Lady Darcy walks, her steps light, back straight and head held high. She crosses the golden floor of Asgard carefully, followed by the palace maids who chatter cheerfully. The crown on her head shines in all its splendour, diamonds glistening in the light of torches. With every movement the veils making the skirt of her dress glide behind her. Blue eyes are focused ahead, serious and devoid of all emotion; they stand out on her pale face framed by almond locks in which jewels glitter. Her mouth is a straight line, almost a frown.
Something is amiss. One such as the Lady should wander about with a smile on her face. Her mouth was made for laughing, not frowning. Those cobalt orbs were meant to shine brightly and not dully look forward. Lady Darcy should glow with happiness, as any previous Queen of Asgard. Yet she doesn't. What could be the reasons? She is wife to Thor, a righteous and handsome king; she is mother to the prince; she rules over the Realm Eternal. What more could she possibly want?
Gossipers whisper of the Jötunn King, Loki son of Laufey. Centuries ago in a clash of forces, Thor and Loki had begun a war. It was during this time that the Lady had fallen in the hands of the Frost Giants who delivered her to their ruler. Rumour had it that the foreign sovereign's icy heart warmed at the sight of her. That had to be what kept her safe in those savage lands. Two long decades the Æsir Queen had spent there – it was unknown in what fashion – before her rightful husband came to her rescue.
The Queen was brought back decked in emerald silks, porcelain skin covered in blue paint and tribal tattoos. As far as anyone could tell she was unharmed. They had given a feast in her return, hoping she would bestow a radiant smile upon them like she used to. Her lips had turned, but the warmth was gone from the gesture. It was decided that she needed more time when she shrank back from her husband's touch, face pale and lips trembling. They knew not even half the truth.
Months later Darcy birthed a child. There was an heir to the throne. A boy with dark hair and sea green eyes that most insisted were blue. Soon the King began taking other lovers, mistresses renown for their beauty and grace; by and by he entered his wife's chambers only to depart in minutes. Darcy has her son, with his almost green eyes and almost inky hair. He is almost Loki – half Loki – and for her it is enough. The King had accepted the child as his own for whatever reason, but refuses to set eyes on him. Secretly, Darcy smiles at the thought that her child would one day be King.
So now, Darcy walks the golden halls of Asgard. Her mind wonders about the Frost Land's king. Sometimes she sees him in dreams and wakes with his name on her lips – Loki – always a whisper. Darcy is the Lady; she is Queen of Asgard by title and Queen of Jötunheim in heart. Noble in both respects. Yet never fully one or the other. She walks so she won't run and hopes so she won't fall prey to insanity. Lady Darcy walks.
What did I just write? To be honest, I was trying to fall asleep when this popped up. Enjoy my midnight work.