CHAPTER TWO

"How could you possibly think that blunt weapons are in any way superior to bladed ones? Where is the killing power?"

"I told you," said Hogun flatly, "it's not about the killing power. It's about the stopping power. In battle, what do you care more about: killing your enemies, or stopping them from killing you?"

"Is anyone going to finish this roast?" Volstagg interrupted.

"But it's not just about pragmatism," Sif said impatiently as though the interruption had never occurred. "Where is the art in clobbering somebody over the head with a club or the broad side of a claymore? Using blades takes skill. But I suppose that would explain why you can't appreciate the value in them."

Fandral let out a loud, mocking "ohhhh!" at Hogun.

"Oh, stop it, you sycophant," Sif said to Fandral disdainfully. "Just because you agree with me doesn't mean I'm going to sleep with you."

Fandral looked down at his plate sheepishly.

Volstagg inched towards the platter in the center of the table. "Does anyone mind if I finish this?"

Sif sipped her ale and turned to Darcy curiously. "What about you, mortal?" she asked warily. "What's your weapon of choice?" Volstagg opened his mouth to interrupt again. "No, Volstagg, nobody cares if you finish the roast," she snapped. Loki, across the table, exchanged an amused look with Darcy, who stifled a laugh behind her hand. Rolling her eyes, Sif returned her attention to Darcy. "As I was saying: if you had to choose one weapon, and you couldn't use anything else for the rest of your life to fight with, what would it be?"

Darcy blinked rapidly. "Uh," she stammered, her smile slipping away, "I don't…I don't know. I've never really thought much about it. I didn't really spend a lot of time fighting back on earth, except verbally." She gnawed on her lower lip thoughtfully. "Uh…" Her eyes lit up. "Oh. I know. My mind."

Sif widened her eyes. "Your mind?" she said slowly, as though not sure she had heard the girl correctly.

Darcy nodded. "Yeah," she said, a little louder. "I mean, it's like you said: fighting takes skill. Any moron could pick up a rock and clobber somebody with it. Animals do that. If I were to go into battle with only one thing, I'd want to be able to improvise…so…uh…" She trailed off, shrugging.

"But that's not a weapon. You can't kill people with just your mind," Sif pointed out flatly.

"I can," Loki interjected.

"I'm asking her," Sif said, "not you. I don't even bother asking you hypothetical questions anymore, you just weasel out of them with some asinine technicality and completely miss the point." Loki smiled widely. "Normal people," Sif continued, glowering at Loki darkly, "don't have telekinetic powers or magic."

Darcy sat up a little straighter. This was something she knew. This was debate…politics.

"Okay," she admitted, "I couldn't kill you right now with my mind if I wanted to. But if I wanted to kill you somewhere down the road, I could make it happen. Hitler, Stalin—" she noticed the blank looks on their faces. "Midgardian politicians," she explained quickly, "bad guys, long story—they were responsible for millions of deaths, they were behind it, but they never directly killed anybody. They just talked their way into power and persuaded other people to their cause. You know, using propaganda and speeches and stuff. They ordered other people to kill their enemies for them, and made them want to do it themselves." She gave Sif an innocent look. "You're the best warrior there is. Can you kill six million people with a sword?"

Sif opened and closed her mouth mutely for a few seconds like a fish struggling for air. Then she glared at Loki. "Damn it, Loki, you've created a monster." She shook her head. "What have you been teaching her?"

Loki put his hands up, smiling widely. "I had nothing to do with this." His eyes danced brightly at Darcy, laughing in their own silent way. "My hands are clean."

"Lunatics," Sif sighed, rolling her eyes. "Remind me to never leave you two in the same room alone again."

Loki waggled his eyebrows sarcastically. "Well, that might put a bit of a damper on our honeymoon, but I suppose an audience wouldn't be entirely out of the question." He smiled crookedly as everyone at the table except himself, Sif, and Darcy burst into raucous laughter. Darcy tried to look sheepish, fighting the urge to laugh, and Sif looked like she was going to vomit.

Darcy was saved from having to come up with a sarcastic reply by the blast of a trumpet from outside. Her face lit up. "They're back," she said cheerfully, dropping her fork and almost knocking her chair over in her haste to leave the table. Loki reached as if to take her by the hand, but she ran past him. He sighed and followed her, shaking his head.

Darcy could hardly contain her excitement at having Jane around again as she sprinted towards the front steps—and then she saw them approach.

She threw her arms blindly around whichever one of them was coming up the stairs first.

"You're back!" she said happily.

The figure she was hugging coughed awkwardly. Darcy froze. She was hugging a man…and that definitely wasn't Thor's voice.

"Funny," the figure said lightly, "I didn't remember being here in the first place."

Darcy blushed furiously as she broke away from the figure, a tall, wiry man with wavy blond hair and green eyes who looked to be a few years older than her. He raised an eyebrow at her display in a way that was eerily Loki-ish. In fact, now that she thought about it, everything about his face had that same mischievous look to it: the high cheekbones, the eyes that scrunched up when he smiled, that little quirk to his lips that made it seem like he was planning something. It was almost like he was a god of mischief himself.

She was saved from her embarrassment by the arrival of Jane and Thor behind the blond stranger; she mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "sorry," and hurried towards them to greet them properly. The blond man watched her curiously as she ran towards the smiling couple.

"Hermes!"

The blond man turned around, his thoughtful look quickly replaced by a brilliant smile. "Loki," he said jovially, "my old friend." They embraced briefly, shaking each other by the hand. "Head still on your shoulders, I see."

"Of course." Loki narrowed his eyes, mock-suspicious. "You aren't here to hide from Hera again, are you?"

Hermes' smile faded. "No," he said grimly. "No, I'm not. I'm afraid my reason for visiting is much more serious." He glanced over his shoulder at the others, who were happily discussing the events of their respective weeks past.

Loki noticed Odin at the foot of the stairs out of the corner of his eye. He bowed slightly. "Father."

"My son." He turned his gaze to the others to welcome them. His eye widened. "Hermes," he said, surprised. "What brings you so far from Olympus?"

"Unfortunately, there is a very serious matter of which I must inform you." He glanced around suspiciously. "I think it would be best if we went somewhere a little more private."

"Of course," Odin said. "Thor, Jane, Loki: come. We shall talk inside."

Thor and Jane promptly ended their chat and followed the others up the stairs to the palace—with Darcy on their heels.

Loki slowed so that he found himself walking alongside Darcy behind the rest of the group. "Darcy, why don't you go find the Warriors? I'm sure Sif's calmed down enough that you can do something as a group without provoking her wrath."

"Are you crazy? And miss this?"

"Darcy," Loki said quietly. He came to a sudden stop and took her hand firmly. She tugged against him, puzzled. "I don't think Odin meant for you to be a part of this meeting," he murmured. "The Olympians don't come about very often. I haven't seen Hermes this somber in decades. Whatever he's here about, it's very serious."

"Then I want to be part of it."

"Darcy, please don't do this..."

"Why does Jane get to go?" Darcy whispered.

"Because Jane is a goddess," Loki replied patiently. His eyes turned cool. "And more to the point, she will be queen someday, the next time Odin enters his slumber. It is her duty to stay informed of these matters, and to provide input, especially now that she is the goddess of truth and reason. Whatever trouble there is, it's her responsibility to get to the bottom of it."

Darcy crossed her arms. "Why can't you be the king?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Just so you can be queen?"

"No. Because you should be king. You're obviously the smart one."

"I'm also the evil one."

"Not this again—"

"Yes, this again." He stared earnestly at Darcy. "For all his faults, Thor is a better person than I could ever hope to be, because it doesn't matter how hard I fight it, I will always have a sinister streak. I enjoy playing games, and bending people to my will, and those aren't qualities that a king should have." He closed his eyes and rested his chin atop Darcy's head. "I'm not a king."

"I think you are," Darcy said.

"Only by extension of the fact that you are a queen," Loki said in a low voice. He pressed his lips to hers hesitantly, and she returned the kiss in kind, their lips brushing against each other so gently that they were more connected by breath than by contact.

As they moved apart, Darcy studied Loki's face curiously, as though she were seeing it for the first time, watching the light and shadows dance across the contours of his face as he breathed. "King Loki," she said, testing the sound out on her tongue.

He tensed sharply as her words sent a faint shiver down his spine and up the base of his neck. Part of him wanted to kiss her fiercely and implore her to call him that forever. But part of him turned away in horror at the thought, at the possibility that he would dare to dwell on these dreams again. He opened his mouth to murmur into her ear—no, he opened his mouth to command her never to say such a thing ever again. He forced his lips together in a thin line and sighed. "If it is possible, I will tell you what the purpose of Hermes' visit is."

"Tonight?" Darcy asked.

Loki shook his head, as if hoping that such movement might clear the smoke swirling in his head. "It's late," he said stiffly. "Tomorrow. In the morning."

He thought he saw a flash of disappointment in Darcy's eyes, but it was quickly masked by indifference. His heart twisted. It's not that, please, don't think that I don't want you.

"Alright," she said. "Good night then."

She left abruptly, before Loki had a chance to kiss her goodnight. He watched her skirt swirl around her feet as she walked quickly away with a strange ache in his chest. "Goodnight," he said. "Darcy."