AN: The final scene in this chapter was written to the track "Watch the World Burn" by Hans Zimmer. Highly recommend it.
For those of you reading this chapter the instant I publish it, the next chapter should be posted within the hour.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"C'mon...c'mon...I know you read," Darcy muttered under her breath. "There's gotta be books somewhere." She turned on her heel, glancing around the room for any hint of disarray, the hint of a hiding place. Nothing.
Of course you didn't find anything, she scolded herself. He's the god of mischief and trickery. He's good at hiding things.
She groaned aloud and threw herself backwards onto the huge bed, the only sign that Loki's Spartan room was even a bedroom at all. She sank into the fluffy mattress dejectedly with a thudding sound. The bronze-colored blankets threatened to swallow her whole. She tried not to close her eyes; she was mentally and physically exhausted from the day's events. At the moment, nothing sounded more welcoming or pleasant than sleeping in a cocoon of Loki-scented sheets. She froze.
Wait a second.
She sat up quickly, throwing her arms out for balance as she wobbled on the plushy blankets. Soft things didn't "thud." They made muffled, gentle noises. When she had landed on the bed, it had made a sharp sound, like a heavy object being dropped onto a wood floor. Like there was something hard underneath the blankets.
Darcy slid off the bed like it was on fire and started pushing against the bottom of the mattress like a madwoman, straining against the weight, her fingers fumbling on the rounded corners. She scrunched her face up with the exertion. Why did I take Survey of Dance for PE credits instead of Weight Lifting? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Abruptly she realized that if she had told herself six months prior that she should take Weight Lifting so she could single-handedly lift a mattress while wearing really ridiculous armor so she could find spell-books that belonged to her gorgeous maybe-boyfriend to save a castle full of gods against an army of very angry ice-Smurfs, she would have called Campus Security. Even now, it was a bit much to take in.
She pursed her lips and leaned against the mattress with all her weight. She knew that they weren't light, but she hadn't thought they would be quite so heavy. In TV shows and movies, characters flipped over mattresses to find drugs and porn stashes with one arm. She couldn't even move it with all of her weight. What the hell did gods make bedding out of?
Maybe she was trying to lift more than a mattress.
Darcy's fingers scrabbled with the edge of her boot. After a few seconds of struggle, she managed to slip her hand between the leather and her socks. Her fingertips brushed cold metal. She smiled as she withdrew the dagger, angling it slightly so the blade wouldn't slice her leg open. She knew that a knife would come in handy.
In one stroke, she slit the mattress open. The fabric flaps lay still for an instant before yawning wide-revealing a trove of books in colors and languages that Darcy had never seen before.
She blindly reached for the first book in English and started flipping through it like a madwoman. The words flew past her eyes faster than she could process them properly. She had to find a way to fight. She was running out of time.
"Watch yourself!" Sif snarled as Volstagg narrowly avoided being turned to ice. Slaying the giant she dueled with a precision strike of her dagger, she glanced around, brushing the loose strands of black hair away from her face.
Hogun was holding his own against a pair of smaller giants, ducking their clumsy blows without much difficulty. Volstagg was running off, using his sword more like a club than a claymore as he ploughed over a small band of giants like a battering ram. Nearly half of the jotun had been killed, but beside them lay many of the Asgardian warriors, fallen in the chaos.
Sif's stomach dropped as she realized that Fandral was nowhere to be seen. She began searching the faces of the dead, hoping silently that she didn't find him there.
"SIF!"
She spun on her heel at the sound of his anguished roar—only to realize that his horrified expression and wide eyes were not for his own sake, but for hers.
She gasped quietly as a jotun arrow grazed her shoulder. She took a shuddering breath to steady herself and raised her sword over her head to destroy the giant that had fired at her. No sooner had she lifted her arms than a second arrow found its mark just under her breastbone. She fell to her knees in surprise, trying to regain her breath from the shock.
"AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!"
As she curled her hands into fists, clawing at the dirt for something to hold on to, to make the pain go away, Fandral bounded forward and began attacking the jotun archer with manic ferocity. He was practically unrecognizable, his usually cheerful expression distorted with rage as he destroyed the archer, and all of the other giants in arms' reach.
He didn't hesitate to watch his opponents fall. Before the last of his foes had touched the ground, he was racing towards Sif.
"Sif, are you alright? Can you breathe? Will you live?" he stammered.
Sif scowled, gritting her teeth against the pain. "Fandral, it's just an arrow," she grumbled.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't see him until it was too late," Fandral said, pulling Sif towards him into a hug. She froze. What? "I should have protected you. Please don't die, please, please, live!"
"Fandral, I'm fine," she said flatly.
"Sif…I just want you to know, if we live through this—"
"We're not going to live through this if you sit around blubbering about your feelings," Sif snapped. "I'm fine."
Fandral leaned towards her, eyes closed.
"FANDRAL!" she yelled.
He opened his eyes, lips still puckered awkwardly. "This is a bad time, isn't it?"
"You think?" she deadpanned, pushing him away. She grunted softly as she yanked the arrow out of her shoulder. Fandral winced. "This isn't working," she said, snapping the arrow over her knee. "We're outnumbered four to one. We need a plan."
"We need a miracle, more like it," Fandral muttered grumpily, brushing the dirt from his armor and still blushing furiously.
A shrill yell thundered across the battleground.
Sif frowned. "That's not an Aesir voice."
Fandral craned his head over the carnage towards the source of the sound. His eyes widened. "By the Valkyries…" he murmured.
Sif followed his gaze, her jaw dropping. "Oh no…I thought Loki told her to stay in the castle!"
Darcy raced across the battlefield on stony horseback, her marble stallion sending cracks shooting across the ground with every heavy step. She grinned widely as her hair whipped in the wind, watching her handiwork spread across the battlefield like wildfire. "Yeah!" she screamed. "Fuck yeah!"
She looked on, laughing, as jotun after jotun turned to look at her with a startled expression, only to look down and panic as they realized they were under attack...from weeds. Darcy waved her hand, and the green tendrils began to grow thicker and faster, wrapping every giant she passed in a plant cocoon.
She frowned. She felt very tired all of a sudden, like she had just gotten over a nasty bout of the flu. If she hadn't been sitting on the back of a horse, her knees would have given out.
"Darcy!"
She glanced around, searching for the female voice shouting at her. She turned to see Sif sprinting alongside her, dark hair streaming in the wind.
"Darcy, stop! You don't know what you're doing!" she screamed furiously.
"I know exactly what I'm doing!" Darcy yelled back, grinning. "I'm saving your asses from the Frost Giants."
"You don't understand!" Sif panted. She stumbled for a moment, and had to run doubly fast to catch up again with Darcy's horse. "You have to stop! Those spells aren't meant for mortals!"
"What do you mean? It was in the book. I did what it said, and it's working! Look!" She pointed as a mass of roots sprang up from the ground and dragged a giant down as it tunneled back into the earth. "I even got one of the garden statues to animate."
"Stop! Darcy, I'm ordering you! If you don't stop it now, you're going to die!"
She froze, pulling up on the reins. "What?" she yelled. Oh shit. The horse stopped short, momentum sending Darcy flying over the top. She flicked her wrist frantically. Just in time, a shrub with feathery leaves sprouted out of the ground. She landed softly, crushing the plant in the process. She stood up sharply, brushing herself off. "What do you mean—whoa—" She wobbled and fell backwards onto the shrub as a wave of lightheadedness came over her, her legs collapsing under her own weight.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Sif said breathlessly, gesturing at Darcy's weakness. "Using magic saps energy from the person performing the spell. Life energy. Gods are practically immortal; we only die if we're killed in battle or when we are incredibly old. Mortals aren't. If you had kept up that magic much longer, you'd be dead right now."
Darcy's lip quivered. She felt very foolish all of a sudden, not to mention miserably sick—something which always made her feel prone to crying for some strange reason. "I'm sorry," she said in a shaky voice.
Sif made an irritated noise with her tongue. "Ugh. I can't just leave you out here in the battlefield." Before Darcy could protest, she bent down and scooped the girl up over her uninjured shoulder. "I'm taking you back to the palace where you belong. Frigga will patch you up. She can probably find a potion that'll get your strength back." She glared at Darcy. "And I don't care how much you've healed, or how wonderful you're feeling, don't come back out again. That's an order."
"I was trying to help," Darcy said faintly.
Sif grimaced sadly. "It was a good plan," she admitted. "It would have been perfect, if you were an Aesir. But it looks like we're going to need something better if we're going to live through this." She glanced out over the horizon as she trudged back towards the castle, through the ranks of Asgardian troops defending the front gate. "Where is Thor?" she muttered. "He should be back by now."
"I…" Thor stammered. "I cannot."
"It is unavoidable," the General said. "You have no choice."
Thor's eyes turned glassy as he considered, visibly anguished.
Loki's heart pounded against his ribcage as he watched the expressions play across Thor's face; he could practically narrate what his brother was thinking at each given moment: first denial of the situation, then heartache for Darcy, who was like a sister to Jane and by extension, himself, then fury at the General for putting him in this position…and then resignation, as obedience to his sense of duty took over.
In that instant, Loki knew what he had to do.
"No," he said solemnly, his solitary voice echoing in the canyon. "You're wrong. There is a choice." He stepped forward, setting his lips into a thin line and staring at the General intently. "There is another way we could make reparations."
Thor's eyes darted between Loki and the General. "What are you talking about?" He lowered his voice so that only Loki could hear. "This is no time for one of your tricks, brother."
"No tricks," Loki said. He turned to look at Thor coolly, afraid that if he let his emotions show, his nerve would give out. "When I first came to Jotunheim, to bargain for the General's blood, there was another choice."
Thor's eyes widened. He stepped back from Loki in horror. "No," he burst out.
"Yes," the General jeered.
Thor shook his head, choking on tears that he would not show in front of the jotun. "I will not let you, brother. You cannot do this."
"I have to," Loki said quietly. "What other choice is there? You cannot condemn our people to enslavement by the jotun. And I cannot let you give away Darcy. She is an innocent young woman whose only crime was innocence, and more to the point, I love her." He shook his head. "I have done a great many wicked things, Thor, and they all weigh upon my conscience in their own way. No more. No more shall I live a villain. I will die a hero."
Thor stared at him for a moment, eyes brimming with tears. Without warning, he lurched forward and held his brother in a tight embrace. Loki grimaced and patted him on the back awkwardly. As they broke apart, Loki turned to Odin.
"Goodbye, father." He turned to stride towards the General.
"Son…" Loki turned around. Odin looked at him gravely. "Loki. I am proud to be your father. And I am proud to call you my son."
Loki didn't say anything. He merely nodded, his eyes turning steely as he braced himself to meet his demise.
"General, isn't there another way?" Thor said suddenly.
"Thor," Loki said calmly. "It's alright." He smiled crookedly. "Think of it as my final act of mischief: defying my destiny as the evil one. I'd say defying destiny is about as mischievous as it gets."
He looked the General in the eye. "I am ready," he said.
The General's eyes glinted. "And I have been ready for a long time," he hissed. He stepped forward, drawing a dagger from his sheath. "Any last words, trickster?"
"Thor," Loki said suddenly, "tell Darcy…" He paused. "Tell her to smile." He closed his eyes, smiling as memories flooded his mind. "She has a beautiful smile."
"How touching," the General sneered. "A sentimental man might even have mercy and let you live to see your love's smile one more time." He stopped right in front of Loki. "But I am not a man. I am a jotun. Cold and stony-hearted."
Loki kept his eyes closed calmly, trying to imagine Darcy's face one last time. All at once, her blue eyes danced before him, her dark hair whipping around in the breeze as she laughed. He watched as a strand of hair caught itself in the wind and blew away, dark and shining in the light.
A sudden stab of pain seared him, cold and then burning hot, deep in his stomach. His eyes snapped open instinctively. He looked down and saw the scarlet spreading through his coat, darkening it…tainting the snow in tiny droplets of shock and agony. Yet somehow, as he felt himself falling to the ground distantly, all he could see was the image in his mind, of Darcy's hair dancing in the wind.