meaningfully patted her stomach, “None that can be unexpected.”
“I’ll bet.” Darcy eyed Siún’s hugely pregnant belly. Her own frame might have been slight and slender but junior clearly took after his daddy. With such a big baby bump tacked into her tiny body, Siún had to be pretty uncomfortable. “When are you due to pop? It has to be soon.”
“It should be any day now.” Siún’s voice was notably quieter as she answered. A grim look passed onto Volstagg’s face.
Darcy looked between the two of them, puzzled. “What gives? Don’t tell me something’s wrong with the baby,” she asked, worried. She knew how happy the rapid onset pregnancy had made both of them: and to think she hadn’t thought it possible for the couple to grow any sickeningly sweeter.
“No.” Siún glanced down at her stomach and rubbed her hand in a circle. “He is hale and healthy. Which unfortunately is something of the problem.”
“We’ve just come from a visit with the healers and the midwife,” Volstagg explained. “They’re of the opinion our child has grown too big for Siún to pass naturally from her body.”
“It seems a Mermish wife is not well-suited to the task of bearing Asgardian children.” Siún managed a thin sardonic smile that twisted into a brief grimace. “The only recourse is birth by the knife.”
Darcy was plagued for an instant by the horrifying thought of Jane having to deal in the future with a proportionally Thor-sized pregnancy. She shook it off to focus on the couple in front of her.
“Is that such a problem? Getting a caesarian, I mean. My mom had to get one when she had my little brother and it sounded like everything was okay - don’t get me wrong, she also said it sucked, and that she was glad it was with her last kid because otherwise she’d have had to keep getting them every time…” Darcy trailed off, swallowing. “It’s not like, super dangerous when they do it here, is it?” she demanded tightly. “Because I know you guys have your super fancy alien technology and all, but if you haven’t caught up enough with modern medicine to minimize the risks of childbirth-”
She was saved from having to move her plans to kidnap Siún back to Earth for a trip to a real hospital from anything beyond a rough sketch when Volstagg cut her off.
“No, no,” he assured her heatedly. “It is nothing like that. In all likelihood, all will be fine.”
“There are always risks, that’s all,” Siún stated. “Birth is not an easy task, and only so many promises can be made. But I’m not worrying. Or at least, I’m trying not to.”
With both hands on her stomach and a peaceable expression on her face, it struck Darcy that of the two she was probably the one acting the least nervous.
Her observation was backed up when Volstagg rested his hands on his wife’s shoulders, giving them a brief squeeze, anxiety visible while he absently pressed a kiss to her neckline.
“I know, I know. I’m trying not to fret so, my love, but it simply can’t be helped,” he told her. “They say everything will turn out for the best, but the thought of something happening to you…it would be unbearable.”
Siún gave him a reassuring smile and patted his cheek. The look of concern on Volstagg’s face for his wife was touching.
“Look, I’m sure everything will be fine,” Darcy broke in, trying to help. “It sure sounds like they know what they’re doing. Just think - in no time at all, you’ll have a happy, very bouncy baby boy.”
The couple both smiled at that, eyes lighting up as they looked to that future.
“Your firstborn son,” Siún reminded Volstagg softly.
“Our son,” he corrected her, slipping his fingers around her hand. More abashed, he confessed, “Though I wouldn’t mind if he took after me a little.”
Siún laughed, and indicated the size of her belly. “I think he already does!”
Darcy stayed quiet for the moment as she watched the pair interact, pleased to think how she was looking at the start of what was sure to be a great, loving family.
*
Loki sat in his room, settled deep into a high-backed armchair, one hand gripping the armrest while the other stroked his lip in thought.
He was still in female guise, clothes and appearance unchanged from his earlier confrontation with the rest of his family. Though from an outside perspective the difference may have seemed to matter little, maybe as nothing but a pointless source for invoking argument, Loki intended to hold the form for a little ways yet.
He drew himself straight and then stood up. Silently he went to where there was a small circular mirror hung on the wall. Loki mainly used it for scrying, but it certainly suited to a secondary more practical purpose as well.
Turning his head this way and that, he examined his face in the reflection with detached scrutiny.
How Loki reacted to the way others thought of him was a complex matter. He both cared, and did not, what they had to say. He was too proud to bend, to make himself into something he could not and did not wish to be - but to say he never felt the stings of the insults and the whispers would be an utter lie.
Sometimes he pulled his back straighter and acted like he couldn’t hear them. Sometimes he turned and looked his naysayers in the eye and dared them to repeat their words to his face. Sometimes he corrected his behavior in line with convention; sometimes he went off and did the very opposite thing, making himself appear worse out of spite and a deep-rooted need to prove how little hold the opinion of others had on him.
And then every once in a rare while, sometimes all he wanted to do was run and hide himself away.
It was very silly, he well knew. Childish. And probably no one would see and understand its true purpose, but that didn’t matter so long as it made him feel better.
For the shape-change he now wore was a mask he could crouch behind, a protective shield to stand between him and the cold ire he could only imagine was coming his way once his bereaved aunt gazed upon him.
It was him, but it was not. And so it would hurt a little bit less when she looked at him.
And Loki needed that petty comfort right now; it would conversely make him feel less weak, to be able to stand next to his brother composed like nothing mattered.
He stopped twisting his neck and pressed painted fingernails to the curve of one cheekbone, expression blank and pensive as he took in the finely-formed face in the mirror in front of him.
He couldn’t remember when last it was he had lived in another form for so long, for anything more than a few days. And around so many who knew him, so much of what was already familiar too. This would be interesting.
But he doubted that it would make him seem so much less in others’ eyes. After all, was he not a murderer, a liar, and a sorcerer? What additional shame could living for a while as a woman bring?
Leaving the mirror Loki returned to his previous seat, dropping down heavily to sink into it as he had before. An arched darkness formed over his brow as he became lost in thoughts, brooding.
There came a knock at his door that he didn’t bother to answer. He had the sense it was Darcy. If so, she didn’t need his help to enter.
The spells Loki cast over his door in addition to the locks would keep out anyone when he was not in the mood to be disturbed, even the king and queen of Asgard. But a short time ago when Darcy’s comings and goings had become more frequent, and their relationship more intimate, he made one significant alteration.
“If ever you find yourself on the other side of my door and know I am within,” Loki had explained to her, “simply take the knob in your hand and press inward. If I’m not in a mood to resent the intrusion, my magic will permit you entry.”
After knocking a third time and still getting no response, Darcy seemed to decide it was time to give that a try. Loki had been hoping to speak to her anyway - his door opened easily under her hand.
“Hello?” Darcy slipped through, letting it swing shut behind her. “Anybody home? Oh, there you are-”
Her countenance brightened when she spotted him at his perch on the chair, then twisted in surprise when she was what form he was in.
“Oh. Uh, okay.” Darcy’s brow creased and she frowned. “I guess I know better than to ask why you decided to be a chick today.”
Loki smiled at that, if only for a moment. “I have my reasons,” he promised her, simply, “but they are not ones I think you would understand.” It was more than he’d be willing to say to any other.
He stood, moving in a slightly different manner than usual, so his female self glided rather than walked and possessed an effortless elegance in every gesture. Loki was committed to his illusions.
He embraced Darcy’s face, hand just beneath her chin as if she was some cherished work of art, though where usually he’d have used his palm now he touched her with only the tips of his fingers, and was careful not to scratch her with his nails.
He gave her a half-lidded look of restrained but certain fondness. “Did you sleep well?”
Versed as she was in his idiosyncrasies Darcy handled this all mostly with ease. “Yeah. No complaints.” As Loki dropped his hand and moved away slightly, she considered his face.
“I would try and kiss you, but I don’t want to smear your makeup.” Darcy gave a sullen look. “You know, you being so good at giving me fashion tips sometimes is starting to make a lot more sense.”
Loki laughed merrily. “I looked like this when you first met me,” he reminded her. Not to mention all the times she’d seen it since. She could hardly pretend to be surprised.
“Your lady-self had leaves in her hair the first time I saw her, and then spent the next couple days borrowing my t-shirts! I’m not used to seeing you so…glam.” She gave him a considering onceover. “Or, I don’t know, femininely regal. It’s kind of like the Evil Queen, but in a good way.”
“Are you so certain of that, my little princess?” Loki teased her. He moved closer, leaning in, smirking. “After all, I can be so very wicked.”
Darcy chuckled. “I guess I should get used to hearing that,” she remarked.
He stopped, frowning. “Used to hearing what?”
“‘Princess’. I mean…I might as well, right?” Her manner grew more serious. “The way people act, I’m as good as promised to you already. I know that everyone expects-”
“What everyone expects should mean nothing to you, Darcy,” Loki insisted, sharp. There was a nervous twist in his gut. “Don’t let yourself feel as if you are being pressured by expectations, or worse, fate.”
She pulled a face at him, dismissive. “I know, I know: you didn’t want me to find out about the ‘Sigyn’ thing because you were afraid I might freak out. I remember. But - come on.”
She walked forward a few strolling paces, hands raised in an extension of a shrug.
“I’m happy to live in the now, and I’m not trying to fast-forward through anything. Believe me. But, in all honesty: where else do you see this going? You and me.” She smiled. “We were together before we were even ‘together’. No wonder everyone basically assumes we’re destined to tie the knot ourselves.”
He supposed on some level he should find this romantic.
But Loki physically pulled away from her, flinching. Not so much against the idea of predestination it invoked, but because of something else...he rebelled.
He cared so much for Darcy - and the thought of her becoming his wife, of spending an eternity trapped beside him, repulsed him. Happy as it would make him, she deserved better than that.
Not to mention it simply didn’t seem possible it could happen: that he could have, and hold, such happiness. Not in his experience. Far more likely something would go wrong. Terribly wrong.
And when it did, there would be so much pain, and devastation.
Loki whirled away, heart pounding, putting his back to her as he was unable to look at her face.
“Whoa, what’s with you?” he heard Darcy exclaim behind him. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?”
Loki drew a breath slowly, waiting for his heart to settle. When he spoke again his voice was stiff, but calm.
“I would be careful of treating such a thing as inevitable. You never know what might come to pass.”
Without looking still he could sense the dismay, the hesitance that flickered across Darcy’s face. “What?”
“One must be practical,” Loki continued, in the same hollow and odd tone. He felt - and it sounded - as if he was speaking from very far away. “So much can change, in so very little time.” He turned just enough to look at her from the corner of one cool eye.
“Look to your own mortal lifespan. One moment you’re barely more than an infant - the next moment, you’re dead.”
Darcy’s fists reflexively clenched, and her expression showed her as clearly offended.
“I’m sorry if I frightened the inner commitment-phobe in you by bringing up marriage,” she managed. “I wasn’t asking for a ring and a registry at Barney’s.” She breathed in tightly. “I can understand you getting spooked, but that doesn’t give you license to act like a total dick.”
“I’m not doing anything of the kind,” Loki replied. “I’m merely stating facts.”
“Stating them in a dickish way,” Darcy retorted. “What’s the matter with you? Are you trying to pick a fight?”
Yes, Loki thought, his heart sinking, though of course he didn’t say so.
This wasn’t how he’d wanted this conversation to go. What he’d meant to do was explain he was worried what could happen if Nanna found out about her; that for fear of her getting caught in the crossfire he wanted her to stay hidden away.
But more important than her understanding why was the fact he needed to create space between them. And right now it looked like this would be the fastest way of reaching that goal.
“All I want,” Loki continued in a calm voice that was meant to infuriate, “is to caution you against setting your hopes too high.”
Darcy’s eyes flashed as she glared at him. “Because you might get tired of me. Is that what you’re saying? Right: because I’m the human, and you’re the god.” She wiggled her fingers. “And Thor’s wacky fetish aside, it’s not like you’re going to actually settle for me in the end. Because that would be totally crazy.”
Her sarcasm was biting, bitter. She had every right to be angry for him being so casually, cruelly dismissive of her, with absolutely no provocation at all.
“I was mostly kidding before. But you know what, I was right. You are a commitment-phobe,” Darcy declared. “You and I were friends for over a year and even that made you want to go running in the other direction, because being tied down to anyone, in any way, gets in the way of your game-plan and all your issues.”
She was right, and that hurt. She was usually more self-editing in her observations of him, knowing there was only so much he could take.
But he wouldn’t let himself get too mad with her. After all, he had started it. He wanted to push her off; evidently this was the price he had to pay.
Loki put his back to her again, bringing his arms back as he clasped one wrist in the other hand’s fingers. His pose that universally read as ‘I’m thinking; you are beneath my notice’. It got under just about everyone’s skin.
“If it’s all the same to you,” he told her without looking, “I would prefer it if you didn’t join us on the dais later on today.”
He knew that Darcy’s mouth had opened though no sound came out. The statement he’d just made would leave her gaping.
The implications would land like a load of stones. He was rescinding an invitation he’d already given her - rejecting the notion that she belonged anywhere near him or his family, as a friend or a guest or anything else.
And Loki knew well how hard it could hit, to suddenly find one’s self stripped of all belonging.
Darcy’s voice was brittle and raw, a hoarse whisper full of disbelief. “Are you breaking up with me?”
An invisible fist found Loki’s heart and squeezed. Even for her safety, he couldn’t do something so absolute. Not like this.
“No,” he assured her, though he still acted far too cavalier. “I only think that right now, we could use some space from one another.”
He waited, breathing shallow, gaze fixed in front of him, for her to give some kind of response.
Finally Darcy recovered her wits enough to offer it. “Fine,” she bit out. “You know what, that’s just - fine. You want your space, I’ll give it to you. I hope you enjoy it.”
She stormed past him in the wrong direction to be heading toward the door - when Loki caught a glimpse of her coming back carrying a hanger draped in lavender fabric, he remembered too late she had left her gown for today’s occasion hanging in his closet. Probably the whole reason she’d come looking for him was to seek his help in putting it on. Some of their fashion’s more complex creations still thwarted her.
He turned around, intending enough of a reprieve to offer his assistance - he could do that much, certainly - but he held his tongue at the look on her face.
Darcy fumed as she clutched the garment to her chest, halfway balling it up, wrinkling it.
“I don’t know what your problem is today,” she told him, snapping. “I don’t know why all of a sudden you’ve decided you need to do this. But pretty soon, you’re going to change your mind. That part I know for sure. And because I know that this is just the way it is with you sometimes, I’m going to take it. But you’d better remember this: when you decide that you’re sorry - and you will - before you come looking for me, you’d better make sure you’re ready to offer up a huge apology.”
She tensed for an instant, casting a look over him full of frustration. “God! Sometimes you can act like such a crazy…bitch!”
And on that note she made herself scarce, exiting rapidly and slamming the door behind her.
Loki held his muscles perfectly still. The only reaction he allowed himself in response was a single blink.
*
Sif, unlike many of those she kept as her fellows, was not in the habit of vanity.
But she did like to be seen as presentable. And on formal occasions, she would do no less than demonstrate the amount of honor that was deserved.
This morning in particular she arose early, so she would have time to get her sparring in, before bathing thoroughly and giving her armor an extra polish.
The Shieldmaids of Vanaheim were a group that Sif especially respected and admired. After their having been away from Asgard’s halls for so long, she was as excited now to catch a glimpse of them as she had been when she was a little girl.
So excited, in fact, that after a scarce few hours passed restlessly inside the palace, she decided that she couldn’t simply wait.
Shield on her arm and glaive in her hand, sword in her sheath, so that any who saw her might think she was going for a round at the practice ring or a quick tour of guard duty, she headed off toward the gate leading out into the city. To the road that went straight to the Bifrost.
“Where are you going?”
Sif started at the voice, unexpected as it was. She’d fancied herself alone.
She turned around to notice her human friend Darcy sitting on a bench at the bottom of a pillar, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. Sif’s quick appraisal was that she looked glum.
“I was going to sneak out,” Sif admitted, both unconcerned as to Darcy’s response and not especially remorseful for her actions. “Make my way to the Bifrost for a first glimpse of our noble guests as they arrive.” She looked off in that direction then favored her friend with a thoughtful frown. “What are you doing here?”
This was the very edge of the palace lawns, much further than most guests ever bothered coming as there was nothing here to offer amusement. A scant few feet more and Darcy would’ve been within the city. It was alarming to think the mortal might have been trying to sneak out unescorted.
Darcy only shrugged her shoulders, though. “Nothing. Guess I just wanted to clear my head.”
There was still something sullen and gloomy about her countenance. Sif took a more scrutinizing look.
She had already been dressed for the ceremony, in a very frothy color of purple that Sif would’ve abhorred but seemed to flatter Darcy’s complexion. She looked nice enough, though her gown was slightly wrinkled along the hemline, and her hair had been partially braided at the sides and tucked in with a few small flowers, a style Sif didn’t think Darcy normally would’ve agreed to.
Someone else had probably helped her: someone without much concession to Darcy’s own taste. That almost certainly ruled out Loki. Added to the irate cloud over Darcy’s head and the safest bet was that she and Loki had quarreled.
Sif suppressed a sigh. She knew better than to ask for details, or even let on that she knew.
She only hoped Loki would come to his senses soon and make amends for whatever trouble he had caused.
“I will leave you to your contemplations,” Sif said, with a thin wry smile.
But Darcy looked up. “No, wait. I’d like to come with you. If that’s okay. I just want to…go somewhere, you know?”
Sif didn’t object to the company - but she frowned doubtfully. “Is it a rather long walk,” she pointed out, warning.
“That’s fine.” Darcy was already getting to her feet. “I could always use the exercise.”
Seeing she wasn’t to be deterred, Sif shrugged, and they set off together.
Having experienced travelling with Darcy in tow before, Sif expected the other woman to start complaining after they’d walked at least part of the way. But Darcy surprised her by staying doggedly silent even as she huffed and puffed a bit to match Sif’s pace.
“These Shieldmaids that everyone keeps talking about,” Darcy questioned, after Sif had taken pity and slowed enough that she could catch her breath; “What’s the deal with them?”
“They are an elite group,” Sif was more than happy to explain. “Native to Vanaheim, and their highest fighting force. They are also a female-only group of warriors which, you may have noticed, is rare on Asgard.”
Darcy gave her a pointed look. “Yeah. No kidding. So when you decided you wanted to wrestle with the boys instead of playing with dolls, why didn’t you just join them? Seems like it would’ve been a lot easier.”
“It’s not so simple. Not just anyone can become a Shieldmaid. They serve the nobility of Vanaheim and thus must be of their set. One must be born to the right family. They do not accept outsiders.”
“So they’re like the knights of Feudal Europe,” Darcy observed, and if Sif didn’t understand that she followed what she said next. “It’s just not about how good you are. It’s also about pedigree.”
“Yes,” Sif told her. “I was born a noble daughter to a good family, but on Asgard. I could never become a Shieldmaid.”
“That stinks.”
She smirked. “It is not so bad. I found my way regardless. Besides, the Shieldmaids have always been women - like Odin’s Valkyries. Strong as they are, when they take their place with men in battle the men still convince themselves they are superior, because they keep their own company. But I have stood alongside men and showed them what I can do, and made them accept me as an equal. Sometimes their superior.”
They were at the Bifrost now and they walked more carefully. The glinting material of the rainbow road was more solid than it looked, but with the memory of it in pieces still fresh Sif couldn’t help being cautious.
She continued, “Many Asgardian women learn to fight; none become warriors. I am the first warrior maid of Asgard.”
“Maybe not the last,” Darcy said, offhand. “I’m sure you’ll be an example to the future generations. Still, it sounds like the Shieldmaids are supposed to be pretty badass.”
“They are. Kings going back before the time of the All-Father have counted on their aid to win countless wars.” Sif paused for a moment, setting the end of her glaive down. “They were said to be the scourge of Jotunheim during the war with Laufey. Many a Jotun learned to fear the sight of an Asgardian woman with a silver shield on her arm.”
Darcy’s eyes flickered to Sif’s own small but sturdy shield.
“You really admire them, don’t you?”
“Aye,” Sif said stately, without hesitation. “Ever since I was small. Especially Lady Freya. Wait until you meet her.”
“Freya, she’s…Frigga’s big sister, right?” Darcy asked with some trepidation.
“She is. Twin to the late Lord Frey.” Sif glanced around. They were almost within reach of the observatory on the Bifrost proper. “There has most always been a woman of their family serving as leader to the Shieldmaids, since time before time.”
Darcy blinked. “So Frigga comes from a long line of women warriors? No wonder she’s so…formidable.”
“The queen is quite skilled with a polearm,” Sif said respectfully, “but she is nothing compared to her sister.” She turned to face Darcy head on so she could be more fully expressive as she lapsed into a narrative.
“During the earliest days of the Frost Giant wars, a convoy of Jotun was sent to Asgard for a peace conference. The conference ended in failure: neither people truly wanted a truce, in favor of the war that was brewing. Some of the giants were slain outright but the rest made their way to the Bifrost, planning to use it to bring their armies to invade Asgard.” Sif inhaled, stood tall. “Freya went after them, and fought her way through their numbers to stand beside my half-brother at the gates.
“One by one, warriors fell or were forced to drop back. But never Freya. She held her ground, and fought side by side with Heimdall until the last foe was defeated. For what she did that day, Heimdall said he was in her debt for any favor of her choosing. She is the only being other than the king he serves to whom the Gatekeeper has ever sworn an oath.”
Darcy gazed at Sif. Her mouth opened, then closed again as she looked pensive. She squinted her eyes before she finally spoke.
“Explain to me again how it is you and Heimdall are half-siblings,” she queried. “I know we’ve been over this like three times already. It’s just that, uh, I guess I don’t see…”
“We share a mother,” Sif repeated.
“But you don’t have the same father.”
“No. Nor do I share in with any of his other eight mothers.”
“Um-”
Whatever Darcy was about to say was interrupted as beneath their feet the rainbow road began to tremble.
Sif raised her head and looked around in alarm. A curse perched on the edge of her tongue. Freya and the others would soon be here - though it was pointless to try and hide themselves from Heimdall’s sight, it would not do for them to be standing there openly gawking.
Glancing to the side, Sif grabbed Darcy by the arm and firmly dragged her along as they both were concealed by one of the golden support structures on the edge of the bridge. Once they were crouched down she peered out around the side, close enough they’d have a decent view of the arrivals.
Darcy had fallen silent, taking the hint at this point stealth was appreciated. Both of them waited as the Bifrost activated and the golden dome flashed and spun.
Heimdall turned to face the entryway and moved discreetly to the side as Shieldmaids began to spill forth, their guard organized into two straight lines. Once the terrain had been surveyed they spread out, standing at attention and ready to await their next command.
Freya came next. She strode out from the Bifrost, her expression fierce and unsmiling. She wore her yellow-white hair in a braid past her waist and she was covered in silver full plate armor from her neck down. In one hand she carried a spear. In the other was her shield, gleaming and heavy, curving wide at the edges and even taller than she was.
“Jesus freaking christ,” Darcy whispered, agog, and beside her Sif couldn’t help but grin.
In her childhood, Freya had seemed to her young eyes larger than life, a statuesque being that towered over others. She was pleased that time had not changed this to falsehood. Now fully grown, she could see that Freya stood at least as tall as Thor.
The head of the Shieldmaids cast an appraising glance over the ranks formed by her people and found no fault, seemingly. Her eyes moved on to Heimdall.
The great helmeted guardian took a step forward, for one instant his golden eyes locking with hers. Then he dropped his head, respectfully.
“Lady Freya,” he greeted her.
“Gatekeeper,” she returned, voice not warm but not unkind. “It has been a ways in time since I have seen thee last.”
“Aye, milady. But Asgard is glad to have you again. You are looking well.”
“I look as I always have,” was her response, mild. She did not care about her appearance, or what any thought of it, or how it made others react to her. Shieldmaids were not required to swear to chastity, but it was common for many of them to evade marriage. Freya was among that number.
There had been offers. Freya was actually quite beautiful - though sometimes it was hard to see, intimidating a visage as she could strike. And then, even if she had been a horror, there still would have been offers: for the riches her dowry would bring and the bragging right of being the one to take the leader of the Shieldmaids to bed.
But Freya had a hardened heart, and was beyond uninterested. She had never needed a man to support her, and she didn’t seem capable of falling in love. Her only care was for her duty.
Satisfied with her exchange with Heimdall, now it was Freya who stepped aside. She drew her upraised spear and shield into forward-facing resting positions, at attention to the left side of the observatory’s doorway. Following her lead the others held their at attention posture as well, standing as honor-guard.
Skirts lifted slightly in her hands, Lady Nanna of Vanaheim walked forward out of the Bifrost.
Nanna looked as unlike her sister-in-law as she could have. Her hair was dark, a shade somewhere between brown and red. She was short, frail, with fluttering hands like a bird’s wings. Her eyes were dark and small.
Grief had not aged her prematurely but it’d left its marks on her face, carving deep lines under her eyes and beside her mouth. The set of her lips seemed permanently puckered with bitterness. And while Freya was a warrior, Nanna was clearly a lady, attired in a stiff and layered formal gown, weighted by jewelry and with a matching headdress.
She stood in her place on the bridge and stared out at Asgard as if everything about it displeased her. Or perhaps she simply could not find approval in anything, anymore.
Freya bowed to her subserviently, and was saying something, but in her hiding place Sif was no longer listening. She was too occupied staring at Nanna, blood rushing past her ears, a dart of fright spreading throughout her chest.
Nanna’s clothing was black and grey, even the beads on her necklace and headdress made of onyx and obsidian.
After such loss as she had endured in life for her to never dress gaily again would not be surprising - but that wasn’t it. She was clad as if in full mourning. As if the deaths of her son and husband had but happened yesterday.
An unshakable sense of apprehension began to dawn in Sif. She wasn’t certain what to make of it, but it painted a different picture than what had been expected.
And suddenly she felt with pressing urgency that she needed to warn Thor and his family.
She plucked at Darcy’s sleeve. “Quickly,” she hissed. “We need to get back to the palace before them.”
“What?” Darcy looked at Sif, distracted, at the people they were spying on, and then back at Sif again. “Why?” Her expression grew alarmed. “Whoa, Sif, what’s wrong - you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“There is no time to explain,” Sif insisted, half-standing up, though making certain she did not move into view on accident. “Come! I’m sorry, but we have to run. Now!”
Darcy was still stuttering, flustered and bewildered, but she heeded to Sif’s urging. The warrior’s fist was locked tight around her forearm to make sure she didn’t falter as they raced back across the bridge fast as their legs could carry them.
*
As much as showmanship had been ingrained in him, there were times when Loki wondered how they ever managed to get anything done on Asgard, with all their love of pomp.
The word came that Lady Nanna and her escorts had been received on the Bifrost. And so the royal family, and seemingly every last pair of curious and eager eyes that could be crammed into the great hall before the throne, had gathered.
And now for going on nearly twenty minutes all waited, observers whispering gaily among themselves, while they on the dais did their best to hold postures and look regal.
Loki stood slightly to the left and behind his brother and Dr. Foster, hands folded below his chest, mouth in a line and eyes half-lidded. He gazed off into space at a fixed point and let his mind wander a bit to keep from fidgeting. It wasn’t as if he’d not had centuries of practice.
His appearance in female guise had caused a bit of a stir among those present, Thor had been right in expecting that. But while no doubt what they were saying out there would reach his ears eventually, right now Loki thought they seemed more preoccupied with interest in their visitors.
It occurred to him rather obliquely that the last time there’d been an event like this had been for Thor’s attempted coronation, and that was not a memory Loki needed right now. He swiftly cast it aside.
The future queen was performing tolerably well. The mortal woman was seated but she kept her back straight, hands in her lap, feet crossed demurely at the ankles. The only telltale signs were how her thumbs twiddled together behind the fabric of her skirt, her neck turned as she kept stealing glances around, and her lips worked together as she carefully controlled her breathing.
At least she got a chair. Her and the queen both - there’d been one brought up intended for Darcy as well, and Loki had discretely kicked it out of the way.
Jane had noticed: she raised her eyebrows at him in clear questioning, and Loki responded with a minute shake of his head, expression apologetic as he could make it. Jane frowned at him, eyes narrowed, suspicious, but she accepted she’d have to demand an explanation from him later.
Thor had not noticed. If anyone was fidgeting the most, it had to be him. There was a deep frown of confusion on his face, and he kept looking to the sides.
Finally, he could hold his concern in no more.
“Brother,” Thor looked to him, speaking in a rumbling whisper, “where is Darcy?”
“She’s not coming,” Loki told him softly, never moving his eyes.
Thor’s eyes widened in shock and alarm. “What? But why-!”
The sound of a distant fanfare started playing and everyone waiting on the floor turned their heads. The whispering turned to a loud murmur and drowned out Thor’s last opportunity to speak.
At the very far end of the hall, just past the grand propped-open doors, a flash of silver moving in lines could be barely made out as a glimpse of the approaching Shieldmaids.
But a movement breaking against the crowd to one side caught Loki’s attention. He was startled as Sif pushed her way through, discretely but forcefully, making her way to the dais’ edge.
Thor knelt down as Sif grabbed the end of his boot and tugged. “Sif?” he demanded, face bewildered. “What is it…?” Loki leaned forward without giving the appearance of moving so he too could hear.
“I had to warn you,” Sif said in a low, intense voice. “I’ve seen Lady Nanna. You must be careful how you speak to her. Thor, she is still in mourning!”
The color drained from Thor’s face, and Loki could understand why. This was much worse than they’d feared. Not that anyone had expected Nanna to be “over it”, but…it was hoped thousands of years would’ve taken the edge off the sting.
Thor stood upright again, hands clenched into fists at his sides, as he grimly re-gathered his composure.
Before Sif could get away with a sense of direst urgency Loki darted forward, getting her attention.
“Sif,” he commanded her, entreating, “find Darcy! Make certain that she stays out of sight!”
Either Sif understood or knew there was no time for questioning his reasoning. She nodded, and hurried away again.
Loki went back to his position but he kept his eyes on her. Sif moved back to where the Warriors Three were standing at the front of the crowd in a place of honor and stood beside them. Darcy was next to them already, looking somewhat disheveled.
There was a series of exchanges muttered between Sif and the men, and then the four of them moved quickly, shifting so they shoved a protesting Darcy behind them, then brought their shoulders together in a line so she was completely hidden from view. The tight press of the crowd would keep her from moving. Loki breathed an inward sigh of small relief.
And then the fanfare came again, much louder, proudly announcing the Vanaheim nobles’ entry to the room. The crowd fell silent, eyes forward on the Shieldsmaids’ glittering military array as they marched.
Freya was at the front, escorting Nanna. Loki could not put name to the confliction of emotions inside him as he beheld his aunts after so long.
When last he’d seen them he’d been but a youth. A youth guilt-stricken by an accidental murder. Now he was a man, grown up wild and wrong in so many different ways. An exiled prince full to the brim with bitter secrets and regrets, returned angry but willing to his home, humbled.
He had changed. He was sorry to see that, at a first glance, they had not.
Freya drew up short in front of the throne and pounded her spear down to order her women to a halt. Then gracefully she drew back, yielding the position of honor to her brother’s widow.
It was interesting, to watch a woman as willful as Freya defer to one such as Nanna.
On the dais Odin and his children stood tall. Frigga rose - Jane glanced over and followed her example.
Freya and her warriors bowed all the way to one knee, while with face blank and eyes cast to the ground, Nanna lowered a demure curtsey. The Shieldmaids behind them recovered but Freya stayed kneeling, and Nanna still did not look up, hands clasped in front of her.
“Hail the All-Father,” Freya declared, “and his queen, and his sons, and his firstborn’s betrothed. The House of Frey presents itself to you on this glorious occasion, your honored and humble servants.”
Well said, and steadily enough - but it was all the scripted and expected remarks. And of course Freya, stone-faced as she was, would betray no hint of emotion or hesitance in her delivery, no matter what.
“Pray recover, Lady Freya, Lady Nanna,” the All-Father said in solemn reply. “My kingdom and our family welcome you, as it always has, and has had too rare occasion to in recent past.”
Both women rose as bid. It was a waste of time trying to read Freya. And Nanna still looked at nobody.
The queen came forward a bit, raising one hand.
“It does my heart good to see you both again, sisters,” she said delicately, with a gentle and hopeful smile. “Perhaps it can be hoped this visit can be used to rekindle a closer acquaintance.”
“Of course we will be happy to oblige the queen however she wishes,” Nanna answered. Loki couldn’t but wince: it always seemed to him his aunt had an especially shrill, grating voice, even when she spoke at her calmest. He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination her tone was more clipped than usual now.
Frigga’s smile faltered, but didn’t drop completely. The formal reply was not necessarily a bad thing. Though Loki could read his mother’s hidden face, and tell her eyes rested on Nanna’s mourning garb with unease.
Nanna gestured to her guardswoman, and Freya produced a small golden chest that she held before her in offering.
“A gift for the royal family,” Nanna stated smoothly, “in honor of the engagement.”
Both related and estranged as they were with the royals, this group could’ve come with no gift and not have it read as an insult. But most of the guests had brought something, of course: there was nothing special in that.
Loki watched, waiting for Freya to open the chest and show them what was inside. But strangely she did not. She stayed where she was and kept it closed in her hands, posture rigid and gaze set.
Loki bit his lower lip. Curious.
Odin waved a hand and a guard came forward to accept the gift from Freya and bring it to her sister, who held it absently against her chest.
The silence that followed did not have a chance to grow awkward before Freya fixed her eyes on Thor.
“Nephew, I am pleased to see you have grown into a fine warrior, whose exploits are varied and legendary,” she told him. Automatically Thor smiled. “Now that you have chosen your life’s companion, may you share a long and blessed union together.”
“Yes,” Nanna chimed in. She lifted her head and managed to take in all the family with her gaze.
There was such twisted heat in her eyes, but her voice was ice cold, and there was no smile on her face as she spoke:
“May marriage bring to you all the happiness it has brought me.”
Her meaning was clear.
Loki’s throat clenched.
A shudder rippled across the crowd.
Thor’s face fell, a spark of dread in his eyes. He put his hand on Jane’s shoulder and drew her protectively nearer, as she stared back with horror at the venom in Nanna’s face.
The All-Father spoke loudly, but as evenly as if there was nothing to be concerned about: “Your wishes are, of course, graciously received by my son and his bride-to-be.”
Thor recovered his wits just enough. “Yes,” he managed. He gave a stiff nod of his head. “Thank you, Aunts.”
“Thank you very much,” Jane echoed, picking up the cue, and Loki was proud for her - her voice did not tremble, though it was small.
“I think,” Odin continued, “that you both must be very tired from your long journey. By all means, let us end this assembly, so that you may find your rooms and refresh yourselves before tonight’s feast.”
Again Nanna curtsied and Freya bowed. “Yes, All-Father,” the widow said. Her voice was as hard as it could get without being directly impolite. “You are most gracious.”
Her eyes glinted in a way that reminded Loki of his knives’ blades as she turned to one side. Freya gazed up at the royal family unblinkingly over her shoulder.
There was more fanfare, more bowing - and just like that, it was over. The group from Vanaheim exited down a different path. There was a tension in the air that came from hundreds of witnesses impatiently holding their tongues, waiting for the very moment when they would be permitted to speak and animatedly chatter to one another.
But the crown would not have to watch any of that. With the king leading the way the family strode out from the dais through a back door leading to a private antechamber.
The instant they were alone there seemed a collective exhale. Loki crossed his arms lightly, hugging himself.
Jane shivered, eyes gone impossibly wide, using one hand to fan her face as the stress of everything she’d just been through caught up to her at once. “Oh my god,” she said, numbly. “Oh my god.”
Thor put both hands on her shoulders and squeezed her to him as he made an anxious attempt at a soothing sound.
Frigga took a stilted step forward, and gripped the back of a chair like she needed the balance, sagging.
“Oh,” she breathed in sharply, a distraught look coming over her as she pressed her other hand to her face.
Silently Odin reached out to her. He said nothing, but his expression was sad. And maybe, Loki thought, a little worried.
Frigga looked to her husband. “Nanna is still angry,” she exclaimed, stricken, and if her observation seemed obvious and simple so much more was in the emotions she said it with. She moved her hand to the hollow of her throat, overcome as if she were about to shed tears.
Odin only nodded. “I know,” he agreed.
As one the gazes of the four others shifted to Loki, staring at him with a mixture of apology, pity, and concern.
Knowing what they were all thinking - that he was the focus of such anger, and who knew what might come from it - Loki drew his cloak tighter, and fought off the urge to shrink down and cower.
LINK TO PART THREE
Title: We Are Our Own Folklore (Part 2: Apples of Discord)
Characters: Loki, Thor, Darcy, Jane, Frigga, Odin, Heimdall, Sif, Volstagg, Freya, Nanna, original characters
Pairings: Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane, Frigga/Odin, Volstagg/OC
Rating: R for grimness, dark themes, gender weirdness, mild gore and semi-explicit sexuality
Length: 10,325 words
Summary: After what might seem to some like the world's longest courtship, Loki and Darcy are finally dating, and Thor and Jane are set to be married. But during the engagement party several intervening parties are out to throw a wrench into both relationships in a big way. Some of them are outsiders, but some come from much closer, and through uncomfortable ties to the past.
Notes: Part of my ongoing series. For further notes see part one.
Alternate link to story at AO3; please comment either here or there.
Part 2: Apples of Discord
Vanaheim had once been entirely a holding of Asgard, the first of the Nine Realms to be settled and conquered in the unruly days of kings of ancient times long past.
Of all realms it was they who could the least be considered truly ‘separate’. Time and distance had allowed Vanaheim to keep slightly different custom, but they bowed to no leader other than that of Asgard’s, and belonged to no race other than Asgardian. They were one people, separated only by the distance of two worlds.
A daunting enough limitation at the outset, but in reality a small gap to be crossed.
The journey from Vanaheim to Asgard’s capital had never at any point in history been a comparatively long one, and now with the Bifrost restored it was nothing at all. When Frigga had said they could expect the convoy from Vanaheim to arrive in a matter of days, she had spoken only the truth.
It was now not even a full week later, and that very afternoon the guests from Vanaheim would put in their appearance. Most of the palace was abuzz with interest and excitement in the proceedings.
Thor however, could not help but look on the situation with a goodly amount of dread, a feeling he was certain was mirrored in sentiment by the rest of his family.
Not that any of them openly shared these feelings, even amongst each other. But Thor knew his parents: after the centuries he’d gotten fairly adept at reading them. The All-Father had become notably more quiet and serious, a look on his face often that indicated he’d withdrawn into contemplation. Frigga did her best to quietly reassure her sons while all the while nursing her own anxious uncertainty.
And Loki…how Loki was handling things, what he felt, Thor could not say. It was easy to guess he had his own thoughts of foreboding on the matter, but he kept his emotions too carefully guarded to be seen. And he would not speak of it with his brother.
In fact in the days intervening since they’d heard the news, Loki had barely spoken to Thor at all.
In anger Thor was so like the storm he embodied. There would be audible rumblings and grumblings as tension began to build, a visible growing darkness as a sign of warning. And then sudden and violent would be the fury unleashed, threatening to tear through all in its path, unstoppable until everything blew over.
But if his temper burned harsh as a lightning strike, it came on and was dismissed just as suddenly - one single blinding searing burst, and then it was no more.
Had the circumstances been even slightly different, Thor may not have remembered that he and his brother had quarreled. But the things that’d been said were not of the sort so easily taken back.
Now though he mainly wished he and Loki had not fought at all.
He had no more understanding of what caused Loki to bring up the subject he did than he had at the time, and the memory still upset him. But it did not concern him greatly anymore, having been supplanted by Nanna and Freya’s imminent arrival, and Thor regretted that the conversation lingered as barrier between them, when he wanted nothing so much as to lend an ear to his brother’s woes.
Loki would not confide in him, however, and Thor was left feeling helpless and adrift.
No matter, he told himself. He had never needed Loki’s permission to offer aid or sympathy. There was no telling what would happen once their aunts arrived, but Thor would be there regardless.
Come what may he would support his brother.
The hours ticked by. Thor stood anxiously at the top of an archway mounted above two flights of stairs overlooking the throne room. Banners had been strung and carpets laid out, a wide expanse of polished space cleared for what was expected to be the many members of court that’d seek the honor of being present to witness the Vanaheim nobility’s arrival.
Thor himself was in his best finery, full regalia with battle armor and billowing cape. He pressed both his palms into the stone atop the arch’s walls and looked down.
At the farther side of the balcony his mother and father waited with him, silent and patient. They too wore their best. The All-Father had on his gleaming helmet and held Gungnir at his side, and his queen looked resplendent in a gilt-lined dress, her hair well off her neck in a style piled over her head. Their relatives would be there soon and it was their duty to greet them together with due pomp and formality.
There was only one member of the royal family that wasn’t present, and that was Loki.
Thor squeezed his hands tighter against the arch. Where was he? True, there were several hours to go, but it did them well to be able to stand together as they waited. Why did Loki dismiss them by not putting in an appearance?
He’d put off going to find Jane in order to be with him, Thor thought peevishly. The least Loki could do was be prompt. Such tardiness was unlike him…
Or worse, meant he was up to something.
“Ah, here we all are,” a familiar voice drawled breathily from the doorway behind them. “Am I really the last? My most profound apologies are offered for keeping their royal highnesses waiting.”
It was Loki’s voice - but it was not. Thor at once spun around, eyes wide, shoulders going preemptively rigid in disbelief.
He couldn’t have…not even Loki would dare…
His brother stood there in the female guise he was sometimes fond of taking.
Perhaps his entrance being so delayed was explicable, for obvious alterations aside it could’ve taken no short time to get dressed. Where Loki had found such feminine finery was something Thor couldn’t think on.
The gown was deep jade green, rich fabric flowing over form with enough closeness for alluring flattery. Slender leather gloves covered from fingers to elbow, a dark woven underdress bearing a pattern that effected chainmail. Long black hair brushed until it fell in elegant waves, tresses decorated with small golden ornaments. A finely-lined cloak was pinned to the shoulders and trimmed with fur. There was even a headpiece fit snug against Loki’s crown, with two great horns that swept backward, identical in design to the ones from his helmet.
It was a very regal effect, and most becoming. No fault to be found save the most obvious: the appearance was not Loki’s own, not his true form. To take his place on such a formal occasion wearing it would be shocking.
Thor strode toward him. “What insult is this?” he demanded. “Have you taken leave of your senses, brother? Revert to yourself, at once!”
Loki favored him with a detached look, head tilted so despite Thor’s height he appeared to be looking down past his nose at him.
“Remind yourself, Thor, that though I respect you I do not follow your every command,” Loki said loftily, voice soft. “It is not your place to give me orders.” He spread his arms. “Besides, I fail to see what insult my appearance could garner. Am I not suitably attired for greeting royal guests?”
“You know better than this,” Thor huffed. “It is one thing to parade through the palace in one of your many disguises. But to sully an occasion such as this by wearing the wrong shape is to degrade yourself and make a mockery! You know that Father has more than once directly forbid it.”
The instant the words fell from Thor’s lips, unthinking, he froze. Loki’s own mouth pressed together hard as he clenched his jaw, and his eyes flickered aside towards their parents.
Frigga had her hands clasped together; used as she was to Loki’s charades her expression was markedly calm, but there seemed a hint of nervousness as she looked to her husband.
The All-Father’s face was completely unreadable.
What Thor had said was true. Though it could be said the All-Father put up with much from Loki, both in terms of disrespect and what was simply outrageous, there were lines he refused to let his son cross. And one had always been that Loki was not allowed to shapeshift if he was going to putting in an appearance somewhere that represented the throne or the royal family. To do so, the king had stated, would be bandying about falsehood in a way that spoke ill of the crown, and he wouldn’t have it.
The three of them waited, silent, as Odin gazed upon Loki’s current shape. Loki looked back with perfect composure, but heated self-righteousness in his eyes - and Thor realized he was daring him to say something.
Finally, Odin spoke. There was tiredness and disapproval clear in both his face and voice.
But he only said, “If this is how you wish to be seen in public and for the first time in centuries by your aunts, then so be it. You are old enough now that it’s no affair of mine.”
He turned his back and without another word, without so much as a sigh, left the vicinity.
Thor let out the breath he’d been holding.
“You are lucky Father is in an indulgent mood,” he turned to say to his brother, pettishly. But at the look on Loki’s face he stopped dead, and whatever else words he had were lost to silence.
Loki’s eyes were wider, and he stared off in the direction that’d last held Odin’s retreating back, unaccountably angry.
Frigga reached for his arm. “He didn’t want to upset you,” she gathered, her tone soothing.
Loki pulled away from her. “This is how he treats me now, and thinks it an improvement?” he bit out, cheeks high with color, body shaking with hurt rage. “As if he should never say anything? As if I cannot even be disciplined, else I break, my being so fragile as glass?”
Before their mother could reach for him again, or say anything, Loki whirled away and he too stalked off and left them.
Thor stood there, speechless and uncomfortable, his hands uselessly at his sides.
Frigga gazed off into the space Loki had occupied. Then slowly she turned to face her older son. She met his eyes and if only by a fraction, her composure crumbled.
“Oh, Thor,” she exhaled, carrying a note of misery. She came closer to him, her turn to look at the great hall far down below them, with a mournful face.
“This is supposed to be such a happy occasion for you,” she lamented. She shook her head with a brief, rueful smile. “But now no one in our family is happy.”
Thor placed his hand gingerly on her shoulder, and she moved and let him embrace her.
“Don’t worry, Mother.” He tried to be comforting. “I’m sure that somehow, everything will turn out all right.”
*
While the royal family gathered and most of those employed in the palace hurried to put the finishing touches on preparations, the two lady guests from Midgard were left to their own devices.
Knowing she wouldn’t be seeing Thor until later, Jane had a quick and small breakfast, before pulling out her hidden cache of papers and calculations to eagerly get in a chance for some work.
Before she’d made as much progress as she’d have liked, however, she was dragged from her room by a team of polite but persistent handmaidens for a perfumed bath, the equivalent of a few spa treatments, and to dress her hair before the visitors arrived.
Being that Jane was after all the crown prince’s fiancée, she would be waiting on the dais alongside him when they greeted the ambassadors from Vanaheim.
And while they could admire that naturally she was a beautiful woman, some of the more ‘refined’ Asgardians at the palace were of the opinion she was tragically lax in attending to her appearance. She’d need to be trained into putting on a little polish if she was to one day make a worthy queen - in the meantime, though, the more pressing concern was making her look good enough for the guests.
At the same time Jane was being begrudgingly pampered, a restless Darcy was wandering the palace.
She’d awoken that morning in her guest bedroom to find Loki had already left her, and so far she’d seen no sign of him. In addition to her wayward boyfriend she had yet to cross paths with anyone else she knew, either.
Darcy sighed. Funny how in-between being rushed to state dinners and formal dress parties, there were plenty of opportunities to get bored.
She could always find someone to talk to, if she wanted. All she had to do was locate a cluster of Asgardians and sit down - the snobs who looked down on her for being human were way outnumbered by those that found her fascinatingly entertaining for her ‘exoticness’. Not to mention the brownnosers eager to get closer to the royals through her favor.
But today Darcy wasn’t in the mood to explain YouTube or get her ass kissed. Maybe she was feeling homesick or something, because all she wanted was to do something relatively normal.
Winding her way down yet another giant and mostly indistinguishable corridor, her expression brightened when she finally spotted a pair of familiar faces.
Volstagg was standing there with his wife, and the two of them looked to be in the middle of a quiet conversation. Oblivious to the fact that maybe they wanted to be alone, Darcy waved at them and hurried over.
“Hey, you guys!” She beamed at her friends, relieved. “How are you both doing today?”
Though her sudden arrival startled him, Volstagg gave no sign at being annoyed by the interruption. He returned her greeting with a boisterous one of his own, reaching forward to hug her.
“Well, if it isn’t Darcy! What a pleasant surprise. Funny how in spite of the length of your stay, it seems we’ve scarcely had a chance to get a glimpse of you!”
“Yeah.” When he released her and she could breathe normally again, Darcy gave a slight roll of her eyes. “They’ve been keeping me and Jane pretty well monopolized with all the ‘guest of honor’ stuff.” Her gaze shifted to Siún. “How about you, lady? How have you been?”
The noblewoman gave a shy but warm smile.
“I have been quite well, thank you. There days I have more than a few complaints but…” with one hand she meaningfully patted her stomach, “None that can be unexpected.”
“I’ll bet.” Darcy eyed Siún’s hugely pregnant belly. Her own frame might have been slight and slender but junior clearly took after his daddy. With such a big baby bump tacked into her tiny body, Siún had to be pretty uncomfortable. “When are you due to pop? It has to be soon.”
“It should be any day now.” Siún’s voice was notably quieter as she answered. A grim look passed onto Volstagg’s face.
Darcy looked between the two of them, puzzled. “What gives? Don’t tell me something’s wrong with the baby,” she asked, worried. She knew how happy the rapid onset pregnancy had made both of them: and to think she hadn’t thought it possible for the couple to grow any sickeningly sweeter.
“No.” Siún glanced down at her stomach and rubbed her hand in a circle. “He is hale and healthy. Which unfortunately is something of the problem.”
“We’ve just come from a visit with the healers and the midwife,” Volstagg explained. “They’re of the opinion our child has grown too big for Siún to pass naturally from her body.”
“It seems a Mermish wife is not well-suited to the task of bearing Asgardian children.” Siún managed a thin sardonic smile that twisted into a brief grimace. “The only recourse is birth by the knife.”
Darcy was plagued for an instant by the horrifying thought of Jane having to deal in the future with a proportionally Thor-sized pregnancy. She shook it off to focus on the couple in front of her.
“Is that such a problem? Getting a caesarian, I mean. My mom had to get one when she had my little brother and it sounded like everything was okay - don’t get me wrong, she also said it sucked, and that she was glad it was with her last kid because otherwise she’d have had to keep getting them every time…” Darcy trailed off, swallowing. “It’s not like, super dangerous when they do it here, is it?” she demanded tightly. “Because I know you guys have your super fancy alien technology and all, but if you haven’t caught up enough with modern medicine to minimize the risks of childbirth-”
She was saved from having to move her plans to kidnap Siún back to Earth for a trip to a real hospital from anything beyond a rough sketch when Volstagg cut her off.
“No, no,” he assured her heatedly. “It is nothing like that. In all likelihood, all will be fine.”
“There are always risks, that’s all,” Siún stated. “Birth is not an easy task, and only so many promises can be made. But I’m not worrying. Or at least, I’m trying not to.”
With both hands on her stomach and a peaceable expression on her face, it struck Darcy that of the two she was probably the one acting the least nervous.
Her observation was backed up when Volstagg rested his hands on his wife’s shoulders, giving them a brief squeeze, anxiety visible while he absently pressed a kiss to her neckline.
“I know, I know. I’m trying not to fret so, my love, but it simply can’t be helped,” he told her. “They say everything will turn out for the best, but the thought of something happening to you…it would be unbearable.”
Siún gave him a reassuring smile and patted his cheek. The look of concern on Volstagg’s face for his wife was touching.
“Look, I’m sure everything will be fine,” Darcy broke in, trying to help. “It sure sounds like they know what they’re doing. Just think - in no time at all, you’ll have a happy, very bouncy baby boy.”
The couple both smiled at that, eyes lighting up as they looked to that future.
“Your firstborn son,” Siún reminded Volstagg softly.
“Our son,” he corrected her, slipping his fingers around her hand. More abashed, he confessed, “Though I wouldn’t mind if he took after me a little.”
Siún laughed, and indicated the size of her belly. “I think he already does!”
Darcy stayed quiet for the moment as she watched the pair interact, pleased to think how she was looking at the start of what was sure to be a great, loving family.
*
Loki sat in his room, settled deep into a high-backed armchair, one hand gripping the armrest while the other stroked his lip in thought.
He was still in female guise, clothes and appearance unchanged from his earlier confrontation with the rest of his family. Though from an outside perspective the difference may have seemed to matter little, maybe as nothing but a pointless source for invoking argument, Loki intended to hold the form for a little ways yet.
He drew himself straight and then stood up. Silently he went to where there was a small circular mirror hung on the wall. Loki mainly used it for scrying, but it certainly suited to a secondary more practical purpose as well.
Turning his head this way and that, he examined his face in the reflection with detached scrutiny.
How Loki reacted to the way others thought of him was a complex matter. He both cared, and did not, what they had to say. He was too proud to bend, to make himself into something he could not and did not wish to be - but to say he never felt the stings of the insults and the whispers would be an utter lie.
Sometimes he pulled his back straighter and acted like he couldn’t hear them. Sometimes he turned and looked his naysayers in the eye and dared them to repeat their words to his face. Sometimes he corrected his behavior in line with convention; sometimes he went off and did the very opposite thing, making himself appear worse out of spite and a deep-rooted need to prove how little hold the opinion of others had on him.
And then every once in a rare while, sometimes all he wanted to do was run and hide himself away.
It was very silly, he well knew. Childish. And probably no one would see and understand its true purpose, but that didn’t matter so long as it made him feel better.
For the shape-change he now wore was a mask he could crouch behind, a protective shield to stand between him and the cold ire he could only imagine was coming his way once his bereaved aunt gazed upon him.
It was him, but it was not. And so it would hurt a little bit less when she looked at him.
And Loki needed that petty comfort right now; it would conversely make him feel less weak, to be able to stand next to his brother composed like nothing mattered.
He stopped twisting his neck and pressed painted fingernails to the curve of one cheekbone, expression blank and pensive as he took in the finely-formed face in the mirror in front of him.
He couldn’t remember when last it was he had lived in another form for so long, for anything more than a few days. And around so many who knew him, so much of what was already familiar too. This would be interesting.
But he doubted that it would make him seem so much less in others’ eyes. After all, was he not a murderer, a liar, and a sorcerer? What additional shame could living for a while as a woman bring?
Leaving the mirror Loki returned to his previous seat, dropping down heavily to sink into it as he had before. An arched darkness formed over his brow as he became lost in thoughts, brooding.
There came a knock at his door that he didn’t bother to answer. He had the sense it was Darcy. If so, she didn’t need his help to enter.
The spells Loki cast over his door in addition to the locks would keep out anyone when he was not in the mood to be disturbed, even the king and queen of Asgard. But a short time ago when Darcy’s comings and goings had become more frequent, and their relationship more intimate, he made one significant alteration.
“If ever you find yourself on the other side of my door and know I am within,” Loki had explained to her, “simply take the knob in your hand and press inward. If I’m not in a mood to resent the intrusion, my magic will permit you entry.”
After knocking a third time and still getting no response, Darcy seemed to decide it was time to give that a try. Loki had been hoping to speak to her anyway - his door opened easily under her hand.
“Hello?” Darcy slipped through, letting it swing shut behind her. “Anybody home? Oh, there you are-”
Her countenance brightened when she spotted him at his perch on the chair, then twisted in surprise when she was what form he was in.
“Oh. Uh, okay.” Darcy’s brow creased and she frowned. “I guess I know better than to ask why you decided to be a chick today.”
Loki smiled at that, if only for a moment. “I have my reasons,” he promised her, simply, “but they are not ones I think you would understand.” It was more than he’d be willing to say to any other.
He stood, moving in a slightly different manner than usual, so his female self glided rather than walked and possessed an effortless elegance in every gesture. Loki was committed to his illusions.
He embraced Darcy’s face, hand just beneath her chin as if she was some cherished work of art, though where usually he’d have used his palm now he touched her with only the tips of his fingers, and was careful not to scratch her with his nails.
He gave her a half-lidded look of restrained but certain fondness. “Did you sleep well?”
Versed as she was in his idiosyncrasies Darcy handled this all mostly with ease. “Yeah. No complaints.” As Loki dropped his hand and moved away slightly, she considered his face.
“I would try and kiss you, but I don’t want to smear your makeup.” Darcy gave a sullen look. “You know, you being so good at giving me fashion tips sometimes is starting to make a lot more sense.”
Loki laughed merrily. “I looked like this when you first met me,” he reminded her. Not to mention all the times she’d seen it since. She could hardly pretend to be surprised.
“Your lady-self had leaves in her hair the first time I saw her, and then spent the next couple days borrowing my t-shirts! I’m not used to seeing you so…glam.” She gave him a considering onceover. “Or, I don’t know, femininely regal. It’s kind of like the Evil Queen, but in a good way.”
“Are you so certain of that, my little princess?” Loki teased her. He moved closer, leaning in, smirking. “After all, I can be so very wicked.”
Darcy chuckled. “I guess I should get used to hearing that,” she remarked.
He stopped, frowning. “Used to hearing what?”
“‘Princess’. I mean…I might as well, right?” Her manner grew more serious. “The way people act, I’m as good as promised to you already. I know that everyone expects-”
“What everyone expects should mean nothing to you, Darcy,” Loki insisted, sharp. There was a nervous twist in his gut. “Don’t let yourself feel as if you are being pressured by expectations, or worse, fate.”
She pulled a face at him, dismissive. “I know, I know: you didn’t want me to find out about the ‘Sigyn’ thing because you were afraid I might freak out. I remember. But - come on.”
She walked forward a few strolling paces, hands raised in an extension of a shrug.
“I’m happy to live in the now, and I’m not trying to fast-forward through anything. Believe me. But, in all honesty: where else do you see this going? You and me.” She smiled. “We were together before we were even ‘together’. No wonder everyone basically assumes we’re destined to tie the knot ourselves.”
He supposed on some level he should find this romantic.
But Loki physically pulled away from her, flinching. Not so much against the idea of predestination it invoked, but because of something else...he rebelled.
He cared so much for Darcy - and the thought of her becoming his wife, of spending an eternity trapped beside him, repulsed him. Happy as it would make him, she deserved better than that.
Not to mention it simply didn’t seem possible it could happen: that he could have, and hold, such happiness. Not in his experience. Far more likely something would go wrong. Terribly wrong.
And when it did, there would be so much pain, and devastation.
Loki whirled away, heart pounding, putting his back to her as he was unable to look at her face.
“Whoa, what’s with you?” he heard Darcy exclaim behind him. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?”
Loki drew a breath slowly, waiting for his heart to settle. When he spoke again his voice was stiff, but calm.
“I would be careful of treating such a thing as inevitable. You never know what might come to pass.”
Without looking still he could sense the dismay, the hesitance that flickered across Darcy’s face. “What?”
“One must be practical,” Loki continued, in the same hollow and odd tone. He felt - and it sounded - as if he was speaking from very far away. “So much can change, in so very little time.” He turned just enough to look at her from the corner of one cool eye.
“Look to your own mortal lifespan. One moment you’re barely more than an infant - the next moment, you’re dead.”
Darcy’s fists reflexively clenched, and her expression showed her as clearly offended.
“I’m sorry if I frightened the inner commitment-phobe in you by bringing up marriage,” she managed. “I wasn’t asking for a ring and a registry at Barney’s.” She breathed in tightly. “I can understand you getting spooked, but that doesn’t give you license to act like a total dick.”
“I’m not doing anything of the kind,” Loki replied. “I’m merely stating facts.”
“Stating them in a dickish way,” Darcy retorted. “What’s the matter with you? Are you trying to pick a fight?”
Yes, Loki thought, his heart sinking, though of course he didn’t say so.
This wasn’t how he’d wanted this conversation to go. What he’d meant to do was explain he was worried what could happen if Nanna found out about her; that for fear of her getting caught in the crossfire he wanted her to stay hidden away.
But more important than her understanding why was the fact he needed to create space between them. And right now it looked like this would be the fastest way of reaching that goal.
“All I want,” Loki continued in a calm voice that was meant to infuriate, “is to caution you against setting your hopes too high.”
Darcy’s eyes flashed as she glared at him. “Because you might get tired of me. Is that what you’re saying? Right: because I’m the human, and you’re the god.” She wiggled her fingers. “And Thor’s wacky fetish aside, it’s not like you’re going to actually settle for me in the end. Because that would be totally crazy.”
Her sarcasm was biting, bitter. She had every right to be angry for him being so casually, cruelly dismissive of her, with absolutely no provocation at all.
“I was mostly kidding before. But you know what, I was right. You are a commitment-phobe,” Darcy declared. “You and I were friends for over a year and even that made you want to go running in the other direction, because being tied down to anyone, in any way, gets in the way of your game-plan and all your issues.”
She was right, and that hurt. She was usually more self-editing in her observations of him, knowing there was only so much he could take.
But he wouldn’t let himself get too mad with her. After all, he had started it. He wanted to push her off; evidently this was the price he had to pay.
Loki put his back to her again, bringing his arms back as he clasped one wrist in the other hand’s fingers. His pose that universally read as ‘I’m thinking; you are beneath my notice’. It got under just about everyone’s skin.
“If it’s all the same to you,” he told her without looking, “I would prefer it if you didn’t join us on the dais later on today.”
He knew that Darcy’s mouth had opened though no sound came out. The statement he’d just made would leave her gaping.
The implications would land like a load of stones. He was rescinding an invitation he’d already given her - rejecting the notion that she belonged anywhere near him or his family, as a friend or a guest or anything else.
And Loki knew well how hard it could hit, to suddenly find one’s self stripped of all belonging.
Darcy’s voice was brittle and raw, a hoarse whisper full of disbelief. “Are you breaking up with me?”
An invisible fist found Loki’s heart and squeezed. Even for her safety, he couldn’t do something so absolute. Not like this.
“No,” he assured her, though he still acted far too cavalier. “I only think that right now, we could use some space from one another.”
He waited, breathing shallow, gaze fixed in front of him, for her to give some kind of response.
Finally Darcy recovered her wits enough to offer it. “Fine,” she bit out. “You know what, that’s just - fine. You want your space, I’ll give it to you. I hope you enjoy it.”
She stormed past him in the wrong direction to be heading toward the door - when Loki caught a glimpse of her coming back carrying a hanger draped in lavender fabric, he remembered too late she had left her gown for today’s occasion hanging in his closet. Probably the whole reason she’d come looking for him was to seek his help in putting it on. Some of their fashion’s more complex creations still thwarted her.
He turned around, intending enough of a reprieve to offer his assistance - he could do that much, certainly - but he held his tongue at the look on her face.
Darcy fumed as she clutched the garment to her chest, halfway balling it up, wrinkling it.
“I don’t know what your problem is today,” she told him, snapping. “I don’t know why all of a sudden you’ve decided you need to do this. But pretty soon, you’re going to change your mind. That part I know for sure. And because I know that this is just the way it is with you sometimes, I’m going to take it. But you’d better remember this: when you decide that you’re sorry - and you will - before you come looking for me, you’d better make sure you’re ready to offer up a huge apology.”
She tensed for an instant, casting a look over him full of frustration. “God! Sometimes you can act like such a crazy…bitch!”
And on that note she made herself scarce, exiting rapidly and slamming the door behind her.
Loki held his muscles perfectly still. The only reaction he allowed himself in response was a single blink.
*
Sif, unlike many of those she kept as her fellows, was not in the habit of vanity.
But she did like to be seen as presentable. And on formal occasions, she would do no less than demonstrate the amount of honor that was deserved.
This morning in particular she arose early, so she would have time to get her sparring in, before bathing thoroughly and giving her armor an extra polish.
The Shieldmaids of Vanaheim were a group that Sif especially respected and admired. After their having been away from Asgard’s halls for so long, she was as excited now to catch a glimpse of them as she had been when she was a little girl.
So excited, in fact, that after a scarce few hours passed restlessly inside the palace, she decided that she couldn’t simply wait.
Shield on her arm and glaive in her hand, sword in her sheath, so that any who saw her might think she was going for a round at the practice ring or a quick tour of guard duty, she headed off toward the gate leading out into the city. To the road that went straight to the Bifrost.
“Where are you going?”
Sif started at the voice, unexpected as it was. She’d fancied herself alone.
She turned around to notice her human friend Darcy sitting on a bench at the bottom of a pillar, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. Sif’s quick appraisal was that she looked glum.
“I was going to sneak out,” Sif admitted, both unconcerned as to Darcy’s response and not especially remorseful for her actions. “Make my way to the Bifrost for a first glimpse of our noble guests as they arrive.” She looked off in that direction then favored her friend with a thoughtful frown. “What are you doing here?”
This was the very edge of the palace lawns, much further than most guests ever bothered coming as there was nothing here to offer amusement. A scant few feet more and Darcy would’ve been within the city. It was alarming to think the mortal might have been trying to sneak out unescorted.
Darcy only shrugged her shoulders, though. “Nothing. Guess I just wanted to clear my head.”
There was still something sullen and gloomy about her countenance. Sif took a more scrutinizing look.
She had already been dressed for the ceremony, in a very frothy color of purple that Sif would’ve abhorred but seemed to flatter Darcy’s complexion. She looked nice enough, though her gown was slightly wrinkled along the hemline, and her hair had been partially braided at the sides and tucked in with a few small flowers, a style Sif didn’t think Darcy normally would’ve agreed to.
Someone else had probably helped her: someone without much concession to Darcy’s own taste. That almost certainly ruled out Loki. Added to the irate cloud over Darcy’s head and the safest bet was that she and Loki had quarreled.
Sif suppressed a sigh. She knew better than to ask for details, or even let on that she knew.
She only hoped Loki would come to his senses soon and make amends for whatever trouble he had caused.
“I will leave you to your contemplations,” Sif said, with a thin wry smile.
But Darcy looked up. “No, wait. I’d like to come with you. If that’s okay. I just want to…go somewhere, you know?”
Sif didn’t object to the company - but she frowned doubtfully. “Is it a rather long walk,” she pointed out, warning.
“That’s fine.” Darcy was already getting to her feet. “I could always use the exercise.”
Seeing she wasn’t to be deterred, Sif shrugged, and they set off together.
Having experienced travelling with Darcy in tow before, Sif expected the other woman to start complaining after they’d walked at least part of the way. But Darcy surprised her by staying doggedly silent even as she huffed and puffed a bit to match Sif’s pace.
“These Shieldmaids that everyone keeps talking about,” Darcy questioned, after Sif had taken pity and slowed enough that she could catch her breath; “What’s the deal with them?”
“They are an elite group,” Sif was more than happy to explain. “Native to Vanaheim, and their highest fighting force. They are also a female-only group of warriors which, you may have noticed, is rare on Asgard.”
Darcy gave her a pointed look. “Yeah. No kidding. So when you decided you wanted to wrestle with the boys instead of playing with dolls, why didn’t you just join them? Seems like it would’ve been a lot easier.”
“It’s not so simple. Not just anyone can become a Shieldmaid. They serve the nobility of Vanaheim and thus must be of their set. One must be born to the right family. They do not accept outsiders.”
“So they’re like the knights of Feudal Europe,” Darcy observed, and if Sif didn’t understand that she followed what she said next. “It’s just not about how good you are. It’s also about pedigree.”
“Yes,” Sif told her. “I was born a noble daughter to a good family, but on Asgard. I could never become a Shieldmaid.”
“That stinks.”
She smirked. “It is not so bad. I found my way regardless. Besides, the Shieldmaids have always been women - like Odin’s Valkyries. Strong as they are, when they take their place with men in battle the men still convince themselves they are superior, because they keep their own company. But I have stood alongside men and showed them what I can do, and made them accept me as an equal. Sometimes their superior.”
They were at the Bifrost now and they walked more carefully. The glinting material of the rainbow road was more solid than it looked, but with the memory of it in pieces still fresh Sif couldn’t help being cautious.
She continued, “Many Asgardian women learn to fight; none become warriors. I am the first warrior maid of Asgard.”
“Maybe not the last,” Darcy said, offhand. “I’m sure you’ll be an example to the future generations. Still, it sounds like the Shieldmaids are supposed to be pretty badass.”
“They are. Kings going back before the time of the All-Father have counted on their aid to win countless wars.” Sif paused for a moment, setting the end of her glaive down. “They were said to be the scourge of Jotunheim during the war with Laufey. Many a Jotun learned to fear the sight of an Asgardian woman with a silver shield on her arm.”
Darcy’s eyes flickered to Sif’s own small but sturdy shield.
“You really admire them, don’t you?”
“Aye,” Sif said stately, without hesitation. “Ever since I was small. Especially Lady Freya. Wait until you meet her.”
“Freya, she’s…Frigga’s big sister, right?” Darcy asked with some trepidation.
“She is. Twin to the late Lord Frey.” Sif glanced around. They were almost within reach of the observatory on the Bifrost proper. “There has most always been a woman of their family serving as leader to the Shieldmaids, since time before time.”
Darcy blinked. “So Frigga comes from a long line of women warriors? No wonder she’s so…formidable.”
“The queen is quite skilled with a polearm,” Sif said respectfully, “but she is nothing compared to her sister.” She turned to face Darcy head on so she could be more fully expressive as she lapsed into a narrative.
“During the earliest days of the Frost Giant wars, a convoy of Jotun was sent to Asgard for a peace conference. The conference ended in failure: neither people truly wanted a truce, in favor of the war that was brewing. Some of the giants were slain outright but the rest made their way to the Bifrost, planning to use it to bring their armies to invade Asgard.” Sif inhaled, stood tall. “Freya went after them, and fought her way through their numbers to stand beside my half-brother at the gates.
“One by one, warriors fell or were forced to drop back. But never Freya. She held her ground, and fought side by side with Heimdall until the last foe was defeated. For what she did that day, Heimdall said he was in her debt for any favor of her choosing. She is the only being other than the king he serves to whom the Gatekeeper has ever sworn an oath.”
Darcy gazed at Sif. Her mouth opened, then closed again as she looked pensive. She squinted her eyes before she finally spoke.
“Explain to me again how it is you and Heimdall are half-siblings,” she queried. “I know we’ve been over this like three times already. It’s just that, uh, I guess I don’t see…”
“We share a mother,” Sif repeated.
“But you don’t have the same father.”
“No. Nor do I share in with any of his other eight mothers.”
“Um-”
Whatever Darcy was about to say was interrupted as beneath their feet the rainbow road began to tremble.
Sif raised her head and looked around in alarm. A curse perched on the edge of her tongue. Freya and the others would soon be here - though it was pointless to try and hide themselves from Heimdall’s sight, it would not do for them to be standing there openly gawking.
Glancing to the side, Sif grabbed Darcy by the arm and firmly dragged her along as they both were concealed by one of the golden support structures on the edge of the bridge. Once they were crouched down she peered out around the side, close enough they’d have a decent view of the arrivals.
Darcy had fallen silent, taking the hint at this point stealth was appreciated. Both of them waited as the Bifrost activated and the golden dome flashed and spun.
Heimdall turned to face the entryway and moved discreetly to the side as Shieldmaids began to spill forth, their guard organized into two straight lines. Once the terrain had been surveyed they spread out, standing at attention and ready to await their next command.
Freya came next. She strode out from the Bifrost, her expression fierce and unsmiling. She wore her yellow-white hair in a braid past her waist and she was covered in silver full plate armor from her neck down. In one hand she carried a spear. In the other was her shield, gleaming and heavy, curving wide at the edges and even taller than she was.
“Jesus freaking christ,” Darcy whispered, agog, and beside her Sif couldn’t help but grin.
In her childhood, Freya had seemed to her young eyes larger than life, a statuesque being that towered over others. She was pleased that time had not changed this to falsehood. Now fully grown, she could see that Freya stood at least as tall as Thor.
The head of the Shieldmaids cast an appraising glance over the ranks formed by her people and found no fault, seemingly. Her eyes moved on to Heimdall.
The great helmeted guardian took a step forward, for one instant his golden eyes locking with hers. Then he dropped his head, respectfully.
“Lady Freya,” he greeted her.
“Gatekeeper,” she returned, voice not warm but not unkind. “It has been a ways in time since I have seen thee last.”
“Aye, milady. But Asgard is glad to have you again. You are looking well.”
“I look as I always have,” was her response, mild. She did not care about her appearance, or what any thought of it, or how it made others react to her. Shieldmaids were not required to swear to chastity, but it was common for many of them to evade marriage. Freya was among that number.
There had been offers. Freya was actually quite beautiful - though sometimes it was hard to see, intimidating a visage as she could strike. And then, even if she had been a horror, there still would have been offers: for the riches her dowry would bring and the bragging right of being the one to take the leader of the Shieldmaids to bed.
But Freya had a hardened heart, and was beyond uninterested. She had never needed a man to support her, and she didn’t seem capable of falling in love. Her only care was for her duty.
Satisfied with her exchange with Heimdall, now it was Freya who stepped aside. She drew her upraised spear and shield into forward-facing resting positions, at attention to the left side of the observatory’s doorway. Following her lead the others held their at attention posture as well, standing as honor-guard.
Skirts lifted slightly in her hands, Lady Nanna of Vanaheim walked forward out of the Bifrost.
Nanna looked as unlike her sister-in-law as she could have. Her hair was dark, a shade somewhere between brown and red. She was short, frail, with fluttering hands like a bird’s wings. Her eyes were dark and small.
Grief had not aged her prematurely but it’d left its marks on her face, carving deep lines under her eyes and beside her mouth. The set of her lips seemed permanently puckered with bitterness. And while Freya was a warrior, Nanna was clearly a lady, attired in a stiff and layered formal gown, weighted by jewelry and with a matching headdress.
She stood in her place on the bridge and stared out at Asgard as if everything about it displeased her. Or perhaps she simply could not find approval in anything, anymore.
Freya bowed to her subserviently, and was saying something, but in her hiding place Sif was no longer listening. She was too occupied staring at Nanna, blood rushing past her ears, a dart of fright spreading throughout her chest.
Nanna’s clothing was black and grey, even the beads on her necklace and headdress made of onyx and obsidian.
After such loss as she had endured in life for her to never dress gaily again would not be surprising - but that wasn’t it. She was clad as if in full mourning. As if the deaths of her son and husband had but happened yesterday.
An unshakable sense of apprehension began to dawn in Sif. She wasn’t certain what to make of it, but it painted a different picture than what had been expected.
And suddenly she felt with pressing urgency that she needed to warn Thor and his family.
She plucked at Darcy’s sleeve. “Quickly,” she hissed. “We need to get back to the palace before them.”
“What?” Darcy looked at Sif, distracted, at the people they were spying on, and then back at Sif again. “Why?” Her expression grew alarmed. “Whoa, Sif, what’s wrong - you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“There is no time to explain,” Sif insisted, half-standing up, though making certain she did not move into view on accident. “Come! I’m sorry, but we have to run. Now!”
Darcy was still stuttering, flustered and bewildered, but she heeded to Sif’s urging. The warrior’s fist was locked tight around her forearm to make sure she didn’t falter as they raced back across the bridge fast as their legs could carry them.
*
As much as showmanship had been ingrained in him, there were times when Loki wondered how they ever managed to get anything done on Asgard, with all their love of pomp.
The word came that Lady Nanna and her escorts had been received on the Bifrost. And so the royal family, and seemingly every last pair of curious and eager eyes that could be crammed into the great hall before the throne, had gathered.
And now for going on nearly twenty minutes all waited, observers whispering gaily among themselves, while they on the dais did their best to hold postures and look regal.
Loki stood slightly to the left and behind his brother and Dr. Foster, hands folded below his chest, mouth in a line and eyes half-lidded. He gazed off into space at a fixed point and let his mind wander a bit to keep from fidgeting. It wasn’t as if he’d not had centuries of practice.
His appearance in female guise had caused a bit of a stir among those present, Thor had been right in expecting that. But while no doubt what they were saying out there would reach his ears eventually, right now Loki thought they seemed more preoccupied with interest in their visitors.
It occurred to him rather obliquely that the last time there’d been an event like this had been for Thor’s attempted coronation, and that was not a memory Loki needed right now. He swiftly cast it aside.
The future queen was performing tolerably well. The mortal woman was seated but she kept her back straight, hands in her lap, feet crossed demurely at the ankles. The only telltale signs were how her thumbs twiddled together behind the fabric of her skirt, her neck turned as she kept stealing glances around, and her lips worked together as she carefully controlled her breathing.
At least she got a chair. Her and the queen both - there’d been one brought up intended for Darcy as well, and Loki had discretely kicked it out of the way.
Jane had noticed: she raised her eyebrows at him in clear questioning, and Loki responded with a minute shake of his head, expression apologetic as he could make it. Jane frowned at him, eyes narrowed, suspicious, but she accepted she’d have to demand an explanation from him later.
Thor had not noticed. If anyone was fidgeting the most, it had to be him. There was a deep frown of confusion on his face, and he kept looking to the sides.
Finally, he could hold his concern in no more.
“Brother,” Thor looked to him, speaking in a rumbling whisper, “where is Darcy?”
“She’s not coming,” Loki told him softly, never moving his eyes.
Thor’s eyes widened in shock and alarm. “What? But why-!”
The sound of a distant fanfare started playing and everyone waiting on the floor turned their heads. The whispering turned to a loud murmur and drowned out Thor’s last opportunity to speak.
At the very far end of the hall, just past the grand propped-open doors, a flash of silver moving in lines could be barely made out as a glimpse of the approaching Shieldmaids.
But a movement breaking against the crowd to one side caught Loki’s attention. He was startled as Sif pushed her way through, discretely but forcefully, making her way to the dais’ edge.
Thor knelt down as Sif grabbed the end of his boot and tugged. “Sif?” he demanded, face bewildered. “What is it…?” Loki leaned forward without giving the appearance of moving so he too could hear.
“I had to warn you,” Sif said in a low, intense voice. “I’ve seen Lady Nanna. You must be careful how you speak to her. Thor, she is still in mourning!”
The color drained from Thor’s face, and Loki could understand why. This was much worse than they’d feared. Not that anyone had expected Nanna to be “over it”, but…it was hoped thousands of years would’ve taken the edge off the sting.
Thor stood upright again, hands clenched into fists at his sides, as he grimly re-gathered his composure.
Before Sif could get away with a sense of direst urgency Loki darted forward, getting her attention.
“Sif,” he commanded her, entreating, “find Darcy! Make certain that she stays out of sight!”
Either Sif understood or knew there was no time for questioning his reasoning. She nodded, and hurried away again.
Loki went back to his position but he kept his eyes on her. Sif moved back to where the Warriors Three were standing at the front of the crowd in a place of honor and stood beside them. Darcy was next to them already, looking somewhat disheveled.
There was a series of exchanges muttered between Sif and the men, and then the four of them moved quickly, shifting so they shoved a protesting Darcy behind them, then brought their shoulders together in a line so she was completely hidden from view. The tight press of the crowd would keep her from moving. Loki breathed an inward sigh of small relief.
And then the fanfare came again, much louder, proudly announcing the Vanaheim nobles’ entry to the room. The crowd fell silent, eyes forward on the Shieldsmaids’ glittering military array as they marched.
Freya was at the front, escorting Nanna. Loki could not put name to the confliction of emotions inside him as he beheld his aunts after so long.
When last he’d seen them he’d been but a youth. A youth guilt-stricken by an accidental murder. Now he was a man, grown up wild and wrong in so many different ways. An exiled prince full to the brim with bitter secrets and regrets, returned angry but willing to his home, humbled.
He had changed. He was sorry to see that, at a first glance, they had not.
Freya drew up short in front of the throne and pounded her spear down to order her women to a halt. Then gracefully she drew back, yielding the position of honor to her brother’s widow.
It was interesting, to watch a woman as willful as Freya defer to one such as Nanna.
On the dais Odin and his children stood tall. Frigga rose - Jane glanced over and followed her example.
Freya and her warriors bowed all the way to one knee, while with face blank and eyes cast to the ground, Nanna lowered a demure curtsey. The Shieldmaids behind them recovered but Freya stayed kneeling, and Nanna still did not look up, hands clasped in front of her.
“Hail the All-Father,” Freya declared, “and his queen, and his sons, and his firstborn’s betrothed. The House of Frey presents itself to you on this glorious occasion, your honored and humble servants.”
Well said, and steadily enough - but it was all the scripted and expected remarks. And of course Freya, stone-faced as she was, would betray no hint of emotion or hesitance in her delivery, no matter what.
“Pray recover, Lady Freya, Lady Nanna,” the All-Father said in solemn reply. “My kingdom and our family welcome you, as it always has, and has had too rare occasion to in recent past.”
Both women rose as bid. It was a waste of time trying to read Freya. And Nanna still looked at nobody.
The queen came forward a bit, raising one hand.
“It does my heart good to see you both again, sisters,” she said delicately, with a gentle and hopeful smile. “Perhaps it can be hoped this visit can be used to rekindle a closer acquaintance.”
“Of course we will be happy to oblige the queen however she wishes,” Nanna answered. Loki couldn’t but wince: it always seemed to him his aunt had an especially shrill, grating voice, even when she spoke at her calmest. He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination her tone was more clipped than usual now.
Frigga’s smile faltered, but didn’t drop completely. The formal reply was not necessarily a bad thing. Though Loki could read his mother’s hidden face, and tell her eyes rested on Nanna’s mourning garb with unease.
Nanna gestured to her guardswoman, and Freya produced a small golden chest that she held before her in offering.
“A gift for the royal family,” Nanna stated smoothly, “in honor of the engagement.”
Both related and estranged as they were with the royals, this group could’ve come with no gift and not have it read as an insult. But most of the guests had brought something, of course: there was nothing special in that.
Loki watched, waiting for Freya to open the chest and show them what was inside. But strangely she did not. She stayed where she was and kept it closed in her hands, posture rigid and gaze set.
Loki bit his lower lip. Curious.
Odin waved a hand and a guard came forward to accept the gift from Freya and bring it to her sister, who held it absently against her chest.
The silence that followed did not have a chance to grow awkward before Freya fixed her eyes on Thor.
“Nephew, I am pleased to see you have grown into a fine warrior, whose exploits are varied and legendary,” she told him. Automatically Thor smiled. “Now that you have chosen your life’s companion, may you share a long and blessed union together.”
“Yes,” Nanna chimed in. She lifted her head and managed to take in all the family with her gaze.
There was such twisted heat in her eyes, but her voice was ice cold, and there was no smile on her face as she spoke:
“May marriage bring to you all the happiness it has brought me.”
Her meaning was clear.
Loki’s throat clenched.
A shudder rippled across the crowd.
Thor’s face fell, a spark of dread in his eyes. He put his hand on Jane’s shoulder and drew her protectively nearer, as she stared back with horror at the venom in Nanna’s face.
The All-Father spoke loudly, but as evenly as if there was nothing to be concerned about: “Your wishes are, of course, graciously received by my son and his bride-to-be.”
Thor recovered his wits just enough. “Yes,” he managed. He gave a stiff nod of his head. “Thank you, Aunts.”
“Thank you very much,” Jane echoed, picking up the cue, and Loki was proud for her - her voice did not tremble, though it was small.
“I think,” Odin continued, “that you both must be very tired from your long journey. By all means, let us end this assembly, so that you may find your rooms and refresh yourselves before tonight’s feast.”
Again Nanna curtsied and Freya bowed. “Yes, All-Father,” the widow said. Her voice was as hard as it could get without being directly impolite. “You are most gracious.”
Her eyes glinted in a way that reminded Loki of his knives’ blades as she turned to one side. Freya gazed up at the royal family unblinkingly over her shoulder.
There was more fanfare, more bowing - and just like that, it was over. The group from Vanaheim exited down a different path. There was a tension in the air that came from hundreds of witnesses impatiently holding their tongues, waiting for the very moment when they would be permitted to speak and animatedly chatter to one another.
But the crown would not have to watch any of that. With the king leading the way the family strode out from the dais through a back door leading to a private antechamber.
The instant they were alone there seemed a collective exhale. Loki crossed his arms lightly, hugging himself.
Jane shivered, eyes gone impossibly wide, using one hand to fan her face as the stress of everything she’d just been through caught up to her at once. “Oh my god,” she said, numbly. “Oh my god.”
Thor put both hands on her shoulders and squeezed her to him as he made an anxious attempt at a soothing sound.
Frigga took a stilted step forward, and gripped the back of a chair like she needed the balance, sagging.
“Oh,” she breathed in sharply, a distraught look coming over her as she pressed her other hand to her face.
Silently Odin reached out to her. He said nothing, but his expression was sad. And maybe, Loki thought, a little worried.
Frigga looked to her husband. “Nanna is still angry,” she exclaimed, stricken, and if her observation seemed obvious and simple so much more was in the emotions she said it with. She moved her hand to the hollow of her throat, overcome as if she were about to shed tears.
Odin only nodded. “I know,” he agreed.
As one the gazes of the four others shifted to Loki, staring at him with a mixture of apology, pity, and concern.
Knowing what they were all thinking - that he was the focus of such anger, and who knew what might come from it - Loki drew his cloak tighter, and fought off the urge to shrink down and cower.
LINK TO PART THREE