~One Week Later, The Training Fields~

All eyes were on Sif as though she was a first-year warrior; in truth, the woman descending the steps was, by all accounts, brand new.  The Sif they remembered— the golden-haired double blade wielding soldier —was no more.

She ran a nervous hand through her new raven strands.  Her brothers in arms stared at her shamelessly.  It was as though the respect that had once shone in their eyes had been replaced by a far more carnal emotion.  Maybe she was just reading into things.  She hoped so.

Her hair was the obvious change.  It was the outward representation of an entirely different Sif.  She refused to show it, but her insides were softer.  The muscles had healed, the bones had mended, the bleeding had stopped, but her heart felt weak.

She’d been released from the healing rooms with strict instructions to relax, rest inside (apparently the cold weather would delay the healing), and stay away from the training grounds for a week.  Tired and weak as she felt, she’d revisited Eir three times over that week, convinced there was internal bleeding.  Endlessly patient, the chief healer assured Sif each time that everything checked out.

But that didn’t make sense!  She should have felt better by now, yes?  Her week of rest had been anything but restful.  What was she supposed to do?— just lay in bed agonizing over what was wrong with her?  No, she couldn’t do that.  If she was going to ruminate, she could at least be up moving while she was doing it, which was why she’d sent her servant away for the week and taken to cleaning her chambers spotless on her own.

The fire had probably done the most damage, but it was Loki’s dagger that plagued her thoughts, and as she alphabetized the books on her bookshelf on day six, she finally concluded that the dagger had been poisoned.  It had to be poisoned!  It seemed like something he would do, right?  She’d even gone so far as to confide in Thor about her theory.  However, when he had, with less patience than Eir, assured Sif that she was fine—  that his brother’s dagger was made of silver (nothing more!)— she’d felt like an absolute fool.

She hated that she’d been turned into this simpering neurotic mess.  That was why it was imperative that she get back into the arena.  Get back to normal.  Train.  Train hard.  Show all of them she was still strong.  Still a fighter.

She hadn’t been on the ground more than ten seconds when Álfar came running up to her.  He held his hands out to her, a welcoming smile stretched across his hard face, and she grasped them powerfully, hopefully with as much strength as he remembered.

“Lady Sif!  It would appear you’ve made a full recovery and been graced with a raven mane in the process!”

She set her jaw.  Of course the first thing out of his mouth would be about her hair.  Unbelievable.

“Just to be safe, though,” he continued, “I think perhaps block five is the best place to start.  There’s no need to push the boundaries.”

Her eyes went wide— Block five?!  NO!!

The arena was fenced off into five sections, called blocks, and the furthest was for archers.  As far as she was concerned, the bow was for little girls.  It was for new soldiers who were too scared to put themselves into the fight.

“Fine,” she said around a fake smile, then made her way around the field.

So that was what they thought of her now. They saw a weak little girl now.

Blowing out a breath, she seethed.  Loki had done this to her.  Her reputation was ruined.  Everything she’d worked so hard to overcome— the scrutiny she’d faced as a woman warrior, the hard-won respect— was now just… gone.

That blasted dark prince’s conniving little smirk blazed against the backs of her eyelids every time she closed her eyes.  She’d never seen him look more predatory than in that moment when he’d stabbed her.  Loki had always been intense, to say the least, but she’d never seen him like that before.  He had been hungry for a fight. A kill, more likely.  Maybe.

Gritting her teeth, she shook her head and continued walking around the arena.  Why had she fought him?!  She should have just let him battle out his hatred with his brother on his own.  Thor was more than capable of taking care of himself!  But no, she just had to get in the way.  She’d been stabbed, broken, burned, and had lost her stupid hair, which, thanks to Mischief-incarnate, was now black as night and had every glorified cave man in this place looking at her like she was more woman than warrior.

Goddess of War indeed.

She heard Thor yell across the field as he knocked out a soldier with a solid right hook. “Sif!”

She sighed.  Not slowing her pace, she waved at him.  Just what she needed— A man who literally did make her weak.  Well, weak in the knees at least.  He caught up to her in a flash of red and blond that made her heart speed up.  He was dirt covered and sweating yet devastatingly good looking as always.

Breathing heavily, he smiled. “You’re on block five, yes?”

Rolling her eyes, she nodded. “Don’t remind me.  Álfar wants me to take it slow.  It’s so frustrating!  I don’t need any more time than I’ve already taken.  He’s treating me like a woman.”
 
Her scowl faded, and she gasped a little as he brushed the loose raven locks behind her ear, his hand landing at the nape of her neck, unmoving.  He gave her a good once over and half grinned.

“Well… you are a woman.”

She found it hard to breathe with his large, rough, utterly masculine (ugh… why did she have to CARE?) hand at her neck.  Why was he doing this to her?  Here?  Now?  In front of everyone?!  She steadied herself under his aqua gaze.

He furrowed his brow knowing that Sif would hate him in the next moment. “And Álfar isn’t to blame.  I requested block five.”

Her eyes turned black, and she punched him right in the teeth.  Thor shook his head, blinking several times—Okay, he’d expected to see anger, not stars!  He spit the blood out of his mouth as she whispered angrily at him.

“Godsdammit, Thor!  You know how much I hate archery!  Surely you do not think so little of my skills?!” She wanted to pound him into the ground or, at least, give it her best shot.  This man that she’d trusted for centuries was now sending her to practice with children.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Sif, try to understand!  I was only-”

She shrugged his hands off, and with a tight-lipped glare, she ran to block five.

---

~Same Day, North Corridor of the East Wing of the Palace~

One moment’s peace— Was it too much to ask?

Turning her head as she walked through the palace’s north corridor, Sigyn looked behind her.  That Hawk was there.  He was always there.  She didn’t like him one bit.  What was his name again?  She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to remember.

Th-something, or, no, wait, yes, Thhhheerr-something?

She searched her brain for the word but came up empty.  She didn’t appreciate being stalked, nor did she appreciate having no ability to set him on fire with nary but a thought.  Impossibly angry at the man following her, she gave the soldier a good long glare over her shoulder as she continued down the hall.  Then, with all the grace of a damn toddler, she proceeded to walk right into a pillar.

“Shit!” she shrieked, her cheeks burning as thoroughly as the magic that should be flowing through her right now.

No doubt it was her pride, rather than her body, that had taken the blow.  She rubbed the arm that had collided with the stone as laughter echoed through the hall that led to her chambers.
 
“I’m amused that you can’t take your eyes off me, Lady Sigyn!” Theoric shouted, doubling over and clutching his sides.  He rose to his full height again and flashed a smile at her. “That said, it might be more to your advantage to put your eyes forward whilst walking.”

A few moments prior, wanting to spare her from embarrassment, he’d considered warning her of her impending collision, but then she’d cast that glare in his direction; all chivalry had flown out the window.  It annoyed him to no end that she wouldn’t give him even a second of her time— a second to prove himself a better-suited option for her.  That vain arrogant dark prince had blinded her to anything but himself, apparently.

Composing herself, Sigyn smoothed her dress and brushed her hair out of her face.  She thought to call out an insult, but she choked on the slur when a tall, slender (yet broad-shouldered), stunner of a man appeared at the end of the hall behind Captain-what’s-his-name.

She locked eyes with the gorgeous newcomer (that is, new to this hall at this second), his bright emerald gaze putting the finest evergreens of Vanaheim to shame.  Oh gods—She couldn’t bear it.  He was right there.  Loki was right there, but he might as well be on another realm.  She could look, but she couldn’t touch.

Come now, seriously??—Look, but don’t touch?!

It was the sort of thing that parents said while wagging their fingers and tsking their naughty little children, for pity’s sake!  Talk about a hit to one’s pride.  At this rate, she might as well walk right smack into every damn pillar in this palace.  It would be no less embarrassing than being punished as though she were an out-of-control, hormonal adolescent girl.  Granted, her reaction to Loki was similarly…hormonal.  Unfortunately, unlike the excessively angst-inducing chemicals of her youth, her current godsdamn chemicals were doing a tad more than just screwing with her mood.  No, they caused constant, excessively physical pain; the effect only compounded the painful absence of magic in her body.

Honestly, this was worse than fucking NIÐAVELLIR.  Head shaking, she turned quickly and walked away before her face crumpled pathetically.

Loki watched miserably as Sigyn moved further and further down the hall, then narrowing his eyes, he turned his icy gaze on Theoric—the man who Loki knew had become Sigyn’s unwanted shadow.

Theoric, sensing who had entered the corridor, turned around and set his jaw, shooting a glare at Loki.

“Your highness,” he said, his glare faltering as Loki inched closer.

The hawk was built like Thor (though shorter) and might have bested Loki in a fist fight— only fists, no weapons or magic allowed —but the younger royal clearly made him nervous.  Loki smirked, pleased to see the sheen of sweat on the man’s forehead.  This Hawk was wise to be nervous right now.

No, more than that, he should be fucking TERRIFIED of me—Loki moved closer, mere inches from Theoric’s face.  Everything about the soldier screamed fear.  Rapid breathing, flushed cheeks, neck veins pulsing too quickly, white knuckles.

He had to give Theoric credit.  At least this soldier knew a real threat when he saw it.

Loki lowered his chin, looking down at the somewhat shorter man, then spoke plainly. “Tell me, what business does the captain of Odin’s hawks have with Sigyn?  Do you not have a regiment to command?”

Slowing his breathing, Theoric did not break eye contact.  What sort of captain would he be if he ran at the first sign of danger?

“My personal business is my own, Prince Loki,” he replied, perhaps to boldly.

Eyes narrowing, Loki clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from sending a painful blast of his magic into the man’s chest.  He was already in enough trouble with his father.  No need to anger the old man further.

Wait…

Oh…

Dammit—he’d forgotten that no magic flowed through his veins anyhow.  He frowned at the thought.

Well, never mind then.
 
 “That may be, captain,” Loki responded calmly, “but if your supposedly personal business has anything to do with her, then it is my business as well.” When Theoric merely glared at him in response, Loki gritted his teeth and, in the blink of an eye, closed his hand around the man’s throat.

Eyes widening as his windpipe was compressed, Theoric clawed at the hand holding his throat, struggling to get a hold of his sword.  But then again, even if he could reach it, what could he possibly do with the blade?  He could hardly slay an Odinson!  Also, there was much greater power in this young royal’s grip than Theoric had imagined there would be.  Odin’s ravens— the warriors of Asgard had been extremely wrong to think that the second son lacked physical strength.  Uh…no.  Apparently, this aptly-named dark prince could break Theoric’s neck with one hand.  Not sure what to do, the captain of the hawks stood, unmoving, hoping Loki would release him.

“Sigyn is mine,” Loki hissed, tightening his grip just that much more, before finally letting go.  Glaring at the gasping soldier, Loki stepped back and added, “Do not forget it.” 

“I do not think the Allfather would take too kindly to the Hawks’ captain being murdered, Your Highness,” Theoric croaked, his voice hoarse from having the air crushed out of it.  He gaped at Loki, not believing for one second that the prince wouldn’t off him, nor bat an eyelash in the process.  

Gaze narrowing, Loki licked his teeth behind closed lips.  He wasn’t one to make empty threats, and Theoric damn well knew it.  After a silent minute of staring, he finally spoke.

“Careful,” Loki warned, his voice low and menacing, and stepped around the soldier, making his way down the hall.

The captain exhaled heavily, silently thanking the Norns that he would live to die another day.

---

~Later That Night~

Loki haunted Sigyn’s thoughts, both conscious and unconscious, every second of the day.  As much as it pained her to think of him (twenty excruciatingly long days stood between them!), she couldn’t help herself.  Though if she could have somehow put him out of her head through sheer willpower, it wouldn’t matter since their paths crossed constantly.  Clearly, she shared too many common interests with him, because every task she attempted to occupy herself with seemed to also be part of Loki’s schedule.

The most obvious example of said “tasks” was weapons training.  Both she and he had, unsurprisingly, been banned from using the arena during daylight hours, which meant that she had to wait until the night meal concluded before shooting arrows, and even then, she wasn’t allowed to go alone—a guard was required to escort her, by order of the king.  Oh, but why was this escort necessary?  Because Loki was always in the arena at the exact second she arrived (with with his own personal guard, as well).  Norns— Odin had serious trust issues.

She looked across the field now as she descended the steps, and yes, Loki was already there.  She was starting to think he was doing this on purpose, that maybe he just wanted to be able to keep his eyes on her…even from a distance.  Why else would he be out here instead of riding or reading or honing his magic skills?

Sighing heavily, she rolled her eyes. She kept forgetting that neither of them had magic.

She could tell that he was avoiding her eyes in favor of slinging dagger after dagger into practice dummies.  As his blades slashed through the fabric, his angry grunts and yells ringing in Sigyn’s ears, she stared at the whirls of sawdust and feathers being tossed into the air until nothing remained but shreds of burlap.  Doing her best to ignore the aggressive bedroom worthy sounds coming out of his mouth, she set her arrow to the bow string, aimed, and released the arrow.

Oh, for Hel’s sake…

She pulled a hand down her face.  It didn’t hit the target.  Not by a long shot.  Instead, the arrowhead was now embedded in the wooden door of the weapons shed twenty feet behind and five feet left of the target.  Apparently good marksmanship was a lofty goal for her when the only man in the nine who she desperately wanted to touch but had been barred from doing so was a measly twenty yards away.

Letting out a frustrated yell, she threw her bow on the ground.  She scowled at the damn thing before bending over to pick it up, wincing at the pain in her back.  One of the worst things about losing her magic was the pain.  Maybe she wasn’t hitting the targets because she was physically weaker…?

She looked once more at Loki, watching as his knives hit the bullseye over and over and over again.  Setting her jaw, she scoffed.  How was his aim still perfect?  Hadn’t Odin removed Loki’s magic, too?  Was he not aching as horribly as she was?  Everything about him was just unfair.  Ridiculous man—he probably was in pain but wasn’t letting it affect him.

Well, it’s affecting ME, and it’s also pissing me off.

The guard who’d escorted her (thankfully not what’s-his-name) gave her a sympathetic look, and she wondered if the man’s expression was because she was the lousiest archer ever right now, or if it was due to the way she was looking longingly (stupidly) at oh-so-dreamy Prince Loki.  Honestly, everything about her probably looked pathetic and stupid.  Clearly, there was no point in staying here. Frowning, she crossed archery practice off her list of things to bide her time.

---

~Next Morning, The Dining Hall~

Without his magic, Loki’s entire schedule was thrown off.  Normally, he would have locked himself away in his chambers during the morning hours, lost in his spell books, logging his efforts, and recording his conclusions.  He rarely broke fast until well into the afternoon.  Without his studies to distract him though, he experienced hunger pangs strong enough to drive him to the dining hall for the first meal.  He understood now why Thor was so grumpy before he’d eaten his first meal.

Stomach growling so loudly it was almost comical, he hurried to the spread of fruits, pastries, breakfast meats, various teas, and hot mulled cider.  His usual fare of half an apple would not suffice. Ignoring the surprised looks of the servants who were not accustomed to seeing the Dark Son satiating himself so early, Loki filled a plate with ripe citrus and sampled the wild boar slices before piling several onto the already stuffed plate and poured himself a cup of tea.

This was absurd.  Forced separation from his magic and the woman he ached for was going to make him as fat as Volstagg.

Striding to his mother, Loki sat down heavily onto the seat next to her, giving her hand a loving squeeze.  The smile that spread across her face was as warm as summer, and he returned it with a much smaller version of his own.

“What an unexpected pleasure to see you in the dining hall at the start of the day, my son,” she said, patting his leg.

His father nodded to Loki from the head of the table. “Perhaps having your magic locked up will put some meat on your ribs,” the old man said, speaking with a mouthful of food, nearly incomprehensible.  Sadly, the words reached his son’s ears, nonetheless.

Loki ignored the comment as he shoved a forkful of the wild boar into his mouth and chased it with a swig of the tea, hissing when it burned his tongue.

“Our son’s build is exactly as it should be,” Frigga chided her husband, incredibly irritated for her son. “You wouldn’t want him to turn into Volstagg, would you now?”

Oh, his mother was such a mind-reader.

Odin merely shrugged at the question and continued eating as his son finished off the meat in several bites and tossed his napkin on the plate.

“I’ll take my leave now, if you’ll excuse me,” Loki said tightly, then pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly on the black marble tiles.

Frigga tried to grab his arm as he made for the doors. “Oh darling…please wait, Lo-”

Looking back at her, he mouthed “it’s fine” as he walked backwards toward the exit.  Before he could turn back around, he collided with a small body.  Sighing loudly, he closed his eyes.  He knew who it was, even before he heard her mumble “sorry” to him.  He turned to face her, his eyes raising to meet hers, and his heart dropped in his chest.

Gods…

Sigyn had dark circles under her eyes, and her hair wasn’t even brushed, but she was still so godsdamn gorgeous.  He wanted to snake his arms around her waist and bury his face in her hair.  He wanted to kiss her until she was gasping for air.  He wanted to do a great many things to her (with her), and he even inched toward her for a second, but he thought better of it and stopped.  Stepping aside instead, he gave her a wide berth, eyeing his father and hoping to the gods that the accidental contact had not just earned them an extra fortnight of separation.

Odin hadn’t raised his head and Frigga, seeing that her husband had been too focused on his food to notice, waved her son off.  Shaking his head, Loki gave Sigyn a joyless smile and walked away, completely unaware that the smell of leather that trailed behind him had given her shivers.

---

~That Night, The Royal Library~

Sigyn was running out of things to fill her time with.  The arena had proven fruitless, the gardens were icy and had been closed off after several drunken courtiers had slipped, and the dining hall had almost been disastrous.  If Odin had seen Loki collide with her that morning, their sentence would have been lengthened for sure. 

All she could do was count the days, which was becoming increasingly difficult due to her sleepless nights.  Trapped in a haze of mindless palace wandering, everything was a blur.  But there was, thankfully, one place left that might lift the haze a little.  Smiling hopefully, she opened the large doors to the library, and her ever present guard set up shop under the door frame, obviously keeping watch for a certain Asgardian prince.  Poor guard.  The man probably hated his life right now.  She shrugged it off.  It wasn’t her fault that Odin had assigned that soldier to such a dull post.

Walking the aisles, she idly scanned the spines for something entertaining.  She always avoided the romance section.  The last thing she needed was a reminder of what she was missing.  She moved quickly through the fantasy section, having read most of those already.  There were books on every trade, technique, animal, race, and realm.  She even considered browsing through the Asgardian cookbooks.  Maybe she could be of use in the kitchen during the next few weeks.  She lovingly ran her fingers over the magic books, spell books, and journals of ancient sorcerers and sorceresses.  She adored spell books, but similar to any remotely erotic stories, they would only remind her what she was missing.

Pulling her hand away, she sighed with a shrug and wandered to the history section.  She finally settled upon a book from Miðgard.  It was a firsthand account of a soldier from the Great War as the humans called it.  She wasn’t sure why anyone would term a war as being great, but she’d never claimed to understand humans.  It seemed all they did was slaughter each other.  The way generations after generations of young soldiers needlessly killed each other was heartbreaking.  Would they never stop the vicious cycle?  Then again, it wasn’t only the humans who battled with each other incessantly.  There was a reason she’d trained with weapons.  She’d seen plenty of battles herself, and she sincerely hoped that she wouldn’t see another one for a very long time.  She flipped through the pages quickly, lost in the travesty of it all, when suddenly she heard the guard’s voice. 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I’ve orders to deny you access to the reading hall whilst the Lady Sigyn browses.”

She closed the book and peaked around the corner, her breath hitching at the sight of Loki clad in his formal armor and standing in the doorway.  She should have turned away.  She should have spared herself from worsening this chemical-induced nightmare she was in, but it was impossible to not look.  He was stunning.  She heard him speak sharply to the guard. 

“To Hel with your orders,” Loki growled, and Sigyn bit her lip at the sound.  His voice was twisting her stomach into the best knots.

“The queen sent me to retrieve the record of the Alfheim dignitaries who are arriving within the hour,” he continued, “and it is absolutely vital that I return with it urgently.  Now let me pass.”

Teeth bared, Loki shoved the guard out of his way, and she quickly concealed herself behind the shelves.  She’d heard that there was a ceremony for several visiting Alfan nobles that evening, and Loki’s attendance was clearly required by the look of it.  It was the first time she’d seen him in his formal armor, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the gold metal, brown leather, green cape, and the horned helmet that he held at his side.  She remained still, silently watching as he turned down the dusty aisle right before hers.  

Pulling a heavy blue leather bound book from the shelf, he turned on his heel and walked back down the aisle.  However, halfway to the end of the aisle, he stopped abruptly and turned, his regal cape swirling with the movement.  Setting his hand on the shelf, he peered through the books; when he found her eyes, he grinned crookedly at her.  

Oh, if she couldn’t just melt right there.  She smiled back, moving some books aside to see him better.  If she reached through the bookcase, she could just barely touch his hand.  Would that be so bad?  Who would even know?  Pushing up on her toes, she looked up and around.  She didn’t see any ravens, and the guard was busy picking his nails.  It didn’t matter.  As soon as she turned back to him, he was leaving in a flurry of green and gold.  

Scowling, she sighed heavily and blew her hair out of her face.  She couldn’t do this any longer.  She was miserable here.  And she had been so close to throwing caution to the wind just then and giving in to her desires.  Shit, if she had touched him, Odin probably would’ve just sent her straight back to Vanaheim.  Granted, Vanaheim certainly wasn’t the worst place, but she didn’t want to be forced to go back.

Wait a minute….

The thought popped into her head just as she slapped her hand to her forehead.  Of course!  She could go home for the remainder of her probation!  She’d have to be in disguise because…. well…. nevermind, but she would be at liberty to do anything and everything she wanted to!  She could catch up with her sister, go riding with her, and train without distraction!  

Laughing out loud (probably sounding completely insane to her guard), she immediately shoved the war book back on the shelf and ran right past the guard and straight for her chambers to pack.

---

~Hours Later, Levendegrøn (Sigyn’s birthplace), Vanaheim~

The strange frozen state of Asgard had not reached Vanaheim, and Sigyn breathed in the luxuriously crisp but not painfully frigid air.  The evergreen forest whispered in the cool wind that ruffled her cloak and loosened the raven strands that she’d taken to pinning back even when she wasn’t training.  Low grey clouds moved across the bright stars casting shadows across a sprawling wheat field. Laborers trudged through the crop, gathering them into stalks as she walked along the dirt path to the brick and stone abode of her childhood.  She pulled her hood lower over her face when they saw her.

Billowing clouds of smoke escaped the chimney and light shone from the windows.  Thinking of a homemade meal, tea in front of a warm fire, followed by a hot relaxing bath and sleeping in her own bed, her walk turned into a run.  She ascended the stone steps of her mother’s house and knocked on the door.  In the second story window above her head, Sigyn saw Freya stick her head out.

“Sigyn!” Freya hissed at her youngest daughter, nervously looking around the fields before disappearing from the window and reappearing at the door.

Sigyn reached forward to embrace her mother (like a good daughter would, right?), but when Freya pushed her back harshly, Sigyn furrowed her brow in confusion.

The woman crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. “What do you think you are doing?  The queen contacted me about your impending arrival.  Although I made it perfectly clear that you are not welcome in this house.”

Narrowing her eyes, Sigyn pursed her lips in sudden anger. “Nice to see you, too, Mother.  Why am I not allowed in my own house?”

A rush of cold air sent a shiver down her spine as sprinkles started to fall, and she looked past her mother into the warm fire lit room longingly.  Was this woman truly going to leave her own daughter in the freezing rain?

Probably.

Freya scoffed. “This is my house, not yours.  You are no fool, daughter.  At least, I didn’t think you were.  I’m sure you know why you are not welcome, but I shall tick off the why-nots for you anyhow.” She raised her hand and counted off.  One finger, two fingers, three fingers, four fingers.

“One.  Falling in love with the dark one, the second son, the evil, lanky trickster.  If you were going to fall for a prince, you could have at least picked the heir.  He’s more attractive anyhow.  Two.  Nearly burning a famed warrior to death.  Three.  Showing absolutely no self-control with your magic.  And four.  Forcing me to part with five hundred pieces of silver to pay for your idiotic mistake.  You’ve done nothing but embarrass the name of Freya, and you will not enter until you prove yourself worthy of this roof…of being my daughter!”

Before Sigyn could even register her mother’s words, the door was slammed in her face.  And that was that.  She couldn’t even find refuge in her home… or no, not her home, but Freya’s.

FINE.

She slung her travel satchels across her body once more across and trekked back up the dirt path.  There was no way in all of Hel that she would return to Asgard.  Not yet.  So instead of stopping at the sight of the Bifrost, she turned in the direction of her favorite old hiding place.  It would be a cold night for sleeping under the sprinkling clouds, but she could always pull out every garment in her bags and hide under them.

She climbed the steep stairs to the cliff’s peak.  This had been her quiet perch ever since she was a small child.  The ground hummed with memories.  It was a haven, a sanctuary amidst the pressures of being one of Freya’s daughters.  She cried herself to sleep many times on this cliff, and never had she shed more tears than when her mother told her that she was the daughter of a black-haired dwarf named Iwaldi.  She should have expected no less considering her five-foot-six frame compared with Freya’s six feet.

Turned out there had been no need for tears though.  Iwaldi had shown her the care that her “mother” (um…not so much) had not.  Freya did not like the man at all.  Sigyn assumed that had something to do with the unkindness that she’d endured growing up.

She sat with her back against her favorite tree and looked across the waterfall, beyond the far mountains at the moons.  Her mind wandered to Asgard and therefore to Loki.  She’d fallen for him absurdly fast, completely head over heels, and there was no going back now.  Her life could be separated into two parts now: Life before Loki, and life after Loki.  Blowing into her hands, she laughed dryly thinking of his words at that first meal together—  “You are no match for me.”

HA! Nothing could be further from the truth.

She started at the sound of crunching pine needles, drawing her dagger from her thigh instinctively.

“Easy, Sigyn!” It was the voice of her older sister, Nanna, and it brought fresh tears to her eyes.  She pulled her sister into a warm hug, and it relieved the coldness in her bones instantly.

Nanna rubbed her arms rapidly and blew into her hands. “You must be freezing out here!”

Laughing, Sigyn’s teeth chattered in response. “It’s not as cold as Asgard is right now.”

Her sister picked a few sprigs of grass from their roots and dropped them into Sigyn’s hands where they turned into furry caterpillars.  She smiled at their ticklish squirming.  What simple, harmless magic her sister had.

“Asgard is usually warm, is it not?” Nanna asked, putting an arm around Sigyn and cuddling with her under her long cloak.

“Well, it’s positively frigid there right now,” Sigyn said, leaning into her sister. “Everyone’s been complaining about it.”

Snorting, Nanna rolled her eyes. “Oh, those poor poor frigid immortals.”

The woman didn’t hide her disdain for their sister race.  The Vanir were immortal as well, just less arrogant.  After all, Vanaheim wasn’t golden, nor did it house the protector of the nine realms.  Having lived in Asgard for the better part of a month, Sigyn understood, though still loathed, the typical Æsir ego.

Her sister whispered then, barely audible. “Iwaldi paid for the hair.”

Eyes wide, Sigyn’s head shot up.  Her father had supplied the silver?  So… Freya had accused her of robbing that silver when it didn’t even belong to that woman in the first place?Shocking.

She shook her head and laughed, a dry humorless sound. “Of course, he did.”

Nanna placed a kiss on her nose and stood offering her a hand. “He’s downtown.  He would not turn you away, sister, and no one will recognize you in the city like they will here.  Go see him.  Be warm. Eat some hot food and sleep in a comfortable bed.  Don’t stay here in the cold…alone.”

Shrugging her shoulders because, once again, her own mother had let her down royally, Sigyn nodded.

“Alright.”

---

At the sound of knocking, Iwaldi hurried to his door. “Who would call so late?” he grumbled, a deep frown wrinkling his forehead.  Opening the door, he found the daughter he rarely saw soaking wet and shivering. “Sigyn?”

She nodded and offered a watery smile, suddenly aching to hug her father.  She hadn’t seen him in ages.

“Come in!  Come in!  Dear girl, come in out of that rain!”

Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her into a hug, grimacing at the feel of cold wet clothes.  He pushed her to the fireplace and took her wet cloak and satchels.  Palms facing the fire, the smell of hot bread overwhelmed her senses; her stomach growled in response.
 
“Bread’s freshly made, darling,” he said over his shoulder as he went to the kitchen, “and I’m warming a pot of tea, too.”

She hurried after him and nodded her thanks, grabbing a slice of the bread he offered.  Taking a bite, her eyes rolled back, and she sighed happily.

“This is heavenly,” she said as she chewed greedily. “Thank you, Father.”

He gestured for her to sit and threw her a wool blanket. “You’re most welcome, Raven Girl,” he said with a wink.

She’d forgotten that was his nickname for her— Raven Girl —and it warmed her heart as much as the glowing fire.  She was his only daughter with black hair.

He brought over the whistling pot and a cup. “What shall it be. Peppermint is your favorite, yes?”

He poured the water over the tea leaves at her nod of approval, sifted the tea into a china cup, and set it on her saucer.  Sniffing at the steam, she sighed.  Yes, she loved the smell of peppermint.

…and woodsmoke.

…and leather.

“Your mother kicked you out, did she?” He didn’t wait for her to respond.  He knew Freya well enough. “Sugar?”

She scooped a spoonful from the bowl he pushed to her. “She had no need to kick me out seeing as how I did not even get beyond the threshold.”

“Damn that woman’s temper,” Iwaldi growled, lifting his own cup to blow on it. “When she asked for the gold, I said no because I truly had none, but when she said it was you who needed it, I had to do something.  How could I not?  So, I forked over the same amount in silver.  It was all I had.  I do wish you hadn’t gotten yourself into such trouble, though.  I don’t expect you to be an angel, sweetheart, but it seems that prince has affected your judgment for the worse.”

He looked her straight in the eyes, not a hint of jest in his tone. “That boy is nothing but trouble, Raven Girl.”

She stared at him blankly, unsure what to say.  She knew he was right.  Loki was a great deal of trouble.  His mischief had a cruel edge, but how could anyone blame him?  After everything that he’d put up with from Odin?  From Thor and his friends?  She empathized greatly with Loki, even if no one else would.  She didn’t care that he tended to create chaos and trouble all around him.

I don’t care at ALL…

…because he’s no more “trouble” than I am.

---

~Three Weeks Later, Return to Asgard~

She spent the remainder of her sentence in her father’s company, and she found that the time went by rather quickly.  She liked Iwaldi.  She enjoyed watching him fashion iron into beautiful pieces of art, and he even let her try her hand at the forge.  He had thousands of books, all of which she’d never read.  He was also an incredible cook and threw parties to show off his talent.  She loved the parties.  After all, getting drunk with friends, even if they weren’t her friends, was much more enjoyable than drinking alone.

Before she knew it, she was saying her farewells and departing for the Bifrost site.  Her heart pounded with nervous excitement as the beams of light rained down around her.  Flying across the realms at near light speed gave her little time to consider what she would do upon seeing Loki again.

Norns— she might not be able to stop herself from jumping on him right there on the spot.  She should probably make sure they weren’t in public.  The way they’d behaved around each other was probably one of the most cringeworthy things a person could see.  Yes, that kiss they shared in the throne room had been very public, and in front of his parents no less, but she had no intentions of only kissing him this time around.

It felt like an hour passed before she reached the gates of the frozen city, and when she did, it felt like home.  She had no desire to return to Vanaheim.  Not anymore.  Asgard was her home now.

People stared at her like she was completely mad as she ran through the icy bustling streets, but it was far too cold to simply walk.  Why had no one brought her horse to the Bifrost?  She was turning into a bloody icicle.  Clearly, her body had adjusted to the warmer weather of Vanaheim during her stay there, and it made Asgard feel even more frigid than when she’d left.  Oh, what she wouldn’t give to have her magic right then.  Fire beneath her skin would have been positively blissful.

To think, she would have that fire again today.  She felt almost drunk from being so happy— so happy that she would skip through the streets, if not for the two heavy satchels slung across her torso. Eventually, she arrived at the palace and, surprisingly, did not collapse from exhaustion.  Grinning stupidly, she spotted the queen on her lofty balcony.  The woman tossed a knowing smile at Sigyn, then raised her arms, which were suddenly enveloped in black smoke.

Sigyn gaped, eyes wide with sheer joy as the dark mist flowed down the stone wall of the palace and slithered along the ground before stopping at the hem of her dress.  She reached down and opened her palms to the smoke curling around her fingers, her heart starting to race as it sank into her pores.  The sound that escaped her was highly inappropriate (there were children nearby!) but damn, it was like heaven had just descended on her as the magic rushed through her veins.

Bonus: she was no longer freezing her backside off.

OH BLESS.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she stood back to her full height.  Now there was only one thing left on her agenda for today.  Chest heaving now that she was strengthened once more with her magic, she headed straight for Loki’s chambers.

---

Loki saw the Bifrost roar to life.  He saw Sigyn running on foot down the bridge, no doubt freezing her tail off.  Why the Hel didn’t he arrange to have her horse waiting for her?  He rolled his eyes.  His brain was completely worthless after 20 days of sheer boredom.  No matter now.

He squinted to see her better.  Damn, even with those bags strapped to her, she could run fast.  Biting his lip, he smiled.

Bet I can run faster.

Turning from his balcony, he grabbed his tunic from the back of his desk chair (he couldn’t very well go running through the palace shirtless, now could he?), and yanking it on, he walked quickly to the outer doors and threw them open.  Abruptly, he collided with Thor on the other side of the door; before Loki could give his most petulant eye roll, the man handed him a gold chalice topped with an elaborate gold lid.  His brother’s eyes were wet, and Loki was relieved to see forgiveness in those tears.

In all honesty, he hadn’t been certain that Thor would forgive him for what Loki and Sigyn had done to Sif.  This was just further proof that Thor would forgive his younger brother for anything.  Tight-lipped, they exchanged nods and grasped forearms before parting.

Closing his doors, Loki stepped back slowly into the room and placed the chalice gently on his desk.  Carefully, he removed the lid and watched with relief as the green light ran, escaping from its small prison, into his outstretched fingers.  The magic filled in every inch of his body, and his eyes slid shut as waves of euphoria rolled over him.

Three sudden, sharp knocks on his door startled him, and he set his hands on his desk, taking slow breaths to calm his racing heart.  Running his hand through his hair, he turned around and slowly crossed the distance from his desk to the entryway.  When he opened those doors, he felt the single most powerful emotion of his life.

He refused to call it love.  Nothing was as deadly as a broken heart, and love had a reputation for leaving behind a trail of billions of shattered, bloody bits and pieces of once beating vital organs.

I don’t need more DEADLY pain in my life…but I can’t help myself.
 
Sigyn stood on the other side of the door, grinning at him with a raised brow like the cat that got the canary.  He smiled back, stepping aside to allow her entry, and closed the doors quietly as she walked further into his room.  He kept his eyes on her back as he twisted the lock, watching her stop in the center of the room and spin around slowly, wide eyed while taking in her surroundings.

As she removed her satchels and carefully set them down at her feet, it occurred to him then that this was her first time seeing his chambers.  He swallowed, realizing he never wanted her to leave them.  Gods damn, he was so screwed.  This woman mattered to him.  Really mattered.  Oh, he was going to get hurt more than ever before, and there was no way out of it.  His heart stopped when her eyes finally landed on him, looking him up and down.

Noting that he was clad in his casual clothes, she breathed a little faster.  Leather breeches, boots, green tunic—All extremely easy to remove.

Chewing her lip, she wondered if he’d forgone his more complex armor for just that purpose.  The fire under her skin started to burn as he approached her with careful steps, his gleaming emerald eyes darkening as they locked on hers.  Her father’s words repeated over and over in her mind— “That boy is nothing but trouble. That boy is nothing but trouble. That boy is nothing but trouble. That boy is nothing but trouble. That boy is nothing but trouble” —as Loki came toe to toe with her and reached up to pull on the fastenings holding the straps of her dress together.

For a second, she considered bolting.  It would be her last chance.  However, when he lifted his hand to her face, running his thumb lightly over her cheekbone, all thoughts of leaving flew straight over the edge of the balcony on the other end of his room.

Dear gods, I am not going anywhere without him. EVER.

By Hel did she want him, and here she was, finally able to have him.  She wasn’t entirely sure that this was even reality.  It was far too good to be real, but dream or not, she pressed her hands to his chest, which was barely covered by the low collar of his tunic.  Then she slid her palms up to his collarbones and over his shoulders to cling to the nape of his neck.

Groaning at the sensation (how could her hands feel that good?), Loki leaned down, his forehead meeting hers.

“Let us be true to one another,” he said under his breath, his hands sliding from her face to her hair. “For the world,” he continued, pulling her hair from its side braid, “which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain.”¹

Oh gods, he was quoting poetry to her, and she was falling…falling so hard.  Valhalla help her—she had no idea she was such a godsdamn sappy romantic.  She should have been embarrassed for all but literally swooning, but with him looking at her like this, she didn’t care.  His hands slid down to her neck, over her shoulders, down her arms, and then took her hands in his.

“Asgard is no longer my home, Sig,” he said, bringing her hands to his mouth, kissing each palm.

Her eyebrows raised— Sig?

Had just given her a pet name?  Bloody Hel, she adored it.

Bringing her hands up behind his neck, he returned his to her hair. “You are.”

Without another thought, Sigyn’s eyes slid closed, and she pulled his neck down, bringing their lips together.  The fire in the hearth roared, sparks bursting from the bright green flames, and Fenrir, who they’d quite forgotten was in the room with them, jumped from the hearth rug and crawled under the bed.

No going back now, she mused, tugging him closer.  He had crawled into her heart and was laboring away, building his home there.

1Loki quotes “Dover Beach” by Matthew Arnold.