Frank is Scared
“Do these jeans make my butt look big?”
Grace turned a studious gaze upon her friend’s rear. “Yeah. Huge.”
Darcy grinned looking over her shoulder to see her reflection in the fitting room mirror. “Awesome. I’m getting these ones.”
The girls laughed together, rifling through their collection of clothes they hauled into the changing rooms. It was August and school was due to start anytime now. Darcy and Grace had agreed that they wanted to really define their style. Or, at least start wearing things other than gym shorts all the time.
Darcy was hard to separate from her love of jeans. But Grace convinced her to at least try some skirts. A few long ones, a few shorter ones. She decided on one of each.
Grace was much more style oriented and Darcy was impressed on how everything in her closet seemed to go together. Darcy would even venture to say that Grace was worse than Loki when it came to matching things. She coordinated her hair wrap with her bed sheets. That took skill in Darcy’s book.
Grace sighed, pushing down her hair that was starting to frizz. “I should have put my hair up. Going natural is great, but I think I’m going to change it up before school starts.”
“What were you thinking?” Darcy asked, sliding off her t-shirt in favor of trying on a light-weight sweater. It was comfortable and had a mock turtle-neck. She almost threw it into her ‘yes pile’ before she realized it was dark green. She smirked. Loki already turned enough of her things green; she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of actually purchasing green clothing.
Her socks were green, her pajama bottoms, her sleepshirts, her favorite rain coat…all green. Her mother had inquired to the discoloration and Darcy claimed it must be magic.
“I was thinking braids,” Grace said uncertainly. “Maybe I’ll just get it straightened and keep it that way because of soccer.”
Darcy thought about this for a moment, absentmindedly adjusting her bra. “Yeah. Braids would be cool, but straight might be easier.”
“That is if we even make the team,” Grace snorted. “I mean, look at us! Two freshman girls! So young! So green! Ready to step out onto the field and not score goals!”
Laughing, Darcy elbowed her friend. “Hey! We’re not that bad. Ashley on the other hand…”
Grace snorted out a rather unattractive chortle, unzipping the casual dress she’d tried on. “I don’t think Ashley is trying out. She says she wants to try cheerleading.”
Darcy nodded in memory, thinking back to the end of the year party her parents had hosted for her soccer team. It had been a picnic/barbeque where all her friends came to sit in her backyard and kick around a ball. Mysteriously, all of the hot dogs had disappeared from the event, leaving everyone with the option of hamburger or veggie burger.
Ashley had set everyone down and made a big deal about how she wasn’t doing soccer in high school. Darcy liked Ashley, no matter how melodramatic she was. But sometimes, Darcy felt like Ashley would fit in all too well with a few of the more passive ladies of the court.
Darcy’s phone vibrated and she checked her texts. “My mom is done shopping for work clothes. She said she’ll meet us at the bookstore. If we want, coffee is on her.”
Grace made a face. “I don’t drink coffee. Caffeine is unhealthy, and it tastes nasty so what’s the point of decaf?”
Darcy acted offended at the bash on coffee. She was starting to drink more of it. Late nights with Loki, coupled with her preparations for High School and duties as an advisor? It was a mess. Not to mention, she had been taking time away from the palace to further explore the capital city of Asgard and walking around all day was seriously taxing.
She often asked Loki if he’d like to accompany her, but he had yet to say yes. Darcy didn’t take it personally. In fact, it would seem very out of character for Loki to agree to willingly go mill about with hundreds of people at a time. He liked mischief and chaos, but he liked it from a distance. Not that he had a problem interacting with people, he just preferred not to.
Darcy was actually a bit confused by her friend. It wasn’t like Loki couldn’t make friends or talk to people. He could, and he was good at it. He had people skills. But he acted…fake.
Charming, yes. Loki, no.
The formality he used when associating with those closest to him was odd. Even with Sigyn he adorned a proper air. It was like a shield used to mask the snarky, mischievous person beneath. Darcy wondered why that was. Maybe he didn’t want friends. Maybe he thought he just didn’t need them.
Loki didn’t like to bring up the parts of his life before he met Darcy that didn’t involve his mother. Going off what she’d gathered from Thor, Loki had always been a loner. Darcy figured as much, but it still made her sad. Loki was introverted. He liked quiet places and magic. He had fun at feasts and tolerated council meetings with minimal mayhem, but he valued their alone time.
Their more relaxing days happened at least thrice a week, when the two of them could sit in comfortable silence and say absolutely nothing. Darcy could almost feel Loki’s peacefulness at these times. As much as he loved scheming, nothing beat an hour or two of tranquility.
The girls got together the items they wanted to buy and Darcy paid for her haul with her mom’s credit card, Grace with hers.
Grace looked sadly down at her card as they walked to the end of the strip mall to a joint independent bookstore and café. “I think I’m, like, two cents away from maxing out. I’ve bought a bagel from that new pastry place everyday this summer.”
Darcy grinned widely. “Dude, bagels are worth it! Did you get the veggie cream cheese?”
“Ew. No. I hate cream cheese,” Grace said as they entered the bookstore.
Darcy gasped in horror, turning her nose up. “We can’t be friends anymore. I officially hate you and everything that you stand for.”
They laughed and Grace gave Darcy a shove as they approached Mrs. Lewis at the small café in the corner of the bookstore. She asked them how shopping went and they showed her their different clothing articles. Mrs. Lewis smiled, checking her phone and saying that they still had time to look at books. She had a shift at the hospital later that day.
Darcy bought a coffee before picking out the books that year’s syllabus said they needed. Romeo and Juliet. Great Expectations. Remains of the Day. They all seemed fine, if not a little dull. Grace went to look at the latest teen romance novels that she’d been gushing about and Darcy casually strolled over to the Biographies and Nonfiction.
Usually, her mom would let her buy at least five books of her own choice. Only recently had Darcy learned how expensive her reading habits were. Midgardian textbooks were costly, especially when most she acquired were for college studies. Recently published science journals and stacks of library books she’d become far too attached to let go. The price of her late fees and ‘missing’ books was astronomical. Not to mention, Darcy had a bad habit of ‘borrowing’ books from her mother’s doctor friends.
Technically, it was Loki who did the borrowing and Darcy didn’t harp him too seriously about returning said borrowed books. It wasn’t stealing. She needed those books. For science.
But Darcy’s mom didn’t question the absurd amount of reading material Darcy managed to obtain. Nor did she complain about the cost. Darcy figured that between her reading expenses and the cumulative cost of Darius’ video games and car repair fines (he’d crashed the car twice that year), they were pretty evenly matched.
Darcy picked through the new releases the ‘scientific research’ part of the Nonfiction section. The thing she liked about this particular independent bookstore is that they carried everything. They weren’t partial to one type of book over another. They ordered the books and Darcy was happy to receive them.
Loki particularly liked anything science related. Any scientist that existed in the last century, he wanted to know what they did, why they did it, and how he could use that to his advantage.
From the shelf Darcy found a thicker book about universal expansion and galactic anomalies written by Erik Selvig and co-authored by K.D. Foster. She flipped open the cover and stared appreciatively at their sources then read the blurbs about the authors. Both taught at Culver University. Or at least they had when the book was published last year.
Darcy’s heart fluttered a bit when she thought of Culver.
As fine as it was to learn about political science from a textbook, she felt like she was missing proper instruction. Loki was very good about explaining mathematical things to her, but not politics. He hated politics.
She needed someone who knew what they were doing when it came to Midgardian Political science. She’d done research online and found Culver, one of the best universities in the world to go for political science. That was her motivation for doing well in school.
Homework was despicable, but Culver was pretty. She would do her homework for the sake of Culver.
Nearing the end of her walk through the store, she had a small collection of books to take to check-out. The girl at the cash register whose nametag read ‘Susan’ smiled down at her from over the counter. “Hey, glad to see you back! Missed you for a couple weeks.” She chatted friendlily and Grace gave Darcy an incredulous look as if to say ‘the people at the bookstore know you, you weirdo.’
Darcy ignored her friend and responded kindly. “Yeah. I was out of it for a while. I figured I should come and pick up books for class and stuff.”
Susan scanned Great Expectations. “Where do you guys go?”
“East,” Grace answered and Susan’s face lit up.
“Oh, hey, I go there! I’m a senior this year. You guys must be coming in as freshman.”
Darcy held out her mom’s credit card again to purchase her books and sucked air in through her teeth dramatically. “Are we that obvious?”
Susan laughed, beginning to get Grace’s books. “Nah. I just saw the books. I had to read the same ones.”
“Makes sense,” Grace said, paying for her books.
Darcy waved goodbye to Susan as they left the shop, trailing being her mom. Grace was chattering about the sleepover at Ashley’s that night. “…seriously, Darce, we haven’t had a sleepover all summer. Just come to this one before the endless void of higher education sucks us in forever!”
Darcy made a face. “Okay okay, fine. I’ll come.” She grimaced, anxiously anticipating a sleepover all the ride home. Not that she minded sleepovers, but it was always a bit of a reminder of how different she was from her friends. They talked about boys and hair care products while Darcy caught up with pop culture. Lord of the Rings marathons and speed reading through the Harry Potter series were all activities reserved for sleepovers. It always gave her something to relate to with her friends. The more references she used, the more Midgardian she felt.
It went without saying there was a lot of mental preparation that went into starting high school and friends helped with that. Besides, she owed herself a break with all she’d accomplished that summer.
Though Darcy refused to call Odin a good man, she could acknowledge he was a decent king. At least, he knew what the hell he was doing sometimes, which was more than half the court. Of course, the rest of the court wasn’t taught to rule a realm by Queen Frigga.
Taxes were in abundance in Asgard. The happier people were, the more taxes went to Asgard’s budget. No wonder everything was so beautiful, the crown was loaded. Odin had so much money coming in from the capital that the sum amount received per season alone was comparable to eight times what the United States and United Kingdom combined brought in every three years if you did the math properly.
Inflation wasn’t necessarily a problem either, as Odin had set a decree to lower the taxes correspondingly to goods sold on the market which were regulated privately as most shopkeepers and merchants bought and sold according to season. They worked amongst themselves with supervision of the court to ensure there was no overproduction of certain goods.
Money went towards the military and training camps. At first, Darcy had a problem with these. The Asgardian Military would accept any man or child who was not an infant. Supposedly they accepted women as well, since Sif was a part of their program. The men would train for a few years, room and board paid for by the crown. It was a good way to keep children off the streets, though homelessness was extremely uncommon in Asgard.
The children would train with their weapon of choice, study fighting to defend their realm, and when they entered adulthood, they would be inducted into the military as warriors.
Extra money went towards funding various projects throughout Asgard. Architectural schools, Sculpting projects, weapons manufacturers, and a great deal of magical collegiums. Darcy was smug about that last one. Even the most uptight Aesir could not live a second on their precious Asgard without somehow being affected by the magical influence. Everything in Asgard was founded off magic and she dearly wished more people would share her understanding. The lower class was extremely sympathetic and accepted magic as an art form. Because of this, more lower class citizens practiced magic, attended the schools, and supported Asgard’s magical demands.
And of course, ninety-three percent of the magicians on Asgard were women. Without them, the realm would fall apart. It pained Darcy that they didn’t get more recognition and for the most part, she blamed Odin. He had developed a well functioning realm that seemed almost perfect when you had a less than ethical moral standpoint. His perspectives were old and they had Darcy waiting by for an Asgardian social-justice revolution.
The lower class was not poor, the middle class was not relied on for the majority of support for the realm, and the higher class was fair and decent to the rest. Each understood their place and since no one was starving or suffering in their position, things seemed fairly equal. However, there were distinct differences Darcy had noticed.
Firstly that the lower class was a whole lot freer than the upper class. They did what they liked, abided by the laws and were typically very laid back peoples. They were not bound by strict social expectations and preferred to do as they pleased.
The most obvious example of this that she had found was sexuality.
Starting high school, Darcy was beginning to see controversial topics more clearly. American Midgardians fought vigorously over who did what with who and how they went about it, the government grasping at control over intimate parts of a relationship for their own morals rather than worldly ethics.
Asgard wasn’t like that. No one in the court would dare even speak about something that happened in the bedchamber, let alone try to make a law about it. To them, it was a topic of conversation better left to the feasting tables where, after a few strong tankards of mead, jokes could be made and humor applied.
It was, however, expected in the upper class that women marry men and make babies to carry on the family bloodline. As long as that happened, no one really cared whose bed they spent their time in. Families married off their sons and daughters early before they became independent enough to feel confident in making their own decisions and denied any husband/wife they were to have.
The lower the class you went, the freer people became. No one had any reason to carry on a bloodline and when you can have eternal youth, forever to have children if you want them and no obligations, there was no rush. If you didn’t want children, there was no need to make them. In fact, marriage was rare in the lower class. If people got married, it was believed that those people were helplessly in love that they would commit themselves to one lover for the rest of their lives.
Darcy had gone to a tavern dressed as a commoner to partake in lower class customs in order to continue her study on social differences rather than classist discrepancies, as there were hardly any besides the amount of money made per century.
A drink in hand, Darcy had observed two men displaying rather passionate affection for one another near the bar. But no one looked twice. In the palace, in ballrooms and dining halls where people wore jewels and signed papers, the mention of two men together would cause outrage. Public display of affection would be shunned.
The rest of Asgard thought nothing of it. They were a bit like extremely calm bohemians who liked to fight with each other and then laugh about it while they bled on the floor.
Darcy often did this; slipping past the watchful eye of the guards to visit the city by herself and gauge from the people their opinion of their realm and its leadership. From the Asgardian public she learned that Odin knew how to make people love the royal family. He and Thor were particularly charismatic in the War Cultured world. Odin had their loyalty, as he was their king. Thor had their trust. Frigga had their will and adoration. Loki had their curiosity.
It was strange to Darcy, who knew Loki so well, to hear other’s opinions of him. Silly to her was their bafflement at the young Prince’s motives. He was thoroughly against war of any sort, though he practiced magic, which was said to be dangerous and unpredictable. Not all of them thought that way. Progressive Aesir disagreed and had no qualms with Loki’s sorcery. Extremists likely bred in Nornheim claimed that Loki was unfit to be a part of the royal family because of his enchanting lifestyle.
The Capital tended to have more liberal standpoint than Nornheim, so almost none had reason to despise or criticize him.
The problem was that Loki never went to speak with any of them. At times when the royals addressed the public, he was formal and persuasive, speaking eloquently and with enough charm to drown a sorceress. He was never uncomfortable, he just never acted like himself. Darcy advised him to be freer around the people he might one day rule. Being a King was more than just attending meetings and debating opinions before signing a few slips of paper.
It was knowing what the realm needed. It was knowing the people in order to help them.
Thor was just the opposite of Loki. He was the Asgardian vision of a perfect prince. Strong, blonde, and proud, Thor was a public phenomenon. Everyone wanted to drink with him, women crowded him as he entered the later parts of his teen years, and he still didn’t have the slightest idea on how to rule a realm.
Darcy had come to respect war culture. Though she disagreed with the glorification of battle and strength in combat, it was the history and tradition of Asgard. They needed war or at least some form of trouble. They liked it. It was what brought their pride and reason for celebration. It was an ingrained part of the Asgardian identity and Darcy wasn’t going to be the one to challenge the Aesir on their mores.
Even Frigga shared some of these traits. She couldn’t idly be Queen, she had to be doing something battle-related even if that was running a secret spy group under Odin’s nose. Though Frigga did things differently than most Aesir and Darcy suspected that was because she was raised in the tamer parts of Vanaheim.
And Darcy deduced that since it was Frigga who raised Loki, he shared her beliefs.
Back at her house, Darcy had entered her room to find Loki sitting on her bed with Frank and Fenrir lying across his lap while he fiddled with his fingers, making sour faces as he focused his energy. He abandoned his work the minute she stepped in.
After greeting her warmly and helping her with their books, Loki presented her with a few of the most recent notes from his meeting with the inter-realm committee. She told him about her plans for the night and Loki’s pout was cute. It was obvious he didn’t mean to look so put-out, but he did and Darcy promised that they could spend the next afternoon in the gardens, having a day of rest. She needed some time just the two of them without any meetings or people consulting her about this and that.
As fun as it was to be advisor, she still just liked spending time with Loki.
Loki had insisted that since she was spending the night at someone else’s house, she should have her hair in a braid so that it didn’t get tangled the next day. Darcy smiled at this because even though she was starting high school, getting older and all that, Loki still persisted in doing her hair.
She sat between his legs on her bed, her back to him as he started gently pulling her hair back, his long fingers gently running across her forehead. Sighing, Darcy began to relax just as her cell phone rang. She was about to get annoyed that someone was calling her now, but was pleasantly surprised when she saw Peter’s caller ID on the screen
“Peter!” she answered happily. They talked about once a month, in which time he asked her questions about science and Darcy made sure he was getting along with people at school. He said it was fine, but Darcy wasn’t stupid. Peter was one of those people who just wanted to please, and those were the most commonly bullied people. Peter also spoke a great deal with Loki as the two of them shared a passion for math that Darcy understood but was less enthusiastic about.
“Hey Darce, I wanted to check up. How’s it goin’?” he asked cheerily.
“I’m great, actually,” Darcy answered, talking a bit about starting high school and the two of them caught up for another few minutes before Loki interrupted.
“Darcy?” he whispered, setting down the brush. “I have a question for Peter Parker.”
She suppressed a chuckle, “Hey, Peter, Loki wants to talk. Yeah, here he is.” She handed Loki the phone and he held it between his ear and shoulder.
“Yes, hello Peter Parker…I agree, it has been too long…what is your opinion on genetic mutations? I’ve been reading about them recently. Inhumane, yes. But interesting….”
Darcy flinched as Loki hit a particular snarly tangle and he paused his conversation to apologize.
He began braiding. Darcy was impressed by Loki’s hair-doing abilities. He did the most complex braids, hardly paying attention to the masterpiece he was creating. He claimed it was because he spent years watching his mother weave. Darcy didn’t even begin to believe him, as it was custom for men on Asgard to be skilled at braiding since their hair was sometimes just as long as women’s.
He started at the hair behind her right ear, taking it to the back of her head then did the same to the other side. He repeated this with several bits of hair behind her ears, then started a more intricate braid at the top of her head and twisted her hair until he could tie in the smaller braids, making a multipart rope that settled between her shoulder blades.
By the time he finished he had silenced his musings on inhumane testing on live subjects and was attentively listening to Peter’s book recommendations. Darcy started on Romeo and Juliet, leaning back against Loki’s chest while he soothingly ran his fingers up and down her arm. He commented shortly on some theory book or another that he disagreed with.
His voice had deepened a bit. Not a whole lot, but Darcy noticed the subtle change. He’d also gotten taller. She grew two inches that summer and her mom said it was unlikely that she would ever grow past 5’4”. Darcy resented that Loki would forever be taller than her. She knew she had to accept it one day.
Darcy read the prologue and decided that Shakespeare was really dramatic. But as she continued into the first act, she admitted to herself that his sex jokes were on point.
By the end, Darcy made up her mind that she hated everything. Of course she knew the ending to Romeo and Juliet, the tragedy of it. But there was a difference between knowing the tragedy and reading the tragedy. When she threw the book and began tearing up, Loki said goodbye to Peter who he’d been talking to for almost three and a half hours now.
“Darcy?” he asked, settling both hands on her shoulders. “Are you alright?”
She sniffled, wiping away her tears. “That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever read. Dumb…cheesy…love…stupid teenagers and their love.”
Loki chuckled wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her neck. “I’ve read most of Shakespeare. I found it rather beautiful as well.”
“When did you read Shakespeare?” she asked, finally over her moment of intense emotions and annoyance with all things family related.
She felt him shrug. “A while ago. I began reading fictitious Midgardian texts because of how many references are made to them in the modern world. Your father owns all of his works. Did you know he studied classics before deciding to be a fireman?”
“Duh. He’s my dad. Our car rides involve him quoting old dead people and me pretending to listen,” Darcy said, secretly humored by her father’s antics.
Loki smiled into her hair, Darcy holding one of his hands in one of hers for a long moment. “Loki?”
“Hm,” he hummed, his breathing slow and Darcy knew he must be tired. Whenever she left him to his own devices on Asgard, he forgot to eat and sleep. She believed he remembered to shower. Loki had a vain streak and he cared more about what his hair looked like than his personal health.
Darcy nudged him. “I have to go. You should sleep. And eat actual food. Whatever you say about being Aesir and not needing to eat as often, I call shenanigans. You’re a dirty liar.”
He groaned, tightening his hold on her and collapsed to the side, pulling her with him. She gasped for air. “Loki…” she managed. “…mortal…Asgardian strength….incompatible…”
Lessening his hold, he let his arms go limp so she could crawl from his embrace. “Darcy, I cannot sleep. There are monsters under my bed.”
She snorted, throwing her stuff into an overnight bag. “Well there are gods under mine, so I think I win.”
He muttered something in Allspeak, shoving his head under a pillow while Fenrir made himself comfortable sitting on his back.
She threw a pair of folded socks at his shoulder, which he didn’t bother to catch. “Come on, Loki. It’s only four o’clock. Go sleep on your royal prince bed and I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Nothing.
She rolled her eyes, scooting Fenrir away so she could sit across Loki’s back, a knee on each side of his body. Lifting up his shirt, she began scratching his back in order to get his blood moving. It was a trick she’d learned to wake him up in the mornings when they had things to do on Asgard.
“Darcy,” he protested into the sheets. “Leave me.”
Beaming in triumph, she scratched light circles over his ribs, causing him to flinch. Irritably, he threw the pillow that had covered his head and turned his head to scowl at her through narrowed eyes. “Sleep through the night. If you sleep now, you’ll be awake so early in the morning that you’ll be testy the rest of the day.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “I shall return to Asgard when you depart.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing it back. When he sat up, she held out her pinky to him. “Pinky promise?”
He narrowed his eyes before relenting and linking their fingers, “Pinky promise.”
“Good,” she said cheerily. “Tell Sigyn I said ‘hello’ and, if you feel up to it, punch Sif in the boob and say it’s from Darcy.”
“I knew it,” he said, closing his eyes again. “You wish me dead.”
“Absolutely,” Darcy agreed happily, moving off of him to get going. As she stood up, Loki grasped her wrist. “Lokes…”
But he didn’t make an effort to pull her back. He just held her hand for a moment, giving her a curious kind of look. “Have fun, pass my greetings to Grace.”
“Will do,” she said when he let go and she hurriedly picked up her bag and checked her clock. “I’m going to be late.” Rushing to the door, she shot one last glance at Loki. “I love you. Eat. Sleep. Fun. Sif’s boob.”
***
Loki stayed true to his promise and returned to Asgard, ate a full meal without falling asleep and was sitting in the library playing with a new spell.
He did not, however, punch Sif’s ‘boob’ and he was not having fun.
That week, Loki had been feeling especially needy. He was so tired, all he really wanted to do was sit in Darcy’s room and sleep. Her bed smelled better than his bed. His sheets were changed every day and it didn’t feel like his bed anymore.
So, instead of attempting sleep, he would stay up reading, or staring at the sky, or completing his princely responsibilities. He loved Asgard, though had recently come to hate it to some extent. Asgard was boring and the people held no appreciation for magic and mischief
He sat back, pulling out his newest journal and writing down a few notes about his spell just as a messenger approached his corner, giving a slight bow. “Your Highness.”
“Speak,” Loki accepted the message passively. Most likely he was needed in some meeting or another.
The messenger held his hands behind his back. “The Allfather demands your presence in his study.”
Loki raised a singular black brow at the messenger, snapping his journal shut. “Demands?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the messenger assured, swallowing thickly and Loki wondered why he seemed uneasy. If he had lied, Loki would have been the first to know.
Loki sat back, pursing his lips while the messenger was itching to be allowed to go. “Tell him I am preoccupied.”
The messenger turned whiter than a sheet. “Your Highness, he was rather adamant about your attendance.”
Loki considered him for a moment, choosing to reply dismissively. “Very well. Continue your duties, Herdar.”
The messenger turned away then looked curiously back to Loki. “You know my name? Your Highness,” he added quickly.
Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, I have lived in this palace long enough to learn names.”
Herdar bowed once more, considerably less apprehensive. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
His thanks puzzled Loki, though he put aside his confusion, having more pressing matters to tend to. The Allfather was in a sour mood. Lately, Loki widely associated his father’s bitterness with himself. He was unsure why, but Odin was being particularly harsh towards him.
They weren’t monumental acts of offense, but rather neglect. It seemed to Loki that Odin was ignoring his second son’s existence. In council meetings, Odin would interrupt right before he was able to speak what little he did at their conferences. The first time this occurred, Loki brushed it off as an accident. But it kept happening. Odin disrupted every effort he made to voice his arguments and opinions.
Odin no longer spoke with him. He called Thor in for visits that would have once belonged to Loki. He didn’t want to think that his father respected Thor more than him, but he knew it was true. All their lives, Odin had made it quite clear who his favorite was. It was just getting more noticeable as of late.
The Allfather would compliment Thor on his efforts in the training field or a technique he used in one of his tales of battle. Loki received none of this and while he did have the court’s appreciation as a prince, Thor alone had the approval of Odin as a son.
Loki very dearly wanted that.
He could admit this to himself on his own in the comforts of his library. He had not yet gathered the courage to tell Darcy of Odin’s coldness towards him. He feared that he was being petty.
He was getting older, was he not? He should not require Odin fretting over him like a mother hen.
Independent as he was this summer, it was no wonder Odin was not showing him any kindness. He was soon to be a man. Men did not need affirmation from their fathers to succeed at their perusals. Hence, Loki willed Odin’s inert tendencies not to bother him.
But somehow they still managed to strike a discord.
Because Odin did not extend his detached attitudes to Thor. It was just the opposite.
Every bit of compassion Odin ever seemed to have for Loki had been moved to Thor, his thick-skulled brother who had stopped attending any meetings and was hardly at the palace anymore. Loki knew Thor left to go have his ridiculous adventures through the city. So far, he’d deduced that all he did was drink and make offensive attempts at flirting with common women. Not that Loki had any problems with common women, but with Odin’s recent distaste for Loki, it looked as though Thor might soon become the crown prince.
And dressing up like a peasant and prancing around with Fandral and Hogun every night was disrespectful to his title.
Darcy did the same thing, except she went to discover more about Asgard and she always took notes. She found her trips interesting and always asked Loki if he wanted to go with her. Loki had yet to say yes. The idea of going out was a nice concept, but he did not want to be like Thor. If all there was to do outside the palace was drink and stare after women, he would rather stay in the library.
Stowing his journal, he let Jörmungandr slither around his body and chose to teleport to outside Odin’s study door, enjoying the shocked expressions of the guards at his sudden appearance. Thor was just strutting forwards, a broad smile on his face as he greeted Loki. “Brother! You look terrible.”
Loki sighed, looking to the ceiling with a pained expression. “It runs in the family.”
Thor clapped him on the shoulder. “Indeed. Why is it that father has summoned us?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” He paused for a moment, cocking his head to the side and smirking. “Or perhaps not.”
“You wound me,” Thor said mockingly, addressing the guards. “Well, does he wish to see us or not?”
The guards nodded and opened the thick golden doors to allow their princes to enter. Odin sat at his desk, hands folded, eyeing them menacingly. Loki might have imagined that glare was intended for him more so than Thor.
Loki bowed, as was customary when summoned by the king whether he was your father or not.
Thor did not bow. In fact, Thor did not show any sign of respect, instead choosing to stare expectantly at the Allfather. “Father, why have you summoned us?”
Odin’s eye flicked between his sons and he stood. Loki, who had always seen Odin as a domineering figure, deemed that he appeared smaller now. Perhaps it was because Loki had grown.
“Loki.” Odin said his name as if it hurt. “Answer Thor’s question.”
Loki’s brows came up and he suddenly felt less tired. Even a challenge initiated by anger was a challenge nonetheless. He quelled his desires to be mordant. It could very well be his unintentional hostility that had put Odin off him.
It took him little effort to derive what the Allfather wanted from them. He would never call them in such anger lest they had done something wrong. If it had been just Thor, then his wrath would have been something about the eldest prince’s nightly adventures. If only Loki, then the Allfather’s resentment would have been founded on Loki’s constant trips to other realms without his consent.
Since they were together, it would be that they were not completing their princely duties.
Frank flicked his tongue at Thor, a gesture that Loki had discerned to be rude. Jörmungandr made it at his food before eating. Thor hardened his gaze at the serpent and Loki smoothed his hand over Jörmungandr’s head to soothe him.
“We are not performing our obligations to Asgard to your standards.”
“Wrong,” Odin said immediately, causing Loki’s heart to drop into his stomach.
Thor looked to Loki in shock, probably because Loki was never wrong. Ever. Loki prided himself in being right. And suddenly, he is wrong because the Allfather says so. He dearly wished he had chosen to disobey Darcy’s command and sleep in her bed. If he had been there, he would not have to suffer the humiliation of being ‘wrong’.
“You are not performing your obligations to the realm to Asgard’s standards,” the Allfather corrected, anger seeming to subside. Loki watched, intrigued. His fury seemed baseless. He had no reason to be upset with Loki, did he? What had he done? There were a great many things Loki did to potentially get on his father’s irritable side, yet he could think of none that Odin knew of.
The King paced the room, striding to the space before his desk. “Thor.”
“Father.”
“You have taken pains to be discreet, but I am aware of your nightly whereabouts, nonetheless.” Odin narrowed his eye. “I know you have been taking excursions into the city with Lady Darcy.”
‘Lady’ Darcy…
Darcy and Thor…
…together…
What.
Loki had never been so angry in his life. Thor did not go on trips with Darcy. None that Darcy had told him of. Perhaps Darcy was lying to him. He quickly pushed the idea from his head. Darcy would surely tell him if she was interested in Thor.
But she could not be.
Oh gods, have the Valkyries take him now if Darcy went with Thor on his absurd outings.
And why was Odin crediting Thor for the action of Darcy? Loki’s advisor? Thor was only drinking and disturbing the peace. Darcy went with purpose. Surely Odin must see that.
The worst part of the Allfather’s avowal had been the words ‘Lady Darcy’. Loki was boiling. He struggled not to let his contempt show, though he could not help himself from uttering a correction to Odin’s statement.
“Advisor Darcy.”
Odin either didn’t hear him, or pretended not to, for he continued praising Thor. “You have contributed a great deal and I applaud you for your efforts in better getting to know your people. Lady Darcy’s reports have shown that the public considers you charismatic—“
“Advisor Darcy,” Loki said, louder this time.
Odin kept on, “—And many claim that they feel safer in knowing such a strong prince is there for them in the future. Lady Darcy—“
Loki had enough. It was one thing to disrespect him, as Odin was his father and he had the right. But Darcy was not Odin’s to bully. Darcy was precious and the best thing that had happened to Asgard...the best thing to happen to him…and Loki would destroy worlds before anyone got to her.
“Did you hear me, Allfather? Or are you so old that my voice has grown dull to you? She is Advisor Darcy, it is her title,” Loki snapped, his tone giving way to his rage.
Odin turned to him, only slightly, mild disapproval shadowing his face. Loki’s perplexity was greater than his oncoming anguish. How had this happened? How was it that Thor, the ever foolish, the ever reckless, was extolled for something that Loki’s Darcy had done?
And Darcy was his. She would never, not under any circumstances, be Thor’s.
“Your brother has been productive in his time. I have seen it fit to congratulate him and you interrupt to insult your father?” Odin asked in that blank, obvious way of his.
Loki was becoming ever more enraged and he did not dare look to Thor; he kept his gaze sternly locked on Odin. “I would reaffirm your congratulations towards him if I had any reason to believe that your assumptions of his discoveries with Advisor Darcy are true.”
Odin paced towards the window, directing his attention away from Loki, as if his presence bored him. “And you have no reason to believe anything I say is true? Have you yet to venture with her yourself and see the people who you rule over?”
“Have I?” Loki scoffed. “Have you?”
Thor inhaled sharply. “Loki, enough,” he whispered urgently.
He seethed spite; his tongue was newly sharpened and eager to cut throats. “The actions of Thor and I are incomparable and I disagree with your proceedings to do so.”
“You disagree?” inquired Odin lightly, as if he were dismissing a servant. “You? Have you not been disagreeing with every statement made by the court? Obstinate to every idea that passes you by, I am not surprised.”
Loki clenched his fists and Jörmungandr was nervously circling the floor as an ouroboros. “I have the right.”
“Just as I have the right to commend one son on his actions—“
“--And demand my presence here to do so? As an audience perhaps? You could have asked politely.” Loki stepped closer, wanting Odin to look at him. To see how his betrayal affected him. Did he not care? Was it his intention to slight him?
The Allfather held his hands behind his back. “I called you here for a reason as well.”
“Pray tell, My King, lest I bore you to tears before the night has come,” Loki lashed out, hoping for some reaction. Anything.
Odin’s hands clenched behind his back and Loki’s heart twisted in painful success. Of course Odin would be upset with him. He would not even see his pain. He would not see his fury at his belittlement of Darcy.
“Loki, you will accompany Thor tonight. Learn about your realm. You do enjoy that sort of thing, or is it only magic that interests you now rather than the good of your people?” Odin asked, a bite in his tone.
Loki was prepared to burn his tongue with the heat of his retort. Never had he felt more insulted and never before had he felt more need to defend himself. Did Odin truly suggest that he was to learn from Thor about the nature of his own realm?
Thor spoke before him, worry etched into his face. “Yes Father, I will take him. Loki, come—“
“Is magic nothing to you then? Magic which holds this realm together? Magic which you wield yourself and you talk of it as if it is nothing? Is my practice what has offended you so? That I am not a warrior?” Loki shot, each question like a Midgardian bullet, weak and meaningless, fired with malicious intent. Odin coolly rejected them with his steady gaze over the Asgardian horizon.
“You refuse to enter the city yet travel to far off places without consent or regard for safety,” Odin answered just casually. “What have I to say to that but to acknowledge your resistance to learn?”
“And so my studies mean nothing to you,” Loki stated, standing solidly, resisting his brother’s attempts to urge him from the room.
Odin remained ever emotionless, his face blank. Loki knew there were words to be said. There was a lie in Odin’s being and Loki could sense it. “What are you not saying, Allfather?” he growled, spitting acid through his teeth. Venom seeped from his core as the product of his bewilderment. Jörmungandr looked scared. Loki would console him later.
When Odin continued to be silent, Loki broke what little composition he had and clenched his fists, shouting a command at the Allfather. “Tell me!”
Thor was shoving him at this point, very nearly carrying his brother out of the study. Loki could hardly fight back, for sentiment had frozen him to the spot, his voice carrying his aggression.
“Are we not equals?!” Loki demanded, voicing the thoughts that had been bouncing around in his mind for the past year.
Odin still said nothing.
A moment of quiet passed.
Loki waited.
Thor waited.
When no denial fell from the ancient lips of the Allfather, Loki digressed.
He stood tall, halting Thor’s attempts to drag him from the study. “Is that it then? Two princes, each doing what they can for their realm and they are not equal.”
At this, Odin Allfather finally turned around, his one blue eye finally settling on Loki. “A question such as that is borne from a vacuous mind. You are dismissed.”
Loki could have screamed. He could have done a great many things. But at those words, straight from the mouth of his own father, he felt his stomach bottom out. It was true then, that Odin did not see him as Thor’s equal. It was the truth. A bitter truth. It was not a lie, Loki of all people would know.
He composed himself in a second, relaxing and righting his posture. Thor relaxed his hold and Loki pushed back his hair, straightening his armor from where Thor had pulled on it.
Odin was looking at him now and Loki decided he would not want Odin to see his torment, as it was evident now that he did not care. Not breaking eye-contact, he bowed in acceptance of his dismissal. “I thank you for your time, Allfather.”
With that, he left the room, scooping up Jörmungandr on his way out. Once in the halls, he began talking to his shocked snake. “No no, Jörmungandr. Do not be upset. I was not angry with you. You have done nothing wrong. I promise I will not yell when you are around.”
Jörmungandr still looked quite shaken and he was heavy in Loki’s arms as he was not supporting himself in any way. Nevertheless, he lifted his scaly head to lick Loki on the nose as a form of comfort.
Thor gave him a baffled look. “You have such care for your pets.”
Loki did not respond. How was he supposed to answer the brother that was superior to himself? Thor was not denying Odin’s statement.
He looked to the blonde prince hesitantly, Jörmungandr cradled in his arms. “All living things need care. All people do.” Jörmungandr licked his nose again, showing that Loki was forgiven for his scariness.
Thor nodded, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Come out with me tonight Loki. Not for father. For yourself. It will be fun, I promise. Father…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I do not know why he would say such things lest he was attempting to teach us a lesson.”
“Perhaps,” Loki answered, unsure. He wanted so badly to believe that it was a hoax and Odin had given him a test of some sort. But there was no way to know.
They walked down the hall, walking past pillars and statues of great Asgardian leaders, reflecting the evening sun. Thor initiated conversation again uncertainly. “Loki…Darcy and I…we have not spent time together outside of the palace. I have seen her out on occasion, and we speak. But she does not accompany us. Only when Sif is there does she even stop to have a drink.”
This settled something inside Loki and he was overcome with contentment at knowing she was his.
Mine. He thought and the idea washed him in tranquility. It was almost unsettling how soothing the thought was. What had come over him?
Whatever it was, it reassured him. Equating to Thor in the Allfather’s eyes was meaningless so long as he had Darcy and his mother. He could never imagine Frigga agreeing to anything Odin said. He was sure he had her approval.
“Come out with us, Loki,” Thor repeated, stopping them and tugging on Loki’s shoulder so he was forced to look in his brother’s eye. “I am…concerned for you.”
Thor’s worry was like washing out a wound; painful at first, though preferable to a festering malady later on.
Sighing, he pushed his hair back. “I shall accompany you. Though I must warn you, I do not drink.”
Thor laughed merrily, ruffling his hair. “Is it because of Nornheim?”
“Thor—“
“It is! You are not scared of breasts?” Thor mocked good-naturedly and Loki donned an aggrieved expression.
“Let us go, before I change my mind.”
***
Sif felt naked without her armor.
It was a strange feeling, to wear so much weight all the time and have her body become accustomed to it. The supportive nature of her armor forced her to sit up straight and walk with a firm stride. Without her protective wear, she felt as plain and flimsy as overcooked cabbage.
Her armor was a gift from Thor, a gift she would always be thankful for. He asked Baldur to craft her first set a few years after they became friends. Military issued armor was made for men and she was injured quite often wearing it. Thor took notice of her skill and how the armor was ill suited, taking it upon himself to have her fit.
And like Thor, her armor attracted attention, which was the opposite of what she had in mind for this evening.
As of late Thor, Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg had taken to sneaking out at night to go gallivant through the city dressed as common-folk. Sif participated and was awed by all there was to see.
She wanted Sigyn to see it with her.
Of course, sneaking out would be of greater consequence to Sigyn than it would any of the others. Darcy went out, but she was different. She had set a precedent for herself that she took orders from no one but herself and the Queen and sometimes Odin.
Even as Loki’s advisor, she had more control over him than he over her. Loki would conquer Yggdrasil if she gave him the word.
That, of course, was why Sif couldn’t find it in her heart to be resentful of Loki any longer. He was enamored by Darcy, though there were few who weren’t. Darcy was her friend and she would support her friends and those who treated her friends well. Loki treated both of her best lady friends with the utmost respect.
However, Sif nearly put a sword through him a few days ago.
She had gone in search of Sigyn, much like she was now, in the early evening. Late enough to be in bed, but early enough to have a few stolen minutes.
Sif was, by military law, required to sleep in the barracks, but Sigyn had convinced her to stay most nights in her plush rooms. Sif’s insides bubbled at the thought. She felt so full of air that she might just float away. Sigyn was a still sleeper. She hardly moved, but to huddle closer to Sif. Sleep was like Valhalla with Sigyn.
She smelled like rose gardens and lemon grass and her laugh was rare and characteristically charming. There were so many reasons for Sif to like Sigyn.
Her kindness, her individuality amongst the crowd of dolls of the court, her dry wit….
Sigyn was funny and the rest of the world always missed it. There were things to pay attention to, small subtle things she did that gave way to her humor.
Just the other day, Thor had been going on about some barmaid whose hair reminded him of a rose. Sigyn had taken a sip of her water, and said very quietly, “I worry for him when he truly is faced with a rose. He will cut his tongue on a thorn in his cluelessness.”
Sif had laughed so hard that she couldn’t even begin to eat again, for every time she looked at her dining partners, she would break into hysterics. It was fascinating to Sif how Sigyn liberated herself, in her own way, from the tight restraints of the ladies’ expectations.
She made quiet jests, courted a prince of her choice, took archery lessons along with the Einherjar, and made room in her bed for an orphaned lower-rank warrior. And she didn’t give a damn about what the rest of the other ladies thought.
Sigyn told her that she had spent her life caring about their concerns for her. Now, she sought to focus on her friendships and do only what her parents required of her.
That idea made Sif bitter.
Because Sigyn’s parents wished for her to court princes and become a part of the royal family. And with every passing day, Sif despised that notion more and more. Loki was good to her, no doubt. But he had feelings for Darcy, did he not? Sif was sure he did. She and Sigyn questioned Darcy about it a few times and she only made faces and denied their accusations.
Sif still thought she was lying.
Therefore, she had disregarded the depths of Loki’s intentions. Sigyn would likely refuse courtships with a great many men after Loki and Darcy pulled their heads from their books and realized how well they went together. And if Loki was with Darcy, he wouldn’t be with Sigyn, which was the part Sif cared about.
Of course, this is what she had previously thought until a few nights ago.
It had been a night much like this one and she was wandering the corridors in search of her friend. Sigyn had not been in her room at the time, so Sif presumed that she might have taken to the library for some reading or a visit with Loki if he had not stepped out for the night.
The library was empty and the only light came from Loki’s corner. It glowed like a beacon from within the darkness of the library and Sif approached it as quietly as possible, for she heard no voices. She would hate to disturb Sigyn’s reading.
But as soon as she turned the corner the air was sucked from her body quicker than if she’d been hit by Mjolnir.
Sigyn and Loki had been… It was almost too miserable to think of, but they had been kissing. Sigyn and Loki.
Oh, she had wished Loki had been doing something out of place. She wished he had been irresponsible and out of line, that way she would have reason to bash him into the precious books he loved so much. But he hadn’t been out of line.
One of his hands cradled Sigyn’s cheek and the other held her hand. They’d pulled apart almost immediately and Sigyn had looked to her in what Sif identified as horror.
Sif on the other hand, had managed to compose herself, feeling numb on the inside. Why was Sigyn kissing Loki? Did she want to kiss him? Or was she just doing what her family asked of her?
Sif had excused herself and formally apologized, heading in the direction of the barracks. For the first time in a very long time, she did not wish to share a bed with Sigyn. And Sif deeply wished the revelation that was upon her would not be true.
She was enough of a misfit as she was. A woman warrior. A black haired child, disowned from her noble family.
She wanted to believe that she was only feeling betrayed because Loki might take priority of Sigyn’s attention over her. But she knew that wasn’t true. Darcy was Loki’s first and foremost. Just as Sigyn was Sif’s.
That night, Sif had buried her face in a pillow and willed herself not to cry.
She knew already that she was not attracted to men as described by ladies her age. She did not find them particularly beautiful. She saw sides of men, living with them for so long, that she never wished to see again. They were rough with each other and rough with her. They made good friends and trusty comrades, though she did not swoon over their smiles or muscles and she never wished to have their hands upon her in any manner but a fight or friendship.
Unable to sleep, she had stalked to the ladies’ washrooms inside the palace to wash her face and lean over a basin full of hot water. Steam fogged the mirror, and she wiped the glass surface to better see her reflection.
She had the face of a noblewoman and the body of a fighter.
She had a heart doomed to loneliness. Even if she was accepted into her family again once she made her way to the highest rank of warrior possible, which was the condition to her familial exile, they would be rid of her again if she denied them children.
The thought of sharing a bed with a man made her sick.
She’d buried her face in her hands, which smelled of rose soap. Her hands smelled of Sigyn. The tears started then because Sif could not deny herself the truth any longer. The little lady had taken her heart. Perhaps all of those who teased her about being a man were right.
Joining the military. Falling in love with a woman. She was a disgrace.
After that night, Sif had tried her best to avoid Sigyn. She asked one of her acquaintances to take up teaching Sigyn archery, and no sooner had he accepted than Sigyn decided to quit her lessons.
She’d sought out Sif, finding her in a distant corner of the library, hiding and brooding.
Her bright blue eyes had been full of tears and her cheeks were flushed with anger. She apologized and admitted that she felt uncomfortable talking about her relationship with Loki to anyone. It pained Sif to accept these answers when the truth burned on her tongue.
She was not upset because she had not told her about Loki; she was upset because she was kissing Loki and not her.
Eventually, she had gotten a hold of herself, promising to keep her feelings secret. Sigyn’s friendship was far too valuable to waste on a confession of feelings that could never be reciprocated.
She resolved to ignore her disclosure, pressing down her desires in favor of spending time with Sigyn.
It felt wrong. Unsettling, as her secret was, sometimes she felt as though Sigyn might return her sentiment. Those early times in the morning, before the sky was truly lit, Sif would wake up with Sigyn hugging her from behind. It made her feel small, but in a comfortable way. It wasn’t demeaning or crude; it was comfortable and made Sif’s heartache because this lady had not the slightest idea of how she had robbed the warrior of her sanity.
They would look at each other at those times, sharing a tired smile before snuggling closer together until it was time for Sif to leave, just before Sigyn’s handmaidens entered.
That was how Sif lived her summer until Thor began sneaking out and requesting that she accompany him. The tediousness of palace life was enough to destroy the spirit of any adventurous warrior and Sif was happy to be away while she could.
Their trips at night were fascinating. Street vendors sold foods that would never be served in the palace, the dancing was freer, the music livelier, the dresses simpler, the mead sweeter, and the people friendlier. No one looked twice at Sif’s choice of pants over a skirt. She tasted equality and a sense of community that did not exist in the battle of politics in the upper class.
Thor fit right in, swathing himself in merriment. Fandrall swooned over women, offering up his most charming smiles and niceties which somehow managed to tempt girls to sit in his lap while recalling adventures of their own to him.
Sif spent some time with Darcy, though usually Darcy was working when she went into the city, writing reports and taking notes, questioning people. It was funny to Sif how completely clueless Darcy was as to how much people adored her.
It was apparent in the faces of those she spoke to that they recognised her, peasant attire or no. Her face was a memorable one and her personality as well.
As Loki’s advisor, Darcy spent a lot more time formally addressing the public. Therefore, they were more familiar with her face than Thor’s or Loki’s. The princes could get away with disguising themselves and Darcy could as well if one did not look to closely. But the capital city was besotted with her. Asgard had somehow made the girl into an idol, despite her youth. Her personage compensated for her age.
Sif had sat in a great many of taverns while the barmaids spoke of Prince Loki’s advisor, chatting about how they hoped she might end up princess one day.
It was because Darcy paid attention to them. Unlike the rest of the lords and ladies who locked themselves away inside their own private tense worlds, Darcy asked them if they were happy. She stood at podiums during summer festivals and seasonal banquets, speaking as if the entire Asgardian population were her friend and she theirs.
She wanted to know how they felt. Who they appreciated, who they didn’t, if they liked the royal family, if they were being treated fairly. If Sif could say anything about her friend, it was that she a brilliant advisor.
There was one establishment that Sif entered with Thor and she’d convinced Darcy to come for a drink. She sat at the bar while Darcy scribbled in her journal. People danced, twirling and laughing while fiddles strummed so fast their players’ fingers must have been raw.
Amongst the crowd of dancers, she saw two women dancing together and Sif believed they were friends as Darcy, who she figured had been a part of the lower class at some point, often danced with her and Sigyn.
But the longer the women danced, the more Sif began to notice how they looked at each other. Their eyes shone with unrestrained happiness and Sif sighed a breath of relief when she saw them kiss. She rubbed her eyes, fearing she had been imagining things. Sure enough, the women kissed again, smiling at the other while people cheered.
Darcy explained to her that the two women were engaged.
Sif wanted Sigyn to see that.
Why?
Because she had sick, sick hope that Sigyn might be in her same position and witnessing two people together like that might show her what could be.
Sif now flitted through the halls, coming across Sigyn’s door and cracking it open. The light from the hearth was still brightly lit and Sigyn sat in bed, reading. She looked up at Sif’s appearance and beamed. “Sif, come.” She waved her forward, patting the spot beside her. “I want to show you something.”
Unable to resist her friend’s enthusiasm, Sif made herself comfortable next to Sigyn, looking at her book. There was a very large image on one page, sketched by hand, of armor. Very nice armor by the looks of it, and made for a woman.
She smiled at the page. “It is beautiful.”
And it was. The majority of it was leather, shaded brown, crossing in a layered pattern from around the hips up. The breastplate was gold and the shoulders were strange. Not smooth as Sif’s armor was. A feathered pattern was carved into it, the extra plating on the back made to look like wings. The helm was smooth on the top, the wings on the side angling down rather than up; they looked sleek, unlike Thor’s helm.
“It is crafted to look like a Valkyrie,” Sigyn said, “I thought of you when I saw it.”
Sif tried not to take that statement too personally, lest she crave an overactive heart. “Me? A Valkyrie? Perhaps I should send for Eir, you must be ill.”
Sigyn nudged her. “It seemed a fair design and made for a woman. I thought perhaps I might hire Baldur to craft it.”
Sif shook her head vigorously. It was one thing for Thor to gift her armor. He was, and has always been, her friend. Just her friend. The thought of being more had passed through her head and it made her uncomfortable to imagine it. If Sigyn were to gift her armor, Sif would not be able to hold her secret in any longer.
“No. I do not think it is for me,” Sif smiled, pointing to the sketch of the back. “This style of armor is meant for warriors on long ships or especially fast horses, perhaps even sea serpents. Of course those are only legends, aren’t they?” She tugged at the ends of her hair, thinking back to stories of women so powerful that they could mount the beasts of the sea and ride them along the surface.
Sigyn seemed only mildly disappointed. “Ah, well. Perhaps for Darcy. She would certainly find it amusing.”
“Quite,” Sif agreed, silent for a moment as she sorted out how to ask her question. “Sigyn?”
Sif cleared her throat. “Would you…tonight….Well…Thor has been leaving the palace at night lately. And I know that usually you--or we--don’t do a whole lot and…well…the city is a very nice place and I thought…” Sif took a breath willing her tongue not to fail her now. “…you might like to come?”
Sigyn’s face fell and she looked down at her book, pressing her lips together in a way that meant she was weighing her options. “I do not know.”
Sif decided that she was going to figure out a way to remove her heart from her body so that it would stop hurting her so much. She could taste the rejection on the Sigyn’s lips.
Well, she couldn’t really taste it. But she wished she could taste it…them…
She closed her eyes willing the gods to hate her just a little less. “Sif, I would love to, but…”
Sif waited for the worst, completely still.
“…if I am caught, it is possible I could lose my title and my virtue,” Sigyn said quietly. “I want to…I really, really want to, Sif. But I cannot take risks like you or Thor. He is a prince. It is almost expected that he take liberties like the delights of the night.”
Sif wished she didn’t understand, but she did.
“That is alright, Sigyn,” Sif assured, kicking off her boots. “We’ll figure out something. You can read to me from that wrist breaking tome you hold.”
Sigyn cocked a brow. “I have held more dangerous things than this.”
“Like what?” Sif asked moving her feet under the covers.
“More like ‘whom’,” Sigyn smiled, setting down the book on the other side of Sif.
The dark haired girl frowned, hiding her displeasure in her pillow. “I suppose Loki is quite dangerous at times.”
Sigyn snorted and Sif felt warm on the inside. She loved it when Sigyn snorted. It was endearing.
“Sif, in the wise words of Darcy ‘you are so stupid’. Loki is not dangerous. He is…” Sigyn tilted her head back and forth, searching for the right word. “…intense. And besides,” she said flipping the covers over herself as well, pulling Sif to her. “I have never held Loki.”
Sif was going to go find a healer and beg them to remove her innards. It was when Sigyn said ridiculous things like this that Sif feared she was falling ill. Her everything ached and Sigyn continued to torment her by picking up a book from her side table and beginning to read aloud Asgardian classics, written in language far older than they spoke now. It was beautiful how effortlessly Sigyn produced the words and her awareness of the historical context, explaining the themes of each piece.
Sif fell asleep to the sound of her voice, because Sigyn was safe and warm and had Sif wrapped entirely around her finger.
***
Loki was thoroughly unimpressed by the tavern Thor had dragged them into.
Or perhaps it was just that he could not calm down. The sheer number of people, dancing, drinking and laughing was overwhelming. Loki was beginning to think Darcy had been right in telling him that he would turn into a ‘hermit’ if he continued with his solitary ways.
Thor had convinced him not to wear green and so he sat at the bar in a plain black shirt, tucked into leather pants. He hated it. He much preferred his armor or an outfit of his choosing. He looked awful.
Finally, after sitting in discomfort for so long, watching Thor and Fandrall recall drunken mistakes they’d made that summer, Loki bought himself a drink. There were no members of the court to humiliate himself around, so he might as well be bored and drunk than bored and sober.
He turned to the barmaid, a woman with light brown hair and beady eyes. “I need to lose my wits, and quickly,” he told her, sorting through his money. The transaction was odd to him as he rarely bought anything. He had no need to.
She smiled friendlily. “You are too young to be so troubled.”
At this Loki laughed, for the last time someone handed him a drink before he inevitably intoxicated himself, they had said the exact same thing. He told the woman so.
She looked less run down and a great deal more youthful when she smiled and Loki struck up conversation and learned that her name was Helga and she was from Skornheim. She had opened this tavern a century ago this fall.
A few drinks later, Loki was having a much better time and a small crowd of very kind women had gathered around him as he told them stories of his and Darcy’s adventures. He told them of Nornheim, leaving out the details that revealed his identity as a prince. They listened attentively as the events rolled off his tongue. He described the battle, not as a quick paced, stabbing, bloody event, but rather how he saw it in his own mind. As a struggle of keeping Darcy alive and crushing a revolt before it started.
It wasn’t until Loki ended the story at Darcy’s recovery that he realized the tavern had stopped with its rambunctious noise and dancing to listen to him speak. One of the girls, who had previously taken shelter in Thor’s lap, now knelt on the ground beside him. “You did kiss her, did you not?”
A blush crept up Loki’s neck, though it was possibly just the drink. The rest of the tavern chimed in, wanting to know if he had kissed Darcy. Fandral and Thor, though previously bitter, began to chortle.
Loki shook his head. “No! I did not kiss her! I court another.”
There was a groan of protest and Loki frowned. “What?”
A man on the barstool to his right clapped him on the shoulder. “But you killed for this lady. She is strong. She fought a rebellion against the blasted Norns and if you truly faced these men to ensure her safety…”
Loki looked to the man quite seriously and he felt whatever he was drinking take over his tongue. “Her safety means the world to me. I love her very much.”
One of the ladies before him clutched her hands over her heart. “Oh, but if you love her, you must kiss her! Or simply tell her so!”
Loki blinked, mystified. “She knows I love her because I do tell her so,” he said to the girl. “But have I not said that I am courting another?”
It went on like that and Loki was far from comprehending what they were trying to convince him to do. He did love Darcy. So? She always told him that she loved him when she left to go someplace, or before they went to sleep. These people did not understand.
Eventually, the topic of magic came up and one of the musicians from the band who had begun to strike up a tune to accompany Loki’s speech asked him, “You practice magic? As a man?”
Loki scoffed. “No. I practice it as a woman,” he replied, bending the will and shape of his body to be that of a female version of himself. People applauded and many gaped at her. Loki figured it was because she was quite attractive. At least, she thought she was quite striking. With a bow of her head, Loki turned male once more.
It was so bizarre to him, for this crowd of people to find him interesting. But he had their attention. He would have been uncomfortable if not for the aid of alcohol. But he felt warm inside and he told the girl sitting on the bar that he wished Darcy was there. She would have fun dancing.
Somewhere along the way, the band started up again and people began to dance. Loki claimed he was far too gone for dancing. A few people remained near him, swapping stories about magic and things. He was engrossed in where they learned and asked if they too had learned from their mothers.
Each shook their heads telling him that their practiced at the Collegium of Magical Theory.
Loki sat and wondered why he did not know about that? He was a prince. He should know these things.
And yet, he didn’t.
Perhaps Odin was right. He did have much to learn. Perhaps his ignorance was what made him less than Thor. It was with this notion in mind when he made the decision to leave the tavern and set out towards the Collegium that the women had spoken of before.
As he walked, he began to sober some and he scolded himself for drinking. Had he not learned his lesson?
Apparently not, for he continued to make poor choices. He searched around him for Jörmungandr who had slithered away as they snuck into the city. Perhaps he was having fun somewhere.
Loki sighed, suddenly very tired and he sat down on a set of stairs leading up to a building crafted of gold and silver, a few of the rooms above suspended by self-generating magic. It was a very nice edifice and Loki unexpectedly found it painful to look at.
He spoke to the Asgardian sky, letting free his questions that may never be answered. “What have I done wrong?” he pleaded with the stars of galaxies far away. “Am I cursed? Plagued? Unseemly?”
Stars were such loud things, their silence screamed at him, as they did not know the answers.
He muttered under his breath, the words of Darcy. “You are all dirty liars.”
And suddenly, he did not wish to explore the collegium for it was late and he was far too tired. He wanted Darcy. He wanted to see her because she was his friend and he cared for her. Perhaps she wanted to see him as well.
He leaned back against a pillar, wishing that the stars would take him to Darcy. Walking he deemed impossible, for his legs felt full of lead. As his vision blurred in the call of sleep, Loki felt the darkness lift him and he settled into a familiar saddle. The wind whipped through his hair as the whisper of bones clicking together echoed across the silent night.
And so, in the comfort of Hel, he finally lay to rest.