Thor Fic: "We Are Our Own Folklore" (R, Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane), 4/7
LINK TO PART THREE
Title: We Are Our Own Folklore (Part 4: The Snow Maiden)
Characters: Loki, Thor, Darcy, Jane, Frigga, Amora, original characters
Pairings: Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane, Thor/Amora, Volstagg/OC
Rating: R for grimness, dark themes, gender weirdness, mild gore and semi-explicit sexuality
Length: 10,790 words
Summary: After what might seem to some like the world's longest courtship, Loki and Darcy are finally dating, and Thor and Jane are set to be married. But during the engagement party several intervening parties are out to throw a wrench into both relationships in a big way. Some of them are outsiders, but some come from much closer, and through uncomfortable ties to the past.
Notes: Part of my ongoing series. For further notes see part one.
Alternate link to story at AO3; please comment either here or there.
Part 4: The Snow Maiden
The Bifrost deposited Loki at the crest of a valley in the wilds of Jotunheim, no sign of civilization or another living thing for miles around. Nothing but snow and empty lands, doubly the barren wasteland the habited part of the world appeared.
The cold wind howled, snow coming up to Loki’s shins, more kicked up to blow against his face.
He took one thorough look around, determined there was nothing out there distinguishable, picked a direction at random and started moving. This was not a realm where it did any good to remain in one place for long.
For hours it seemed, he walked.
He did not let his mind wander for then he risked being eaten up by the crushing weight of despair. His family, his home, the warmth of Asgard had been taken from him - everything he had done, and still again he was an outcast, bereft. No, he would not think on it.
Maybe later, when there was time. Maybe once he found someplace safe to rest. For now he needed all his strength to find shelter, to focus on what came next.
Loki had a plan, or at least the rough beginnings of one. He needed to find one of the ways between worlds, the dimensional rifts he could sense and use to slip from one realm to the next. He knew at least one existed on Jotunheim - after all, he’d found it before.
It didn’t matter how far he had to go or how long he had to search. He would find a way off this world, and even if he had to journey through a hundred others, he would find his way to Asgard. He believed it, fiercely, with every part of his body and soul.
That was the only thought he allowed room for in the single path of his mind. How he’d survive in the meantime, what he would do if he actually encountered some Frost Giants - Loki didn’t know. He would deal with those obstacles as he faced them.
He walked and walked, head down, hands clasped against his shoulders, feet sinking with every step. The howling winds tugged his hair and tore through his clothes, lashing him to the bone.
It was so cold. Asgardians were a hearty people, resistant to extremes, and for understandable reasons Loki’s tolerance for cooler temperatures was greater than most. But this kind of prolonged exposure threatened even his limits. And he had not left provisioned or outfitted for travelling.
He had to keep moving. Perhaps he could find a cave he could hide in, someplace relatively dry and out of the wind, where he could bundle his limbs more thoroughly, and build a fire…
But time ticked by and there was no sign of anything. No cave, no structure, no change in the landscape, not even an animal he could run down and kill for its pelt. Nothing out there but endless snow and ice.
Nothing out there but the merciless cold.
Loki clenched his jaw so his teeth couldn’t chatter. The edges of his lips and the part of his legs that was submerged tingled with a numb pinprick sensation. He could feel his body shivering. Then he stopped feeling at all.
He had to do something, soon, he realized, or he ran the risk of becoming terribly ill or even freezing to death.
Think, he commanded himself desperately. Think.
The terrible irony was that he was born to the one race built perfectly to survive the inhospitable conditions of this world. But both changeling and shapeshifter though he was, Loki did not know how to take on his full Jotun form.
The only times he changed in the past were when coming into contact with things that would damage him had been pure Asgardian: the Casket of Ancient Winters, and the touch of another Jotun.
He considered it. It seemed that his body reverted as a defense mechanism, or a reaction as a result of physical contact with something that was incredibly cold.
Maybe, as incredible as it seemed, the solution to his predicament was to allow himself to get even colder.
Loki stopped walking and after only a moment of extra contemplation began to methodically strip his layers. He unbuttoned his cloak, removed his armor. He took off his boots and his gloves. He even pulled off his leggings, leaving nothing but the long sleeveless green tunic he’d been wearing belted as a dress.
He left the articles of clothing in a pile dropped behind him, abandoned. Loki stepped forward into the tundra and drew a breath, wiggling his toes against the powdery surface of the ice-coated ground.
By the Nine, it was freezing. He hoped he’d been right in his guess, otherwise he wasn’t getting out of this with all his extremities.
He pulled himself up and kept moving again, steeling not to cry out as the winds attacked him once more.
One foot in front of the other. One step at a time, hard as even that could be at times. You are Loki of Asgard, and you will not stop.
He couldn’t feel his arms, his legs. His mind was growing fuzzy. At one point numbly he looked down, expecting to see he was trailing bloody footprints from frozen ruined stubs.
Instead he saw that his feet were perfectly formed. And blue.
His hands were carved blue Jotun-flesh as well. And the blue was spreading, sweeping up past his elbows and climbing slowly over his knees as he watched.
He didn’t feel the cold anymore, not because his skin was frozen but because the cold no longer bothered him.
It was working. He was turning Jotun. He would survive.
The revelation brought on a mixture of detached triumph, relief, and revulsion. But Loki did not allow himself to dwell on any of these feelings.
Still holding himself slightly, shoulders hunched, he kept on making his way across the empty expanse of Jotunheim in a straight unerring line.
*
Thor had been in an unpleasant mood ever since the conversation with his mother and father.
He skulked his way through the palace, avoiding all company, a frown set on his face as he tried to imagine what was to happen next.
But what could be done? Even the All-Father seemed to despair of there being any action they could take. And certainly they couldn’t move against Nanna so long as she did nothing to them first.
They were trapped in limbo, a threat hanging over their heads, helpless to change the situation until their foes did something.
To feel so powerless against potential danger frustrated Thor to the point of fury. And he shuddered to think that once again he was caught up in a war amongst family.
Nanna and Freya may have been long distant, but they were his kin. In his youth he had taken for granted that family was the strongest thing, resolute and with bonds unshakable.
How wrong the past few years had proven him. It seemed with every generation came new players determined to tear each other apart.
Abruptly Thor stopped in his pacing and gave a swift shake of his head.
Enough of this, he decided. It had never been in his nature to sit idly by while a growing danger loomed. Kin or not, politics or no, he had to take action.
Loki: Loki would know what to do. Surely his clever brother could with some prompting concoct a scheme to get them all out of this. Perhaps he even already had; it had been some hours since Thor had seen him last. No doubt in the time since he’d been thinking. That he had left his brother alone because in wake of the revelations concerning him he probably desired his space had slipped Thor’s mind completely.
He turned around with the aim of finding Loki immediately. He would check the obvious places first: his brother’s room, then the library-
“My lord,” a guard appeared from a hallway behind him, clearing his throat, “I was sent to tell you that your betrothed wishes to see you at once.”
Thor had been turning back to give the interrupting guard a disapproving frown, but he stopped at the mention of who it was that sought him. Jane. But of course he would always find time for her.
Considering the course of events so far, his mind immediately went to the negative. “Has something happened to her?” he demanded. “Has she been harmed in any way?”
Despite the amount of reserve common to the royal guard, the man looked instantly bemused.
“No, nothing of the sort. I was under the impression she was merely desirous of your company.”
Thor let out his breath and relaxed. Were it anyone else he wouldn’t have permitted the interruption; of course it was annoying. But finding Loki could wait if only for a little while. Poor Jane - they were supposed to be celebrating together and here had been so caught up in other things he was ignoring her.
Of course he would put right things by his love at once.
Thor nodded. “I will attend on her. Where does she wait for me?”
“In the lady’s chamber, my lord.”
Thor went to the room and entered and found Jane was alone - but the situation must have been a recent one, for the room bore earmarks of servants having been there not too long before. The space had been tidied and rearranged, and looked much cleaner and brighter than when Thor had been there last.
Everything gold had been polished and the curtains had been tied back allowing the sunlight to sweep in and illuminate. Thor was used to seeing books scattered everywhere, Jane’s open suitcases lying on the floor, but it must have been all put away for there was no sign of any of these items. An enchanted harp that had been a gift to Jane from the ambassadors of Alfheim had been set up in the corner - Jane had told Thor she found the repetitive plucking of its strings irritating, and kept it contained to its box, but she must have warmed to object for its honeyed notes filled with room.
“Thor.” Jane greeted him with a voice so enthusiastic and warm it brought a smile to his face. “My love. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you last.”
He chuckled, flattered by such attention from her. “My deepest apologies if my actions left you feeling like I am ignoring you. You know nothing could be further from the truth. It’s just that I have had a lot on my mind.”
“How uncharacteristic,” Jane teased. As Thor moved closer she put a hand up to caress the side of his face.
She was wearing a gown in a color of dusky rose that flattered her complexion, fabric draped close over the curves of her body, the hem outfitted with a small train. Though it was unlike her to be so attired on a regular basis Thor could not help being glad to see it. For though his Jane was perfectly lovely always, she became magnificent in her beauty on the occasions she took extra attention to her appearance.
He beamed down at her, taking her hand in his to briefly kiss her palm, before letting her stroke him once more. “You look well today,” he observed. “You are happy?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” she responded. Since his having entered the room, not once had the smile left her face. She was so pleased she seemed almost smug. Her eyes sparkled with every melodic twist to her voice. “Aren’t I the luckiest woman in all the Nine Realms, to be chosen for such an honor?”
Though it was said so eagerly Thor knew she couldn’t be sincere, it a joke based on one of their earlier conversations, and he laughed merrily at it, amused.
“You know full well, Jane, the honor is mine,” he reminded her, running his fingers against the softness of her hair. Her eyes half-lidded, catlike and demure, as he gazed at her. “I have never seen this dress before,” he noted, far more curiosity than disapproval.
“Oh, what, this?” She leaned to the side just enough for it to even better frame her figure. The movement had an artful grace in it which surprised him. “I had them bring in a seamstress to whip it up for me.” Her nose wrinkled with an impish half-grin. “All of a sudden I just…didn’t like anything in my closet.”
“It becomes you greatly,” Thor complimented her earnestly. “Though never mistake that you need embellish yourself to win my approval.”
“Oh, but,” she countered, “it isn’t just for you.” She twirled in place. “After all, if I am to be a queen one day, isn’t it high time I started acting like one?”
Though it touched Thor that she thought it important enough she start acting more like what was expected of a member of royalty for his sake, it concerned him also. He loved Jane for the brilliant and driven woman she was, fixated on things so different from that which dominated his own life. He would hate for that woman to change.
“When you are queen you will be a well-loved one,” he assured her, seriously. “For our people will see the same calm strength and wisdom in you that I do.”
“Oh, Thor.” She brushed him aside, laughing. “To think that you would ever find virtue in restraint over power and beauty.”
Thor stood where he was, face falling into a frown, thrown off by such a strange and dismissive comment from her and not certain how to take it.
Not noticing, Jane went over to the mirror and started playing with her hair, primping. She looked over several pieces of jewelry and dresses that had evidently been laid out for her approval.
Thor cleared his throat. “Glad as I always am to see you, I must take leave of you for a short while. I must go and find Loki.”
She looked up from where she had been holding a different dress against her body for examination. “But you only just got here,” she protested.
“It was only yesterday you made a remark that I think was supposed to indicate you felt smothered,” Thor chuckled. Too much ‘togetherness’ sometimes grated on his intended’s nerves.
“Well if I did, then I misspoke.” Jane dropped the fabric and strode her way back to him. “We should be spending more time together. Anyway, for what reason could you want to go and speak to that annoying brother of yours?” With a fingertip she trailed a quick line down his chest. “I can make you happy. I know exactly what you want.”
The sultry tone she spoke in didn’t work on Thor: he was too offset by how easily she had moved onto it, after speaking so disparagingly of his brother.
He knew Jane and Loki didn’t exactly get along, but when had she become hostile toward him? Had something happened Thor had missed?
“You know I find your company preferable to almost any other,” he began, trying to be reasonable, “but my need to see Loki is very urgent.” Jane started to shake her head, lips pursing. He hurried on, explaining, “We must figure out what to do about our aunts. Something has happened; the situation has grown even more-”
Jane pressed two fingers over his lips, forcing him to silence. “Shhhh,” she hushed him, acting like she thought he was being foolish. “That isn’t important. Everything can wait.”
Reaching up she cupped his chin between her hands, fingers stroking his beard.
“Don’t you love me? Shouldn’t you want to spend every waking moment together, so you can dote on me like I deserve? So we can bask in each other’s company?”
Thor stared at her. The more and more she spoke he realized something was off, the words she was using not at all like ones she normally would. At first he thought it a jest of some kind but the longer she talked the more wrong she sounded.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Jane. What’s the matter with-”
“Nothing is wrong.” She spoke over him, firm. “Listen to me. Everything is fine.”
For a moment her eyes flashed, and in that instant he could’ve sworn they were the wrong color.
Where her hands touched him he began to feel extra warmth, a faint scent like perfume in the air wafting over him. He could feel it start to cloud his mind, lulling him into compliance.
There was a nagging insistent feeling that he had experienced this somewhere before. His alarm and suspicion instinctively compelled him to resist, even as he reached for his memory. For what reason was this familiar? He swore he had it; it was almost on the tip of his tongue…
But the more Jane petted him and spoke to him soothing words of reassurance, the less he felt inclined to struggle. His anxiety and doubt faded away. He relaxed.
“Everything is fine,” Jane repeated confidently, calm, smiling. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he answered her back, effortless and obedient.
He gazed at her blissfully, unable to tear his eyes away, not wanting to look anywhere else. Somehow she seemed even more beautiful to him than she had ever before - truly, she was the fairest being in all of creation. Thor was awash in feelings of devotion and longing for her.
The world had evaporated into a wondrous rosy haze, and Jane was the only thing he could focus on, the only thing that mattered in it. The rest of his thoughts were cloudy and unimportant. He didn’t care how thick and strange his head felt. He couldn’t remember that only a few moments before he had worries and other priorities. Now all he cared about was Jane and whatever her desires were.
This made perfect sense to him. Wasn’t that naturally how it should be?
Jane reached up and patted his cheek. “Now, darling Thor,” she told him, “I think we should sit down, over here. And you can tell me of all the delightful things you’re going to do for me, when I am your queen.”
She draped herself sideways on a cushioned couch and said, silkily, “Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Thor beamed at her, doting. “Yes,” he agreed. “Nothing would please me more.”
*
Jane was walking very, very slowly down the halls of Asgard which now seemed far too empty for her liking.
Time was dragging by. She felt like it’d been hours, and she still hadn’t seen anyone.
Then again, it also felt like it had taken her hours to get anywhere at all.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected the woman that attacked her and stole her shape to do to her next. But it certainly hadn’t been to just leave her there, lying on the cold marble floor.
That was precisely what the woman had done. Stepped around Jane and walked right past, without so much as a look back over her shoulder.
It took Jane a long time to get up again. It was hard moving in a body that no longer felt like her own, and besides the obvious she suspected the sorceress had done something to her that hampered her physically. Her actions were stiff and awkward, and when she began walking finally it was with a limp.
Despite searching she could find no specific injuries; it was more a general sense of all-over pain that had been shackled to her, dragging her down.
It was fading as she went but not near quick enough for her liking. Though she wasn’t overly vindictive by nature, Jane hoped that the woman would be caught and punished soon for more than practical reasoning.
She was partially bent over, arms held at an awkward position close to her chest, her gait hobbled. She had called out more than once for help in the beginning, but stopped when it was obvious no one could hear her: her voice was weak, her throat still dry and raw.
Both panic and despair were beginning to work their way in. She had no idea who the woman was, or what she intended to do that she’d needed to look like Jane to do it.
Jane was scared she might try to hurt someone. The worst possibility she could think of was the impersonator would go after Thor.
She was moved to the point of almost crying out with relief when finally a pair of guards looking like they were walking by on their rounds appeared, and spotted her. Jane stopped where she was, sagging, and took a much-needed moment to catch her breath.
But she had failed to think the situation through entirely.
The guards did a double-take when they saw her, lowering their spears as their faces took on looks of alarm. “Halt!” one of them shouted at her. “Stay where you are, Enchantress!”
“Intruder in the halls!” the second one cried, turning his head to shout back in the direction they’d come from. “Send aid immediately! Summon the All-Father!”
“Wait,” Jane protested weakly. “No, you don’t understand! I’m not…”
No one was listening to her. Before she had time to stammer out another sentence she found herself completely surrounded, a circle of eight Asgardian guards facing her on all sides with weapons drawn.
Whoever they thought she was that person was clearly considered to be a threat.
Heart hammering, Jane swallowed and gazed back at them wide-eyed, doing her best not to move or make a sound or do anything that might be mistaken for an attack and provoke them.
“Where is the All-Father?” one of the first guards asked another.
The addressed guard wore a more decorated set of armor, indicating his superior rank. “The king has withdrawn to his private chambers and asked he be left alone for anything less than important matters of state,” was his gruff response. “There was no need to disturb him for this.”
“No need?” a different guard protested. “But this is Amora! Don’t you remember how much trouble she’s caused in the past?”
“And besides, her banishment was placed by the All-Father himself,” another chimed in. “Won’t he have to deal with her eventually, to decide her new punishment for going against that command?”
Jane decided to take the opportunity to break in. “Please, you have to listen to me-”
Her entreaty was halted by the spears being raised again and thrust forward closer, the captain’s this time pointed directly at her throat. She leaned her chin back from the deadly point, suitably cowed.
“Not one more word, vile temptress,” the captain of the guards spat. “Speak again and there will be consequences. I’m not fool enough to give you the chance to be-spell us.”
He glared at her, and then turned to look at his men.
“King Odin is in the midst of celebrating his son’s engagement,” he decided. “He shouldn’t be bothered with this now. We’ll keep the sorceress contained somewhere until after. Then he can deal with her, at his leisure.”
“Or before, if he chooses to,” one of the other guards pointed out.
His commander gave a stiff nod. “That is the king’s prerogative.”
Changing their positions around her, weapons still raised, they indicated that Jane should start walking again. And she realized that if she didn’t do something to convince them of her identity they were going to lead her to be locked up in a cell or a dungeon. Maybe even to be physically punished. Whoever this Amora was, it was obvious from the way they were acting that they considered her to be some kind of dangerous criminal.
If she didn’t speak out now she’d be suffering in her place. She had to risk it.
The words rushed from her mouth swiftly before any of them had a chance to stop her. “But I’m not who you think I am! This is all a mistake; I’m not this Amora person. I’m…”
She stopped, voice fading abruptly. Her mouth felt dry as the back of her throat burned.
The guards were gazing at her, unsympathetic and un-amused. Quickly Jane shook her head to clear her dismayed confusion, drew a breath and tried again.
But all she found herself doing was gaping senselessly. Nothing would come out her mouth.
One hand pressed to the hollow of her throat, bewildered.
She remembered the heat she had felt forced by magic down her throat. Was this another spell that had been cast on her, making it so she was unable to speak her own name?
“Enough of this.” One of the guards seized her arm, impatient. “Whatever trick you’re trying, you won’t be given a second chance to make it work. Time to lock you up where you can’t do any more harm.”
Jane was dragged away between two guards, escorted on all sides by six others, pleading with them to no avail every step of the way, powerless to reveal to them her identity.
*
Loki no longer felt the sting of the cold, but his journey by that was not made into an easy one. He was still burdened by the weight of time.
There was no way of telling if days or nights had passed when the sky was a dark grey to begin with and never changed. Nothing about the landscape ever altered, no rocks or trees or changes in the level of the terrain. Just a flat, open, empty expanse that stretched past what his eyes could see. There was not another living soul to be seen, not even a lone rangy animal.
He walked without rest, and maybe his legs should have grown tired by now, maybe his feet should be sore. He couldn’t know.
Almost he could consider the possibility that none of this was real. That he hadn’t been cast into Jotunheim but another fit of madness; that it was a nightmare, a fever dream, concocted by his own mind. That this was his punishment: eternal isolation.
At times the wind sounded like malicious whispers or mocking laughter.
But Loki ignored the doubts and pushed onward. He couldn’t allow himself to grow confused or hesitant.
A liar must not believe his own lies, no matter how they are formed, how unsettling or persistent they are.
Jotunheim was a vast world, and much of it filled by abandoned spaces. Loki ignored the thought that he might miss civilization or a dimensional rift or a sign of anything useful entirely - that he might walk straight from one barren end to another. That couldn’t happen to him. It could not.
It wasn’t fate he put his faith in. By now he knew better than to think fate would ever show him kindness. His faith was in his own providence.
He was Loki. He would prevail. He would survive, because one way or another he always did.
No matter what the price.
He shuffled along, hands still clasped at his shoulders because he had forgotten what to do with them, gaze long gone half-focused with staring off ahead. At first he thought he imagined it when he caught glimpse of something moving.
Then the moment passed and it became clear that, no, there was something really out there. Three distinct dark shapes approached him from ahead.
Loki snapped out of his half-awake trance, body tensing with a feeling like electricity, mind racing as he tried to take stock of the situation, to ready himself if necessary for flight or fight.
The shapes were not Jotun. They were barely taller than he. Loki relaxed somewhat, and kept attentively looking. Eventually the figures resolved themselves into three men.
They were burly, hairy, thickly-bearded and wrapped in head-to-toe layers of fur. They carried clubs and stone weapons and behind them they dragged the carcass of some shaggy ice-beast they had killed. Their helmets had broken horns on them. They looked the image of what most modern-day mortals on Midgard pictured when they thought of Vikings.
They looked to be mortal but almost undoubtedly weren’t; not human, anyway. Many alien races on the branches of Yggdrasil had a bizarrely similar appearance.
After consideration Loki deduced they must’ve come from Svartalfheim. Most thought of that land as being home to the goblins and Dark Elves, but the truth was far more complicated and varied: it was a lawless realm, where regions were spread out and detached from one another.
Many races made Svartalfheim their home and many of them didn’t answer to the same leaders, or consider themselves of one people. The collective was often referred to as “the Broken Worlds”. Many of its people were nomadic or little better than scavengers - though they knew they risked death to do so, they would wander into Jotunheim to trade or forage for anything they could use to survive.
A weak grasp of hope flared to life within Loki’s breast. Svartalfheim was not Asgard, but this could be the answer. These men could be his way home.
He slowed his pace as he collected himself best he could, making himself look strong and standing upright. He could see that the bearded men in the furred pelts were slowing too: he could not yet make out their faces, but there was a sense of wariness over their group.
“Oy!” one of them called out, bellowing, a mitten reaching for the hilt of a thick dagger. “Who goes there?”
Belatedly Loki realized his eyes had become sharper, better at seeing through darkness and snow. Though the men were almost clear as day to him, to their eyes he likely seemed no more than a blurred shadow.
“It’s all right,” he called back in reply. The tremor he feigned, of fatigue and timidity, came all too easily. “Whoever you are, I’m no threat to you, I swear.”
The others relaxed enough it didn’t seem they were about to attack him. Loki walked forward. The wind suddenly began to die, and fresh snow had long stopped falling, the air between them growing clearer as the gap was closed.
When he came into sight the three barbarians’ eyes went wide and they stared at him openly.
Loki thought of what they must be seeing. He was full Jotun in appearance, his eyes red, his skin blue and marked. He’d not a giant’s size, which alone must be confusing. But then there was the fact he’d forgotten completely about his seiðr, his body still female.
There was no such thing as a Frost Giant woman. They were a race entirely of brutish male beasts. So what these men thought they were looking at was proof of the impossible.
Loki’s hair still hung in the elegant braid Frigga had woven, shining black in a landscape of pale white. He stood there poised fawn-like on bare feet, all slender curves and lean muscle. The lines of his body were covered by no more than a thin shift that fell below his knees, arms naked.
“By earthquake and thunder,” one of the men remarked in a brogue accent, gazing in wonderment. “What is this?”
“It’s a lady,” his closest complain said stupidly. He scratched the top of his head. “Thought the Jotun didn’t have ladies.”
The third man stepped closer and reached out as if he would touch Loki to prove his existence.
Loki pulled back, dropping his head in a show of reluctant shyness.
“They do not. I was born an anomaly. My own kind would try to kill me on sight out of revulsion,” he told them, making up a story on the spot. “I seek safe passage to another realm, so that I can get away. Can you help me?”
Playing the role of the delicate maiden in need of rescue was an easy ruse. It was one he’d used many times over the centuries.
He batted his eyes and looked up at the men beseechingly. They exchanged uneasy, bemused glances.
Finally one of them asked suspiciously, “There’s no one following you, is there? Not a band of angry giants.”
“No,” Loki gulped, “praise Ymir. I’ve not seen any souls but you for the past few days.”
“Well,” the fattest of the three men observed, “there’s no reason we can’t lead her back to the gap with us, is there? Not like it costs us anything.”
“Giants are a dangerous lot,” one of the others stated, nervous.
“Ach, this wee lass looks like she couldn’t harm a dragonfly,” the final man retorted. He put a gloved hand on Loki’s shoulder, patting in a comforting gesture. “It’s all right, dearie. You can come along. You’ll be safe with us.”
“Thank you so much for your kindness.” Loki lowered his eyes, thinking all the while how easy it would be with a quick bolt of magic, or a blade formed of ice, to strike in an instant a dozen vulnerable spots on the man’s body. “I have no way to repay you.”
He travelled back the way they’d come amongst their party, wrapped in a smelly thick bearskin one of them had generously given him. The three men chattered merrily. They introduced themselves; Loki thanked them politely and instantly forgot their names. He’d not the mind at present for insipid details.
They reminded him a bit of the Warriors Three, if the Warriors Three had been comprised entirely of three particularly terse and ineloquent versions of Volstagg. They were gruff, muscle-bound men, used to a hardened life of travelling and who clearly thought of nothing more than how to make a few coins and from where their next meal was coming.
Still. They were kind enough to escort him, when there was nothing obvious in it for them. So long as they didn’t attempt to lay hands on him Loki intended to do them no ill.
The ‘gap’ one of them had referred to earlier turned out to be a small rift in the landscape where the ways of Svartalfheim and Jotunheim bled through to one another. It was tiny and weak, barely a true portal, but stable enough any being could simply walk through, whether or not they possessed any magic.
The odds of Loki being able to pinpoint this exact spot on his own, aptitude for the winding magics of the World Tree or no, bordered on slim. He was exceedingly fortunate to have stumbled across these men when he did. He couldn’t deny that.
“Nothing to fear then,” the tallest of the men, the de facto leader, who seemed to have appointed himself Loki’s protector, told him. He and his fellows hefted their weighty kill onto their shoulders. “This might tingle a bit.”
“Hold your breath,” the fat one advised. “Makes it easier.”
Loki fought the impulse to roll his eyes. “If you say so.”
His relief at leaving that hellish frozen landscape behind him was overwhelming, but he managed to keep all outward signs of it contained.
It had been a long time since Loki had been in Svartalfheim, especially alone. He looked around, seeing they appeared to be in some sort of crude trading post, but didn’t recognize anything. Considering the size of the world, how spread-out it was, that didn’t particularly surprise him.
The three men traded the meat of the creature they had killed for supplies and gold, and set off for the nearby tavern. Loki stayed with them for it would’ve seemed out of the character he was presenting to wander off yet.
The men bought food for themselves, and some for him too, and then proceeded to spend most the rest of their money on tankards of ale.
As the hours began to wear on the remarks more grew ribald, and Loki caught his companions sneaking him longing glances. He didn’t think they would try anything on their own, but certainly they were growing hopeful.
It was common for a woman in this situation, alone and in need of aid, virtue likely already comprised, to voice her gratitude to her rescuers with her body. Loki had done this plenty of times before, using it as the perfect exit route: pleasuring the men whose nobility he had taken advantage of and then slipping away afterward while they slept. He could do it here. It would be easy.
But his indifference grew weaker at the thought of Darcy.
Though it was hardly the same as a betrayal out of lust, he found himself strongly wanting to stay faithful: to know that hers were the only hands he allowed on his body, her touch the only one he would ever need.
This was the full power of love, Loki realized - that it could move the trickster who had worn a thousand faces and lives to desire only monogamy.
So instead he took more subtle method. He bided his time, and encouraged the men to drink more and more liquor. He laughed at their jokes, eyes lighting up, smiling back at them, cheeky. He pretended to drink too, while secretly using sleight of hand so not a drop spilled down his throat.
And when all three of them lay passed out, stupefied and snoring, carefully Loki helped himself to one of their cloaks, fastening it around his neck and pulling the hood over his head to conceal him. Then he left the tavern.
It was growing dark but Loki didn’t fear a night on Svartalfheim. He spent evenings in his adventuring youth camped out in her forests - the things that dwelled there could hardly be bested by even the roughest town.
Though he had no fear of the dangers this world had in store he fretted over his next move. He would keep his identity secret for now: he had too many enemies, both as Loki the prince of Asgard and as Loki the outcast sorcerer. But that meant he was bereft of allies or influence, at present with no money or arms or even armor, supplied only with his wits and his magic.
It’d been more than enough to get him out of worse scrapes in the past. He was harried though by the long journey he could see before him.
He’d no idea where precisely in the realm he was, or in which direction he should travel to find a route that could take him back to Asgard. He longed for home, the embrace of his friends, his brother’s laugh and his mother’s voice, and the sight of Darcy’s face. And it could be some time before he got back to them.
He would get nowhere though by standing in one place. So once again Loki walked alone, keeping eyes open for sign of anything that could aid him.
The weather this time of year on Svartalfheim was muggy, and Loki found it weighed especially heavy against his skin. It was hard to keep the cloak wrapped so tightly around him, longing for even the slightest relief from stifling temperature, but he had no choice. Frost Giants weren’t viewed by every race as by the Asgardians, but they were not a well-loved people. He preferred not to take any chances.
As he neared what he estimated the center of the settlement, Loki found himself passed by one hurrying woman, then another, then another.
Something appeared to be happening. Curiosity raised, he followed the crowd.
There was a tent set up outside a rundown inn, two bored-looking guards staked outside the entrance. A line of young women winded back from that point, where they were being let inside one by one.
Some didn’t come out again. Those that did, appeared either disappointed or fuming.
Loki watched for a little while, but could make no sense of it. He crept over to the end of the line.
“What’s this?” he inquired of one of the waiting women.
She cast him an impatient glance. “Auditions, for a troupe of dancing girls. It’s said Nezzori takes them all over the realm and if you’re any good you can make more money in one night than you’ve ever dreamed.”
“Dancing girls,” Loki repeated, flat.
If he didn’t know any better he’d think it looked like not only was some unknown force trying to help him, but it was one with a twisted sense of humor.
The girl he was talking to gave him another onceover. She was a dark elf, and it looked as if she’d gone to extra lengths to appear pretty. Her tone turned disparaging. “So, you going to try for a spot too? It looks like he’s picky.”
“I’m not worried,” Loki told her, and instead of going to the back of the line headed straight for the entrance to the tent.
It seemed absurd, but if this group was really so well-travelled it could be the opportunity he needed. Not only would it provide him with transportation while he searched for a way between worlds, it would keep him relatively protected and provisioned until he did.
And certainly, no one would think to look for him here.
As he got within a few feet of the men guarding the tent, the flap suddenly swung open and a man strutted out. He had a swarthy face and rings on every finger, and the belly of a man who made a lot of money and liked spending it.
“Disgraceful,” the man spat, irritated. “This is why I don’t like going to these backwater holes to recruit!”
He waved a hand in front of the face of one of his guards, directing the rant at him.
“Once in a while you find a diamond in the rough - most of the time all you get is shepherdesses and chambermaids with too many freckles who can’t even sway a little!”
“Nezzori?” Loki guessed easily out loud. The man’s eyes snapped up automatically at being addressed, gaze narrowing. Loki stepped forward. “Take me. I can dance.”
“Oh, really?” was the reply, unimpressed. Nezzori ignored the loud complaints from the women who’d been waiting in line. He swept a look over Loki’s cloak-concealed body.
“What are you hiding under there?” he asked, unsympathetic. “Because if it’s hips ruined by childbearing or scars left by your last husband, then you’re no good to me.”
“Oh no.” A smile crept onto Loki’s face. “That isn’t it at all.”
Smoothly he unfastened the cloak and let it fall to the ground around his feet. There was a loud gasp from all around as the moonlight glinted off what was revealed.
Nezzori’s face paled in surprise, but his eyes were round and calculating as he took in Loki’s skin and figure.
The man jerked his head to one side. “Congratulations,” he determined. “You’re in.”
“What?” the closest girl in line cried mutinously. “Just like that? You didn’t even make her dance for you!”
“I don’t need her to,” Nezzori retorted, distractedly. He snapped his fingers in Loki’s direction, nodding, expression positively mercenary. “Men will come for miles around to get a glimpse at something so exotic. I don’t care if you have two left feet.”
“I don’t,” Loki promised.
“Even better.” Nezzori clapped his hands and servants came running from inside the tent, huffing.
“We can have you sign a contract tonight, if you’re willing.” Absently, he asked, “What’s your name?”
Loki swallowed, his throat dry, the night air hot against his frozen Jotun body.
He thought of the Asgard that had been taken from him. He remembered the sins he’d committed that were ultimately why he was here.
“Throkk,” he said.
*
Darcy sometimes not being able to find her boyfriend when she wanted to talk to him wasn’t exactly an irregular thing.
Loki had his ‘moods’. Or, more neutrally, there were times when he wanted to be alone so he could work on a project, which was just as often related to magic as it was some prank involving complex machinations.
It was even harder on Asgard. On Earth, even at a SHIELD facility or if one included all of Puente Antiguo, there were only so many places he could go; Asgard’s palace was a heck of a lot bigger. And full of hidden passages and concealed rooms Darcy had no chance of finding on her own, while Loki had thousands of years’ experience sneaking about.
Not being able to find Loki should have warranted a dismissive sigh, maybe a fit of annoyance.
But considering everything that had been going on, Darcy couldn’t help reacting to it much differently than that.
It was all that talk about danger, and some of the more serious conversations they’d had…when there was no sign of Loki in his room, or any of the other places she was used to being able to find him, Darcy began to worry.
It didn’t make sense that he’d be trying to hide himself now. Especially from her.
And she couldn’t shake a feeling that something was wrong that settled deep in her gut.
So when she went into Frigga’s chamber to see the queen, the thought foremost in her mind was that Loki’s mother might have some better idea of where he was.
Darcy stood halfway to the door, hovering. Frigga was facing the opposite direction seated before a loom, methodically weaving a thread through with even-handed skill. She didn’t pause or look up when Darcy came in, continuing her project silently, but Darcy was completely sure the other woman knew she was there. Frigga never struck her as a person who could be surprised easily.
Darcy cleared her throat. “Um, I was told that you wanted to talk to me, your highness?”
Frigga stopped her weaving, hands lowering to her lap. “I’ve told you before you need not speak so formally with me, child,” she rebuked Darcy gently, but the words were said only in passing, her attention not really with them.
She moved in her seat, upper body turning so her face was in profile. At first she didn’t look up.
“I wanted to ask if you had any knowledge of where Loki may be.”
Darcy’s heart sank. “That’s what I was hoping you would know,” she told the queen.
Frigga gave a quiet inhale. “I see.”
She didn’t look at Darcy but even from where she was the younger woman could make out the worry in her eyes.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” Darcy stated. Her voice wavered with anxiety. She took a step forward. “Something could have happened to him, or maybe-”
“Just because he hasn’t been seen for the better part of this day doesn’t mean we must worry for his well-being.” Frigga was trying to reassure her, but her emotions were mixed, the smile offered strained as she looked to her. “We both know Loki has been...unhappy, of late. With all that is happening here he may simply have decided to remove himself.”
“So, you think he’s like, hiding out somewhere? That he’s squirreled himself away in a place nobody knows about, and once his head is clear…”
Frigga’s gaze drifted away again. “I meant more along the lines that he may no longer be on Asgard.”
“What? No; he wouldn’t,” Darcy protested. “He wouldn’t just run away like that. Not without at least telling us something.”
Though she couldn’t help considering it. Loki had been upset; he had fought with her and said things about how he didn’t want to be in a relationship. And it would be a hell of a lot easier for him if he didn’t have to deal with the Nanna situation at all, if he just cut and run…
But, no. He wouldn’t do that to his family - he wouldn’t leave them holding the bag. And his fight with her, well that had just been total bullshit. It wasn’t like anything he’d said there was true, right?
“He wouldn’t do that,” Darcy repeated with more conviction. “He wouldn’t leave us wondering.” She drew a breath. “He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note-”
Frigga rose gracefully to her feet. “In my son’s youth it was very common for him to wander. To leave our realm without giving any warning, without leaving any clue as to where he had gone,” she informed Darcy, voice stately and calm. “He has always been a person who appreciates his freedom.”
Darcy stared at her with wide, wounded eyes, feeling like she’d been betrayed somehow.
She could tell by Frigga’s wrought face she didn’t want to believe it either. To think that after everything he’d been through Loki would fall back on bad habits and run away from his loved ones. But because of his history, his mother had to consider the possibility: had to acknowledge that it was more than likely.
“If he didn’t run, he could be in trouble,” Darcy insisted, hesitant.
“I know.” Frigga stepped closer and reached out, briefly caressing her forehead. “And I don’t want to think that of him, either.” She gave a sad smile. “Though it pulls at my heart, I would rather think Loki is safe and chooses not to face us, than he does not appear because something has happened to him.”
Darcy couldn’t really hold that against her. Still, she knew she wouldn’t be getting any help from here.
“If it’s okay with you, I think I’ll go now,” she murmured.
“Of course,” Frigga replied, passive. She went back and sat at her loom. “May you have a good day, Darcy.”
Darcy wandered off, gears in her head turning hard as she tried to think what to do next. She wasn’t going to bug Thor and Jane, not right away: the poor guys deserved their ‘alone time’ to finally be happy. But she couldn’t think who else might be able to help her. Who might know where Loki was, or would be willing to help her figure how to go about looking for him if he was missing?
She was still convinced there were signs of - well, if not ‘foul play’ exactly, then something definitely suspicious.
Loki wasn’t the person he’d been a few years ago. Even if he was tempted, he wouldn’t abandon his family to make things easier for himself.
He wouldn’t just run. Darcy was sure of it.
Well. Almost sure. As close to ‘sure’ as with Loki any person could possibly be.
Somehow her feet found their way to the part of the palace where Volstagg and Siún had their quarters. The man of the house wasn’t in, but of course the lady was.
Siún was lying back on a couch surrounded by cushions, her feet propped up on a divan. Her breathing had grown slightly labored from the sheer weight of the child she was carrying, but she looked to be in good spirits anyway.
She was definitely one of those people that “pregnant” managed to be a somewhat good look for. Her auburn hair framed her face in shining almost-straight lines, her face having rounded out rosy and smiling.
She seemed genuinely happy to see Darcy. It was probably boring, sitting around by herself all day.
“Where’s daddy-o?” Darcy asked as she made herself comfortable on a chair.
“I honestly am not sure.” Siún laughed lightly. “I believe some of his friends grew tired of how he was ignoring them and dragged him out for some fresh air.”
“Figures. Guys can get so jealous sometimes.” Darcy trailed off, thinking.
Siún considered her face. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” she asked after a moment, gingerly. “I can tell.”
Darcy shook her head, bit her lip, and then blurted out, “It’s Loki. He’s…it’s like he’s just disappeared.”
Siún frowned. “Nobody has seen him?”
“No! I’m trying not to freak out.” Darcy sighed. “Because, you know, he’s Loki. Maybe he just wanted some space.” She looked up and met the other woman’s eyes. “But I don’t think that’s what happened. I just have a really bad feeling about all of this.”
“He is second prince of the realm,” Siún said, concerned. “Surely you can’t be the only one worried.”
“The problem is he’s done this before. Way back, before you met us, before he even met me…the ‘falling out’ he and his brother had? Let’s just say it got majorly ugly.” Darcy sighed again, wearier. “And Loki ran away from home rather than dealing with his problems. And so now everyone’s afraid that’s what he did again.”
And it wasn’t like the possibility didn’t make sense.
“He and I did have a pretty major fight yesterday. I think his brother’s engagement is making him wig out a little bit. Like part of him is starting to feel boxed in.” Darcy shook her head. “And that’s on top of a lot of other family drama…the point is, I can’t blame anybody for thinking he headed for the hills.”
She opened her eyes again, stubborn. “But I don’t think that. I can’t really explain it.” Her hand pressed to her chest. “I just know in my heart that something’s not right. That Loki isn’t here because he’s gotten himself into some kind of trouble.”
She didn’t bother explaining to Siún all the crap about Nanna. There was no need to drag her into all that. But it was definitely the thing that was scaring Darcy the most.
“He is closer to you than probably anyone,” Siún reminded her. “If you think you should be worried, Darcy, I would believe you. You should trust your instincts.”
Darcy looked back over her shoulder.
“You’re right,” she decided after a minute. “Screw it. I don’t care if it makes everyone think I’m nuts. We need to start looking for him. I’m gonna go get Thor, and-”
As she spoke she started to dramatically rise to her feet.
But she stopped talking abruptly as Siún’s hand suddenly lashed out and grabbed her arm, startling her.
The woman’s fingers dug in with a grip of surprising strength.
“Siún, what’s wrong?”
Darcy’s eyes went back to her face to find Siún’s expression contorted with pain and apprehension. Oh crap, a tiny voice went in the back of her head, alarms going off, and looking down she saw Siún’s other hand gripping the front of her belly, a clear fluid soaking through her skirts.
Health class and a lot of pop culture had informed Darcy exactly what that meant.
“Oh boy,” she said out loud.
“Darcy,” Siún whimpered in a feeble voice. She breathed in and out noisily. “The baby.”
Of course she was going into labor right now. Darcy held onto her arms to help support her and tried not to panic.
“Okay. It’s gonna be okay. You just…stay with me, and focus. Keep breathing. I’ll get help.”
Siún sounded like she was having difficulty talking. “You need to get Volstagg,” she insisted, agonized.
“Right. Just sit down. I’ll be right back, I swear.”
Darcy ran to the door and stuck her head out, shouting, “Somebody! Hey! We need some help in here, like, now!”
When no one appeared instantly, Darcy shouted again louder, as behind her in the room Siún began to scream.
*
Mortals on Earth, Loki discovered, had such little appreciation for the vastness of culture and history. Each generation liked to think the era to which they belonged was the furthest to which the boundaries had ever been pushed.
Modern-day Americans, for example, believed they invented the concept of women dancing sensually for male entertainment.
They couldn’t be more wrong.
The idea of women pleasing and captivating men with the sight of their beauty, their charm and grace and yes, even the movement of their bodies, was nothing even remotely new. Nearly every civilization across the Nine Realms had something resembling this tradition.
In more refined, hierarchal worlds, the art was kept constrained to the likes of courtesans and harem girls, dancing for their masters and guests behind perfumed curtains and closed doors.
In sprawling and anarchic worlds such as Svartalfheim the show was available for the public, or at least any man with the coin to buy his way into a club where it was housed. Troupes of girls such as “Nezzori’s Dancing Lovelies” made a living being brought from one end of the land to another, offering the feast to a different crowd of eyes sometimes every night.
In a realm where a woman’s only hope for success was still marrying upward in society, and it was not uncommon for a peasant to grow old and die scrubbing floors and tilling fields to put money in the pockets of a father or older brother or brother-in-law that kept her, life as a dancing girl was a good way out, if she had the talent.
And one thing could be said for Nezzori, he had discerning tastes. All his girls, to one degree or another, had talent.
At night they went out there, to the ecstatic cries of eager and captivated men, who bought drinks and slipped coins into the hands of waiting servants, to bring them back to the girls in order to convey their favor.
The acts were all different. There was no shortage of props. Some girls danced with scarves, with fans, with canes and even swords. ‘Throkk’ didn’t dance with any of these - she had a unique trick.
A little something Loki had picked up from the good people of Midgard, the likes of which the rest of the Nine Realms had never seen.
So every time he took the stage it was the same. At first he paced the floor, spinning and swaying, moving towards the center in an ever-decreasing circle, a spiral that closed in on itself. And then when it seemed he could go no further, with no space left, from his toes a breath of frost leaked out with every step. A tendril formed, creeping upward, and he shaped it - until his body rested against a long pole made of solid ice in the middle of stage.
He leaned against the pole, hooked limbs around it, swung himself about; dancing with the fixed silver pole as his audience cheered.
Loki had always been a good dancer. It really wasn’t that different from his style of fighting: being all about movement of the body, flipping and spinning and careful placement of the feet. He followed the rhythm of the music and stopped thinking and feeling, giving over to muscle and reflex, becoming lost deep within as he chased the beat.
Every night when Loki danced he couldn’t see their eyes on him, couldn’t hear their voices as they hungered over him like drooling dogs. He never thought about what they thought they saw when they looked at him, what he had all but become. He never thought about his loneliness or his longing or his regrets or his anger. He never focused on how long and far he’d travelled, how weary and desperate he was to go home. He felt none of the stabbing pieces of the jagged edges of his psyche.
The flutes and the strings started, the drums began to pound, he stepped out onto the stage, and everything else went away.
It was only after, he’d feel the emptiness that was beginning to gnaw at him, how tired he was becoming. But it would pay off in the end, he reminded himself. He had seen more of Svartalfheim in the past weeks than he ever would have travelling alone, a different town every few days, a different track of land driven across for him to search.
He hadn’t sensed any portals in the making yet, but he would. It was but a matter of time.
In the meanwhile, today was a different day. The wagons had pulled into town shortly before noon, parking outside the large tavern on the outskirts that would be their new base of operations for the next three days.
Some of the girls went out in groups to look around, arms linked together as they chatted of hopes for shopping and trinkets. Loki, who had made a point to not befriend a one of them, remained behind.
Nezzori had already made himself at home in the tavern, heels propped on the table as he worked his way through a plate of meat and bread and picked his teeth when he finished.
“Here you go, Throkk.” He sorted through a pile of coins before him with his fat fist and tossed Loki the small pouch he put them in when he was finished. “Your cut for the up-front.”
The gifted Jotun rarity that was Throkk had quickly become Nezzori’s headline act - more people came to see her than any other girl, until Nezzori found it necessary to give her a small part of the payments they earned from clubs for bringing their show to them.
Silently Loki took the pouch and pocketed it. He cared nothing for the money, but Nezzori had no idea who he was or what he really wanted, and he preferred to keep it that way.
Nezzori was a brutish, greedy man who was too conceited to be a moneylender and too impatient to be a merchant. His pointed teeth and ears and black stubby nails betrayed he was part of goblin blood, maybe even as much as half.
Still, he wasn’t completely stupid, and he wasn’t cruel. He didn’t beat his girls or molest them or try to keep them enslaved, so he could be considered decent. Certainly he could’ve been worse.
But he wasn’t a friend, or even an ally, and Loki had no intention of trusting him with his secrets.
The troupe leader gestured to the greasy remnants on his plate. “Would you like anything?”
“No, thank you,” Loki replied, voice flat. “I’m not hungry.”
“Pre-show jitters,” Nezzori said sardonically, then lifted his head more upright as something caught his attention. “Ah, here we are - come here, I need to introduce you,” he called to someone, gesturing to indicate they should come closer.
Loki suppressed a small sigh as he felt the footsteps of two men drawing up close at his back.
“This here is the tavern’s keeper, our generous host for the night. Thought you might like to meet my golden girl up close.” Nezzori grinned.
Loki barely made eye contact as he faced the general direction of the older man. He looked like a tavern’s proprietor should: worn and hardened, like an old piece of leather, with a scar running through his lip and below one eye.
“She really is a Jotun,” he remarked in astonishment, looking Loki over. “I’ve seen the posters, but I figured it was probably just paint.”
Wearing a long dressing-gown that tied around the waist, Loki still fought the urge to flinch. “Nezzori believes in truth in advertising,” was his tart reply.
The man in question clucked his tongue, more amused than insulted. “Indeed,” he chortled. “And, who have you got here?” he questioned, indicating the tavern keeper’s companion.
“This here is my head of security. Keeps the lowest of the lowlifes out, stops the fights before they get started, and he’ll be personally responsible for overseeing your girls’ safety so long as you’re here.”
“Good.” Nezzori frowned. “Been a few places in the past not near so troubled about my girls’ well-being. Had a few try and sneak behind the curtain. It happens here, believe me, I won’t be coming back.”
“It won’t,” the keeper swore. “This one here, he’s a good hired sword. Best I ever seen in years.”
“I do my best,” the younger man said, modest but assured. “I promise you, no lout will come anywhere near the women so long as I’m on duty.”
Loki froze at the sound of that short speech. Disbelieving, his eyes moved as if of their own accord to look at the man that stood but a few feet to his left.
The build wasn’t quite right for what he would’ve been expecting, and the hair was an eerie shade of white. But that face. That voice.
He let his imagination fill in the changes that would’ve happened over the past few centuries.
A memory came to him, of a summer’s day in the courtyard, vision half-dazzled by the sun as their group hid from the heat beneath the shade of an apple tree, leaves casting a dappled pattern over their young bodies. The face of a youth laughing at him good-naturedly, with a strong chin and broad nose, cheeks that had not yet lost their childhood roundness, pale blue eyes bright and sparkling.
Those exact same eyes gazed at him with polite attention from the face of the paid swordsman clad in poorly-made chainmail and secondhand leathers.
“…Balder?” Loki softly breathed out.
LINK TO PART FIVE
Title: We Are Our Own Folklore (Part 4: The Snow Maiden)
Characters: Loki, Thor, Darcy, Jane, Frigga, Amora, original characters
Pairings: Loki/Darcy, Thor/Jane, Thor/Amora, Volstagg/OC
Rating: R for grimness, dark themes, gender weirdness, mild gore and semi-explicit sexuality
Length: 10,790 words
Summary: After what might seem to some like the world's longest courtship, Loki and Darcy are finally dating, and Thor and Jane are set to be married. But during the engagement party several intervening parties are out to throw a wrench into both relationships in a big way. Some of them are outsiders, but some come from much closer, and through uncomfortable ties to the past.
Notes: Part of my ongoing series. For further notes see part one.
Alternate link to story at AO3; please comment either here or there.
Part 4: The Snow Maiden
The Bifrost deposited Loki at the crest of a valley in the wilds of Jotunheim, no sign of civilization or another living thing for miles around. Nothing but snow and empty lands, doubly the barren wasteland the habited part of the world appeared.
The cold wind howled, snow coming up to Loki’s shins, more kicked up to blow against his face.
He took one thorough look around, determined there was nothing out there distinguishable, picked a direction at random and started moving. This was not a realm where it did any good to remain in one place for long.
For hours it seemed, he walked.
He did not let his mind wander for then he risked being eaten up by the crushing weight of despair. His family, his home, the warmth of Asgard had been taken from him - everything he had done, and still again he was an outcast, bereft. No, he would not think on it.
Maybe later, when there was time. Maybe once he found someplace safe to rest. For now he needed all his strength to find shelter, to focus on what came next.
Loki had a plan, or at least the rough beginnings of one. He needed to find one of the ways between worlds, the dimensional rifts he could sense and use to slip from one realm to the next. He knew at least one existed on Jotunheim - after all, he’d found it before.
It didn’t matter how far he had to go or how long he had to search. He would find a way off this world, and even if he had to journey through a hundred others, he would find his way to Asgard. He believed it, fiercely, with every part of his body and soul.
That was the only thought he allowed room for in the single path of his mind. How he’d survive in the meantime, what he would do if he actually encountered some Frost Giants - Loki didn’t know. He would deal with those obstacles as he faced them.
He walked and walked, head down, hands clasped against his shoulders, feet sinking with every step. The howling winds tugged his hair and tore through his clothes, lashing him to the bone.
It was so cold. Asgardians were a hearty people, resistant to extremes, and for understandable reasons Loki’s tolerance for cooler temperatures was greater than most. But this kind of prolonged exposure threatened even his limits. And he had not left provisioned or outfitted for travelling.
He had to keep moving. Perhaps he could find a cave he could hide in, someplace relatively dry and out of the wind, where he could bundle his limbs more thoroughly, and build a fire…
But time ticked by and there was no sign of anything. No cave, no structure, no change in the landscape, not even an animal he could run down and kill for its pelt. Nothing out there but endless snow and ice.
Nothing out there but the merciless cold.
Loki clenched his jaw so his teeth couldn’t chatter. The edges of his lips and the part of his legs that was submerged tingled with a numb pinprick sensation. He could feel his body shivering. Then he stopped feeling at all.
He had to do something, soon, he realized, or he ran the risk of becoming terribly ill or even freezing to death.
Think, he commanded himself desperately. Think.
The terrible irony was that he was born to the one race built perfectly to survive the inhospitable conditions of this world. But both changeling and shapeshifter though he was, Loki did not know how to take on his full Jotun form.
The only times he changed in the past were when coming into contact with things that would damage him had been pure Asgardian: the Casket of Ancient Winters, and the touch of another Jotun.
He considered it. It seemed that his body reverted as a defense mechanism, or a reaction as a result of physical contact with something that was incredibly cold.
Maybe, as incredible as it seemed, the solution to his predicament was to allow himself to get even colder.
Loki stopped walking and after only a moment of extra contemplation began to methodically strip his layers. He unbuttoned his cloak, removed his armor. He took off his boots and his gloves. He even pulled off his leggings, leaving nothing but the long sleeveless green tunic he’d been wearing belted as a dress.
He left the articles of clothing in a pile dropped behind him, abandoned. Loki stepped forward into the tundra and drew a breath, wiggling his toes against the powdery surface of the ice-coated ground.
By the Nine, it was freezing. He hoped he’d been right in his guess, otherwise he wasn’t getting out of this with all his extremities.
He pulled himself up and kept moving again, steeling not to cry out as the winds attacked him once more.
One foot in front of the other. One step at a time, hard as even that could be at times. You are Loki of Asgard, and you will not stop.
He couldn’t feel his arms, his legs. His mind was growing fuzzy. At one point numbly he looked down, expecting to see he was trailing bloody footprints from frozen ruined stubs.
Instead he saw that his feet were perfectly formed. And blue.
His hands were carved blue Jotun-flesh as well. And the blue was spreading, sweeping up past his elbows and climbing slowly over his knees as he watched.
He didn’t feel the cold anymore, not because his skin was frozen but because the cold no longer bothered him.
It was working. He was turning Jotun. He would survive.
The revelation brought on a mixture of detached triumph, relief, and revulsion. But Loki did not allow himself to dwell on any of these feelings.
Still holding himself slightly, shoulders hunched, he kept on making his way across the empty expanse of Jotunheim in a straight unerring line.
*
Thor had been in an unpleasant mood ever since the conversation with his mother and father.
He skulked his way through the palace, avoiding all company, a frown set on his face as he tried to imagine what was to happen next.
But what could be done? Even the All-Father seemed to despair of there being any action they could take. And certainly they couldn’t move against Nanna so long as she did nothing to them first.
They were trapped in limbo, a threat hanging over their heads, helpless to change the situation until their foes did something.
To feel so powerless against potential danger frustrated Thor to the point of fury. And he shuddered to think that once again he was caught up in a war amongst family.
Nanna and Freya may have been long distant, but they were his kin. In his youth he had taken for granted that family was the strongest thing, resolute and with bonds unshakable.
How wrong the past few years had proven him. It seemed with every generation came new players determined to tear each other apart.
Abruptly Thor stopped in his pacing and gave a swift shake of his head.
Enough of this, he decided. It had never been in his nature to sit idly by while a growing danger loomed. Kin or not, politics or no, he had to take action.
Loki: Loki would know what to do. Surely his clever brother could with some prompting concoct a scheme to get them all out of this. Perhaps he even already had; it had been some hours since Thor had seen him last. No doubt in the time since he’d been thinking. That he had left his brother alone because in wake of the revelations concerning him he probably desired his space had slipped Thor’s mind completely.
He turned around with the aim of finding Loki immediately. He would check the obvious places first: his brother’s room, then the library-
“My lord,” a guard appeared from a hallway behind him, clearing his throat, “I was sent to tell you that your betrothed wishes to see you at once.”
Thor had been turning back to give the interrupting guard a disapproving frown, but he stopped at the mention of who it was that sought him. Jane. But of course he would always find time for her.
Considering the course of events so far, his mind immediately went to the negative. “Has something happened to her?” he demanded. “Has she been harmed in any way?”
Despite the amount of reserve common to the royal guard, the man looked instantly bemused.
“No, nothing of the sort. I was under the impression she was merely desirous of your company.”
Thor let out his breath and relaxed. Were it anyone else he wouldn’t have permitted the interruption; of course it was annoying. But finding Loki could wait if only for a little while. Poor Jane - they were supposed to be celebrating together and here had been so caught up in other things he was ignoring her.
Of course he would put right things by his love at once.
Thor nodded. “I will attend on her. Where does she wait for me?”
“In the lady’s chamber, my lord.”
Thor went to the room and entered and found Jane was alone - but the situation must have been a recent one, for the room bore earmarks of servants having been there not too long before. The space had been tidied and rearranged, and looked much cleaner and brighter than when Thor had been there last.
Everything gold had been polished and the curtains had been tied back allowing the sunlight to sweep in and illuminate. Thor was used to seeing books scattered everywhere, Jane’s open suitcases lying on the floor, but it must have been all put away for there was no sign of any of these items. An enchanted harp that had been a gift to Jane from the ambassadors of Alfheim had been set up in the corner - Jane had told Thor she found the repetitive plucking of its strings irritating, and kept it contained to its box, but she must have warmed to object for its honeyed notes filled with room.
“Thor.” Jane greeted him with a voice so enthusiastic and warm it brought a smile to his face. “My love. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you last.”
He chuckled, flattered by such attention from her. “My deepest apologies if my actions left you feeling like I am ignoring you. You know nothing could be further from the truth. It’s just that I have had a lot on my mind.”
“How uncharacteristic,” Jane teased. As Thor moved closer she put a hand up to caress the side of his face.
She was wearing a gown in a color of dusky rose that flattered her complexion, fabric draped close over the curves of her body, the hem outfitted with a small train. Though it was unlike her to be so attired on a regular basis Thor could not help being glad to see it. For though his Jane was perfectly lovely always, she became magnificent in her beauty on the occasions she took extra attention to her appearance.
He beamed down at her, taking her hand in his to briefly kiss her palm, before letting her stroke him once more. “You look well today,” he observed. “You are happy?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” she responded. Since his having entered the room, not once had the smile left her face. She was so pleased she seemed almost smug. Her eyes sparkled with every melodic twist to her voice. “Aren’t I the luckiest woman in all the Nine Realms, to be chosen for such an honor?”
Though it was said so eagerly Thor knew she couldn’t be sincere, it a joke based on one of their earlier conversations, and he laughed merrily at it, amused.
“You know full well, Jane, the honor is mine,” he reminded her, running his fingers against the softness of her hair. Her eyes half-lidded, catlike and demure, as he gazed at her. “I have never seen this dress before,” he noted, far more curiosity than disapproval.
“Oh, what, this?” She leaned to the side just enough for it to even better frame her figure. The movement had an artful grace in it which surprised him. “I had them bring in a seamstress to whip it up for me.” Her nose wrinkled with an impish half-grin. “All of a sudden I just…didn’t like anything in my closet.”
“It becomes you greatly,” Thor complimented her earnestly. “Though never mistake that you need embellish yourself to win my approval.”
“Oh, but,” she countered, “it isn’t just for you.” She twirled in place. “After all, if I am to be a queen one day, isn’t it high time I started acting like one?”
Though it touched Thor that she thought it important enough she start acting more like what was expected of a member of royalty for his sake, it concerned him also. He loved Jane for the brilliant and driven woman she was, fixated on things so different from that which dominated his own life. He would hate for that woman to change.
“When you are queen you will be a well-loved one,” he assured her, seriously. “For our people will see the same calm strength and wisdom in you that I do.”
“Oh, Thor.” She brushed him aside, laughing. “To think that you would ever find virtue in restraint over power and beauty.”
Thor stood where he was, face falling into a frown, thrown off by such a strange and dismissive comment from her and not certain how to take it.
Not noticing, Jane went over to the mirror and started playing with her hair, primping. She looked over several pieces of jewelry and dresses that had evidently been laid out for her approval.
Thor cleared his throat. “Glad as I always am to see you, I must take leave of you for a short while. I must go and find Loki.”
She looked up from where she had been holding a different dress against her body for examination. “But you only just got here,” she protested.
“It was only yesterday you made a remark that I think was supposed to indicate you felt smothered,” Thor chuckled. Too much ‘togetherness’ sometimes grated on his intended’s nerves.
“Well if I did, then I misspoke.” Jane dropped the fabric and strode her way back to him. “We should be spending more time together. Anyway, for what reason could you want to go and speak to that annoying brother of yours?” With a fingertip she trailed a quick line down his chest. “I can make you happy. I know exactly what you want.”
The sultry tone she spoke in didn’t work on Thor: he was too offset by how easily she had moved onto it, after speaking so disparagingly of his brother.
He knew Jane and Loki didn’t exactly get along, but when had she become hostile toward him? Had something happened Thor had missed?
“You know I find your company preferable to almost any other,” he began, trying to be reasonable, “but my need to see Loki is very urgent.” Jane started to shake her head, lips pursing. He hurried on, explaining, “We must figure out what to do about our aunts. Something has happened; the situation has grown even more-”
Jane pressed two fingers over his lips, forcing him to silence. “Shhhh,” she hushed him, acting like she thought he was being foolish. “That isn’t important. Everything can wait.”
Reaching up she cupped his chin between her hands, fingers stroking his beard.
“Don’t you love me? Shouldn’t you want to spend every waking moment together, so you can dote on me like I deserve? So we can bask in each other’s company?”
Thor stared at her. The more and more she spoke he realized something was off, the words she was using not at all like ones she normally would. At first he thought it a jest of some kind but the longer she talked the more wrong she sounded.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Jane. What’s the matter with-”
“Nothing is wrong.” She spoke over him, firm. “Listen to me. Everything is fine.”
For a moment her eyes flashed, and in that instant he could’ve sworn they were the wrong color.
Where her hands touched him he began to feel extra warmth, a faint scent like perfume in the air wafting over him. He could feel it start to cloud his mind, lulling him into compliance.
There was a nagging insistent feeling that he had experienced this somewhere before. His alarm and suspicion instinctively compelled him to resist, even as he reached for his memory. For what reason was this familiar? He swore he had it; it was almost on the tip of his tongue…
But the more Jane petted him and spoke to him soothing words of reassurance, the less he felt inclined to struggle. His anxiety and doubt faded away. He relaxed.
“Everything is fine,” Jane repeated confidently, calm, smiling. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he answered her back, effortless and obedient.
He gazed at her blissfully, unable to tear his eyes away, not wanting to look anywhere else. Somehow she seemed even more beautiful to him than she had ever before - truly, she was the fairest being in all of creation. Thor was awash in feelings of devotion and longing for her.
The world had evaporated into a wondrous rosy haze, and Jane was the only thing he could focus on, the only thing that mattered in it. The rest of his thoughts were cloudy and unimportant. He didn’t care how thick and strange his head felt. He couldn’t remember that only a few moments before he had worries and other priorities. Now all he cared about was Jane and whatever her desires were.
This made perfect sense to him. Wasn’t that naturally how it should be?
Jane reached up and patted his cheek. “Now, darling Thor,” she told him, “I think we should sit down, over here. And you can tell me of all the delightful things you’re going to do for me, when I am your queen.”
She draped herself sideways on a cushioned couch and said, silkily, “Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Thor beamed at her, doting. “Yes,” he agreed. “Nothing would please me more.”
*
Jane was walking very, very slowly down the halls of Asgard which now seemed far too empty for her liking.
Time was dragging by. She felt like it’d been hours, and she still hadn’t seen anyone.
Then again, it also felt like it had taken her hours to get anywhere at all.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected the woman that attacked her and stole her shape to do to her next. But it certainly hadn’t been to just leave her there, lying on the cold marble floor.
That was precisely what the woman had done. Stepped around Jane and walked right past, without so much as a look back over her shoulder.
It took Jane a long time to get up again. It was hard moving in a body that no longer felt like her own, and besides the obvious she suspected the sorceress had done something to her that hampered her physically. Her actions were stiff and awkward, and when she began walking finally it was with a limp.
Despite searching she could find no specific injuries; it was more a general sense of all-over pain that had been shackled to her, dragging her down.
It was fading as she went but not near quick enough for her liking. Though she wasn’t overly vindictive by nature, Jane hoped that the woman would be caught and punished soon for more than practical reasoning.
She was partially bent over, arms held at an awkward position close to her chest, her gait hobbled. She had called out more than once for help in the beginning, but stopped when it was obvious no one could hear her: her voice was weak, her throat still dry and raw.
Both panic and despair were beginning to work their way in. She had no idea who the woman was, or what she intended to do that she’d needed to look like Jane to do it.
Jane was scared she might try to hurt someone. The worst possibility she could think of was the impersonator would go after Thor.
She was moved to the point of almost crying out with relief when finally a pair of guards looking like they were walking by on their rounds appeared, and spotted her. Jane stopped where she was, sagging, and took a much-needed moment to catch her breath.
But she had failed to think the situation through entirely.
The guards did a double-take when they saw her, lowering their spears as their faces took on looks of alarm. “Halt!” one of them shouted at her. “Stay where you are, Enchantress!”
“Intruder in the halls!” the second one cried, turning his head to shout back in the direction they’d come from. “Send aid immediately! Summon the All-Father!”
“Wait,” Jane protested weakly. “No, you don’t understand! I’m not…”
No one was listening to her. Before she had time to stammer out another sentence she found herself completely surrounded, a circle of eight Asgardian guards facing her on all sides with weapons drawn.
Whoever they thought she was that person was clearly considered to be a threat.
Heart hammering, Jane swallowed and gazed back at them wide-eyed, doing her best not to move or make a sound or do anything that might be mistaken for an attack and provoke them.
“Where is the All-Father?” one of the first guards asked another.
The addressed guard wore a more decorated set of armor, indicating his superior rank. “The king has withdrawn to his private chambers and asked he be left alone for anything less than important matters of state,” was his gruff response. “There was no need to disturb him for this.”
“No need?” a different guard protested. “But this is Amora! Don’t you remember how much trouble she’s caused in the past?”
“And besides, her banishment was placed by the All-Father himself,” another chimed in. “Won’t he have to deal with her eventually, to decide her new punishment for going against that command?”
Jane decided to take the opportunity to break in. “Please, you have to listen to me-”
Her entreaty was halted by the spears being raised again and thrust forward closer, the captain’s this time pointed directly at her throat. She leaned her chin back from the deadly point, suitably cowed.
“Not one more word, vile temptress,” the captain of the guards spat. “Speak again and there will be consequences. I’m not fool enough to give you the chance to be-spell us.”
He glared at her, and then turned to look at his men.
“King Odin is in the midst of celebrating his son’s engagement,” he decided. “He shouldn’t be bothered with this now. We’ll keep the sorceress contained somewhere until after. Then he can deal with her, at his leisure.”
“Or before, if he chooses to,” one of the other guards pointed out.
His commander gave a stiff nod. “That is the king’s prerogative.”
Changing their positions around her, weapons still raised, they indicated that Jane should start walking again. And she realized that if she didn’t do something to convince them of her identity they were going to lead her to be locked up in a cell or a dungeon. Maybe even to be physically punished. Whoever this Amora was, it was obvious from the way they were acting that they considered her to be some kind of dangerous criminal.
If she didn’t speak out now she’d be suffering in her place. She had to risk it.
The words rushed from her mouth swiftly before any of them had a chance to stop her. “But I’m not who you think I am! This is all a mistake; I’m not this Amora person. I’m…”
She stopped, voice fading abruptly. Her mouth felt dry as the back of her throat burned.
The guards were gazing at her, unsympathetic and un-amused. Quickly Jane shook her head to clear her dismayed confusion, drew a breath and tried again.
But all she found herself doing was gaping senselessly. Nothing would come out her mouth.
One hand pressed to the hollow of her throat, bewildered.
She remembered the heat she had felt forced by magic down her throat. Was this another spell that had been cast on her, making it so she was unable to speak her own name?
“Enough of this.” One of the guards seized her arm, impatient. “Whatever trick you’re trying, you won’t be given a second chance to make it work. Time to lock you up where you can’t do any more harm.”
Jane was dragged away between two guards, escorted on all sides by six others, pleading with them to no avail every step of the way, powerless to reveal to them her identity.
*
Loki no longer felt the sting of the cold, but his journey by that was not made into an easy one. He was still burdened by the weight of time.
There was no way of telling if days or nights had passed when the sky was a dark grey to begin with and never changed. Nothing about the landscape ever altered, no rocks or trees or changes in the level of the terrain. Just a flat, open, empty expanse that stretched past what his eyes could see. There was not another living soul to be seen, not even a lone rangy animal.
He walked without rest, and maybe his legs should have grown tired by now, maybe his feet should be sore. He couldn’t know.
Almost he could consider the possibility that none of this was real. That he hadn’t been cast into Jotunheim but another fit of madness; that it was a nightmare, a fever dream, concocted by his own mind. That this was his punishment: eternal isolation.
At times the wind sounded like malicious whispers or mocking laughter.
But Loki ignored the doubts and pushed onward. He couldn’t allow himself to grow confused or hesitant.
A liar must not believe his own lies, no matter how they are formed, how unsettling or persistent they are.
Jotunheim was a vast world, and much of it filled by abandoned spaces. Loki ignored the thought that he might miss civilization or a dimensional rift or a sign of anything useful entirely - that he might walk straight from one barren end to another. That couldn’t happen to him. It could not.
It wasn’t fate he put his faith in. By now he knew better than to think fate would ever show him kindness. His faith was in his own providence.
He was Loki. He would prevail. He would survive, because one way or another he always did.
No matter what the price.
He shuffled along, hands still clasped at his shoulders because he had forgotten what to do with them, gaze long gone half-focused with staring off ahead. At first he thought he imagined it when he caught glimpse of something moving.
Then the moment passed and it became clear that, no, there was something really out there. Three distinct dark shapes approached him from ahead.
Loki snapped out of his half-awake trance, body tensing with a feeling like electricity, mind racing as he tried to take stock of the situation, to ready himself if necessary for flight or fight.
The shapes were not Jotun. They were barely taller than he. Loki relaxed somewhat, and kept attentively looking. Eventually the figures resolved themselves into three men.
They were burly, hairy, thickly-bearded and wrapped in head-to-toe layers of fur. They carried clubs and stone weapons and behind them they dragged the carcass of some shaggy ice-beast they had killed. Their helmets had broken horns on them. They looked the image of what most modern-day mortals on Midgard pictured when they thought of Vikings.
They looked to be mortal but almost undoubtedly weren’t; not human, anyway. Many alien races on the branches of Yggdrasil had a bizarrely similar appearance.
After consideration Loki deduced they must’ve come from Svartalfheim. Most thought of that land as being home to the goblins and Dark Elves, but the truth was far more complicated and varied: it was a lawless realm, where regions were spread out and detached from one another.
Many races made Svartalfheim their home and many of them didn’t answer to the same leaders, or consider themselves of one people. The collective was often referred to as “the Broken Worlds”. Many of its people were nomadic or little better than scavengers - though they knew they risked death to do so, they would wander into Jotunheim to trade or forage for anything they could use to survive.
A weak grasp of hope flared to life within Loki’s breast. Svartalfheim was not Asgard, but this could be the answer. These men could be his way home.
He slowed his pace as he collected himself best he could, making himself look strong and standing upright. He could see that the bearded men in the furred pelts were slowing too: he could not yet make out their faces, but there was a sense of wariness over their group.
“Oy!” one of them called out, bellowing, a mitten reaching for the hilt of a thick dagger. “Who goes there?”
Belatedly Loki realized his eyes had become sharper, better at seeing through darkness and snow. Though the men were almost clear as day to him, to their eyes he likely seemed no more than a blurred shadow.
“It’s all right,” he called back in reply. The tremor he feigned, of fatigue and timidity, came all too easily. “Whoever you are, I’m no threat to you, I swear.”
The others relaxed enough it didn’t seem they were about to attack him. Loki walked forward. The wind suddenly began to die, and fresh snow had long stopped falling, the air between them growing clearer as the gap was closed.
When he came into sight the three barbarians’ eyes went wide and they stared at him openly.
Loki thought of what they must be seeing. He was full Jotun in appearance, his eyes red, his skin blue and marked. He’d not a giant’s size, which alone must be confusing. But then there was the fact he’d forgotten completely about his seiðr, his body still female.
There was no such thing as a Frost Giant woman. They were a race entirely of brutish male beasts. So what these men thought they were looking at was proof of the impossible.
Loki’s hair still hung in the elegant braid Frigga had woven, shining black in a landscape of pale white. He stood there poised fawn-like on bare feet, all slender curves and lean muscle. The lines of his body were covered by no more than a thin shift that fell below his knees, arms naked.
“By earthquake and thunder,” one of the men remarked in a brogue accent, gazing in wonderment. “What is this?”
“It’s a lady,” his closest complain said stupidly. He scratched the top of his head. “Thought the Jotun didn’t have ladies.”
The third man stepped closer and reached out as if he would touch Loki to prove his existence.
Loki pulled back, dropping his head in a show of reluctant shyness.
“They do not. I was born an anomaly. My own kind would try to kill me on sight out of revulsion,” he told them, making up a story on the spot. “I seek safe passage to another realm, so that I can get away. Can you help me?”
Playing the role of the delicate maiden in need of rescue was an easy ruse. It was one he’d used many times over the centuries.
He batted his eyes and looked up at the men beseechingly. They exchanged uneasy, bemused glances.
Finally one of them asked suspiciously, “There’s no one following you, is there? Not a band of angry giants.”
“No,” Loki gulped, “praise Ymir. I’ve not seen any souls but you for the past few days.”
“Well,” the fattest of the three men observed, “there’s no reason we can’t lead her back to the gap with us, is there? Not like it costs us anything.”
“Giants are a dangerous lot,” one of the others stated, nervous.
“Ach, this wee lass looks like she couldn’t harm a dragonfly,” the final man retorted. He put a gloved hand on Loki’s shoulder, patting in a comforting gesture. “It’s all right, dearie. You can come along. You’ll be safe with us.”
“Thank you so much for your kindness.” Loki lowered his eyes, thinking all the while how easy it would be with a quick bolt of magic, or a blade formed of ice, to strike in an instant a dozen vulnerable spots on the man’s body. “I have no way to repay you.”
He travelled back the way they’d come amongst their party, wrapped in a smelly thick bearskin one of them had generously given him. The three men chattered merrily. They introduced themselves; Loki thanked them politely and instantly forgot their names. He’d not the mind at present for insipid details.
They reminded him a bit of the Warriors Three, if the Warriors Three had been comprised entirely of three particularly terse and ineloquent versions of Volstagg. They were gruff, muscle-bound men, used to a hardened life of travelling and who clearly thought of nothing more than how to make a few coins and from where their next meal was coming.
Still. They were kind enough to escort him, when there was nothing obvious in it for them. So long as they didn’t attempt to lay hands on him Loki intended to do them no ill.
The ‘gap’ one of them had referred to earlier turned out to be a small rift in the landscape where the ways of Svartalfheim and Jotunheim bled through to one another. It was tiny and weak, barely a true portal, but stable enough any being could simply walk through, whether or not they possessed any magic.
The odds of Loki being able to pinpoint this exact spot on his own, aptitude for the winding magics of the World Tree or no, bordered on slim. He was exceedingly fortunate to have stumbled across these men when he did. He couldn’t deny that.
“Nothing to fear then,” the tallest of the men, the de facto leader, who seemed to have appointed himself Loki’s protector, told him. He and his fellows hefted their weighty kill onto their shoulders. “This might tingle a bit.”
“Hold your breath,” the fat one advised. “Makes it easier.”
Loki fought the impulse to roll his eyes. “If you say so.”
His relief at leaving that hellish frozen landscape behind him was overwhelming, but he managed to keep all outward signs of it contained.
It had been a long time since Loki had been in Svartalfheim, especially alone. He looked around, seeing they appeared to be in some sort of crude trading post, but didn’t recognize anything. Considering the size of the world, how spread-out it was, that didn’t particularly surprise him.
The three men traded the meat of the creature they had killed for supplies and gold, and set off for the nearby tavern. Loki stayed with them for it would’ve seemed out of the character he was presenting to wander off yet.
The men bought food for themselves, and some for him too, and then proceeded to spend most the rest of their money on tankards of ale.
As the hours began to wear on the remarks more grew ribald, and Loki caught his companions sneaking him longing glances. He didn’t think they would try anything on their own, but certainly they were growing hopeful.
It was common for a woman in this situation, alone and in need of aid, virtue likely already comprised, to voice her gratitude to her rescuers with her body. Loki had done this plenty of times before, using it as the perfect exit route: pleasuring the men whose nobility he had taken advantage of and then slipping away afterward while they slept. He could do it here. It would be easy.
But his indifference grew weaker at the thought of Darcy.
Though it was hardly the same as a betrayal out of lust, he found himself strongly wanting to stay faithful: to know that hers were the only hands he allowed on his body, her touch the only one he would ever need.
This was the full power of love, Loki realized - that it could move the trickster who had worn a thousand faces and lives to desire only monogamy.
So instead he took more subtle method. He bided his time, and encouraged the men to drink more and more liquor. He laughed at their jokes, eyes lighting up, smiling back at them, cheeky. He pretended to drink too, while secretly using sleight of hand so not a drop spilled down his throat.
And when all three of them lay passed out, stupefied and snoring, carefully Loki helped himself to one of their cloaks, fastening it around his neck and pulling the hood over his head to conceal him. Then he left the tavern.
It was growing dark but Loki didn’t fear a night on Svartalfheim. He spent evenings in his adventuring youth camped out in her forests - the things that dwelled there could hardly be bested by even the roughest town.
Though he had no fear of the dangers this world had in store he fretted over his next move. He would keep his identity secret for now: he had too many enemies, both as Loki the prince of Asgard and as Loki the outcast sorcerer. But that meant he was bereft of allies or influence, at present with no money or arms or even armor, supplied only with his wits and his magic.
It’d been more than enough to get him out of worse scrapes in the past. He was harried though by the long journey he could see before him.
He’d no idea where precisely in the realm he was, or in which direction he should travel to find a route that could take him back to Asgard. He longed for home, the embrace of his friends, his brother’s laugh and his mother’s voice, and the sight of Darcy’s face. And it could be some time before he got back to them.
He would get nowhere though by standing in one place. So once again Loki walked alone, keeping eyes open for sign of anything that could aid him.
The weather this time of year on Svartalfheim was muggy, and Loki found it weighed especially heavy against his skin. It was hard to keep the cloak wrapped so tightly around him, longing for even the slightest relief from stifling temperature, but he had no choice. Frost Giants weren’t viewed by every race as by the Asgardians, but they were not a well-loved people. He preferred not to take any chances.
As he neared what he estimated the center of the settlement, Loki found himself passed by one hurrying woman, then another, then another.
Something appeared to be happening. Curiosity raised, he followed the crowd.
There was a tent set up outside a rundown inn, two bored-looking guards staked outside the entrance. A line of young women winded back from that point, where they were being let inside one by one.
Some didn’t come out again. Those that did, appeared either disappointed or fuming.
Loki watched for a little while, but could make no sense of it. He crept over to the end of the line.
“What’s this?” he inquired of one of the waiting women.
She cast him an impatient glance. “Auditions, for a troupe of dancing girls. It’s said Nezzori takes them all over the realm and if you’re any good you can make more money in one night than you’ve ever dreamed.”
“Dancing girls,” Loki repeated, flat.
If he didn’t know any better he’d think it looked like not only was some unknown force trying to help him, but it was one with a twisted sense of humor.
The girl he was talking to gave him another onceover. She was a dark elf, and it looked as if she’d gone to extra lengths to appear pretty. Her tone turned disparaging. “So, you going to try for a spot too? It looks like he’s picky.”
“I’m not worried,” Loki told her, and instead of going to the back of the line headed straight for the entrance to the tent.
It seemed absurd, but if this group was really so well-travelled it could be the opportunity he needed. Not only would it provide him with transportation while he searched for a way between worlds, it would keep him relatively protected and provisioned until he did.
And certainly, no one would think to look for him here.
As he got within a few feet of the men guarding the tent, the flap suddenly swung open and a man strutted out. He had a swarthy face and rings on every finger, and the belly of a man who made a lot of money and liked spending it.
“Disgraceful,” the man spat, irritated. “This is why I don’t like going to these backwater holes to recruit!”
He waved a hand in front of the face of one of his guards, directing the rant at him.
“Once in a while you find a diamond in the rough - most of the time all you get is shepherdesses and chambermaids with too many freckles who can’t even sway a little!”
“Nezzori?” Loki guessed easily out loud. The man’s eyes snapped up automatically at being addressed, gaze narrowing. Loki stepped forward. “Take me. I can dance.”
“Oh, really?” was the reply, unimpressed. Nezzori ignored the loud complaints from the women who’d been waiting in line. He swept a look over Loki’s cloak-concealed body.
“What are you hiding under there?” he asked, unsympathetic. “Because if it’s hips ruined by childbearing or scars left by your last husband, then you’re no good to me.”
“Oh no.” A smile crept onto Loki’s face. “That isn’t it at all.”
Smoothly he unfastened the cloak and let it fall to the ground around his feet. There was a loud gasp from all around as the moonlight glinted off what was revealed.
Nezzori’s face paled in surprise, but his eyes were round and calculating as he took in Loki’s skin and figure.
The man jerked his head to one side. “Congratulations,” he determined. “You’re in.”
“What?” the closest girl in line cried mutinously. “Just like that? You didn’t even make her dance for you!”
“I don’t need her to,” Nezzori retorted, distractedly. He snapped his fingers in Loki’s direction, nodding, expression positively mercenary. “Men will come for miles around to get a glimpse at something so exotic. I don’t care if you have two left feet.”
“I don’t,” Loki promised.
“Even better.” Nezzori clapped his hands and servants came running from inside the tent, huffing.
“We can have you sign a contract tonight, if you’re willing.” Absently, he asked, “What’s your name?”
Loki swallowed, his throat dry, the night air hot against his frozen Jotun body.
He thought of the Asgard that had been taken from him. He remembered the sins he’d committed that were ultimately why he was here.
“Throkk,” he said.
*
Darcy sometimes not being able to find her boyfriend when she wanted to talk to him wasn’t exactly an irregular thing.
Loki had his ‘moods’. Or, more neutrally, there were times when he wanted to be alone so he could work on a project, which was just as often related to magic as it was some prank involving complex machinations.
It was even harder on Asgard. On Earth, even at a SHIELD facility or if one included all of Puente Antiguo, there were only so many places he could go; Asgard’s palace was a heck of a lot bigger. And full of hidden passages and concealed rooms Darcy had no chance of finding on her own, while Loki had thousands of years’ experience sneaking about.
Not being able to find Loki should have warranted a dismissive sigh, maybe a fit of annoyance.
But considering everything that had been going on, Darcy couldn’t help reacting to it much differently than that.
It was all that talk about danger, and some of the more serious conversations they’d had…when there was no sign of Loki in his room, or any of the other places she was used to being able to find him, Darcy began to worry.
It didn’t make sense that he’d be trying to hide himself now. Especially from her.
And she couldn’t shake a feeling that something was wrong that settled deep in her gut.
So when she went into Frigga’s chamber to see the queen, the thought foremost in her mind was that Loki’s mother might have some better idea of where he was.
Darcy stood halfway to the door, hovering. Frigga was facing the opposite direction seated before a loom, methodically weaving a thread through with even-handed skill. She didn’t pause or look up when Darcy came in, continuing her project silently, but Darcy was completely sure the other woman knew she was there. Frigga never struck her as a person who could be surprised easily.
Darcy cleared her throat. “Um, I was told that you wanted to talk to me, your highness?”
Frigga stopped her weaving, hands lowering to her lap. “I’ve told you before you need not speak so formally with me, child,” she rebuked Darcy gently, but the words were said only in passing, her attention not really with them.
She moved in her seat, upper body turning so her face was in profile. At first she didn’t look up.
“I wanted to ask if you had any knowledge of where Loki may be.”
Darcy’s heart sank. “That’s what I was hoping you would know,” she told the queen.
Frigga gave a quiet inhale. “I see.”
She didn’t look at Darcy but even from where she was the younger woman could make out the worry in her eyes.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” Darcy stated. Her voice wavered with anxiety. She took a step forward. “Something could have happened to him, or maybe-”
“Just because he hasn’t been seen for the better part of this day doesn’t mean we must worry for his well-being.” Frigga was trying to reassure her, but her emotions were mixed, the smile offered strained as she looked to her. “We both know Loki has been...unhappy, of late. With all that is happening here he may simply have decided to remove himself.”
“So, you think he’s like, hiding out somewhere? That he’s squirreled himself away in a place nobody knows about, and once his head is clear…”
Frigga’s gaze drifted away again. “I meant more along the lines that he may no longer be on Asgard.”
“What? No; he wouldn’t,” Darcy protested. “He wouldn’t just run away like that. Not without at least telling us something.”
Though she couldn’t help considering it. Loki had been upset; he had fought with her and said things about how he didn’t want to be in a relationship. And it would be a hell of a lot easier for him if he didn’t have to deal with the Nanna situation at all, if he just cut and run…
But, no. He wouldn’t do that to his family - he wouldn’t leave them holding the bag. And his fight with her, well that had just been total bullshit. It wasn’t like anything he’d said there was true, right?
“He wouldn’t do that,” Darcy repeated with more conviction. “He wouldn’t leave us wondering.” She drew a breath. “He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note-”
Frigga rose gracefully to her feet. “In my son’s youth it was very common for him to wander. To leave our realm without giving any warning, without leaving any clue as to where he had gone,” she informed Darcy, voice stately and calm. “He has always been a person who appreciates his freedom.”
Darcy stared at her with wide, wounded eyes, feeling like she’d been betrayed somehow.
She could tell by Frigga’s wrought face she didn’t want to believe it either. To think that after everything he’d been through Loki would fall back on bad habits and run away from his loved ones. But because of his history, his mother had to consider the possibility: had to acknowledge that it was more than likely.
“If he didn’t run, he could be in trouble,” Darcy insisted, hesitant.
“I know.” Frigga stepped closer and reached out, briefly caressing her forehead. “And I don’t want to think that of him, either.” She gave a sad smile. “Though it pulls at my heart, I would rather think Loki is safe and chooses not to face us, than he does not appear because something has happened to him.”
Darcy couldn’t really hold that against her. Still, she knew she wouldn’t be getting any help from here.
“If it’s okay with you, I think I’ll go now,” she murmured.
“Of course,” Frigga replied, passive. She went back and sat at her loom. “May you have a good day, Darcy.”
Darcy wandered off, gears in her head turning hard as she tried to think what to do next. She wasn’t going to bug Thor and Jane, not right away: the poor guys deserved their ‘alone time’ to finally be happy. But she couldn’t think who else might be able to help her. Who might know where Loki was, or would be willing to help her figure how to go about looking for him if he was missing?
She was still convinced there were signs of - well, if not ‘foul play’ exactly, then something definitely suspicious.
Loki wasn’t the person he’d been a few years ago. Even if he was tempted, he wouldn’t abandon his family to make things easier for himself.
He wouldn’t just run. Darcy was sure of it.
Well. Almost sure. As close to ‘sure’ as with Loki any person could possibly be.
Somehow her feet found their way to the part of the palace where Volstagg and Siún had their quarters. The man of the house wasn’t in, but of course the lady was.
Siún was lying back on a couch surrounded by cushions, her feet propped up on a divan. Her breathing had grown slightly labored from the sheer weight of the child she was carrying, but she looked to be in good spirits anyway.
She was definitely one of those people that “pregnant” managed to be a somewhat good look for. Her auburn hair framed her face in shining almost-straight lines, her face having rounded out rosy and smiling.
She seemed genuinely happy to see Darcy. It was probably boring, sitting around by herself all day.
“Where’s daddy-o?” Darcy asked as she made herself comfortable on a chair.
“I honestly am not sure.” Siún laughed lightly. “I believe some of his friends grew tired of how he was ignoring them and dragged him out for some fresh air.”
“Figures. Guys can get so jealous sometimes.” Darcy trailed off, thinking.
Siún considered her face. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” she asked after a moment, gingerly. “I can tell.”
Darcy shook her head, bit her lip, and then blurted out, “It’s Loki. He’s…it’s like he’s just disappeared.”
Siún frowned. “Nobody has seen him?”
“No! I’m trying not to freak out.” Darcy sighed. “Because, you know, he’s Loki. Maybe he just wanted some space.” She looked up and met the other woman’s eyes. “But I don’t think that’s what happened. I just have a really bad feeling about all of this.”
“He is second prince of the realm,” Siún said, concerned. “Surely you can’t be the only one worried.”
“The problem is he’s done this before. Way back, before you met us, before he even met me…the ‘falling out’ he and his brother had? Let’s just say it got majorly ugly.” Darcy sighed again, wearier. “And Loki ran away from home rather than dealing with his problems. And so now everyone’s afraid that’s what he did again.”
And it wasn’t like the possibility didn’t make sense.
“He and I did have a pretty major fight yesterday. I think his brother’s engagement is making him wig out a little bit. Like part of him is starting to feel boxed in.” Darcy shook her head. “And that’s on top of a lot of other family drama…the point is, I can’t blame anybody for thinking he headed for the hills.”
She opened her eyes again, stubborn. “But I don’t think that. I can’t really explain it.” Her hand pressed to her chest. “I just know in my heart that something’s not right. That Loki isn’t here because he’s gotten himself into some kind of trouble.”
She didn’t bother explaining to Siún all the crap about Nanna. There was no need to drag her into all that. But it was definitely the thing that was scaring Darcy the most.
“He is closer to you than probably anyone,” Siún reminded her. “If you think you should be worried, Darcy, I would believe you. You should trust your instincts.”
Darcy looked back over her shoulder.
“You’re right,” she decided after a minute. “Screw it. I don’t care if it makes everyone think I’m nuts. We need to start looking for him. I’m gonna go get Thor, and-”
As she spoke she started to dramatically rise to her feet.
But she stopped talking abruptly as Siún’s hand suddenly lashed out and grabbed her arm, startling her.
The woman’s fingers dug in with a grip of surprising strength.
“Siún, what’s wrong?”
Darcy’s eyes went back to her face to find Siún’s expression contorted with pain and apprehension. Oh crap, a tiny voice went in the back of her head, alarms going off, and looking down she saw Siún’s other hand gripping the front of her belly, a clear fluid soaking through her skirts.
Health class and a lot of pop culture had informed Darcy exactly what that meant.
“Oh boy,” she said out loud.
“Darcy,” Siún whimpered in a feeble voice. She breathed in and out noisily. “The baby.”
Of course she was going into labor right now. Darcy held onto her arms to help support her and tried not to panic.
“Okay. It’s gonna be okay. You just…stay with me, and focus. Keep breathing. I’ll get help.”
Siún sounded like she was having difficulty talking. “You need to get Volstagg,” she insisted, agonized.
“Right. Just sit down. I’ll be right back, I swear.”
Darcy ran to the door and stuck her head out, shouting, “Somebody! Hey! We need some help in here, like, now!”
When no one appeared instantly, Darcy shouted again louder, as behind her in the room Siún began to scream.
*
Mortals on Earth, Loki discovered, had such little appreciation for the vastness of culture and history. Each generation liked to think the era to which they belonged was the furthest to which the boundaries had ever been pushed.
Modern-day Americans, for example, believed they invented the concept of women dancing sensually for male entertainment.
They couldn’t be more wrong.
The idea of women pleasing and captivating men with the sight of their beauty, their charm and grace and yes, even the movement of their bodies, was nothing even remotely new. Nearly every civilization across the Nine Realms had something resembling this tradition.
In more refined, hierarchal worlds, the art was kept constrained to the likes of courtesans and harem girls, dancing for their masters and guests behind perfumed curtains and closed doors.
In sprawling and anarchic worlds such as Svartalfheim the show was available for the public, or at least any man with the coin to buy his way into a club where it was housed. Troupes of girls such as “Nezzori’s Dancing Lovelies” made a living being brought from one end of the land to another, offering the feast to a different crowd of eyes sometimes every night.
In a realm where a woman’s only hope for success was still marrying upward in society, and it was not uncommon for a peasant to grow old and die scrubbing floors and tilling fields to put money in the pockets of a father or older brother or brother-in-law that kept her, life as a dancing girl was a good way out, if she had the talent.
And one thing could be said for Nezzori, he had discerning tastes. All his girls, to one degree or another, had talent.
At night they went out there, to the ecstatic cries of eager and captivated men, who bought drinks and slipped coins into the hands of waiting servants, to bring them back to the girls in order to convey their favor.
The acts were all different. There was no shortage of props. Some girls danced with scarves, with fans, with canes and even swords. ‘Throkk’ didn’t dance with any of these - she had a unique trick.
A little something Loki had picked up from the good people of Midgard, the likes of which the rest of the Nine Realms had never seen.
So every time he took the stage it was the same. At first he paced the floor, spinning and swaying, moving towards the center in an ever-decreasing circle, a spiral that closed in on itself. And then when it seemed he could go no further, with no space left, from his toes a breath of frost leaked out with every step. A tendril formed, creeping upward, and he shaped it - until his body rested against a long pole made of solid ice in the middle of stage.
He leaned against the pole, hooked limbs around it, swung himself about; dancing with the fixed silver pole as his audience cheered.
Loki had always been a good dancer. It really wasn’t that different from his style of fighting: being all about movement of the body, flipping and spinning and careful placement of the feet. He followed the rhythm of the music and stopped thinking and feeling, giving over to muscle and reflex, becoming lost deep within as he chased the beat.
Every night when Loki danced he couldn’t see their eyes on him, couldn’t hear their voices as they hungered over him like drooling dogs. He never thought about what they thought they saw when they looked at him, what he had all but become. He never thought about his loneliness or his longing or his regrets or his anger. He never focused on how long and far he’d travelled, how weary and desperate he was to go home. He felt none of the stabbing pieces of the jagged edges of his psyche.
The flutes and the strings started, the drums began to pound, he stepped out onto the stage, and everything else went away.
It was only after, he’d feel the emptiness that was beginning to gnaw at him, how tired he was becoming. But it would pay off in the end, he reminded himself. He had seen more of Svartalfheim in the past weeks than he ever would have travelling alone, a different town every few days, a different track of land driven across for him to search.
He hadn’t sensed any portals in the making yet, but he would. It was but a matter of time.
In the meanwhile, today was a different day. The wagons had pulled into town shortly before noon, parking outside the large tavern on the outskirts that would be their new base of operations for the next three days.
Some of the girls went out in groups to look around, arms linked together as they chatted of hopes for shopping and trinkets. Loki, who had made a point to not befriend a one of them, remained behind.
Nezzori had already made himself at home in the tavern, heels propped on the table as he worked his way through a plate of meat and bread and picked his teeth when he finished.
“Here you go, Throkk.” He sorted through a pile of coins before him with his fat fist and tossed Loki the small pouch he put them in when he was finished. “Your cut for the up-front.”
The gifted Jotun rarity that was Throkk had quickly become Nezzori’s headline act - more people came to see her than any other girl, until Nezzori found it necessary to give her a small part of the payments they earned from clubs for bringing their show to them.
Silently Loki took the pouch and pocketed it. He cared nothing for the money, but Nezzori had no idea who he was or what he really wanted, and he preferred to keep it that way.
Nezzori was a brutish, greedy man who was too conceited to be a moneylender and too impatient to be a merchant. His pointed teeth and ears and black stubby nails betrayed he was part of goblin blood, maybe even as much as half.
Still, he wasn’t completely stupid, and he wasn’t cruel. He didn’t beat his girls or molest them or try to keep them enslaved, so he could be considered decent. Certainly he could’ve been worse.
But he wasn’t a friend, or even an ally, and Loki had no intention of trusting him with his secrets.
The troupe leader gestured to the greasy remnants on his plate. “Would you like anything?”
“No, thank you,” Loki replied, voice flat. “I’m not hungry.”
“Pre-show jitters,” Nezzori said sardonically, then lifted his head more upright as something caught his attention. “Ah, here we are - come here, I need to introduce you,” he called to someone, gesturing to indicate they should come closer.
Loki suppressed a small sigh as he felt the footsteps of two men drawing up close at his back.
“This here is the tavern’s keeper, our generous host for the night. Thought you might like to meet my golden girl up close.” Nezzori grinned.
Loki barely made eye contact as he faced the general direction of the older man. He looked like a tavern’s proprietor should: worn and hardened, like an old piece of leather, with a scar running through his lip and below one eye.
“She really is a Jotun,” he remarked in astonishment, looking Loki over. “I’ve seen the posters, but I figured it was probably just paint.”
Wearing a long dressing-gown that tied around the waist, Loki still fought the urge to flinch. “Nezzori believes in truth in advertising,” was his tart reply.
The man in question clucked his tongue, more amused than insulted. “Indeed,” he chortled. “And, who have you got here?” he questioned, indicating the tavern keeper’s companion.
“This here is my head of security. Keeps the lowest of the lowlifes out, stops the fights before they get started, and he’ll be personally responsible for overseeing your girls’ safety so long as you’re here.”
“Good.” Nezzori frowned. “Been a few places in the past not near so troubled about my girls’ well-being. Had a few try and sneak behind the curtain. It happens here, believe me, I won’t be coming back.”
“It won’t,” the keeper swore. “This one here, he’s a good hired sword. Best I ever seen in years.”
“I do my best,” the younger man said, modest but assured. “I promise you, no lout will come anywhere near the women so long as I’m on duty.”
Loki froze at the sound of that short speech. Disbelieving, his eyes moved as if of their own accord to look at the man that stood but a few feet to his left.
The build wasn’t quite right for what he would’ve been expecting, and the hair was an eerie shade of white. But that face. That voice.
He let his imagination fill in the changes that would’ve happened over the past few centuries.
A memory came to him, of a summer’s day in the courtyard, vision half-dazzled by the sun as their group hid from the heat beneath the shade of an apple tree, leaves casting a dappled pattern over their young bodies. The face of a youth laughing at him good-naturedly, with a strong chin and broad nose, cheeks that had not yet lost their childhood roundness, pale blue eyes bright and sparkling.
Those exact same eyes gazed at him with polite attention from the face of the paid swordsman clad in poorly-made chainmail and secondhand leathers.
“…Balder?” Loki softly breathed out.
LINK TO PART FIVE