AN: I'll have you know that I have never updated this quickly. Here's chapter 3 for your enjoyment.
I recommend you listen to this while reading: Jeremy Soule - From Past to Present - Skyrim OST
The poem I borrowed is called 'Loki's poem' and it belongs to Carol Robe.
The song at the beginning is 'Drumming Song' by Florence + The Machine.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Marvel.
Chapter 3
There's a drumming noise inside my head,
That starts when you're around.
I swear that you could hear it,
It makes such an all mighty sound.
Louder than sirens,
Louder than bells,
Sweeter than heaven,
And hotter than hell.
'Loki!'
A shrill scream of anger flew so suddenly, unannounced. It shook the royal palace to the ground, echoed off the golden walls, and across the gardens. The name of the trickster and the prince of Asgard reached the ears of each lord and lady of Asgardian court.
'Where is he!?'
The woman's voice flooded the halls and grand ballrooms like an angry river, a river that carried a raging woman. She was stomping in the direction of the royal bedchambers, not caring about warnings and pleas of the maid that ran after her. Her footsteps were loud and unstoppable.
'My lady, we shouldn't be here- The All Father, the queen! We will be punished-' the maid stuttered in fright. But there were no words that could halt the determined woman from practically running towards her goal.
'Be silent, Eydís.' The proud lady replied briskly, her cutting voice silencing the shaking woman immediately. The girl looked down, obedient and quiet.
Both women passed a giant diamond archway and walked into the enormous golden corridor. Guards were positioned, standing every two feet, motionless and severe with lush armor and deadly weapons inside their manly fists. The women passed next to them, the lady in the lead not giving them a fleeting glance, her ocean colored eyes directed in front of her – her chin stuck out audaciously.
'My lady-' Eydís could not stop herself.
'Quiet!' the lady screamed at her maid now, and a few guards flinched.
The next moment, the two women were standing in front of large doors carved out of the darkest wood in the Realm Eternal. The large guards who were standing on each side of the door stepped in front of her, crossing their sharp spears as she attempted to reach the entrance.
'You are not allowed inside.'
'Let me in.' she hissed, pointing her finger at the door 'Or get him out.'
'Prince Loki will not-' The guard looked down at her severely, his words heavy.
'I demand to see him!' She yelled, stomping her foot on the floor in anger 'This instant!'
'It is unwise to-' The guard never finished his sentence. The grand door opened, only, no one was standing behind them. Only when the lady glanced inside the vast room, she saw the one she demanded to see.
He was leaning back idly on the lush bed, his knees apart as he sat back lazily. He was facing the doorway, nonchalant and relaxed.
'Let her in.' He spoke in a deep voice.
The young woman walked in, leaving her maid behind her.
The door closed with a shuddering bang the moment she walked in. Her white gown was flowing behind her, sheer and made out of pure silk, shimmering with every movement in the darkness of the chamber.
There was a short silence, and then her shoulders slumped and she fell to her knees.
'Oh, Sif – ' Loki stood up, and walked with long steps towards her, his black attire with silver belt and emerald green leather not able to excel the indescribable blackness of his raven hair. The young Loki was quite tall for his years, his skin was as pale and glowing, like the whitest alabaster.
'H-How could you-' she shook with heavy sobs. Sif lifted her head up with a snap of anger, her hair, black as night, woven with the power of the god of mischief that stood before her, framed her face. It fell down, cascading, like a waterfall down her back.
If the blackness of the universe turned to liquid – that would've been Sif's hair.
'How could you do this to me!' she fisted her locks with both hands, her blue eyes spilling torrents of tears. The young girl, in all her distress and anger, never looked more beautiful to him. Loki stared at her, not able to form words for he was knocked down by the sheer force of her radiant fairness.
'I know you did this!' she pointed her shaking thin finger at him 'You never wanted him to-'
'Sif-' Loki lifted his arms to reach her, stepping even closer to her.
'You –' She whispered heavily, hugging herself in coldness 'You never wanted Thor to like me.'
Loki stepped back, his eyes darkening, fists of jealousy forming on his sides.
'You always despised the idea of Thor and I being together. I almost had him, and now - look at me!' she screamed, walking to the nearby mirror.
Valhalla, why can't she see how beautiful she is?
'Where is my blond hair, Loki!?' Sif stood in front of him, looking up at his tall person, her hand over her mouth.
'Black suits you better.' Loki said, and it flew past his lips much colder than he intended.
'Oh, you bastard.' Sif said with a shudder, her eyes foggy and unfocused. 'How will he ever like me with this black hair? You know he will not! No one ever will!'
I will. He thought quietly, not planning to say it out loud. To everybody Loki was a complex puzzle, and he planned to remain just that – in everybody's eyes – and that included Sif.
'I shall tell your mother about this! And you know she will tell Odin!'
Sif expected to see some sort of fear or uneasiness on Loki's face at the mention of his father, but nothing changed – he still stared at her, brooding and serious. A slight smirk graced his lips, right side of his mouth turned up devilishly.
'You disgust me.' She whispered with parted lips that held the bright color of raspberry.
'And you amaze me.' He said, catching her chin with his thumb and forefinger. 'If Thor cannot see past the color of your hair, do you really think he's worthy of you?'
'Then who is worthy of me, Loki?' She smirked cruelly, as though on the verge of bitter laughter. 'You?'
Loki leaned down and whispered close to her lips.
'One day, Sif, you shall be a fierce warrior.' He murmured, looking down at her. 'Fiercer than those oafs that call themselves Warriors three.'
'And, one day, Loki, you shall pay the price for your mischief and that silver tongue of yours.' She hissed.
He smirked, sure of himself. 'Maybe. But until then...' And he leaned down more, wishing to kiss her. Only a breath remained as a barrier between their lips, when Sif's hand flew and slapped him across the cheek like a burning whip.
'Never talk to me again, Loki.' She hissed, walking out of the room, her white and black figure running out of the darkness that filled Loki's chambers, and towards the golden halls.
Loki's green eyes burned in rage as he glared at her. How dare she hit me? She is the one unworthy of me. She is the one who doesn't deserve anything. Oh, let her drown in her despair. I shall be glad to see Thor running after and courting other women. And I shall greatly enjoy seeing her pain.
Loki turned on his heel, returning to his books and scrolls of magic, sitting onto his chair.
And pain she will feel.
...
The emerald eyes of the same man opened, on another realm, miles and miles away from a place he used to call home. The intensity of his gaze has not changed – only the darkness that surrounded his irises seemed deeper, like a labyrinth of emotion and evil foreboding.
Loki woke up on the sofa, still tasting the dream. It happened so long ago, the intense memory centuries away from him, but still it felt as though it happened yesterday.
Funny, how time changed people – even those whose lives were bound to never end.
The one he was attracted to, maybe even felt something for was now one of the biggest enemies he could think of. And he felt repulsed by her, all her innocence and lure she would radiate all those centuries ago now seemed to have turned to steel, as sharp and as uninviting as the very blades she wielded and killed with. Only her hair – which was his doing, looked the same.
And even now, centuries later, Loki smirked at his cruel but by far the most beautiful piece of magic he ever did on anyone.
Loki focused on the darkness of the room he was in, only to realize the mortal woman who took him in stood before him – as though petrified. He straightened up, still not overly comfortable at the thought of her watching him while he was not aware of it.
Oh, but that much he was aware – every now and then, she would observe him, as though fascinated.
'I do not appreciate being stared at while I sleep.' He said coldly as he ran his finger through the mess of his dark hair.
Darcy jumped up when his voice broke the silence that seemed to be filled with nothing but their own breathing.
'Well, I don't appreciate having bruised wrists, but here we go.' And with that Darcy lifted her hands up, one hand holding a book. Dark blue prints that his crushing fingers made clear upon her pale flesh.
'My apologies, mortal.' Loki bowed his head a bit.
Darcy's eyes widened, and she smiled at him, surprised 'You apologized.'
'Yes well - is it not a common custom on Midgard?' He said, dusting off his dirty armor, wincing in pain when he moved too quickly 'Or have you not evolved from the barbaric bunch I last saw when I visited this rock.'
'Oh, I see the attitude is back.' Darcy said sheepishly, putting the book down, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore the pajamas and the band t shirt, her ponytail messy from lying down. It was 3 in the morning and she couldn't sleep, so she took the book and went to get herself a glass of water. The god of mischief was sleeping, and her curiosity was more than awake.
'Actually, we evolved quite nicely.' Darcy said, sitting down on a chair in front of the coffee table. 'But, I'll be honest – in certain aspects we are still close-minded and primitive.'
'Indeed?' he said, leaning his elbows on his knees.
'Yes. I don't know when you visited Earth, but for a mortal nation, we are special.'
Loki snorted in mock laughter.
'Of course you're going to react like this!' Darcy was annoyed by his reaction more than she expected 'You think we're dull, unintelligent, not capable of anything – but our planet has great value!' Darcy said, all her knowledge fighting against cold barriers of his, seemingly, higher mind.
'It's not so hard when you're immortal, is it? But here, where people's time is so limited, you have to plan each year, each day – because you are always, always reminded of how quickly it can all fade away.'
The passion and seriousness of the mortal woman's voice made Loki sober up a bit.
'And how, pray tell, do you know I am immortal?' He smirked.
'The same way I knew you were from Asgard.' Darcy crossed her arms defiantly, her glasses dangling from between her fingers.
'Continue...' he pointed with his long armor clad arm.
Silence.
'Now that I think about it, I don't think I will.' She stood up and walked towards the kitchen. 'You want a soda or something?'
When he said nothing, Darcy rephrased her question, rolling her eyes behind the refrigerator.
'Would you like a glass of water or some other beverage?' she smiled at her use of proper English.
'Yes.' Was his simple answer. She took bottled water and poured it in two glasses. Then, she reached for the ice and dipped two ice cubes in each glass. Grabbing hold of them, she closed the refrigerator with her hip and went to him.
'Here you go.' She placed his glass on the coffee table.
'Thank you.' Loki took hold of the cold glass, and when he saw two pieces of ice floating inside it, he smirked in bitter thought, his true parentage screaming in the dusty corners of him mind, and he dipped his long fingers and removed the two ice cubes on the table, not wishing to touch his lips to the frozen water.
'Don't like ice?' Darcy asked, sitting Indian style on the wide chair.
'Not overly.' He smirked, drinking his water in silence.
After a few moments Darcy sighed, and placed her glass back on the table.
'The old Norse people, Vikings, who probably lived at the time you visited this rock' she emphasized the word, making him smirk 'Worshiped the gods of Asgard as deities. They wrote prose, poetry, they told stories, created myths and legends about them.'
He nodded, observing Darcy like a hawk. Her chest quivered in nervousness for a brief moment their eyes met, but she continued, praying he noticed nothing.
'And I read all of it, well – most of it.' Darcy said 'By observing you and what happened a few months ago, I came to the conclusion you were, in fact, from Asgard.'
'Fascinating; for a mortal.' He said, his lips drawing back in a toothy smile.
Darcy shifted uneasily. His behavior irritated her, and in the same time she wanted to impress him. And so Darcy said the following words without thinking.
'Yes, so fascinating, in fact, that I even know your name.' She stood up quickly, and went to the large window, trying to calm her nerves.
He made her uneasy.
'Indeed.' Loki murmured from his sitting position on the sofa, and Darcy felt his eyes burning into her back.
This house is so damn quiet.
Taking a deep breath, Darcy closed her eyes and spoke, remembering those words she read a thousand times over: 'Mocking, you made mischief at their feast, Delivered strife for their dessert, Sweeping aside their masks of morals, Revealing what they really were. Who was it who gave Sif her hair? Who was it who gave Odhin his spear? Who was it who gave Frey Skiðblaðnir? You, Loki, and for what?'
Darcy's palms were sweating. She continued: 'So, who is it who we should praise for his tricks? Who is it who we should applaud for his wit? Who is it who we should prize for his quips? Why, you, Loki, you, Loki, you!'
Darcy took a deep breath and opened her eyes when she finished, her face extremely close to the glass window, almost touching the swaying curtains.
'And I met your… brother not two months ago.' She said, waiting for a reply.
It never met her ears.
Slowly, she turned and as soon as she did, Darcy jumped in fright when she realized the god of mischief was standing right behind her, closer than ever before.
'And may I-' He placed his hand over his heart '-have the pleasure of knowing your name, my lady?'
Darcy's breath caught inside her throat as she observed his tall person and those dark, dark eyes. Slowly, she gave him her name.
'Darcy.' the soft syllables rolled of his silver tongue. His smirk grew, making Darcy weak at the knees. And he caught her bruised hand in his large one. With freezing but gentle touch, just like the melted ice cubes on the coffee table, he brought her hand to his white lips, and pressed a deep kiss on top of it, not breaking the contact their eyes made.
As the god of lies pressed his silver lips on her warm hand, enveloping her body in comfortable coolness, for the first time in her life - Darcy greeted the frost with open arms.
Outside, unnoticed, the early dawn was breaking.