Loki is not dead.
Loki is not gone.
Loki is not dead.
Loki is not gone.
Darcy lies curled up in Loki's bed, her eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling. Those words circle around and around in her mind, repeating themselves like a prayer, like a mantra. As they repeat, something begins to flutter in the empty space behind her sternum. The feeling is so unfamiliar that it takes her a long time to recognise it as hope, as the belief in possibility.
The magic within her turns and turns as the words repeat, presses out against her skin, her bones. It become frantic, skittering to and fro inside of her, as though it is trying to tell her something.
Thoughts connect suddenly, and she sits bolt upright in bed, her heart thudding hard. The magic she carries is Loki's magic. It knows that he is not gone, and it wants to be returned to him.
Surely she can use it to bring him back from Helheim.
She focuses on the magic. It slows its frantic scuttling, sending her vague images of what she needs to do.
Darcy is grinning as she lies back down, pulls the sheets and blankets up to her chin. Her own scent mingles now with the smoke and musk of Loki, the melange of scents making her grin even wider. This is right. This is what needs to be done.
The fluttering feeling beats inside the cage of her ribs, fluttering like a bird about to be set free.
She flings out her arms across the bed, turns her palms up to the ceiling, and focuses on the magic.
With her eyes closed, she can see it within her. Deep down in the darkness of her where no light penetrates, it glows, emerald light flowing into sapphire, sapphire into emerald. It is quieter now, but still agitated, almost vibrating with longing.
She focuses on the magic, visualises her body as an actual cage. Her mind produces an image of a strange, almost Gothic, creation, with curlicues of wrought iron and a series of spikes along the top. She focuses on the details just long enough to solidify them, then visualises the cage being opened, the magic within flying free.
She expects a portal to appear - maybe a swirly energy-and-colour vortex, maybe even just a door, like Frigga used. Instead, to her surprise, she slips free from her body. Not quite projecting the way Frigga's ring had allowed; when she looks down at her hands, she can only see them as the faintest trace of a shape. She's less then a ghost, less then a shadow. She can still feel the magic inside her. It isn't twisting now, isn't trying to break free. It suffuses her entire being. She is no longer Darcy Lewis, she is the magic.
Floating next to the bed, she looks down at her physical body. She looks like she's sleeping, eyes closed and her breath coming slow and even. She's still smiling, though the expression is gentle now, as though she's merely having a pleasant dream. She's begun to gain back the weight she had lost, her body curving and soft again. If she didn't look at the scars on her wrist, she would never think that anything had happened to Darcy Lewis at all.
The magic tugs gently at her, pulls her through the corridor. Her phantom muscles tense involuntarily as she approaches the closed door, expecting to impact the wood. To her surprise, her spectral self slides directly through, as if the door was nothing more than air.
The magic leads her through corridors, through doors and walls. It turns sharply, and then they are moving quickly down through the levels of the palace. Darcy catches glimpses of rooms laden with gold, rooms darkened and lit, Asgardians sleeping or pacing or making love.
And then they are down below the ground, in the silence and darkness of what she knows immediately is the dungeons.
And she knows why the magic brought her here. She wants to go back, but the magic has control now. It leads her down the rows of darkened cells. All of the prisoners she passes are sleeping. Except the last cell, which is still filled with a low, warm light.
This cell's occupant is not sleeping.
The cells are open-sided, bounded at each side with a transparent wall like the one that had been on Loki's Midgardian cell. Unlike that wall, these ones shimmer with a faint golden light.
Standing close to that faint boundary is the simulacrum of Loki.
Darcy's heart contracts painfully at sight of him. She carefully edges closer, keeping to the shadows.
The simulacrum looks down at a shadow on the floor before the cell. His expression is cold, disdainful. His hair has been combed back from his face, and hangs loose and untrimmed to his shoulders. He is dressed in a dark green tunic, black trousers and black boots. His skin is the same pale shade as Loki's, his eyes the same piercing green.
There, the similarities end.
This Loki's face is fixed in a haughty mask, his lips twisting into a sneer. And his eyes are cold, like chips of ice. Everything about him is sharp, cold. Hard.
"To what do I owe this visit?" the Loki simulacrum asks, his voice as cold as his eyes.
Darcy jumps, retreats further into the shadows. It is only when the shadow before the cell moves that she realises that the simulacrum isn't talking to her.
Sitting cross-legged before the cell is Thor. Mjolnir rests before him, well within arms reach, and his cape puddles on the stones around him. He sits with his head bent, eyes on the hammer.
"I asked you a question, Prince of Asgard," the simulacrum says. "Have you come to gloat? Tell me of your adventures?"
Thor's hands curl into fists. He presses them hard against his thighs.
"I heard whispers that you were on Midgard again. Tell me, Thor, was it that woman?" The simulacrum presses his hands against the barrier. Magic sparks, but he does not remove his hands, though his palms grow reddened, as though they are burning. "I do wish I'd had a chance to meet her. To…visit with her."
Thor reaches out, wraps one hand around the handle of Mjolnir.
The simulacrum laughs, removes his hands from the barrier. Behind him in the cell he has a bed, a table and chair, a pile of books. He picks up a book, seats himself at the table. Props his legs up, props the book on his thighs and begins lazily paging through.
"The trouble is," the simulacrum continues, "that Midgardian women are so…fragile. They bleed and break so easily." He licks his thumb, turns a page. "She is a pretty one, though, your woman, though especially fragile. I think I would rather lavish my attention on that companion of hers." He licks his thumb again, slower, making an obscene parody of turning the next page. "She looks a woman worth conquering. For a time."
Darcy feels her phantom stomach twist. Loki had had a hand in the creation of this simulacrum. Had he once thought of her so?
The simulacrum tosses the book into the corner. The binding loosens, and pages drift across the floor like snow. He doesn't notice. "Will you say nothing, Thor?" he asks, getting to his feet again. "What is the meaning for this visit, after so long?"
Thor looks up finally. Darcy can see his eyes shining as they reflect the cell's light. "You are all I have left of him."
The simulacrum frowns. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing." Thor stands, every movement looking as though he's having to drag his weight against ten times the gravity he's used to. "It means nothing."
He moves off in the other direction, leaving the simulacrum staring after him in puzzlement.
When the sounds of Thor's footsteps have faded, the simulacrum returns to his chair. He sits there for a moment, deep in thought, then looks up sharply. Towards where Darcy is standing.
"Is someone there?" he asks.
The magic, at last, allows Darcy to retreat. She pays little attention as it guides her back through the palace, and is surprised when she finds herself sliding back into her physical body.
"That's it?" she asks.
The magic is still now, inside her. It feels almost content.
"Well, fuck you very much," Darcy says.
She hauls herself out of bed, wincing as stiff muscles protest the movement. She needs help, which right now translates as either Frigga or Thor. She wanders along corridors, looking for doors that look like they might lead to the crown princes's rooms. She even knocks on a few doors that look more ornate than the others, but there's no answer.
She heads back for the rooms she and Jane were given, finding her way there mostly by luck, since she doesn't exactly remember the way. Jane doesn't move when Darcy shakes her, sleeping too deeply for Darcy to ask her where Thor could be.
Unless she can manage to bump into Thor by chance alone, that idea's not going to lead her anywhere. Darcy twists the ring on her finger. Frigga, then, even though she had no idea how to find those rooms again. She gives the magic a mental poke, but it's still quiet, and doesn't respond. Darcy heads out into the corridors again, hoping that she'll manage to find the way somehow.
She takes turnings and stairways at random, going up and down until she has no idea where she even is in the palace.
"And why do you even need such a gigantic palace, anyway?" she grumbles as she approaches another corner. "It's not as if-"
She turns the corner, and her words are cut off abruptly as she walks straight into someone, her jaw clicking closed. She blinks, stares directly at a gold chest plate. She looks up, daring to hope that chance led her to Thor.
Her heart sinks when she looks up. Because chance, it seems, has decided to march her to the edge of a cliff, tie her to a block of concrete and toss her over the edge.
She walked straight into Odin.
He's looking down at her, a look of faint distaste on his face. It's hard to tell his expression with the single eye and the patch. She does know that he's not happy to see her.
Darcy takes a step back. Predictably almost falls over her skirts as she sinks into a crooked curtsey. She tries to think if anyone has told her the correct form of address for Odin. All her mind helpfully supplies are several choice words that Loki has thought, words she suspects that he wasn't even aware thinking.
"Um. Your Majesty?" she tries, straightening.
Odin doesn't move at all.
"I was looking for Fri-" Odin's eye widens, and Darcy quickly changes tack. "I was looking for Thor," she amends, deciding that's probably a safer option. "I wanted to let him know how Jane is."
"Oh, yes, you're the handmaiden." Odin's words are clipped and sharp. "You should have been told that you were not permitted to leave your rooms."
"Um, no one told us that?" Darcy smiles what she hopes is a winning smile. "Can you tell me where Thor is?"
"Thor has been sent away on Asgardian business."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
Darcy blinks, taken aback by his tone. She amends the 'not happy to see her' to 'sees a gross insect that he wants to scrape off the sole of his shoe'. "If the realms are all linked by Yggdrasil, doesn't what happens in one realm affect the others?"
Odin's eye narrows. "And what would you know of the realms?" His words are soft, his tone dangerous.
Darcy looks down, pretends to fuss with her gown, reminds herself that Odin believes Loki to be locked in the dungeons. That as far as he knows, Loki has not been back to Midgard after the battle of New York, that she and Loki have never been in the same room. That she's just a handmaiden, and probably shouldn't even look him in the eye.
Odin makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like approval, and she realises that, to him, it looks like she's bowing. A memory of Loki's surfaces: of working so hard in the training arena, and getting a dagger move just so. Of looking to his father, proud, only to receive that same noise, before Odin turned to cheer Thor smashing his opponent with a shield.
Something flares in her, and she looks up, meets Odin's eye. It takes her a second to realise that it's anger she's feeling.
"You know, you have two sons," she says. "And you should remember that sometimes, because both of them are good men, just as both of them have their faults. Just like anyone, even if they pretend to be a god. And if Thor wants to marry Jane, then you should damn well be happy. She's a brilliant and caring woman, not to mention an amazing scientist who could probably help even Asgard. Plus, there's the simple fact that she's good for Thor, and she makes him happy. Even if he is still a little too happy with Mew Mew, he actually smiles and laughs when he's with her." Odin is full-out glaring at her now, his hand so tight on his sceptre that it's trembling. Cold washes through her as it dawns on her who she just ranted to.
Odin lifts a hand, and two guards appear as if from nowhere. "Take this handmaiden back to her rooms, and stand guard until the morning. At which time, you are to escort both of the women to Heimdall, who will send them back to Midgard. Both of them are henceforth forbidden from Asgard."
Darcy stares at him, but is given no chance to say anything as the guards take her by the elbows and march her back to the rooms.
Jane is still sleeping, snoring lightly. Her hand is still stretched out to where Thor had been sitting, though his chair is empty.
"Sorry Jane," Darcy whispers. "I think I've really screwed things up this time for you."
She goes into her room, collapses onto the bed. There's probably a nightgown for her somewhere, but she can't bring herself to look for it. She just rolls herself up in the blankets, turns away from the window.
She always knew her mouth would get her into trouble one day, but damn, did it have to be one of the most powerful men in the universe? Who also happens to be the adoptive father of the man who-
Darcy cuts off that thought before she can finish it. Pulls the covers over her head, prepares to wait out the night.
#
The freezer is full of ice cream again.
Darcy had hoped that Jane actually wanting to go to the store was a sign that things were getting better. Had hoped that Jane would bring back some real food.
All she'd brought back was the same things she'd been ordering from her delivery service. Ice cream, the most fattening and most expensive. Tissues, the softest possible. And wine, the cheapest and sickliest.
Darcy closes the freezer door, opens the fridge, even though she knows what's in there. Half a leftover pizza from the previous night, a box of fried rice she'd been unable to touch the night before. She's tired of ordering in, even though pizza and Chinese had once been her go-to foods in any situation.
After Heimdall had returned them to Midgard, Jane had pretty much fallen apart. She had assumed that it was her audience with Odin that had resulted in Thor being sent away and herself and Darcy banished from Asgard. Darcy had explained to her many times how she had ranted at Odin, but Jane still insisted that it was her fault. Opened a new carton of ice cream or bottle of wine.
On the second night home, Darcy had installed herself on Jane's couch. She's not even certain that Jane has noticed that she's sleeping there.
The first week, it had almost been fun. Ice cream in the middle of the night, soppy movies. Sometimes, in a cheap-wine haze, Darcy even forgot everything that had happened.
But then at night, she lay down on the hard couch, closed her eyes, and she saw again those lights shining in Helheim.
The nights passed without sleep, and in the morning she still had no idea how she was going to do anything. The tiny piece of Loki's magic she carries is useless. Frigga's ring is broken. Thor is gone, and Frigga might as well be.
She's on her own, and she has no idea what to do.
Darcy is thumbing through Jane's collection of takeout menus when Jane emerges from her room. She's been sleeping, by the state of her hair. She's still wearing the same sweatpants and shirt she's been wearing since they arrived back from Asgard.
They had been allowed to keep their Asgardian gowns, which Darcy had wondered at initially. It was only after a few days that she realised that no one else would want to wear something worn by Midgardians. Jane had stripped hers off immediately and tossed it into the corner of her bedroom, where it remained. Darcy had hung hers up at the back of the wardrobe in her apartment. Occasionally, when Jane was sleeping deeply, she went back there, just to see it. To remind herself that it had been real.
"Wine?" Jane asks, opening a fresh bottle. This one smells sickly sweet, like the kind of cheap wine you buy in college when you just want to get drunk as quickly as possible.
Darcy shakes her head, and Jane pours herself a glass, drinks half of it in a series of swallows. She sets down the glass and fetches a carton of triple chocolate chip ice cream from the freezer, then grabs two spoons from the drawer. She hands one to Darcy, juggles her glass and the carton as she returns to the bedroom.
Darcy follows Jane, her stomach already churning. It doesn't help that Jane manages somehow to stay stick thin, while Darcy swears that she wakes up heavier every morning.
In the bedroom, both she and Jane avert their eyes from the pile of grey silk and red velvet in the corner. Jane flops down onto the bed, tucks her wine glass next to her hip, balancing it with the ease of practice, and opens the ice cream.
Jane manages to somehow eat a huge spoonful of ice cream, sip her wine and turn the television on at the same time. "Have you seen this?"
Darcy watches for a few minutes until she realises what Jane's watching. "Vikings? Really?"
"It's cathartic. Plus it has kickass female characters." Jane hands Darcy the ice cream.
Darcy scoops up the smallest possible amount.
"He's going to come back," Jane says. "I know it. He'll finish whatever it is he's doing, and he'll come back. The Bifrost is open again, and things are going to be okay. Everyone is rebuilding, and it's all going to be okay. And if Thor needs to, he'll abdicate the throne. Is it even abdicating if you're king? I don't remember."
Darcy rolls over and opens the drawer of the bedside table. She finds the vial of pills, drops one of the last two into her hand. Holds it out to Jane.
Jane makes a face. "They give me bad dreams."
"You need to sleep."
"But I slept last night," Jane says. Darcy gives her a look. "The night before?"
"Try the night before that. Last night you were working on some weird theoretical thing that was supposed to collapse a black hole and harness its energy. The night before, I'm pretty sure you were planning on drilling to the centre of the Earth."
"Oh." Jane meekly swallows the pill. "Will you be here when I wake up?" Her voice is small.
"I'll be here."
Darcy takes Jane's wine and ice cream, sets both on the bedside table. She sits by Jane until her breathing is deep and even, then pulls the blankets up over her.
The pills are good for at least six hours, so she knows that Jane will be okay until then. She slips out of Jane's apartment and goes back to her own.
#
Darcy closes the book, sets it on top of the teetering stack of other books she's pillaged from the libraries scattered around the Tower. She's pretty sure that she has everything that deals with any kind of mythology of the Underworld, plus she's spent way too many hours wandering around the parts of the internet that are still accessible.
Descent to the Underworld is, unfortunately, a common theme in mythology, and as far as she can tell, no one ever manages to get there via the same means. And even looking at the same god or goddess, there were often competing myths featuring different methods again.
All she's managed to do in way too many hours of looking through myths is compile a huge list of notes. None of which are any help to her at all.
The only thing she'd found that seemed of any potential use was a myth talking about Odin riding Sleipnir into Helheim. Which she considered briefly, even going so far as to begin plotting how she could get her hands on Sleipnir. Given then she was currently not welcome in Asgard, that was probably not a plan that was going anywhere at all.
She sighs, and rubs her eyes. For all that she's been berating Jane for her lack of sleep, Darcy has been sleeping even less. There doesn't seem to be any point to it when she doesn't even dream.
She gets up from the floor where she's been working, her joints creaking. She climbs the stairs up to the loft section of her apartment, weariness weighing down every step. Her bed looks inviting, but she makes herself walk past it, go to her wardrobe and select clean clothing.
She does allow herself a moment to gaze upon her Asgardian gown. Traces the lines reminiscent of Loki's armour, trying to remember the feel of his arms around her, his lips against hers. With every day that passes, it feels more and more like a dream, less and less real.
Sometimes she even feels as though she's dreamed it all. And then she runs her fingers over the scars on her wrist, and she remembers the feeling of Loki's hand clasping hers as he drew the magic from her and into himself. Only then does the small piece of magic within her wake, turning over and over as though it is seeking for a way out.
There are still several hours until she calculates Jane will be awake. Darcy showers quickly, starts to get dressed in the jeans and sweater she picked out. She's stepping into the jeans when she stops, and, on impulse, gets the Asgardian gown instead.
The bodice only just fits her now, the tight lacing thrusting her breasts up in a fashion that she wishes Loki were here to see. She tightens it as much as she can, smooths down the skirt. Then just stands in front of the mirror for a long time, wondering why her reflection looks so sad.
She's not even thinking when she walks barefoot through the building. She supposes that she had some intention of going back to check on Jane, but her body has other ideas. It heads for the elevators, presses the button for the lobby. It's quiet and dark, the only sign of life the blinking red eyes of the security cameras. She glances up at one, wondering briefly what J.A.R.V.I.S. is doing. Maybe Stark is being notified right now that a madwoman is wandering around the building.
She surprises herself by the complete lack of anything she feels at that thought. If she's mad, then so be it.
The street outside is dark and cool and silent. Darcy's feet make no sound against the pavement as she walks through the city. Again, she has no conscious destination, but she's not surprised at all when she finds herself at the park.
The remains of the branch of Yggdrasil thrust up into the starlit sky, a living dead silhouette. Darcy walks across the lawns until she reaches the tree, weaves through the cairns surrounding it. The scents of lilies and roses hang heavy in the air, an almost soporific melange.
This is just a dream. None of this is real, and it doesn't matter what I do.
The sense of everything being a dream is so strong that she feels no fear as she approaches the tree. It's not like the abyss that had opened within her, it's more like a barrier has been erected between her and the rest of the universe. She is untouchable. She cannot be hurt. She can do whatever she wants.
It's only when she lays a hand on the tree, feels it cold and slick beneath her fingers, that that barrier slips away. Everything flows over her then, the fear most of all, but she cannot lift her hand away. Cannot move.
The magic shifts inside of her, and now it feels as though it is a tangled clutch of sharp wire and razor blades. It twists and twists, and with every movement she feels it opening things up inside of her. Opening everything up.
She's weeping without realising, salt tears splashing onto the ground at her feet. She has no words for this tidal wave of emotion, just has to stay still, be the focal point over which it washes.
Finally, it ceases flowing, and the magic stills. A thread of it unwinds, moves through her hand and into the tree. The ground trembles, and she watches as a section of the grass before her fades, becomes a dark mouth in the earth.
Her hand falls away from the tree, then. She steps forward, and the starlight shifts, allowing her to see that a stairway leads down into the ground.
So, this is how it is going to be. No magic tricks, no armour, nothing but me.
Darcy doesn't hesitate. She closes her eyes, imagines herself as the warrior she had transformed into when she had intended to defeat Hel and save Loki. Hel has been defeated, but Loki is still to be saved.
A thought surfaces in her mind. If someone living steps foot into Helheim, will they die? Will she die?
There is no answer. And there will be no answer but what happens when she enters the realm.
She twists Frigga's ring around her finger. Frigga's magic had called to Darcy, and Frigga believed that Darcy was the person who could save Loki. Loki had willingly died for Darcy.
Darcy opens her eyes again. Looks around the park, towards the Tower. Wishes she had thought to write Jane a note or something before she had come down here. She senses that if she turns away, the stairway will vanish, and she will never again be given a chance to try.
"Now or never, then," Darcy says. She smooths down her skirt, brushes her hair back from her face.
Steps onto the stairway, and begins to descend.