There's a God Under My Bed

“Where’s my armor?”

“Prince Loki has requested that it be sent to his longship.”

“Where are my swords?”

“Prince Loki has requested they be cleaned, polished, and sharpened before returned to you.”

Darcy sighed, not sure she liked being treated like royalty. It was kind of boring. Apparently, ladies on Asgard didn’t do very much accept look in mirrors and sew. But Darcy was really bad at sewing. “Do you have any books?”

The handmaiden that had been assigned to Darcy was tall, had a round face and simple features. But she seemed nice enough. “What does my lady wish to read?”

“You can call me Darcy if you want.” She said, pacing the room and dropping her needle and thread onto her chair. “I don’t really care. I’ve already read most everything about the history of Nornheim and I know you won’t have anything that isn’t biased about magic. Do you mind if I--?”

There was a tap on the door and Darcy nearly leapt from her shoes. “Come in!”

The door opened and there, in the entryway, was a very discouraged looking Sif. “Darcy, do you mind if I join you?”

Excited to have some not-boring company, Darcy excitedly gestured for Sif to come in. “Sure! Maybe we can finally get out of this room. Seriously, I can’t sew!”

Sif quirked an uneasy grin and Darcy noticed she was still wearing her armor. “Do you not like dresses?”

She shook her head, “I daresay, Darcy, I am not a lady.”

“So? It’s still fun to wear dresses.” Darcy pointed out happily, spinning around in hers to prove a point.

Sif crossed her arms. “Why is that fun?”

“Because you can feel breeze on your butt.” Darcy laughed at Sif’s dumbfounded expression. Her hand maiden looked equally horrified and humored.

“My Lady!”

“Don’t love it till you try it.” She said, stretching out her arms. “Anyways, I’m just ready to leave.”

Sif’s brow crinkled, “Is Nornheim not your home?”

“No, it is.” Darcy assured, remembering her fake identity. “But, I promised Loki I’d go back to the capital with him for a few days.”

Sif accepted this answer without skepticism. “So, what is it that you do as a lady? If you do not sew or make tapestries?”

“I read.” Darcy said, falling back on her chair.

“Ah, that is why you get along with Loki so well.”

“Yeah,” Darcy chuckled, gazing around the room. “Gods, I hate this. I’m bored. I’m really bored.”

Sif took the seat across from her, moving the sewing things to the table. “As am I. It would be ill suited for us to spar now after the battle. Or…well…”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, focusing her attentions on the shieldmaiden. “Did you kill people?”

“I did.” Sif cleared her throat, gazing at a spot on the wall. “I’ll admit that it was not my proudest moment. It was not right of me to…It did not feel…Darcy—“

Darcy patted her friend’s hand. “Hey, it’s okay. You weren’t thinking right. You’ve never been to war before. Next time you’ll know the rules. Don’t hit anything that doesn’t hit you first. That’s what my da—Father always says.”

Sif laughed and Darcy saw a tiny little tear peek out from the corner of her eye. “I have never felt this much guilt before. What I have done to them and their families….what I have done to Asgard….”

“Sif.” Darcy cooed gently, cupping the girl’s cheek with her palm. “It’s okay. Well, okay, it’s not really that okay. You kinda murdered a lot of people and Odin is going to be, like, P.O. ed but it’s okay!”

“Is this talk supposed to be making me feel better?” Sif asked, slouching in her seat.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “You didn’t let me finish, jeez. Look, you goofed up but it’s okay because now you’ll make it better. It’s not okay to kill people. But sometimes we have to kill people. This was not one of those times.”

“Darcy, forgive me, but will you shut up?” Sif asked, but there was humor in her voice.

They looked at each other and burst into hysterias. Every time they tried to stop, Darcy would open her mouth to say something and they would start laughing again. Finally, once Sif was holding her ribs on the floor and Darcy was practically beating her knee with her fist, they managed to calm down.

“Whew,” Darcy breathed, wiping her brow. “Alright. I’m good.”

“Indeed. Perhaps—“

There were two sharp raps on her door. “Come in!”

A woman in a plain white dress entered the room, followed by three women carrying golden boxes. “My Ladies Darcy and Sif, it has been advised to me by Lord Bjarte that you be treated like royalty. In which case, it is my duty to prepare you for tonight’s festivities.”

“Isn’t it just dinner?” Darcy asked, rising from her chair and offering Sif a hand to help her off the floor.

The ladies laughed, their voices ringing like wind chimes. “Nornheim has not hosted royalty for at least two hundred years. It will be a great celebration! There will be wine and dancing all night!”

Darcy mentally ran through her knowledge of Norheim’s traditions. “Oh right. It would be an insult if they didn’t host a banquet. But I don’t get why you have to prepare us for anything.”

Sif seemed to have lost her voice and was staring at her toes.

The ladies set the boxes near the large vanity mirror and removed the contents. “We shall have you looking better in no time! After battle you surely must need to bathe and no doubt freshen up! There will be many fine nobles out there, yes?”

The girls gave each other nervous looks. “Uh, okay. If you say so. A bath sounds pretty good right now, actually.” Darcy said, lifting her arm to smell her armpit. Oof, she was ripe. “Yep. Yep, a bath is needed,” she gasped, dramatically coughing at her own stench causing Sif to snort loudly.

The ladies looked at her in disgust. “Right,” said one in a cream colored dress.

Darcy and Sif were guided to a bathing chamber and Darcy thought it looked similar to that one in the palace, only it was smaller and didn’t have an awesome waterfall. Darcy was pretty cool with the whole thing until they started taking her clothes off in front of everyone. “Woah woah woah, what are you doing?”

The lady who had been unlacing her bodice looked at her disbelieving. “I am disrobing you so that you may bathe.”

Darcy flushed from head to toe. “But you’ll see me naked.”

“Have you some disfigurement?” Sif asked, her armor already removed and she was standing, buttnekkid in front of Darcy.

“Nooo.” The younger girl said, looking anywhere but Sif’s naked form. “I…uh…nevermind.” She relented and let the hand maiden shuck off her dress.

Thankfully no one looked at her funny as she stepped into the warm bubbly water of their enormous bathtub. Sif sighed, letting her hair down, the black locks floating across the water. She caught Darcy staring. “I hated you at first.”

“What?”

Sif smiled, walking to the edge of the pool where soaps lie. She lathered some into her hair. “I hated you. On that morning when you walked in and asked to sit next to Thor. I thought you were nothing but another shy, pretty little lady.”

“Well, I don’t know about shy, but I’m pretty good looking.” Darcy teased, taking some soap as well and scrubbing it into her scalp.

Sif smiled, “I hated you even more after what you had done to my hair. Though, I blamed Loki for it.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy apologized.

“Don’t be,” Sif assured, placing a soapy hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I like it. But, do not tell Loki.”

Darcy smiled back, “Okay. I promise.” She brought herself up to full height to grab a different soap and lather her body, her torso emerging from the water.

Sif gave her a confused look. “How old are you, Darcy?”

Uh oh. “I reached my adolescence a little after Loki.”

“I am older than you, then.”

“I guess so,” agreed Darcy, hoping this would not harm their friendship.

Sif frowned at Darcy’s chest. “You have larger breasts than me.”

Instantly, Darcy brought her hands up to squash those annoying lumps of flesh back on her chest. “No I don’t. “

“Yes you do.” Insisted Sif, giving Darcy a bemused look. “You are ashamed of your womanhood?”

Darcy blushed. She didn’t really talk about these things with Loki because…well…he was Loki. And he was a boy. And he didn’t have boobs. Over the last few months, they had magically started spurting from her chest like insane chest tumors. Only, they weren’t; they were breasts. She’d done a lot to hide the fact, like wearing baggy shirts, and sports bras, and a bunch of other stuff. It was just so awkward to be eleven and a b-cup. “Uh, no?”

“You are.” Sif said pointedly, taking Darcy’s hands away from her breasts. “Why? Most women would be thrilled to develop so early.”

“Why?” Darcy asked obliviously. “This is awful! I hate it! It makes running around hard! It makes hugging people hard! It makes a lot of things really hard.”

Sif coyly raised a brow, “You mean like men?”

Darcy slapped a hand over her eyes, falling back into the water in embarrassment. Sif’s gut heaving laugher was audible from under the surface. She came up, gasping for air. “I hate you.”

Sif was rinsing soap bubbles out of her hair. “I see. Forgive me Darcy, I could not help myself. But truly, you should not feel chagrin over them. I understand the inconvenience, but as you told me on the longship, there is no shame in being a woman.”

Darcy groaned, “I was talking about in a fighty type way. Not in a booby, I mean, breasty type way. It’s amazing to be a girl who fights.”

“I agree. It is also a merit to have amazing breasts,” Sif chided, poking her in the belly.

Darcy stuck her tongue out and splashed Sif in the face. They played in the water and at some point, Darcy leapt onto Sif’s back, throwing her into the water. The handmaidens glared at her disapprovingly. “Lady Darcy! Lady Sif! You are not animals!”

The girls snorted with laughter, eventually pulling their soaking wet bodies from the water. Darcy had not been towel dried by anyone but herself for quite some time now and it was kinda weird to have someone pat down her body. Sif didn’t think much of it, so Darcy didn’t either. After being guided back to their rooms, the handmaiden’s dressed Darcy in a new outfit, the dress was midnight blue, velvety in texture with silk, off the shoulder sleeves.

Sif requested her armor.

“Now who isn’t proud of their womanliness?” Darcy teased, nudging her friend.

She rolled her eyes. “This is different. I am to be a warrior, Darcy. I cannot be a warrior if everyone thinks I am petty.”

“You mean pretty.”

“No, I meant—“

Darcy let her hands fly up, “Come on Sif! I know you like some lady things! No one is going to judge you if you wear a dress for one night!”

Sif’s ears turned red. “How do you know? What if they never respect me again as a comrade!?”

“Because you’re you!” Darcy exclaimed, standing on her chair and making a few of the ladies around her fuss. “You are Sif! You stab things with your awesome sword!” Darcy cried, jumping up and down and one of the maidens fainted.

Sif stared up at her in incredulity. “You are the strangest person I have ever met.”

“Don’t say that, Sif! Be Free! Wear a dress! FEEL THE AIR ON YOUR BUTT!” Darcy shouted at the top of her lungs, throwing her arms out for emphasis and taking her skirt up with them.

Sif took Darcy’s hand and pulled her down. “Fine!” she agreed, “I will wear the damn dress. But just this once, Darcy, and only for you!”

                                                                                                                                                                    ***

Loki deeply detested festivities.

All of them.

This one especially.

He had agreed to a bath which had gone alright until Thor, Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg showed up and Loki longed for his private bathing chambers. He quickly took his leave and finished readying himself in his room. He combed back his hair, magicked his ceremonial armor into place and sent his worn outfit back to his closet at the palace. Next, he shined his helmet and chose from a selection of cologne that had been laid out for him.

He decided upon one that was almost cool in scent, reminiscent of pine trees in the northern parts of Asgard. He applied two quaint spritz to himself before settling down at the desk his room had been supplied with and conjured numerous books on political theory from both Asgard and Alfheim. He also took time to note his day’s activities in his journal, clearly stating his opinions of what should happen to this battle.

When he finished, he set down his pen and looked down at the green leather book contemplatively.

He wrote nearly everything in that book. Anyone that read it would have prime insight into his life and all the secrets he kept. Decisively, he cast a spell that would only allow either him or Darcy to open it. Anyone else would simply not be able to open the cover.

Just as he completed this task, there was a sharp knock on his door. “Enter.”

The door opened and in stepped a messenger in a tan tunic. “Your Highness, the feast has begun.”

Sighing, Loki stood, fitting his notebook inside his breast pocket. “Thank you. I shall be down in but a moment.” He took measured steps to the door, his cape flaring out behind him.

The messenger was still there. “Have you any accompaniment with you this evening?”

Accompaniment. A partner. A date, as they would call it on Midgard. He felt Sigyn’s key against his neck. “No,” he replied, fitting on his helm. “I have not.”

Giving a slight bow, the messenger left and Loki set down the corridor to the banquet hall. At the entryway, he found Thor in his red cape and shining winged helmet. “Loki.” He greeted solemnly.

“Thor.”

His brother sighed, Mjolnir clutched tightly in hand. “I feel the weight of my actions brother. I have vowed to never spill Asgardian blood again. I daresay, you were right.”

Loki nodded, “Ah, yes. Well, I suppose I am quite extraordinary.” He teased, not used to seeing Thor so somber.

His lips twitched and the blonde prince lifted a hand to clasp his brother’s shoulder. “You are, Loki. If you had not been here today, I fear Asgard would have been much worse off.”

Loki wished deep inside him that Thor had been angry rather than grateful. How was he supposed to respond to that? Being acknowledged for something he did? And by Thor, no less. “Think nothing of it. This task is far from completed.”

Thor gave a curt nod. “I should like to think you will have it under control. I will assist you by any means. Truthfully, you have been most valiant today, even with your tricks.”

“Let’s give us a kiss then? Hm?” Loki jested again and this time Thor truly did laugh.

“Come! Let us feast, Brother!”

And so the festivities began.

Food was set out on platters. Roast ox, pig, chicken, quail, cow, and even bilgesnipe lay before them on platters stuffed with grilled vegetables and warm cheese. Loaves of bread steamed on their boards and juice seeped from the ripe fruits onto the table. Ale and wine flowed in rivers, frequently streaming down the throats of joyous men and giggling women. It was quite the party.

But Loki had business to attend to. Quickly, he sought out Lord Erlend and began speaking of things his type liked to talk of. Bold kills, heavy weapons, strong armor. He spent a great deal of time building up to speak well of Thor in attempt to clear his name. Lord Erlend was Nornehim’s bearded social butterfly. Any good word of Thor would get around much quicker than if he told anyone else.

Luckily for Loki, Erlend seemed to believe him and his tales of his brother’s valiancy. How his fight had been honorable and those who died had surely gone to Valhalla. In no time at all, he was up and introducing himself to the golden prince, offering him a tankard of ale. Thor grinned, slight skepticism in his eyes. He shot a look to Loki who smiled, just a little, as a sign of encouragement.

Loki began to eat, his stomach begging for food after his day’s strenuous activities. He paid no mind to the rest of the party, as he felt no joy in today’s happenings and only wished to return to his chambers with a few books and Darcy. That would be a far better time than…

His mind stuttered to a halt as he looked up to see the most beautiful women in all of Yggdrasil descend the stairs and enter the dining hall.

Mesmerized, he stared at them, trying to identify them by their hair, for one had turned, as if to retreat back upstairs and the other had pulled her back down. This time, when they entered the room, he recognized them and nearly choked on his bread.

They were Darcy and Sif.

But there was something extremely different about them.

Sif…Sif was wearing a dress. He didn’t ever recall a time when Sif wore dress but now she was and she looked…quite fetching. The pale blue fabric was loose around her body and she seemed to be walking in an opaque waterfall, the material swished around her legs when she walked and her hair was styled in a loose braid. It was simple, but stunning.

Darcy was another sight entirely.

Now, Loki had seen Darcy at times when no one else saw her. Like when she was sleeping, or when she had just woken up and her hair was a mess. He saw her when she was studying and her lips pressed together so tight, they disappeared. But he had not seen Darcy look so…divine.

Her hair was free around her shoulders, curly, and parted down the middle. Setting on her head was a circlet, encrusted with diamonds that glittered like stars against the midnight blue of her dress. And that dress…It revealed something to him that he had not known was possible. Well, he had known, of course, but had he thought of it? No.

Darcy had curves.

A woman’s curves.

How had he missed it? Where had he been? When had this happened? Darcy was Darcy! She could not be developing now! That meant she was almost a woman! And Darcy couldn’t be a woman yet! She was his friend and if she became a woman she would be that much closer to dying! He was a very busy prince and he did not have time for his greatest confidant and best friend to die!

He shot one look over to her again, seeing that she was laughing heartily at something Sif had said. And the affects her laughter had on her slightly exposed—

Loki stopped his train of thought, bringing his attention back to his plate. His gaze absentmindedly flicked to her again and Loki wanted to smack his head on the table.

There was a light tap on his shoulder and he turned to see one of the High Lords sitting next to him wearing silver and purple armor. “Lord Freyar.”

“Prince Loki.” He smiled, giving the prince a wink. “It seems you have more troubles than just those in politics. Here.” He offered the Prince a tankard of ale and Loki accepted it, willing himself not to go out into the countryside in search of Idun as so many had done before.

“You have no idea.” He sighed, wondering whether it would be appropriate to slump forwards and scream into the tablecloth.

Lord Freyar gave him a clap on the shoulder. “She’s very beautiful. What was her name? Lady Dane?”

“Darcy.” He corrected.

“Right. I’d drink that if I were you.” The Lord suggested, gesturing to Loki’s tankard. Tentatively he took a sip.

Under normal circumstances, Loki did not drink. He was allowed, however he’d hate to see his mother’s look of disapproval if he were to become drunk. Yet, now, the drink soothed something inside him and he drank a little deeper. “She is beautiful,” Loki agreed.

“Well, why don’t you go say something to her, Lad? Or, Prince. Sorry, force of habit, I’m afraid.” Lord Freyar excused, his graying black beard hiding his smile.

Loki returned this. “It is quite alright, Lord Freyar. But, you see, my circumstance is more complicated than that. I have no trouble speaking with her.” He explained, taking another sip.

“No?” questioned the lord good-naturedly.

“No,” Loki said, using his hands to talk. “She is my best friend. I tell her of everything and she tells me everything.”

“So, it is this friendship that keeps you from courting her then!” Lord Freyar exclaimed, taking a gulp from his own tankard.

Loki set his empty one down with a thud. “I wish! I wish it was so simple! But, you see, I do not wish to court her! I only wish that no others attempt to win her over and she shows no interest in anyone.” He explained simply. “And just look at her!”

Lord Freyar turned his head to look at Darcy who looked to be scolding Fandral, her full lips in a pout. “I am looking at her.”

“She is turning into a woman.” Loki admitted, sitting back in his chair. “And now I cannot protect her from everything. It was proven today. I cannot protect her from idiot boys, nor blades, nor anything really! I’m a terrible friend!”

Lord Frey chuckled, giving Loki’s shoulder a shake, “Lad, sorry—“

“No, call me Lad. I like it.”

“Alright then, Lad, you sound more like a brother or a father than her friend. Believe me, I am a father, and seeing your little girls grow up is not easy. They get quite feisty.” He claimed.

Loki shook his head. “It is not her attitude. She is the most wonderful converser I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. But how am I supposed to look at her when I know that one day, she will spend all of her time with some Idiot Boy?! That and…well…”

“Well, what, lad?” Lord Freyar asked, taking a large bite of bilgesnipe.

“She is a woman.” Loki said plainly, feeling his cheeks flush. His head was spinning and he felt better than he had all day if not slightly embarrassed.

Lord Freyar looked confused for a second before breaking down into a fit of laughter from his understanding. “You’re attracted to her.”

“What!? No. I am a Prince! I shall not sink so low as to—!” he was cut off by the good Lord Freyar.

“Oh, but you’d like it if someone else was to sink low!” he bellowed and Loki was left with the options of hiding under the table or having a glass of wine.

Wine it was.

“Lord Freyar! How crass! I would not… No! You—!”

“Lad,” sighed the Lord, “You don’t need to be scared of a pair of tits. Forgive my language, I’ve had a bit much to drink.”

Loki could hardly care about language at this point. “I am not scared of breasts!”

The entire table seemed to silence at that most inopportune moment and it seemed everyone burst into laughter and someone began to applaud. “Oh, Odin smite me.”

“Ah, don’t mind them! Come on, keep talking. You’re too tense for someone of your age. You’re too young to worry about all this war business.” Lord Freyar said gruffly, “You’re doing a fine job. More than fine, actually. I was one of the few that voted against any kind of war. Lord Bjarte, he’s all for getting the land in Vanaheim. Of course, you probably knew that.”

Loki nodded solemnly. “I hate politics. I hate them so much. Darcy loves them though. She should have been born a princess.”

“Well, then, why don’t you make her one!” Lord Freyar suggested merrily, his cheeks rosy with intoxication.

Loki sipped his wine, the taste tart on his tongue. “That is a good idea! Only…well…” he reached down the front of his armor to pull out Sigyn’s token. “I have a lady in the palace I care for very much.”

Lord Freyar chuckled, “Look at you! A prince with all of the pretty ladies! She gave you her token, did she?”

“The Lady Sigyn.” Loki said, reading her name, his vision blurring around the edges. “Have you heard of her?”

Lord Freyar clapped his hands together, “Bah! Have I heard of her?! Why, my son, Gudmund, all he speaks of is Lady Sigyn and his desires to court her! He spoke with her while we were last in the capital you see and it seems he is entirely taken with her! However, it looks as though she does not return the sentiment.”

Loki tucked the key back inside his shirt. “I like her. She is not just pretty, you see? Everyone forgets that and I hate it! I hate that they forget that!”

“What do they forget, lad?”

“They forget that ladies are people. They have minds more beautiful than their faces. Sigyn is beautiful, and her face is not even the half of it. Her looks pale in comparison to how she thinks! The same with Darcy! Especially with Darcy!” he ranted, smashing his cup on the table, “That is why I hate breasts! Yes! I am scared of a pair of tits Lord Freyar, I am man enough to admit it! I am terrified of tits because I do not wish to forget about their owner’s minds! I do not wish to be like Fandral, or Thor, or any empty minded buffoon who thinks with their cock!”

Lord Freyar sighed heavily. “I understand what you’re saying lad.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “And I have some bad news for you.”

“What?” Loki asked, looking sadly at his smashed glass of wine.

“You’re a man.” Lord Freyar stated, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re going to think with your cock.”

                                                                                                                                                                    ***

Darcy was having a pretty good time at the party. Though, she was disappointed Loki hadn’t come to talk with her yet and, she would admit, she was feeling too shy to go over and talk to him while he seemed in such heated conversation with one of the Lords.

Sif was also having fun despite herself. She looked awesome and there were lots of boys asking her to dance. But she kept turning them down.

“Why don’t you go dance?” Darcy asked, finishing the ripe pear she had started on only seconds ago. She was super hungry.

“Because,” Sif said, stabbing her chicken breast with a fork, “I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Because I don’t like them.”

“You haven’t even talked to any of them.”

“I still don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because…just because.”

“Because why?”

“Darcy, I’m going to stab you.”

Fandral who was seated next to Sif leaned over to smile flirtatiously. “If it is any consolation, Sif, you look quite fetching.”

Darcy threw her pear core at him. “Shut up Fandral.”

Volstagg chuckled, depositing yet another cleaned bone to his already full plate. “Ah, alas, you cannot win, Fandral.”

The blonde boy wiped a bit of pear juice from his cheek. “Is this the treatment I get? I tease, I get chastised. I compliment, and I get food thrown at me.”

“It was a core. It wasn’t really food.” Darcy pointed out, taking a large bite of bread.

“Leftovers then. Even better,” he grumbled.

Sif sighed and picked up her glass, taking a small sip of the dark red fluid. “Is that wine?”

“Obviously,” Sif said, setting down the beverage. “Why?”

“You’re allowed to drink it?” Darcy asked.

“In moderation.” Sif answered, raising a brow at her friend. “You have your own glass, you know.”

Skeptically, Darcy picked up the drink and took a tiny sip. She quickly recoiled, sputtering and setting down the offensive liquid. “EW. Nasty. Gross. Blegh!”

Hogun, who sat on the other side of Darcy smiled. “I do not like it either. Eating will rid your mouth of its flavor.”

Darcy did as he said, her mouth no longer permeated by such vile content. Shaking out her arms, Darcy stood up and brushed out her skirts. “Well, I wanna dance. Sif?”

The black haired girl choked on her bread and Darcy thumped her on the back a couple of times. “...What...?”

“You wanna go dance? It’ll be fun! I promise! I don’t step on toes…okay, maybe a little bit but that’s okay!” she assured, taking Sif’s hand and dragging her to the scantily populated dance floor.

Fandral sighed heavily, “Three perfectly eligible bachelors before them, and what do they do? Dance with each other.”

Volstagg waved a finger. “I am not eligible.”

“I was talking about Thor,” Fandrall said, looking about for his friend. “Say, where has he run off to? He was right here before Sif came down.”

Hogun’s lips twitched in that knowing sort of way, but he focused mainly on his strawberries.

                                                                                                                                                                    ***

“Darcy, that is not how this dance goes.” Sif admonished and Darcy purposefully stepped on her toe.

“I don’t care, we’re dancing it this way.”

Darcy put her hands on Sif’s waist, twirling them around in circles and she could taste her friend’s disapproval. “Darcy, this is ridiculous!”

“You love it!” the former squealed, spinning them faster until Sif too began to chortle.

There was a two fingered tap on Darcy’s shoulder and she whipped around to see a boy with dark brown hair and heavy brows. “Excuse me, Lady Darcy, but may I cut in?”

Grin getting impossibly wider, Darcy stepped aside, accepting her hateful glare from Sif with pride.

The only downside was that now, Darcy did not have a dancing partner and the couples on the dance floor really were moving nicely. She wondered if there was anyone there who could teach her the dance. Quickly, she glanced around the room, eyes falling on a boy, not as tall as Loki but taller than her, with blonde hair and silver and yellow armor. She walked over to him curiously. “Hey, excuse me?”

He looked to her and his cheeks reddened a bit. “My lady.” He bowed his head, taking her hand and she let him kiss it.

“Hi. What’s your name?”

“Halvor, my lady,” he replied. “And yours?”

“Darcy,” she said with a smile. “Sorry, but do you know this dance?”

“Of course! It is most common in Nornheim!” he said cheerily and Darcy threw her arms up in glee.

“Awesome! So, will you teach it to me? I don’t know many dances. And I might step on your feet a little bit.” She trailed off awkwardly, realizing that she was supposed to be a lady and know all of Asgard’s dances.

Halvor did not seem to mind however. “I would be honored if the Lady Darcy were to tread on my feet.”

Excitedly, Darcy took his hand and pulled him to the dance floor where Halvor politely showed her the different movements and steps.

                                                                                                                                                                    ***

“I do not understand.”

Loki had his chin on the table and was staring intently at a slice of fruit. “Trigonometry is used, in math, for many different purposes. There are many novice mathematicians who also do not understand the concept of theta. You needn’t worry.”

Lord Freyar shifted in his seat, watching the young prince with curiosity. “I have no idea what you just said.”

Loki sighed sadly. “No…no you wouldn’t, would you?” He sat up straighter. “It seems politics are your strong suit. I must say, your honesty and lack of cunning are quite charming. I suppose it wins you lots of courteous…what is that?” His gaze swept over to the dance floor where Darcy was smiling up at some boy in armor. A Lord’s son? Was that… “Halvor!? Darcy can’t be dancing with Halvor! He is Lord Erlend’s son! Son of a butterfly!”

Lord Freyar chuckled, “Lord Erlend is a butterfly?”

“Hmm, no, you’re right. He’s more like a bee.” Loki corrected, taking his dagger out and spinning it around his fingers dexterously.

“A bee?”

“Yes! A bee! He buzzes around, taking pollen from that flower to this flower and gets his yellow fur on everyone’s petals. He takes a little nectar from over there and over here and takes it back to the hive where the Queen makes lie-filled honey, sweet like his voice.” Loki rambled drunkenly, stabbing his dagger into a bit of bilgesnipe flank.

Lord Freyar, while at first a bit detached, was now entirely focused. “Who are you talking about, Lad? The Allmother?”

The young prince sat up, instantly offended. “Of course not! My Mother is not a bee! She is…water…or air…She is everywhere and you forget sometimes how much she knows until it is too late…” Loki trailed off, picking up another tankard of ale and Lord Freyar thoughtfully took it away from him.

“Aye. Then who is the Queen of bees?”

“Lord Bjarte.” Loki mumbled, glaring unhappily into his goblet of water the Lord had given him. “He eats the useless dead. He breeds with those faithful to create a nest who will follow him. An army of orange bees with tiny little stingers….” He trailed off, lifting his dagger to examine the cube of cheese at the end. There was something so…familiar….

Lord Freyar shook him of his train of thought. “Loki, how did you come to know all this? What are you suggesting?”

Loki patted the Lord’s arm reassuringly. “Everyone always asks me what I suggest, but they never take my advice. It’s quite sad. I tell Thor my plan, but he doesn’t get it and he kills everyone. I tell Lord Bjarte to stop everything with Vanaheim while he’s probably off writing letters to his correspondents in the next three provinces for support and—“

“Prince Loki, I beg you to hold your tongue.” Lord Freyar said sternly. “I do not know how you came about this information about Lord Bjarte but I know that strange things have occurred. Unlawful things. Dishonorable things….” He stopped briefly to see that Loki was still paying attention. “But you must not tell of what he has done, lest you wish for your head to be amongst those who have wronged him.”

Casting a wary glance down the table, Lord Freyar moved closer to Loki. “Many of the High Lords on Nornheim fear he may be spiking the interest of wealthier families on Asgard.”

Loki frowned solemnly at his cheese cube, wishing to see the spark of familiarity he had before. 

“The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.” He poked the cube. “That is poetry.”

Lord Freyar cleared his throat, almost impatiently. “Yes, you are quite gifted Lad, but like I said you don’t want to go around saying things like that if you want to stay alive through the night.”

Loki pursed his lips, reaching out to take a sip from Lord Freyar’s wine glass. “To be alive—is Power.” The cheese was white and there was a pink spot of juice on the side from the strawberry it had been sitting next to. “That is also poetry. Emily Dickinson.”

“Loki, is your mind addled so much that you cannot hear the words I am saying?” Lord Freyar complained.

Loki’s gaze flicked up to Darcy and Halvor who were now dancing quite well. He could not tell if she was in immediate danger or not. “I have heard you quite plainly, Lord Freyar. However, I must remind you that while Lord Bjarte is Queen of bees I am something much higher.”

“And who might that be?”

“The beekeeper, obviously.” He said, standing up far too steadily for being so heavily intoxicated. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I must ask Darcy a question concerning quadratics and the dynamic functions of a cube.”

Lord Frey watched, amazed, as the dark haired prince strolled away, not even stumbling as he made his way to the edge of the table where he promptly stopped in his tracks and held up his dagger, a look of pure bewilderment on his face as he stared at the cube. It looked as though he had just found unlimited power under his boot soles.

With one last glance at Lady Darcy, the Prince of Mischief made for the stairs, dagger held firmly in hand.

                                                                                                                                                                    ***

Thor, in all his days spent sparring, laughing, talking, eating, drinking, and arguing with Sif, had not once seen her in a dress.

It was not that he thought of her as a man. That was not quite right. She spoke all too frequently of her femininity and unfairness in her desired vocation. Yet Sif had never quite been a lady to him. She was not someone who struck him as outwardly beautiful and perhaps that was because he spent so much time with her.

Now, watching her walk down the stairs of Nornheim with Darcy…he did not know how to think… let alone what to think. She was magnificent. From her black hair to silver shoes, every inch was a marvel.

And he hated it.

He hated that now, every boy, every man and woman that had ever scoffed at her armor and swords, supposedly too heavy for a woman to wield, all of them who had put her down because of her dreams now stared in awe. It made him shake with rage. Even Fandral’s remarks upon the change were disturbing even though he had never truly shunned her hopes.

He left the table without excusing himself, finding, for the second time that day, searching for Loki. There was something oddly calming about his brother he was ashamed to admit he had never seen before. Loki, while still effeminate in his styles of fighting and magical abilities, was not a weakling. He had acted as a King in Odin’s stead, saved him and his friends on Nornheim soil and slyly helped to alleviate the wrongness he had done.

Though, as true as these things were, Thor found himself even more shockingly, jealous.

He was resentful of Loki because for some reason, his brother seemed to have it all. He had won the affections of the most desired young woman in the realm. He had devised a battle strategy, saved them politically, and done just about everything else that a Prince was supposed to do. And still, he wished only to converse with his brother, the child with no problems, on his current state.

“I am not scared of breasts!”

Thor turned his head sharply at the sound of his brother’s voice.

There was no possible way his brother - refined, cautious, polite Loki - would ever say such a blundering thing.

And yet, there he was, red in the face, and speaking rather excitedly to a humouredly attentive Lord.

The golden prince could not help the chuckle that broke his scowl. Loki could typically be described as a lot of things. Drunk was not one of them. Perhaps he would not bother him now. Perhaps he would instead go spar with Fandral or Hogun, or even go back to his rooms until it was time to leave.

“Pardon me, Prince Thor?” called a voice and he turned to face the Commander of the Einherjar.

“Yes?”

The armored man gave a slight bow, “The men, I’m afraid, have indulged a bit too merrily in Nornheim’s hospitality. I am not sure it would be wise for us to fly the longships back to the capital until morning.”

Thor flicked a casual glance at Loki who was spinning a dagger around his fingers so rapidly, the blade could hardly be seen before sharply stabbing the piece of meat in front of him and glaring at it with wide eyes. He supposed it would not be in the best interest of Asgard to ask Loki about the situation at hand. “We leave in the morning. Have a message sent to the Allmother.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Thor dismissed the Commander and was about to go sit down again when he saw the utter impossible.

Sif was dancing.

With a Boy.

He recognized the face. Brown hair, heavy eyebrows, silver armor with purple accents. Gudmund Freyarson.

He felt his face contort with anger and unprecedented rage. Who, in his right mind, would dance with Sif? Why, Gudmund may be older than him by a year or two, but that was no matter! He was a prince! Why would Sif even accept that request?! Was she smiling!?

Sure enough, there she was, blushing like a Lady and sharing a look with Darcy over her partner’s shoulder.

Before Thor knew it, he was standing behind the Son of Freyar, cool as could be with words boiling on his tongue, dying to be said. “Pardon me.”

They stopped talking and laughing as Gudmund turned to him. “Of course, Prince Thor.” He said with a smile and a bow, bending down to press a kiss to Sif’s hand. Thor did notice how he lingered there for a moment before retreating.

Sif was smirking at him. “What do you want, Thor?”

“Is that any way to address your Prince, my lady?” he spat, crossing his arms. How dare she even think about—

Her black brows came together in an angry knot. “I am not a lady, Your Highness."

“Oh, you aren’t? Then what is this?” he asked, feigning curiosity and gesturing to her gown.

Sif’s cheeks burned hot with fury and she balled her fists at her sides. “I am within my rights to wear a dress, am I not?!”

“I should think so! Ladies wear dresses, do they not?!” he baited her further, hoping to draw some fury out of his friend. He wanted Sif to get angry, that way everyone would see she was not some girl that ran around in a dress. She was a warrior.

She shoved past him, roughly pushing him aside as she fled to the steps. Thor followed, the bitter resentment in his veins far from sated. “Are you running away, Lady Sif?!”

She stopped halfway up the white staircase to turn on her heel and glare down at him. “I am not a Lady!”

“You could have fooled me.”

“Of course I could have. You are an idiot.” She spat, lifting her skirts to take continue on her way.

He would not be deterred, following her up the stairs. “And her bark is worse than her bite! Are you also going to now ask men to raise swords for you? Give them your token while you sit with a needle and—“

Sif moved quickly, grabbing a sword from the sheath of a nearby guard and directing it swiftly at Thor’s throat so it hovered just above his skin. Her eyes flashed with hate and her long dark lashes dotted with tears. “I. Am. Not. A lady.” She repeated giving him one last shove before tossing the sword at the guard’s feet.

Thor watched her walk away, at a loss for words.

“Smooth move.”

He whipped around to see a very cross looking Darcy, her arms crossed defiantly. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me! That was mean! Why did you do it?!” She asked accusingly. He opened his mouth to speak, but she stormed past him as well. “Never mind. I don’t want to hear you say it.”

She breezed past him and he took note that her hair smelled like flowers. “Lady Darcy….”

“You know,” she said, turning around at last minute, “I read this book once where this guy, he said something rude to his wife and then he had to get her flowers and chocolate to make it up to her.” She gave him a half smile and reached up to pat his arm. “You’re going to need a lot of chocolate.”

                                                                                                                                                                        ***

“The Tesseract.” Loki muttered to himself enthusiastically, pacing his rooms and messily scrawling on a sheet of paper before pinning it on the wall near several other notes he had made that night.

Another thought ran through his head and on the opposite wall he posted a rough drawn picture of what looked like Lord Bjarte’s seal. “Ah, yes! It’s all coming together now…of course…no no. Darcy!” he glanced about his room, searching for Darcy. Funny, she was usually there when he was thinking about the Tesseract.

Just then, Fenrir and Jörmungandr burst in through his open window, both damp and covered in wet leaves.

“Jörmungandr! Fenrir! There you are!” He exclaimed briefly before turning back to his notes and holding up his dagger with the cube of cheese on it. “The Tesseract….” He smiled widely and they stared up at him tiredly.

“The Tesseract is powerful.” Loki began, pacing the floor and scrawling hastily on a sheet of parchment. “It is so powerful that it will affect the world round it greatly! If I could create a spell for detecting spikes of magical influence - no such exists currently, I have searched - then we may be able to find it!” he threw his sheets into the air in amazement.

“I shall create the spell! It will be quite easy, I am sure. And Darcy—?” he checked his room for her, but was confused that she was not there. “Where could she be? Fenrir? Jörmungandr? Have you seen Darcy?” he asked his freshly returned pets. But when there was no answering whine or hiss, he was forced to search for them as well, finding them tucked away in his bed.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “How do they expect me to find the Tesseract like this!?” he sighed, “Never the matter. I must simply continue to…Ah!” he came to another revelation and hastily stuck another note to the wall, not sure exactly what language he had written it in.

“It is almost an illusion! Don’t you see Jörmungandr?! It is an illusion! Where else could you hide the Tesseract?! It gives off such power it would have to be in the most freezing temperatures with just the perfect amount of pressure on it to mask the aura it would give off!” he waved his hands, clumsily conjuring more paper and ink.

“This is wonderful. Darcy--!” he paused, “She is still not here, is she? Damn. I wonder the time…? Well, we most certainly cannot stay the night! Darcy is…not a bee, is she? No, she could not be one of Lord Bjarte’s larvae. Midgardians…there’s so many of them and they work so well together sometimes. Each has their own fascinating little culture. Like ants.” He snapped his fingers, “There! Bees cannot control ants, Fenrir!

“You see, I am a terrible friend really.” He explained, between shattered murmurs of magical anomalies and strange wavelengths in nuclear energy. “I have put her into a hive of bees. I swore to protect her and now look at me!” he exclaimed, smacking another piece of paper to the wall and he observed his series of functions with interest.

“I need her here with me now.” He said quietly, quill scratching on paper fervently. He stopped momentarily to stare confused at Lord Bjarte’s seal.

“He was right, you know?” he asked no one in particular. “I hate him and all I want to do is get Darcy away from him. But he was right.”

                                                                                                                                                                        ***

Sif was much more comfortable in the linen pants and shirt she had been given to sleep in than her dress. Though Darcy had been onto something with the dresses, the breeze on her behind was quite pleasant.

Now, she was curled up in the other girl’s bed in the dark, whispering over a pillow.

“Thor is stupid.” Darcy said plainly, her brown hair a curly mess around her head.

Sif nodded, burying her face into the cushion between them. “I know. But he is my friend.”

“He’s a crappy friend,” Darcy sighed, wiggling beneath the sheets. “Are you going to spend the night in my room?”

“Do you mind?” Sif asked, unsure as to why she was whispering. They were the only ones in the room.

“Nope,” Darcy responded, moving around a bit more to get comfortable. Sif hoped she would not do so the entire night.

They lay in silence for a few seconds before Darcy had to speak again. “Soooo, that guy you were dancing with…?”

“Gudmund.”

“Yeah, do you like him?”

“He is fine with a greatsword from what I hear.” Sif remarked vaguely.

It was dark, but Darcy’s eyes glowered with a smirk. “That seriously tells me nothing.”

“Agh.” Sif fell back into her pillow. “No.”

“You do. You like him.”

“Darcy…”

“You loooove him.”

“No. Darcy.”

“You want to put your face, on his face and go smoochie poo.” Darcy giggled hysterically kicking her legs and stirring up the covers.

Sif reached over the pillow to direct a punch at her arm but it wiggled out of the way just in time for her knuckles to make contact with a soft bit of flesh on her chest.

“OW! MY BOOB!” Darcy cried, clutching her right breast and rolling off the bed. “I mean, breast.”

Sif sucked in a breath of air through her teeth, trying to avoid laughter. “Ooh, sorry. I would be lying if I said you did not deserve it.”

“I think you bruised my mammary gland,” Darcy mumbled, standing up and looking down her shirt.

“I think you will live,” Sif said with a smile as the short girl gingerly laid her body back down in bed, cupping her breast.

“My kids won’t when they starve because they don’t have any milk,” she complained.

Sif laughed. “Oh gods, you whine worse than Volstagg when he so much as stubs his toe.”

Darcy cracked a grin as well, snuggling back up to her pillow. “So, you’re in love then?”

“Don’t make me punch the other one,” she threatened and Darcy protectively brought her hands up to hold both her assets.

“You wouldn’t.”

They giggled and Sif could not remember a time when she had actually let out the tittering sound. It was not even unpleasant. Darcy was strange. She said strange things and acted in strange ways, but she was one of the most wonderful people Sif had ever met. She was a warrior, but a noble one. She was a lady, but was not petty or completely polite. She was Loki’s friend, but not a horrible person. Surprisingly.

It was a wonder to Sif how one little lady could be so incredibly confident and forward in everything she did. Throwing pear cores at Fandral, dancing with another woman, asking a man to dance with her…Darcy was different. But Sif liked her. Perhaps she would stay in the capital and pledge herself to Odin as well.

“Darcy?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever…” Sif trailed off, suddenly shy. “…you know…?”

“What?” Darcy asked eagerly, sitting up.

“Kissed anyone?” Sif finished, curious as to if Darcy would have accepted any offers for courtship. No doubt she had received a few requests. Grant it, most parents did not allow courtship until later years, but perhaps she had.

Darcy made a face and shuddered. “One time. But it was awful.”

“Was it Loki?” Sif asked, ready for any information about the mischievous dark-haired prince.

“Ew.” Darcy remarked, her cheek in her hand. “No. It was this other boy. I thought we were friends but then he wanted to da…I mean…court me and he kissed me and it was gross.”

“You did not like it?”

“No! He licked my mouth!” Darcy exclaimed, breaking their whispered conversation with a shout that made Sif jump.

“Was it Fandral?” Sif inquired, remembering the first time she met Darcy and Fandral had ‘licked her hand’.

Darcy’s unladylike gagging noises were enough to answer her question. “That’s gross. Who would want to kiss Fandral?”

“I’ve no idea. I mean…he is Fandral.” Sif shook her head and both girls shuddered together at the horror of kissing Fandral.

After another few seconds of silence, Darcy looked to Sif. “Why are you so interested in kissing?”

“No reason.” She answered too quickly. “I just…I have never kissed anyone.”

“Lucky you.”

Sif chuckled, bringing herself back almost immediately. “Darcy, I’m being serious. I have never had any desire to court or be courted. I do not speak with any ladies at all really. To most, I am not…an option.”

Darcy frowned in sympathy. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Confused,” Sif sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I have never wanted anything but to be a warrior. To defend the Nine Realms as a woman and bring glory to Asgard. Yet, today…I am not sure. It was nice to have people think I was...more, I suppose.”

Darcy tapped her chin. “It was nice to have people think you’re pretty?”

Sif shrugged, “It is not only that. I have to fight, all the time and not just in the physical sense, to make people believe that I can be a worthy warrior. I am a fighter at heart. Tonight, I did not have to fight anyone.”

“Well, if you don’t count Thor….”

“Darcy. Go to sleep.” Sif sighed exasperatedly, covering her face with a pillow.

Darcy snuggled deeper into her covers, giggles muffled by the sheets. “Okay. You go to sleep too. We have to wake up in the morning and Loki can’t even walk straight when he’s tired. I don’t know how he is at driving longships.”

Compliantly, Sif laid down as well, wondering idly how Darcy knew Loki was tired in the mornings. Perhaps he told—

“G’night Sif. Love you…” Darcy yawned, splaying her limbs out like she was attempting to touch all four corners of the bed.

Without thinking, Sif smiled and responded in kind, too pleasantly sleepy to stop the easy words from sliding off her tongue. “I love you too. Sleep well.”

                                                                                                                                                                        ***

Darcy woke up bright and early, per usual. Only this time, she woke up with her body half thrown across Sif’s and she had left a small spot of drool on the girl’s firm stomach.

Sif was still fast asleep, and Darcy noticed she slept on her back, her shoulders still managed to look stiff even while she was resting.

Quietly as possibly, Darcy slid out of bed, walking around the room to find any clothes that had been left behind. The hand maidens from before told her that they would be back to dress her in the morning. Of course Darcy had requested her armor and of course, it had been refused. On the bright side, her swords now sat in a chair in the corner of the room.

Underneath her linen white pajamas, she supposed, was the Asgardian equivalent of a bra. It wasn’t quite a corset, but it did lace in the back, came down to about mid-stomach, and held her in place when she walked around. She picked up her swords, admiring how the dull early light caught the delicate leaves on the pommel and how the brown leather of the belt made it all that much more beautiful. Smiling, she belted them on over her pajamas before exiting the room in search of Loki.

She had missed him last night and she felt odd. Usually, after they returned from an adventure, Loki wanted to talk about it and they would spend hours poring over everything that happened, teasing and laughing until she was too tired to continue. But he hadn’t even looked at her last night, had he? Was he upset? She remembered the man he killed and shuddered at the memory of the daggers going through the his head.

Maybe he was upset about that.

Whatever it was, Darcy was worried about him. She came here to make sure that Loki didn’t get hurt, and by Odin, that’s just what she’d do.

She stalked the hallways barefoot, creeping around unsuspecting hand maidens and picking grapes off trays being sent to people’s rooms early in the morning. Apparently, some people in Asgard ate two breakfasts. Darcy knew that Loki could eat a lot, but he always got distracted when she brought him food. He ate pizza rolls okay though, because he didn’t have to stop reading or writing to quickly eat one. But sometimes she was apprehensive of his eating habits. She would make him eat more in the future.

After sneaking under a tablecloth and scampering up a few flights of stairs, Darcy was sufficiently lost. She had meant to go find Loki’s room, only, she had no idea where it was. Thoroughly scouting the lengthy and decorative stone corridors, Darcy considered asking one of the bustling maids for directions, but she was horrified one of them might make her go get dressed in something that wasn’t her armor.

As she walked, Darcy practiced her form. Loki told her that a swords-woman should be light on her feet and be able to run as quickly as a sprinter, whilst still making no more sound than growing grass.

She grinned in memory, almost dancing her way up another flight of stairs when she passed a rather peculiar door. Drawn to the strange entryway, Darcy examined it with open curiosity.

Standing slightly ajar, the white, thick wood was adorned with a large emblem above the door handle. The ornament was a golden bee, encircled by a yellow ring. It was quite plainly an Asgardian Queen Bee because of the shape and number of wings. But what drew her attention was the stinger. It protruded from with emblem in a tiny orange jeweled peak, threatening to deliver a prettily candied death to anyone who dare turn the handle to enter.

Luckily for Darcy, the door was already open, so she didn’t need to put her hand anywhere near the bee when she pushed her way into the room and gasped.

There were books.

Books everywhere.

Immediately, she hastened to the nearest shelves and searched the spines for interesting things she hadn’t already learned. Maybe there were records of Nornheim’s court cases or—

“Typically, when one enters a room that isn’t theirs without permission, a whipping may be executed. However, today, I will make an exception.”

Darcy froze at the honey sweet sound of a familiar voice.

There, sitting in a plush armchair near the window, was the High Lord from yesterday, the one with the oddly braided blonde beard that she had spoken to just briefly before his guards took her to a room.

He stood; his golden armor was gone, replaced with more casual clothing like the kind Loki wore while they were together in her room. His eyes were not sharp, but rather extremely murky, hiding terrible things beneath his blue irises.

Darcy found her voice, mind racing for something to say. “The door was open. You should close it if you don’t want anyone to come in.”

The Lord, what was his name? Bjarte? Lord Bjarte smiled what most would deem politely, but there was something cruel that ebbed in the corners of his mouth. “Right you are, My Lady. You see, I had been hoping to meet you. Loki happened to mention that you were quite bright. It was no great miracle that you should stumble onto Nornheim’s greatest archive before the sun has risen.”

She met his eyes, deciding that his nickname should be ‘Weird Beard’. “Why did you want to meet me?”

Lord Bjarte’s smile deepened and he stood, gesturing to the chair across from him on the other side of a square table Darcy had not noticed before. “Now now, before we start asking all of those pesky questions, I believe we have not been properly introduced. I am High Lord Bjarte Hagenson of Nornheim.”

Darcy lifted her chin just a bit to compensate for their height difference. Even though he was all the way across the room, she felt it necessary to assert some kind of power. She did not like this Weird Beard and she did not intend to let him get to her. “I am Lady Darcy of Nornheim,” she told him blandly, walking across the room to take a seat in the plush yellow chair he had motioned to previously.

Weird Beard’s smile did not break as something disturbing flashed in his eyes. “Is that so?”

Darcy nodded once, keeping her gaze steady on the Lord. What did he want? Who was he? How did he braid his beard so perfectly? “Yep.”

“What is your house, Lady Darcy? Who are your parents? Where did the little prince pick you up?” he asked, folding his hands in front of him.

Darcy’s glare traveled across the shining hard surface of the table, glowing in the meager daylight to Lord Bjarte’s eyes. “None of your beeswax, Lord Bjarte.”

She nearly laughed at her own joke. She always thought it sounded ridiculous when kids in her class said ‘beeswax’ instead of ‘business’.  But, in this case, it seemed kinda funny.

“Well, you see, Lady Darcy, unlike most of the honor-seeking, pig headed fools that bounce around Nornheim with their titles as defense, I am far cleverer.” He said softly and Darcy listened ever so carefully. “Many people in Asgard are dubious of the dark Prince Loki and I can understand why. He is intelligent. Even at a young age he knows his way around the courthouse and the council. He knows what to say, how to say it, and why to say it. Yet…” he trailed off to glance out the window.

“What?” Darcy inquired leaning off the edge of her seat.

“…They fear him because of his silly magic tricks.” Lord Bjarte chuckled. “They would prefer that Prince Thor showed the same virtues as his brother. But he is too much like the rest of them.”

Darcy pressed her lips together, her heart quickening. Was it wrong that she was having fun? “Are you scared of Loki?”

“Me? Scared?” Lord Bjarte asked innocently, placing a hand over his heart. “A fair question. No, I do not fear him yet. But when I do, and yes, Lady Darcy, one day I will fear him, he will not be well off.”

Darcy was perplexed. This weird bearded Lord Bjarte was fascinating. “But you wouldn’t be afraid of him because of his magic.”

“Of course not. Magic is not something to fear, Lady Darcy, it is the wielder. I face a much graver challenge,” he said calmly in just the barest of whispers.

“What is it?” Dary asked, not bothering to hide her curiosity. She wanted to know. She wanted to figure out this Lord Bjarte person. She had the vaguest notion that if he was scared of Loki, he would try to hurt him. And she would not let him hurt Loki.

“Secrets,” Lord Bjarte said simply. “Loki is already stacking his life full of them, I can tell. There’s something about how the secret keepers walk, and talk, and watch you. They can tell when you’re lying and they can sense when you are weak. He, I’m afraid, is slowly becoming the most fear striking person in the Nine Realms.”

Darcy cocked her head to the side. “The person with the most secrets? You can’t know who has the most secrets in the Yggdrasil. They’re secrets!”

Lord Bjarte waved a finger. “Ah, but I do. Queen Frigga is quite terrifying. And even after all these years, I still do not know any of her clandestine whispers.”

Darcy went to argue, but stopped. She’d only met Loki’s mom once, and she seemed pretty nice. But, from what Loki said, his mother was akin to some all-knowing, all-seeing eye into everything. “What does that have to do with Loki?”

Lord Bjarte grinned impishly, his hands coming together in a short clap. “Well, you see, the Prince has brought his biggest secret before me. Forgive me if I cannot be just the slightest bit curious.”

Darcy thought fast. Oh no! He knew about her. She just had to keep calm. “Yeah? Well, you caught me. I’m Loki’s big secret which is why we go everywhere together and he walked into a hall full of Lords carrying me, just to make sure that no one found out about me.”

Lord Bjarte raised a brow at her blatant sarcasm. “And the Lady has a mouth. Loki has taught you some sort of defense after all. Not that swords aren’t useful, but they won’t keep you alive nearly as long as your tongue will if used properly.” He sat back in his chair. “I may be plain with you, Darcy, yes?”

“Alright.”

“You are not Asgardian. That much is clear. You are not of Nornheim nor any other Asgardian province. I do not know if you are a short spy from Vanaheim or a pretty dwarf, but I assure you, it would not take me long to find out.”

Darcy tapped her chin pensively, surprised that she was not more frightened. There was only the undying and itching inquisitiveness toying at her mind. “Why don’t you find out then?”

Lord Bjarte laughed a deep brutal bark that lasted no less than a second. “Oh, that is the question isn’t it?” He stroked his beard once. “Some call it stupidity, but I call it opportunity. It is not necessary that I know immediately. It would be wrong of me to waste such an asset so early on.”

Darcy tapped her chin, wishing she had her glasses. Weird Beard wanted to use her against Loki? “Okay. Why are you telling me all this? I could just go tell Loki.”

“Of course you could. And then he would never let you visit Asgard again. That would be of no use to me. So, you see, I have a gamble.” He smiled, folding his hands before him.

“I’m too young to gamble,” Darcy said starkly.

Lord Bjarte chuckled. “It is not a matter of age, it is a matter of cleverness,” he chided, snapping his fingers. In a swirl of orange magic, a board appeared on the table, followed by several black and white pieces.

She stared down at the table game that had just appeared on the table and she sought quickly to identify it. The board was square with 9 by 9 squares checkered across the surface.  There was a tall white shapely piece in the center surrounded by shorter others and sets of four pieces off to each side of the board. Darcy recognized this game. She had asked Loki about Asgardian board games not long after they met and he introduced her to every single game he knew.

This had been her favorite.

It was a strategy game called Hnefatafl.

The rules were simple. One person was the white pieces in the middle and another was the black pieces on the outside. The eight white pieces surrounding the tall shapely one were defense and they were called Varins. It was their job to protect the King, who sat in the center of the board.

The black pieces on the outside of the board were called Norns and it was their job to attack and kill the King. Each one had similar movements to that of chess pieces and typically, when she played the game with Loki, she was always the black team.

Lord Bjarte noticed her gaze. “What do you say, Darcy? A gamble then?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want if you win?”

“If I win,” he began, tapping the table with his fingertips, “I want you to tell me your full name, where you are from, and how you came to be acquainted with Prince Loki. I want a challenge, Lady Darcy, as well as the truth. You will tell me everything I wish to know about him,” he ended with a slight twinge of venom. “And what will you have? Hm?”

Darcy considered her words very carefully. “If I win you can’t tell anyone in Yggdrasil about me. You can’t tell them where I’m from, or any of your theories about me. Even if you come up with the truth somehow, you can’t tell them that either. You can’t use me to hurt Loki.”

“So very protective.” Lord Bjarte’s eyes narrowed. “You seem confident for facing a Lord.”

Darcy smirked, “You seem confident for facing me. Varins or Norns?”

“Norns.” He answered not breaking his gaze from hers. “If you don’t mind, I do like to put a time on it. In five minutes, the sun will look as if it is balanced atop that eastern mountain’s peak.  Play quickly enough to be done by then, and I may let you leave Nornheim with all your wits about you.” His tone did not change from its honey-sweet glide.

Darcy nodded once, attention fixed on the board and gesturing for him to begin.

Hurriedly, Darcy devised a strategy. She maybe had five minutes to finish this game and she wasn’t about to lose to some Weird Beard. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and she bit back her panic.

What would Loki do?

She thought back to her sword lessons. Loki told her to look at her opponent. What did she know about Lord Bjarte?

First, he had a weird beard. That meant that he obviously had bad taste in facial hair styles and was overly confident in himself.

Second, he admitted his worst fears to her not minutes after they met. No one just admitted their worst fears. It puts them in a position of vulnerability. Of course, Lord Bjarte seemed proud, he wouldn’t do that, would he? Not unless he knew something she didn’t. He thought he was smarter than her and he wanted to put her to the test.

Third, Lord Bjarte could use magic and the rest of the High Lords were not scared of him. Which meant they either didn’t know, or they trusted him completely. The latter was not very likely and that made Weird Beard a liar.

So who was she facing? Lord Bjarte, an overly confident, testy, liar.

He was going to cheat at their game.

In a whirl of hands and quick pushes of pieces, Darcy played Lord Bjarte with all she had.

His Norns moved around the board like bees, lazily buzzing about until the last possible moment.  Each piece dove at her king with unrelenting force only to halt when met with one of her Varins. All the while, Lord Bjarte kept cool as a cucumber, batting off her defensive pieces like they were nothing until she was blocked in from two sides. He looked at her smugly.

Darcy cursed herself. She learned that detecting sorcerers’ cheats were ridiculously difficult. Loki could cheat so wonderfully, it took her twice the amount of effort to deceive him. “Tuichu.” She said, taking her King down one of the two paths of escape.

She met Lord Bjarte’s eyes, aware that the sun was now peeking up over the mountain. Only a few minutes left and he was cheating. But how?

Some people may look to the board for answers, but she knew, everything she needed to know about winning the game was in Lord Bjarte’s mocking glare.

He moved one of his Norns, she moved one of her defensive pieces into a cynical position.

His eyes flicked down for just the barest of seconds and Darcy saw them glimmer with orange light. Not the kind cast by the sun, this was magic. When he moved his next piece to block her King’s last escape, Darcy’s fingers itched to move the piece that would let him do it while defending her King from a second, well disguised attack that would not, and could not, hurt her as terribly as that last blockade would. The overbearingly sweet taste of honey was thick on her tongue.

Magic.

Weird Beard was influencing her choices. That’s how he was cheating.

Four minutes.

Quickly, Darcy reworked her strategy from one that followed the rules, to one that would openly, quite clearly, break them. But, she had learned, if she never said anything or acted like it was wrong, she could get away with it.

Openly, Darcy moved a piece four spaces to prevent the blockade and open up her king for attack. When Lord Bjarte smiled at her obvious move, Darcy knew she had gotten away with her deception. He brought another piece forwards to an attacking position before her King.

Three minutes.

“Raichi.” Darcy said, moving her King down a path and away from the line of attack, leaving Bjarte’s Norn to be taken by her defense.

This time, Lord Bjarte looked to the board skeptically. And his eyes flashed orange. Darcy noticed the pull of magic was just a tiny bit stronger than before. But Lord Bjarte was not as smart as he thought he was. She spent most of her time with Loki. She knew how magic felt. And just like anything else, Magic could be ignored if the caster was weak enough.

The sun caught the room in a yellow wholesome glow.

Two minutes.

Darcy knew what she had to do. She prepared every turn, each change of position in her Varins building a vulnerable defense so each time Lord Bjarte’s Norns took their turn, his confidence spiked. He might know something she didn’t, but even so, he wasn’t going to have more ways to hurt Loki if she could help it.

One minute left.

Lord Bjarte had not lost his pleasant smile, but his cold eyes bore into hers with every ounce of gloating contempt in his body. Darcy glared back, not with-holding the pouty sneer of her bottom lip.

In her mind, she felt a slight tug. It was warm, welcoming, and flowed over her senses like honey. The enticing force urged her to move the piece that would let Lord Bjarte win the game and let his Norn trap her king for good. Darcy knew it was magic.

Resistance was futile. She could not fight magic that powerful.

So, she abided by the little notion and pushed one of her Varins out of the way allowing the Lord to put her king into the trapped position of Konakis.

The sweet little warmth was removed from her mind as Lord Bjarte’s Weird Beard shimmered in the new light of day. “Well, Lady Darcy, I do believe I—“

“Raichi.” Darcy interrupted smoothly, moving her King back one space and, without thinking, Lord Bjarte moved his nearest piece forwards to recapture the position, compromising the safety of every one of his Norns.

He could not make a move for the rest of the game without having each of his pieces destroyed.

The sun was now a large yellow ball in the sky, casting its mocking glare over their table game. Darcy crossed her arms. “I win.”

Lord Bjarte’s cold eyes met hers, empty. They bored into her for gods know how long, as if searching out some miniscule detail he had missed. “So you did. I must admit, I do not know how. I am quite good at this game.”

Darcy stood up, her messy hair falling over one shoulder. “Well, ya know what they say. Only cheaters can beat cheaters.”

He stroked his weird beard. “Indeed. You have given me a great deal to think about, Darcy.”

She nodded once, placing her hands on her swords. “Yeah. I don’t really care what you think about. But I won, so remember our agreement.”

“And may I never forget.” The Lord said his voice silky and his smile devilish. “Good day, Lady Darcy. Prince Loki’s room is on the next floor and his door is gold.”

                                                                                                                                                                    ***

Loki sighed batting away the hand that poked his shoulder.

“No…Darcy. Go away.”

The poke turned into a healthy shake. “Loki, move. Come on! Look alive!”

He groaned, sitting up and was overcome by strangling nausea. He clamped a hand over his mouth and breathed deeply through his nose, the scent of parchment and fresh ink prominent.

There was an awful pain in his neck and based on the black splotched state of his hands, he had fallen asleep at his desk. He swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat and brought his hands up to squeeze his temples. “Darcy?”

A small tender hand touched his arm. “Hey, you okay?”

Loki leaned on the table, running a hand through his hair. Sometime during the night he had changed into leather pants and a simple green shirt that hung loose from his body. His helm was sitting, horns up, in bed with Fenrir and Jörmungandr. His head was pounding and he looked to be in a state of disarray.

“I’m fine.” He answered slowly, shutting his eyes to block out the harsh daylight.

What happened last night?

He sorted through his memories, eyes snapping open when he remembered his many discoveries. The first of which, was that he had been drunk.

He had gotten drunk. On his first trip away from the Capital with major responsibilities, Loki had gotten drunk. Oh gods, what was his mother going to say? She was going to kill him. It would be a painful death.

He groaned, letting his head fall into his inky palm. “Darcy, I’m a mess.”

“Yeah, you kinda are.” Darcy agreed, patting him on the back. “So, what is all this?” she gestured to the room behind her and Loki squinted through his barely parted lids to see what she was talking about.

The entire room was coated in paper. Each sheet was written on in tiny green print, the letters forming equations in so many languages and situations that it made his head spin. Considering his current state, that was not a fantastic response.

Fed up with his painful aftermath, Loki searched his cloudy mind for a spell and cast it on himself, feeling better almost immediately. He had never had use for a sobering charm until now. But it was quite efficient.

Brightened by his newfound awareness Loki turned to Darcy with enthusiasm. “Darcy, I have had a revelation. It is an absolute miracle, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Loki noticed she was dressed in Asgardian nightwear, her hair was in dire need of attention, she was barefoot, and her swords were belted around her waist. She was wandering along the walls, reading each paper with unwavering interest. “Loki…the Tesseract…you think the spell will work?”

He moved to stand next to her, searching the papers for a stack of equations. “Yes. According to my calculations, correct me if I’m wrong, the spell should be able to work like a Midgardian metal detector. As soon as we are in the general vicinity, the Tesseract should stick out like a Frost Giant on Nidavellir.”

Darcy examined his papers, running her thumb over the notes. “Loki, this spell is complicated. It’s made to detect powerful objects that are hidden under a magical barrier. What if the Tesseract isn’t?”

He frowned. “Well, I assume that it is. The tesseract would have to be under extreme pressure and at a very cool state for it to stay dormant for so long without any mass destruction taking place.”

“Then shouldn’t we check for that first? There’s a big chance it could be on Jotunheim or Asgard or even Midgard.” Darcy suggested, lifting a few more sheets of paper from the wall. “And not to mention how much magic you need for it! Can you even do that without passing out?”

Loki pushed back his hair, pacing the room. “Yes, I suppose that is a problem. I cannot cast the spell yet. But I will be able to at some point.”

“In the meantime, we can check cold places, right?” Darcy asked again and Loki knew she meant Jotunheim. Why did Darcy want to go to Jotunheim? No idea. Was he going to let her go? No. It was too dangerous.

“Of course.” He said, turning back to the wall and searching through several bits of research material. “We will check Nidavellir when we go. Though our trip may be postponed at least a week.”

Darcy leapt in excitement when her eyes caught something on the wall opposite of them. “Loki? What’s that?”

He turned to see what she was looking at. Her gaze was trained precisely on his drawing of Lord Bjarte’s seal. A large Queen Bee with her stinger pointed forwards. She approached that side of the room, reading each of those papers with more relish and scrutiny than he’d ever seen before. Her small form seemed to devour every single word he had written. Her hands balled into fists whenever she came across a mishap in his writing or a gap in information.

“Loki, is all this true about Lord Weird Beard?” she asked, brushing her hand over the papers, but avoiding touching the one with the crest.

“Lord Weird Bead?”

“He has a Weird Beard.”

“It’s true.” Loki said.

“That he has a Weird Beard or that everything you said about him is true?”

“Both,” Loki clarified going to the wall that had captured Darcy’s attention. “Lord Bjarte is dangerous. He ploys. He lies and cheats those foolish enough to trust him and kills those who don’t. He’s very powerful. And, quite frankly, his beard is horrifying. I beg you, do not speak with him. Do not even look at him. He has a reputation of challenging people to little games. He does not play fair and his gambles are pricy.” Loki muttered, rubbing his chin.

“According to discreet research…very…well, not exactly the most honest study I’ve ever done. It involved a lot of personal diary readings of people who have challenged or been challenged by Lord Bjarte. Or, the family members of the departed.”

“Uh…what do they say?” Darcy asked, her voice higher pitched than usual.

Loki looked to her with mild concern, only to have her wave on his words impatiently. “They say that he gets what he wants. He casts a spell beforehand that binds them to their agreement. If you lose the game and you don’t fulfill the agreement, you die.”

He expected Darcy to crack a joke or say something snarky, but she only stood there. Staring at Lord Bjarte’s seal. Then her knees buckled and Loki moved to catch her. “Darcy?” he asked urgently, supporting her weight and hefting her into his arms to lay her on the bed. Oh gods, what if she had made a deal with lord Bjarte? No…Darcy wouldn’t do that, would she?

Who was he kidding? Of course she would. And now she’s dead all because he had to get drunk! He was never drinking again. He was going to live a sober life from that day forwards. Never. Again.

He pressed a hand to her forehead, his heart hammering at every inch of his skin. Darcy could not be dead. No. What had he done?! He must find some way to revive her! There had to be a spell or--

Darcy’s eyes flickered open and Loki’s head fell with a loud ‘clunk’ against the bedpost as she sat up. “Holy Mother of Odin.”

“What?” he demanded insistently, trying to get his heart rate to return to normal. He practiced breathing while Darcy smoothed back his hair in a comforting gesture.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked timidly, obviously disturbed by his loss of composure.

He sought to regain it, but found his eyes wet and his body entirely unwilling to cooperate. She hadn’t been dead. She merely fainted. That was all. No need to be concerned. His hands shook and he balled them into fists at his sides to stop the absurd scene he was making.

But Darcy only seemed concerned. “Sh, hey, it’s okay, Lokes,” she chided, bringing him into her arms where he stared into her eyes until he was positive he had not killed her.

The panic ebbed away till he was left with varied and scattered emotions. “Darcy, what have you done?”

She stood up, rocking back on her heels sheepishly. “I…uh…well…I might… have maybe actually probably madeadealwithLordBjartetheguywiththeWeirdBeard.”

Loki gaped at her in absolute horror, “Darcy…Darcy! Darcy why!?”

She crossed her arms. “What?”

“You have lost the game to Lord Bjarte and now you’re going to die. This is my fault. I’m so sorry Darcy, this—“

He stopped talking when Darcy thumped him on the back of his head. It didn’t hurt, per say, it didn’t really feel great either. “What?”

She crossed her arms. “I won, you egg!”

Loki simply stared. “You won.”

“Yep.”

“In a Hnefatafl match?”

“Yep.”

“You beat him?”

“Clearly.”

“And you had a part of the bargain to be fulfilled?”

“Duh.”

“And you won.”

“Loki, I am beginning to feel offended,” Darcy pouted.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…well, people claim he uses magic to cheat. That is the only way he plays.”

“He did use magic,” Darcy said, wiping some ink off his cheek. “Lord Bjarte usually plays people in Nornheim. And, let’s face it Loki, Norns are good at some things, but cunning isn’t one of them. They don’t know he uses magic and they’re not brilliant strategists. They’re more the brute force type people. Like Thor. That’s why Lord Bjarte does so well in Nornheim. He’s the smartest one here.”

Loki’s brow crinkled, his grip still strong on her shoulders. “But Darcy, you are mortal. You cannot resist magic when it is used on your mind.”

She shrugged. “That’s true. But Norns don’t cheat when they play games. I do.”

Loki blinked.

She sighed, wetting her thumb to better smear the green and black splotches off his face. “I could feel the magic, Loki. Lord Bjarte doesn’t even know how to play the game right. I just moved my pieces around more and tricked him into thinking he almost won before beating him. He made me move a specific piece but it was the wrong piece. So I won.”

Loki was at a loss.

Darcy was insane. She was crazy, off her rocker, ingenious, and his best friend.

A whirl of pride shot through him. “Darcy, you are incredible.”

“I know, right?”

“Darcy, are you aware of what this means?”

“I’m totally amazing and deserve all the chocolate in the world?” she guessed hopefully, beaming up at Loki’s now spotless face.

He let go of her, striding around the room. “Darcy, what did you ask for?”

Darcy tapped her chin pensively, “Well, he had been going on about how he knew that I wasn’t Asgardian blah blah blah, then he was acting like he was going to blackmail you. So, our deal was that he wouldn’t tell anyone about me. Ever.”

Loki felt his heart drop. “He knew?”

“Well, not exactly,” Darcy explained. “He was talking funny. Anyways, I think I should have asked for something different. I mean, I wish I had read this wall first. I could have asked for him to stop with all the Vanaheim threats and everything and—“

Loki cut her words off with a tight hug. “No. No, your gamble was perfect. You have protected yourself. That is what’s important.”

“I didn’t do it for me,” Darcy said breathlessly, Loki’s arms squeezing the air from her lungs. Hastily he released her. “I did it for you. He was going to use it against you in the council meetings. You don’t have to worry about that now, so you can kick his butt when he goes on his taking over Vanaheim streaks.”

Loki shook his head, waving his hands to make the papers on the walls disappear in a flash of green light. He would sort through them later when he didn’t have to get them back to the capital. It was bad enough they spent the night. “How was your night Darcy? What did you think of the party?”

Darcy flopped onto his bed, waking Fenrir and Jörmungandr. They had a small reunion full of licks and face cuddles. “It was okay. The fruit was really good and I danced with this guy. I think his name was Halvor. He was nice. But then Thor was a butt and he made Sif cry and then we had a sleepover in my room.”

Loki had magicked his regular armor into place and combed back his hair. “Sif cries?”

He stepped out of the way as a pillow came flying towards him. Fenrir barked. “What?”

“Of course she does! You cry, don’t you?” Darcy asked defensively.

Loki sat next to her on the bed. “Occasionally. It was not meant as an offense. You must realize, Darcy, I hold Sif in the highest of respects. It was merely a surprise.”

She smirked. “Okay okay. Just never be Thor.”

“I do not wish to be,” Loki assured, smiling as Darcy rested her head on his shoulder.

She took his hands, tracing the ink splatters. “I missed you last night. I thought we could have gone and found the library or something. But you looked busy.”

Loki remembered the previous night and his true rationale for not speaking with Darcy and blushed. “I apologize. I was not feeling quite like myself.”

“Was it the killing thing?” she asked softly, turning her head to look him in the eyes.

“Partially,” he said, vowing on his mother’s soul to never ever tell her his true reasoning.

“Do you—

“Come on, we need to go. Do you wish to wear your armor out today?” he asked, standing up.

Darcy nodded, the tiniest of pouts on her lips. “Yeah. Can you do my hair, too? The handmaidens made it really curly yesterday and now it’s messy.”

He readily agreed, mentally preparing for a day that was already proving to be far too dangerous for his mortal friend. It was official now. No matter what happened, he was not leaving her side again until she was safely back on Midgard where no one could hurt her or make magical bets that could ultimately result in her untimely death.

But, he supposed, on Midgard, there was that Idiot Boy…. As a friend, it would not be in Darcy’s best interests to take her back to the place where she would be subjected to such primitive courtship.

Yet, in Asgard, there was Lord Bjarte and he would have to go into a lot of meetings when they got back to the capital to sort out what is to happen on Vanaheim. He would also be facing the Allfather’s rage for their rather rude behaviors pertaining to Thor’s bloodlust and Loki’s magical extremities….

Still, on Midgard there was Idiot Boy….

“Darcy?” Loki asked, gently brushing out her tangles.

“Yeah?”

“When do you need to be home?”

She tapped her chin, “Hm, I think I need to be back in time for soccer practice on Wednesday. Why? How’s my double working out? Is she okay? Is she just doing what I normally do all day? Are my parents okay?”

Loki inwardly shamed himself for being so selfish with Darcy’s company. She should be home. With her family.

But then again, they would want her to do what makes her happy, wouldn’t they? Murmuring a spell, he looked through the eyes of her double and saw that she was playing a board game with her family and they all seemed to be in rather high spirits.

“Your doppelganger is fine. As are your parents. I was curious as to if you might be interested, that is, of course, if you’re willing to stay another day in Asgard, in partaking as witness during a council meet--?”

“YES! Are you kidding me?! A council meeting!? Are you serious?! Yes! Yes! Yes!” She turned around, hair half combed to throw her arms around his neck in the most forceful hug he’d ever been given.

Well, he supposed that answered that question.

***

Frigga’s last few days had not been ideal. Her husband in the Odinsleep was never a good sign. And with Thor and Loki away to war in Nornheim? Her sons, she had no doubt, were fully capable of not getting a sword in the back. But when it came to the inner workings of their dispute with Nornheim…well Thor had no idea what he was doing and Loki was far too clever for any of the Lords to trust him completely.

Naturally she had been worried.

After returning from Odin’s bedside that night, she decided it was not in her best interest to sleep. With all her concerns building up, no doubt her dreams would haunt her like vicious beasts in the night. So, she returned to her private quarters where none went but herself and the occasional guest.

In the center of the room, set on a gold pedestal and surrounded by trickling gold fountains and small gentle waterfalls was her scrying pool.

It was a rare skill to be able to see the future and she did not dwell on her propensity for it. Very few could see what lay ahead and it was a dangerous act. A very dangerous act indeed. More than that, the future could never be exactly predicted.

What she could see was murky and the brief tellings were only flashes of events that never told the whole story. The scrying pool would focus these visions, keeping them safe from the defilement of fallible memory. Still, she was very careful not to dwell on what she saw. Looking too deeply into the future was dangerous and could lead people to do destructive things, especially concerning those they loved.

Attempting to settle her nerves with the steady work of weaving, Frigga sat down in a window seat to gaze at the stars and replicate their beauty. Then, all of a sudden, the room darkened. The stars outside of her window seemed to dim and her needle did not shine in the muted light of the night sky.

It was pitch black when an eerie light began to radiate from her scrying pool.

Frigga cautiously licked her lips, tasting the magic that had filled the room.

The power was ancient, unruly energy that sparked the slightest bit of fear into her bones. This was not simply a vision. No. A force far beyond herself was doing this.  Someone...something older, she’d venture to say, than Yggdrasil as it was known that day.

Carefully, she stood, tapestry falling to the floor as she stalked nearer and nearer to the pool.

Hands poised to deflect any offensive spell, Frigga peered into the basin and gasped in horror, quickly working to regain her wits.

In one last blinding flash of crimson tinted darkness, the room returned to its normal brightness, leaving the queen to grip the sides of her pool in fearful comprehension at what she had seen.

Somewhere, sometime, in the future, were forces so powerful, realms would fall from their mere presence.

And somehow, in the mix of it, whether the beginning, or the end, was a helplessly brave black haired prince, accompanied by a mortal girl with enough fierce determination to fuel their curiosity for the next millennium.

Frigga sighed heavily. Oh gods give her strength. She was going to need it.