Chapter Text
Loki surveyed his domain. It was odd and a bit chaotic, and really that was one of the reasons he loved it. As of 8:00 A.M., E.S.T., which was six in the morning, local time, everyone knew he was here. Darcy’s opinion piece would go into the Sunday edition of the New York Times in two days. The number of people who had thought of him with any great emphasis were well into the hundreds of millions. It was, at this point, a soothing background hum in his mind.
And now it was seven in the morning.
He looked at the group assembled around the established bifrost site. Everyone had come out for the morning’s activities. The dozen elite warriors who provided security to the entirely insecure construction area that was the Embassy at the moment were standing at their ease, joined by their families. The few support staff they’d hired so far, from the Institute’s business manager right down to the maintenance personnel were crowded in a clump near the contingent from Asgard. Even the architects who had arrived early for their meeting with Darcy had come to watch the spectacle. And then of course, there was his own household, so to speak. Darcy was in traditional dress and armor, as was Jane. Their respective attendants and associates were present and watchful. The bodyguards, at least, looked nearly relaxed, for however much he knew they truly weren’t.
All was in readiness.
Loki stepped back between Darcy and Jane, and offered his arm to his wife.
“You do like to put on a show, don’t you, babe?” she asked in the quiet of her mind, her eyes sliding to his, her head not moving much at all.
A quick laugh was his only response to her, because of course he liked putting on a show.
Loki looked up, because no matter where your planet was in its spin, nor even in its rotation, Heimdall had reported to him long ago when he was still but a curious lad asking many questions of many people, that he always heard you better if you looked up. So, Loki looked up into the sky and quietly spoke to the Keeper of the Bifrost.
“Heimdall, all is in readiness. You may send them, now.” He spoke in English, knowing Heimdall would understand regardless, but truly it was for the benefit of the more curious bystanders.
Only a moment later and in shining rainbow hues distinguishable from the base silver, the bridge between worlds was activated. When it receded, it left twelve stumbling apprentices, plus trunks, in its wake.
Loki spoke to them in the Common Tongue of Asgard. “Welcome to you, my new apprentices. You have arrived in the center of what will someday be a lovely compound, the retreat of all Asgardians on Midgard. I am Loki, your master for the next decade. At my side you see my wife, whom you will obey in all things. Here also next to me is the Doctor Foster, who will be your supervisor. You will also obey her in all things.
“This experience will be, in many respects, very different for you.” And here, Loki paused, laughed at something only he could hear, and duly noted the accelerating aspects of Chaos in his welcoming speech. “You will be asked to learn things no apprentice is asked to learn. You will be asked to think in ways no apprentice is asked to think. You will bear both power beyond your power and responsibility beyond what you may think you merit. You will be required to make more moral progress than is usually expected, and if you do not wish it to be so, you may return to your former mistresses with no punishment save your own.
“This experience will also be, in some respects, quite familiar to you. We have striven to create some familiarity in an entirely foreign place, and you may always inquire as to the points of difference. Indeed, we require your curiosity. It is one of the reasons you were all selected in the first place.
“You will have two days to become accustomed to your new home before your chores and studies will begin. Questions should be initially presented to the Doctor Foster, or her designates. Explore where you will and learn of your new home, and I will be present to you again on the morning of the third day.”
Loki continued on in English, knowing that all could now understand him, and indeed, his apprentices would understand that he was using no translation spell, but had actually learned the language. It would make it easier to swallow when he told them they would be doing the same thing.
“And with that, my new apprentices, I invite you right now to take up your trunks and step away from the center circle on which you stand. We have a visitor, a formidable warrior, and guardian of this realm who has just been alerted to my presence and wishes to ensure I mean no harm to his home.”
Loki could hear the sound of his flight now, but he had felt his chaos the moment his decision to come had been made.
Loki cast an illusion to make himself - only himself - look as innocuous as possible. Now it seemed he wore a plain dark green tee-shirt, a belted pair of dark jeans, and cowboy boots.
“Nice boots,” Darcy commented in his head. “Who’s coming to breakfast, exactly?”
You would have me ruin the surprise, my darling? he asked silently of his wife. He does so enjoy a dramatic entrance.
Darcy was quiet, but Loki could hear Romanov and Rooftop quietly palm their guns. Borghild silently lifted the hood that had been hanging down Darcy’s back, up over her head, its plain edge to rest elegantly just past her coronet, on her forehead. Thor did the same for Jane. The warriors across the circle shoed their families back and were just on the verge of doing the same for everyone else.
“You need not be afraid,” Loki said, addressing his remarks first to the apprentices, and then quite pointedly to the warriors. “He means no harm at present.”
After three heartbeats, and the sound getting louder and louder, Loki spoke again, amplifying his voice somewhat. “I present to you, ladies and gentlemen, warriors and apprentices, Mr. Tony Stark, the Iron Man.”
All eyes were on Mr. Stark as he landed with a hard thud on the packed earth.
This was a moment, Loki was sure, Tony would have preferred to have had a dramatic soundtrack rise to the fullness of its crescendo, but alas. He would have to make do with a rapt, if wary, audience. It was, Loki considered, better than nothing. He suppressed the smirk and instead arranged his features into that of calm inquiry.
“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” Loki said pleasantly and in a conversational tone, as if he weren’t in the middle of the desert surrounded by fifty or so witnesses and four teams of construction personnel beginning their day.
The desert went quiet as all of the heavy equipment around them was turned off and momentarily abandoned. This was, Loki considered further, the most interesting thing to happen in this desert in many a year.
Loki wondered for a brief moment, and not for the first time in the past six minutes, if he should continue to surf this chaos, altering it as little as possible, or weave the strands to his own ends? Decisions, decisions…
Without missing a beat, Loki continued. “Welcome to the Embassy of Asgard. Have you had breakfast?”
“No, but that’s not why I’m here,” Stark said, his voice altered through his mask to sound lower and more resonant. More menacing. It really was an adorable gesture of intimidation.
“Well, why don’t you tell me over breakfast? And then perhaps stay to sign some autographs? I’m sure all the humans among us are utterly starstruck at your presence.”
A delicate snort from his right. The little spider stood, mostly silently, at Darcy’s other side.
“Well. Most of them,” Loki amended, grinning.
“Romanov! What the hell are you doing here?” Stark asked, his words flowing fast like river rapids. “I thought you worked for me? Or at least SHIELD?”
“Not for the last two months,” she quipped dryly.
“Social climber,” Stark retorted.
Romanov was silent, but Loki was not.
“Oh, do come along, Mr. Stark,” he said, his tone one of pure affability and utter friendliness. “Our accommodations are rustic, but our chef is excellent. We have much to discuss, I’m sure, but your armored presence is making my warriors twitchy. Won’t you take your helmet off? As a tiny gesture that you mean no harm at this particular moment?”
The helmet came off, but Tony Stark remained in the exact center of the bifrost rune. Loki resisted the impish urge to have him sent to Asgard without further ado. Instead, he smiled.
Stark was resisting, but the chaos that the human had already embraced as a life principle was practically laying at Loki’s feet, purring. It was clear to Loki that Tony really didn’t want to like him nearly as much as he actually did.
It was enough to make a man giggle for sheer, giddy joy. Loki refrained from this as well.
‘Mischief, what the hell are you doing?’ Loki had been, more or less, filtering out his wife’s inner fangirl reaction since he announced their guest, but this seemed to come from her calmer inner voice. ‘And are we really about to have breakfast with Tony Stark?’
He was prevented from answering in any manner, by the center-of-attention’s response.
“Look here, Brit Pick,” he said, tucking his helm underneath one arm and gesturing with the other. One finger was very nearly wagged in Loki’s direction, hampered only by the fact that his suit restricted gestures involving fluidity. “Let’s get something clear. If you in any way, shape, or form, directly or indirectly fuck up my planet, I’m holding you responsible. And I will take it out of your hide.”
Loki smiled, even as the warriors audibly bristled and the apprentices gasped in horror and disbelief. A small child, the son of one of the warriors, began to cry, and the sound tore through the other quiet noises. Darcy was suddenly thinking rather darker thoughts toward her former idol. The tension was quite thick.
“I would expect no less of you, and you have my assurances that not only do I come in peace, but I will aid in Earth’s protection in whatever way I can. Now, I see you are not wearing the Mark V, but if you care to remove your armor and weapons, I can promise you technical assistance in donning them once more.”
Loki’s smile remained firm and friendly, despite the tension around him. In the moments of silence that followed, the apprentices were the first to be affected by his calm demeanor. Nine of twelve mouths closed, and six of those seemed visibly calmer. The warriors remained unamused and insulted, the child continued to cry, and Darcy was… incensed on his behalf, and unlikely to be calmed any time soon.
Breakfast should be quite interesting.
Jane was thrilled that she’d already eaten. While she wouldn’t mind having a technical discussion with the former CEO of Stark Industries, and she did have a moment of starstruck wonder at seeing his suit and that reactor in his chest cavity , he was obviously an obnoxious person to be around and she was much, much happier to be working with Thor and Sharon getting the twelve settled into their trailers - designed by Loki with the baby mages in mind - and make sure they had the concept of toilets, potable water, and electrical outlets. She was fairly certain she’d get the entire scoop from Darcy at some later point, anyway. It would be all of the information and none of the drama and that was fine with Jane.
There were four trailers. Three apprentices would share each one, but the interiors were vastly simplified from the standard living trailers that Jane and Darcy had first inspected. No one needed kitchens, for instance, as there was a central kitchen and dining area that for the time being, everyone used. Instead, in the trailers, there were three small bedrooms, large enough for a twin bed, a bedside table, a small bookshelf, a comfortable chair, and floor space for a trunk, which each apprentice did in fact bring. There was a slightly larger bathroom than the standard trailer boasted, with a separate toilet room and sink, and shower room and sink, with storage for towels and toiletries. The rest of the common space in the trailer consisted only in a mid-sized room with a thick, plush rug, tapestried wall hangings and thick pillows for sitting on. It was a meditation space, and apparently it was far nicer than anything Loki had had when he’d been an apprentice. In the hallway there was a watercooler with three mugs that hung on the wall next to it.
And that was it.
Jane had protested at first - this was New Mexico, not Sparta - and Loki had reminded her that what felt austere to Jane would feel like palatial comfort to the apprentices. They had private and semi-private spaces, their own bedrooms, they were not required to bathe outside, meditate on bare stone, prepare all meals, clean everyone else’s living space, or serve him daily.
And organizing their space, well, it sort of made Jane stop and think about just how much stuff she owned. Yeah, most of it was in storage right now, and she’d give up her collection of teapots over her cold, dead body, but she remembered standing in the first trailer after she, Thor, and Sharon had finished making the beds and laying out the pillows. It was simple. It was comfortable. And after a full day of working and learning and spellcasting - or whatever Loki had up his sleeve for his portion - they would be comfortable spaces to return and retreat to. And for people who needed to spend serious time in meditation every day, this space obviously made that a priority.
Standing in one of those furnished but empty trailers made Jane a little nostalgic for what, she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like she ever had lived such a sparse, monastic life, but when she went back to her own trailer that evening, it felt crowded. When she stopped to examine individual things, they all had such meaning to her, but when she blurred her eyes and just saw the sheer volume of stuff she had accumulated around her, it left her feeling vaguely unpleasant.
The next day she had walked Darcy through and said nothing about it, and the topic quickly shifted to architect's plans and the former-SHIELD contractors and construction crews. There were four different teams working on four different projects; a landing strip and helicopter pad, the internal roadways and buried electrical and plumbing systems, the water and compost plant, and the solar and wind farm. Infrastructure was the first order of business, after the temporary shelters had been put into place.
Jane thought of the progress they’d made in two short months. The temporary cell tower was up, the internal roadways were as finished as they could get at this point. The tech gullies were everywhere and bridged - Loki was aghast at the idea that they would bury the plumbing and electrical, and then pave over it, only to have to dig it up and break the paving in six months when there was a problem to fix or something to add. He called it planned obsolescence, and Jane couldn’t quite disagree with him. So instead, all of the plumbing and electrical were in large conduits that were laid in gullies by the interior roads. Every footpath or road had a bridge when it crossed the path of the gully. The conduits were easily opened and easily closed, and even the bridges could be removed and replaced by one of their new maintenance crews. But more than that, the wind and solar farm was finished and generating energy, and the landing strips were all done, as well as the hangers that seemed to go up overnight. Now crews were just beginning work on the parking garage, the entrance gallery, the air traffic control tower, and the building that would hold the main kitchens and banqueting hall, as well as a ballroom and training facility.
Well, they were, until Tony Stark showed up and threatened Loki right in front of everybody.
Really, he was bombastic enough for anything, if any of the media coverage of him was even slightly correct. But this was her friend and patron Stark had just threatened. Jane didn’t quite have the same reaction as the apprentices, but she wasn’t far from it.
Speaking of whom, they did look a little shell-shocked. Time to be helpful.
“Hello. My name is Jane Foster. I’m very excited to be working with you all, and I think that once you’re all settled in and start understanding the scope of what Loki and I will be having you do, you’ll be excited, too. Next to me is my Midgardian assistant Sharon James and my assistant from Vanaheim, Thor, and yes, he was named for the prince.”
She knew no one would recognize him, because of the geis Frigga placed on him, but they would wonder at his name. Apparently it was somewhat taboo to name someone after someone else while the someone else was still alive. Given that Vanir culture was just slightly different, Darcy and Jane figured this might stem some of the natural curiosity of the baby mages. Maybe.
“First we’ll be taking you to your rooms so you can put your trunks down, and we’ll show you a few details about the magics that will make your life easier here, and the hazards of operating them incorrectly. After this, we’ll show you where you will be eating and when, and we’ll end our brief tour in one of the spaces where we’ll be doing some of our work and learning. Do you have any questions?”
Two apprentices met her eyes and everyone looked down to about the area of her knees.
“No?” Jane paused and the two who met her eyes continued to do so. “Well, alright then, pick up your trunks and let’s go.”
“My lady, a word,” Thor said quietly, touching her armored shoulder. She barely felt his touch, but she was keenly aware of where he was and what he was doing most of the time he was around her, anyway. In fact, the hairs on the back of her neck were standing straight up, but Jane was almost used to that by now. She looked back and over to where Thor stood, just behind her and off to the left. She raised an eyebrow.
“There are two who have questions, if you wish to call on them.”
Without thinking, Jane looked back round and saw that the same two apprentices were still looking at her, and no one else was. She turned slightly to face Thor.
“You mean the ones staring at me?” she asked in a low voice.
Thor nodded and smiled.
“Right. Got it. That’s not weird or anything.”
Thor contained a laugh and said nothing. His smile was rather beautiful, though. Not that she technically noticed.
Jane turned back around and looked at the apprentice on the left. “Yes? What is your question?”
It was a young woman who had been called on. She looked to be about sixteen. Jane knew her to be exactly three hundred and ninety. They all were.
“Mistress, how shall we address you?”
Loki and Jane had argued about this.
“You may call me Dr. Foster, or ma’am,” Jane said calmly, as if she hadn’t had an ongoing disagreement with her patron about familiarity. “In ten years when you are no longer apprentices, I expect you to call me Jane.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the apprentice said slowly, but not unhappily. It was as if she was testing the new word. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome,” Jane said, and had a brief moment of wondering if every answer would be greeted with a thank you. She had hopes it would not. She was rather afraid it would.
Jane looked to the second apprentice, still looking up at her. This one was a young man who looked no older than the first, and who was, in fact, exactly the same age.
“Yes? What is your question?”
“Do you know what Master Loki meant? Of what we will learn, and what we will do? And why we must wait two more days? And who was that dreadful man who dared to threaten the Master in his own home? Does he not know who the Master is? What the Master could do?”
Jane tried very hard to keep the laughter on the inside, but it was leaking out. This was probably the first of many, many fanboy moments. All the same, one of the other apprentices hit the questioning one lightly on the side and glared at him.
“It’s alright,” Jane said, laughing slightly. “Questions are good. Questions are always good. You’ll never be penalized for asking a question, even if it can’t be answered immediately. Let’s walk while we talk. If anyone else has a question while we go, please don’t try to get my attention by staring at me. I’m Midgardian and I’m not used to that. If I can see you, please raise your hand. If I can’t or you’re holding a large trunk, please simply say, ‘Dr. Foster, I have a question.’ Grab your trunks and lets go.”
All of them were thin and did not look particularly strong, yet all of them hefted their mid-sized wooden trunks by the side handles with seeming ease.
“My lady,” Thor said quietly at her side. “Loki may not be pleased about this.”
“Where I come from, Thor, staring is rude. That’s a cultural adjustment I’m sure Loki will be fine with.” Then she turned and began walking. Immediately she realized that the crowd behind her wouldn’t be able to hear her well. And she was not about to start walking backwards.
“Sharon, you lead the way. Thor and I will go walk in the middle.” It took a moment to sort things out, but eventually they were all walking in a clump, taking up the entirety of the interior roadway which was only twelve feet wide to begin with.
“To answer your question, and wait, I need to learn your names. So, new rule. Every time you ask a question, please start by stating your name. There are twelve of you, and it will take me a little bit of time to memorize your names. You might also do this for the princess. I’m sure Loki has his own ways of remembering who everyone is. So anyway, apprentices, will the first one who asked a question please tell me your name?”
“Runa, ma’am.”
“Runa. Runa. Runa. Okay. Thanks. And what’s your name?” Jane asked the young male apprentice who walked next to her, the one who had asked the long series of questions.
“Eluf, ma’am.”
“Eluf. Eluf. Okay. So, you asked a lot of questions. I’d hate to ruin Loki’s surprise, though I’m sure he can cook up more. But I think he’ll have you working on some of the foundational magics that the Embassy Enclosure is going to be using on a daily basis. With him, of course. And one of his friends, I think. And as for the rest, you’ll be doing some preparation work, and a lot of reading. How many of you have read Loki’s books on modern Midgard?”
Nine teenagers choused politely that they had.
“Wow, more than I expected. Okay, that’s good. For the rest of you, we have a few copies that you can share. And anyone who wants to refresh their memories can do that as well. That’s part of what you’re going to be doing in the next two days. Reading. When you’re done with Loki’s books, we have others for you. You’ll all eventually read them all, but reading is a big part of what you’ll be doing in the next ten years. But not all of it, of course. Anyway, I know that Loki wanted to be considerate of you and give you time to settle in and be comfortable. I realize that you may not be used to such courtesy, but I think you’ll find your new master perfectly difficult in other and probably unexpected ways. He’s like that. Let’s see, other things you’ll be learning. Well, I might as well just be clear: you need to learn to read and write the language I’m speaking. Don’t worry. We’ll teach you all. That’s part of what Loki has been working hard on these last two months. The other part of your question had to do with Iron Man. He’s… well, I’m not going to make excuses for him. He is what he is. And I think I can safely answer that he does not really know who Loki is, and he really has no concept of what Loki can do, even without his magic. But don’t worry. Loki can handle it. Really.”
They continued on their way and had a fair bit to go yet, so Jane decided to open it up.
“Dr. Foster, I have a question.”
“Okay, ask,” Jane said.
“I am Tue, ma’am,” the young man answered. “May I inquire as to the magic you have mastered, Dr. Foster?”
Everyone was so polite. It was a little jarring, and yet… kind of nice. And unlike Academia, they probably meant it.
“Well, I’m not a sorceress. I’m a scientist. Midgard doesn’t use the same sort of magic that Asgard, or the rest of Yggdrasil does. But no, that’s not quite exact. It’s better to think that the Source and Dream you know and study, I know and study from a different angle. You call what you do magic, I call what I do science. You are studying to be masters and mistresses of magic. I am a doctor, which is what we call those who have the highest amount of learning in a specific scientific field, and I’m a doctor of astrophysics, which is a branch of science. It means I study, among other things, the stars. But the reason you’re here is so that Asgard, and really, the rest of Yggdrasil can understand and study Source and Dream the way Midgard does, in addition to the way you’ve already been taught. Because you see, you can do things that I can’t do, and I can do things that you can’t do. But we don’t need to remain ignorant. Midgardians, in general, abhore ignorance. It’s one of our defining traits. I think you’ll notice it come up again and again.
“And since I can’t do magic but you could do science, it’s probably fastest and easiest for you to learn science and together with a common language and deep curiosity, we’ll figure out how to translate magic into science and science into magic. This is, by the way, what Loki has been slowly doing on his own for the last hundred years, and much faster now that we’re working together. And now that you’re all here, once we get you settled in and you have a basic understanding, our work will make progress even faster still.”
And the questions continued. Some of them were simple. Is it true that Midgardians do not generally live to see their first century complete? Some of them were not simple. Do you know why Master Loki has never taken apprentices before? And why he has done so now, but so briefly? And so many? Jane decided not to answer that one. Loki could explain himself, or not, as he chose.
Will we be serving the Master and Her Highness?
If we don’t, who will?
Do you know how much moral progress we will be asked to make in but ten years?
What will become of us after our apprenticeship ends? Must we leave Midgard and all of the work we’ve only just begun?
That one Jane answered.
“Good question. After your apprenticeship, you’ll be free to leave and continue your life at home, or go to study further with other masters as Loki did. You will also be welcome to stay and continue the work we will be doing here, translating science into magic and magic into science, and aiding Loki and myself as we continue the work. I really can’t say it’s positively done until we’ve entirely rewritten Midgardian science to account for magic, established the Internet of Yggdrasil, and figured out how to create another bifrost. Which is what I was doing when Loki found me.”
What is the Internet?
What are computers?
What is electricity?
Jane smiled. It was turning out to be a fantastic morning.
Darcy wished she had already eaten.
The plan had been to eat, not at the head table where she usually did, but at one of the round tables in the center of the room, all the better to discuss the thing the architects came here to discuss .
Which, obviously, was not going to happen now.
Fucking Iron Man. Fucking Tony Stark.
It wouldn’t be so bad if Loki were also pissed. But no, no, of course Loki wasn’t in the slightest offended, because of course Loki’s sense of humor had kicked in - Darcy’s, notably, had not. Of course Loki now saw this as a challenge to see just how quickly he could win over Tony Stark utterly and completely. Because no matter how much Stark was a hot mess in thruster boots, he was also one of Loki’s favorites.
And all the architects were busy watching with awe the back and forth between Loki and Iron Man. It was better than reality tv, Darcy was sure. If only Darcy gave a shit. Which she did not.
And Darcy was desperately trying to remember how to meditate, and failing, and so instead, concentrating on her eggs benedict with a double side of bacon. Mostly. Because she was also decked out in leather and armor and covered in a wool cloak and she was somehow still cold , because no matter what she said and to whom, every single building she was in was too heavily air conditioned, and she was freezing her ass off. Everywhere. She. Went.
No. Breakfast. Darcy could totally do this. It was like meditation, but with bacon. And there was coffee, orange juice, and even some sort of healthy fruit-vegetable juice that had a whole lot of kale in it. Yes. Concentrating on breakfast would be the way she would get through this without hurting anyone, because Iron Man had left his weapons at the door and Darcy still had her cutlery. He was totally within fork-stabbing distance. But Loki would be annoyed at that.
Or would he? Maybe not. He took a lot in stride. Maybe he’d be totally fine with his wife getting a bit stabbity with the salad fork. Just on special occasions. Like now.
‘Darling, do refrain from attacking our guests with the tableware,’ came his voice in her head, full of laughter and light and joy and bunny rabbits.
Fucking husband. Fucking husband and his fucking friends. They were all insane.
No, Darcy was just going to concentrate on her breakfast...
But no, she couldn’t even enjoy her kale juice. Why? Because Iron Man was now hogging it.
“Ooo, is that kale?” he asked, which was the only part of his unending stream of inanity that Darcy paid attention to, because she was focusing on her food, thank you very much. And then Tony Stark drank all the fucking kale juice at the table.
And then signed autographs. Including the architect's plans for her house. He signed right over the master suite.
Asshole.
Borghild had been with her new mistress, the Princess Darcy, for twelve days. They had not been twelve days Borghild could have ever anticipated based on previous experience.
Previously, Borghild had been a member of the Queen’s Guard, second in command to Svanhild the Brave. The days had passed calmly and serenely, as the last time the Queen was in battle had been before Borghild had been born, and trips such as Queen Frigga was wont to make required vigilance but were, in essence, almost entirely free of threat.
Midgard was a veritable prison realm compared to the peace of the twin realms of Asgard and Vanaheim, from the latter of which the Queen drew all of her personal shieldmaidens.
In Midgard, warlords killed, tortured, and bullied their own people.
In Midgard, madmen filled with anger and hate took weapons of devastating effect into the schools of infants and engaged in the wholesale slaughter of children.
In Midgard, magic could be used to attack , without the creators of it feeling the full brunt of the devastation and havoc they have wrecked.
Midgard was stunning in its level of ambient threat and Borghild was, reasonably, stunned.
A warrior-sorcerer the likes of Prince Loki would naturally feel at ease even here, but Borghild was the Princess’s constant shadow from the time she emerged from her quarters in the morning to the time she retreated back to them with the Prince in the evening. She could do no less and still sleep at night.
She worked closely with the formidable shieldmaiden Natasha, who was the Princess’s Midgardian guard, and she was grateful for it. While Natasha would be useless if the Princess required the aid of Source and Dream, she was strong and powerful and had necessary insight into the complex workings of people and culture on Midgard, and Borghild would have been lost without her. She did, however, use the Midgardian magic to attack, and though Borghild understood it was considered necessary to keep up with the threat level, she could not condone it and refused the offers Natasha had kindly made to teach her how to utilize such magics known as firearms.
There were some lines one did not cross, even if all around you did.
And now she sat at table with her mistress and the flying man with whom the Prince was so very cordial. This, she supposed was diplomacy; when someone barges in and insults you, you must still be kind to them in return. If so, Prince Loki was born to this work.
Borghild was no diplomat.
She was a shieldmaiden and a sorceress with a mastery in healing, and it had always been her duty to protect. Already someone had tried to kill the Princess and her companion the Director, taking advantage of the Prince’s magical exhaustion to attempt the deed. Natasha had told her everything; how the Princess, untrained as yet as a shieldmaiden, bravely confronted him and subdued him and then later, while the Prince was still recovering, how she interrogated him and was able to glean much important information from him before sending him to be held in the dungeons of the Palace. There was another guard who assisted her, the Director’s warrior from Vanaheim, but it was unknown what part he played in the capture of the assassin.
And that was a strange thing, indeed. If he was from Vanaheim as Borghild herself was, he certainly didn’t act like it. And who would be so bold, so rude as to name their child after the All-Father’s still living firstborn? It was tantamount to asking for the early death of the first nameholder. Disgraceful. Utterly disgraceful. But in other ways the so-called Thor was confusing and vexing.
He had been the first to arrive. He had been present before even Natasha had been hired by her mistress, and Natasha joined the Ambassador’s family the first of anyone. Except the Imitator, who had apparently been given to the Director as a first gift of the All-Mother to aid and protect her newest ally. Apparently it happened directly after the wedding. It must have been that the All-Mother wanted protection for the Director while Borghild’s mistress and the Prince were travelling to another part of the realm.
And the Prince had taken a special liking to him, even though the Imitator’s work was quite separate and different from what the Prince had before him. But they ran every morning before the first rays of dawn broached the world, and every evening they trained together and the Imitator was nearly as skilled a warrior as the Prince himself.
And there were heavy magics laid about him by a sorceress powerful indeed. The Midgardian custom for men while training was that they be bare to the waist and so Borghild had seen quickly enough that the Imitator had two tokens of power on him, one slight and in the standard position for a location token, and one significant, and curling around his neck to nearly meet in the front. Borghild frankly had no idea what purpose the second token might serve, but it was lengthy and long, and so the purpose was complex, indeed. The signature color of the tokens was light green, but that wasn’t completely indicative, as many people had green as their signature color. Borghild herself did, and the self-same hue as the tokens borne by the Imitator. Indeed, behind blue, green was the most frequent signature color that sorceresses adopted, not that one could control it. It was the Prince’s color, too, and that was plainly evident from looking at his bare back. If one wasn’t aware that the second born of the All-Father was the most powerful sorcerer in the land, one casual glance at the tokens on his body, all in one unrelenting shade of green - his own - was enough to teach one otherwise. Well, except for his marriage token, which was bright blue, but no sorceress creates her own marriage token.
But the Imitator was no sorcerer. That was clear enough from his aura, but even so, she had observed more than once that each night after training Loki removed his language spell so that he, like the rest of the non-Midgardians, could spend his evening hours working on the tablets that were teaching them all English. It was Borghild’s duty to remove the language spell from each of the warriors and their families in the evening, and renew it each morning before the Princess emerged. She did wonder if that was a job that could be soon fobbed off on the apprentices, but tedious or not, she did it without complaint for everyone in the compound who was not raised on Midgard - except for the Prince and the Imitator.
Loki and ... Thor .
It was ironic, really. But the Prince seemed not to hold it against the Vanir, so perhaps Borghild should follow in his footsteps. Perhaps.
The Imitator was not at breakfast today, but that was not unusual. He ate when his mistress ate and with the apprentices coming today, the Director and her assistants undoubtedly came early to table.
Borghild herself usually took a seat somewhere down in the rounds, leaving the head table and its wings to those who wished to converse with Their Highnesses and the Director, and any special guests, but today by mutual and silent assent, both Natasha and Borghild took places seemingly at random at the head table. So, too, did the Prince’s Midgardian guard, Clint, called Rooftop, the husband of Natasha.
The only thing Natasha did have a chance to tell Borghild about the flying warrior who so insulted the Prince was that he was probably harmless.
Probably harmless.
That was the same as saying possibly harmful.
And so Borghild ate quietly and quickly, listening intently to the conversation between the Prince and the Insulting One, trying the best she could to glean some measure of the man who was in their presence. She failed, utterly. His conversation was entirely at odds with any understanding Borghild might have drawn.
“So why are you here? And why did you steal my bad assed secretary?”
The Prince laughed and answered congenially, as if it were one of his best friends asking after his health. “Mrs. Romanov has graciously accepted an offer of employment, and we are grateful to have her on our staff.”
If the Prince meant to say anymore, he had no opportunity to do so.
“Wait, hold on. Mrs? You tied the knot, Romanov? And you didn’t even send me an invitation? I’m hurt! Who’s the lucky man? Or woman. I don’t judge. And that’s really hot. Actually, I hope it’s a woman. I could see it. And I’d like to.”
Clint, the shieldmaiden’s husband cleared his throat and gave an arch look to the flying warrior.
“Oh, damn. Wait, him? Really? I wouldn’t think he’s your type.”
“My type is Not You, Mr. Stark,” the shieldmaiden Natasha responded before drinking some tea.
“That hurts. Still. I’m sending you a present. Something you’ll really need. Peacocks. Or something. Polar bears? No, that’s Christmas and Coca Cola. Red Pandas. Nothing says ‘my condolences’ like sending an endangered species.”
“Did you want to start a zoo, Your Highness?” the shieldmaiden asked the Prince dryly. He only laughed and shook his head. “Please don’t,” she responded to the foreign warrior.
“Ugh. You’re really harshing my mellow, Social Climber. Ooo, is that kale?”
Breakfast was served and the warrior proceeded to drink the entire contents of the pitcher meant for the Princess and the Director, though of course latter wasn’t present to object. The Princess kept her own council, and it was difficult after so brief a connection for Borghild to know her mistress’s mind on the subject. Doubtless she was remaining as kind and compassionate as always, and possibly thinking of something else entirely. Perhaps the antics of the Brazen One were normal, everyday occurrences for her.
“So. Brit Pick. What’s up with the accent? You made it clear you’re not from the Mother Country.”
“I learned to speak English two hundred years ago, in London.”
“Huh. What about them? Everybody else here speaks English, too?”
“No, indeed. They speak the Common Tongue of our galaxy - common everywhere but here -” the Prince said with a smile before continuing. “And tis but a translation spell that allows them to understand and be understood.”
“A spell? Like magic? I don’t buy it.”
And then the Prince shapeshifted quite jarringly into a perfectly copy of the flying warrior, and when he spoke it was with the same voice, the same quick cadence. “Don’t you, Boy Wonder? Are you sure? There’s a lot science can’t explain, and any doctor worth their salt will tell you they actually know shit about the way the brain works.”
The flying warrior blinked, silence blanketing the room. He slowly reached out to touch the face of the Prince which at present looked exactly like his own.
“How…”
“Magic.”
“But how did you know-”
“Magic.”
“That means nothing!”
Borghild tensed as he shouted and almost reached for the nearest throwing dagger on her belt, but the conversation quickly flowed on and she saw the Foreign One calming as the Prince spoke.
“To you. But you are the only one in this room who is in the dark. You remain there only because you want to. Another time you should talk with Dr. Jane Foster, the Director of the Institute here. She has the envious job of working to reorganize and illuminate all scientific progress up until this point, in light of the progress the other inhabited planets of this galaxy have been making for the last two hundred thousand years.”
“Uh, why isn’t she here?” the flying warrior demanded. “And could you change back? That’s freaking me out.”
Instantly the Prince resumed his form, this time complete with armor, though without weapons, Borghild noted.
“Dr. Foster is currently quite busy welcoming my new apprentices. Think of them as… post doctoral research fellows, in magic. That’s not quite exact, but close enough.”
“They’re not going to accidentally blow up the state, are they? I’m sure we need New Mexico. For some reason.”
More smiles and laughter from the Prince. “No indeed. I assure you they will be supervised.
“Huh.”
And all was silent for a while. People ate. Borghild could tell that Natasha and Clint were calm, but ready in case the flying warrior became suddenly quite foolish.
After all were finished, the architects had the flying warrior sign his name upon the large scrolls they bore before he left with the Prince and Clint.
Borghild breathed a sigh of relief and hoped the day would now return to normal.