Chapter 4
They called her the Bird. Trapped in a gilded cage, she was rarely seen, and on those few moments that they caught a glimpse of her flowing, white robes disappearing behind a corner, the presence of the God of Thunder, treading behind her in permanent vigil, would turn the curious gawkers back on their tracks. He watched over her like a hawk, disregarding the prejudiced sneers and derision with an authority that the Fallen Prince lacked, and so, perhaps, in quiet obedience or reluctant resignation, they no longer dared be contemptuous of the mortal girl that lay with one prince and was guarded by the other.
But the mystery grew, inevitably, around the human and the reasoning behind the favors the two brothers bestowed upon her.
Once she found out about the names they called her, Darcy thought that, definitely, the Æsir had entirely too much time in their hands. They craved good gossip, totally comprehensible for a society that seemed to live in perpetual harmony and peace. She would have lost her mind long ago, too, if her life was like an upscale version of the Little House on the Prairie.
After Loki had gone, Darcy awoke to a neat room, so uncharacteristic of the usual chaos they provoked. She was so used to seeing the general panorama of disaster that the cleanness felt barren and sterile. She walked freely, not having to avoid glass pieces that could dug into her feet. She looked at the empty table; its surface had always been full with bowls of half-eaten food, crumbs and spilled wine, but never more. There only prevailed a single proof of him – besides his smell on the sheets –, and it was the golden helmet placed upon the very center of the desk. Darcy ran a finger over it, catching the cold of its metal, shivering, naked, and alone.
In a mixture of fear, dread and uncertainty, she felt constantly on the edge; her lungs felt always so constricted, and a lingering and warm unease pooled in her lower belly. She gave thanks for the numbness that overtook her, and for that, she had no one to blame but herself. She missed him to the point where she had to try not to think about him. Her mind was always stuck on that same tune. She would laugh and joke, talk and breathe, but everything felt so far away, like she was witnessing it all from a distance as she curled in some dark spot inside herself, and the body with which she functioned was just a machine.
The sense of not belonging was greatly aggravated by the looks she got from the queen. Frigga hated the girl; she despised that the reason she lost her son again was embodied by this small, pitiful child. Her son was a warrior and a prince, not the errand boy of a whimsical human girl. Whenever she saw Darcy, the queen averted her eyes, and walked away, her head held high.
Darcy found that wine helped a lot. She drank until her insides jumped and revolted, and she hurled, sensing a strange awareness, a short awakening when she was on her knees, gripping the basin for dear life as she released the contents of her stomach.
A month passed, but it could have been a whole decade, or a week. Unused to the foreign time and weather, she could not keep track of time. She slept when she was tired, and ate when she was hungry, and no one was there to instruct her otherwise.
She hated to admit that was the longest time she ever spent being sad over one guy. He was no regular guy, truth; he was instead a god of legend, an immortal prince, and amazingly skilled with his tongue. Also, how could she forget? He did save her life. She allowed herself to mope over it, but she needed to stop. Men and life were already ruined the moment she slept with him, so she might as well make the effort to get over it as soon as possible.
Easier said than done. She needed so much more booze if she planned to be successful. Thor disapproved of her method, but his constant respect and consideration for the ladies in general made it impossible for him to deny Darcy anything.
"I believe that is quite enough, Darcy," he said.
Darcy laughed, stumbling, trying her best not to trip on the ends of her dress that pooled around her feet. Every dress they gave her to wear seemed to be designed for a woman twice her height.
Thor tried to snatch the goblet from her hand, but she swung it out of his reach, hiding it behind her back, spilling wine over the trail of her white dress. Her expression changed the next second. She looked at Thor with wide eyes, and he knew exactly what was to come. He was gathering her hair the next second, while she heaved the last of her lunch.
"You lack the skill to withstand this amount of liquor," he said, offering her a napkin while pursing his lips in disgust.
"No. I don't know," she panted, cleaning her mouth with the back of her hand. Thor covered his own mouth, feeling the bile rising. "I could drink you under the table any day of the week, man. It's this Asgardian brand. You guys make it too strong. Oh, I could use a bagel." Thor got her a cracker-like oatcake instead.
"What have we here?" said Volstagg as he entered.
The large warrior trod inside, while rubbing his protruding belly. The recent events did not curb his appetite; so very little could manage to do that, actually. Darcy found in him a great companion whenever she wanted to bury the misery with food. He understood the comfort of binge eating like no other.
Darcy sat back at the table, slowly nibbling his bland oatcake.
"You look pale, Darcy!" Volstagg pointed out, taking a plate to gather his dinner. "Perhaps these lamb chops would make the illness go away." He swung the chop before her eyes. Darcy grimaced, and he shrugged, chewing the meat from the bone in seconds.
"He does not care for your offerings, you brute," Fandral said. "Look at her, man! Food would hardly help at all. Not everyone is keen on curing every ailment with… lamb chops!"
"Oh, but they should. Life would be much simpler that way," Volstagg said, throwing another clean bone behind his shoulder. He burped, and Fandral shook his head.
Sif entered, and Darcy, as always, couldn't help gaping a little bit at her. She was so beautiful that the levels of oxygen seemed to drop suddenly. The goddess cared not for Darcy, and would never try to engage her into conversation. She despised Loki with a passion that she did not try to hide, and Darcy, being the lover of the traitor prince, was also recipient of her scorn.
"Do you recall the time we fought that hateful creature? Listen to this, Darcy of Midgard," Volstagg said, puffing his chest, boasting in old tales as he often did to impress the mortal.
"We do not wish to hear your lies, Lion of Asgard," Sif intervened, shaking her long black hair. "All I recall is you getting stuck in a tunnel while making your escape." She laughed, showing a row of perfect white teeth, her green eyes sparkling. "Your immense belly was your downfall, if I recall correctly. The struggle to get you out was greater than the one against Magnog. We spent an entire day pushing and pulling. We were tempted to ask the creature itself to give us a hand."
"I refuse to laugh at such tragedy," Fandral said.
"Thank you, my friend," Volstagg replied, brushing his long, reddish beard with his fingers.
"I refuse to laugh for the simple reason that I committed the grave mistake of trailing behind you. As consequence, I got trapped as well, forced to fight Magnog all alone while the rest of you remained inside the tunnel plugged by this barrel of lard." They all laughed at Fandral's words. "I do remember your boots kicking in the air as you grunted and struggled to gain passage through such a narrow space. Only one as thick as you could believe that possible."
Volstagg blushed, and continued eating in silence.
"What can you tell us, Darcy, of the times Thor spent as a mortal?" Fandral said, noticing how the cheerful mood had noticeably improved the girl's condition. "I assume that, without his powers, the God of Thunder was as useless as this oaf in times of need."
"I don't know about that," Darcy said, "but he sure ate just as much."
"I miss that hot, black beverage. How did you call it?" Thor asked.
"Coffee, Thor. And now that we're among friends, I have to tell you that Jane had to pass a notice around the entire town, warning every cafeteria not to sell you any. You were either hyper or drunk. All the time."
"Or overturned by that metal carriage you used as transportation," he reminded Darcy, rising his own glass.
"Or tased," Darcy added, smiling proudly. "Oh, I took him down with a weapon that shoots electricity," she clarified for the rest.
"By Valhalla! The God of Thunder defeated by his own power?" Fandral exclaimed. "And wielded no less than by a mortal girl. For shame, Thor. Loki is right. Your own arrogance will be your demise."
At the mention of his name, Darcy paled and stilled, her smile flattening gradually until the corners of her lips curled downwards.
"Excuse me," Darcy muttered, standing up to walk out.
She couldn't move fast enough. She hung her head as she hurried back to her room. She was no longer staying in Loki's bedroom; she refused to be perturbed by the faint scent of him in the air, the persistent ghost of his touch tingling her, calling out for her, stealing her from her dreams.
She entered the small room, closing the wooden door, and pressed her forehead against it. Her heart was racing, hammering against her eardrums. She closed her hands in fists and waited for the buzz to go away, the grey shadow that formed around her vision to dissipate. She sat on the bed, pale and covered in cold sweat, her body trembling. She reached for the pitcher of water, but it slipped between her clammy fingers, thudding on the table.
Darcy saw no point in Loki going away to release her soul, to spare her from Hela's torments, when his own absence signified the beginning of something worse. She craved for his silent comfort. She had no one to turn to; with the God of Lies gone, no one was there to hold her as he once did. Thor would please her, but she would soon feel him going rigid with awkwardness as the embrace lingered, a gesture that he would find was more a burden. Loki held her with a sincerity that he reserved only for her.
The very next morning she got a visit from Volstagg. "Would the lady care for some company?" he said as he bent his neck to walk through the small doorframe. "Ah, more of those fried bacon slices," he asked the maid as she set the bowls on the table. "You are a treasure, Darcy. You will go down on the books of Asgardian history as the mortal who presented us with the gift of bacon."
"I think I've done worse things to merit such privilege," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I'm teaching them how to make pancakes tomorrow."
"Splendid!" Volstagg roared happily. He sat on the table, and, while Darcy could manage to sit cross–legged, the chair only served as a stool for his massive figure. "You deprived us of your wonderful company rather abruptly last night. I pray to the Allfather you are well, Darcy."
"Yeah," she dragged the word as she always did when she was coming up with a lie. "Just a headache. Too much alcohol," she said, rummaging through her food with the fork.
Volstagg erupted into a resounding cackle, spitting small food particles all over the table. "I told you so. No human can endure the effects of our liquor. It is brewed for stronger constitutions." He slammed his own chest with one beefy fist to emphasize his meaning. "I must implore you to cease drinking it, Darcy," he said then in a sweet whisper. "You appear much slender, and I fear for your sickly condition as a human."
"Offensive, but thanks," she said sarcastically.
They entered into the pause when they proceeded to devour, and nod and hum at each other in agreement.
"Now, I must speak of something, which I refrained to communicate earlier in fear it would inhibit your appetite," he said, cleaning the corners of his mouth. "It is no secret that you miss Loki. No," he said, waving his hand as she opened her mouth to protest. "It is quite evident. It has been long since he departed to that wretched strumpet's lair. Pardon my foul language, Darcy, I should not speak in such a manner in front of a lady," he chastised himself, but the intention was immediately lost when he burped. "You must apologize that fault as well."
"It's okay. It's not like I understand what that–how was it that you called her?" She squinted. Volstagg refused to repeat the insult.
"Loki will return. We must not fret for him, rather for the consequences after he had angered Hela again. She is not one to forgive or to let debts go unpaid, but it will take more that the Goddess of Death herself to end Loki..." He poured Darcy a glass of wine, and she grimaced, feeling her gag reflex tightening at the sight of the dark liquid. "…or a human girl," he added, waggling his bushy eyebrows.
Darcy cocked one eyebrow, feigning irritation, and he quickly cleared his throat, and looked down.
She spent the rest of the morning watching Volstagg get drunk, laugh and retell his heroic deeds. Officially, he had become her favorite person.
At times, she felt bad for letting words lift her spirit. She didn't have to do anything, except for waiting, and the weight of that guilt increased every time she stopped and realized she was letting herself smile, forget and be happy. She lived in a fragile balance, and each time the scale on which her worries stood was pulled down, she became paralyzed, unable to think of all the horrible things Loki had to be going through just to free her.
She didn't imagine, though, that the greater consolation would come from the one person she less expected. And she literally ran into them by maintaining the habit of not looking ahead whenever she wanted to escape back to her little bedroom.
"I am so sorry," Darcy apologized, stumbling backwards. She looked up to stare into Sif's emerald eyes.
The goddess nodded, her lips pursed, and continued walking down the corridor. Sif would barely look at her, not believing Darcy was worth her time. She, who lay with the traitor, was not even worth Thor's friendship, less his favor, yet she lived among gods, squandering resources and taking liberties with the heir to the throne.
"Wait," Darcy blurted out, catching up to her. She noticed Sif's shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, before turning around. "So… hi! I don't think we've been formally introduced. Darcy Lewis… from Midgard!" she added quickly. She let out a nervous laugh, and raised her hand for Sif to shake. "Okay," she said, resigned, after Sif glared at her hand, not making the slightest attempt to touch it. "Let's just start all over again. Why do you hate me so much? Trust me, we are on the same team."
"We most certainly are not," Sif spat, leaning back to look at her in incredulity. "Thor might feel obliged to protect you only as a favor to Jane, but do not flatter yourself by thinking I owe you any courtesy. Loki tricked all of us so he could crown himself king. The prospect of anyone desiring his company or touch repulses me to my very core."
Darcy's mouth hung open, and she remained still for a long moment. "That was way harsh. I think you know the story behind this mess, and it's not fair when it's pretty obvious I just got caught in the middle."
"Yes." Sif smiled condescendingly. "I believe we all know already with what intensity you got caught by his trickery."
"I'm sensing a bit of tension her." Darcy squinted, pointing to Sif. "Don't tell me, are you jealous?"
"Jealous?" Sif laughed, blatantly mocking her nerve. "You offered yourself to the maker of chaos and misrule."
"No, I mean that you are jealous because my presence here reminds you of how much Thor loves Jane. Oh, I see the way you look at him." Sif's smile vanished at Darcy's words. "He would do anything for Jane, even if it means putting up with his brother's bullshit."
Sif's confusion didn't last long. Soon, she was dismissing the accusation with a clear laugh. "You lay with the liesmith, and now you spread lies, Darcy of Midgard."
"Keep telling yourself that, Sif of Asgard," she imitated her condescending tone. "You know I'm right."
"And you have come here to gloat in my supposed misery?"
"No," Darcy cried out. "I–I guess I just wanted us to be friends. That's all. I think you're wicked cool."
Sif squinted, coking her head in confusion. She loosened up visibly at the flattery.
"We could, like, I don't know, do stuff together," Darcy suggested, shrugging. She smiled for the time Sif paused to think; the corners of her mouth started to twitch with the strain.
"What do you have in mind? I am a warrior. I do not have time to prance around with Loki's pet."
"No! Of course not," Darcy agreed. "I just meant we should try to bond, you know? Something tells me Jane's going to fail the test anyway, so, what the hell, right?"
"Have you had any training with weapons or in combat?" Sif asked, and Darcy grinned. They were making progress.
"I can't even tackle the elliptic for more than 45 minutes at a time, but okay, cool, I can watch you train, be your cheerleader."
"What is that? Are you requesting to be my apprentice?" Sif scowled, looking at Darcy from head to toe.
"No. God, no!" Darcy refused, almost disgusted by the idea of having to confront Sif. Her ass was grass if that ever came to happen. "No, no, no!" She waved her hands, shaking her head. "Nope," she added after a pause.
"Then, I am afraid I do not have time to spare for you, Darcy," Sif said, sounding serious enough.
"How about some archery, then?" She wriggled her eyebrows.
Sif inspected her carefully, her gaze staying longer than necessary around Darcy's chest area. "You are built in a most inconvenient manner for that task," she confessed, putting a hand on her own waist, sticking out her hip. "Well, I suppose I could spare some hours."
"Minutes."
"What?"
"Do you seriously think I can practice for hours?" Darcy raised her eyebrows, scoffing.
Sif gave her a half smile, disapproving, but still entertained by the mortal's banter. She wasn't entirely disagreeable, and definitely more compassionate and honest than Loki.
"Very well," Sif said. "We will see how the Bird flutters her feathers."
Sif was a hard nut to crack, but it made it all the more rewarding when Darcy managed to make her laugh, even if by shocking her with her own characteristic bluntness. Sif was dexterous in everything she did – which made Darcy feel all the more unworthy to keep her company –, but she did not hesitate to enter into detail when it came to drag Loki's name through the mud.
"I do not hate you, Darcy," Sif repeated. She aligned the small dagger, closing one eye to gain a better aim. "I just find your union to the God of Lies repellent. It boggles me how you can spend such hours of intimacy in his repugnant company. The mere thought of it makes my skin crawl." She threw the weapon, sticking it into the very center of the painted target. "And I do beg you. Do not try to change my mind by repeating what you did to pleasure him. The details will haunt me until my dying breath."
"Okay, that's… good. We are sharing, that's a start." Darcy did little more than watch Sif practice. She gave up the whole archery excuse after she hit herself in the nose with the string.
"I heard of the tragic loss of your memories. You cannot recall how Loki lied to his own brother, telling him Odin was dead when, in fact, he desired to drive Thor away from his right as the heir."
"Yeah, he does a tendency to be a lying jerk. He's working on that."
"Is he?" Sif pressed her lips in a tight line, and lifted her eyebrows. "No one here believes in his utterances anymore, Darcy. Not even Volstagg, whose loyalty to Loki is cemented by years of being led into battle by him. Not even Thor, whose love for his own brother shall never shrivel or perish. Do you believe in his words?"
"I don't have to," Darcy replied. "I can tell when he's lying. Sometimes. If he's not paying attention."
Sif scowled, halting abruptly. "Did he instruct you in the arts of magic?"
"I… uh, long story." Darcy sighed, taking a seat by a nearby fountain. "He sort of lent me a little bit of his mojo so I could live aaaaand…" her voice lowered to grunt as she dragged the word, "…then he kinda forgot to get it back."
"Noblest thing I have seen him do." Sif resumed her practice. "Save a mortal. Not without a purpose, I daresay?"
"No," Darcy had to agree. "He wanted to use me to get to Jane and Thor, but sort of give up on that plan entirely."
A silence followed, and Darcy turned to stare at the tranquil waters, hearing the swift sound of the daggers cutting through the air. She still dreaded reflecting surfaces. She would take quick peeks, and then turn around, but she only got to see her own reflection staring back at her, wide-eyed and scared.
And that time, too, she found only gazing down into the wavy contours of her face. She leant into it, the ends of her hair hovering so close to the water. She needed a haircut; both she and Loki needed to get a trim. When he left, his hair reached well below his shoulders. She laughed at the memory of her own fingers pulling his jet–black tresses, but stopped short when she suddenly felt a cramp in her belly. She gasped, her face crunching in pain, as she fell to her knees.
"Is everything alright? Are you well?" Sif put her hands on Darcy's shoulders.
Darcy wanted to reply, but only managed to breathe out a "no". Her entire face reddened as she ground her teeth to fight the pain. It felt like a red-hot iron needle being stuck slowly through her belly, tearing every nerve.
Sif waited no answer to carry the girl in her arms.
Darcy curled, closing her eyes. The pain increased until she became deaf. When she opened her eyes, she was gripping Sif's hand, her forehead pressed against the cold floor of her bedroom. Every sound came back in a loud explosion, and she let go, and hurled with such force that she lost her voice. She coughed the last of it, feeling her lungs in the back of her throat.
Sif frantically rummaged through her mess, batting away mountains of dresses to find the basin. She located the pitch still filled with lukewarm water, and soaked a cloth with it. When she offered the wet towel to Darcy, the girl received it with trembling hands.
Darcy had just enough energy to sit with her back against the bed, and brush the towel over her face to get rid of the tears, snot and chunks of food. She started to croakily chant a series of no's while shaking her head more violently than her sickness allowed it.
"What?" Sif looked at the pool of vomit, trying to comprehend the girl's distress. "What's wrong?"
"I can't fucking believe it," she muttered, her voice breaking. She reached up with her hands to grab the bedding to propel herself up and crawl into bed. She flopped on her stomach, face against the mattress, and arms to her sides.
Sif blinked, too confused to say anything. Darcy muttered something that she did not quite catch, so she leaned over her resting figure, turning her ear to her. "What?"
"I'm pregnant!" Darcy repeated in an exasperated shout.
Sif's knees buckled, and she almost lost her balance entirely. She walked backwards, looking blindly behind her for the chair. She took a seat, her eyes unblinking. "You are with child," she said slowly, reality gradually taking a hold of her. "Loki's child?" She sighed, looking absolutely horrified. She was paler than Darcy. "We must tell the Allfather immediately."
"No!" Darcy scrambled to sit and look at Sif. "You are not telling him anything." She lifted her index finger; the menace lost to the tremors and hoarse plea. "You can't tell anyone. If Odin knows about this, Jane won't see Thor ever again."
"What do you mean?" Sif asked, a light scowl twisting her shocked expression.
"Odin made me promise I would never, ever see Loki again," Darcy confessed. She was on the verge of tears. She sniffed, grimacing as she inhaled the remains of her sick stuck in her nostrils. "Otherwise, he won't let Thor marry Jane, and I owe her so much. She's the only friend I've got left."
"You can't hide this forever," Sif cried out, turning her open palms upwards.
"Not forever," Darcy said, smiling to show Sif a pretense of confidence. "Just until I get back to Earth, and Thor and Jane get married. Promise me, Sif. Promise me you won't tell anyone." Her jaw set, and her nostrils flared. She looked at the goddess without blinking.
"I–I promise," Sif said, unsure, shaking her head.
"No one can know, especially Loki. He doesn't give a fuck about Thor or Jane. In fact, he will use this to destroy his chances."
"You are not telling Loki," Sif stated, making it sound more like a question. She hadn't snapped out of the daze.
"I can't, Sif, you have to understand that," she cried out in frustration. "I'll do what it takes. It's gonna be okay."
"Ye–yes," Sif stuttered, blinking at last. "You might not even be pregnant at all! You are probably just sick." Immediately, they both laughed, shaky sounds to reassure one another.
"And, if I need your help," Darcy said then, "you must help me, but you can't tell anyone."
"You have my word, Darcy Lewis," Sif said with her old semblance of strength. She put her fist above her left breast, taking a deep breath. "I swear it upon my honor."
"Good." The girl nodded. "Now, I'm craving some pancakes. What do you say I instruct you in the ways of cooking?"
Uh oh. Read&Review~
A shout to my anonymous reviewer, Aqua, girl, get an account. See? It worked. You became my quasi–beta. You re–read it whenever you can and get back to me with blunt and honest criticism. Whatever you think needs improvement, baby girl. :D
Thanks for the reviews, esp to the anons because I can't actually send you PMs