Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Why don't you run away and play with your little magic tricks?"

As it often did, Thor's tone of voice held a note of derision, just one step down from the disgust Loki was sure his older brother felt whenever he looked upon him. The words were said in a way that brooked no room for argument, and as Loki stood facing the semicircle of his brother and his brother's friends, he knew that arguing would only earn him more trouble. Thor watched, unflinchingly, as green eyes flecked with gold registered mild hurt, but Thor remained unsympathetic to his brother's feelings. 

Instead of parting company, however, Loki tried one last time to persuade his brother that he did indeed belong in the company of young warriors-in-training. "I can help," he offered desperately. "I'm small, and I can get into places you can't. And I have been working on my invisibility spells." Loki was aware of how desperate he sounded, how fraught his voice was with the desire to be part of something - anything - Thor and his ragtag band of friends were plotting. He also knew how dangerous it was to expose that part of himself that wanted nothing more than to be accepted as one of that group, and it showed in the contemptuous way that Sif stared at him, her dark brown eyes roving over him with disgust. 

"Loki, please," Thor said with a slight shake of his head, his eyes rolling in exasperation. "You are embarrassing yourself."

Loki opened his mouth to respond, but immediately thought better of it, realizing the truth of his older brother's words. 

Despite his cruelty to Loki, Thor knew him well enough to read his younger brother better than the thick books Loki was fond of devouring. He watched Loki's face, the wheels turning behind those bright, clever green eyes of his, and knew the exact moment when Loki gave his pleas up as a lost cause. Satisfied, Thor faced his friends again, turning his back on Loki and effectively signaling that it was time for the younger Odinson to leave.

*

He knew better than to tell his father what had transpired. Odin would gaze upon his younger son with his one good eye, the ridicule in Thor’s expression magnified in his own, and recount every reason why the golden son’s logic for excluding Loki from his adventures was sound.

Loki could live without further humiliation.

He decided instead to retreat to his room, where he could pick up where he left off on a new book Frigga had given him upon returning from visiting her family on Vanaheim. It was, as Frigga’s literary gifts often were, a book about magic, and he was anxious to finish the portion on invisibility spells so he could begin perfecting his own.

Wearily, Loki passed his hand over the door to his chambers, muttering a short incantation that rendered the guards on his door momentarily ineffectual. Once inside, he closed and locked the door, muttering a counterspell to put the guards back in place. It was the first thing he’d learned when he began taking up the art of magic. Thor had a habit of bursting into rooms unannounced and uninvited.

Settling back on his bed, Loki picked up the book and tried not to think about how badly Thor’s earlier words had wounded him.

Why don’t you run away and play with your little magic tricks?

Thor could not - nay, did not want to - understand how much his jibes at Loki’s chosen vocation stung. Theirs was a warrior culture, and Thor had never known any other way to recognize victory than that of brawn. Though only a few hundred years separated them, Thor had forsaken their earlier close friendship and stepped into a realm where Loki could not follow just yet - that of the warrior. As the years passed by and Thor became more and more distant from him, Loki watched as his older brother’s disposition changed. The golden son’s demeanor was more aggressive, more belligerent, more in tune with the aggression he learned out on the battlefield. Unfortunately for Loki, Thor had not yet learned how to separate the battlefield from real life. As a result, he had become cruel and unyielding in his relationship with his younger brother.

Where they once ran together through the halls of the palace, making mischief and irritating any adults who were unlucky enough to cross their paths, Thor now viewed such things as child’s play, not suitable for the crown prince, who would one day take the throne and rule the realms of The World Tree. He spent less and less time with Loki, until finally, he spent no time at all with him - choosing instead the company of Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun. They were Thor’s warrior-in-training friends, and Thor had made it painfully clear that Loki did not belong among them.

Loki’s grip tightened on the book in his hand, small fists clenched in anger and frustration. What right did Thor have to cast him aside, just because he wasn’t progressing as well in the art of hand to hand combat? Physical training frustrated him; it wasn’t his fault he was slighter of statue and build than most of the other young Asgardians his age. Besides, he thought angrily, he was much more clever than even the smartest of Thor’s warrior-in-training friends, and could cast spell circles around them with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back.

But none of that mattered, he thought bitterly, pushing the book to the side. What mattered on Asgard was not how much knowledge you contained in your head, or how skillful your mastery over the art of sorcery. What mattered was how hard you could hit, how well you used the weapons you were given, and how many battles you won. Loki was never made for the culture he lived in, and he felt it every day, with every breath in his body.

***

Few things startled Loki. As a mischief maker and an intermediate-level practicer of magic, he’d schooled himself in being able to withstand shock to the system. This meant that even if, inside, he was jolted, his outward demeanor belied nothing.

But the movement in the looking glass startled him.

He shot upright on the bed, book open and forgotten beside him. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and planting his feet firmly on the floor, he peered into the mirror that stood in the corner of his room.

The looking-glass in question was strictly for vanity’s sake; he had another looking glass that he used for certain spells. But Loki was the sort of boy who, perhaps because of his inner insecurity, made it a point to ensure that his outward appearance was flawless and immaculate.

He approached the glass cautiously, silently. When he was close enough to see what the source of the movement was, his eyes widened.

Perhaps I have confused my mirrors, he thought to himself. Perhaps the one that should be enchanted is not, and the one that shouldn’t be enchanted is. It was a simple mistake, though, one that only a novice would make, and he cursed himself for falling victim to such a simple misstep in his magic.

He still stared at the glass silently, and the person on the other side stared back. Perhaps she could not hear him. Perhaps she was merely looking at her reflection, and he’d happened to somehow open a portal into her private chambers. Perhaps it was just leftover residue from earlier magic.

And then she spoke.

“Who are you?”

***

Her voice was sweet, like a melody, and Loki thought it odd that such an old woman could have such a young voice. He wondered if she were a witch. In very un-Loki-like fashion, he spoke before he thought.

“Are you a witch?”

Even for a prince, the question was rude, and Loki clapped a hand over his mouth immediately after he’d spoken, expecting the woman to lash out at him.

She didn’t though, and he noted with fascination that there was not even one trace of indignance in her facial expression. “No, I’m not,” she answered, in that sweet, clear, pure voice. “But why do you ask?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully, considering the question and trying to formulate an answer that made sense and would not offend her further (though she did not seem to be currently offended). “Because you have an old face, but a young voice, and the only people I know who are like that are witches,” he explained simply.

She laughed then, and Loki thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Low and throaty, with a hint of mischief and the promise of adventure. He thought he could listen to that laugh forever. She stopped laughing, though, and shook her head, peering at him closely. “Who are you, and why are you in my mirror?” She asked.

“You’re in my mirror,” Loki contradicted her. “My name is Loki.”

“My name is Darcy,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Loki. So why are you in my mirror?” Noting the frown on his face, she chuckled and rephrased her question. “Why am I in your mirror?”

“I don’t know,” Loki replied honestly. “This isn’t my magical mirror.”

She cocked her head to the side, and Loki got the impression she didn’t understand what he was talking about. He noticed, then, that she was dressed in odd clothing, nothing like what the women on Asgard were used to wearing. Her dress was short, much shorter than the gowns his mother favored, and was made out of a strange, light material that was covered in tiny flowers. She was pretty, Loki noted, in the offhand way of boys who are not yet old enough to be interested in women beyond their beauty. Though her face was marked with age, the fine lines around her mouth and eyes did not mar her good looks. Her chestnut hair, streaked with gray, cascaded over her shoulders in waves, and there was a sparkle about her blue-green eyes that let Loki know she’d seen her fair share of mischief in her younger years.

“I don’t look my age,  you know,” she whispered conspiratorially, leaning forward into the mirror, those mischievous blue-green eyes darting back and forth, almost as though she were afraid someone would overhear her.

“What do you mean?” Loki was puzzled, and though he did not mean to, he glanced pointedly at her face.

Darcy leaned back a few inches, studying Loki’s face with those seafoam eyes. “If I tell you a secret, will you promise to keep it to yourself?”

Loki nodded. “Who would I tell?” He answered her question with a question of his own, and Darcy didn’t miss the way his mouth turned down in a frown and his thoughts appeared to turn inward. “I don’t have any friends.”

That made Darcy sad, and she was silent for a bit before answering. “Well,” she said finally, gracing him with a smile, “if you promise to keep my secret, I’ll be your friend.”

He shrugged, wondering what he could possibly gain from friendship with an old woman in a mirror. But he’d ignored his manners once already, and refused to do so again. It went against his princely upbringing. “Alright,” he conceded thoughtfully. “You have my word. I won’t tell anyone.”

The eyes sparkled again, and Loki felt, distantly, that though she was not a witch (or so she claimed), he had chanced upon a magical being.

“I’m not really old,” she said triumphantly, standing back and watching him with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Then you are a witch,” Loki started indignantly, “and you lied to me.”

Her face fell, losing its mirth, and for a split second, Loki felt bad about taking her expression of joy away from her. But he crossed his own arms, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m not a witch,” she insisted quietly.

“Then how do you explain yourself?”

Her gaze shifted from him to… something he could not see, something in the room with her on the other side of the looking-glass. “I’m sick,” she stated softly.

Loki cocked his head to the side, the indignation leaving his face, to be replaced with stark curiosity. “Sick?” He shook his head. “Then why don’t you go to the healers?”

It took her a moment to process his question, and when she’d worked out what he meant, she shook her head. “The… healers can’t help me,” she explained, and there was just a touch of wistfulness to her tone. “I was born this way. For some reason, my body is working in the opposite way that it should.” At his look of confusion, she continued. “Most people are born young, and they get older as the years pass by. For me, it has worked the opposite, since the day I came out of my mother’s belly.” She shrugged. “The doctors have no explanation for it, but as the years go on, I will get younger and younger, the way everyone else gets older and older.”

“So, then, how old are you, really?” He asked.

“You and I are about the same age, I think,” she responded. “I’m ten.”

“Ten years old?” There was shock in his voice.

Darcy nodded. “Yes, ten years old. And you look to be about the same… right?”

He shook his head. “I had my three-hundredth birthday six months ago,” he answered.

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “But you look so young,” she stammered.

“I suppose, then, looks can be deceiving in the case of us both.” Loki processed this information slowly, running the scenario over and over in his head. Finally, when he’d grasped what she was telling him, he smiled. “Your case is wonderful, though,” he said cheerfully. “It means you will never really grow old then.”

Darcy shook her head, and he wished she’d smile again. “The last is true,” she agreed with him, and Loki was struck with an air of melancholia that seeped through the glass and into his soul.

“It does not sound like an illness to me,” Loki replied thoughtfully.

Darcy said nothing, but inclined her head to the side, as though she were listening to something.

“I have to go,” she said to Loki, her head still inclined. “It was nice talking to you, Loki.”

“It was nice talking to you, too,” he said, and was surprised to find that he genuinely meant it. He looked at her once more before she reached out to flip the mirror over, and Loki’s own glass went dark.

Chapter Text

“What have you got there?”

They’d been speaking to each other through the looking-glass long enough for her voice not to startle him anymore. He looked up from the detritus spread all around him on the carpet, offering her a friendly smile. “It’s a ward for Sigyn,” he replied. “She’s been having trouble with mew spiders crawling into her room at night and biting her. This will keep them away.”

“Magical bug repellent?” Darcy leaned forward, peering closely at the device in Loki’s hands.

He cocked his head to the side and gave her an amused gaze. “I suppose so, yes.”

She watched him for a moment longer, marveling at the way his slender fingers moved almost gracefully over the tiny parts of the device.

“You like her, don’t you?”

There was a smile in Darcy’s voice, and though Loki knew exactly what she was referring to, he feigned ignorance and refused to meet her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Sigyn,” Darcy replied. “You have a crush on her.”

His head snapped up abruptly at her bluntness, surprise evident in his emerald eyes. “Whatever makes you spew that ridiculous notion?”

Unfazed by his words, she continued to smile at him like the cat that had gotten the canary. “You told me, two years ago, that you didn’t have any friends. And I believed you until you started talking about her,” she explained.

Loki’s face flushed, and he cursed his pale skin. A blush would never show up on Thor’s tanned and golden visage. “That doesn’t mean anything,” he countered weakly.

“Liar,” she chided him. “I can see it in your face when you say her name. You like her.”

He turned his gaze back to his work, not bothering to dignify her with a response. They sat in silence that way for a long time, Darcy sitting in a rocking chair just an inch or so in front of her mirror as she watched Loki work. She mentioned frequently how much everything hurt - her bones, her joints, her muscles. It was the downside of having the body of a sixty-eight year old mortal woman.

So quiet was she, and so intensely focused on his work was he, that he almost forgot she was there - until she spoke again.

“There’s a war going on here,” she started softly.

Loki didn’t answer right away. Wars happened all over the Universe everyday, and his father and brother were involved heavily in a lot of them. Rarely did he even bat an eye anymore when the two of them returned from some other realm, treasures and spoils of victory hanging from the shoulders of the servants they travelled with solely for that purpose. War was an everyday thing for Loki, and as such, it had no impact on him.

“My father is going to go fight.”

The words themselves were ordinary to him, the letters pushed together to form syllables that were as common as the ones formed to ask him what he’d eaten for breakfast that morning. The way in which she’d said them, though, was not normal. There was nothing ordinary about the way that her voice hitched on the last word, the way she took in a sharp breath before she started speaking, and let out a wavering breath when she’d finished.

He looked up at her, his attention drawn away from his work. He studied her face. “He is doing an honorable thing,” he stated carefully.

She looked away sharply, refusing to meet his eyes. “He keeps saying that,” she replied, softly, but there was a tinge of bitterness to her tone.

Loki sighed, setting his tools down and sliding closer to the mirror. “Darcy,” he started, trying to get her to look at him.

Even though her head was still turned, her eyes slid over to his.

“War is an ugly thing,” he stated baldly. “It is something that I have dealt with my entire life, and still I have yet to become adjusted to the horror of it.” He shook his head. “My father and my brother love it. They thirst for it, yearn for it, thrive on it. Of course,” he added, “battle is a welcome thing when you are certain of the victory.” This time, it was his voice that was laced with bitterness. Before Darcy could dwell on it, though, he shrugged it off. “I am sorry, Darcy,” he offered sincerely. “I know the situation is not ideal.”

She nodded in agreement, the worry lines on her forehead making her look even older than a mortal woman of sixty-eight. He still puzzled over it, this condition that she had that forced her to age in the reverse. He found it fascinating, appealing, and horrifying all at once.

“You’re thinking again.” Her voice nudged him gently out of his thoughts. “Tell me.”

He shook his head. “My thoughts are worth nothing.”

“And if that were true, do you think I would sit here all day, talking to you?”

He smirked. “Well, you are my only friend,” he replied cheekily.

She rolled her eyes, and in that moment, she really did look like the twelve year old girl that she was.

***

“What matters most,” he said softly, “is physical strength.”

Darcy kept her eyes on him, and though his face was turned up toward his high, ornate ceiling, she could see that he was miles away, lost in his own thoughts.

“Thor has always been the golden child,” he continued. “He is the firstborn, the heir to the throne, the favored son who can do no wrong.”

"He sounds boring," Darcy snickered.

Loki turned his head to look at her, sure she was poking fun at him. If she were, he thought he wouldn't mind. For some reason, he trusted her. One look at her face though, and Loki could tell that her jibe had been directed, not at Loki himself, but at the favored son he spoke of. This triggered mild surprise, and for some reason, his surprise irritated him.

"I can never really keep up with your age," Darcy was saying, the needles in her hands flying over the lavender-colored yarn that was quickly being shaped into a scarf. "I know you explained the time difference between here and there to me, but I always get it confused." She shook her head. "I hate math."

His mind flashed to what she'd confided in him some time ago about her schooling. Because of her condition, her parents had decided it best for her not to keep company with other children her age, for fear it might expose her to cruelty. So every morning, Darcy worked with a governess, a tutor who schooled her in everything she would learn if she were enrolled in primary school with other children her age. Darcy liked her tutor, but she hated school. This surprised Loki, as she was, from what he could tell, a brilliant student.

"Then go by what you know," he answered simply, after some moments had elapsed.

The click of the needles stopped, and Darcy looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Use your eyes," Loki explained rationally. "The way you did when we first met - do you remember what you estimated my age to be?"

"Same as mine," she recalled instantly, her face breaking out into a smile at the memory. "Even though you were three hundred years old at the time, you looked like you couldn't have been any older than ten."

Loki smirked. "And now?"

"You look the same," she answered. "No, I mean, the same as me," she corrected at his look of befuddlement. "You look twelve."

"And that, really, is all you need to keep up," he smiled. "Honestly, Darcy, once you pass your five-hundredth, no one cares anyway, and people stop counting."

Her eyes went wide with awe. "What's it like?" She asked, reverence in her voice, the scarf all but forgotten in her lap as she leaned forward.

"What's what like?"

"Knowing that you'll live forever."

Loki stopped, considering her question. How could he answer such a query? He had never known anything other than immortality. Perhaps it was something that those who rushed headlong into war considered often, but for Loki, who never put his own life in danger, it was not something he ever contemplated. "I... I don't know," he started slowly.

Darcy's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

He shook his head. "I mean just what I say - I don't know," he repeated. "I suppose it makes you lazy," he continued after a moment.

"Explain."

"Without the threat of your death lingering over your head, spoiling everything in the back of your consciousness, you tend to take time for granted, I suppose." He picked up the repellent again, turning it over and over in his hands. Suddenly, he looked up. "Darcy, is there anything that you want to do, want to learn, later in life? Something that you've always wanted?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "My fingers are getting stronger," she started slowly, referring to the regression of the arthritis she'd suffered with for most of her life. "I can knit now, and write without shaking, and sew things if the needle is big enough. But what I really want to do," she continued, those seafoam-colored eyes shining, "is learn how to play the violin." She sank back into her rocking chair, her expression wistful. "The doctor says that at the rate I'm going, it will be another ten to fifteen years before I can manage that."

Loki nodded, his heart going out to his friend. "But at least you have that to look forward to," he pointed out.

She bobbed her head in agreement, picking up her needle again. "But what does that have to do with being immortal?"

"There are many things that I would love to be able to learn to do," Loki explained. "I cannot say that learning to master the violin is on that list -" he flashed Darcy a wry smile "- but those things that are on my list been there for centuries, and I have yet to initiate the learning process. Really, Darcy, the only thing I've worked at consistently is my magic." He looked up at her, setting Sigyn's repellent to the side. "The excuse, as it often goes, being, 'I have forever - why rush?'"

Darcy nodded in understanding. "No time limit means no hurry," she murmured, gazing down at the gnarled, old-woman hands in her lap.

"You are lucky to be mortal," Loki said quietly.

She wanted to laugh, but she didn't. "Why?

"Because you can see the beauty in life," he asserted, his eyes drawn to her lap and the hands that rested there. "I have lived for centuries, Darcy, knowing that I will live for centuries more,

forever and ever, able to virtually do whatever I wish. You, on the other hand, know that your time is limited. You can see the end of your lifespan, and it will not wait for you, will not slow down for you. But you live every moment to the fullest, filling your days with knowledge, and music, and laughter, and... and friendship." His voice faltered a bit on the last word, and tentatively, his eyes met hers. "I do not understand why one such as you would bother to keep company with a sullen second prince."

"Well, if Thor dies in battle, my best friend will be rich and on top of the universe - literally," Darcy teased.

Loki allowed her a small smile, but it did not reach his eyes.

"Why wouldn't I want to keep company with you?" She reasoned softly. She motioned to a door he could not see. "The people out there, my parents included, all think I'm a freak of nature. They don't understand my condition, what my body is doing. I don't even understand it," she added, her voice soft but firm. "And aside from your initial claims that I might have been a witch, you've never judged me for the way I look. You seem to understand that I can't control it, and if I could, I wouldn't choose to suffer this way." She gazed up at him, her blue-green eyes meeting his jade ones, and for an achingly long moment, she wished she could reach out and touch him, pull him close to her and reassure him. Her hand stretched out, then fell back into her lap. "No matter what you see, you take me the way I am." She shrugged. "It's all I've ever wanted, and it's exactly what I need."

Loki absorbed her words, turning them over and over in his mind, soaking them up and letting them seep into every part of his body. On some level, Darcy had just described exactly what it was that drew him to her. He opened his mouth to speak, but faint knocking from Darcy's side of the glass stilled his tongue.

She held up one gnarled finger, pressing it to her lips as she rose from the rocking chair. Dropping him a wink, she turned the mirror over, and he could hear her shuffling over to her bedroom door.

Loki listened with half an ear to the soft rise and fall of feminine voices. His ears perked up, however, when Darcy's rose sharply, the cadence and timbre of that familiar sound riddled with distress. His heart sank to his knees as he listened to what sounded like sobs, followed by the sound of a door slamming.

The other side of the looking glass was still dark, and now it had fallen silent. Worriedly, Loki peered through it. "Darcy?" He called.

There was no answer, but he craned his neck and could hear, very faintly, sobbing.

"Darcy," he called again. "Is everything alright?"

Silence reigned still, and Loki's mouth was all set to call out to her again when the view of the looking glass shifted, giving him first a view of the hardwood floor in Darcy's bedroom, and then Darcy herself, her eyes red and wet, her cheeks swollen and blotchy.

He moved as closely as he could to the mirror, so that his nose nearly touched the glass. "Darcy," he whispered, afraid to breathe. "What has happened?"

Her breath hitched on a sob, and for the first time, he noticed the yellow paper in her hand.

Wordlessly, she held it up toward the mirror, and he scanned it quickly, his heart plummeting to the floor when the impact of the message hit him.

Chapter Text

Darcy was inconsolable.

Loki tried to understand, but the concept was foreign to him. He’d never known anyone in his long life that had succumbed to death. Even the warriors that died on the battlefields with Odin and Thor were mere foot soldiers. They were nameless, faceless men who followed his father blindly into war, fulfilling their duties obediently and relinquishing their lives to enter the halls of Valhalla with glory.

But Matthew Lewis was more than just a nameless, faceless man. He was Darcy’s father, and now he was dead.

She lay on the floor, face down, and Loki cringed at how painful the position must have been for her in her too-old body. The silent sobs her body wracked from her shook her shoulders, jarring her bones into the hard wood of the floor with every heaving gasp. 

“Darcy,” he tried. “Darcy, please get up. You’ll hurt yourself that way.”

“I don’t care,” came the muffled, watery reply. 

“Darcy, please.” He wrung his hands helplessly as he watched her, wishing he could cross the threshold between their rooms, wishing he could step into her world and offer her the comfort that she so desperately needed. 

He’d tried to step through the looking glass with the aid of magic only a few months after they’d met, and had nearly been killed by the force of whatever invisible line kept them apart. Darcy had screamed his name, over and over, as he lay on the floor unconscious, until her mother had entered her room demanding to know what Darcy was screaming about. Paula Lewis could see nothing in Darcy’s mirror save what was reflected there, and had promptly sedated Darcy, citing the cause of her outburst as stress. 

“Darcy,” he tried again, leaning forward and tapping on the glass with his index finger.

She raised her head to look at him, and though her eyes were cloudy with pain, the intent in them was clear. It was echoed in the words she said next. 

“Please, Loki, just leave me alone.”

“Darcy, I---”

She rose slowly from her position on the floor, obvious agony etched in her features as her old joints protested the movement after having lain stiffly for so long, and Loki snapped his mouth shut. The look in her eyes was unlike anything he had ever seen before, and as she flipped her mirror over and sheathed his own mirror in darkness, Loki thought the expression would haunt his dreams for a long time to come. 

***

“Why the long face, my son? Surely you haven’t grown into too much of a man to keep your mother company?” There was a teasing note to Frigga’s voice as she squeezed her younger son’s hand in her own, but the seriousness in her eyes validated her first question. 

“There will never be anything good enough to tear me from the pleasure of your company,” he replied distractedly.

“Then tell me, what ails your heart?”

He sighed. “There is… someone I care about, who is in a great deal of pain,” he stated.

Frigga’s amber eyes were bright with curiosity in the sunlight, her mind taking her to the previous day, when Loki and Sigyn had been out in the courtyard together, working on some bit of magic. Frigga had watched, with barely contained glee, as the two heads leaned so closely together that spun gold hair mixed with raven locks. The two were young yet, but Frigga had high hopes for their future. “Why is she in pain, my love?”

Loki glanced at his mother sharply, fleetingly wondering how she’d known that the person he spoke of was female. He shook his head, considering it of little import. “Someone very close to her has died.”

The utter astonishment that gripped Frigga’s heart at Loki’s words merely registered itself as mild surprise on her face. Loki wasn’t the first to master this particular skill, and he would not be the last. She took a deep breath. “Who has died?” She asked, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice. 

“Her father,” came the reply, and absently, his mother noted that the grief in his voice was genuine. 

The queen shook her head. “You must  be mistaken, my son,” she breathed, not without a sigh of relief. “Lord Sandoy is very much alive and well. From whence did your news come?”

Loki was silent for a very long time as his brain tried to process what was happening within the conversation that he, until now, had been a very active participant in. When it finally dawned on him that Lord Sandoy was Sigyn’s father and that Frigga thought Sigyn the friend in distress, he shook his head vehemently. “Not Sigyn,” he countered.

His mother’s brow furrowed. “Then who?” She asked, confusion writ in her golden features. 

He sighed. “It is, perhaps, easier if I show you.”

***

The mirror was still dark, still turned toward the wall where it reflected nothing but the shadows of the room where Darcy lay, but Loki could still hear her muffled sobs, coming from somewhere within the bedroom that he could no longer see. 

Frigga watched him as he peered through the glass, her expression one of concern. 

“She has it turned toward the wall so that I can’t see her, and she can’t see me,” Loki explained. “But she’s crying - don’t you hear her?”

Frigga, ever the attentive mother, inclined her head toward the mirror, the long, oval piece of glass that, to her eyes, showed nothing but the contents of Loki’s very neat bedroom. But she inclined her head and leaned forward anyway, even straining her ears with the aid of a bit of magic and still hearing nothing. 

Glancing at Loki, she shook her head. “I hear nothing, Loki… Are you certain?”

He gaped at her incredulously, his gaze shifting from her to the mirror in front of him. “Mother, surely you must hear it,” he insisted. “She positively wails with grief.”

Frigga shook her head again, more slowly this time, as she reached out and put her palm to Loki’s forehead. “You’re flushed,” she observed, taking in the heat emanating from his forehead and the two spots of pink high up on his cheeks. “Perhaps you should lie down for a bit.”

Frustrated, Loki shook his mother’s hand off. “I’m fine,” he said impatiently, motioning once more toward the mirror in front of him. “She’s the one that needs help.”

“Loki, there is nothing there,” Frigga contradicted, gently but firmly. “Nothing save the reflection of your bedroom.” She peered at him closely. “You’ve been working very hard on your magic lately,” she said carefully. “Perhaps you should take a rest from the craft for a few days and allow your overworked mind to recuperate.”

He opened his mouth to protest, to rebut her suggestion and try to make her see otherwise, but the sound of Darcy’s sobs stopped him. “Maybe you’re right, Mother,” he conceded quietly, the heart wrenching sound of Darcy’s cries still foremost in his mind. “Perhaps I will take a few days off from practicing magic.” He took what he hoped was a casual look around his chambers, his eyes falling on one of the many bookshelves there. “It may do me more good than I think.”

Frigga nodded, satisfied with his concession. “Should you need anything, do not hesitate to call for me,” she added, her gaze searching his face - for what, he did not know.

“Thank you,” he replied quietly, escorting her to the door and closing it behind her, careful to wait until she was out of the range of his magic to re-install the guards. 

He turned back toward the glass, the wheels in his clever brain turning. It was obvious from Darcy’s demonstration shortly after they’d met that no one but her could see him in her looking glass; now he knew that the converse was also true. 

He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, but even there, the sound of Darcy’s anguish met his ears, and he sighed with grief for his friend. He knew that she was in pain, and he knew that right now, what she needed was to be alone. But he also knew that the day would come when she would no longer want to be alone, when she would rise from the bed of her grief and despair to walk over to her looking glass and turn it over. 

And when she did, Loki decided that he would be there for her.

***

“Loki.”

The word itself was spoken in a voice that was barely above a whisper. But Loki recognized the voice, and even in a light slumber, it jolted him awake.

He scrambled to the edge of the bed, peering into the glass across the room. “Darcy?” He called softly.

“Loki,” she said again, and the sadness in her voice was enough to break his heart. 

He rose from the bed, making his way over to the corner of the room where his mirror sat. She stood slightly to one side, dressed in her nightwear, her eyes red-rimmed and sunk in atop dark circles. 

They stared at each other silently for a long time, as the minutes - Asgardian and Midgardian alike - passed them by like so much sand in an hourglass. Finally, Darcy raised her hand and put it against the glass, stretching out her gnarled, arthritic fingers and pressing her palm to the cool, smooth surface. Loki watched her every move, his emerald eyes finally coming to rest on her hand. He raised his own hand, the hand of a young man who is perched on the threshold of adolescence, and pressed his palm to where hers lay. And though he could not feel her literal touch through the thousands of light years that separated them, he tried anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, resting his forehead against the cool glass. “Darcy, I am so sorry.”

“It’s weird,” she stated, in that same hushed whisper that had woken him from sleep, “to think that one minute he was alive, and the next he wasn’t. In the days since we got the news, I’ve asked myself a dozen times what he was thinking when he died. Did he pray to god? Did he make peace with himself and everything that happened? Did he suffer? Was he in pain?” She sniffled, and as Loki raised his head, he saw a single tear make its way down her cheek. Darcy didn’t seem to be aware of it.

“Don’t torment yourself that way,” he pleaded with her. “From what you’ve told me of him, he would have wanted you to remember him as he was - a kind, gentle, noble man who always tried to do the right thing.”

She was silent for a long time, her hand still pressed against his, with a thin layer of glass and an entire universe between them. She slid down to the floor, and Loki followed her, wishing more fervently than ever that he could be there for his friend to hold her in his arms, to offer her the comfort she so obviously needed, even if he could not empathize with her situation.

“Tell me a bedtime story,” she murmured softly. There was something so hurt, something so inherently broken in her voice that cleaved Loki’s heart into jagged pieces, and he was silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“I don’t know any good ones by heart,” he answered truthfully.

“Then read me something from one of your magic books,” she requested, her eyelids heavy with fatigue.

He nodded, only leaving her for a moment while he hunted down his favorite book, the first he had ever read on magic, and turned to the section on rudimentary wards. He started there, at the beginning of the section, and read until Darcy’s head had begun to nod into her chest. He closed the book quietly and watched her for a few seconds before tapping on the glass. She started, blinking at him sleepily.

“Get into bed,” he said softly, smiling at her fondly. 

She nodded once, rising gingerly to her feet as her old joints protested, and started toward the bed. She was halfway there before she turned around, finding Loki still where she’d left him. “Will you leave it open?” She asked, and he did not need to inquire further of her to know she meant the mirror that acted as a window between their worlds. 

He nodded. “If you want me to.”

She nodded again. “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she said softly.

“Then you won’t be,” he reassured her. “Go to bed, Darcy. Try to sleep.”

She did not smile, but her eyes were dry, and it was enough for him. 

Chapter Text

Loki gazed at the sweater dubiously. “It’s so… pink,” he managed.

“I know,” Darcy laughed, wrinkling up her nose. “My grandmother still doesn’t believe me when I tell her that my favorite color is blue.”

Loki laughed with her. “So this day,” he began, his face sobering up, “is special, then.” The lack of a raised inflection at the end of the statement prevented it from being a question, but Darcy knew him well enough to know that he was asking anyway.

She nodded. “At least, for most other girls, it is.” She traced the patterns on the garishly pink sweater her grandmother had given her as a birthday present, her eyes downcast. “Most girls, on their sixteenth birthday, go out and do something special.”

Loki shook his head. “Then why are you spending your time here with me? Shouldn’t you be out doing the same?”

The laugh she expelled was a bitter one. “Where would I go? To the roller skating rink? I’d break my brittle old bones. Can’t go to the soda shop and tell them I want my complimentary sweet sixteen chocolate soda - they’d laugh in my face.” She didn’t tell him that her mother had offered to take her out, and she’d declined out of fear of embarrassment.

She made a valid point, and Loki knew it. Although her de-aging process was continuing just as she’d said it would, she was still trapped with the face and body of a woman who was, by Midgardian standards, a “senior citizen.” And as such, she still spent the majority of her life confined to her house, confined to her bedroom, with only Loki (and occasionally her mother) for company.

As Loki silently pondered her situation, his brow furrowed, Darcy cast furtive glances at him. According to their life spans, they were aging at the same rate, with Asgardian time passing in a longer span than Earth time, but keeping them on track with one another. 

And while Darcy had entered her teens carrying the face and body of an old woman, Loki had blossomed beautifully into adolescence. He was the same boy she remembered from six years ago, the boy who looked ten when he really had centuries under his belt, with the same mischievous green eyes and impish smirk. But he was also altogether different. The planes of his face had changed, from something soft and almost feminine, to something more masculine, more angular.

There were other changes, too - changes that could only be seen when he relinquished the black and green and gold armor he was fond of wearing and donned something more casual; perhaps a soft green tunic that showed shoulders that were now a bit broader and more square than they had been in the past, or a pair of slim leather pants that showcased strong, toned thighs.

More than the physical changes were evident, however. Whereas the boy she knew before had been almost guileless, trusting, and openly friendly, the young man she knew now carried a wariness about him, a skepticism that kept his face guarded among those who were not dear to his heart. 

He’d confessed to Darcy at some point during their fourteenth year that he was being forced back into training with Thor and his warrior friends. His father, he’d explained gloomily, felt it was time for him to learn how to fight with more than just his magic. And while he had protested against it privately to her, he had obeyed the command and became, apparently, quite skilled in the art of hand-to-hand combat.

He was also becoming quite skilled in the language of love. Several times, Darcy had been left to her own devices to entertain herself, as Loki was having company in his room - company of the female kind in the form of a young lady named Sigyn. In those instances, Darcy was grateful that Loki was considerate enough to shroud her mirror from the sight of his bedroom and put silencing wards up.

She couldn’t deny, however, how awkward it made her feel sometimes to know what was happening when the shields went up. And she tried hard to stifle the pangs of jealousy she experienced - jealousy not of Sigyn, but of Loki himself.

He’s living his life the way normal teens do, she thought wistfully on occasion. He’s learning new skills, meeting new people… He’s… having sex. 

It wasn’t that Darcy lacked the desire for sex. To the contrary, her libido was as healthy as any adolescent girl’s. The problem, she knew, was with her physical appearance. For what young man would want to take to his bed someone who claimed to be his age but looked old enough to be his grandmother?

She sighed, and this did not escape Loki’s notice.

“What is it?” He asked her, concern etched all over his handsome features. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she replied automatically. 

He flashed her a winning smile, and for some reason, that made things worse. If he weren’t so handsome… 

“Come now,” he chided her. “After all this time that we’ve known each other, you still believe you can lie to me and I won’t know the difference?” He rapped softly on the glass. “Try again. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she snapped crossly.

Taken aback, the smile dropped from his face. “Was it something I said?”

Darcy’s eyes welled up with frustrated tears, despite her efforts to keep them at bay. “You wouldn’t understand,” she mumbled, gazing dispassionately at the ugly sweater in her lap.

“Maybe I would,” he said softly. “You never know until you try.”

“You’ll laugh at me and make fun.”

“No,” he rebutted, and the one word was uttered with so much force that Darcy looked up. Loki’s green eyes flashed with something that might have been anger, if it had been directed at anyone but Darcy. “No,” he repeated, his expression still serious. “I will never laugh at your feelings. Never. I have been on the receiving end of such behavior enough to know that it cuts, and the scars those wounds leave never truly heal properly.” He softened his tone and his expression, holding out his hand to implore her. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His expression was so sincere that her mouth leapt ahead of her brain to spill its contents. “I want to have sex,” she blurted.

Loki looked stunned for a moment, emerald eyes wide and unblinking, mouth slightly open.

“Not with you,” Darcy corrected, and cringed inwardly when the way the words sounded strung together hit her ears. “I mean,” she stammered. “Not that I wouldn’t mind having sex with you…” She trailed off, realizing that anywhere her mouth took her from this point on would be a dangerous juncture.

Loki shook his head once, as if to clear it, then offered her a sexy smirk. Her stomach flip-flopped, and Darcy wondered how anyone would be able to resist falling victim to that smirk and landing in his bed.

“You and I both know there’s no way to cross the glass,” he said smoothly. “But alas, if only the maidens of Asgard were as eager to jump into the lowly second prince’s bed…”

Darcy blushed crimson and cursed herself for it.

“But I think I know what you meant,” Loki continued, all the flirtiness in his voice gone and replaced with the usual easy tone he spoke to Darcy in.

“You do?” She shifted uncomfortably in her rocking chair, the current topic of conversation still prickling awkwardly at her.

He put his palm flat against the mirror and looked directly into Darcy’s eyes. “It will get better,” he assured her. “Try to think of what your body is doing as getting the hard part of life out of the way first.”

Darcy inclined her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a half-smile, and Darcy cursed his good looks for the umpteenth time. “Well, take sex, for example,” he started. “I wouldn’t say this unless I knew you well enough to feel comfortable saying it. But I surmise it will be a few years yet before you feel comfortable enough for it?”

Darcy nodded, and part of her was ashamed. “I don’t want anyone to see my body this way,” she said softly, peering at the wrinkled hands in her lap.

“Well, just imagine how intricately you’ll know the workings of your own adult body when the time arrives that you do,” Loki pointed out. 

She considered this. “Okay, fair enough,” she conceded, and part of her wondered how he could possibly know this. 

“It will get easier, Darcy,” he repeated firmly, gracing her with a smile. “It does not seem so now, but when things finally balance themselves out for you, life won’t have enough of anything to hold you back.”

She shrugged, wanting to believe his words but dubious all the same.

“Do you trust me, Darcy?” Her seafoam green eyes met his emerald ones, and she nodded without hesitation. “Then believe me when I say things will get better.”

She nodded again, and something within the promise of his eyes made her believe him.

***

The boy was looking at her again.

Darcy shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, trying not to make eye contact. He’d been sitting in the waiting room when she and her mother entered it, and had been casting long glances her way ever since.

He was a small boy, very thin and very frail, and Darcy guessed he was about twelve. Of course, she thought to herself, smiling slightly, I got Loki’s age wrong when I first saw him, too. He was pale, with medium brown hair that was cut short in the back but longer in the front, where it kept flopping into his eyes. He had an open, friendly face, though, and it made Darcy feel less uneasy about the staring as she might have been otherwise.

Her mother was occupied, deep in conversation with the woman he was with - Darcy assumed it was his own mother. He looked at her again, and this time, she met his eyes with her own.

“Hello,” he said, and although he didn’t seem shy, his greeting was hesitant, almost as though he expected Darcy to reject it.

“Hi,” she replied.

“I’m Steve,” the boy said, holding out his hand.

Darcy glanced quickly at her mother, who was still engrossed in adult conversation. She took the proffered hand, shaking it gently.

“I may look like I’ll break, but I promise you I won’t,” Steve joked, nodding to her weak handshake.

Darcy smiled a little. “Actually, it was more for me than for you,” she explained, looking down at her hands. “I have arthritis in my hands. It’s not as bad as it used to be,” she added, thinking of times past when she couldn’t even move her hands because of the pain and stiffness, “but it still flares up every now and then if I’m not careful.”

Steve nodded. “How long have you had arthritis?

Darcy pursed her lips thoughtfully. “For as long as I can remember,” she replied. She shifted in her seat, glancing again at her mother. The end of the world could come, and she’d be completely oblivious, Darcy thought. Instead of mild irritation at the thought, as was the norm, however, she was slightly amused. “Listen, Steve, there’s something you should know about me---”

“You’re not really old,” he interjected, flashing her a smile. 

Darcy gaped at him, her eyes wide. “How… how did you know that?”

“Your mom and my mom are friends,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if it were common knowledge. Darcy supposed that to him, it was. “She comes over sometimes in the mornings to have coffee with my mom, and sometimes I can overhear them talking about you.” Steve peered at her closely. “I hope you don’t mind me knowing,” he added uncertainly.

“You know about everything?” 

He nodded. “The very first time my mom mentioned it, I thought it was the most fascinating thing. I wanted to meet you, to find out about this girl who was… aging backwards.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not as interesting as it sounds when you live it every day,” she grumbled bitterly.

“I know all about that,” Steve laughed. “Have you seen me on paper?”

Darcy shook her head, confused. 

Steve held up a finger, then reached into the pocket of his slacks. Out of his wallet, he pulled a thin, tattered piece of white cardboard that had been folded and creased several times over. Handing it over to Darcy, he smiled again. “This is what Steven Rogers looks like on paper,” he explained. “A doctor’s worst nightmare.”

Darcy glanced down at the paper in her hands. Summary of Patient Health Issues, read the top line. She glanced back at Steve.

“I have to carry it with me all the time, just in case something happens to me while I’m out. That way, if I need medical attention, the person to administer it can know what issues I have and try not to give me treatment or medication that would conflict with the conditions.”

Darcy nodded, and then proceeded to read the list. Asthma. Scarlet fever. Khsuestis fever - she didn’t even know what that was, and wasn’t sure she wanted to. Sinusitis. Chronic or frequent cold. High blood pressure. Palpitation or pounding in heart. Easy fatiguability. Heart trouble. Nervous trouble of any sort. Has had household contact with tuberculosis. Patient/sibling with diabetes, cancer, stroke, or heart attack. She gazed at him incredulously. “How are you even still alive?” She asked, utterly flummoxed. 

Steve shrugged. “I’m a fighter, I guess.”

“I’ll say.” Darcy handed him the slip of paper, and he slid it back into his wallet. “So how old are you, anyway?”

“I’ll be seventeen next month,” he said proudly. 

Darcy shook her head as she realized that once again, she’d miscalculated someone’s age. “I just turned sixteen about a month ago,” she shared. 

“Happy belated birthday.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Happy early birthday.”

“Don’t wish it to me yet,” Steve protested with a laugh. 

Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because I know I’ll see you again before it happens.”

Darcy opened her mouth to ask him how he could be so sure, but the nurse called his name, and he and his mother were hustled off to the back rooms to see the doctor.

“He’s a nice boy, isn’t he?” Her mother said, after a moment. 

“Yeah,” Darcy admitted, and she was surprised to find that she meant it. “Yeah, he is.”

Chapter Text

“You’re in an exceedingly good mood today,” Loki observed, watching as Darcy knitted and hummed, her fingers moving in tandem with the music in her head.

She looked up, her ministrations paused. “Why do you say that?” She asked, carefully.

Loki smirked. “You’re humming,” he pointed out. “You never hum.”

“That’s not true,” she protested, and immediately after she said it, she realized it was a lie. “Okay, so maybe I am in a good mood,” she admitted.

Loki raised one dark eyebrow, waiting for her to explain. When it was clear she wasn’t going to, he spoke again. “Well? Are you going to share?”

She set her knitting down in her lap, activity paused for the time being. “It’s no big deal, really.”

Loki studied her for a long time without speaking, watching as she picked worriedly at a string of yarn in her lap. Her expression wasn’t exactly anxious, but there was an underlying tremor of jitteriness there that wasn’t usually present. “Something’s different,” he surmised.

She looked up at him. “I went to the doctor’s office today,” she started quietly. 

Loki guarded his expression, but his heart thumped in his chest, fearing bad news. Darcy was quiet for a long time, and just when he had opened his mouth to prod the information out of her, she spoke again.

“Ordinarily, you know, Doctor Wichek comes here, because he’s just been used to making house calls on me my entire life. But for some reason, he wasn’t able to when my mom scheduled this appointment, and we ended up going into the doctor’s office to see him.”

Loki nodded silently, not quite sure why this information was pertinent to the story, but accepting it nonetheless.

“I guess it sounds kind of silly, but I met a really nice guy there, at the doctor’s office, and part of me feels like it was fate that I did, because I normally wouldn’t have been inside of the office at all. Anyway,” she continued, “his name is Steve Rogers, and he has a list of health problems that would make you cry.”

Loki chuckled softly. “Already, he sounds like an interesting character.”

“He is,” Darcy agreed, “but not for that reason alone.” She smiled, and it was a soft thing, the likes of which Loki had never seen on her before. He marveled at how it transformed her face, and he could almost see the younger woman she would grow to be.

“He’s got such an incredible outlook on life,” Darcy continued. “Even though he has all these health problems, he doesn’t let that stop him from doing whatever he wants to do.” She shook her head. “And here I am, sitting here day after day, feeling sorry for myself just because I look different from everyone else my age.”

Loki considered her words. “Steve sounds very… inspiring,” he allowed. 

She was silent for a moment, her brow furrowed. 

“Darcy… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said hesitantly. “Nothing’s wrong, exactly.” But there was emotion in her face that Loki could not readily identify. 

“Are you certain?” He prodded gently. 

She looked up at him. “Well, it’s just that, aside from you, I’ve never really had a friend.” She shook her head, a wry smile turning up the corners of her mouth, despite the melancholy she felt. “I guess I’m just not used to that idea.”

He pondered this for a moment. “You are a good friend,” he finally answered. “And truth be told, I’m not much used to the idea of friends outside of you and Sigyn, so I suppose we’re even on that playing field.” He gave her a wry smile of his own.

They sat in silence that way for a long time, the companionable silence of two people who know each other well enough not to need to fill every moment of their time together with words. Darcy took up her knitting again, and Loki resumed reading his book. 

***

“Thank you,” Steve said to the man at the stand, passing the ice cream cone in his right hand to Darcy and taking a lick of the one in his left hand.

“Thanks,” Darcy said, flashing him a smile as she licked her own scoop of chocolate. “I haven’t had ice cream in a really long time.”

Steve looked at her in surprise. “What? Why not?”

Darcy shrugged, and the nonchalant gesture looked very out of place on her. Fleetingly, Steve tried to imagine his grandmother shrugging that way, and almost collapsed into a fit of laughter.

“It used to hurt my teeth,” she explained. “They were really weak and sensitive, so I could only ever have it every once in a while, because the cold and the sugar would give me such a headache.”

Steve nodded soberly in understanding. “But it’s okay for you to have it now, right?”

Darcy was touched by the look of concern on his face, but she didn’t want to embarrass him by pointing it out, so she didn’t mention it. “Oh yeah, now it’s fine to have - in moderation, like everything else,” she added.

He smiled. “Fair enough,” he conceded. They walked in silence for a little while longer. Steve was careful not to set the pace too fast. It didn’t take much for either of them to get winded, and he wanted to enjoy this outing for as long as he could.

“It feels nice to be outside,” Darcy remarked.

It had taken quite a bit of convincing to get her mother to let her go with Steve. Paula wasn’t exactly keen on letting Darcy out of the house much, partly due to the frail body Darcy was still trapped in, and partly due to fear of what other people might think of her. But the tipping point had been when Darcy mentioned that she would be with Steve, and her mother conceded that she would be in good hands. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Steve glanced up at the clear, beautiful May sky. “I’m guessing you don’t get to get out that often.”

“No,” she shook her head. “In fact, the day we met, I wasn’t even supposed to be at the doctor’s office.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Why not?”

“Normally, Doctor Wichek just does house calls,” she explained. “When I was first born, it wasn’t really a good idea for me to be outside in the air, because my system was so weak and fragile. So I stayed in the house, and the doctor would always come to me. Even after my immune system improved,” she added, “he’d still come to the house. Force of habit, I guess.”

“Well,” Steve said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, “I’m glad you were there that day, otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten a chance to meet you.”

Something about the way he said it made Darcy blush, and she quickly scolded herself for being foolish. There’s no reason to read too much into it, she told herself. He’s just being nice - probably because his mother told him to. Besides, why would he be even remotely interested in you?

“Can I ask you a question?” His voice startled her out of her thoughts.

“You just did,” she smiled.

He chuckled lightly. “Okay, I guess that was fair.”

Darcy shook her head. “Just teasing. Go on, ask away.”

He slowed a bit in his stride, his gaze drifting toward a set of benches under a copse of trees. A man and a woman were sitting on one, but the other was empty. “Let’s sit down for a bit,” he suggested. She nodded and followed him to the stand of trees. 

He let her sit first, hovering over her a bit to make sure she was comfortable, before sitting down himself. It wasn’t irritating, the way it was when her mother did it; to the contrary, Darcy found it quite sweet. 

“So,” Darcy said, once they were both seated. “What’s your question?”

“What are you going to do when your body catches up with your age?” He shook his head. “No, that doesn’t sound right. I mean, when you get older - but younger…” He trailed off, looking unhappy at his inability to verbally express what he was thinking.

The question wasn’t intrusive, and it didn’t bother her. In fact, she’d often discussed it with Loki, in the wee hours of the night or early morning, when neither of them could sleep and she was tired of knitting and he tired of reading. She would talk about her plans to travel the world, see the things and places she’d only read or heard about. She’d even expressed a desire to come and visit Asgard.

“I want to travel,” she answered, smiling a little. 

Steve nodded. “Any place in particular?”

“I want to hit all fifty states,” she said. “And then, once I’ve done that, I want to hit all seven continents.”

“Wow,” Steve chuckled. “That’s ambitious.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think it can be done?”

“No, that isn’t what I meant at all,” he replied. “I definitely think it can be done. More than that, I think it should be done, and if there’s anybody that can do it, it’s you.”

Darcy detected a hint of admiration in his voice, and it surprised her. “Really?” She looked down at the hands in her lap. They were old hands, but they were all she had for now, and she would not hate them for being something they had no control over. “What makes you say that?”

He leaned forward, nudging at the dirt with the toe of his brown shoe. “You’ve already defied reason,” he started, turning to look at her. “I once heard your mother say that when you were born, the doctors gave you a week to live. Yet, here you are, sixteen years later, getting healthier and healthier every day.” He smiled at her again. “You’re like me. You’re a fighter. But,” he continued, a little wistfully, “unlike me, you’re going to get better. And when you do, there’s gonna be nothing you can’t do.”

Darcy was startled at just how closely his words echoed something that Loki had said to her not too long ago. She stared at him for a long time without speaking.

“What?” Steve said, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. “Did I say something wrong?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “No,” she answered. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong. It’s just…” She trailed off, her eyes landing on the couple sitting a few feet away from her. They were oblivious to their surroundings, completely engrossed in one another. 

“What is it, Darcy?”

She chuckled softly. “It’s just that, you sounded a lot like someone else I know, when you said that just now.”

Breathing a tiny sigh of relief that he hadn’t offended her, he smiled again. “Your mom?”

“No, not her.” She shook her head, but didn’t elaborate.

Steve opened his mouth to ask her who, but something in her eyes made him shut it again. In that moment, he got the feeling that he was intruding on something private, and he decided not to pry. He glanced down at his watch. “We should probably start making our way back,” he said instead, and Darcy didn’t miss the slight trace of regret in his tone. “My mom will be looking for us.”

She nodded, still looking like she was in that far away place, as he helped her to her feet. 

“You should come with me,” she said suddenly, turning to him. 

Puzzled, he furrowed his brow. “Pardon?”

“When I travel,” Darcy clarified. “I want to travel, but what’s the fun in doing it alone?” She grinned at him, and it was infectious. 

He grinned back. “You’d want me to?”

“Why not?” She answered. “No reason why I should get to see the world and you don’t.”

Slowly, he nodded, and said nothing else about it as they walked back toward his house. He would have been lying, though, if he’d said it was easy to hide his big, goofy smile. 

***

“Loki!”

Loki rolled his eyes, tensing at the sound of his brother’s voice. Perhaps if I ignore the big oaf, he thought sourly, he will leave.

“Loki!”

No such luck.

Sigyn gazed at him curiously. “You do realize that he can see us, right?” Her mouth twitched as she tried, to no avail, to hide her smile. 

Loki sighed. “How unfortunate. I only wish he were as blind as he is irritating.”

Sigyn put one slender, elegant hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle. Before she could respond, they were met with the sound of footsteps and confronted with the very large presence of Loki’s older brother. 

“Loki, did you not hear me call?”

He gazed up at the blonde prince, his face arranged into its usual mask of indifference. “I heard. But as you have yet to master the quality of patience, I hadn’t time to respond before you were upon me like a wild animal, pouncing on its prey.”

A giggle escaped Sigyn.

“Don’t be so sour, Loki,” Thor replied cheerfully. “It isn’t becoming.”

Exasperated, Loki rolled his eyes again. “Is there a reason you’ve sought me out, brother, or did you come merely to play the part of a grain of sand in my eye?”

“We’re going on a quest,” Thor said by way of answer. “Myself, Sif, and the Warriors Three. I want you to join.”

“No, thank you,” Loki answered immediately with exaggerated politeness, turning his attention back to the tome he and Sigyn had been poring over before they were interrupted. 

“Lo-ki,” Thor groaned. “You don’t even know what it is!”

“Nor do I care to,” came the reply. Green eyes scanned a page of ancient writing without so much as a glance in his brother’s direction. 

“Lo-ki!”

“Thor, please,” Loki sighed. “I told you I wasn’t interested---”

“But we are going to Svartalfheim,” Thor protested. 

Loki hesitated, cursing himself for it. But Svartalfheim was one of his favorite realms. No one crafted metal the way the dwarves did, and Loki had been thinking about going there soon himself to have something made for Sigyn. He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you going there?”

Thor’s face broke out into a grin. He could almost taste victory. “Father is sending me there to deliver something to Lord Olander,” he explained. “And mother has put together a list of things she would like for us to get from the traders there.” Thor smiled again, sinking his teeth in for the final kill. “She specifically told me to ask you to accompany me - she said you would know which vendors to go to for the finest quality at the most reasonable price.”

Loki swore under his breath. Thor had him, and he knew it. Fleetingly he wondered if this was another ploy of his mother’s to get him and Thor to spend time together. Thor had been acting like less of a spoiled, entitled ass lately, and his mother thought it a good idea for them to reconcile their relationship to something like what it had been in centuries past. Loki was just fine with things the way they were currently, with the distance between himself and his older brother. 

But of course, he would never go against his mother’s wishes. 

He sighed, closing the book and setting it on the bench beside him. “When do we leave?”

Chapter Text

“You and Sigyn have been spending an awful lot of time together, I’ve noticed.”

There was nothing subtle about the unspoken question in Fandral’s statement, and Loki rolled his eyes. “Make yourself useful,” he snapped, hefting one of the many parcels they’d picked up into Fandral’s empty arms.

“Oof,” Fandral managed, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Surely you’ve done enough shopping, Loki…”

Loki raised his eyes to the sky, wondering what in the Nine he’d done to get saddled with Fandral. At Thor’s suggestion that they split up to handle their respective tasks, Loki had volunteered to go alone, thinking he could store his parcels in the dimensional pockets he’d been crafting for some time now. They were anomalies in space and time that could only be manipulated by the most skilled mages, and Loki was quite proud of himself for having learned how to do so without any assistance. But Fandral had managed to worm his way into Loki’s company by insisting that he wanted to accompany Loki to the shops and see if there were goods that might catch his interest. 

Contrary to what he’d proposed, Fandral had thus far purchased nothing, and had merely succeeded in irritating Loki and slowing him down. 

“If you feel that you can no longer tolerate it, you are more than welcome to leave,” Loki replied testily. 

Fandral looked at him for a moment longer, and briefly, Loki thought the dashing blonde might be considering his suggestion. Instead, Fandral shrugged his shoulders and took another parcel from Loki’s arms. 

“Thank you,” Loki said, grudgingly. 

“I was just going to say,” Fandral started, keeping pace with Loki as he made his way over to their last destination in the shops, “that I think it’s lovely that you and Sigyn have been spending so much time together.”

Loki narrowed his eyes, shooting Fandral an icily silent stare. 

“Peace, Loki,” Fandral chuckled. “Not everyone is out to get you, you know.” He took Loki’s silence as a cue to continue speaking. “I think,” he went on, “that you and Sigyn compliment each other very well. She is a very timid lady, very shy, but in your company, she has come out of her shell. And you seem to be much happier---”

“Fandral, please cease your endless nattering,” Loki snapped, but there was no vitriol in his tone, and Fandral knew that somehow, the compliment he’d been trying to get across had been properly conveyed - and accepted. 

They stopped in front of a vendor at the very far end of the marketplace. It was a vendor of metals, which in and of itself was not out of the ordinary. But this particular vendor was Loki’s favorite - he’d come here before to have jewelry and hairpins made for his mother.

Fandral gazed at the delicate trinkets on display, his eyes lighting up as he looked from them to Loki. “A gift for the lady, I presume,” he surmised.

Loki inclined his head slightly to the side and nodded. “This is my favorite vendor,” he offered. 

“Ah, Loki!” The woman sitting to one side of the booth rose to her feet. She was a jovial woman who, no matter the time of day, always looked freshly scrubbed. Loki wondered if she managed that with the aid of magic, as Svartalfheim was a hot, stifling realm. “It is good to see you, my friend - you have been away far too long!”

“I am sorry, Grda,” Loki replied, flashing her a dazzling smile. Fandral marveled at this; not many people earned one of Loki’s genuine smiles, and the golden-haired Dashing was suddenly curious as to what this woman had done to merit it.

“I have been busy,” Loki continued, setting his parcels aside and pulling a slip of paper and a bundle of cloth from his cloak. “But I have something special… Actually, I have a few things that I would like you to make for me.”

Grda nodded, taking the slip of paper from his hands and perusing it briefly. “Ah, very good, very good,” she murmured. She looked back up at Loki. “You will be expecting this by the end of the day, I assume?”

“If it is possible,” Loki assented with a nod, handing her the cloth bundle. “If not, I shall come back and collect them at another time.”

Grda grinned at him. “I would say that they will not be ready until another time, if only for the assurance that you will come back and visit,” she started with a hearty chuckle, “but that would not be fair, and so you must come back and see me within two hour’s time.”

“Can it be done that quickly?” Loki asked, eyes wide. 

The woman chuckled again, winking at Fandral. “It shall be done, my boy, or my name is not Grda!”

Loki flashed her another smile. “Then I shall see you in two hour’s time,” he conceded, picking up his packages and turning to walk away.

***

“My, you two have been productive.” Sif raised one eyebrow, glancing at the packages in Loki’s and Fandral’s arms.

“This is all Loki’s,” Fandral groaned, hefting the parcels down into the grass. Three heads turned toward the dark-haired god, and he, in typical Loki fashion, rolled his eyes. 

“It isn’t Loki’s fault,” Thor interjected with a chuckle. “Mother did send a rather extensive list.”

Even though it had been years since Thor had hurled unkind words in his direction, Loki still found it surprising when his older brother spoke up in his defense. He wasn’t quite sure how to react to it, and most times, he ended up saying nothing. 

“Were you able to retrieve everything on her list?” Thor continued, turning to face his little brother. 

“Yes,” Loki replied, accepting the food Sif offered him. He sat down, not terribly close to his brother and his brother’s friends, but close enough to hear their chatter as they ate.

“Loki,” Thor said quietly from his side. He looked up. Thor was beckoning to him. “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

Loki shrugged, taking a bite of his vegetables. “So speak. I am listening.”

“In private,” Thor insisted, tugging at his arm. 

Exasperated, Loki stood and followed his brother a little ways away from where his friends sat. “Alright,” Loki snapped irritably. “You’ve pulled me away from the group and interrupted my lunch. This had better be good, Thor.”

“I wish to marry Sif,” Thor blurted quietly, looking as though he’d surprised himself with the news.

Loki blinked at his brother. “Yes, you’re so predictable. What do I have to do with it?”

Thor was silent for a moment. Then: “You are skilled with words,” he started slowly. “I wish for you to teach me how to make her mine with speech.”

“She is already yours, you oaf,” Loki huffed. “The arrangement was made long before now. Why would you need to tell her so?”

“Because,” Thor said impatiently. “I wish to tell her how much I care for her. How much…” He looked away briefly. “How much I love her. And ask her whether she feels the same.”

Taken aback, Loki stared at his brother. He’d always known that his brother and Sif would end up married - everyone knew about the arrangement Odin had made with Sif’s father. But where it was commonly thought that the arrangement was just that, something impersonal and diplomatically established, this was the first hint that perhaps there was more to Sif and Thor’s relationship than originally thought. 

“Thor,” Loki smirked in a mocking tone, “you’ve grown soft in your love for a woman.”

“I could say the same for you,” Thor shot back good-naturedly. “I heard about your trip to Grda.”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Fandral, that meddling pig,” he spat.

“Do not worry, brother, your secret is safe with me,” the thunder god chuckled. “But indeed, it is a happy secret,” he added. 

They sat in silence for a while longer, and Loki thought to himself with surprise that it was even somewhat of a companionable silence. Finally, Thor gazed up to the sky. “I suppose it is good that we should make our way back now,” he suggested. 

Loki nodded. “I will go retrieve my final parcels from Grda, and then we may be on our way.”

***

“So how was Sva… Svaret…”

“Svartalfheim,” Loki supplied, smiling at Darcy’s attempt to pronounce the name that was so foreign to her. “It was a good trip, as trips to that realm always are.”

“What did you do there?”

“Delivered an amended document to one of the dignitaries,” Loki started, settling his packages all around him. “And went shopping per a list my mother made.”

Darcy giggled. “Bring me anything back?” She joked. 

“Actually,” Loki said, pulling a package free from the bundle at his side, “yes, I did.”

Darcy laughed again. “Oh, come on, I was just teasing,” she said.

Loki smiled, but he didn’t laugh. 

“You seriously brought something back for me?” Darcy’s eyes were wide. “Loki, you didn’t have to!”

“But I wanted to,” he countered. “I just wish I knew how to get it to you.”

Darcy watched silently, still in shock, as Loki unwrapped a small bundle in his hand. Nestled within the soft material was a delicate silver chain, the links so tiny she had to peer closely at them to see that they were individual pieces fused together. Intertwined with the silver links were some of the most vibrant blue stones Darcy had ever seen. 

Loki held it up to the mirror. “It’s a bracelet,” he explained. “A---”

“Charm bracelet,” Darcy finished, gazing at the tiny charms dangling from the thin chain. There was a violin, and Darcy smiled, touched that he’d remembered her desire to learn to play; there was a bag that was fashioned to look exactly like a suitcase Darcy owned but had never used - she’d told him she was going to travel all over the world with it; a running shoe (Darcy had once confessed to Loki that she wanted to know what it felt like to run. She wondered where he’d gotten the model for the shoe, as she didn’t own any); there were a pair of what she assumed to be knitting needles; and the last charm made Darcy’s eyes well up with tears - to anyone else, it might have looked like a sideways figure eight, nothing of significance. But Darcy knew better than that. The symbol was an infinity symbol, and it was based on a conversation she and Loki had had about a week ago.

“Even though I know you said it makes you lazy, I still wish I could live forever,” Darcy sighed.

Loki raised an eyebrow at her, lifting his head from the book it had previously been buried in. “Why so?”

“Well,” Darcy started, setting her knitting needles down, “once I’m dead, I’m dead. That’s it for me.” She shook her head. “Nobody remembers dead people. There’s no legacy to be made.”

“That isn’t true,” Loki rebutted. “Think about your father. Do you think you will ever forget him?”

“Of course not,” Darcy answered immediately. “Until the day I die, I’ll remember him.”

Loki smiled. “Think yourself any less memorable?”

She looked at him quietly. “But who would remember me? By the time I’m dead, my mom will be long gone. And Steve will probably be gone, too.”

“I’ll still be here, Darcy,” he reminded her gently. “And if the spirits grant me with life for an infinity, I shall remember you for just as long.”

She was crying. “Loki,” she sobbed. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

He smiled at her, and was surprised to find that there was a lump in his own throat. “Well, as you are always fond of saying, there is a first time for everything.”

She pressed her hand up to the glass, and Loki immediately did the same, pressing his hand up against hers. It was an unspoken thing between the two of them, something they’d been doing since the day Darcy’s father had died. It was their way of sharing an embrace. 

“I wish I could put it on,” she said wistfully.

“So do I,” he replied. He was silent for a moment, and Darcy watched as a quiet sort of determination passed over his face. “Darcy, I am going to find a way to get this to you,” he asserted.

“How?” Darcy asked, shaking her head. “You know what happened when you tried to cross the glass.” She shuddered at the memory of his prone form when he’d been knocked back from the mirror after trying to get through it.

“I know,” he relented. He thought of the BiFrost, that rainbow bridge that acted as a pathway between the Nine Realms. He also thought of how he’d been slowly discovering other ways to walk between worlds without the aid of the BiFrost - and without the wandering eye of Heimdall the Watcher on him. “But I promise you that I am going to find a way.”

Chapter Text

“A birthday celebration?” Loki’s brow furrowed, and it was obvious that he was having trouble with the concept. 

“Yes,” Darcy laughed. “For us mortals, who are short on time and long on living every moment to the fullest, birthday celebrations are important. It’s like this: we view each year that we live as a little victory, and each birthday that sees us another year older is a reason to celebrate.”

He nodded in understanding, the wrinkles on his brow smoothing out as he listened to her explanation. “That’s fair,” he concluded. He watched her as she brushed her long hair. It was getting healthier, he noted. Every day, a little more gray disappeared, and the strands themselves appeared to be getting stronger, thicker, and shinier. “So what birthday is this for him?”

“Seventeen,” Darcy answered. “He’s almost an adult.”

Loki raised his eyebrows, choosing not to comment on how very young the number seemed. “So are you, then.”

She paused, setting the hairbrush down and glancing at him. “Loki, I’ve been an adult for a long time,” she smiled wryly. She picked up the hairbrush again. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” he answered without hesitation.

And he meant it. She was wearing a dress that he’d never seen before today, and when he’d asked about it, she’d told him that it had come after a long-overdue shopping trip. The dress itself was dark blue, with large white dots all over it. The skirt was pleated and fell halfway down her calf, and the sleeves covered just her shoulders. Darcy had called them “cap-sleeves.” Initially, she’d been nervous about the dress; it was younger in fashion than anything she already owned, and she worried that people would think she wasn’t dressing appropriately for her age.

“You really mean that?” Her voice was soft and uncertain.

“Of course I do,” he reassured her firmly. “You look lovely.”

She took a deep breath and let it out shakily.

“Nervous?”

Darcy looked at her best friend and nodded. “What if there are other people there who…” She trailed off and glanced away. “...who aren’t as nice as Steve?”

Loki pursed his lips thoughtfully. “From what you’ve told me of him, he sounds honorable. And he’s obviously very fond of you,” he added with a teasing smirk. “I do not believe that he would allow anyone to treat you unkindly.”

She considered the logic in his words. “How’d you get to be so smart?” 

“Long life,” he chuckled. “Now go out and have fun.”

***

Darcy wasn’t the first person to arrive. 

“Darcy!” Steve exclaimed, his face lighting up when he opened the door and saw her standing there. She’d begged her mother to let her walk to the door on her own, and though Paula had agreed, she still sat in the car until Steve waved at her reassuringly and led Darcy inside.

“I’m really glad you could come,” Steve said as he ushered her into the living room. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Darcy replied, flashing him a nervous smile and handing him the gift she’d gotten him. It was a book on ornithology - Steve had mentioned before how much he liked bird watching, and she hoped he’d like the book. 

“So nice to see you, Darcy,” Steve’s mother called as she passed by them, her arms full with a large sheet cake. She disappeared down a set of steps that Steve steered Darcy toward. 

“Are you okay with the steps?” He asked, pausing at the doorway to what she assumed was the basement. 

She nodded. “Five years ago, I would have told you no,” she admitted. “But they’re doable now, as long as I’m not trying to race up and down them like some Olympic gold medalist.”

They descended the steps, and Darcy could hear music playing and voices.

Steve’s mother was there, fussing over a corner of the cake that had gotten smudged in the process of transporting it from kitchen to basement. Next to her stood a young woman who looked to be about nineteen and bore a striking resemblance to Steve’s description of his older sister Mary Anne.

“You must be Darcy,” the younger woman said, coming forward with Steve’s smile and his mother’s eyes. She took Darcy’s hand in hers and squeezed it gently. “I’m Mary Anne, Steve’s sister.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Darcy offered politely with a smile. 

“Over there is my husband Jim,” Mary Anne said, pointing to a corner of the basement where two young men were engaged in a lively game of checkers. Even over the music, Darcy could hear them ribbing each other, each move punctuated with a snarky remark of some sort, followed by laughter. 

“The one in the blue shirt?”

“Heavens, no,” Mary Anne laughed. “My Jim is in the white shirt. Bucky’s in the blue shirt. He’s Steve’s best friend.”

Darcy nodded, trying to keep the names and faces straight in her head. She remembered Steve telling her about Bucky, but they’d never met.

“Do you want something to eat?” Mary Anne turned toward the table that was laid out with food - fried chicken, potato salad, green bean casserole, hot dogs and hamburgers.

“Maybe in a bit. Something to drink would be nice, though.” Darcy was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed, and she decided to take her cup of punch and sit down in a quiet corner of the room as more and more people started to file in. She watched as Steve worked the room, greeting each person and chatting with them briefly. Her stomach fluttered nervously, and she wondered if she’d made the right decision in accepting the invitation. 

Well, it’s too late to back out now, she thought.

“Hey, how’s it going?” 

The boy in the blue shirt - Bucky, she thought, proud of herself for remembering - stood next to her, a paper cup of punch in his hand.

“Hi,” she offered, a bit shyly. 

“Mind if I sit?”

She shook her head, and he sat next to her.

“My name’s Bucky,” he said.

Darcy smiled. “Is Bucky your real name, or is it a nickname for something?”

He chuckled. “Whenever I meet someone new, I always try to guess how long it takes them to ask that,” he started. “It’s a nickname - my real name is James Buchanan Barnes. My dad’s name is James, too, so when I was little, my mom used to call me Bucky so we’d know which of us she was talking to.” He shrugged. “It’s not the greatest nickname, but I guess it just kinda stuck.”

Darcy nodded. “As far as nicknames go, it’s not a terrible one.”

There was a beat of silence between them, and out of the corner of her eye, Darcy noticed Bucky looking at her. 

“It’s okay,” she said, trying not to sigh. “You can ask. I’m sixteen. I look like I’m fifty, but I have---”

“I know,” Bucky interjected. “Steve talks about you a lot.”

Her eyebrows shot up on her forehead, and her mouth dropped open inelegantly. “Huh?” She managed, registering that the sound wasn’t very ladylike.

Had Darcy not been so surprised, she might have laughed at the expression on Bucky’s face. It was a mixture of guilt and embarrassment that made her think of a kid caught with the refrigerator door open in the middle of the night. 

“Oops,” he replied. “Uh, let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything,” he said, eyeing his best friend as Steve made his way over to them. 

“Hey,” Steve said when he reached them. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” Darcy said. “I’m just, you know, resting for a bit so I can dance a lot later.”

Steve smiled. “You’ll save at least one dance for me, won’t you?”

She nodded, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks as Bucky watched the exchange. “Of course.”

“Great,” he said. “And don’t let Bucky hog you,” he joked. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, fine,” he huffed. “Come on, Darcy, I’ll introduce you to some of the other folks here so mama Steve won’t think I’m being selfish with you.”

Darcy giggled, feeling happier than she had in a long time. 

***

“I can’t believe you did that,” Sigyn managed breathlessly, collapsing onto the bed in a fit of giggles as Loki closed the door behind him and quickly put the magical guards back up. “He’s going to kill you…”

Loki flashed her a mischievous smile. “He has to catch me first.”

Although it was obvious that he was no longer the boy he used to be, Loki hadn’t outgrown (and probably never would outgrow) his penchant for mischief. He was, after all, the god of such.

“Did you see the look on his face when the pheasant walked off of his plate?” Sigyn rolled over onto her back. “I thought he was going to choke on his bread!”

Loki chuckled, joining her on the bed. They laughed together for a few moments, both reliving the scene in the dining hall in their own way. Thor would be irritated with Loki for a long time to come, and Loki was just fine with that. In fact, he’d been hoping to achieve just that result with some trick, and the fact that Loki had managed to get Thor’s food to literally walk off of the thunder god’s plate had elicited precisely the response Loki had been looking for. 

“Why aren’t any of the other sorcerers as fun as you are?”

He turned his head in surprise at the question. “Fun?”

Sigyn nodded, peering at him out of the corners of her violet eyes. “Eyridae would never have thought of anything like that,” she continued, referring to another mage who was one of Loki’s peers in sorcery. “He’d have turned his nose up. All of the other sorcerers are snobs… which is very ironic, considering the fact that you’re a prince and should be a snob.”

“Well, I am the god of mischief,” Loki concluded with a grin. “It goes against my nature to be boring, I suppose.”

“Good,” Sigyn giggled. “I don’t think I could abide by you if you turned into one of those stuffy sorcerers.

He looked at her fondly, looking so comfortable in his bed, and sat up suddenly. “I have something for you,” he pronounced.

She gazed at him curiously, her dark eyes following him as he crossed the room to his desk. He returned with a small box in his hand. 

The change in the rhythm of Sigyn’s heartbeat was minute, but she felt it as keenly as if it were an earthquake in her chest. She sat up silently, her gaze shifting between Loki and the box in his hand as question marks danced in her eyes.

“Our journey to Svartalfheim was well-timed,” Loki started, joining her once more on the bed. “Before Thor told me of his intentions to go, I’d been planning to take a trip there myself to have something made for you.” He handed her the box, and she took it hesitantly. “Sigyn, my mother gave me the nickname Silvertongue because she knows of my fondness for words and my skill at being able to fashion them into eloquent speech.” He chuckled a bit. “With you, though, I feel that words are rarely needed. You understand me, through and through, without me having to explain myself. You know me inside and out, and you accept me as I am, even with all my faults. And even with this silver tongue of mine that has managed to get me out of countless scrapes and earned me favor on many occasions, the words still fail me completely when I try to express how much you mean to me.” He motioned to the box in her hand. “And so, though my mouth falls short of telling you how deeply I feel, I hope that this gift can succeed where words could not.”

Sigyn gazed at him for a long time without speaking, utterly stunned at his speech. For a long time now, she’d felt she was falling in love with him. Of course, the second prince was not an outwardly affectionate young man, and though she knew that he felt something for her (as evidenced by the many nights she spent in his bed), she wasn’t sure that they were evenly matched in their affections for one another.

That is, until she opened the box.

She looked up at him, her mouth open in astonishment. “You…” She trailed off. “You had this made for me?”

Loki nodded, gauging her face for a reaction.

Nestled inside of the box was a necklace. The necklace was made out of pieces of Loki’s armor that had been removed and reshaped into thin slivers and encrusted with emerald stones. Anyone looking at the necklace would know that the wearer was his other half - the bits of armor, though reshaped, were easily recognizable as pieces of Loki’s suit, and the telltale green of the emeralds - Loki’s signature color - would be a vibrant announcement of their attachment to one another. 

There was just a split second of terrifying doubt, where Loki was convinced that she would reject the gift, and by so doing, reject him. And then his arms were suddenly full of silk skirts and blonde hair and warm body, and he knew that everything would be alright. 

***

“Loki.”

Her mirror was dark, which meant he had his turned over. She was so excited, though, that she couldn’t sleep.

“Loki,” she tried again, this time tapping lightly on the glass.

The glass turned over and he appeared, his hair disheveled and his eyes half-closed. 

“You were asleep?” Darcy asked incredulously. 

He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, and it was then that Darcy noticed he was wearing his sleep pants but nothing else. And suddenly the darkness of the mirror made sense. 

“Oh, crap,” she whispered, clapping a hand on her forehead. “Sigyn’s there?”

He nodded silently, his eyes apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” she offered sheepishly. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

He nodded again, and Darcy thought he would turn the mirror back over. He didn’t right away, and she looked at him curiously. 

“You look happy,” he remarked. “Did you have a good time?”

“The best,” she beamed. 

“Good.” He smiled at her. “I expect to hear all about it tomorrow.”

“Deal,” she said. “And something’s happened to you, too. I can tell, and I wanna hear all about it tomorrow. Goodnight, Loki.”

“Goodnight, Darcy.” He flashed her one more smile, and then he was gone.

Chapter Text

Loki shuddered at the end of his father’s tale, his skin crawling all over at the thought of the frost giants. They were murderous beasts, savages, and though Father had reassured them that the Jotuns had been defeated, it still made him tremble to think that a race of monsters so terrifying could actually exist.

He swallowed thickly. Of course he mustn’t let Thor see how afraid he was, or he would never hear the end of it. He glanced up at his father. “Do the frost giants still live?”

His father opened his mouth to respond, but Thor beat him to it.

"When I am king,” Thor boasted loudly, his face beaming up at the Allfather, “I’ll hunt the monsters down and slay them all! Just as you did, father.”

Loki watched his father’s face, and could not help the pang of jealousy that stabbed at him as his father reacted with a touch of pride to Thor’s words. Though young, Thor was already showing his desire to learn to be a fearsome warrior. It was pleasing to Odin, Loki knew, whereas Loki’s own desire to learn the art of seidr was a decision that only Frigga seemed to support.

“A wise king never seeks out war,” Odin replied.

Loki’s heart stopped. Was he about to reprimand Thor? It seemed almost too good to be true.

“But he must always be ready for it.”

Loki considered his father’s words, exchanging a glance with his older brother.

“I’m ready, Father!” Thor shouted gleefully, grabbing his father’s right hand in his left.

That hot spike of jealousy stabbed at Loki again, and he refused to be left behind, like he so often was. Running to catch up with his father and his brother, he grabbed Odin’s left hand in his right. “So am I!”

“Only one of you can ascend to the throne,” Odin stated solemnly, and Loki knew what that meant. It had always been in Thor’s destiny to pick up ruling where Odin left off. Even as young as he was, Loki held no delusions about where his place was. “But you were both born to be kings.”

***

Loki remembered the conversation as though it were yesterday. As he walked through the weapons vault with his father and older brother, his place at Odin’s left as it had always been, the conversation floated through his mind with a clarity that startled him.

It was so long ago, and yet, not much has changed since then, he thought, a little bitterly, as he hung back a few paces and watched Thor and Odin interact with one another.

As ever it had been, Thor was still Odin’s favored son, his golden child that could do no wrong. Even though Thor had mostly blundered his way through adolescence, leaving a trail of aftermath miles wide (often that Loki was left to clean up), Odin still considered Thor to be the perfect candidate for the kingship. It was predestined, as was Loki’s eventual place at Thor’s side as the kingly advisor.

Loki often wondered what life would be like if he had been the firstborn instead. Would Odin still favor his golden child? Would an exception be made for Thor to receive the throne anyway? Would Odin ever have loved his dark-haired child as much as he so obviously loved his fair-haired one?

Loki’s melancholy musings were interrupted by a twinge in his subconscious. It was almost as if something were tugging on his magic. The further into the weapons vault they walked, the stronger the pull became, and Loki began looking around, trying to locate the source of the invisible pull.

Odin and Thor were in front of Mjölnir now, and Loki could hardly suppress a derisive laugh as Thor fidgeted and wiggled in front of the mighty hammer like a wild wolf pup in front of its dinner. It wouldn’t be long now before Odin bestowed Mjölnir upon Thor, giving him all the power that came with the mighty hammer, and it was obvious that Thor was impatient for the moment to arrive. Loki could think of a million and one ways to tease Thor about it. But the magic that called to him was much too strong to ignore in favor of irritating his brother, and Loki set about trying to find the source.

He reached out with his magic, slicing his way through the signatures of each weapon in the vault. The tendrils of his magic reached out to each relic, testing it for the other end of the invisible tether that drew him. He followed the tether, his footsteps taking him further and further away from the sound of Odin and Thor’s voices.

Finally, the twinge gave a sharp tug, and Loki was drawn to a box that he remembered from a story his father had told him long ago. The box was a small one, little enough to fit between the span of a full-grown man’s arms, and the color was a bright, vibrant blue that swirled and churned with magic.

The Casket of Ancient Winters.

***

“So what exactly is the Casket of Ancient Winters?”

Frigga gazed at him in surprise. “That was a rather unexpected question,” she replied, puzzled.

Loki shrugged. “I’m sorry, mother,” he replied with a sheepish smile. “I suppose it was just on my mind.”

Frigga gave him a strange look that he couldn’t readily identify with any emotion. It was almost as though she’d put a mask on. Then, just as suddenly as it had gone up, it came down, and she was his warm, attentive mother once more. “It is an ancient artifact from the realm of the frost giants,” she started. “It was the Casket’s power that Laufey used to enslave Earth before your father defeated him in battle. As punishment, the Casket was taken from Laufey and put into the weapons vault here in Asgard.”

Loki nodded. “I remember Father telling us about that,” he recalled. “But what does it actually do?”

“It is a very powerful thing, the Casket,” Frigga replied, and something about her demeanor troubled Loki. He didn’t think his mother capable of hiding anything from him, but somehow, he got the feeling that there was more she wasn’t telling him. “It is powered by what many have thought to be a limitless supply of magical energy. When it is opened, it releases powerful arctic weather that is capable of freezing anyone and anything in its path.” She paused for a moment. “It immobilizes Asgardians and other immortals,” she added quietly. “But it kills mortals.”

Loki nodded, processing all this information slowly. Frigga was still gazing at him with that unsettled look on her face. He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but something made him think better of it.

After a moment, when it was evident that Loki would not ask any more questions about the Casket, Frigga flashed him a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Now. Shall we continue

our lessons?”

***

He looked down at the Casket. It seemed like such a benign thing, he mused. When he was younger, and barely tall enough for his head to see over the lip of the stand that the Casket stood on, it had seemed such a frightening thing, something that Loki once thought singlehandedly responsible for all the evil in the universe.

Now, standing in front of it, looking down on it and feeling the energy from the Casket pulsing through his veins, merging with his magic and drawing him to it, he felt none of those things. It was just another artifact… wasn’t it?

He considered the blue box for a long time, the sound of his father’s and brother’s voices seeming to come from very far away. He hesitated, his hands held out in front of him, his heart racing as his brain screamed at him to walk away, to turn away from this evil thing and never look back upon it.

He reached out, putting his fingers through the handles of the Casket and resting his palms against the sides. He braced himself for the burn that came with frozen skin, closing his eyes tight and anticipating the pain.

It never came.

The magic continued to pulse through his body, his own signature merging with what the Casket was throwing off, and he opened his eyes slowly.

The hands that held fast to the Casket had turned from their normal alabaster shade to an indigo that Loki had never seen on skin before. His fingernails, normally clean, well groomed, and pink with white half-moons at their tip, had gone nearly violet. Veins had been added to what ordinarily graced his arms, and Loki narrowed his eyes at the markings that were now etched into his skin as deeply as the ancient runes carved on the outside of the palace gates.

He felt the cold from the Casket seeping through him. It invaded his skin, sank down into his pores, moved past his flesh to chill his blood, and settled in his bones. It was not painful, he thought absently. In fact, it was quite comfortable.

It felt almost… natural.

***

Loki did not hear his father approach, and did not know how close he was until Odin spoke.

“That is not wise.”

Loki released the Casket, withdrawing his hands and turning to face his father. The blue of his skin started to recede, the markings disappearing and his complexion returning to the creamy hue it normally was.

He stared at his father for a long time. “Am I cursed?” He could not help but to feel shame at the way his voice broke.

Odin stared back at him, his one eye focused on a point behind Loki. “No,” he answered softly, and though he saw the questions brimming in Loki’s eyes, he did not elaborate.

“What am I?” The question was not what Loki had intended to ask, but it was the one whose answer troubled him the most.

“You’re my son.” Odin answered firmly without hesitation, taking a step forward. Loki took a step back.

“What more than that?” Loki asked. “You saw my skin. Tell me what I am.”

Odin remained stoically silent.

Loki gazed upon his father, taking in the expression on Odin’s face, and was reminded of an expression on his mother’s face, long ago, when he asked her about the Casket of Ancient

Winters. “The Casket wasn’t the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?”

Odin hesitated for a brief moment, and Loki’s heart plummeted to his toes.

“No,” the Allfather murmured. “In the aftermath of the battle, I went into the temple and found a baby. Small for a giant’s offspring, abandoned, suffering and left to die.” Finally, the steady gaze in that one impossibly old eye met Loki’s. “Laufey’s son.”

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and there was a terrifying moment where he thought his legs would give out. “Laufey’s son?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” The word came out plaintively, and Loki hated himself for how weak he must sound. “You were knee-deep in Jotun blood. Why would you take me?”

“You were an innocent child.”

The sentence sounded hollow to Loki’s ears. Odin had been a lot of things during the course of his long life, but Loki had never known him to be particularly compassionate. “No,” he shook his head in rebuttal. “You took me for a purpose. What was it?”

Odin hesitated, and the reluctance in his features was clear.

“Tell me!” The words bubbled up from Loki in a shout, like a hot spring erupts from the side of a mountain, and he shocked himself with the ferocity behind them. But he needed to know, and there was nothing now that would stop him from learning the truth.

“I… I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day,” Odin explained. “Bring about permanent peace… through you.”

Loki searched for the regret in Odin’s words and found none. “What?” He murmured, almost to himself, trying to work out the logic.

“But those plans no longer matter,” the Allfather continued.

Loki cast a glance back at the Casket. “So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use for me?” He tried to find the anger, tried to reach deep down inside to bring up the rage he knew was there. But his heart gave him only sadness.

Frustrated, Odin shook his head. “Why do you twist my words?”

“You could have told me what I was from the beginning!” Loki exclaimed. A layer of betrayal had been added to the sadness, and it choked him from the inside out, creating a lump in his throat that he was finding it harder and harder to ignore. “Why didn’t you?”

“You’re my son,” Odin replied softly. “I wanted only to protect you from the truth.”

His mind flashed back to the blue of his hands, the indigo of skin that must have mirrored the skin of the monsters he’d been told so many horrifying stories about as a child. “What, because I…” His voice faltered with emotion, but he barely felt the tears as they spilled over his eyes. “Because I’m the monster parents tell their children about at night?”

“No---”

“You know, it all makes sense now, why you favored Thor all these years,” Loki spat, pointing an accusing finger in Odin’s direction, the anger finally pushing its way to the surface and forcing more tears to his eyes. “Because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a frost giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!”

He flung the words at the Allfather like tiny knives, each one landing and hitting their mark as he watched his father’s distress. His own emotional distress was too great, though, and Loki turned his back and fled, his last glimpse that of Odin sinking to the ground as Thor, ever the golden son, came to his father’s aid.

Chapter Text

Monster. Monster. Monster.

With every step he took, the word slapped him in the face, invading his brain and painting itself on the front of his mind like a mental tattoo he'd never asked for.

He fled back to his chambers, ignoring the strange looks he got from passersby as he ran at top speed toward his safe haven. The people of Asgard have always considered me strange, he thought bitterly, feeling fresh tears pricking at his eyes and blurring his vision. Now they will have one more reason to do so. Finally, finally, he reached his destination, flinging the door to his chambers open and slamming it behind him, quickly muttering the incantation that would keep any unwanted visitors out of his room. He knew that there was only one person he could talk to about his horrible revelation, one person he could pour his heart out to.

He flipped the mirror over.

***

"And then Bucky said, ‘I’m sorry sir… I think I might have just killed your dog.’”

Darcy clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter, but to no avail. She glanced at Bucky, who shrugged at her with an expression that could only be identified as mortified resignation. “That’s awful,” she giggled. “I shouldn’t be laughing.”

Bucky shrugged again. “I’m surprised he didn’t go back and get his shotgun,” Bucky interjected. "For a few minutes, I thought sure he was gonna take me out for running over his dog.”

Darcy opened her mouth to respond, but shut it abruptly as a sudden, inexplicable feeling of dread settled over her.

"What's the matter?" Steve asked her, concerned. "You look like you've just seen a ghost.”

Darcy shook her head. "I don't know," she replied slowly. "I just got this awful feeling, like something bad's happened somewhere."

"Do you want to use my phone to call your mom?" Bucky's girlfriend Lorraine asked.

"That would be great, if I can," Darcy nodded gratefully.

After showing her where the phone was, Lorraine left Darcy to her own devices. The feeling of dread persisted as she dialed the number to her house, waiting with bated breath while the phone rang once, twice, three times---

“Hello?”

“Mom,” Darcy breathed. “Are you okay?”

The confusion in her mother’s voice was evident as she replied. “Yes, I’m fine,” she answered. “Why do you ask? Is everything okay?”

“I…” Darcy’s voice faltered a bit as she tried to put into words the awful feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Her mother was becoming alarmed. “Are you feeling okay?”

No, she thought to herself. I’m losing my mind. Aloud, she forced a laugh. “Maybe a goose just walked over my grave,” she said. “I just… I don’t know. I just had the feeling that something awful had happened. I thought I’d call to make sure you were alright.”

The sigh of relief that Paula Lewis breathed was audible, and suddenly Darcy felt foolish for having overreacted. “Darcy, don’t scare me that way.”

“I’m sorry, really I am,” Darcy replied sincerely.

Her mother paused. “Are you having a good time on your double date?”

“Mom!” Darcy exclaimed. “We’re just hanging out. It’s not a double date!”

“Of course it is, honey,” her mother responded, unruffled by Darcy’s exasperated tone. “James is with his girlfriend.” Darcy’s mother refused to call Bucky by his nickname, stating (though not to his face) that it was a ridiculous one. “Steve is with you. It’s a double date.”

“Mom, we are not---” Darcy sighed, feeling the argument was pointless. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

“Don’t stay out too late,” her mother warned. “Don’t overexert yourself. And make sure you put your seatbelt on when you get in the car.”

“Yes, mother.” Eighteen years old, and she’s still treating me like a child.

They exchanged a few more words before hanging up. And though Darcy felt slightly more reassured that her mother was okay, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

***

Sleep evaded him.

He tossed and turned fitfully on top of the bedclothes, his mind racing and replaying the earlier scenario in the weapons vault over and over again.

Monster.

The word wouldn’t leave him alone, and each time it came up, he saw hands and arms that were as blue as an evening sky. He choked back the tears. He had done enough crying for one day.

Darcy was not in her room; he’d waited patiently in front of his mirror for a long time. He knew she was probably out with Steve; she and Steve had been spending a lot of time together lately, and from what Darcy told Loki about their interactions, it was obvious that Steve was romantically interested in Darcy.

A knock on the door of his chambers startled him. He lay very still. In the immediate aftermath of his revelation, Thor had come to his room, seeking an audience with Loki. He’d wanted to talk about the things he’d overheard Loki and Odin discussing, but Loki pretended not to hear his brother speaking through the door, and eventually, Thor had left him alone.

Another knock sounded, and Loki sighed impatiently. “Go away, Thor,” he called, not even bothering to lift his head from the pillow. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“It’s me, Sigyn,” the voice on the other side of the door answered. “Thor told me that you aren’t feeling well.” She hesitated for a moment, waiting for a response. When there was none, she continued. “May I come in?”

The tight ball of anxiety that had wound itself around Loki’s intestines grew and spiked into an explosion of panic. He didn’t want to see anyone, least of all Sigyn. By now she must know the truth, and he couldn’t bear to face her.

“Sigyn…” He closed his eyes briefly, fighting past the lump in his throat. “Sigyn, now is not a good time.”

In all the time they’d known each other, and in all the time they’d been together, Loki had never refused Sigyn entrance to his chambers. He could almost hear her confusion in the silence that followed.

“It’s alright,” Sigyn finally said, and Loki was appalled that there was a smile in her voice. “I don’t mind it if you’re not feeling well. I’ll even entertain you if you’re not feeling up to doing anything.”

Entertain a monster? He thought bitterly.

“Sigyn, please just go away,” he insisted.

“Loki, I---”

“Go away!” The words came out in a roar, more harshly than he’d intended them to, and Sigyn fell silent immediately. Through the door, he could feel her hesitation as she stood in place for a few seconds more. Had Loki been able to see her, he would have witnessed the pain in her delicate features at his rejection.

Her footsteps were soft as she retreated, but he heard them anyway.

***

“Thanks Bucky,” Darcy called, turning back to wave at Steve’s best friend. “And thank you too, Lorraine.” She turned toward Steve, who had gotten out of the car and was now standing a few feet away from her. “You don’t have to walk me up,” Darcy laughed. “I’m getting younger every day, you know.”

Steve chuckled. “I know,” he said. “But I want to.” He held out his arm, and Darcy took it as they began the short journey up the walkway to her porch. They stopped just at the bottom of the stairs, and Steve released Darcy’s arm, turning to look at her. “I had a really great time tonight,” he said.

He was peering at her intensely, and although it made Darcy blush, she found she rather liked it. It was strange, she thought - he was looking at her almost as though he were attracted to her.

They’d known each other for two years now, long enough to feel comfortable with one another, used to one another. Besides Loki, Steve was Darcy’s closest friend, but she had often wondered whether or not Fate had plans to take their friendship in another direction.

She sometimes wished it would.

Now, standing underneath the illumination of her porch light, with Steve gazing at her like he knew he’d won the lottery, hope fluttered in Darcy’s chest. Hope that maybe, just maybe, she was on her way to knowing what it felt like to have a normal life.

“You know, it’s rude to ogle an old woman that way,” she joked.

Steve smiled at her, and Darcy’s heart fluttered again. “But what you said before was true,” he replied. “You are getting younger every day.”

She nodded, but couldn’t think of a ready response. She felt like the conversation was building up to something, and she wasn’t sure what. She listened, absently, as Bucky killed the car’s engine.

“He’s not going to start shouting at us to get a move on, is he?”

Steve cast a glance back at the car. Bucky was too engrossed in Lorraine to even look in their direction. “Not for a while yet,” he chuckled softly. He turned back to Darcy, his eyes growing serious. “Let’s sit down,” he suggested.

Steve was nineteen years old, and in the same way that Darcy was getting younger every day, he was getting stronger. He’d put on weight, enough for him to now be described as lean, instead of rail-thin. Somewhere between his seventeenth and eighteenth birthdays, he’d had an unusual growth spurt that added a few inches to his height, and Darcy now had to tilt her head up slightly if she wanted to look into his eyes. Some of his health problems had dissipated on their own, and others were being helped with the aid of medicine and his diet. He’d always been handsome, but the not-so-subtle changes in his physical appearance just added to the personality that Darcy had grown to love so much.

He looked at her again. “Darcy, there’s something I want to tell you.”

Here it is, she thought to herself, a feeling of dread settling over the pit of her stomach. Here’s the part where he tells me that it’s been nice knowing me, but he’s got a beautiful new girlfriend and he can’t hang out with me anymore. She braced herself for the news, silently vowing to herself that no matter what, she would accept the news with grace and dignity, and not allow him to see how hurt her feelings were.

“There isn’t really any easy way for me to say this,” Steve continued, tapping his hands on his thighs. Darcy had known him long enough to recognize it as a nervous habit - he only did it when he was worried about something. “So I guess I’ll just come out and say it.”

“It’s okay,” Darcy interrupted hurriedly, her mouth running full speed ahead without clearing the words with her brain first. “I understand, really, I do. You’ve been a great friend, and I couldn’t have asked for more. But you’re smart and attractive and really nice, and I’m surprised someone hasn’t snatched you up before now.” She tried to stop herself from babbling, but the words just kept coming. It was her nervous habit. “Just make sure she takes care of you,” she continued, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Make sure she knows what you’re allergic to and to remind you to take your medicine when you get busy and forget, and to cook things that won’t make you sick or make your blood pressure go sky high and---”

“Darcy,” Steve interjected, and it was only when she looked up at him that she noticed the pure confusion in his features. “What on earth are you going on about?”

She gazed at him, silently pleading with her eyes for him not to drag the moment out. When it was clear, though, that he was waiting for an explanation and wouldn’t speak until she offered him one, she sighed. “It’s okay, Steve,” she said again. “I understand if you’ve got a girlfriend and can’t hang out with me anymore. I’m happy for you, really, I am.”

He stared at her for a long time, the shock in his features slowly melting away and morphing into amusement. Darcy shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, you don’t have to laugh about it,” she snapped crossly. “Here I am, trying to be gracious and dignified and---”

Had she been expecting it, she might have been at least slightly prepared for it. But the fact that she had no idea it was coming made it all the more comical when Steve stopped her incessant chattering with his own mouth. Darcy’s eyes widened, and she only had time to expel a small sound of surprise before Steve had completely - and literally - taken her breath away.

Chapter Text

Her first kiss.

Her first kiss, and Steve had been the one to give it to her. It obviously hadn’t been his first kiss - Darcy blushed at the recollection of how skilled he’d been at maneuvering her mouth with his - but it was hers, and she’d loved every second of it. Had been disappointed, in fact, when it was over, and she was left wanting more.

Her mother raised her eyebrows as Darcy shut the front door behind her. “Had a good time on your double date, I see.”

This time, Darcy didn’t bother to correct her.

***

Loki was dreaming.

***

He dreams of a battle, much like the one his father had often described taking place on Midgard, the battle between the Asgardians and the Jotuns. This battle that he dreams of, however, takes place on Asgard itself. He sees the Einherjar, rows and rows of shining Asgardian soldiers, flawless and perfect in their golden armor, all ready to defend their realm against the frigid, dark, monstrous evil that threatens it.

The soldiers are led by Odin Borson, Odin the Allfather, with heir to the Asgardian throne, Thor Odinson, at his right hand, both matching in their expressions of determination and emanating power. At Odin’s other side, he sees the Lady Sif, finally having secured a place at the Allfather’s left hand as a warrior. Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg are behind, each carrying the same expression of determination that their King and the Crown Prince maintain.

Loki searches for himself among the faces of the warriors of Asgard, searching for his place. It should be at the Allfather’s left, where it always is, and yet, there is where Sif stands. He cannot find his face among this crowd of golden warriors.

And suddenly, he spots himself. Not on the side of the angels, on the side of the golden beings that stand together to form a wall against what threatens their beautiful realm. No, he is on the side of the demons, the side of the monsters, the cursed abominations. His skin indigo, his eyes crimson, his teeth sharp and ready to tear into flesh as the runes carved into his skin radiate dark magic.

It is as if a barrier drops, and suddenly, the two sides are lunging at each other. Gold against blue, pale flesh against dark, crashing and clashing into each other until the colors are blurred together and there is no difference in the blood of one side and the blood of the other…

***

“Loki.”

The voice, spoken in something only just above a whisper, startled him out of his nightmare. He jerked up, disoriented, with a gasp, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Darcy stood at the mirror, her hands on the glass, an expression of worry on her face. “Are you okay? You were mumbling and thrashing around in your sleep.”

He hesitated.

“Loki?”

There was something different about her, he thought, as he rose from the bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair and approaching the mirror. She was almost… glowing. “How was your night?” He asked, avoiding her question.

The smile that flickered over her features lit up her entire face. She was beaming at him, barely able to contain her apparent happiness. “It was wonderful,” she breathed. “Steve gave me my first kiss.” The words bubbled out of her like a spring, and Loki offered her a small smile. But like his mother’s smile of long ago, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m happy for you, Darcy,” he offered her sincerely.

She peered at him closely, the worry returning to her seafoam-colored eyes. “What’s the matter?” She asked softly. “Something’s the matter.”

“It’s nothing,” he lied smoothly. “I had a nightmare, I suppose.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important,” he replied, waving a hand dismissively.

“Loki…”

“Darcy, please,” he sighed. “I assure you, nothing is wrong.”

She looked at him for a long time without speaking, those blue-green eyes of hers searching his face. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she warred with herself about whether or not to press the issue. Finally, she nodded. “Okay,” she relented quietly. “But I know you’re lying. And even though it’s obvious that whatever’s bugging you isn’t something you wanna talk about right now, I want you to know that I’m going to keep my mirror open. When you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be ready to listen.”

Loki accepted her words silently, nodding before he turned around to go back to bed.

“Loki?”

He turned back to face her, question marks in his eyes.

Darcy still stood very close to the mirror, and slowly, she raised her left hand, placing her palm flat against the glass. After a moment of hesitation, Loki reached out, putting his right hand up against where her palm rested. “You know I love you, right?” She asked him softly.

He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat to answer her. “I love you, too.”

***

“It isn’t your fault,” Sif offered quietly, reaching out to put a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “You knew just as little as Loki did.”

Thor shook his head. “And yet,” he started somberly, his stormy blue eyes serious, “somehow, I always knew that he was different.”

“What is he going to do now?”

The blonde god shook his head again. “I do not know,” he replied. “He refuses to talk to anyone. He would not even grant Sigyn entrance to his chambers.”

“Perhaps he is afraid of what she may think of him, now that she knows the truth,” Sif suggested.

“But she does not know the truth,” Thor countered. “He didn’t tell her.” He glanced sharply at Sif. “And it is not our secret to tell. It is only in the strictest confidence that I told you.”

Sif nodded in understanding. They sat in silence for a moment.

“What will you do?” She asked him, after the moment had passed.

Thor gazed at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Shifting slightly, Sif turned to face him. “You have always abhorred the Jotuns,” she explained. “What now, that the man you only ever knew to be your brother has been revealed as one of the very race you hate?”

“He is still my brother,” Thor answered firmly, shaking his head. “Nothing will erase the centuries of time that we have spent together as family.”

Sif glanced at him skeptically. “And so sure are you that he feels the same?”

He fell silent at that.

***

Loki was dreaming again.

***

She stared at him with wide, horrified eyes, her mouth open in terror. Slowly, she began to back away, putting distance between herself and him even though she knew there was nothing he could do to cross the barrier that stood between them.

“Darcy---”

“Stay away from me, you monster,” she exclaimed, holding out a hand. “Don’t come anywhere near me!” She flung the words at him, through the thin pane of glass and the hundreds of light years that stood between them, hurling them like the daggers he’d grown so fond of using in his combat training. The look on her face was one of horror, and Loki’s heart sank. She was the one person he expected to understand, the one person he thought would sympathize - nay, even empathize - with his discovery.

“Darcy, please,” he pleaded with her. “I---”

“Monster!” She screamed, and the words hurt him, cut him, shattered something fragile inside of him. Broke him.

Monster.

“Nobody wants a monster.” She glanced at him one last time, her expression dripping with hatred, the word she’d shouted at him still reverberating around the room, before she turned. She dragged the rocking chair that she was so fond of sitting in over to the mirror, and with a strength he had never before seen, she lifted it in the air.

“Please, don’t,” he begged.

Darcy wasn’t listening. She swung the chair once, hard enough to shatter the glass of the mirror, and the look of abhorrence on her face was the last thing he saw before his own mirror was encased in darkness forever.

***

Something is definitely wrong, Darcy mused, as she watched Loki sleep. She was not ordinarily an early riser, especially since she’d stopped working with her tutor. Most days, when she finally dragged herself out of bed, it was to find that Loki had already been awake for several hours.

Today, however, was different. Today, it was Darcy who had been up for several hours, waiting for her friend to rise and decide whether or not he wanted to talk to her about what was bothering him. She watched the uneven hitches in his breath, watched the rise and fall of his back, took in the troubled expression he wore even in slumber, and decided that he would tell her, even if she had to pry it out of him. Something was wrong, and she intended to know what it was, whether he wanted to tell her or not.

He turned fitfully in his sleep, and Darcy’s brow furrowed as his lips moved. She leaned closer to make out what he was saying.

“Nobody,” he murmured, his face contorted into an expression of pain that Darcy had never seen in his waking moments. “Nobody wants a monster…”

Confused, she watched him for a moment longer, as he continued to murmur the puzzling phrase over and over again. His limbs twitched, and when he started to thrash and roll in the bedclothes, Darcy decided that she’d had enough.

“Loki,” she called, rapping her knuckles lightly on the glass.

Still he thrashed and murmured, oblivious to her presence.

“Loki!” She called again, considerably louder this time, tapping as hard as she could on the glass without risking shattering it.

He started, the mumbling and thrashing coming to an abrupt end as he bolted upright in bed. “No!” He shouted, his eyes wide and terrified, chest rising and falling rapidly as he took in great lungfuls of air.

Disoriented, he stared at the girl in the mirror for a long time, trying to reconcile her with the Darcy from his dream, the one that had flung cruel, hurtful words in his direction before purposely shattering the connection between them. He shuddered involuntarily, and his eyes filled with tears.

“Loki.” The Darcy in the mirror started slowly, carefully. “Loki, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head, frozen and rooted to the spot. He looked absolutely terrified, and Darcy’s heart sped up in her chest. She’d never seen him this way before.

“Loki, please come here,” she tried, her voice soft. “Tell me what’s the matter.”

“No,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Nobody wants a monster.” The words had escaped him before he even knew they were coming, and once they’d gone, it was impossible to take them back.

Puzzled, she cocked her head to the side. “What are you talking about?”

“Go away, Darcy,” he mumbled. “Leave me alone.”

Exasperated, she shook her head. “No,” she countered, stamping her foot. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong. Even if I have to stand here all day,” she added, glowering at him.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

He opened his mouth to argue, but one look at her face compelled him to shut it again. Darcy Lewis. His sweet, fiery, wise Darcy. She was getting younger every day, but no less sweet, no less fiery, no less wise.

Tell her.

No. She’ll run away, and I’ll never see her again. She’ll break the mirror.

It was just a nightmare.

But nightmares can come true.

Bitterly, he laughed.

“Loki!” Darcy exploded, jarring him out of his thoughts. “Come here. Right now.” She stamped her foot again. Something in her tone of voice reminded him of his moth-- of Frigga, and he obeyed mutely, rising from the bed and drawing close to the mirror. He sat, and Darcy followed suit.

“I’m a monster,” he stated quietly.

Darcy shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s better if I show you,” he said, rising from his place on the floor in front of the mirror.

“Loki, what are you---”

He held up a hand, and she fell silent as she watched him walk over to one of the many bookshelves in his bedroom. Silently, he perused the shelves until his fingers ran over the spine of a very old, very thick book. He pulled the book from its shelf, hefting it in his arms and bringing it back over to the mirror. Darcy was still silent as she watched him flip through pages in the book, finally coming to rest on a page full of illustrations.

He held the book up to the mirror, and she peered at it. The writing was in a language she couldn’t understand, but she gazed for a long time at the illustrations.

“What are they?” She asked quietly.

“Jotuns - inhabitants of the realm Jotunheim,” he answered. “Frost giants. Monsters.”

Darcy looked from the book to him. “I don’t understand.”

He sighed, lowering the book to the floor and slamming it shut, pushing it away from him so he wouldn’t have to look at the depiction of his true self. “A long time ago, there was a battle,” he started. “A battle between the frost giants of Jotunheim and the Aesir - the people of Asgard,” he clarified at her look of confusion. “Odin the Allfather was at the forefront of the battle, and it was waged to protect the Midgardians - the people of Earth - from the attack of the Jotuns. In the aftermath of that battle, Odin went into the temple on Jotunheim and found a baby. That baby was the son of Laufey, the ruler of the frost giants.” He paused for a moment, hands in his lap, eyes on his hands. He didn’t want to see her reaction. “That baby… that baby was me,” he finished quietly.

“How did you find this out?” She asked.

“The Casket of Ancient Winters was the weapon that Laufey used to try to destroy Midgard,” he explained. “When the battle was finished, Odin took that weapon from them and stored it in our weapons vault so the Jotuns would never have the chance to misuse it again.” He took a deep breath. “When I went into the weapons vault with Thor and Odin, the magic of the Casket called to me. When I touched it, it revealed my true form to me - that of a frost giant.”

Darcy was silent for a long time, her mind trying to sort out the story he’d just told her. She thought about the blue people in the book he’d just shown her. “So you’re adopted,” she said finally.

His brow furrowed. “I’m a monster,” he contradicted her, still unable to meet her eyes. “Didn’t you see?” He motioned to the book.

She shook her head. “But you don’t look like those people.”

“Magic,” he replied bitterly. “It is nothing but an illusion. Underneath this,” he motioned to his pale skin, “lies what you saw in the book.”

Despite herself, she smiled. “Loki, I’m pretty sure you look nothing like that underneath your skin, if the illusion is any reflection of your actual face.”

“Don’t you understand?” He finally looked up, anger in his eyes. “From infancy, the people of Asgard have taught their children to hate the Jotuns. The Jotuns are monsters, evil beings, things to be feared and hated and destroyed.”

“But you’re not evil, and you’re not a monster,” Darcy corrected him softly. “You’re just Loki.”

“The Aesir hate my kind!” He exclaimed.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Darcy said, her brow furrowed in confusion. “If you don’t look like… those things,” she said, motioning to the book beside him, “then no one has to know. Why are you so upset?”

“I…” He trailed off. “Because everything that I’ve grown up believing is a lie,” he replied softly.

“Not everything,” she countered. “Your father took you in because he cared.”

“No, he didn’t,” Loki contradicted bitterly. “His plan was to use me to unite the kingdoms of Asgard and Jotunheim.” 

Darcy pondered this for a moment. “Okay, fair enough,” she started. “But regardless of that, he kept you. He wasn’t afraid that you would turn out to be a monster. And he loved you enough to raise you as his own son. I know your mother loves you. And Thor, even though he’s had a funny way of showing it, loves you, too. And he’s trying to make amends for all the times that he wasn’t so loving,” she added.

Loki was silent.

“And there’s Sigyn,” she continued. “She loves you, too.”

“I… I have not spoken to her since it happened. She came to talk to me, and I sent her away. She doesn’t know what I am.” The look on his face was one of anxiety.

“Then maybe you should tell her,” Darcy suggested.

He looked at her as though she’d grown two heads. “Surely you jest,” he said incredulously.

Darcy shook her head firmly. “Do you love her, Loki?”

“More than anything,” he answered without hesitation, and the admission hurt his heart more than he cared to admit.

“Then promise me that you’ll at least think about it.”

“Darcy, I---”

“Promise me,” she insisted, the tone of her voice brooking no room for argument.

Letting out a resigned sigh, he nodded his head.

Chapter Text

The globe of light floated softly through the air, silently riding the current of magic-produced wind that guided it along toward its destination. 

Sigyn watched as it floated through her open window, slowly lowering itself until it had landed on her bed. Sitting up, she smiled. She knew where the globe came from; she knew its origin and who had created it. There was only one reason that the globe would find her at this hour of night.

It was an invitation.

She dressed quickly and quietly, moving fluidly through the darkness as the ambient ball of light hovered above her. It waited patiently for her to finish, its new purpose to take her to her destination.

The night air was cool and still as she walked, leaving the warmth of her chambers and silently making her way through her father’s house. She’d learned stealth from Loki, and those particular lessons he’d taught her filtered through her thoughts as she followed the globe of light across the courtyard that separated her father’s house from the palace grounds. Though it was not terribly late at night, Sigyn decided to use the roundabout way that Loki had shown her to get to his chambers, and by so doing, avoided any speculation as to what she was doing wandering around the palace grounds in the dark.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she reached her destination. She gazed up at the window that sat high above her, as the globe of light ascended to where she could not go just yet. She stood there for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to call out, as the light disappeared into the open window above. A face appeared over the side of the balcony. It was a thin face, a pale one with bright green eyes that peered down at her intensely.

“Hello,” she called softly, offering him a smile. “I received your invitation.”

***

Loki was uncharacteristically quiet as he opened the door to his chambers. Sigyn looked closely at his face and noted that he still did not look well. She considered asking him if he was still ill, but he seemed to be moving around fairly normally, and so she remained silent.

He shut the door behind him, and despite her many visits to his room in the past, she lingered hesitantly in the doorway.

“Are you feeling better?” She finally asked.

He looked at her. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he started quietly.

Her brow furrowed, Sigyn nodded. “Alright,” she assented.

He motioned to the bed, indicating that he wanted her to sit down. She obliged him, slowly and carefully, concern still etched in her fair features. After a moment, he joined her, and she noted with confusion that he maintained his distance from her. She wondered about it, but figured that he would explain it when he told her what he needed to tell her.

“Sigyn,” he started, his green eyes focused intently on her, “do you remember your father telling you the story about the battle between the Aesir and the Jotuns?”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You mean, the one where the Jotuns tried to destroy Midgard?”

Loki nodded.

“Yes, I think so,” Sigyn assented. “We were all just babies, then, so of course I don’t remember the actual battle. But I do remember my parents speaking of it. It was a terrible thing, was it not?” She peered closely at him. “But why do you mention this, Loki?”

“Because it is relevant to what I am going to tell you,” he answered, taking a deep breath. “Sigyn, I…” He trailed off, his face a mask of agonized indecision.

She reached out, putting a hand on his arm. “It’s alright, Loki,” she said softly. “Whatever it is, if you’re not ready to tell me, it’s alright.”

He shook his head. “I’m not really Odin and Frigga’s son,” he murmured, looking down at his hands.

Sigyn inclined her head to the side, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t born on Asgard,” he said, all in a rush. “I was born the son of Laufey on Jotunheim. In the aftermath of the battle on Jotunheim, Odin discovered me and took me away from the temple, took me away from Jotunheim and brought me here.”

The silence in the room was almost deafening as Sigyn took in his words and tried to process them. She looked at him for a long time, her face filled with confusion, before finally the confusion turned to slight amusement, and she smiled. “Oh, Loki,” she laughed softly. “By now you ought to know better than to try to fool me.” She shook her head. “Surely you have better tricks in your arsenal than this.”

Loki didn’t laugh. He raised his head to look at her, and there was no amusement in his face.

“Loki?”

“It isn’t a trick, Sigyn,” he offered quietly. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Sigyn shook her head again, still reluctant to believe that he was being candid with her. “But I don’t understand,” she started slowly. “You look just like an Aesir. You can’t possibly be from Jotunheim.”

“It is a glamor,” he explained. “Part of Odin’s magic to conceal my true identity. He knew that I would never be accepted as his own son if I did not look like an Aesir. And so, beneath this skin, is my true appearance.”

She stared at him, and Loki could tell by her facial expression that she still did not believe him.

“I wish I could show you,” he continued. “But I do not know how to drop the glamor without help.”

“What do you mean, without help?”

He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, and Sigyn noted absently that he still hadn’t come any closer to her. “My discovery was an accident,” he started slowly. “While in the weapons vault, something happened that I had never experienced before. The magic within the Casket of Ancient Winters - the weapon of the Jotuns - called to me, drew me to it. I went to touch the Casket, expecting to be burned by the ice as most Aesir are. Instead, my skin turned blue. When Odin happened upon me with the Casket, I questioned him, and he told me the truth.”

Sigyn fell silent again at that, and Loki could see that she was working things out in her head. “So then… if you are Laufey’s son… of Jotunheim…” She glanced up at him. “Then that means you are a… a frost giant?”

He nodded. He would have been lying to himself to pretend that he couldn’t see the shock in her eyes.

She shook her head. “But you’re not a giant.”

“A runt,” he answered bitterly. “Too small to be of any use.”

Sigyn didn’t seem to know what to say to that. They sat in silence for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Loki spoke again.

“Sigyn,” he started, and she glanced up at him, startled, almost as though she’d forgotten he was there. “In the past, we…” He took another deep breath, trying to steady his voice and slow his rapidly increasing heart rate. “We have talked of a future together. And I know that this - ” he searched for the word - “revelation is not an easy thing to accept, for either of us.”

“No, it isn’t,” Sigyn agreed. He waited for her to say more, and when it was apparent that she would not, he continued.

“And I understand if…” He trailed off again, looking toward the window where the light of Asgard’s two moons shone through and illuminated her golden hair. “If this new knowledge has made you change your mind about… about our possibility of a future together.” He opened his mouth to continue, but could think of nothing more to say.

Sigyn turned to him, reaching out hesitantly to put a hand on his arm. “Loki,” she started slowly, choosing her words carefully. She paused, then slid closer to him on the edge of the bed. To her relief, he did not move away from her. “It is true,” she continued. “This is a very big revelation. And I will admit, it is a lot for me to process. But,” she went on, and Loki looked up to find her eyes meeting his with an encouraging smile, “knowing this thing about you does not mean that I want nothing more to do with you.” 

He gazed at her in surprise. “But Sigyn, I’m a monst---”

She silenced him with a finger to his lips. “You are Loki Odinson,” she started firmly. “You are my friend, and my lover, and nothing has changed that.” She shook her head. “It is true that what you’ve learned about your parentage could have an effect on our future,” she admitted candidly. “But let us not worry about that for tonight.” She ran a hand briefly over the necklace he had given her, the necklace made from his armor that she never took off. 

“You may feel free to return that, if it is your wish,” he said quietly, eyeing the necklace. 

Sigyn shook her head. “You would presume to take back a gift, a token of your love for me?”

“You wish to keep it?”

“Of course I wish to keep it,” she answered without hesitation. “You had it made as a token of your affection. I wear it as a token of mine. I say to you again, Loki: nothing has changed the way I feel about you.”

He considered her words for a long time without speaking. He knew that the subject of their future would have to be discussed; after all, he doubted very strongly that she would want to begin a family with someone of his heritage. 

She gazed at him, her eyes soft, watching the emotions on his face. “Let us worry not on this for now,” she repeated quietly. “There will be time to consider the future soon. For now,” she added, resting her head on his shoulder, “I have been very lonely these past nights without you to keep me company.” Her eyes met his, and she smiled. “Will you not console me tonight?” 

***

“Well?” Darcy pounced.

Loki pursed his lips. “She does not hate me,” he answered slowly.

“I told you she wouldn’t,” Darcy laughed. “I told you that you were overreacting.” She crossed her arms. “That’ll teach you not to listen to me.”

Loki couldn’t help but to smile. He gazed at her attire. “You look lovely,” he observed. “Are you going somewhere special?”

Color rose to Darcy’s cheeks. “Out with Steve,” she answered, almost bashfully. “We’re going to a nice restaurant that I’ve never been to before. Actually,” she added thoughtfully, “he’s never been, either, so it’s kind of a new experience for both of us.”

“You care for him deeply, yes?”

She lowered her eyes at the question. “I do,” she answered softly. She looked back up at him. “Steve is so…” She trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I love him,” she offered simply with a shrug. “I tried to find a way to lie to myself about what I feel for him, but I can’t.”

The young prince nodded in understanding. “And he loves you, too.” The words were formed as a statement, not a question, and Darcy looked at him in surprise. “Oh, Darcy…” He laughed at the expression on her face. “If even I, someone who has never even met Steve, can pick up on how he feels about you, surely you must know it, too.”

Darcy blushed again. “I suspect it,” she answered. 

Loki laughed again. “I am certain that your suspicions are correct,” he replied. “After all, he would be a fool not to love you.”

Touched by his words, Darcy smiled warmly and put her left hand against the glass. Loki pressed his right palm to hers, and they stayed in their embrace for a few moments more. Finally, hearing a noise outside of her bedroom door, Darcy turned. “There’s the car horn,” she said. “I have to go - Steve is here.”

“Have fun,” Loki answered with a nod. “And I want to hear all about it when you return.”

Chapter Text

Darcy was waiting for him in front of his mirror when he finally returned to his room. It was late, and he was surprised to find that she was still awake.

He peered at her closely through the glass. “Darcy,” he started slowly, taking in the look of confusion and shock in her features. “What are you doing up so late? Is everything okay?”

She blinked at him once. Then again. She shook her head slowly. “He’s leaving,” she murmured.

Loki planted himself in front of the mirror, putting himself at eye level with her, even though she seemed to be very far away, lost in her thoughts, and did not look at him right away. “Steve?” 

She nodded. “That’s what dinner was all about.” Finally, her blue-green eyes met his, and he could see that there were tears in them. “He’s going away to college.”

“College.” Loki had heard her mention the word before. It was the place mortals went to further their education once their primary and secondary schooling was done. College, according to Darcy, was where a lot of humans learned their final trade. “Higher education is a good thing, yes?” Loki asked hesitantly.

Darcy sighed. “Yes, it is,” she reluctantly replied. “But he’s going to California.” At Loki’s blank stare, she realized that he had no idea where California was, or what that meant. “It’s another place on the other side of the country we live in,” she explained. “It’s very far away. I can’t get there unless I get on an airplane and fly.”

Loki wasn’t completely sure what it all meant, but he did know that “very far away” was a bad thing. “So you won’t get to see him anymore, then,” he surmised. 

“No, not for a long time.” She shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll come back to visit, but it’ll only be every once in a while, and even then, probably only for short periods of time, and he’ll only want to visit his family and won’t have time for me---” She cut herself off abruptly, stifling a sob with the back of her hand.

“Oh, Darcy,” Loki sighed. “I am so sorry.” He paused, watching her as she tried to compose herself. “Does this mean that your relationship with him has changed?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “We… we didn’t really talk about it.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why ever not?”

It was Darcy’s turn to look surprised. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “He didn’t bring it up, and I was afraid to.”

“Darcy, do you love him?”

She looked at him strangely. “Of course I do, Loki… you know that.”

“Does he know that?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Loki inclined his head to the side, eyebrows raised again. “Have you told him that you love him?”

Darcy shook her head. 

“Then you need to,” Loki replied firmly. “To let him leave without telling him how strongly you feel for him would be a terrible thing.”

“I can’t,” Darcy countered miserably.

“Why not?”

She shifted in her chair. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” She lifted one hand in the air, then let it drop back into her lap. “What if I confess my feelings and pour my heart out, and it turns out he only ever liked me as a friend?”

Loki considered her question. He knew it was a legitimate one, and he knew the feeling that made Darcy think it. He’d felt something similar when he’d confessed his own feelings to Sigyn. “Darcy, I do not think that your feelings for Steve are unrequited,” he started carefully. “I do believe that he feels as strongly for you as you do for him. However,” he continued, flashing her a smirk, “even if he does not share your feelings of love, your confession will take place prior to his leaving the area, and you will not have to suffer the indignity of having to see him on a regular basis, should he not feel the same.”

Darcy laughed in spite of herself. “I can always count on you to tell me the truth,” she smiled. 

“Indeed,” he replied. “I would not be a true friend if it were not so.” He peered at her closely. “Talk to him, Darcy. Tell him how you feel. Steve seems to me an honorable, decent young man. If nothing else, he will appreciate your honesty and return in kind.”

Darcy mulled over this for a while. “Do you really think so?” She asked, finally. 

Loki nodded. “I do.”

“Then I’m going to tell him,” she decided. She looked at him. “Where were you, anyway?” She asked, changing the subject. “I was sitting here for hours, waiting for you.”

He smiled apologetically. “I was doing… explorative research,” he answered cryptically. 

Darcy raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. She knew that if she waited long enough, he would tell her what he was doing research on.

“I need you to tell me where you live,” he said. 

She looked at him in surprise. “Like, my address?”

“Yes.” He thought about this for a moment. “Or perhaps coordinates would be better.”

“Okay,” she laughed. “I guess I could go to the library or something and find that out. But before I do that, why do you need it? Are you gonna come visit me?”

Loki didn’t laugh. His face was earnest. “That is the plan,” he answered.

Darcy’s eyes widened. “Really?” She took in a sharp breath. “How are you going to get here?”

Loki considered her question for a moment. “Darcy,” he started slowly, “there are ways to travel between the Nine Realms. I…” he trailed off for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I do not think that the inhabitants of Midgard know of these ways. The main way is the BiFrost.”

“The Bi-what?”

He smiled fondly at her. “The BiFrost,” he repeated. “It is the bridge that leads from one world to another. It is the most common way, and undoubtedly the quickest. There are, however, other ways to travel in between worlds that do not require the use of the BiFrost,” he added. “These are the ways I have been researching.”

“So how does it work, exactly?” Darcy asked, her face filled with confusion. 

“I’m not completely certain,” Loki admitted honestly. “Heimdall the Watcher is the guardian of the BiFrost, and it is his duty to control who comes in and goes out by way of it.” He paused for a moment, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “I suppose it can be attributed to magic, the way this thing works.”

Darcy wrinkled up her nose. “That wasn’t a very good explanation, Loki,” she teased. “But,” she added with a smile, “it just means you’ll have to bring me there one day so I can see it for myself.”

Loki smiled back at her. “I would be delighted to do so.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Darcy bit her lip, trying to find a way to ask the question she’d been wanting to ask for a long time. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Have you talked to your family yet?”

Loki glanced at her sharply, but didn’t say anything.

“Loki,” she chided gently, “you promised that you would.”

And he had promised, he thought dourly. Darcy had been encouraged by Sigyn’s positive reaction to what Loki told her about his heritage, and had urged Loki to go talk to his parents and Thor. Loki had been avoiding his family for weeks on end now, refusing to give in to their determination to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary. He’d even refused to speak with his mother, which was highly unusual.

Darcy raised her eyebrows at him and wagged a finger. “You can’t tell me to take your advice if you’re not going to take mine,” she warned. 

Loki sighed. “Darcy, it’s complicated.”

She inclined her head to the side. “I don’t see how.” She shook her head. “From what you’re telling me, nothing has changed. Your family loves you just as much as they ever did. They don’t seem to have a problem with your heritage - why should you?”

“Because they lied to me,” Loki snapped. “Not only did they lead me to believe I was something that I am not, they raised me to hate and fear the very thing that I am.”

Darcy pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Alright, you’ve got a point,” she conceded slowly. “But that still doesn’t change the way your mother and father feel about you. All these years they kept you, and raised you as their own. You’d never have known about it if you hadn’t touched that Casket thingy, right?”

Loki shook his head. “That may not entirely be true,” he countered. “Odin said that his plan in taking me from Jotunheim was for the eventual unification of it and Asgard. I’m sure he would have revealed his plan eventually, when the time suited him. Perhaps at Thor’s coronation,” he added bitterly. 

“Well, you should at least talk to Thor,” Darcy stated firmly. “He didn’t know anything about this whole thing, which means he’s not responsible for whatever…” She paused. “...whatever lies your parents might have told you,” she concluded. 

Loki decided to say nothing further on the subject. Instead, he smiled at her. “I’m going to bring you your bracelet soon,” he stated. 

Darcy clapped her hands together with glee. “I can’t wait,” she replied excitedly. “It’ll be so nice to finally see you in person.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “When do you think you’ll get here?”

“I’m unsure,” he answered candidly. “Once I figure out how to get to where you are, I may have a better sense of how long it will be before I can get there.” He shrugged. “Until then, all I can do is guess.”

Darcy nodded in understanding. “Well, it doesn’t really matter anyway,” she laughed. “I’ll just be happy to see you when you finally do get here. And I’ll make sure I find the coordinates for you soon.” She looked him up and down. “Um, I know that you’re a prince and everything, and that’s how they do things on Asgard, but… do you think maybe you could come dressed in something a little less flashy?”

He looked momentarily offended, and Darcy giggled. 

“What would you suggest I don?” He asked loftily.

Darcy, still giggling, held up a finger. Loki watched as she rose from the floor - it was getting easier for her, he noted - and walked over to her desk. Briefly, she rifled through the items on it before coming back to the mirror, clutching a photograph. “This is what guys are wearing on Midgard nowadays,” she explained, pointing to the two young men in the photo. “That’s Steve,” she added, pointing to the one with the lighter colored brown hair. “And that’s his best friend Bucky.”

Loki nodded, taking note of the clothing the young men were wearing. He wasn’t sure how he would manage it, but if it meant not standing out and drawing undue attention to himself when he arrived on Midgard, he would find a way to make it happen. He was already putting a plan in motion, and this was just one more thing that would help him execute it perfectly.  

Chapter Text

“I was beginning to think I would never see my son again.”

Loki turned at the sound of the Queen’s voice, and though his heart melted immediately at the sight of the woman he had called his mother all these years, he did not move toward her. He stood in place, silently, as Frigga approached him, concern in her eyes. 

“You are still upset,” she surmised, taking in the look on his face. 

“Have I not the right to be?”

She sighed deeply. “Yes. You have the right to be,” she conceded. “Though I wish you would not be.”

He tried to tamp down the anger he felt. “You would have me smile and comply and pretend that nothing is wrong? Is that what you want?”

“No,” she answered softly. “I only wish that you would open up to me about your feelings, the way you used to.”

“Perhaps if I hadn’t been lied to my entire life, I would trust you,” he snapped. The pained look on Frigga’s face made him regret his words, and guilt stabbed at him sharply. He took a deep breath. “Mother, why did you not tell me?” He asked quietly, his tone softer.

“Norns know that I wanted to,” Frigga answered, moving closer to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. She was encouraged when he didn’t move away. “But your father forbade me.” She sighed again. “Of all the things I’ve fought your father on, I still do not know what made me concede to him on this.” She shook her head. “Perhaps a part of me wanted to pretend that there was nothing different about you, and keeping the truth hidden helped that.” She searched his face. “You must believe, Loki, that I only ever wanted the best for you. I love you.”

“And what of Father’s plans?” 

She shook her head. “It was the one thing I would not bow to his wishes on regarding you,” she replied. “Loki, despite what you may think of me and how I aided in hiding the truth of your heritage from you, I do love you. To me, you have never been anything but my own son. I raised you as such, and I would not let your father take you away from me to suit his own means. I refused to give in to his plans to send you to Jotunheim.”

Loki gazed at her in surprise. “And he agreed to that?”

Frigga gave him a knowing smile. “Of course he did. He would not have wanted to face my wrath.”

Loki considered her words with a sigh. Deep down, he knew his mother was telling him the truth. Despite what he thought of Odin’s motives for whatever action he had taken, Loki knew that everything his mother had ever done for him was in his best interest. He could not fault her for that, and so, silently, he forgave her. “I am sorry I have been away so long,” he started quietly. “And I cannot promise that my resentment will magically fade away---”

“I may be able to arrange that,” Frigga interjected teasingly. 

Loki allowed her a small smile. “But I am grateful for your... unconditional love,” he continued simply.

She enveloped him in her arms, squeezing him to her in the first embrace they’d shared in years. “I do love you, Loki,” she whispered to him. “Never doubt that. Whatever you may feel about what you’ve discovered and how it compares to what you’ve been taught, there is nothing that could make me love you any less than I have since the first day I laid eyes upon you.”

His eyes filled with tears, and he said nothing, content to just be held by the woman who, bloodline or not, would always be his mother. Finally, she released him, and he knew by the look on her face that she was happy with his visit. “Have you yet spoken with your father and your brother?”

Loki shook his head. “I will speak with Thor,” he replied, his jaw set. 

Frigga nodded, taking the unspoken meaning in his words for what it was. She knew that it would be a while yet before her younger son was ready to make amends with his father. Odin knew it, too, and contrary to the habit of his character, he would allow Loki to make these amends on his own terms and when he was ready. She would, however, convey to her husband all that had taken place here. “Thor has missed you so,” she said. “He will be very happy to speak with you.”

***

“Progress is progress,” Darcy stated firmly. “Just because you haven’t found a way to forgive him yet doesn’t mean you haven’t progressed. You are, after all, trying to work your way up to that,” she pointed out. “And the fact that he’s giving you the space and time to do so is a good sign.”

He couldn’t deny the logic of her words, and he chuckled a bit at how very wise his young mortal friend had turned out to be. He opened his mouth to respond, but a soft knock on the door of his chambers stopped him. Darcy heard the knock too, and looked at him silently. 

“Who’s there?” He called out, turning his head toward the door. 

“Sigyn,” came the answer through the door. “May I come in?”

Loki shot Darcy an apologetic look, and she smiled. “It’s ok,” she whispered. “I’ve got to go down and cook dinner anyway.” She motioned toward the mirror. “I’m going to flip it over, just in case,” she added with a wink.

He blushed, which was unusual for him, and Darcy smirked as she flipped her mirror over. Hurriedly, he made his way over to the entrance of his chambers, undoing the wards and opening the door. 

“Hello,” Sigyn greeted him. She smiled at him, and he noted absently that she seemed nervous. 

“Hello,” he replied, moving aside to let her pass through the doorway. After he’d shut the door behind him, he muttered the incantations that would put the wards back up, in addition to a silencing spell for his room. He wasn’t sure if he would need it, but he did it anyway. 

Sigyn stood in the center of his room, her hands clasped and her eyes focused on the balcony. Loki sat on the bed, and motioned for her to join him. After only a moment’s hesitation, she did. 

“This is a pleasant surprise,” he remarked. “How was your journey back to Vanaheim?”

Sigyn nodded. “It went well,” she answered. She fiddled with the seam on the sleeve of her gown. “Loki, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”

Her voice wavered, and still she looked at the balcony outside of his room. It was then that Loki noticed she was not wearing the necklace he’d given her, and his heart sank, but he said nothing. 

“I am to be leaving Asgard soon,” Sigyn blurted. Finally, she looked at him, and Loki could see that there were tears in her eyes. “In a fortnight, my father and I will once again make Vanaheim our home.”

Shock filled Loki’s features, and he stared at her as he tried to process her words. “You… you are leaving?” He stammered. 

She nodded.  “In a fortnight,” she repeated. 

“But why?” Loki shook his head. “Your father… he is still committed to my fath… to Odin for  service, yes?”

“Yes,” she answered slowly. “But Odin has released him from duties in Asgard. He still holds his place, but the Allfather has given him permission to do so from his home realm.” 

Loki studied her face closely. “I am certain that, should you wish to stay, my mother could arrange for your accommodation,” he said carefully. His heart raced in his chest, his brain feeding him the hope that she would jump at the opportunity to stay on Asgard with him. 

Sigyn didn’t answer.

Loki peered at her, trying to get her to look at him. She would not turn her head. “Sigyn?”

“I told my father of your heritage,” she breathed in a rush. She gave him a pained glance. 

He shook his head. “Wh-what?” 

Sigyn closed her eyes briefly. “While on Vanaheim, my father asked me about you. He wanted to know of the possibility of you and I building a future together.” She shook her head, looking up at him again. “Loki, you know that I am my father’s only child.” 

“Yes, I know this,” he confirmed quietly. 

She took a deep breath. “I am my father’s only child,” she repeated.  “And as such, he would expect me to marry and produce children, to carry on his bloodline.” She paused, and Loki watched her. There was pain on her face, and it was obvious that she was reluctant to continue, but she did anyway. “I love you, Loki, with all of my heart. And in the time that has passed since you shared the revelation of your true heritage with me, I have tried to find a way around the uncertainty I feel about our future. But given all that my father expects of me,” she continued, her eyes on her lap, “I cannot quite expel the fear I feel when I think of what would happen should we marry and conceive children.”

Loki didn’t answer right away.

“I still love you,” she repeated firmly. “But Loki, you must know that should we wed and have children, they will be of..." She trailed off, her eyes downcast. "Of mixed heritage," she finished quietly. “My father is… reluctant to allow me to wed you, with that possibility at the fore.”

The truth of her words sank in, and Loki fell silent. There was nothing he could say in rebuttal of her statement, because he knew that what she spoke was true. He couldn't try to convince her to stay; after all, if her fears were realized, and they wed and produced children that were, indeed, half-Jotun, he would never forgive himself for it. Lord Sandoy was a prominent figure in the Royal Guard of the Einherjar at Odin’s service; he held an important position of power and status. Loki knew that the possibility of Sigyn bearing half-Jotun children would not be pleasing to her father. Despite how much he might protest her point, he simply could not ask her to change her mind.

There was nothing he could do.

There was still a hole in his heart, though, and it would be useless to tell himself there wasn't. And though he couldn't fault Sigyn for what she was doing, he still felt the bitterness of resentment rising to the surface of his feelings.

“Loki.” Sigyn spoke his name softly, reaching out to twine her fingers with his. “Do you know why I am returning to Vanaheim?”

“So that you do not have to have further dealings with me,” he answered, just as softly.

“That isn’t true,” Sigyn contradicted him softly. “Loki, what I said before was true. My love for you still stands. Please do not think that leaving is not difficult for me.” She sighed, squeezing her hand in his. “But should I stay here, it would be even more difficult. Every day would be an agony for me, knowing that we could never be together.” She took another deep breath. “It is best for me to return to Vanaheim, where thoughts of the future that we will never have together will not haunt me.”

“Then you must leave now,” Loki said abruptly, wincing inwardly at the cruelty of his tone. He disengaged his fingers from hers, standing and turning his body away from her. If she was being forced to sever the ties between them, he would not make it more difficult for her - or for himself. 

Sigyn gazed at him for a long time without speaking, her soft features filled with remorse. My father knows best. I am making the right decision, she told herself silently. As she moved to leave Loki’s chambers, she wondered why she didn’t believe that.

***

“And what of Sigyn?”

Loki glanced at Thor sharply, a scathing reply at the ready on his tongue. But there was no malice in Thor’s tone of voice, no mockery in his facial expression. Blue eyes stared at him openly and sincerely, and Loki stilled the vitriol on his tongue. 

“She has gone,” he answered. “Back to Vanaheim with her father - for good.”

Thor gazed at his little brother closely. “I am sorry, Loki.” He shook his head. “For everything.”

“It is no matter,” Loki murmured bitterly. “This only means that your hatred of me has a foundation - after all, I am a frost giant.”

Thor looked at him in surprise. “Loki, I do not hate you.” 

“You did once.”

The thunderer shook his head. “No, I did not,” he countered. 

“You certainly behaved as if you did,” Loki snapped. “Or do you not remember centuries of bullying and being shunned in favor of your warrior friends?”

Thor looked down at his hands shamefacedly. “Yes, I do remember,” he replied quietly. “But that was not hatred, Loki. It was merely jealousy.”

It was Loki’s turn to look at his brother in surprise. “Surely you jest.”

“No.” The blonde god shook his head. “Loki, you have always been the clever one. You have always been smart, have always had skills outside of the battlefield. There is hardly anyone more proficient at the art of seidr than you, save perhaps Mother.” Thor shook his head and chuckled wryly. “Which is why she loves you best.”

Loki thought he detected a hint of envy in Thor’s tone, and he could hardly believe it. “Why would you be jealous of that?” He countered. “Father loves and respects you. What I wouldn’t give---”

“It does not take much to earn Father’s love and respect,” Thor interjected. “One must merely know how to fight.” He shook his head again. “To earn mother’s love, much more is needed.”

“Mother loves you.”

“Not the way she loves you.” Thor put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You are her favorite, Loki. You always have been, and there is nothing I can do to compete with that. Would that I had the chance,” he continued, “I still would have it the way it is now. You deserve to be her favorite, far more than I do.” He peered at Loki closely. “I am sorry for the way things ended with Sigyn,” he repeated. “I do not know if there are words other than those that would suit the situation.”

Loki fell silent, deep in thought. 

“What will you do now?” Thor asked. 

The younger god sighed. Words came to him, and before he knew what was happening, he’d opened his mouth to speak. “I shall leave Asgard for a time,” he decided quietly. “I have a bit of traveling to do.”