Once upon a time there was a young girl named Darcy. Darcy lived with her father in a small cottage with a thatched roof on a small, grass-covered hill that overlooked a small duck pond. There was a narrow, well-traveled path going down the hill and into the surrounding forest, which if you followed would lead to the village of Haberdash. Haberdash was also, as Darcy would note wryly, quite small.

There was nothing much the matter with her life, aside from losing her mother and an older brother. The brother, Roderick, having succumbed to a fever which had slipped quietly into the village, lingered for no more than a week, and then vanished, leaving many a mother clutching at empty baby clothes. But time went on even when lives stopped, and after a few years once more Amelia and Frederick Lewis saw a baby come into the world. Little Darcy, who arrived squalling, shaking her tiny fists at the world as if to say you don't scare me.

Darcy's first years had been idyllic- or would have been, if she had any memory of them. Her parents were not blessed with more children, though they tried. Amelia Lewis longed for nothing so much as a large gaggle of children to fill up the days with chatter and laughter. But it was not to be. As a result, Darcy was lavished with attention. She was a plump, jolly little baby who loved nothing more than warm milk in her belly and the sound of her mother's voice.

But tragedy would strike the happy family once more when Darcy was three, her mother dying of pneumonia one particularly cold winter, cutting the Lewis trio down to a duo.

Frederick had taken his wife's death hard, but he did the best he could with Darcy, and, indeed, in Darcy's opinion he had done quite splendidly.

Though they were not rich by any means, the wool that he gathered and spun from their flock of sheep was of fine quality and the money he made selling it ensured she wanted for little. In spring she was able to buy a new ribbon or two, and in the winter a a new coat when the old ones got too small.

As she grew up, Darcy learned to help her father. Managing the sheep, sheering them, carding the wool, and then spinning it into yarn. A woman from the village even taught her how to knit, and so she would spend the evening hours of the winters knitting by the fire- socks, perhaps, or a scarf to ward off the cold. Sometimes she would take them into the market to sell, and sometimes they were for her papa, who she worried for.

As the years went on and Darcy grew into a young woman, her father seemed to shrink into himself. He had loved Amelia Lewis truly, and grief took it's toll even through the joys he found in his daughter. By the time she was sixteen, Darcy was doing more of the work than he was. He tried- he tried so hard that it made Darcy's heart break just a little every time she saw him fumble with the carding comb, his fingers unsteady as he sat at his spinning wheel.

"Look at you," he would say softly, his eyes moist, "the most beautiful girl in the world. Just like you're mother, you are. Beautiful. And I have you hidden away up in my tower like some Rapunzel. I should-"

"You should rest," Darcy would say firmly, with a tender smile to acknowledge the desire in his voice to do better for her. "Here, sit by the fire. I made some yummy stew. Each bite is like a little morsel of heaven! You'll need to eat it while it's hot though to get the full experience- let me finish that for you," and she would sit by the spinning wheel until long after night had fallen.

But she didn't mind overmuch. Her life took on a pattern that changed every season, which kept the dullness of repetitivity at bay. She found that she liked keeping busy, and she liked the satisfaction of completing a task and being able to hold the finished product in her hands. And every week there was the trip into town to sell her goods on market day, and when that business was done she would spend the rest of the day visiting with her friends in town. She was generally well-liked by all, and would usually come home with a basket of breads baked specially for her and her papa, with the added instruction to send him word that he was missed in town and to come back as soon as he was well.

But as time went on, Frederick's health grew worse. Grief shrunk him more and more, and his eyes dulled until finally the world was forever dark to him, lit in spurts only by Darcy's words of description.

Darcy was eighteen now, and her father spoke often that she should find a husband. Start her own family. That he would be fine on his own. He knew his cottage well after living there for the past thirty odd years, and there was money enough for him if he sold the sheep and perhaps a few heirlooms- he would manage, he assured her.

But Darcy only laughed. "A husband!" she would say, shaking her head gaily. "And what would I do with a husband? No. Babies are not for me, and I don't need some man telling me what to do day in and day out."

"Oy! What am I?" Her father would say at this with the hint of a smile. "Moldy mutton? Sometimes it's not so bad being told what to do. Remember the first time you tried to light the fireplace? You would have burned the house down if I hadn't been there. And a man would be good for you- keep you from working too hard." He would pat her hand then sadly, his own hands trembling ever so slightly as they always did now. "You forget, little sparrow, to play sometimes. The world is out there, just waiting to meet you."

"The world can keep waiting," she would say, squeezing his hand. "This is where I need to be."

And in truth, for the most part, she meant it. She liked her life, and her friends, and the fact that even still she could make her father laugh at times. There was no boy in the village that held her heart in thrall. Despite it's shadows life was mostly sunshine, and her soul sang with contentment. She was in no great rush to change things.

But the years went on, and with them change came anyways in the form of the bundles of babies her friends now passed into her arms to coo over on her visits. She was twenty, and an old maid. There had been a few offers for her hand the previous few years, but she had turned them down gently and they had moved on. Now she held her friends' babies, and wondered if maybe she regretted that she didn't have one of her own. She wasn't quite sure, but she was aware of a shift in her life. A nagging feeling of something that kept her from being quite as content as she had been.

One day Darcy was at the market, as usual. She had just sold her last skein of yarn, and was feeling buoyant and gay, the sights and sounds of the square making her smile. She loved the smell of bread that filled the air, the beautiful wooden carvings of Hershal shaped like clever little animals, the full-chested laugh of Matilda Margaret, the baker's wife, the shouts of children running through, playing some game of tag. The crisp spring air was invigorating and fresh, and Darcy basked in it, thankful that winter had finally put it's head down to rest for another year. It was good to be alive on a day like today. On a day like today, she felt, anything could happen.

She wound her way through the stalls, looking for her best friend, Jane, who had said something about wanting to find 'the magician', who it was said could perform real magic tricks.

Spotting the group of children and grown-ups alike all gathered in wide-eyed intrigue at the antics of a dark-haired man, Darcy made for them. Sure enough, Jane was among their number.

"There you are," Darcy whispered, bumping Jane's shoulder with her own in greeting, giving her half the sweet bun she'd bought. "How is he?" She nodded at the magician.

"Shhh," Jane shushed as she took the sweet bun. "He's amazing."

He was doing something that Darcy couldn't quite figure out, but the crowd ate it up. Jane gasped beside her, and Darcy frowned. Perhaps you needed to see it from the beginning. "What-"

"Shhhh," Jane shushed her again, and Darcy stuck her tongue out at her but turned reluctantly back to the show.

Only to find that the magician was looking at her, and she blushed that he had seen her do something so childish. He winked at her and she blushed even harder, but then he looked away, beginning a new trick.

She studied him as he went on- the fine fit of his clothes, the superior quality of the fabric. If he was simply a magician then he was a good one, for they would not have come cheap. His face was compelling- even at her distance she could tell he had an aristocratic nose and high cheek bones. Bright eyes of blue or green. His hair was dark as a raven's feathers, and he kept it cropped a little longer than was strictly fashionable. But it suited him. And he suits me, came the errant thought. She blushed again at it, shooing the notion away.

He was a very interesting fellow. Darcy was not one to blush, yet he'd made her do so three times in not many more minutes.

When he was done the crowds dispersed again as he packed up his things into a small satchel.

"Ready?" Darcy asked Jane. They were going on a picnic, seeing as the weather was so nice, and Darcy was anxious to go. Something about the magician made her not want to be near him.

But Jane shook her head. "Not yet. I wanted to ask him..." she trailed off as she marched forward to catch him before he slipped into the crowds, and Darcy rolled her eyes. Jane was always leaving her sentences half unsaid. Luckily for her, Darcy knew her friend well enough to be able to fill in the missing parts. Jane was in love with all things technical and pragmatic. She was forever inventing little contraptions to help solve some problem, or to speed processes up. At heart, she was a scientist. Likely she would try to get this magician to divulge his secrets.

Reluctant, and yet oddly excited, Darcy trailed after her friend, sidestepping a man carrying a barrel likely filled with ale as he came out of the tavern behind her.

"...because it's spectacular!" Jane was saying. "Really- I don't know how you do it! Simply incredible!"

He was smiling an easy smile, clearly used to this reaction. Darcy got the feeling it amused him, though she couldn't say why. His eyes were green, she noted as she got closer. They were lovely. And he was much taller than he'd appeared before- tall, and thin, yet a thin that was strong rather than sickly. He had wide shoulders. And she was willing to bet that if she poked his belly it would be hard with muscle. Her fingers curled, wanting to find out.

"So," Jane went on briskly, earnestly, "how did you do it?"

And he burst out laughing. The sound of it washed over Darcy, making her feel excessively warm and a little angry. Jane was funny, sure, but Jane was hers. She didn't like this strange man coming in and laughing at Jane's jokes.

"A magician never reveals his secrets," he said with a sly grin that did things to Darcy's belly that she was not on board with.

"Neither does a liar," Darcy said cheerfully as she joined them. "But you wouldn't be one of those, would you, sir?"

His eyes darkened curiously when he saw her, and he inclined his head by way of greeting. His grin widened. "If I was, I certainly would not admit to it," he joked, and Darcy couldn't resist smiling back.

Jane coughed. "I'm gonna...go," she said.

Darcy blinked, realizing that she'd been staring at him for some time now. He had the most attractive face- and his lips. She wondered what they felt like. Blushing again (and mentally cursing him for it) she caught Jane's hand as Jane turned to go.

"Wait! What the hell are you doing? What about our picnic?"

Jane gave the man a long look up and down and then raised a brow at Darcy. She coughed pointedly.

Darcy blushed harder."Oy! Enough of that. You don't need to abandon me, we'll just tell this fine young man-"

"Rumpel," the fine young man in question supplied, watching their exchange with amusement. Darcy smiled at him in thanks. "-Rumpel," she continued. "We'll just tell this fine young Rumpel goodbye, grab the food from the cooler, and off we go. Home free. Home on the range. Home is where the heart is-"

"I think you should go with him," Jane hissed, leaning in closer to Darcy.

"What!?" Darcy hissed back, astonished. Jane, being something of an old maid herself and used to her parents' schemes, wasn't one to typically play matchmaker. "Are you crazy!? I don't even know the man. And why would I want to spend time with him when I could be spending time with you, my dearest, most beloved friend?" She smiled winningly at Jane, who snorted.

"No. You need this. And it's obvious from the way you two have been looking at each other that you fancy one another. Excuse me!" Jane raised her voice to address Rumpel. "My good friend was hoping to have a picnic this afternoon, but I find that I have a splitting head-ache. You wouldn't know of anyone who might want to take her, would you?"

"Jane!" Darcy hissed, blushing yet again.

Rumpel smiled wryly. "Why, in fact- I'm free, as it turns out."

"Oh," Darcy fumbled, trying to get out of it, "no. No that's very nice of you, but I'm sure you have better things to do than-"

"Please," he cut in, all smiles gone from his face. Darcy didn't think she'd ever blushed as hard as she was then. His eyes were so intense, so focused on her. She was sure he could see into her soul, and the secret little part of her that wanted something more but couldn't figure out how to get it. "Nothing would make me happier."

Darcy's mouth fell open. "I- uh. Well. Yes?" Her heart thumped excitedly. Yes, she thought. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. He just stared at her for another long moment, until she cleared her throat delicately and repeated with more conviction: "Um, yes, please. Yes. I would like that." He smiled and she bit her lip.

"Good." Jane coughed again. "Well even though I certainly don't feel like a third wheel, I'm gonna head off home to...un-head-ache. I'll see you crazy kids later." As she was leaving, Jane whispered, "Really though. See if you can get him to tell you how he did those tricks. If there were strings then they were, like, really well hidden-"

"Yup. Bye." Darcy shooed her friend off, nervousness and excitement warring with each other. She turned back to Rumpel.

"Shall we?" He asked with a warm smile that led to the birth of butterflies in Darcy's stomach. Darcy looked at him uncertainly but gave a what the hell smile.

"Sure," she said, feeling unimaginably awkward and tongue-tied but wanting to rise to this new challenge of friendship. "Let's just go for it. Let's do it. Let's get this bad boy on the road. As the Romans say: 'We...um. Shall.'"

He chuckled as they started walking. "Do the Romans say that, then?"

"Um, yes. It's not, you know, their most famous of sayings. But you know what?"

"No. What?"

Darcy grinned, pleased. "I see what you did there." He grinned back. Uh oh, she found herself thinking distantly. This whole thing could get out of hand very quickly. "But as I was saying- sometimes it's better to go for the obscure, rather than the obvious. Like with mining. I mean- if you think about- we wouldn't have diamonds or rubies or what have you, because people might just be like 'oh, a rock. How unspectacular.' That's the obvious," she explained. "But because people sometimes have the foresight to look for the obscure, we have diamonds! Because people were like 'oh, a rock. But what's under it? What's inside it?' and they broke the rock. Which is, you know, bad news for the rock actually," she frowned. "Hmm. But good news for everyone else, I guess. I think the point I'm trying to make is that you're like a diamond." She flushed as he grinned.

"Am I really?" He sounded pleased.

"Oh, god! I wasn't really thinking that whole thing- not that you're not nice of course- well, very nice- but it's...I mean. That is to say. Oh, I don't know," she gave up, smiling even as she wondered how it was possible to mangle words as much as she was doing. "Maybe that is what I meant. Sire," She said dramatically, "you are a diamond of the first water. I wish only to polish you."

His laughter was startled, and genuine. She stared at him curiously for a moment before blushing beet red. "Oh! Oh. No! I mean- that's not- I didn't mean it like that- I just..."

"I know," he assured her as his laughter subsided. "I know. You have a special way with words though." He tweaked her nose affectionately, and Darcy made a face.

"I know," she said with a long-suffering sigh. "It's been a source of quite a lot of trouble." Darcy looked up at him, shaking her head helplessly. She smiled. "I can never quite get them to be what I want." He stared at her, his eyes soft and warm. She could get lost in those deep green eyes if she wasn't careful. "I like it," he said quietly. "You make them yours."

Darcy listened, astounded by her reactions to him. He actually made her breathless. She felt herself swaying toward him as if under some spell, her body wanting to be closer to his, closer to the appreciation in his eyes, and the promise they seemed to hold.

He swayed closer too, and Darcy's heart thumped wildly. A bird cawed overhead though, and the moment was broken. They both reeled back a little bit, laughing to cover the slight awkwardness.

They talked the rest of the way to the butchers', and the cheese mongers', and all the way to the field just a few minutes outside of Haberdash to the east, and then they talked all afternoon. Rumpel did magic tricks to earn a living, but it wasn't his only talent, just the one people payed most to see. He also played the fiddle and could sing.

"Why don't you do that?" Darcy asked as she lay on her belly on the blanket after eating, her chin resting on her folded hands as she looked at him. He was in the same position, except facing her. "People would totally pay to see that!"

He made a face. "People don't like listening to a musician who doesn't enjoy himself."

"What? You don't like to play?"

"...eh."

She grinned at that, and he turned the conversation back to her. He was always doing that, she noticed. Turning the conversation back to her. She didn't think he liked to talk about himself. Like he was bashful. It was incredibly adorable. But she got him to divulge some other things- he was the second of two sons, and his parents had strong, unshared, ideas on what he should be doing with his life. His brother was apparently a much better son, & he did what was expected of him.

"I just..." he said, staring off at something in the distance as he worried a stalk of grass in his mouth. "I just want to live my life for me. You know? I don't want to live the life that they want for me."

Darcy sighed dreamily, her heart melting. He was so appealing. In every way, he was so appealing. She'd never felt like this before- the sighing and the dreaminess. It was all new to her. She didn't want it to stop. But eventually the sun started to sink.

"Will I ever see you again?" Darcy asked, making herself smile as she said it. Because that was what she did when she was sad. She smiled so that she wouldn't start crying. Rumpel ran his eyes over her face as if memorizing everything about her, and she knew.

"No."

"Oh." She smiled brighter. "Okay then. Okeedokee. No, that's- that's good."

"Darcy..." He sighed, his brows drawn at whatever he saw on her face. Was she smiling? She thought she was smiling. He wasn't supposed to realize, how sad she was. How close to begging him to stay. She wasn't used to not getting what she wanted, she realized in a sudden moment of insight, and the absurdness of the thought made her chuckle, except that the sound got caught up in her throat and came out as a strange gurgling sound. Imagine that, she thought. Darcy Lewis, daughter of a blind shepherd. Spoiled. But she was, and she was finding it rather frustrating that she couldn't have him- this man who had waltzed so suddenly into her life and her heart and changed her so thoroughly that perhaps she could never be satisfied without him now.

"It's not that I don't-"

The sun was fading, and with it her courage. But before it was gone, Darcy moved in closer to him, closing the distance between them until they were scant inches apart. He smelled like pine and resin and mint, and his body was cool to the touch when she put her arms around his neck. Instinctively his hands came to rest on her hips, and Darcy decided that she liked that quite a lot. His eyes had darkened again, something fierce and hot moving behind them that made Darcy feel fierce and hot herself, her whole body tingling with anticipation. And she decided that she quite liked that as well.

"I...Darcy, what are you doing?" He asked raggedly.

"Well," Darcy said, tilting her head as she stared at his lips. What would they feel like? She thought she might actually die if she didn't find out. "I don't want to be forward, but..." Her hands couldn't contain themselves. They traveled from his neck up into his hair. It felt so good between her fingers. Rumpel moaned a little at this, his eyes sliding closed for a moment, his hands tightening on her hips like cool firebrands. And yet how hot her own skin was. "I want to kiss you," she murmured, standing on her tiptoes to nuzzle his nose with her own.

"Gods, yes," Rumpel rasped, nuzzling her back as he leaned down a little so she could stand fully on the ground, and Darcy laughed that he could be so considerate at a time like this. "What's all this laughing about?" Rumpel asked, but he was smiling too. "I thought you were going to kiss me."

A laugh still on her lips Darcy met his own, hesitantly at first, but soon she grew bolder, and he let go of some of his control, and the kiss grew deeper and more passionate. It was by no means her first kiss, but the other shad been when she was a teenager yet, testing out what it felt like. She was a woman now though, and kisses were very different.

Heat pooled in her belly, and her hands tussled through his hair, their bodies pressed against each other's tightly, desperate for more contact. His hands on her hips kneaded into her butt, making her even more wild, his hot length pressing into her center, and she couldn't help raising her hips up to meet it.

"I should-" Rumpel said between kisses, "we should stop-"

"Don't want- to stop-" Darcy moaned. Both of them were breathing heavily, completely drunk on passion. Darcy was lost to the cool of his skin, the silk of his hair, how his lips felt on her own, and on her neck, and...

Loki chuckled darkly at that, giving her a fierce, lingering kiss. "Don't want- to stop- either- but this is getting- a little- out of hand-"

Darcy forced herself to pull back a little, and despite his words Rumpel's hands tightened on her hips, reluctant to let her go. But that was the whole point, Darcy had decided. Maybe tomorrow she would look back on this as folly, but if this day was all she had with this perfect, beautiful, sweet man...then she wanted to make it count.

"What if I was okay with that?" she asked. Loki's eyes sharpened.

"What are you saying?"

Darcy swallowed, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm saying, what if I'm okay with...more." He shut his eyes and said nothing for a moment, making Darcy feel the need to fill the silence. "Like, sex, I mean. Because I might- no, I do, want...to have sex with you," she finished quietly. She was sure she was blushing, but the fading light would hide it. He would never have to know. For tonight at least, she could be a woman who had done this sort of thing before.

Rumpel released a deep breath, and Darcy realized that he had been trying to gain some control over his libido. She thrilled with feminine power that she could do this to him. His eyes opened, and they were blazing with heat. If before he had been hot then now he was a bonfire, and Darcy was ready to go up in his flames. But he took another deep breath.

"You don't have to do this," he said, his voice strained.

"Really. You don't." Darcy kissed him hard, and deep.

"But I want to."

It was exciting, being under a man, and his breath hot on her skin, his lips everywhere. She arched her back up, and he brushed against her maddeningly. There was no more talking for a while, until he breached her hymen and stopped abruptly.

"Ah, Gods," he cursed, his head falling to the curve where her neck met her shoulder, his breaths still heavy. "I should have asked," he berated himself. "Darcy," he said, meeting her eyes in the dusky twilight, "I am so sorry. I wouldn't have- if I'd known, Christ, if I'd been thinking at all-"

"Shhh," Darcy kissed him. "You're being silly. Don't try to play this like you've taken advantage of me. I know what I want. And I want you."

"But-"

"Shhh. Talk later."

Sex was pretty much everything Darcy had thought it would be, and a great deal more than it had ever occurred to her to think of. There was a raw, honest kind of beauty in it.

It was a stickier business than she'd realized though, and she wiped herself off with the picnic blanket after with a wry amusement. Rumpel watched as he put his clothes back on, and she would have given a lot to be able to see what his eyes held at that moment. But dark had truly fallen, and it was a secret only the night would ever know.

Darcy cleared her throat, feeling awkward now that it was over and she faced the knowledge that she had just given her virginity to a man she'd met only a few hours before and who would vanish from her life within the the next hour. Even now she might be carrying his child. And yet, she simply couldn't bring herself to regret it. It had been too wonderful.

She drew her dress on over her head. "Say something," she said nervously. Anything would be better than this silence. Where did they stand? She'd never done this before.

"I..." He drew closer, and the moonlight lit his face dimly. She could see that his brows were drawn. "Does it hurt?"

Darcy shook her head. "It did at first, but then..." Now it just kind of...ached. But it was a good ache. She smiled.

His face remained unchanged though. He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he said heavily. "I wish I could-" He scrubbed a hand over his face and bent suddenly to pick up a rock. He hurled it violently into the darkness and Darcy flinched in surprise. "I'm sorry," he said again, hollowly, staring off into the night. "I am a damned fool." His words were splintery and full of venom, and they stung.

"Look," she said, bristling. "I don't know what's going on in your head right now, and I'm sorry that it doesn't sound like fun, but I just had sex for the first time and it was amazing. Except that apparently you regret it and think it was stupid, which is kind of taking away the amazingness of it for me, so if you don't mind I'm just gonna go on and leave while the memory is still just a little bit nice." She bowed mockingly, hurt that he thought himself a fool for sleeping with her. A fool. Well, then what did that make her? "Thank you ever so much for your time."

She didn't get far before she heard cursing and then his long strides as he quickly caught up with her. She huffed, walking faster, but her legs were no match for his.

"Darcy, I'm sorry-"

"I know," she ground out. "That's the whole point. You're sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Poor little Darcy, that you have to feel so sorry for her. Well, guess what? I'm not. I'm not sorry one bit, or at least I wasn't until you went and ruined it all." I should smile now, she thought inanely, because I could burst into tears at any moment. But she was too angry to smile. And too angry, it turned out, to cry. She just wanted to hurt him in some way, the way he had hurt her. And yet what had he said? That he was sorry. And well he might be. She remembered his clothes- how they were tailored. Their fine quality. The educated note to his voice. He was some merchant's son at the very least, and far above her reach. What he was doing playing at this magician nonsense, she couldn't even begin to guess.

"Darcy," he said sharply. "Please," he implored now. "Listen to what I'm saying. I'm sorry that I cannot do more for you. I'm sorry that I cannot...be more to you. It's not...for lack of wanting."

Darcy swallowed, the anger slowly draining from her, and her walk slowing. "Oh."

They walked together in silence for a few minutes, Darcy's feet easily finding the path home even in the dark. She had walked it so often that she even knew how many steps it took to get home from each landmark they passed.

An owl hooted from a tree, and somewhere off in the brush a mouse squeaked. Their feet crunched along the dirt path, and Darcy tried to focus on the familiar sounds, rather than the emotional mess inside her. But the silence between them grew too long for her to bear, and if they were to part then she did not want it to be without speaking.

"I know," she said quietly, and he turned to her, the moon throwing his cheekbones into relief. "That you aren't who you pretend to be." He looked at her sharply in question, and she nodded to his clothes. "Your comforts betray you." She managed a half-smile. "It's alright. I don't mind, really." Except that she did, just a bit. Why did he think he had to lie?

He said nothing for a long moment, and then the words burst from him as if he simply couldn't hold them back. He grasped her hand and drew them to a stop. "If my hand was my own, I would give it to you, Darcy, I swear it on my life- I think I-"

"Why are you telling me this?" Darcy asked. Her throat was so tight. Tears threatened, making her eyes burn. "What good can come of this?" She was angry again, and happy, and sad, all at the same time. How dare he? It was almost cruel. They could never be together. There were just too many things standing in the way. And yet he said all these things...

"Because I can't not," he said desperately. "I love you. I just- I love you."

Darcy laughed humorlessly. "Well, if we're admitting useless things, then I love you too."

"You do?"

"Well, I think so, anyways. I've never been in love before."

"Me neither." He grinned, and for a moment he was so boyishly handsome and beautiful that she couldn't stand it. His face slipped quickly back into solemnity though. "It's a bit inconvenient, isn't it?"

Darcy smiled helplessly. "A bit."

"But...maybe this is how it's supposed to be," he said, as if trying to convince himself. "Maybe it's all just a test, to see if we love each other enough."

"Do you really believe that?" Darcy asked sadly. He looked into her eyes, and sighed, defeated. "No."

And suddenly she realized that she was gripping his hand so tightly that she was sure she must be hurting him. But she couldn't help it. She felt like if she let go then that was it, and this brief, soul-changing love affair would be over. It would become simply a memory, something to think back on and try to remember were his hands really as strong as she thought they had been, were they really as steady, and as comforting? They are. They are all that and more. She steeled her heart.

She let go.

They walked on again. In silence, again.

"I guess you're walking me home."

"It's the least I can do." And his voice was a little stiff.

"I won't wait for you," she said softly.

He kicked a rock out of the path. "Of course."

"Thank you," she said when they got to her door. "I- you're welcome."

They both lingered, each wishing the other would say something. Finally, Darcy opened the door. There was one last look, his face a study in regret. Hers was a mirror.

She shut the door.

"You're very cheerful," her father said with a smile that morning.

She hadn't slept at all, turning everything over in her mind until she thought she would go crazy. The sense of loss was complete, and infuriating. I knew the man for one day, she reminded herself over and over, as if repeating it could make her heart listen to reason.

But Darcy refused to wallow in self-pity. Instead, she would notice everything in life that was fine and good. So she had put a smile on her face and a song on her lips as she made breakfast. And indeed, it was another beautiful spring day, and there was much about it that was worthy of notice.

Jane called on her, eager to know how the picnic had gone. It felt too private to share though, so Darcy teased her off onto another topic until Jane let it go.

They spent a few enjoyable hours together as Darcy worked, Jane lending a hand as she often did. Darcy laughed often, and Jane suspected nothing.

A week went by and Darcy could scarcely credit that that day had happened at all, so removed and dreamlike from her life it seemed. Life went on.

"Darcy!" Jane burst in, breathless. Her cheeks were red and her eyes gleamed with excitement.

"Damn girl, where's the fire?"

Jane let out a bubbling laugh. "It's the most incredible news- in every sense of the word! The king has gone mad this time- truly he must be round the bend. He has announced that there will be try-outs for the next princess. Can you believe that!? And you can just imagine the uproar."

Darcy smirked and shook her head. She had stopped carding the latest batch of wool when Jane showed up, but now she began again. "Every girl from here to Asgard and between will be rabid to try their luck." She snorted. "Those poor souls who have to oversee the try-outs. Let's hope they're working on a rotation schedule or they'll burn out faster than a pine tree in a forest fire."

"Why would he do it? The king, I mean. It's just coming out of nowhere, from a diplomatic standpoint. Everyone knows we've been at odds with Vanaheim of late, and there's been rampant war-mongering in Asgard from most of the members of court- so if the crown prince is to be married off, it just makes sense to have it be to an outsider. Then he would be unifying the two nations, instead of- are you even listening to me?"

"Hmm."

"Darcy!"

"Sorry! I'm sorry. I try to pay attention, Janey, really- I do. But that politics stuff..." she made a face. "It just rolls right over me."

Jane rolled her eyes. "I know. It's extremely frustrating." Darcy smiled winningly. "But you love me."

"Hmph. Don't know if I'd go that far."

"You put up with me," Darcy amended.

"Well, that's a bit more accurate."

"Thanks."

"Whatever, loser. Anyways...I was kind of thinking about going."

"Really?" Darcy started laughing. "After that whole speech about how it shouldn't happen or whatever, now you're just blatantly endorsing it?"

"Well, I," Jane spluttered, flushing a little. She studied her nails. "I don't have to answer to you, miss Judgy Pants. I was thinking, just, you know- because to get out of the house or something."

"You're feeling a little cooped up, and your solution is to travel thirty miles to compete in a competition in which the winner eventually rules all of Asgard?"

"Erm. Yes."

Darcy pursed her lips. "Kay, cool. Just checking."

"Anyways," Jane said, clasping her hands together, "will you come with me? Please? Pretty please? It'll be heaps of fun, I promise."

"Wait, what?" The king practically picking the future queen of the realm out of a hat? Eh. He'd done his share of bizarre things. Darcy couldn't really say she was surprised by his latest stunt. But Jane asking Darcy to come with her on her mad quest? Now that was surprising.

"Pleeease," Jane begged.

"Jane, you know I can't." She set the wool down in it's basket, now thoroughly carded. "Who would take care of the sheep? Let alone my father."

"He has friends in town," Jane said, her eyes wide and puppy-dog-like. "I'm sure someone would be willing to help for a few days. And I'm worried about you- you need to get out more. You need to live. I don't like how secluded you are up here on this mountain, you're like a hermit, hiding under a rock. Come to the capital with me- come see the sun for once!"

"I would hardly call it a mountain," Darcy muttered under her breath, getting up from the table to begin dinner. But the windows were open to let in the fresh air and a bird's song drifted in, and suddenly Darcy was hit with a panic. Was this her life then? Was Jane right- was she a hermit? But she liked her life. Didn't she? The routine was comforting. The chores were fulfilling. The fact that she was starting dinner already, soon after she'd made lunch was...charming? Proactive? Anything but depressing.

"Call it whatever you want, but-"

"You know what? I'll do it."

"-it's still- wait. What?" Jane blinked.

"I'll go with you to cheer you on as you pursue your lifelong ambition of becoming not just a pain in the butt, but a royal pain in the butt." Jane beamed at her. "You will? Oh, thank you! Not that I'm going to pretend that I've always wanted a position of power or something, but-"

"Pssh. Please. You'd eat that up. Being able to finally study whatever you want? I'd like to see you say no to that. Except that- well, obviously I wouldn't like to see it, but... You know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," Jane said wryly. Her eyes got a far-off look. "And it would be so nice to be able to just study..." Her family wasn't very pleased with Jane's passion for the sciences, and even if they had been- books were expensive. As a result, Jane had had little in the way of a formal education and had had to take matters into her own hands.

"Great," Darcy said, clapping her hands together. "Then it's settled. We'll go."

That night she talked to her father. His dull eyes lit up as she explained what Jane had said. "Go then, little sparrow," he said, and his hands clasped hers. He smiled. "Go. Soar."

So she talked to Matilda Margaret, who agreed to stay with Darcy's father for the week Darcy figured she'd be gone. Her sons would care for the sheep. There was only the packing then, and that took no time at all- just another dress, her finest shawl, some food and a water skin.

They left the very next day.

Asgard was a bustling city, with people everywhere, doing everything...it was like market day in Haberdash times a hundred.

Jane had an aunt who lived there and had offered to let them stay there, and the two of them got directions from a street vendor.

"I am Tala," a large woman exclaimed as she opened the door. "My little Jane! And you must be the friend she talks about so much." Her arms opened wide to welcome them, and they were enveloped in an enthusiastic embrace.

Her enthusiasm was a trait that followed her in everything she did, and dinner was a delicious affair. It was heavenly to eat food that Darcy hadn't had to prepare herself.

'Try-outs' were being held all through the week, and there was a limit of five hundred applicants per day, so you had to get there early enough to register before cut off.

This had Darcy and Jane out of bed at the crack of dawn, snatching a piece of toast from the kitchens, and making their way down to the courthouse, where auditions were taking place. Rushing through unfamiliar streets in the early hours of the morning with her best friend was exhilarating, and they giggled their way through six blocks to arrive flushed and grinning and ready to sign up.

Jane had convinced Darcy that since she'd be hanging around all day to keep Jane company anyways that she might as well sign herself up.

"Aren't you supposed to have a talent though, or something?" Darcy had asked dubiously.

"You've got loads of talents, Darce! Just look at everything you do all day- with the cooking and cleaning and sheeping and whatnot-"

"Sheeping?"

"Oh, you know what I mean."

Darcy grinned. "Sheeping."

Jane smacked her arm. "Hey, give me a break. And while you're at it, stop being ridiculous. You've got loads of talents."

"Well, I didn't want to say anything, but...it's true," Darcy said modestly. Jane snorted.

"No, but really- help a sistah out. I can't go up there and say that I should be queen because I can cook and clean. Everyone can do that."

"Hmph. Not everyone." Jane's cooking was notoriously...unusual. "Just sing or something. You've got a decent voice."

"Yeah but, 'decent' isn't-"

"AjhfLJKG do you actually want to win?"

"Hmm. Your point is valid. Singing it is then." Darcy grinned. "What's yours?"

"You let me worry about that." Darcy looked at her curiously. "Okay, Miss Mysteriousness."

The line was long, even with them getting there as early as they had, and it took a few hours for it to be there turn.

"Wish me luck," Jane said when her turn came.

"Fuck that shit, the crown is mine beyotch. Just kidding- good luck buddy! May the odds be- odd, and the evens...be evens. I don't know, I feel like there's gold in that if I had the patience to dig through it. Go get 'em tiger!" And she waited nervously as Jane disappeared into the courthouse.

She was called up a few minutes later and she walked into the courthouse herself, her steps echoing in the large marble halls within. What was she doing here? She thought desperately, nerves suddenly making her rethink this entire mad idea.

"If you would state your name and talent, please." An older man sat behind an intimidating marble table along with a middle-aged woman and another man. "And then commence."

"Oh, right. Well, I'm Darcy, and I'm going to...spin straw into gold!" She said extravagantly, laughing a little, mostly at her own inability to say the things that she meant to say. Where had that even come from? Straw into gold. Yeesh.

"Just kidding, I'm-"

"Straw into gold?" the woman asked, looking to her peers. "But we're not set up for that."

"Young lady, do you mean to tell us that you didn't even bring the necessary equipment? I promise you, our time is very valuable indeed, and I must say I don't appreciate-"

"No- I want to see this." The younger man looked at her with curiosity. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Darcy frowned. "Wait. What just happened?"

But she must not have spoken loudly enough, because they continued speaking over her. "It's not possible." "Well I'm sure she isn't lying. You're not lying are you, girl? That would be a serious thing indeed." "Give her a chance! We can soon set up a room with straw. And surely there is a spindle somewhere." "I don't know if we should be encouraging this kind of thing. She really ought to have brought all the supplies herself." "Listen to the boy, Tilly- perhaps...well, I do confess that I'm intrigued. A most original idea." "Oh but...I don't... Well. Alright. But this really can't get to be a habit." "Here, girl- follow Stenson. Stenson, show her to a room and stock it with straw and a spindle. You take your time with the spinning, girl, and we'll be back to check on you after the rest of today's bunch. That should give you a good five hours. I trust this is enough time?"

"I- what?"

"Are you deaf, child?" Darcy's eyes had widened as they talked amongst themselves. "I think I must be, because none of that made any sense, and I'd really rather be going deaf than hear what I think I just heard."

"Oh. Look. She's got a sense of humor. How fabulous. Follow Stenson now, my dear."

And suddenly a man was leading her out of the room and off into the unknown and Darcy was left a little stunned and not at all sure of just what the fuck was going on.

"It was just a joke though," she said. To Stenson perhaps. "Straw isn't going to turn into gold. That's why it's a joke. Because it's laughable."

"The straw will be here shortly, my lady," Stenson said, leading her to a room. "Make yourself comfortable."

The key turned in the lock and she was alone. She stared at the door for a long minute, waiting for it all to sink in. It did, finally, and with it came outrage.

"How can you people live without any kind of sense of humor," she railed to the door. "This is ridiculous! I'm not gonna be turning straw into gold! Let me out of here! I don't want to do this anymore- find someone else to be your miserable fucking queen. You're all assholes!"

But no one heard, or at least no one responded, and her outrage was quickly joined by impatience. The straw arrived, filling the room and making dust particles that kept making her feel like she had to sneeze. The sooner the five hours was over the sooner they'd be back and she could explain how it was all a mistake and-

"I didn't believe it," a voice said suddenly from behind her. Darcy shrieked. "I didn't believe it could be you, but I couldn't help checking."

"Rumpel!?" Darcy gaped in astonishment. "Where did you even come from? What are you doing here?!"

His face was tight and pale with anger. "You little fool," he hissed. He punched the wall viciously and Darcy shrank back from him. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you have any idea?"

"Dude- take a deep breath. Chill out. Ommmm," Darcy hummed, her heart beating very fast.

His lip curled. "I never would have taken you for the ambitious, power-hungry sort. You hide it well with your...innocent little...maid act. How long have you been after the throne?"

"I- what? I'm not even-"

"HOW LONG?"

Darcy jumped at the fury in his voice. A vein throbbed in his temple. "Stop it," she whispered, eyes wide. "Just- just stop it. You're being a dick. If you would just-"

"Answer the question, Darcy," he growled, advancing on her. She tried to back up further but she hit the wall after only a step. He was suddenly mere inches from her, and she could see just how much anger sharpened his features and made them harsh.

"I- look- that's ENOUGH," Darcy said, slamming her fists into his shoulders. "Back. Off."

He caught her hands in his own easily and trapped them against the wall, caging her in. Gone was the laughter and warmth that had wreathed his face that day. Now he might have been carved from stone, he was so unforgiving.

Darcy glared up at him, infuriated that he could so effectively contain her. She tried to knee him in the crotch but he made a twisty motion out of the way and then contained her knee as well, behind his own leg. She gritted her teeth, her eyes shooting sparks at him.

"Let me know when you're ready to actually listen to me," she ground out.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. His teeth were clenched. "Explain."

Darcy made a sound of frustration. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to be explaining! You just burst in here out of fucking nowhere and start yelling at me that I'm taking a crown or something? I don't understand, like, any of the things you've been saying. Or why you're so goddamn angry, anyways! So just- you can just-" She stomped his foot. "Fuck off."

Rumpel growled. "If I were you, I would be very careful what you say just now."

"Well if you were me we wouldn't be in this fucking predicament, would we? Because you'd already know what was going on."

Rumpel took another deep breath. "When. Did you decide. To marry Thor?"

Darcy frowned. "Look, I told you that I wasn't going to wait for you-"

"Clearly."

Darcy glared at him. "- so I really don't think it's any of your business who the fuck I marry."

"It's my business when it's-" He broke off, looking sharply away. "Do you know what they will do to you if you if you fail in your ridiculous task? They will call you a liar and accuse you of trying to hold up an official process of court. You will be put in jail for five years, if you're lucky."

Darcy paled. "Wh-what? But it was just a joke! It was just a stupid joke! I don't want to go to jail just because apparently no one else has a sense of humor!"

"Good to see you finally take this seriously." Rumpel said stiffly.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, I can't- I can't-" she stared at him with wide, panic-stricken eyes. Her breaths were shallow. She laughed hysterically. "Rumpel, I can't turn straw into gold."

"Shh," Rumpel said softly. He frowned at her. "Breathe, Darcy. Breathe."

Darcy took deep, shuddering breaths through the hysterical laughter. Rumpel rubbed his thumb over her fists caressingly, even as he still held them securely above her head. Slowly Darcy calmed down.

"I can't believe this is happening. It's not even like I want to marry the prince. This is just- this is just a disaster."

"You don't want to-?" Rumpel frowned at her, his face unreadable. At least he wasn't scaring her anymore. "What are you doing here then?"

"What are you doing here? And can you let me go now? I don't really appreciate being cornered like a fucking sheep." She glared at him, and he slowly released her, stepping back a little. "You're too kind," she said sarcastically, rubbing her wrists. They didn't hurt, but he didn't need to know that. His eyes followed her movements but he made no comment on them.

"What will you do?"

Darcy shrugged in frustration. "What can I do? And don't think I didn't notice you evading the question. I never heard the door open."

He stared at her for a long moment. "I might be able to help," he said slowly. As if against his better judgement.

Darcy noted his clothes once more- these ones were even finer than what he had worn before. Likely his father was a lord, to be able to afford such garments.

"Look, don't do me any favors, okay?" she crossed her arms, feeling very small all of a sudden against the weight of what was to come. But her father, she remembered with a sickening jolt. She bit her lip, shaking her head. God damn it. She so didn't want to ask anything from him. But she could swallow her pride for her father. "Except...if you could just...I don't know. My father..." she cleared her throat, unable to look him in the eye. Instead she stared at the floor. "He needs to be taken care of, and if I'm-"

"I can keep you from jail," Rumpel interjected stiffly. "I can ensure that you...need never worry about...anything."

Darcy snorted. "Look, it's nice of you to say, but I really don't think there's anything you can do-"

"I can turn this straw into gold."

"- so...what?" Darcy raised a brow. She laughed uncertainly. "Are you insane?"

"I can turn this straw into gold," he repeated.

She tried to read his face, but it was blank. "Umm. No. I don't think you can." She almost felt like apologizing. He sounded so sure of himself.

"I can. And I will, if you make me a promise." Darcy furrowed her brows. "I don't even know how to respond to this. Are you sick or something?"

She reached a hand to his forehead. His eyes widened in surprise but he didn't move away. His forehead was cold. "Hmm. Are you-? What's the opposite of a fever? I think you might be-"

"I'm fine," he said, and Darcy became aware of how close they were. If he tilted his head down their lips would be at the same level.

She took her hand back quickly, flushing. "I- okay. Okay, you're fine. Geez."

He was still staring at her steadily. "Promise me and I'll help you."

She tilted her head. And why was he still so handsome? She shook her head, trying to shake the thought free. "Promise you what?"

"No." He frowned. "No- that's not... Just promise me that when I ask something of you, you'll do it. Without question."

Darcy laughed. "Are you-? You're joking, right?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? Darcy this is your future we're talking about." He raised his brows. "I'm trying to keep you out of jail."

"Oh." She opened her mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say to that. He really believed he could turn straw into gold. "Umm. Yeah. I guess. Sure," she said more firmly, giving in to the ridiculousness. "If you can somehow turn this fucking straw into gold then yeah...I promise I'll do what you want. Within reason, of course. I mean, if you asked me to kill someone though, that's just not happening."

He rolled his eyes. "Within reason," he agreed.

"Okay, fine. So then we have a deal." She waved a hand doubtfully at the straw bales that littered the room, packed high up along the walls. "Have at it."

So she watched, at first with skepticism and then with awe as he made good on his word. Little by little, the straw became gold.

"How are you doing this?" She whispered at one point, her eyes huge. She had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

"Shh," he said, his brows furrowed in concentration as he worked. "Quiet."

"Sorry. My bad. Keep going, buddy. You're doing great."

There wasn't much to do as he worked but watch him, so watch him Darcy did. The way his fingers moved deftly over the straw as he spun it, the slant of his eyebrows so intent on his task. The way his hair fell over his face at times and Darcy's fingers would twitch to smooth it back, but every time he would rake it back impatiently before she could even begin contemplating whether she should.

She couldn't help thinking of that day in the field, and how they'd talked for so long. He'd laughed at her jokes. It was hard for her to imagine him laughing now. His jaw did not seem made for laughing. But then neither did his thin, harsh lips seem made for kissing, and yet they were perfect for it. Many times Darcy caught herself remembering the feel of those lips on her own, and on her neck, and collarbone, and...

She flushed every time she thought of it, and she couldn't stop. Did he ever think of that day? Did he ever lie awake at night remembering the feel of her hands in his hair?

They had parted so dramatically, and now they had been reunited with more of the same. Darcy was shocked and intrigued anew when she thought of the fury that had been written all over his face and in his posture and his voice when he'd appeared earlier. And how had he even known where she was? As far as getting in, she supposed it must have been child's play. For the gods' sake- he could perform alchemy. A locked door was laughable.

"I will see you tomorrow," he said at last, standing from the spindle. Gold gleamed from every corner of the room.

"What?" Darcy said, startled. Her voice was a little croaky from not speaking. "Wait- that's it?"

He looked at her for a long moment, and Darcy noted with a sigh of relief that his eyes were considerably warmer than they'd been. She shivered just to remember how he had looked at her with ice in his eyes. Never did she want him to look at her like that again.

"Yes." And just like that, he was gone.

Darcy was left to sit and wait. It wasn't a long wait though. No more than an hour before the door was thrown open and the three judges stood there, Stenson behind them.

"Oh my," the woman breathed. They all looked at the golden room in astonishment.

"You see!" The younger man. "I told you. Didn't I tell you?"

"Well, you were certainly... I mean, this is incredible. Simply incredible!"

Darcy smiled hesitantly and waved. "Umm. So, can I go? I'd really like to go."

"But of course! Right this way, my dear. Right this way..." The older man beckoned her out of the room, and Darcy gladly came out. She felt instantly lighter when her feet touched the other side of the door. Like a giant weight had been lifted from her. "You'll stay at the palace, of course. We'll have a room made up for you, and-"

"The palace!" Darcy said. She laughed. "No. Thank you. I'm staying with my friend-"

Now it was their turn to laugh. "But that was before you were a serious contender for the prince's hand. Now you will sleep at the palace. Trials continue until the end of the week, of course, but I am quite confident that you are at the top of the pile, so to speak."

"Wh-what?" Darcy paled. "But I don't want to marry the prince."

"Don't-? You don't want to?" the woman stared at her uncomprehendingly.

"Nonsense."The younger man. "Why would you enter the competition if you didn't mean to win?"

"I'm certain she isn't trying to get out of her contract." A warning from the older man. "The sheet you signed up on is a royal contract stating that the signee, namely, you, understands that by signing it they agree to the terms and conditions of said competition: that winning means marriage." He smiled sharply. "You did read it, didn't you?"

Darcy tried to think back. "Erm. Ah. Well. I mean, it's all a bit of a blur..."

The younger man tapped his foot impatiently. "It doesn't matter. She signed it, and that's what's important. Stenson, show her to a room and see that she's settled in."

So Darcy was led off once again, all the while trying to explain that it was all just a big misunderstanding.

She tried explaining it to the dress-maker who came to fit her for a new wardrobe. She tried explaining it to the maid they sent to help her in and out of her new dresses. She tried explaining it to the bevvy of servants that she met while being shown the palace grounds by Stenson, whom she had tried explaining it to again. She tried explaining it all week, but it did no good. As far as she could tell, her options were to marry Prince Thor, or face criminal charges anyways, despite Rumpel's help.

There was an official announcement at the end of the week: Darcy was indeed to marry Thor.

She was still in shock from the announcement later that evening as her maid was dressing her for the celebratory dinner. It would be her first time even meeting Thor, and it was supposed to be a big deal. Apparently it was a dual engagement party- the second prince, Loki, was recently engaged himself, to some princess of Vanaheim. Darcy had wondered what Jane would make of that bit of political intrigue. But she hadn't been allowed to see Jane all week. All she'd been allowed to do was send her a note letting her know what had happened.

"What's he like?" she asked Neva as Neva pinned her hair into an elaborate, yet subtle creation. Two french braids met and twined around each other on top of her head, and the pearls artfully interspersed on fine silver chain like a tiara of stars made her look almost fay-like in the mirror.

Her maid frowned, taking the pin from her mouth and securing it in Darcy's hair. She nodded, content. "The prince? He is big."

Well, Darcy thought soon after as she made her entrance to the banquet hall, he was certainly that. Thor was easily six feet, and everything about him was masculine and strong. His shoulders were wide, his arms thick with muscle, his jaw strong and square. With his blond hair and the force of his personality, he was like the sun. The overall effect was...too much. He was just too...too...

"The Lady Darcy," the announcer stated, and Thor looked up from the conversation he was having with another large man who's red beard was intricately braided. He left his companion and came over to Darcy. He was even larger up close, although most people were, Darcy thought inanely, and he was saying something now only Darcy couldn't hear it because the announcer had just heralded the arrival of "Prince Loki and the Princess Sygn of Vanaheim," and Darcy stopped breathing.

Because it was him. It was Rumpel. It was her Rumpel. Only he wasn't hers at all. And, apparently, he wasn't Rumpel either.

"Lady Darcy? Are you alright? My lady Darcy?"

Darcy swallowed with difficulty. Her throat felt tight and dry. Rumpel- Loki- the prince- or whatever he wanted to call himself- had just seen her. Their eyes locked for a long second and something fierce flashed across his face. But Darcy couldn't read it, and then he'd turned to the woman on his arm.

His fiance, Darcy thought dully. What had he said so long ago? 'If my hand was my own to give'... Well. She supposed it didn't really matter too much anyways, since apparently she was about to marry his brother. But it figured that his fiance was a gorgeous, willowy redhead. Darcy glanced down at her own bust wryly. Well, no one had ever called her willowy before. And her hair was an unexceptional dark brown color. Darcy felt miles out of her league compared to this foreign princess. She was probably kind and charming and full of ideas for improving the realm.

More than anything at that moment, Darcy wanted to be home, with her father, making dinner while he told her stories of her childhood, painting her mother to life again with his loving words.

But she wasn't home. She was at a banquet that was celebrating her betrothal to the crown prince of Asgard. Dismissing Rumpel, she pasted a smile on her face and turned to Thor.

"Hello," she said. He smiled.

Thor was a gentle soul, for all that he was loud and enthusiastic in everything he did. He had had warm eyes and a quick smile. As far as arranged marriages went, he wouldn't be the worst man to marry.

But Darcy's eyes kept being drawn like a magnet to Loki as he sat with his princess. Neither laughed, but she smiled sometimes at what he said, and each time Darcy saw one she felt a pang of entirely unjustified jealousy. She couldn't help the ridiculous thought: that should be me. Loki would notice her staring, and catch her eye, and Darcy would be helpless to look away. But he would avert his eyes and then she would be freed.

She felt like it must be obvious to everyone around them, especially Thor, but he said nothing. He seemed not to notice.

The night went on forever, and yet it was over in the blink of an eye. She had no idea what she said, or what anyone else said, for that matter. At one point there was dancing. Rumpel tapped Thor's shoulder to cut in on one of them, and so they danced together. Neither spoke, and then it was over and she was dancing with someone else, and then someone else after that. Everyone wanted to meet her: The Girl Who Could Weave Gold.

She was so tired that night as Neva undressed her and she slipped a nightgown on. Life had become so complicated.

She was just brushing her hair when there was a knock at the door. Neva must have forgotten something. Darcy opened it.

"Wait," he said as Darcy was about to shut the door.

She looked at him- at the slight, dark shadow of a beard on his face, how his eyes were sad and almost as unguarded as they'd been when they first met. He was the most attractive man she had ever seen, and she wanted nothing more than to just hold him in her arms and be held by him.

"No," she said. She closed the door on him.

He knocked again, and she shut her eyes.

"Please," he said, his voice muffled through the door.

She didn't respond.

"I want to use your promise. I want to use your promise and have you open this door and let me explain and not interrupt until I'm done."

Darcy bit her lip.

"Please."

She opened the door. "Fine. But be quick about it. I'm tired, and I don't like you."

He nodded. "I'll be quick."

Darcy sighed. "Come in then."

She sat down at the armoire and began brushing her hair again. He said nothing for a moment, and Darcy glanced at him impatiently. "Well?" He'd been staring at her hand as she brushed her hair.

"Right," he said, blinking. "I should start off by apologizing. I'm sorry, Darcy. I'm more sorry than you can possibly know." Well make me know! she wanted to cry, but said nothing and kept brushing her hair. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Christ. Where to...well, Haberdash, I suppose. I'm a prince, as you know now. And it's...it's very- boring. People trip over themselves to make you happy and to say what they think you want to hear, and it's all stuck- like a cage- and sometimes you just want to scream, you know? Just for them to be themselves, because they're not real people when they're just parroting words at you and you get to thinking 'I'm a terrible person, because I make people into things they're not' and sometimes it just gets to be too much and I feel like I can't breathe for want of some small dose of reality... And those are the times I go away. I choose a different village or city each time, and I just...live. Like a normal, regular human being. Sometimes I'm a traveling magician. Sometimes I'm not. It depends.

"That day...when I met you. When we-" He ran a hand through his hair. "It meant...Darcy," he said, and Darcy was helpless not to look at him, even though she'd been studiously avoiding it before. "It meant a lot to me." He said it quietly, and with a solemn intensity that left Darcy unable to question it. She cleared her throat and looked away again. He continued. "I didn't tell you who I was at first because you were so...you were so perfect, and real and exactly what I'd been looking for, and I was afraid to ruin it. And then it was too late and I'd already been lying to you, and I thought there was no way I could ever see you again anyways, so I thought: why not? Why not just let you keep the memory as it was, without feeling betrayed by me. But then of course we argued anyways, and I don't even know-"

Darcy swallowed, blinking back tears. What he was saying struck a chord with her, and softened her to him more than she would have liked.

"I'm betrothed," he said again after a time. "It's a political thing- my father's idea. It means nothing to me."

"Right," she said. She couldn't decide whether she should burst out in tears or laughter.

He frowned, his brows drawn as he looked at her. She wondered what her face was saying. She had no idea. "If I could, I would-"

"You would what, Loki?"

He closed his eyes briefly, a hint of a smile on his lips. "That's the first time you've said my name."

Darcy sighed. "It's not like I've had much opportunity." She could have kept the note of bitterness out of her voice, but hadn't felt like making the effort.

"Right," he said softly, accepting the accusation in her words without protest.

"Is that it?" she asked. "I really am tired. Apparently I have to get up early for breakfast with my fiance."

"Fiance," he said harshly, looking away.

"Stop," Darcy said tiredly. "I don't need this from you. We've been over it a thousand times: no one is happy with the arrangements. Now get out. Please. Just..." she pointed at the door heavily. "Just go."

He went.

She slept fitfully, though she was indeed exhausted, and woke feeling drained before the day had even begun.

"Rise and shine, my lady," Neva said brightly, bustling about the room and pulling the curtains back to let in the morning sun. "We've got to get you ready for your breakfast with the Prince."

"Do I have to go?" Darcy groaned even as she was slowly getting up. Neva led her to the armoire and sat her down.

"Yes."

Darcy arrived to breakfast feeling grumpy and ugly, even though Neva had worked magic with her powders and one could hardly tell she'd spent the night tossing and turning. She stabbed at her bacon moodily, and it broke into two pieces with the force. For some reason, that was the final straw, and she burst into tears.

Thor looked at her in surprise. They were on the balcony terrace at a small table, and the rest of the balcony was deserted. Even the servants were down at the far end, to give the couple some privacy.

"Why are you crying?" He asked gruffly, his blue eyes worried. "Do you not like bacon? You don't have to eat it if you don't want to."

"But I have to marry you," Darcy said through tears.

"Well...yes. But if you think I would insist you eat bacon simply because I do, you may rest assured that I will not."

"No," she sobbed, laughing a little. "The bacon isn't the problem."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"It's me, me and my big, stupid mouth. That's the whole problem."

Thor looked at her with confusion. "I don't-"

"I don't want to marry you," she burst out, and then clapped a hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to just come out and- it's not you," she fumbled, tears drying on her cheeks now. She scrubbed at them with annoyance. "You're perfectly nice and all, it's just-"

"You love my brother," Thor said, nodding at last in understanding. He took a bite of bacon. Darcy gaped at him.

"How did you know?"

"It was quite obvious." Thor shrugged. He ate another piece of bacon. "The way you were looking at each other last night, and then when Loki cut in on our dance. You have to understand- my brother does not dance. Ever. He did not even dance with his betrothed."

"Oh," Darcy said.

"It does complicate things a bit, though. Us, for one thing. You're quite right- we cannot marry."

"I- you agree?" Darcy was astonished. She had not expected it to be this easy.

"But of course." Thor frowned. "I cannot marry the woman my brother loves. That does not make sense. To be honest, I'm not sure I'm ready for marriage quite yet, anyways. The bigger problem is Loki and Sygn. His marriage is part of a political alliance, and for him to back out of it now, but days before the wedding, it would be...not good. That must be handled with delicacy."

Darcy shook her head. "Oh! No. I think- maybe I gave the wrong impression. I don't want to marry Loki. I don't want to marry anyone. There's no need to mess around with a political alliance."

Thor stared at her. "I don't understand," he said slowly. "You are in love with each other."

"I- well-" Darcy fiddled with her fork. "It's not that simple."

Thor said nothing. He just kept staring at her.

"Please," Darcy said softly. "I just want to be able to go home to my father."

Thor hesitated a moment, clearly torn between wanting his brother to be happy and wanting the woman his brother loved to be happy. But he relented. "As you wish."

And, amazingly- just like that- Darcy was free to leave.

"My sparrow has flown home," her father said with a smile on her return.

"And she's never leaving again," Darcy promised, hugging him tightly and relishing the comfort of his arms.

"Don't say that, girl. Don't say that. Got a broken wing, did you?"

She shook her head, holding his hands in her own and placing them to his chest. "A broken heart."

He nodded, his soft eyes watery. "Ah. Well, I know a bit about that," he said matter-of-factly. "Love hurts. The important things always do. But sometimes it is a good hurt."

Darcy smiled weakly. "I don't know, pa," she said. "This doesn't really feel like a good hurt."

He patted her cheek. "Aye. Well, and sometimes it's a terrible hurt that tears up your heart into a million pieces and then laughs at you as you stare at the wreckage, trying to decide if you should attempt to piece it back together or just call it a loss."

Darcy laughed despite herself. "Yeah. That sounds a bit more familiar."

And so life went days followed each other one after the other with a comforting familiarity to their dullness. Her heart only hurt when she thought of him, and some days she only thought of him three or four times. It was not so bad.

Jane had been offered a scholarship at a University in Asgard, and so Darcy saw her very little. Apparently, Jane had even met Thor at an event, and had found him to be quite as sweet as Darcy had described him.

It was hard to be without her best friend's company, but she had other friends after all, and they wrote to each other. A cat in town had had kittens, and Darcy had finally allowed herself to get one, telling herself it would surely be a good mouser. Honestly though, it was just nice to have someone to curl up with at night, and it helped stave off the loneliness that came creeping in during the night. All in all though, Darcy could not truly say that she was unhappy.

Then a letter arrived from Loki, and she couldn't bring herself to read it so she put it out of sight. And then there was another as the months passed, and another, and another, and they kept piling up in the corner Darcy put them in, under an old blanket by the fireplace. If only he would let it go, she thought. If only he could stay in her past, where she tried to keep him, instead of intruding into her present. And yet at the same time, it was comforting to get them. Each one was like a little reminder: I still care about you. I haven't forgotten. And she would admit for those few seconds that she held each letter that yes, she still loved him, and that yes, she would probably always still love him.

"That boy again?" Her father would ask. He always knew. Somehow he always knew.

"That boy again," she would agree.

"Don't suppose you'll be reading it?"

She would shake her head. "I don't think that would be healthy."

"Perhaps not."

And she would put it in the pile with the others, out of sight, and once again she would smile, and tell herself that she was happy without him.

But then one day it wasn't a letter that arrived- it was the man himself. He walked up the hill as she was gathering flowers for the table from the small garden bed in front of the house. It was spring again, and everything was coming to life. Mellow, the cat, was yowling at the sheep as they grazed, and Darcy was humming an old folk song.

She heard feet on the path and turned, expecting it to be John, the milkman, or Peter, the postmaster. But instead a familiar, beloved face was approaching, his hair shorter than she'd ever seen it, and his clothes a simple white shirt and buckskin leggings. He could have passed for any commoner, if not for the regal air of authority he carried with him by birthright.

Her heart turned over at the sight of him and she stood, brushing off the dirt from her dress. Her mind raced. How did she look? What had she done with her hair? He smiled uncertainly, coming to a stop a few feet away.

"What are you doing here?" Darcy asked finally, inevitably, after drinking in the sight of him. Gods, but she would never have her fill of this man.

"Did you read my letters?" He asked. Darcy shook her head, and he nodded. "I thought you might not. But I had to try. You look well."

"I- thank you. You look pretty good yourself. Healthy, and...such."

They stared at each other for another long moment, Darcy feeling awkward and excited and wary all at once. The way he was looking at her- as if he had not seen her in years. As if he was making a note of even the smallest detail, in case he would need it later.

"I never married her," he said, and Darcy's heart started pounding. "Sygn. We reached another settlement instead. I remain unmarried."

"Oh. I'm- ah. I'm sorry to hear that."

He nodded gravely. "Me too," he said. "I'm glad to hear you agree. I was hoping we might be able to rectify the matter."

Darcy's eyes widened. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? "Pardon?" she squeaked.

He got down on one knee.

"Oh my god," Darcy breathed. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. What is happening."

He smiled, but his eyes were uncertain. "Darcy Lewis, I come before you a man who loves you more than anything he has ever found in this world. As soon as you left I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life- so I've spent these last few months putting everything to rights, and the only thing left to fix is the biggest thing: for you to be in my life. I want to wake up every morning and see your face, I want to hold you in my arms and know you're mine, I want to shower you with flowers and chocolates and write horrible, sappy poems about how your skin is the softest thing I've ever felt in my life, and how you smell like moonlight and roses and home and how I've never felt anything like this before in my life." He took her hand. "My darling, my dearest- Darcy. Will you do me the most incredible honor of becoming my wife?"

And then he was looking at her as if she held all his hopes and dreams in her hands, and she was laughing, and crying, and jumping into his arms and kissing him and saying, "Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!" and he was grinning twirling her around in his arms and she thought her heart would burst from happiness.

P.S.

Once upon a time there were two little boys. They lived with their father and mother in a small cottage with a thatched roof on a small, grass-covered hill that overlooked a small duck pond. There was a narrow, well-traveled path going down the hill and into the surrounding forest, which if you followed would lead to the village of Haberdash. Haberdash, was also, as they had noted often and with great despair, quite small.

But on the whole it didn't matter so much. The boys ran in and out of the house, and all over the hill, and down into the village to play with the other children, and it was good. At night laughter filled the house, and in the morning their father would wake them up by scooping them into his arms and blowing huge raspberries on their bellies as they shrieked with laughter and outrage.

The family was happy.