Chapter 3

'Darcy.'

She hadn't come last night. As Loki stepped onto the pedestal, he felt the painful glide of magic weave its way through flesh and blood and then the tight, pulling sensation as thread pulled taunt. He turned to face the gardens he had become so familiar with. So...the little Darcy had not come last night, he thought with a snicker.

Perhaps she was more intelligent than he'd taken her for. He'd frightened her and it was a lesson well learned. One did not play games with a Trickster God.

He held his head high, his hands clasped behind his back. Silence surrounded him, a sound he had thought would become impossible with Darcy's presence in Asgard.

It was no easy feat to stand there. He wanted to shift his hands and perform. It was a grueling task he set to himself daily. Not because of his punishment, but because of twisted sense of wanting to prove his dear brother, he thought with a sneer, and Odin wrong. He could take this punishment; he could have taken far more.

But perhaps Odin knew him more than anyone else. Why this punishment? He knew his weaknesses.

The silence wore on and he waited as the sky waned. The mental image of his lips curving filled his mind. 'Darcy.' He said her name again—because she had chose the wrong God to make her presence known to. Perhaps it was because she'd shown her fear of him, perhaps her anger. That would have goaded him on even more.

He could hear the sounds far off, of others talking and going about their day. After having endured the silence for so long a time, to have it abruptly challenged by a mortal with far too many thoughts and a wayward tongue, he was in no way capable of allowing it to remain otherwise. He needed the contact and he needed the feel of dominance—the feeling of besting the mortal, of frightening her as only a God could do.

It left him feeling highly...amused.

She was far too amusing a mortal.

The silencing thread was his punishment, not his adversary of any mortal.

'Have I frightened you, little girl?' Loki taunted, finding that link that he'd made to her mind. He received no response but he knew no forth-coming one would be. But he knew where ever she was in Asgard, she had heard him. He could imagine her shocked stance when she heard his voice whispering in her sub-consciousness. He didn't have to be there to be in her mind.

'I warned you, did I not?' He murmured. 'You are very enduring for a mortal. If you were a Goddess, you would have been a very enduring one, I believe.' He breathed her name out again. '...Do you realize how beautiful you were, how beautiful you are? Such pale skin, hair as dark as a ravens wing...' He trailed off, letting the empty words hang in the air between them. '...when you cannot speak. You are the most beautiful in all of Asgard.'

He could imagine her fuming at that, that he had indeed rendered her mute. He'd taken away the one thing she had freedom over and made it into nothing. He chuckled deep in his throat, the first vocal sound he'd made that day. She had no idea...he need not be in her presence to punish her. All he needed was the silencing thread to be removed and when it was...

'What will you do, my little Darcy?'

He was taunting her and it was something he found very pleasing. It was something silent and devious between the two of them, something that only they know. How odd that it pleased him.

'Will you tell the Odin Father that you are going crazy? That you hear his sons voice when he cannot speak? Will you tell the mighty Thor that his little brother has rendered you incapable of speech?' He tsked in her mind. 'Even I know better, my Darcy, and I have just met you. If you had a wish for a companion to communicate with on Asgard, you came to the wrong person.'

His head lifted when he heard the sound of footsteps outside the corridor. He ignored them until they echoed and then the connecting door opened and Darcy stood there, the look on her face exasperated, her cheeks flushed. "Stop it!"

She was staring at him in disbelief and his eyes filled with pure malice, heat and amusement. The poor mortal, he noticed, was none to happy with their silent conversation. She lifted her arm and something hit his shoulder and bounced off, rolling to the ground.

'It is your presence I acquire, not the sound of your voice.'

Mocking merriment filled his green eyes when his eyes met hers. 'Has my little Sigyn ran out of endurance?" He whispered mockingly into her mind. He watched as her eyes widened at that. Perhaps his warning, perhaps his last word, perhaps the little pet name he'd just given her? She was no Goddess, but she held the amount of endurance that not even others could hold against him. She'd willingly brought herself back here, even if to throw something in anger.

He watched, an eyebrow lifting at her awkward silence. What had produced this? He stared at her, seeing the look of dismay and confusion cross her features—absolutely wonderful. He was enjoying this far too much and perhaps it was because Darcy was gullible. Far too easy. The door slammed, leaving him alone in the garden and he laughed, the sound vibrating in his chest.

He glanced down and his laughter echoed in her mind when he saw the pastry that she'd thrown at him.

((...And here we go. :) I hope you all are enjoying this. Reviews are positively lovely!))