Thor Fic: "We Are Our Own Folklore" (R, Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane), 3a/7
LINK TO PART TWO
Title: We Are Our Own Folklore (Part 3: Eros and Psyche)
Characters: Loki, Thor, Darcy, Jane, Frigga, Odin, Heimdall, Freya, Nanna, Amora, original characters
Pairings: Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane, Frigga/Odin
Rating: R for grimness, dark themes, gender weirdness, mild gore and semi-explicit sexuality
Length: 16,800 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 3: Eros and Psyche
On the day that she and Loki finally got together, nothing particularly special had been going on.
It wasn’t a holiday or some kind of anniversary. There was no party. And there hadn’t been some epic battle for good and evil or life and death that in the aftermath of it was easy to get swept up and do life-changing things.
It was just another day. Darcy was visiting Asgard, and she’d spent most of the afternoon hanging around with all her friends, and then in the evening of course there’d been a big feast that they all attended.
Darcy bailed after dessert because she was tired of watching neck-bearded Viking dudes try to drink each other under the table. Loki went with her, because that was how they rolled.
They didn’t head anywhere in particular. She let him lead her through the empty winding back corridors of the palace, because to her the place was still like a maze. It was dark and kind of cool out and they didn’t see a single other soul. But Darcy didn’t mind, didn’t even think of minding: she felt safe and happy.
They talked for hours of nothing, and laughed, and grabbed hands or poked each other in the shoulder.
And when they reached a blind corner that was lit by wrought-iron lanterns, containing marble columns and a fountain, they had just trailed off from laughing into companionable silence. Darcy had tucked herself under Loki’s arm as they walked, half-squeezed into his side, and he had wrapped an arm around her waist instead of beneath her elbow as he escorted her.
After the silence lingered Darcy turned her head, intending to raise her eyebrows and give him a ‘Well what now, smart guy?’ smile.
Except she realized all of a sudden that they were alone, and it was quiet, and she…this was something that had been coming for a long while.
And when she looked up to meet Loki’s eyes, she could tell at once that he was thinking the same thing.
Darcy took a breath and closed her eyes and went up on her toes, and Loki’s hand came to rest on her chin, one thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as they kissed.
They kissed. And it wasn’t…perfect, it wasn’t world-changing. Or world-ending. It didn’t set fireworks off over her head or set her knees to knocking. This wasn’t the kiss at the end of a really great first date or the kiss you got when you found out someone you’d been crushing on had feelings for you.
Those were all foreplay, thick with excitement and stomachs full of butterflies because they had the rush that came with starting something, of being new. But this didn’t feel new: it felt warm, and good, and familiar, like somehow they’d been here before. Their first kiss was full of this feeling of a content sigh, of ‘Finally, I’ve come home’.
And sure. Why not? Didn’t it make sense?
Didn’t everyone under more than one sun think they should’ve been together already?
Hadn’t they been friends for a really long time, and they’d met under weird and awkward circumstances, so if they’d gotten through that, well; then basically they had to be set for life?
Didn’t they already get along? Didn’t they already get each other? Weren’t they already closer than either of them had ever been with anyone else before?
And Darcy had grown up, from a girl whose head turned at every remotely hot guy, from someone who’d stopped thinking about constantly wanting to be in a relationship to someone who was actually ready to have one.
And Loki wasn’t running anymore, and he wasn’t fighting, and he wasn’t angry or scared or using his own loneliness like a shield, and if he was still a little crazy, well, it was the kind a girl could learn to work with.
They already cared about each other. They were already in love. It was only until now, that love had stayed at the level where they were best friends, concerned about each other’s feelings and there with a shoulder to cry on and having each other’s back whenever they needed it.
Really, they should’ve been ready to cross this line after their grand pirate adventure. Everything that had happened there had just gone and made it obvious.
But in the days and weeks after coming back Darcy noticed a lurking shadow in Loki’s eyes that slid in whenever he let his gaze go unfocused. The way he tensed up and didn’t always respond as kindly to physical contact. And she saw how sometimes, late at night, he’d sit away from everyone else, drawn in close around himself and body language tight, and his hands would shake just a little bit.
It put a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she got it. What happened to Loki on that world was something he’d need time to get over. So she pulled back, and she waited.
Until time had passed and she’d forgotten she was waiting.
And now here they were again, months later, and this time it was happening. This time it was okay.
So they kissed, and it was good, and they didn’t need to stop and talk about it. When Darcy pulled back for air she gulped and met Loki’s eyes again, and they both grinned as they shared a nervous but conspiratorial, heated gaze.
They kissed again and it got deeper, wetter, better, more passionate and wild. They’d gone all out of order in their relationship: never had the part where they went “okay this is a thing”, and gotten to know each other instead, and now they’d looped back and covered the initiation. Time to skip to the end.
Darcy will always feel a sense of smugness it was she that made the first move. She grabbed Loki’s shoulders and tugged, leaning backward so he’d no choice but to break contact or follow, moving and holding her as they guided each other to the floor.
They’d gone from kissing to full-on making out and grabby hands as Darcy was on her back, rocking her hips against Loki’s, body pinned beneath his. She reached over her head and tugged off her sweater.
She kicked off her shoes and socks because she’d learned this lesson the hard way previously, fumbling with her belt buckle while Loki cupped her breasts still clad in her bra.
Then she stopped, feeling the hard marble floor cold beneath her naked back. “Oh, wait,” she realized belatedly. Dipping her head back she stretched out her neck and closed her eyes and gave a short and sheepish ‘oh well’ groan. “This is going to suck.”
But while she had already resigned herself to consummating their relationship with an uncomfortable banging and a bruised ass - this was what happened in real life when you were romantic and got caught up in the moment - Loki lifted his head from where he’d been kissing and sucking her cleavage and navel with an amused chuckle.
“Perhaps you’d prefer it if we took this to another location?” He offered her his hand.
She took it with a raised eyebrow and a relieved smile. And then she couldn’t help a breathless girly “Oh,” that escaped her as he easily picked her up sideways in his arms, standing. He teleported them to his room.
Darcy had been here before but she’d never had a chance to appreciate how big his bed was, how soft, before he was lying her down on it and climbing over her with his knees spread to either side of her body, her hands going to his neck and his cheeks as she pawed him like a horny teenager. They continued where they left off, kissing and grinding and rocking into each other. And much, much, much later would it occur to Darcy to wonder if her top and shoes and socks were still back there beside that fountain. She had other things on her mind.
Loki caressed the lowest point of her back just above the band of her jeans, then trailed his hands upward, fingers plucking deftly at the clasp of her bra.
“Wait, wait.” Darcy reached back there and grabbed his hand, pulling it away. She slid a little upward, peering to give him a reproachful frown. “So not fair.” She waved an accusing fingertip at his still fully-dressed self.
“You, right now, clothes,” she commanded. Loki took his hands off her and stretched arms out to either side with an obliging smile as he sat back on his heels. Darcy darted forward, eager.
She felt a lot less confident and pleased with herself as she quickly discovered Loki’s clothes were exactly as complicated as they looked from the outside. In fact, even more so. After three minutes all she’s succeeded in doing was untying two very long sets of laces and proving that she wasn’t even sure where to start when it came to removing the rest.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Darcy whined as she discovered the edge of his doublet was secured with about a zillion of those little hook and eye things. “How do you people get to breakfast in the morning without having to come in naked? Do you get up at the crack of dawn?”
Loki was smiling at her still, but his eyes shone and his shoulders shook slightly with silent laughter.
He took pity on her after her whine trailed off into a sigh and a pout. Gently he removed her hands from his shoulders, keeping them clasped between his.
“I can teach you how to remove these later,” he promised her. “For now, I think we’ll cheat.”
With a swirl of magic that spiraled out from his body, wordless and without gesture, his clothes were swept away. Darcy looked top to bottom, getting an appreciative eyeful.
And then she felt the warm press from where their skin touched and realized he’d been super thorough, and she was also naked.
She shrugged off any indignation because of how the now complete lack of any clothes meant they could get much faster to the sex.
Hands still clasped she kissed him, with some twisting managing to lift both her legs and wrapping them around his waist. Nonverbal urging was all she needed to encourage him into rolling her back and lying down on top of her again.
Afterward when they were sweaty and panting and tangled up in his sheets, Darcy turned over to her side and curled up against him, nuzzling her face into his chest. Loki dropped one lazy arm over her, and pulled her in close.
They fell asleep together like it was only the most natural thing. Darcy slept through the entire night and when she opened her eyes, Loki was already awake and watching her.
When he met her gaze, he greeted her silently with a soft and slowly-spreading smile.
A smile that said ‘I love you’, and in her heart Darcy felt herself answer ‘I love you too’, and she felt like the happiest person in the entire universe.
*
Right now, at present, Darcy couldn’t have been less happy, with herself, or her relationship, or especially with Loki.
Okay, she wasn’t a total moron. She’d known what she was getting into from way before that very first night. Loki was seriously damaged goods. The fact they’d started this latest misadventure with him relating that story of the time when in his teenage years he’d killed a guy and she’d reacted by feeling more sympathetic than surprised spoke to that.
And she wasn’t clueless either when it came to the ins and outs of Loki’s somewhat frequent and eccentric mood-swings. They “needed space”, all of a sudden, when his unwanted relatives came to town? That was such bullshit. Obviously, there was something going on. He had some plan or ulterior reasoning he wanted her at a distance for. There were always at least five things going on in Loki’s head at any given time, and his emotions and motivations tended to stack on each other.
She’d meant what she said when she stormed out. She fully expected him to explain himself to her later, and give an eloquent and very satisfyingly groveling apology when he did.
Darcy had faith that one way or another, in the long run, they were going to work this whole thing out.
But that didn’t mean that until then she wasn’t allowed to be pissed as all hell at him.
After the crowd broke apart in the assembly hall, she took advantage of the confusion to slip away from the grasp of the Warriors Three and Sif. Obviously they were keeping her corralled at Loki’s request; she wanted no part of that. He wanted her to keep away, fine, but she insisted on the freedom to go where she wanted while she was doing it.
Alone she stalked her way down a hall, without a care or clue where she was going, grumbling animatedly to herself with her hands balled into fists by her sides.
Pushing her to the side in the middle of the celebration for Thor and Jane. All of a sudden, cutting her out cold and acting like he never knew or wanted her. Treating her like the girlfriend that wasn’t good enough for his family or his life. Like all she was for was screwing around.
It made her blood boil, and the insides of her skull throb until she felt like she was going to scream. God, but her boyfriend could be such a perfect jackass when he wanted to be. When he reached down past the cobwebs and pulled out a leftover from his “used to be an evil manipulative bastard” closet.
Storming around with red in her eyes as she was Darcy wasn’t looking where she was going. Or minding whether or not there was anyone around, or that her way was clear.
She snapped out of her fog enough to realize she was a few steps shy of plowing straight into an Asgardian woman, and with what little self-control remained in her Darcy pulled herself short.
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry,” she started to say automatically, before she looked up and it hit her who she was talking to.
Loki’s aunt Nanna stood a few feet away from her, sleeves folded together, staring at her with an empty and hard look on her face.
“Oh!” Darcy said again, much more sharply, gaping for a moment before she caught herself and blinking. “It’s you.” Swiftly she dropped the best curtsey she could manage, feeling her face heat up nervously. “I’m uh, so sorry your ladyship, I didn’t realize…”
Nanna ignored her babbling. She stared at Darcy with a glint in her eyes. “So, you know who I am, do you?” she demanded. “I know who you are, too.”
“You - what?” Darcy frowned, drawing a blank. Something about a feeling in the air was making her unaccountably nervous. “You do?”
Swiftly Nanna’s arm lashed out. Without any warning she gripped Darcy’s wrist tight in her hand, fingers digging in, holding her like a vise. Darcy let out a shocked, stifled sound of pain and couldn’t resist as Nanna dragged her in, turning her enough so she could clearly see the runes on Darcy’s back.
“Sigyn,” Nanna spat out, face pinched with disgust. “The faithful wife! She who the mortals say stood by her husband, though he was a murderer, and a monster.”
She released Darcy and shoved her back, like she couldn’t stand to run the risk of touching her more.
“Loki’s wife, a child of Asgard, who nonetheless sided with him over her own people!” Nanna hissed, “Who didn’t run but stayed with him, even after in coldest blood he struck Balder down.”
Darcy rubbed her arm, trying not to whimper. The bruised marks of fingerprints were already rising on her skin.
She lifted her head and met Nanna’s eyes with the best baleful glare she could manage. “My name is Darcy,” she told her, curt.
“But you are Sigyn,” Nanna repeated, unbothered. She pointed in the direction of Darcy’s tattoo. “The runes don’t lie. Either you chose the name or you were deemed worthy of it. And you have inherited all the legacy attributed to that woman in the stories of old.”
“Fine,” Darcy responded, spitting out a few terse words of her own. “So what? I’m with Loki. I chose that. I’m not ashamed of it.”
“I wasn’t sure you would exist. I certainly didn’t expect you to be a mortal,” Nanna commented. “But even so, even you must have sense of the thing you put yourself beside. Even you must’ve heard of what he has done.” She leveled Darcy with an accusing glare. “How could you?”
Darcy stood straight and fought off the urge to shrink back. Outwardly Nanna didn’t look all that intimidating. She wasn’t huge; she didn’t carry weapons. If it came right down to it, Darcy thought she could take her.
But the amount of hate in the woman’s face; the burning twist of anger in her eyes and voice. That was something else.
“I’m sorry for what happened to your son,” Darcy said evenly. “That was horrible, and I don’t think anyone ever expects you to forgive Loki for it. I know Loki sure doesn’t. But it wasn’t on purpose, and you’re wrong about him. You’re letting your anger make you see things that aren’t there.” She drew a breath and raised her chin. “He’s not a monster.”
“Not a monster,” Nanna repeated, voice frozen and flat. “Is that what you think?” She made a short scoffing sound that grated the back of her throat. “If you only knew the truth.”
Darcy just stared at her as calmly and confidently as she could, waiting, her breathing shallow.
“Do you know what happened to Sigyn, in the stories that your people made?” Nanna asked. She drew a step closer - she was short for own kind, which meant she was just barely taller than Darcy. “Do you? After Loki was finally captured, and brought to justice for his crimes, given the punishment he deserved, Sigyn was punished too.
“They were sealed together in a cave buried underground. They brought in one of Loki’s sons, one of the children Sigyn herself had given birth to. He was ripped apart in front of them, and his entrails were used to bind Loki down.”
Nanna stepped closer again, and Darcy felt she had no choice but to quickly retreat back. She didn’t trust the woman that close to her. Not with that look on her face.
Darcy watched her, hypnotized and terrified, unable to speak as Nanna kept talking.
“Chained by the remains of his own offspring, Loki had a serpent dripping poison in his face, acid that burned his skin and lying tongue and ate away at his wicked eyes.” Nanna’s voice rose to a stilted, malicious shout as her recitation kept going on. “Sigyn sat next to him with a bowl cupped in her hands that she used to try and keep the poison away from his face. But her task was a futile one for eventually the bowl would fill and when she had to empty it, Loki’s shrieking and suffering would begin anew.”
She glowered at Darcy, eyes burning madly like embers, full of spite and self-righteousness.
“And would it be within my grasp, child, it would be my dearest wish that Loki be given the punishment the mortals devised!” She made a fist, hand clutching to grasp greedily at the air before curling by her heart. “That he feel pain so severe and unendurable that it made the world shake. And when that happened, it would be only fitting that you were right there with him.”
It was a threat and Darcy took it as such. Her courage snapped completely in half and abandoned her, and too fast for her to even think she took to her heels and ran away fast as she could.
Hair streaming, tears flowing from her eyes, Darcy ran until her lungs felt like they’d burst, gasping for breath; anything to put safe distance between her and the cruel and bitter touch of Nanna’s desire for revenge.
*
Loki sat on a window ledge not far from his rooms, legs stretched out in front of him, head leaning idly to one side just enough he could look out at the view.
It was another beautiful day. But he found it impossible to enjoy it. Perhaps not much a surprise.
Even now, after having been back long enough he could take things for granted, every once in a while it hit him as he was reminded - that for a whole year he hadn’t been able to see this. That he had almost been willing to give up on it forever. It wasn’t just the splendor he would’ve missed out on: this was his home.
And with the wolves that had arrived to snap at his heels, there was a dread in him that he was going to lose it.
There came the sound of running feet, of shoes slapping hard against the flagstones, the clang of jewelry shaking and a woman’s frantic breaths. Loki’s head snapped up, alert.
He slipped from his perch as he saw the figure which appeared in the gateway leading to the hall.
“Darcy?” He called out her name, surprised.
Her eyes found him. Only making a halfhearted attempt to compose herself she ran to his side.
“Loki! I’ve been looking everywhere. I didn’t…I couldn’t think of anyone else to talk to; you were the first person I wanted to see-”
She was rambling, voice cracked and strained with emotion. She looked shaken, distraught; visibly on the verge of tears.
Loki remembered he was supposed to be pretending he didn’t want to see her.
But he couldn’t turn her away when she was like this. He had no heart to continue his ruse. He’d been shocked by how Darcy appeared now and only wanted to comfort her.
“Shh, come here.” He embraced her and at once she clung to him. “Calm down. Try to tell me what happened.”
Darcy sniffled, pulling back. With both hands she quickly scrubbed at her cheeks, removing what tears had fallen from her eyes, as if somehow this would prevent him having seen them.
“I’m sorry,” she said senselessly. “I didn’t mean to lose it like this. But it just…I was so caught off-guard-”
Loki had been shaking his head, frowning, about to press her further with how he didn’t follow. But he noticed something on her arm and he froze.
“Stop,” he ordered, and Darcy fell silent, bemused. His hand went to her forearm, careful but firm as he raised the limb for a better view, positioning both so he could see clearly and wordlessly indicate to her what he was fixated on.
There was a mark on her wrist, red blossoming into black. Someone had grabbed her there, seized her flesh hard enough to bruise.
Loki was horrified and enraged. “Who touched you?” he demanded. “Who has done this?”
Darcy swallowed. There was a note of sick anger in her own voice as she replied, “Your aunt Nanna.”
He felt a shudder run up his spine. Numbly his fingers lost their hold, opening, and she pulled out of his grasp.
“She cornered me, when I was alone,” Darcy continued when Loki could not find his voice. “Basically attacked me…because of my Asgardian name.” She drew a breath. “Because of who she thought I was, or was supposed to be.” The words tumbled out of her, unsettled and emotive. “Jesus, Loki, you should have seen her. The way she went off on me. The things she said.”
Gaze still wide, eyes unseeing, Loki lowered his head to stare at the floor between their feet.
Why was it his worst fears were always determined to prove themselves right?
“This is why you said what you did, isn’t it,” Darcy guessed after a moment. “This is why you tried to push me away.” Loki opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance. “I knew there had to be a reason. Even if it only made sense to you. I just couldn’t begin to figure out what it was.”
Forlornly, Loki began, “I didn’t want-”
“You were scared for me,” Darcy interjected. “Is that it?” Loki closed his mouth again, suddenly unable to answer, and breathed out slow. Distracted, Darcy shook her head. “You knew there was a chance she wouldn’t just blame you but everyone around you. And you didn’t want her to find out I existed, because then I might get caught up in the middle. You wanted to protect me from her.”
“I am so sorry that I had to upset you,” Loki swore to her. “I just didn’t want you to come to any harm.”
Darcy didn’t bother responding. She rested her head on his shoulder again and Loki held her tight.
When she loosened herself from his grasp again, Darcy gave a shaky laugh.
“Just forget it. Forget the whole thing,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. She was drained, face wan. “This is so stupid. I can’t be mad at you right now. Not when you’re the one I always go to vent to.”
“Perhaps I deserve your anger, for the way I behaved,” Loki allowed. “Or at least for the way I must’ve seemed to you. But certainly after what happened, you can understand my reasons.”
His expression darkened as he took up her hand again. Pressing a light kiss on top of her injuries he passed along healing magics, soothing the bruises away.
Holding her palm between both of his Loki examined her now unmarked skin.
“This was unforgivable. You are a guest of the royal family: attacking you is almost as good as paying a blow to one of us. Lady Nanna certainly knows better. She should be punished for what she did-”
“What are you going to do?” Darcy demanded, cutting off his fervent words. “Tell your dad and expect him to lay the smackdown on her? I don’t want to cause any problems. Won’t saying anything just make it worse?”
Loki was aggrieved but knew she was right. Things were tense enough as it was without making an incident. And though it would be a blatant lie Nanna could always claim she hadn’t known Darcy’s relationship to him or it was a misunderstanding - in lack of absolute proof, Odin couldn’t doubt her openly without seeming disloyal to his wife’s family.
“Well, never mind then,” Loki said begrudgingly. He put his hands on Darcy’s shoulders, keeping eye contact as he pulled her close. “But you must promise you’ll be careful from now on.”
“I’ll try. I mean, I’ll do my best. I think the only thing I can do is try to stay away from her.”
Easier said than done. Between festivities and formalities his only choice would be to keep her close by and hope Nanna had enough restraint not to try anything in public.
He wanted so much to hide Darcy away somehow; perhaps turn into something smaller, or keep her locked up in his room. He knew she’d hardly react well to such attempts. But she meant so much to him, and he wanted so badly to keep her safe it ached inside.
“I can’t stay angry,” Darcy was saying. “I hate thinking like I might be acting like a doormat, but it’s the worst thing ever when we fight.” She murmured, “I just want to be with you. Things work so much better when we’re together.” Giving him a quick squeeze she pulled back with an absent glance.
“Especially now that I’m basically part of a hot lesbian couple.”
Tension forgotten Loki let loose a particularly amused laugh.
“I suppose that I’m lucky you take to such things so easily.” With a fond smile he caressed her under the chin.
Darcy shrugged, then fixated on his face for a more considering look.
“This is somehow a reassurance thing for you, isn’t it?” she concluded after a moment, indicating the female body with her eyes. “Like a psychological security blanket.”
Loki swallowed, smile fading, feeling strained as something in his expression threatened to break.
No one else would’ve probably been able to guess but her, he knew. Even if she didn’t always understand fully she had so much practice at reading him. Nobody else saw him so well.
“You could say that,” he admitted, soft, “yes.”
Darcy gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Well whatever works for you,” she stated, serene.
For the rest of the day they saw no one else. They retreated to his room, locked the door; Loki sent notes of apology to his family and gave orders to the servants they were not to be disturbed.
They needed no fresh air today, no sunlight. No pleasant distractions offered by music or mead. All they wanted was to be together and find comfort they needed in each other.
There was never any hesitation, any sign of doubt or second thoughts in Darcy’s behavior toward him. She treated Loki so much the same it was like she hadn’t even noticed he looked different. After the sun went down, however, and the time came that they finally decided to retire to the bed, there was a bump in the road.
Though Darcy didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. Loki knew her; he could certainly read her reactions.
However much she considered herself an open-minded individual, it didn’t change the fact that Darcy was not attracted to women. She simply didn’t respond to his female version the way she did when he was a man.
She did her best, really, but her touches were fumbling and hesitant, half-hearted, as Loki tried to guide her. He gave up on reaching climax, despite her protests, personally uncaring - he was far more concerned with her physical happiness than his own. In this at least he knew they’d find success.
Loki got her to relax and brought her to release, more than one time, but despite that as she drifted off in blissful exhaustion he could sense something in her still restless, unsatisfied.
There was nothing for it. He waited a few hours, until she had gotten some rest and was recovered. Breathing out softly so as not to wake her right away, he released his woman’s shape and shifted back to his true body.
Gently Loki shook her. “Darcy?” he whispered.
She mumbled unintelligibly, eyes bleary and unfocused as she lifted her head to him. She was still half-asleep as a look both surprised and pleased stole over her face.
“You-”
Loki pressed a finger over her mouth to shush her, and when she resisted by making another attempt at speaking, he silenced her with a kiss.
Darcy gave in and tried asking no more questions, but happily went along. They made love in the near dark, and she fell asleep with her head pillowed on a man’s chest, nestled snugly in the crook of his arm.
When she awoke again in the morning and found the Loki that had slept next to her was female once more, she took her time gazing with a flat, blank expression, utterly bewildered.
“Um,” she said at last, shaking her head as if to clear cobwebs. “Either I had one incredibly vivid sex dream, or…”
“You did not,” Loki told her, simple.
“Oh.” Darcy sat there, thinking, gnawing her lip with a perturbed frown. “Why did you-?”
“I just wanted to make you happy. But as I told you before, I will be living in this body for a while.” He’d drifted off just long enough in woman form part of his hair had dissolved into a limp tangle, and some of it fell near his eyes. Loki made no effort to move it as he reached out to Darcy. “It seemed the only concession.”
She didn’t pull back from his touch. He watched as her vibrant eyes moved up and down, her thoughts going, he knew not to what end.
“Wow,” she finally huffed. She shook her head again, this time with an air of exasperated surrender. “Being with you is such a trip sometimes.”
Loki gave a small smile in response, and accepted that.
*
Loki remembered the first night that he and Darcy had together too. But for him the memory resonated very differently.
Long after his partner had fallen asleep he lay awake staring up at the ceiling. In the middle of the night he turned over to look at Darcy’s sleeping face. She was deep in her dreaming and seemed so peaceful and relaxed. Even in slumber she instinctively reached for him, snuggling at his side.
He had to get up, and get away.
Moving swiftly and silently he threw on some clothes, draped a cloak around his shoulders and stole out of the bedchamber.
In the pitch darkness he took a walk across the palace grounds.
A sense of claustrophobic terror was bearing down on him. And despite the fact he should have been overjoyed, despite that he cared for Darcy deeply, in vain he tried to beat back the warmth that was growing inside of him.
But there was no room left for denying it now. He was falling in love; even deeper than he had stumbled into it already.
One palm pressed flat against his chest, fingers curling, pressing into the skin, as if he could somehow reach within and dig out the offending emotion. Remove his heart completely. In desperation, he wished that he could.
Oh, he was a coward for it. Less than a person, perhaps, to react in a manner so repulsive. He knew that.
He hated himself. But he couldn’t deny the truth that he felt sick rather than filled with bliss.
Love terrified him, its happiness and its weakness. In the past it caused him so much pain; left him so scarred he’d been convinced for a while he’d become incapable of loving.
But eventually it had snuck its way back to him: in family, and friendship. And once he’d given in he’d thought that would sustain him through eternity. That this would be enough.
Because something more, something else - it wasn’t what he was meant for. Or rather it wasn’t meant for him.
He remembered when he was very small, and he planned that one day of course he and Thor would both be brave warriors, and woo two of the loveliest maidens. They would fall madly in love with each other and get married and have families full of children and he and his brother would make sure they had sons at the same time so they could play together.
And then he got older, and he saw the world and himself differently. He no longer had much interest in the romance of courtship. Though he was capable of winning interest from some ladies with gestures and words, and did every once and again for fun, he found he shied away from the thought of anything deeper. A chill of loneliness created by the distance he felt around him touched his heart.
No matter, he had thought to himself. In some back corner of his mind he assumed that when his unmarried status was no longer appropriate his parents would help him find a wife. He would do his princely duty, and if there was no passion in his arranged marriage, there was distant hope that at least they would grow fond of each other with time.
Then came the betrayal, the lies, the truth. And every last piece of Loki’s heart was broken.
He was alone, he had been born to be alone, he would be alone forever: growing ever more twisted in darkness, laughing in his hatred and drinking the bitterness from his own unshed tears, miserable but standing upright crookedly, for this was his place. And he would always be this way. He knew.
And then, once again, he was proven wrong.
Dragged back to Asgard, given a home and a heart and a brother again. Slowly, timidly, so full of trepidation, he mended. He could feel again, he could care - but he never thought he would love.
No. Time would pass; Thor would eventually be ready to become king. He would find a queen, someone beautiful and worthy and proper, who he adored with all the burning might in his heart. And Loki would be there somewhere, beside him, quiet but always ready to support or advise his brother. And he’d never marry, and no one would care because he was already disgraced. And all would be well.
And now this. Now like a thief, the one thing that in a way he feared most stole its way in, and had him by the throat.
He was in love. And it felt wonderful; like a falling star bursting inside of him, like a flower blossoming into life, sparks shooting all through his soul and making him feel a way he never had before, or if he had, had long forgotten.
And the happier he felt the more afraid he grew, the more this flame warmed him the more he trembled.
He did not want this, the sweetest gift he had ever been given. He did not want to be in love, scared it would destroy him.
Please, he begged, though he knew not to what or who, take this away from me. Don’t make me suffer through this. I’ll never survive. Don’t curse me with such madness!
But his pleas went unanswered and he stood there alone under the stars, unable to keep his mind and heart from drifting back to the woman he’d left sleeping in his bed, feeling every fiber of his body cry out with longing to be with her.
Loki hung his head, feeling disappointed, and shamed and disgusted by that.
He gave in to surrender, and walked back to his rooms, where he belonged. He climbed back into bed and pressed a kiss to Darcy’s sleeping forehead, drinking in the shape of her face.
His could be the happiest of fates, surely, if only he could ever get over his feeling of apprehension.
*
Asgard’s queen walked the palace alone. She made her way across the familiar gilded halls, back straight and hands folded loosely together.
While her regal bearing as always to the casual eye made her attitude seem one of utmost formality, anyone familiar with the ways and hierarchy of Asgard could see at a glance she was in a much more relaxed mode. Her hair was done up in a looser style and her dress was simple compared to what she would wear to the feasting hall for dinner. This was a noblewoman who was taking time for herself, perhaps on her way to sit and sew in the garden or spend an afternoon with her family.
It was the latter that was her intention, though perhaps not so lightheartedly. Frigga had dismissed any servant or guard who’d wished to accompany her: her quest was purposeful, with a reunion on her mind.
In the time she grew up in Asgard’s court had been an important center of her world, and as both a child and a young and eligible maiden she spent easily as much time there as she had on the world she’d still called her own. When she had married in there had been no mystery or factor of intimidation to her, no new custom to learn. Vanaheim blood was Asgard blood: she was no true ‘foreign bride’, thrust unassuming into a marriage for its powerful connections.
But that didn’t change that Vanaheim was in its own small ways different. It was a springtime land to Asgard’s summer, sun-soaked and bright but with air slightly cooler, its greenery denser and lush. Cities were built not up but out, as sprawling spaced-out compounds that purposefully left room for rolling fields and forests.
The people of Vanaheim could be formal, but there was an easiness about them, and the warrior culture that had made Asgard into the heart of the Nine Realms was more relaxed there. Sometimes in an idle moment Frigga wondered what it would’ve been like if she had raised her children on Vanaheim: where competition was usually friendly instead of fierce, and scholars were given respect and honors.
She let out an easy sigh, banishing the thought away like she always did. It would serve her nothing here.
It had been so long since Frigga visited the realm of her birth. Though she felt no homesick longing, it would’ve been nice to experience the familiar breezes, and the sweet damp scent of Vanaheim grass. But what she truly regretted was the connection lost to her family.
After her brother’s death she had written to both her sister-in-law and her sister. Nanna had sent her no reply at all, which given the depth of her grief had not been surprising. Freya had responded, but to each earnest response sent only letters that were formal and terse. And so Frigga had given up, and waited on time to provide reconciliation.
But it’d never come. Now she feared she had been alone in her wishes, waiting in vain to hear from the other side that in truth had no interest left.
She could not give up so easily, though. She didn’t wish to be a stranger to the rulers of Vanaheim. And now it pressed with urgency, for she feared what might happen to her own family if the bitterness that’d formed was allowed to go unchecked.
Forces were coming to a head. She could only hope that somehow she could do something to stop it.
Making her way to the quarters where the diplomats from Vanaheim had been stored, she was pleased to see her sister was already out of doors.
Freya was wearing only her chainmail, her armor laid out nearby, bent forward as she ran the blade of a knife against a whetstone.
At Frigga’s approach her intense blue eyes flicked up, no doubt alerted by some faint sound. She ceased what she was doing but did not rise, freezing in her halfway posture.
Frigga smiled at her. “Sister,” she greeted her with geniality.
Freya did not smile back. Her aura remained unwelcoming, and she nodded her head, curt. But she gave a responding, “Sister” in reply. Hopefully it was a good start.
“You are alone,” Frigga observed. “Have you made any plans for this day?”
“No. But I’ve no need to.” Briefly Freya returned to her knife, and then finished up, sheathing it. “My time is not my own. I go where the Lady of Frey’s household bids me.”
“Surely pleasing Nanna must not occupy all your time,” Frigga said, undaunted. Tactfully she went, “The two of you have little enough in common. I can only assume that the Lady has some of her own diversions.”
“Nanna keeps almost nothing in the way of diversions,” was Freya’s return. Her voice was flat, bordering on hardness. “She finds pleasure in little enough now.”
Frigga’s smile fell and her voice quieted. “I noticed.”
Her elder sister straightened, and Frigga lifted her head to gaze up at her. Freya still possessed the same self-resolved carriage she remembered, the same striking cool beauty. While the yellow of her own hair was the golden of a shaft of dried wheat, Freya was a white-blond, and instead of the deep blue of sapphires or oceans her eyes were the color of ice.
Freya had always been serious, even when they were children. If her sister had grown more withdrawn from her, Frigga could honestly not tell. It made her hope that she hadn’t.
“Such grief still holds her by the roots while time should have been permitted to do its healing work,” Frigga continued on the subject of Nanna. “I know her pain must be great, and she has every right to mourn inside her for the rest of her life, but to nurse the feeling so could only do ill for her. How could you have stood by all the years and allowed this to happen?” she questioned. “Have you not tried saying anything to her to abate this?”
“It is not my place to say anything,” Freya grunted. Her words were incredibly brusque, even for her. “She is my brother’s widow, and it art my duty to see she is provided for. If she wishes to kill herself off through misery, then so be it.”
“You cannot mean that,” Frigga protested. She knew her sister had no dislike for the other woman: if Nanna was eaten up from within while on her watch, it would be only through sheerest indifference. “Freya. If you would help me, we could work together and-”
“And what?”
Freya silenced her with a look that was only the barest degree back from being a glare.
“Nanna has made her choice, has decided to wear her loss as a badge instead of trying to recover. She won’t respond kindly to any words urging her to the contrary, from me or anyone else. And she would accept help from you the least of all.”
This last statement was said with arch, unkind meaning.
Frigga drew a breath and gazed at her, eyes widening.
Freya met her eyes with a narrow aloofness in her own, a clear mark of disapproval, and did not blink.
“And you are wrong, your highness, when you presume my sister-in-law and I have nothing in common,” she informed her. “We share a scar, a stinging mark of anger left by an answered injustice.”
Frigga bristled, tensing as she prepared herself for more. But the Shieldmaid had always been brief in her words and to the point. Without bowing her head or waiting for any sign of dismissal she turned her back and walked away.
Frigga’s heart was heavy as she returned to her room.
Inside her chambers she paced the floor lightly, wringing her hands, saddened but ultimately not surprised. Though that in and of itself was tragic.
Even in the best of times she and Freya had never been close. Their temperaments and interests bore little in common. When she’d been young she was puzzled and dismayed by Freya’s rigid demeanor, while Freya considered her own behavior frivolous and overly lively.
It had actually been up to Frey to serve as the bridge between them. As Freya’s twin he shared a deep soul connection with her, communicable without even speaking. And he and Frigga had always gotten along well, his own nature free and jovial.
Until he had stopped being so jovial - until he grew gaunt, and drew away in grief from both his younger sister and all the pleasures offered by life. And then he had died, and Freya and Frigga had lost their best way of understanding each other.
Loss, Frigga mused sadly to herself, was such a funny thing. Some it brought closer together, while with others it became a wedge driving them far apart.
In her abstract thoughts her eyes happened to fall on the small golden chest she’d been presented with at Nanna’s arrival. It sat on the end of a table in her chamber, unattended to, unopened. With the shock that had come at the harsh reunion, the gift had been forgotten. Frigga had been too busy to think of it since.
A faint curiosity nudged at her, and she moved over to the object, lifting it carefully in both hands. For a moment she examined the outside, fingers running across the smooth markings on the chest’s lid. Then with greatest care she opened it for a look inside.
Set on a surface of black velvet the gift was elegant but simple, a set of handmade apples forged out of finest gold. Their round surfaces and small leaves belied the art that had gone into making them. They must have been commissioned with all dignity from a master craftsman.
And there were only three of them.
Frigga’s hands clenched tighter around what she held, knuckles turning white. The sourness of bile rose in her stomach in disbelief.
Tucking the chest under one arm she ran out of her chambers and marched straight back to the ones she had visited before.
This time there was no sign of Freya. And that was for the best, because she wasn’t the one her sister intended to speak to. She went to the door of the room that had been assigned to Nanna and rapped once against it, hard.
The door opened and a young Shieldmaid peered out. “Your majesty,” she inclined her head and lowered her eyes, respectful, “what may I do to be of service to you?”
“Let me in,” Frigga commanded.
The Shieldmaid looked back up, astonished. Wordlessly she took in the hot color to her queen’s cheeks, the sharpness of her voice. “If there’s some message you wish me to pass along to my lady-”
“No.” Frigga spoke over the guard’s stammering. “I wish to speak to her directly. I know she’s in there. You will stand aside and let me enter, and I will see her, alone.”
The Shieldmaid bit her lip, nervously considering. But Frigga was queen and this was her palace - she had the right to order her way into any room, no matter how shocking it might be.
The armor-clad young woman nodded and stepped back out of her way - then quickly made herself scarce as the queen strode in.
Nanna was sitting in front of the vanity table, hands folded in her lap as she looked blankly into the mirror. Her hair was undone completely and the dress she wore was without adornment, but she showed no affront when Frigga caught her attention.
“Your highness,” she said, her thin voice surprised but calm. “To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”
“You would regret hiding behind the reserve of ‘honor’ when you speak to me, Nanna.” Frigga’s response was anything but calm: she had drawn herself up, full of restrained regal fury, eyes blazing. “For if I chose to treat you the same there would for you be serious consequences.”
Her every word came strident with the disdain of one mightily offended. “I cannot believe, after all these centuries, you would have the gall for what you have done.”
Nanna rose to her feet, smoothing her skirts down. “And just what is it that I have done, that my loving and indulgent sister-in-law rails at me so heartily?” she inquired.
“Oh,” Frigga breathed out, shaking her head, “if you would but search your memory, I think you’d find you know exactly what.”
She produced the golden chest that had been Nanna’s present, holding it at arm’s length clutched tight between her palms.
“This. You had to audacity to look me in the eye, knowing, while you called it a gift to the royal family.”
Nanna gave no reply. But her lip curled, the start of a sneer. There was no remorse for what she’d done.
Temper flaring, Frigga hurled the chest at the floor between their feet. It landed closer to Nanna, sliding open with a thud, and the apples rolled out.
“Three golden apples!” Frigga lividly stated the obvious: “There are four of us! You pay my son the greatest insult of all by pretending he does not even exist. As if he is not one of us, the family you know you must bow to and show respect. I thought it was bad enough that not once did you acknowledge Loki during the greetings exchanged upon your arrival, but this?”
She swayed back on her heels, features set with displeasure. “I know not if your anger has made you foolish, or blind with lunacy,” she murmured. “No wonder Freya refrained from opening this for our examination while she held it at court. A blow of disregard and open mockery to the crown, in front of all those witnesses…there would’ve been no ignoring that.” She gazed at Nanna, probing. “But clearly she still has the sense you lack.”
Silently Nanna knelt forward. She picked up the discarded chest, righting it. Then she gathered up the golden apples with both hands.
“You misread me, Frigga.” She was maintaining mostly uncharacteristic calm, but there was a note of smugness in her manner that under these circumstances Frigga could hardly believe. For such an insult, someone who valued their rank or even their life should be begging for leniency, mercy. “I see no act of disregard at all in my actions. I only gave you what is exactly right.”
She held up the golden apples, one at a time, dropping them back into the velvet-lined box as she spoke. “A golden apple for the All-Father, the most powerful and wise.” She nodded to indicate Frigga, mouth briefly forming a cheerless smile. “One for his queen, as fair and shining as she.”
Nanna’s fist held the last golden apple. “And one for their son, crown prince of the realm.” She dropped it heavily to its place, and her voice darkened. “The only child that they have ever born.”
The wording was far from accidental, and Frigga’s lungs seized as she caught on to Nanna’s meaning, her icy rage was swept away in an instant, replaced by the creeping touch of fear.
“No,” she protested, realizing, eyes wide as she stared at Nanna. “How could you know?”
Nanna took a step forward, fists balling as she clutched daintily at the folds of her gown, lifting her skirts as she walked over the open chest of apples.
“Go on.” She was making no feint at respect or fealty now. “Tell me how it is you expect me to bow to your adopted troll.”
Frigga flinched at the word, an incredibly derogatory term for Frost Giants. But it only underlined what was revealed. Somehow, Nanna knew the truth about Loki.
A truth that in her unstable hands became a dangerous weapon.
“How could you have found out?” Frigga repeated, demanding, her voice strong in spite of her growing horror.
“How?” Nanna cried out, sharp. “How do you think?” Her hand pressed to the place over her heart. “Frey might have been your brother, but I was his wife! Did you really expect him to keep any secrets from me?” She scowled. “Especially after what your monster did to us?”
“I swore him to secrecy,” Frigga said numbly.
“I bore his child! His only son!” Nanna screamed. “The child whose life the murderous beast you claimed as yours took!”
Frigga took a step back, then another. There was no telling what Nanna might do. Even a physical assault wasn’t out of the question.
“Nanna…”
“There can be no peace, not between us,” the other woman cut her off, voice stilted and broken. “Not so long as there’s a giant’s whelp living in the halls of Asgard, enjoying their splendors, while my noble beautiful boy rots in the ground!”
She trailed off in a shriek, her emotions having carried her past the point of words. Frigga half expected her to pick up one of the metal apples and throw it at her.
As it was, the queen swiftly let herself out of the room, the door slamming behind her, her heart pounding all the way up inside of her throat.
LINK TO CONCLUSION
Title: We Are Our Own Folklore (Part 3: Eros and Psyche)
Characters: Loki, Thor, Darcy, Jane, Frigga, Odin, Heimdall, Freya, Nanna, Amora, original characters
Pairings: Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane, Frigga/Odin
Rating: R for grimness, dark themes, gender weirdness, mild gore and semi-explicit sexuality
Length: 16,800 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 3: Eros and Psyche
On the day that she and Loki finally got together, nothing particularly special had been going on.
It wasn’t a holiday or some kind of anniversary. There was no party. And there hadn’t been some epic battle for good and evil or life and death that in the aftermath of it was easy to get swept up and do life-changing things.
It was just another day. Darcy was visiting Asgard, and she’d spent most of the afternoon hanging around with all her friends, and then in the evening of course there’d been a big feast that they all attended.
Darcy bailed after dessert because she was tired of watching neck-bearded Viking dudes try to drink each other under the table. Loki went with her, because that was how they rolled.
They didn’t head anywhere in particular. She let him lead her through the empty winding back corridors of the palace, because to her the place was still like a maze. It was dark and kind of cool out and they didn’t see a single other soul. But Darcy didn’t mind, didn’t even think of minding: she felt safe and happy.
They talked for hours of nothing, and laughed, and grabbed hands or poked each other in the shoulder.
And when they reached a blind corner that was lit by wrought-iron lanterns, containing marble columns and a fountain, they had just trailed off from laughing into companionable silence. Darcy had tucked herself under Loki’s arm as they walked, half-squeezed into his side, and he had wrapped an arm around her waist instead of beneath her elbow as he escorted her.
After the silence lingered Darcy turned her head, intending to raise her eyebrows and give him a ‘Well what now, smart guy?’ smile.
Except she realized all of a sudden that they were alone, and it was quiet, and she…this was something that had been coming for a long while.
And when she looked up to meet Loki’s eyes, she could tell at once that he was thinking the same thing.
Darcy took a breath and closed her eyes and went up on her toes, and Loki’s hand came to rest on her chin, one thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as they kissed.
They kissed. And it wasn’t…perfect, it wasn’t world-changing. Or world-ending. It didn’t set fireworks off over her head or set her knees to knocking. This wasn’t the kiss at the end of a really great first date or the kiss you got when you found out someone you’d been crushing on had feelings for you.
Those were all foreplay, thick with excitement and stomachs full of butterflies because they had the rush that came with starting something, of being new. But this didn’t feel new: it felt warm, and good, and familiar, like somehow they’d been here before. Their first kiss was full of this feeling of a content sigh, of ‘Finally, I’ve come home’.
And sure. Why not? Didn’t it make sense?
Didn’t everyone under more than one sun think they should’ve been together already?
Hadn’t they been friends for a really long time, and they’d met under weird and awkward circumstances, so if they’d gotten through that, well; then basically they had to be set for life?
Didn’t they already get along? Didn’t they already get each other? Weren’t they already closer than either of them had ever been with anyone else before?
And Darcy had grown up, from a girl whose head turned at every remotely hot guy, from someone who’d stopped thinking about constantly wanting to be in a relationship to someone who was actually ready to have one.
And Loki wasn’t running anymore, and he wasn’t fighting, and he wasn’t angry or scared or using his own loneliness like a shield, and if he was still a little crazy, well, it was the kind a girl could learn to work with.
They already cared about each other. They were already in love. It was only until now, that love had stayed at the level where they were best friends, concerned about each other’s feelings and there with a shoulder to cry on and having each other’s back whenever they needed it.
Really, they should’ve been ready to cross this line after their grand pirate adventure. Everything that had happened there had just gone and made it obvious.
But in the days and weeks after coming back Darcy noticed a lurking shadow in Loki’s eyes that slid in whenever he let his gaze go unfocused. The way he tensed up and didn’t always respond as kindly to physical contact. And she saw how sometimes, late at night, he’d sit away from everyone else, drawn in close around himself and body language tight, and his hands would shake just a little bit.
It put a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she got it. What happened to Loki on that world was something he’d need time to get over. So she pulled back, and she waited.
Until time had passed and she’d forgotten she was waiting.
And now here they were again, months later, and this time it was happening. This time it was okay.
So they kissed, and it was good, and they didn’t need to stop and talk about it. When Darcy pulled back for air she gulped and met Loki’s eyes again, and they both grinned as they shared a nervous but conspiratorial, heated gaze.
They kissed again and it got deeper, wetter, better, more passionate and wild. They’d gone all out of order in their relationship: never had the part where they went “okay this is a thing”, and gotten to know each other instead, and now they’d looped back and covered the initiation. Time to skip to the end.
Darcy will always feel a sense of smugness it was she that made the first move. She grabbed Loki’s shoulders and tugged, leaning backward so he’d no choice but to break contact or follow, moving and holding her as they guided each other to the floor.
They’d gone from kissing to full-on making out and grabby hands as Darcy was on her back, rocking her hips against Loki’s, body pinned beneath his. She reached over her head and tugged off her sweater.
She kicked off her shoes and socks because she’d learned this lesson the hard way previously, fumbling with her belt buckle while Loki cupped her breasts still clad in her bra.
Then she stopped, feeling the hard marble floor cold beneath her naked back. “Oh, wait,” she realized belatedly. Dipping her head back she stretched out her neck and closed her eyes and gave a short and sheepish ‘oh well’ groan. “This is going to suck.”
But while she had already resigned herself to consummating their relationship with an uncomfortable banging and a bruised ass - this was what happened in real life when you were romantic and got caught up in the moment - Loki lifted his head from where he’d been kissing and sucking her cleavage and navel with an amused chuckle.
“Perhaps you’d prefer it if we took this to another location?” He offered her his hand.
She took it with a raised eyebrow and a relieved smile. And then she couldn’t help a breathless girly “Oh,” that escaped her as he easily picked her up sideways in his arms, standing. He teleported them to his room.
Darcy had been here before but she’d never had a chance to appreciate how big his bed was, how soft, before he was lying her down on it and climbing over her with his knees spread to either side of her body, her hands going to his neck and his cheeks as she pawed him like a horny teenager. They continued where they left off, kissing and grinding and rocking into each other. And much, much, much later would it occur to Darcy to wonder if her top and shoes and socks were still back there beside that fountain. She had other things on her mind.
Loki caressed the lowest point of her back just above the band of her jeans, then trailed his hands upward, fingers plucking deftly at the clasp of her bra.
“Wait, wait.” Darcy reached back there and grabbed his hand, pulling it away. She slid a little upward, peering to give him a reproachful frown. “So not fair.” She waved an accusing fingertip at his still fully-dressed self.
“You, right now, clothes,” she commanded. Loki took his hands off her and stretched arms out to either side with an obliging smile as he sat back on his heels. Darcy darted forward, eager.
She felt a lot less confident and pleased with herself as she quickly discovered Loki’s clothes were exactly as complicated as they looked from the outside. In fact, even more so. After three minutes all she’s succeeded in doing was untying two very long sets of laces and proving that she wasn’t even sure where to start when it came to removing the rest.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Darcy whined as she discovered the edge of his doublet was secured with about a zillion of those little hook and eye things. “How do you people get to breakfast in the morning without having to come in naked? Do you get up at the crack of dawn?”
Loki was smiling at her still, but his eyes shone and his shoulders shook slightly with silent laughter.
He took pity on her after her whine trailed off into a sigh and a pout. Gently he removed her hands from his shoulders, keeping them clasped between his.
“I can teach you how to remove these later,” he promised her. “For now, I think we’ll cheat.”
With a swirl of magic that spiraled out from his body, wordless and without gesture, his clothes were swept away. Darcy looked top to bottom, getting an appreciative eyeful.
And then she felt the warm press from where their skin touched and realized he’d been super thorough, and she was also naked.
She shrugged off any indignation because of how the now complete lack of any clothes meant they could get much faster to the sex.
Hands still clasped she kissed him, with some twisting managing to lift both her legs and wrapping them around his waist. Nonverbal urging was all she needed to encourage him into rolling her back and lying down on top of her again.
Afterward when they were sweaty and panting and tangled up in his sheets, Darcy turned over to her side and curled up against him, nuzzling her face into his chest. Loki dropped one lazy arm over her, and pulled her in close.
They fell asleep together like it was only the most natural thing. Darcy slept through the entire night and when she opened her eyes, Loki was already awake and watching her.
When he met her gaze, he greeted her silently with a soft and slowly-spreading smile.
A smile that said ‘I love you’, and in her heart Darcy felt herself answer ‘I love you too’, and she felt like the happiest person in the entire universe.
*
Right now, at present, Darcy couldn’t have been less happy, with herself, or her relationship, or especially with Loki.
Okay, she wasn’t a total moron. She’d known what she was getting into from way before that very first night. Loki was seriously damaged goods. The fact they’d started this latest misadventure with him relating that story of the time when in his teenage years he’d killed a guy and she’d reacted by feeling more sympathetic than surprised spoke to that.
And she wasn’t clueless either when it came to the ins and outs of Loki’s somewhat frequent and eccentric mood-swings. They “needed space”, all of a sudden, when his unwanted relatives came to town? That was such bullshit. Obviously, there was something going on. He had some plan or ulterior reasoning he wanted her at a distance for. There were always at least five things going on in Loki’s head at any given time, and his emotions and motivations tended to stack on each other.
She’d meant what she said when she stormed out. She fully expected him to explain himself to her later, and give an eloquent and very satisfyingly groveling apology when he did.
Darcy had faith that one way or another, in the long run, they were going to work this whole thing out.
But that didn’t mean that until then she wasn’t allowed to be pissed as all hell at him.
After the crowd broke apart in the assembly hall, she took advantage of the confusion to slip away from the grasp of the Warriors Three and Sif. Obviously they were keeping her corralled at Loki’s request; she wanted no part of that. He wanted her to keep away, fine, but she insisted on the freedom to go where she wanted while she was doing it.
Alone she stalked her way down a hall, without a care or clue where she was going, grumbling animatedly to herself with her hands balled into fists by her sides.
Pushing her to the side in the middle of the celebration for Thor and Jane. All of a sudden, cutting her out cold and acting like he never knew or wanted her. Treating her like the girlfriend that wasn’t good enough for his family or his life. Like all she was for was screwing around.
It made her blood boil, and the insides of her skull throb until she felt like she was going to scream. God, but her boyfriend could be such a perfect jackass when he wanted to be. When he reached down past the cobwebs and pulled out a leftover from his “used to be an evil manipulative bastard” closet.
Storming around with red in her eyes as she was Darcy wasn’t looking where she was going. Or minding whether or not there was anyone around, or that her way was clear.
She snapped out of her fog enough to realize she was a few steps shy of plowing straight into an Asgardian woman, and with what little self-control remained in her Darcy pulled herself short.
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry,” she started to say automatically, before she looked up and it hit her who she was talking to.
Loki’s aunt Nanna stood a few feet away from her, sleeves folded together, staring at her with an empty and hard look on her face.
“Oh!” Darcy said again, much more sharply, gaping for a moment before she caught herself and blinking. “It’s you.” Swiftly she dropped the best curtsey she could manage, feeling her face heat up nervously. “I’m uh, so sorry your ladyship, I didn’t realize…”
Nanna ignored her babbling. She stared at Darcy with a glint in her eyes. “So, you know who I am, do you?” she demanded. “I know who you are, too.”
“You - what?” Darcy frowned, drawing a blank. Something about a feeling in the air was making her unaccountably nervous. “You do?”
Swiftly Nanna’s arm lashed out. Without any warning she gripped Darcy’s wrist tight in her hand, fingers digging in, holding her like a vise. Darcy let out a shocked, stifled sound of pain and couldn’t resist as Nanna dragged her in, turning her enough so she could clearly see the runes on Darcy’s back.
“Sigyn,” Nanna spat out, face pinched with disgust. “The faithful wife! She who the mortals say stood by her husband, though he was a murderer, and a monster.”
She released Darcy and shoved her back, like she couldn’t stand to run the risk of touching her more.
“Loki’s wife, a child of Asgard, who nonetheless sided with him over her own people!” Nanna hissed, “Who didn’t run but stayed with him, even after in coldest blood he struck Balder down.”
Darcy rubbed her arm, trying not to whimper. The bruised marks of fingerprints were already rising on her skin.
She lifted her head and met Nanna’s eyes with the best baleful glare she could manage. “My name is Darcy,” she told her, curt.
“But you are Sigyn,” Nanna repeated, unbothered. She pointed in the direction of Darcy’s tattoo. “The runes don’t lie. Either you chose the name or you were deemed worthy of it. And you have inherited all the legacy attributed to that woman in the stories of old.”
“Fine,” Darcy responded, spitting out a few terse words of her own. “So what? I’m with Loki. I chose that. I’m not ashamed of it.”
“I wasn’t sure you would exist. I certainly didn’t expect you to be a mortal,” Nanna commented. “But even so, even you must have sense of the thing you put yourself beside. Even you must’ve heard of what he has done.” She leveled Darcy with an accusing glare. “How could you?”
Darcy stood straight and fought off the urge to shrink back. Outwardly Nanna didn’t look all that intimidating. She wasn’t huge; she didn’t carry weapons. If it came right down to it, Darcy thought she could take her.
But the amount of hate in the woman’s face; the burning twist of anger in her eyes and voice. That was something else.
“I’m sorry for what happened to your son,” Darcy said evenly. “That was horrible, and I don’t think anyone ever expects you to forgive Loki for it. I know Loki sure doesn’t. But it wasn’t on purpose, and you’re wrong about him. You’re letting your anger make you see things that aren’t there.” She drew a breath and raised her chin. “He’s not a monster.”
“Not a monster,” Nanna repeated, voice frozen and flat. “Is that what you think?” She made a short scoffing sound that grated the back of her throat. “If you only knew the truth.”
Darcy just stared at her as calmly and confidently as she could, waiting, her breathing shallow.
“Do you know what happened to Sigyn, in the stories that your people made?” Nanna asked. She drew a step closer - she was short for own kind, which meant she was just barely taller than Darcy. “Do you? After Loki was finally captured, and brought to justice for his crimes, given the punishment he deserved, Sigyn was punished too.
“They were sealed together in a cave buried underground. They brought in one of Loki’s sons, one of the children Sigyn herself had given birth to. He was ripped apart in front of them, and his entrails were used to bind Loki down.”
Nanna stepped closer again, and Darcy felt she had no choice but to quickly retreat back. She didn’t trust the woman that close to her. Not with that look on her face.
Darcy watched her, hypnotized and terrified, unable to speak as Nanna kept talking.
“Chained by the remains of his own offspring, Loki had a serpent dripping poison in his face, acid that burned his skin and lying tongue and ate away at his wicked eyes.” Nanna’s voice rose to a stilted, malicious shout as her recitation kept going on. “Sigyn sat next to him with a bowl cupped in her hands that she used to try and keep the poison away from his face. But her task was a futile one for eventually the bowl would fill and when she had to empty it, Loki’s shrieking and suffering would begin anew.”
She glowered at Darcy, eyes burning madly like embers, full of spite and self-righteousness.
“And would it be within my grasp, child, it would be my dearest wish that Loki be given the punishment the mortals devised!” She made a fist, hand clutching to grasp greedily at the air before curling by her heart. “That he feel pain so severe and unendurable that it made the world shake. And when that happened, it would be only fitting that you were right there with him.”
It was a threat and Darcy took it as such. Her courage snapped completely in half and abandoned her, and too fast for her to even think she took to her heels and ran away fast as she could.
Hair streaming, tears flowing from her eyes, Darcy ran until her lungs felt like they’d burst, gasping for breath; anything to put safe distance between her and the cruel and bitter touch of Nanna’s desire for revenge.
*
Loki sat on a window ledge not far from his rooms, legs stretched out in front of him, head leaning idly to one side just enough he could look out at the view.
It was another beautiful day. But he found it impossible to enjoy it. Perhaps not much a surprise.
Even now, after having been back long enough he could take things for granted, every once in a while it hit him as he was reminded - that for a whole year he hadn’t been able to see this. That he had almost been willing to give up on it forever. It wasn’t just the splendor he would’ve missed out on: this was his home.
And with the wolves that had arrived to snap at his heels, there was a dread in him that he was going to lose it.
There came the sound of running feet, of shoes slapping hard against the flagstones, the clang of jewelry shaking and a woman’s frantic breaths. Loki’s head snapped up, alert.
He slipped from his perch as he saw the figure which appeared in the gateway leading to the hall.
“Darcy?” He called out her name, surprised.
Her eyes found him. Only making a halfhearted attempt to compose herself she ran to his side.
“Loki! I’ve been looking everywhere. I didn’t…I couldn’t think of anyone else to talk to; you were the first person I wanted to see-”
She was rambling, voice cracked and strained with emotion. She looked shaken, distraught; visibly on the verge of tears.
Loki remembered he was supposed to be pretending he didn’t want to see her.
But he couldn’t turn her away when she was like this. He had no heart to continue his ruse. He’d been shocked by how Darcy appeared now and only wanted to comfort her.
“Shh, come here.” He embraced her and at once she clung to him. “Calm down. Try to tell me what happened.”
Darcy sniffled, pulling back. With both hands she quickly scrubbed at her cheeks, removing what tears had fallen from her eyes, as if somehow this would prevent him having seen them.
“I’m sorry,” she said senselessly. “I didn’t mean to lose it like this. But it just…I was so caught off-guard-”
Loki had been shaking his head, frowning, about to press her further with how he didn’t follow. But he noticed something on her arm and he froze.
“Stop,” he ordered, and Darcy fell silent, bemused. His hand went to her forearm, careful but firm as he raised the limb for a better view, positioning both so he could see clearly and wordlessly indicate to her what he was fixated on.
There was a mark on her wrist, red blossoming into black. Someone had grabbed her there, seized her flesh hard enough to bruise.
Loki was horrified and enraged. “Who touched you?” he demanded. “Who has done this?”
Darcy swallowed. There was a note of sick anger in her own voice as she replied, “Your aunt Nanna.”
He felt a shudder run up his spine. Numbly his fingers lost their hold, opening, and she pulled out of his grasp.
“She cornered me, when I was alone,” Darcy continued when Loki could not find his voice. “Basically attacked me…because of my Asgardian name.” She drew a breath. “Because of who she thought I was, or was supposed to be.” The words tumbled out of her, unsettled and emotive. “Jesus, Loki, you should have seen her. The way she went off on me. The things she said.”
Gaze still wide, eyes unseeing, Loki lowered his head to stare at the floor between their feet.
Why was it his worst fears were always determined to prove themselves right?
“This is why you said what you did, isn’t it,” Darcy guessed after a moment. “This is why you tried to push me away.” Loki opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance. “I knew there had to be a reason. Even if it only made sense to you. I just couldn’t begin to figure out what it was.”
Forlornly, Loki began, “I didn’t want-”
“You were scared for me,” Darcy interjected. “Is that it?” Loki closed his mouth again, suddenly unable to answer, and breathed out slow. Distracted, Darcy shook her head. “You knew there was a chance she wouldn’t just blame you but everyone around you. And you didn’t want her to find out I existed, because then I might get caught up in the middle. You wanted to protect me from her.”
“I am so sorry that I had to upset you,” Loki swore to her. “I just didn’t want you to come to any harm.”
Darcy didn’t bother responding. She rested her head on his shoulder again and Loki held her tight.
When she loosened herself from his grasp again, Darcy gave a shaky laugh.
“Just forget it. Forget the whole thing,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. She was drained, face wan. “This is so stupid. I can’t be mad at you right now. Not when you’re the one I always go to vent to.”
“Perhaps I deserve your anger, for the way I behaved,” Loki allowed. “Or at least for the way I must’ve seemed to you. But certainly after what happened, you can understand my reasons.”
His expression darkened as he took up her hand again. Pressing a light kiss on top of her injuries he passed along healing magics, soothing the bruises away.
Holding her palm between both of his Loki examined her now unmarked skin.
“This was unforgivable. You are a guest of the royal family: attacking you is almost as good as paying a blow to one of us. Lady Nanna certainly knows better. She should be punished for what she did-”
“What are you going to do?” Darcy demanded, cutting off his fervent words. “Tell your dad and expect him to lay the smackdown on her? I don’t want to cause any problems. Won’t saying anything just make it worse?”
Loki was aggrieved but knew she was right. Things were tense enough as it was without making an incident. And though it would be a blatant lie Nanna could always claim she hadn’t known Darcy’s relationship to him or it was a misunderstanding - in lack of absolute proof, Odin couldn’t doubt her openly without seeming disloyal to his wife’s family.
“Well, never mind then,” Loki said begrudgingly. He put his hands on Darcy’s shoulders, keeping eye contact as he pulled her close. “But you must promise you’ll be careful from now on.”
“I’ll try. I mean, I’ll do my best. I think the only thing I can do is try to stay away from her.”
Easier said than done. Between festivities and formalities his only choice would be to keep her close by and hope Nanna had enough restraint not to try anything in public.
He wanted so much to hide Darcy away somehow; perhaps turn into something smaller, or keep her locked up in his room. He knew she’d hardly react well to such attempts. But she meant so much to him, and he wanted so badly to keep her safe it ached inside.
“I can’t stay angry,” Darcy was saying. “I hate thinking like I might be acting like a doormat, but it’s the worst thing ever when we fight.” She murmured, “I just want to be with you. Things work so much better when we’re together.” Giving him a quick squeeze she pulled back with an absent glance.
“Especially now that I’m basically part of a hot lesbian couple.”
Tension forgotten Loki let loose a particularly amused laugh.
“I suppose that I’m lucky you take to such things so easily.” With a fond smile he caressed her under the chin.
Darcy shrugged, then fixated on his face for a more considering look.
“This is somehow a reassurance thing for you, isn’t it?” she concluded after a moment, indicating the female body with her eyes. “Like a psychological security blanket.”
Loki swallowed, smile fading, feeling strained as something in his expression threatened to break.
No one else would’ve probably been able to guess but her, he knew. Even if she didn’t always understand fully she had so much practice at reading him. Nobody else saw him so well.
“You could say that,” he admitted, soft, “yes.”
Darcy gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Well whatever works for you,” she stated, serene.
For the rest of the day they saw no one else. They retreated to his room, locked the door; Loki sent notes of apology to his family and gave orders to the servants they were not to be disturbed.
They needed no fresh air today, no sunlight. No pleasant distractions offered by music or mead. All they wanted was to be together and find comfort they needed in each other.
There was never any hesitation, any sign of doubt or second thoughts in Darcy’s behavior toward him. She treated Loki so much the same it was like she hadn’t even noticed he looked different. After the sun went down, however, and the time came that they finally decided to retire to the bed, there was a bump in the road.
Though Darcy didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. Loki knew her; he could certainly read her reactions.
However much she considered herself an open-minded individual, it didn’t change the fact that Darcy was not attracted to women. She simply didn’t respond to his female version the way she did when he was a man.
She did her best, really, but her touches were fumbling and hesitant, half-hearted, as Loki tried to guide her. He gave up on reaching climax, despite her protests, personally uncaring - he was far more concerned with her physical happiness than his own. In this at least he knew they’d find success.
Loki got her to relax and brought her to release, more than one time, but despite that as she drifted off in blissful exhaustion he could sense something in her still restless, unsatisfied.
There was nothing for it. He waited a few hours, until she had gotten some rest and was recovered. Breathing out softly so as not to wake her right away, he released his woman’s shape and shifted back to his true body.
Gently Loki shook her. “Darcy?” he whispered.
She mumbled unintelligibly, eyes bleary and unfocused as she lifted her head to him. She was still half-asleep as a look both surprised and pleased stole over her face.
“You-”
Loki pressed a finger over her mouth to shush her, and when she resisted by making another attempt at speaking, he silenced her with a kiss.
Darcy gave in and tried asking no more questions, but happily went along. They made love in the near dark, and she fell asleep with her head pillowed on a man’s chest, nestled snugly in the crook of his arm.
When she awoke again in the morning and found the Loki that had slept next to her was female once more, she took her time gazing with a flat, blank expression, utterly bewildered.
“Um,” she said at last, shaking her head as if to clear cobwebs. “Either I had one incredibly vivid sex dream, or…”
“You did not,” Loki told her, simple.
“Oh.” Darcy sat there, thinking, gnawing her lip with a perturbed frown. “Why did you-?”
“I just wanted to make you happy. But as I told you before, I will be living in this body for a while.” He’d drifted off just long enough in woman form part of his hair had dissolved into a limp tangle, and some of it fell near his eyes. Loki made no effort to move it as he reached out to Darcy. “It seemed the only concession.”
She didn’t pull back from his touch. He watched as her vibrant eyes moved up and down, her thoughts going, he knew not to what end.
“Wow,” she finally huffed. She shook her head again, this time with an air of exasperated surrender. “Being with you is such a trip sometimes.”
Loki gave a small smile in response, and accepted that.
*
Loki remembered the first night that he and Darcy had together too. But for him the memory resonated very differently.
Long after his partner had fallen asleep he lay awake staring up at the ceiling. In the middle of the night he turned over to look at Darcy’s sleeping face. She was deep in her dreaming and seemed so peaceful and relaxed. Even in slumber she instinctively reached for him, snuggling at his side.
He had to get up, and get away.
Moving swiftly and silently he threw on some clothes, draped a cloak around his shoulders and stole out of the bedchamber.
In the pitch darkness he took a walk across the palace grounds.
A sense of claustrophobic terror was bearing down on him. And despite the fact he should have been overjoyed, despite that he cared for Darcy deeply, in vain he tried to beat back the warmth that was growing inside of him.
But there was no room left for denying it now. He was falling in love; even deeper than he had stumbled into it already.
One palm pressed flat against his chest, fingers curling, pressing into the skin, as if he could somehow reach within and dig out the offending emotion. Remove his heart completely. In desperation, he wished that he could.
Oh, he was a coward for it. Less than a person, perhaps, to react in a manner so repulsive. He knew that.
He hated himself. But he couldn’t deny the truth that he felt sick rather than filled with bliss.
Love terrified him, its happiness and its weakness. In the past it caused him so much pain; left him so scarred he’d been convinced for a while he’d become incapable of loving.
But eventually it had snuck its way back to him: in family, and friendship. And once he’d given in he’d thought that would sustain him through eternity. That this would be enough.
Because something more, something else - it wasn’t what he was meant for. Or rather it wasn’t meant for him.
He remembered when he was very small, and he planned that one day of course he and Thor would both be brave warriors, and woo two of the loveliest maidens. They would fall madly in love with each other and get married and have families full of children and he and his brother would make sure they had sons at the same time so they could play together.
And then he got older, and he saw the world and himself differently. He no longer had much interest in the romance of courtship. Though he was capable of winning interest from some ladies with gestures and words, and did every once and again for fun, he found he shied away from the thought of anything deeper. A chill of loneliness created by the distance he felt around him touched his heart.
No matter, he had thought to himself. In some back corner of his mind he assumed that when his unmarried status was no longer appropriate his parents would help him find a wife. He would do his princely duty, and if there was no passion in his arranged marriage, there was distant hope that at least they would grow fond of each other with time.
Then came the betrayal, the lies, the truth. And every last piece of Loki’s heart was broken.
He was alone, he had been born to be alone, he would be alone forever: growing ever more twisted in darkness, laughing in his hatred and drinking the bitterness from his own unshed tears, miserable but standing upright crookedly, for this was his place. And he would always be this way. He knew.
And then, once again, he was proven wrong.
Dragged back to Asgard, given a home and a heart and a brother again. Slowly, timidly, so full of trepidation, he mended. He could feel again, he could care - but he never thought he would love.
No. Time would pass; Thor would eventually be ready to become king. He would find a queen, someone beautiful and worthy and proper, who he adored with all the burning might in his heart. And Loki would be there somewhere, beside him, quiet but always ready to support or advise his brother. And he’d never marry, and no one would care because he was already disgraced. And all would be well.
And now this. Now like a thief, the one thing that in a way he feared most stole its way in, and had him by the throat.
He was in love. And it felt wonderful; like a falling star bursting inside of him, like a flower blossoming into life, sparks shooting all through his soul and making him feel a way he never had before, or if he had, had long forgotten.
And the happier he felt the more afraid he grew, the more this flame warmed him the more he trembled.
He did not want this, the sweetest gift he had ever been given. He did not want to be in love, scared it would destroy him.
Please, he begged, though he knew not to what or who, take this away from me. Don’t make me suffer through this. I’ll never survive. Don’t curse me with such madness!
But his pleas went unanswered and he stood there alone under the stars, unable to keep his mind and heart from drifting back to the woman he’d left sleeping in his bed, feeling every fiber of his body cry out with longing to be with her.
Loki hung his head, feeling disappointed, and shamed and disgusted by that.
He gave in to surrender, and walked back to his rooms, where he belonged. He climbed back into bed and pressed a kiss to Darcy’s sleeping forehead, drinking in the shape of her face.
His could be the happiest of fates, surely, if only he could ever get over his feeling of apprehension.
*
Asgard’s queen walked the palace alone. She made her way across the familiar gilded halls, back straight and hands folded loosely together.
While her regal bearing as always to the casual eye made her attitude seem one of utmost formality, anyone familiar with the ways and hierarchy of Asgard could see at a glance she was in a much more relaxed mode. Her hair was done up in a looser style and her dress was simple compared to what she would wear to the feasting hall for dinner. This was a noblewoman who was taking time for herself, perhaps on her way to sit and sew in the garden or spend an afternoon with her family.
It was the latter that was her intention, though perhaps not so lightheartedly. Frigga had dismissed any servant or guard who’d wished to accompany her: her quest was purposeful, with a reunion on her mind.
In the time she grew up in Asgard’s court had been an important center of her world, and as both a child and a young and eligible maiden she spent easily as much time there as she had on the world she’d still called her own. When she had married in there had been no mystery or factor of intimidation to her, no new custom to learn. Vanaheim blood was Asgard blood: she was no true ‘foreign bride’, thrust unassuming into a marriage for its powerful connections.
But that didn’t change that Vanaheim was in its own small ways different. It was a springtime land to Asgard’s summer, sun-soaked and bright but with air slightly cooler, its greenery denser and lush. Cities were built not up but out, as sprawling spaced-out compounds that purposefully left room for rolling fields and forests.
The people of Vanaheim could be formal, but there was an easiness about them, and the warrior culture that had made Asgard into the heart of the Nine Realms was more relaxed there. Sometimes in an idle moment Frigga wondered what it would’ve been like if she had raised her children on Vanaheim: where competition was usually friendly instead of fierce, and scholars were given respect and honors.
She let out an easy sigh, banishing the thought away like she always did. It would serve her nothing here.
It had been so long since Frigga visited the realm of her birth. Though she felt no homesick longing, it would’ve been nice to experience the familiar breezes, and the sweet damp scent of Vanaheim grass. But what she truly regretted was the connection lost to her family.
After her brother’s death she had written to both her sister-in-law and her sister. Nanna had sent her no reply at all, which given the depth of her grief had not been surprising. Freya had responded, but to each earnest response sent only letters that were formal and terse. And so Frigga had given up, and waited on time to provide reconciliation.
But it’d never come. Now she feared she had been alone in her wishes, waiting in vain to hear from the other side that in truth had no interest left.
She could not give up so easily, though. She didn’t wish to be a stranger to the rulers of Vanaheim. And now it pressed with urgency, for she feared what might happen to her own family if the bitterness that’d formed was allowed to go unchecked.
Forces were coming to a head. She could only hope that somehow she could do something to stop it.
Making her way to the quarters where the diplomats from Vanaheim had been stored, she was pleased to see her sister was already out of doors.
Freya was wearing only her chainmail, her armor laid out nearby, bent forward as she ran the blade of a knife against a whetstone.
At Frigga’s approach her intense blue eyes flicked up, no doubt alerted by some faint sound. She ceased what she was doing but did not rise, freezing in her halfway posture.
Frigga smiled at her. “Sister,” she greeted her with geniality.
Freya did not smile back. Her aura remained unwelcoming, and she nodded her head, curt. But she gave a responding, “Sister” in reply. Hopefully it was a good start.
“You are alone,” Frigga observed. “Have you made any plans for this day?”
“No. But I’ve no need to.” Briefly Freya returned to her knife, and then finished up, sheathing it. “My time is not my own. I go where the Lady of Frey’s household bids me.”
“Surely pleasing Nanna must not occupy all your time,” Frigga said, undaunted. Tactfully she went, “The two of you have little enough in common. I can only assume that the Lady has some of her own diversions.”
“Nanna keeps almost nothing in the way of diversions,” was Freya’s return. Her voice was flat, bordering on hardness. “She finds pleasure in little enough now.”
Frigga’s smile fell and her voice quieted. “I noticed.”
Her elder sister straightened, and Frigga lifted her head to gaze up at her. Freya still possessed the same self-resolved carriage she remembered, the same striking cool beauty. While the yellow of her own hair was the golden of a shaft of dried wheat, Freya was a white-blond, and instead of the deep blue of sapphires or oceans her eyes were the color of ice.
Freya had always been serious, even when they were children. If her sister had grown more withdrawn from her, Frigga could honestly not tell. It made her hope that she hadn’t.
“Such grief still holds her by the roots while time should have been permitted to do its healing work,” Frigga continued on the subject of Nanna. “I know her pain must be great, and she has every right to mourn inside her for the rest of her life, but to nurse the feeling so could only do ill for her. How could you have stood by all the years and allowed this to happen?” she questioned. “Have you not tried saying anything to her to abate this?”
“It is not my place to say anything,” Freya grunted. Her words were incredibly brusque, even for her. “She is my brother’s widow, and it art my duty to see she is provided for. If she wishes to kill herself off through misery, then so be it.”
“You cannot mean that,” Frigga protested. She knew her sister had no dislike for the other woman: if Nanna was eaten up from within while on her watch, it would be only through sheerest indifference. “Freya. If you would help me, we could work together and-”
“And what?”
Freya silenced her with a look that was only the barest degree back from being a glare.
“Nanna has made her choice, has decided to wear her loss as a badge instead of trying to recover. She won’t respond kindly to any words urging her to the contrary, from me or anyone else. And she would accept help from you the least of all.”
This last statement was said with arch, unkind meaning.
Frigga drew a breath and gazed at her, eyes widening.
Freya met her eyes with a narrow aloofness in her own, a clear mark of disapproval, and did not blink.
“And you are wrong, your highness, when you presume my sister-in-law and I have nothing in common,” she informed her. “We share a scar, a stinging mark of anger left by an answered injustice.”
Frigga bristled, tensing as she prepared herself for more. But the Shieldmaid had always been brief in her words and to the point. Without bowing her head or waiting for any sign of dismissal she turned her back and walked away.
Frigga’s heart was heavy as she returned to her room.
Inside her chambers she paced the floor lightly, wringing her hands, saddened but ultimately not surprised. Though that in and of itself was tragic.
Even in the best of times she and Freya had never been close. Their temperaments and interests bore little in common. When she’d been young she was puzzled and dismayed by Freya’s rigid demeanor, while Freya considered her own behavior frivolous and overly lively.
It had actually been up to Frey to serve as the bridge between them. As Freya’s twin he shared a deep soul connection with her, communicable without even speaking. And he and Frigga had always gotten along well, his own nature free and jovial.
Until he had stopped being so jovial - until he grew gaunt, and drew away in grief from both his younger sister and all the pleasures offered by life. And then he had died, and Freya and Frigga had lost their best way of understanding each other.
Loss, Frigga mused sadly to herself, was such a funny thing. Some it brought closer together, while with others it became a wedge driving them far apart.
In her abstract thoughts her eyes happened to fall on the small golden chest she’d been presented with at Nanna’s arrival. It sat on the end of a table in her chamber, unattended to, unopened. With the shock that had come at the harsh reunion, the gift had been forgotten. Frigga had been too busy to think of it since.
A faint curiosity nudged at her, and she moved over to the object, lifting it carefully in both hands. For a moment she examined the outside, fingers running across the smooth markings on the chest’s lid. Then with greatest care she opened it for a look inside.
Set on a surface of black velvet the gift was elegant but simple, a set of handmade apples forged out of finest gold. Their round surfaces and small leaves belied the art that had gone into making them. They must have been commissioned with all dignity from a master craftsman.
And there were only three of them.
Frigga’s hands clenched tighter around what she held, knuckles turning white. The sourness of bile rose in her stomach in disbelief.
Tucking the chest under one arm she ran out of her chambers and marched straight back to the ones she had visited before.
This time there was no sign of Freya. And that was for the best, because she wasn’t the one her sister intended to speak to. She went to the door of the room that had been assigned to Nanna and rapped once against it, hard.
The door opened and a young Shieldmaid peered out. “Your majesty,” she inclined her head and lowered her eyes, respectful, “what may I do to be of service to you?”
“Let me in,” Frigga commanded.
The Shieldmaid looked back up, astonished. Wordlessly she took in the hot color to her queen’s cheeks, the sharpness of her voice. “If there’s some message you wish me to pass along to my lady-”
“No.” Frigga spoke over the guard’s stammering. “I wish to speak to her directly. I know she’s in there. You will stand aside and let me enter, and I will see her, alone.”
The Shieldmaid bit her lip, nervously considering. But Frigga was queen and this was her palace - she had the right to order her way into any room, no matter how shocking it might be.
The armor-clad young woman nodded and stepped back out of her way - then quickly made herself scarce as the queen strode in.
Nanna was sitting in front of the vanity table, hands folded in her lap as she looked blankly into the mirror. Her hair was undone completely and the dress she wore was without adornment, but she showed no affront when Frigga caught her attention.
“Your highness,” she said, her thin voice surprised but calm. “To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”
“You would regret hiding behind the reserve of ‘honor’ when you speak to me, Nanna.” Frigga’s response was anything but calm: she had drawn herself up, full of restrained regal fury, eyes blazing. “For if I chose to treat you the same there would for you be serious consequences.”
Her every word came strident with the disdain of one mightily offended. “I cannot believe, after all these centuries, you would have the gall for what you have done.”
Nanna rose to her feet, smoothing her skirts down. “And just what is it that I have done, that my loving and indulgent sister-in-law rails at me so heartily?” she inquired.
“Oh,” Frigga breathed out, shaking her head, “if you would but search your memory, I think you’d find you know exactly what.”
She produced the golden chest that had been Nanna’s present, holding it at arm’s length clutched tight between her palms.
“This. You had to audacity to look me in the eye, knowing, while you called it a gift to the royal family.”
Nanna gave no reply. But her lip curled, the start of a sneer. There was no remorse for what she’d done.
Temper flaring, Frigga hurled the chest at the floor between their feet. It landed closer to Nanna, sliding open with a thud, and the apples rolled out.
“Three golden apples!” Frigga lividly stated the obvious: “There are four of us! You pay my son the greatest insult of all by pretending he does not even exist. As if he is not one of us, the family you know you must bow to and show respect. I thought it was bad enough that not once did you acknowledge Loki during the greetings exchanged upon your arrival, but this?”
She swayed back on her heels, features set with displeasure. “I know not if your anger has made you foolish, or blind with lunacy,” she murmured. “No wonder Freya refrained from opening this for our examination while she held it at court. A blow of disregard and open mockery to the crown, in front of all those witnesses…there would’ve been no ignoring that.” She gazed at Nanna, probing. “But clearly she still has the sense you lack.”
Silently Nanna knelt forward. She picked up the discarded chest, righting it. Then she gathered up the golden apples with both hands.
“You misread me, Frigga.” She was maintaining mostly uncharacteristic calm, but there was a note of smugness in her manner that under these circumstances Frigga could hardly believe. For such an insult, someone who valued their rank or even their life should be begging for leniency, mercy. “I see no act of disregard at all in my actions. I only gave you what is exactly right.”
She held up the golden apples, one at a time, dropping them back into the velvet-lined box as she spoke. “A golden apple for the All-Father, the most powerful and wise.” She nodded to indicate Frigga, mouth briefly forming a cheerless smile. “One for his queen, as fair and shining as she.”
Nanna’s fist held the last golden apple. “And one for their son, crown prince of the realm.” She dropped it heavily to its place, and her voice darkened. “The only child that they have ever born.”
The wording was far from accidental, and Frigga’s lungs seized as she caught on to Nanna’s meaning, her icy rage was swept away in an instant, replaced by the creeping touch of fear.
“No,” she protested, realizing, eyes wide as she stared at Nanna. “How could you know?”
Nanna took a step forward, fists balling as she clutched daintily at the folds of her gown, lifting her skirts as she walked over the open chest of apples.
“Go on.” She was making no feint at respect or fealty now. “Tell me how it is you expect me to bow to your adopted troll.”
Frigga flinched at the word, an incredibly derogatory term for Frost Giants. But it only underlined what was revealed. Somehow, Nanna knew the truth about Loki.
A truth that in her unstable hands became a dangerous weapon.
“How could you have found out?” Frigga repeated, demanding, her voice strong in spite of her growing horror.
“How?” Nanna cried out, sharp. “How do you think?” Her hand pressed to the place over her heart. “Frey might have been your brother, but I was his wife! Did you really expect him to keep any secrets from me?” She scowled. “Especially after what your monster did to us?”
“I swore him to secrecy,” Frigga said numbly.
“I bore his child! His only son!” Nanna screamed. “The child whose life the murderous beast you claimed as yours took!”
Frigga took a step back, then another. There was no telling what Nanna might do. Even a physical assault wasn’t out of the question.
“Nanna…”
“There can be no peace, not between us,” the other woman cut her off, voice stilted and broken. “Not so long as there’s a giant’s whelp living in the halls of Asgard, enjoying their splendors, while my noble beautiful boy rots in the ground!”
She trailed off in a shriek, her emotions having carried her past the point of words. Frigga half expected her to pick up one of the metal apples and throw it at her.
As it was, the queen swiftly let herself out of the room, the door slamming behind her, her heart pounding all the way up inside of her throat.
LINK TO CONCLUSION