Vanaheim is pleasant and sweet but still alien. From all the legends she's read she pictured it like a quaint English garden, Tolkien's shire, really but it's not. It's much more untamed and bigger. She feels like she's walking through a world made for giants. Apart from earth all of the nine worlds seem to be grander and simply more: the smells sharper, the landscape bigger, the colours more brilliant. She has never seen so many shapes of green and blue and violet, red, yellow, white and orange.
They came here on their own, no one knows where they went and why they're here. Vanaheim is a place of rest and peace, Loki explained to her. The village is remote hidden between the coils of a river and surrounded by grassland.
They meet under the village tree, an ancient willow with white and violet flowers that the wind scatters over them each time it brushes the tree.
They're both barefoot. Her dress falls down to her ankles and drags on the ground behind her. It's midnight blue and snow white while he is dressed in a dark green tunica and trousers with a bronze coat. She has a crown made of flowers and bands on her head and her hair falls open over her shoulders. It's the last time she will wear it like this. Married women don't leave their hair unbound.
They both carry weapons. Loki unclasps the sword from his belt and offers it to her.
"The sword of my ancestor." It's so old and powerful that even she can feel it the moment she touches it. It's cold, too, like ice. "As you are part of my family now you have the right to bear our weapons", he continues. He looks so earnest and something warm unfolds inside her chest.
She clasps the sword to her belt and holds out the dagger. It's small and sharp, something to carry in a boot or another tight place. "To protect us", she says simply.
The last part is the exchange of their marriage bangles. He takes her hand first and slides the bangle over her hand. Then she takes his and does the same.
"This union has been blessed by the gods and shall never be broken", the village elder says.
Darcy can't help herself, she has to kiss Loki now or go insane. But she doesn't care when Loki kisses her back, his large hands cupping her face.
"They will think us wanton because we cannot wait", he whispers as he leans his forehead against hers.
"Fuck what they think", she replies and kisses him again. Darcy feels him smile against her lips.