~Late, Loki’s Chambers~

Eyeing the chambers he’d shaped meticulously over nine centuries to fit him just right, Loki’s mouth hung open like a fish out of water, feeling both tired and exhilarated.  He was done with mourning Fenrir.  Done with fearing Thanos.  Done with wandering.  For now.

“It seems unreal, does it not?”

He turned at the sound of Sigyn’s voice, giving her an appreciative once over.  Tightening the sash of her long black dressing gown around her waist, she looked every bit the immortal Vanir sorceress she was once more.  Yes, he’d loved seeing her legs in those denim shorts on Earth, but they just didn’t do her justice.  He followed her gaze up to the iron chandelier over his bed, the replacement for the one she’d once melted and dropped on him in a fit of rage a lifetime ago.

“Four days on Midgard is mere hours here,” she said, voice wistful, “but I’d swear it’s the other way around.”

“Agreed,” he nodded, letting out a long breath, shrugging out of his knee length armored jacket.  

Walking to his desk, he gently draped the heavy leather over the desk chair, staring at the disaster scene of his open journals scattered across the surface of the desk.  He rolled up the sleeves of his thin black tunic to his elbows. The neat freak in him had just taken a punch in the gut, and he fought the urge to double over, crying into his hands like some insufferable drama queen.

“You’ve made quite the mess of my things, Sig,” he sighed, raising an eyebrow at her.

Putting a hand on her hip, she shot him a look, which Loki returned with a smirk and wink that twisted her stomach into excited knots.  Rolling her eyes at her absurd hormonal response in spite of her exhaustion of the last nine hundred years (four days, same difference), she crossed the room to stand behind him.  Son of a bitch, did he smell good, and they were alive in Asgard, so could anyone really blame her for sliding one hand down his outstretched forearm as he attempted to put his things back in some sort of order, hoping to get his hormones going, too?  

“Can you ever forgive me, my king?” she murmured, smiling when the little hairs on his arm raised under her touch.  She then stepped around him, squeezing between his body and the desk.  Pushing up on her toes, she placed a lingering kiss on the dip between his collar bones.  

Equal parts surprised and thrilled with her interest, Loki bit his lip and reached up to tangle his fingers in the dark strands at the back of her head.  Good grief, his little lover couldn’t be more capricious if she tried.  She’d looked all but half dead an hour ago, and yet here she was, clearly intent on getting into his trousers.  Not that he didn’t relate to erratic moods and behavior.  They made quite the pair, didn’t they.

“I’m not a king anymore,” he corrected her, bending his head down to kiss her.  Much to his displeasure, she pulled out of his reach.

“You are my king,” she stared up at him, chest rising and falling steadily.

Little minx ーhe fixed her with a glare.

Stroking his royal ego with that devastatingly smoky feminine voice but not letting him kiss her?  Such a tease.  A lesser man would spin her around, lift up that lovely gown, and have his way with her.  His eyebrows came together in a frown the longer she looked at him, though, with not a hint of mischief in her eyes.  No, all he found in those grey green depths was utmost admiration.  Complete devotion.  Undying fidelity.  His expression softened, chest constricting with unexpected emotion.  How was he supposed to respond to those words?

Thank you?  You’re my entire godsdamn universe?  

Before he could get a word out, she dropped her eyes to his mouth, and leaned in to pull his bottom lip between hers. “I adore you,” she whispered against his teeth, running her hands up his chest and around his neck while leaning back on his desk.

He went with her, bending his body over hers.  Wrapping one arm underneath the small of her back, he untied the knot of her robe with nimble fingers.  He released her lips once her robe was open, kissing down the length of her exposed torso.  Pulling on his neck, she prevented him from going lower, and taking the hint, he slid back up her body.

Laughter rumbling deep in his chest, he watched her fumble with the leather laces of his pants. “Norns, Sig, you’re so impatient.”

He might have said more, but when she reached inside the front of his now open trousers, he lost his train of thought.  She squeezed him hard, too hard actually, and hissing through his teeth, he grabbed her wrist, ceasing her movements.

“Easy,” he warned, peeling her over eager fingers off him.  Pushing her hand down to the desk above her head, he held it there firmly, his fingers curling around hers.  Her nails dug into his knuckles until she broke the skin, and he winced at the sting. “Gods dammit, Sig, I said take it easy.”

”Sorry, sorry,” she panted, loosening her grip.  She needed to get a hold of herself.  Between the times she’d bloodied up his back, and when she’d bit Two’s neck, and now this, she wouldn’t blame Loki for thinking she got off on his pain.  He gave her a sharp look (one that made her want to absolutely shred his clothes), and for a second, she thought maybe she’d finally taken it too far, but instead of pushing off her, he closed the distance between their lips.

His kiss pulled a moan so sultry from her that, Valhalla, his pants might have melted off right then and there from the sound alone.  Desperate to use his fingers elsewhere, he released her hand, which immediately flew to the back of his neck, yanking on his hair so hard his eyes watered.  He didn’t understand why she was being so aggressive with him.  Rubbing him absolutely raw?  Scratching up his knuckles until they bled?  Nearly ripping his hair out by the roots?  Well, if she wanted rough….

Growling deep in his chest, he yanked her silky little underthings down her legs forcefully, tossing them behind his shoulder once they were over her toes.  Impatient to the point of frustration, he hadn’t intended to bother with removing his clothes since his fly was already wide open, but ick, his tunic was thoroughly soaked through with sweat now, so he grabbed the hem and dragged it up over his head.  His pants still clung to the sharp v of his hips, but discarding them too fully felt like such a waste of time.  

Sigyn clung to his shoulders, eyes shooting open as he thrust into her with one snap of his hips, burying himself to the hilt, and she cried out in shock.  He was thick and solid and heavy as ever, filling her up to the point of.…. oh Hel…. actual pain.  She bit into her lip to stifle any further crying.

Arching a confused eyebrow, Loki froze, instantly aware that the look on Sigyn’s face was not one of pleasure, a first in his experience.  That, and there was a low grade unpleasant pressure deep in his abdomen that he couldn’t exactly ignore.  This had to be the bond.  Something was wrong.

“Sig,” he grit his teeth, the pressure intensifying, “you alright?”  

She blew out a slow breath.  No, actually.  She wasn’t.  A voice in her head said ‘not good, not good, something is wrong’, but this was Loki, and he knew her body inside out, as she did his, so surely the pain would go away as it always had, or…. well, as it had since his return.  There hadn’t always been pain with Loki.  Only since Earth.  Even if her body was not quite on board for some absurd reason that she could not fathom, her brain was begging him to make love to her, and her brain was far more powerful than the rest of her.  Right?—Right.

Blinking rapidly to clear the instinctive tears, she locked eyes with him.  Lips parted, he stared down at her, eyebrows drawn.  Oh just look at him.  So distressed at the possibility of hurting her.  Despite the pain, her heart positively glowed in that second.

Shaking his head, Loki sighed, inching back. “Sig, you’re not well.  This is a terrible-”

“No, I’m fine,” she grabbed his hips, stopping him from pulling out completely.  

He hung his head. “Sigyn-”

“Don’t you dare ‘Sigyn’ me,” she glared, holding him steady. “I’m fine, I swear.  Just give me a second.  Unless you don’t want to-”

“Oh don’t go and put this on me.  I’m inside you, am I not?” He groaned, letting go of her hips to instead rest his hands on the desk, leaning his weight on them because, fucking Hel, his lower stomach was now throbbing. “It feels different this time, though, for both of us.”

That gave her pause, and she tilted her head sideways, focusing on the clench of his jaw.  She hadn’t considered that.  Her pain was his.

“Can you n-not, you know, just t-turn it off?” she stammered, hoping to Valhalla he would, because she wanted him.

Loki scoffed. “Are you mad?  Sig, I’m not about to ignore your suffering for the sake of my own pleasure!  You’re all but asking me to jerk off on top of you,” he said, cringing at the thought of using her so crudely.  Feeling off balance, he shifted his hips to correct his awkward stance.  Wincing because, good gods, moving at all had been a terrible call on his part, he dropped his head. “We are not doing this,” he hissed.

The throbbing faded away in favor of what felt like a hot poker beneath his skin, and he bit his tongue to keep from screaming.  By Hel turning Jotun at this point would be marvelous if he could only figure out how.  Then in an instant the burning ended, as did the pain altogether.  Through narrow slits of eyes, he frowned at Sigyn.

“You did something.”

“Heat ends the pain,” she panted, using her grip on his hips to pull herself up to a seated position, “at least temporarily.  Here, switch with me.”

Loki frowned, perplexed by her actions. “Switch what with you?”  

“I want to be on top,” she answered simply, as though it should have been obvious to him.

“Sig, your fire only masks pain…. and I don’t even understand what’s hurting you.  This isn’t normal,” he protested, though he submitted to her request anyway.  

Lifting her easily from the desk, he turned around to sit on the edge.  He held her waist, helping her balance as she carefully sank onto his lap, straddling his spread thighs.  With her sitting like this, his lack of arousal was apparent, and he failed to contain the embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks when she took him in her hand with a rather pronounced frown, pumping him with clear determination.  Twenty strokes in and he was still only half hard.  Letting out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders slumped.  He sighed, too, shaking his head.  Well, what did she expect from him?  The fear of injuring her wasn’t exactly a turn on!

She dropped her hand then, biting into her wobbling lip, looking sideways, down at the floor, up to the ceiling…. anywhere that wasn’t his face.  Norns, she’d never felt more insecure in her life.  More so even than that now infamous (at least in her mind) night meal when he’d said she should set her sights lower.  Sniffing loudly, she ran a shaky hand through her hair.  Just the memory of that dinner made her wish a hole would open up in the floor for her to fall through.  And now here she was, even more ashamed than then, almost completely naked and splayed on top of him, working him with her hand, and he didn’t want her.  She heard him groan then.

“Of course I want you,” Loki sighed, grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. “Stop overthinking this,” he gestured to his crotch, eyes rolling. “I’m too…. stressed about your well-being…. or something.  You make me think that you’ll question my attraction to…. or…. or my love for you if I can’t perform at the drop of a-”

“Oh so it’s a performance, is it?” she snapped, yanking her chin out of his grip so forcefully she nearly toppled backward off of him. “You’ll have to pardon me for assuming you were actually into this as opposed to pretending to care for-”

“What the Hel is your problem?” Loki glared, chest rising and falling rapidly with increasing anger as she scrambled off him, yanking her dressing gown closed.

“What the Hel is your problem?!” she barked, angry tears burning her eyes.  She knew she was overreacting and being hypersensitive and completely irrational, but she felt absolutely powerless to stop the overwhelming negative emotional response to feeling rejected by the only man in the universe she wanted.  

“Stop making this about me,” he growled, white knuckling the edge of the desk, trying to control the shaking of his body.  He liked chaos, did he not?  Well here it was.  Chaos in the flesh, snapping and snarling at him as though he’d viciously attacked her.  The taste of his own medicine was bitter indeed.  Adjusting his tone, he clenched his jaw.

“I was not rejecting you, and you damn well know it.  If anything, your body was rejecting me.”  He watched her walk back and forth between the foot of his bed and the fireplace on the opposite wall, the flaming ash logs sending more and more sparks out onto the hearth rug the longer she paced. “I swear, if you set my chambers on fire over this.”

She whipped her head around, staring daggers in his direction. “Watch it, Loki.”

“Oh I am watching,” he grit his teeth, gesturing to the now roaring flames from the fireplace, the chandelier above his bed and every now blazing candle in the room.  He held up his hands as if in surrender. “Calm. Down.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she slammed her eyes shut. “I’m trying to.”

And honestly, she was.  She knew her words and actions were indefensible.  She should have a better hold on her seiðr than this by now.  She’d shown many times over that she could control it, and this current juvenile display was positively mortifying.  Was this really all because she wasn’t currently riding him into oblivion like she wanted?  No, of course it wasn’t.  She was many things, but insufferably petulant was not one of them.  She was not one to throw adolescent sized temper tantrums.

No, it was because the pain was back despite the fire under her skin, and that, combined with an overactive libido, was pissing her off.  None of this was his fault, and lashing out at him was unfair.  The thing was, while on Midgard, she’d realized her magic had something of an instinctive defense mechanism, not just set off when she was angry, but when she was in physical pain or danger.  It made sense.  She was basically a host body to it, so of course her fire would want to protect her.

When she and Loki had first reunited physically, he’d felt too big for her somehow, as though her body was unfamiliar with him.  It had been extremely uncomfortable for a split second, but the pain had dissipated as quickly as it had come on.  Considering how rapidly her body had adjusted to him, she’d assumed the sting of that first thrust after three months of inactivity was for that reason alone.  Just a lack of regular intimacy, nothing more.  But then it happened every time they had sex after that as well, no matter how aroused she was.  Stinging pain at the first roll of his hips, then gone. 

It eventually dawned on her that the familiar glowing warmth of her fire showed up deep in her abdomen right at the second of their union, and with it, the pain disappeared.  In only four days, she hadn’t had much time to ponder why there was any pain at all since they’d had much bigger fish to fry, so to speak, what with escaping from the clutches of a mad titan and not dying and all that, but now there was nothing to distract her.  Maybe that was why she was so upset.  Being forced to confront relationship problems wasn’t exactly her cup of tea.  Loki’s deep baritone interrupted her brooding then.

“It’s not my cup of tea either,” he sighed, still seemingly glued to his spot on the desk, “why didn’t you tell me?” He winced, a hand going to his stomach.  Eyes pinched, he hung his head, deciding to block the bond so he could catch his breath.  Whatever was happening inside her body was unpleasant, to say the least, and he didn’t have the benefit of fire to ease it.

Putting a hand over her eyes, she shook her head. “You were alive, Loki.  I wanted you more than ever.  I wasn’t about to complain over a slight momentary sting if it meant this would happen.”  Still holding her dressing gown closed with one hand, she gestured to the space between them with the other hand. “You being all tense and scared of hurting me and not coming anywhere near me.  Besides, clearly I enjoyed, do enjoy, being with you.  It didn’t matter because within seconds I was fine,” she explained, desperate to defend herself enough for him to not be upset with her at the very least, or better yet, get up off that perfect backside of his and come give her a damn hug.  The piss had eased off, leaving her with a distinctly empty sadness.

“I’m staying right where I am, Sigyn,” he said, one displeased eyebrow raised at her as he twisted his wrist, the front of his pants lacing up of its own accord in a flash of green light.

Her face fell, not from the new state of his pants (her interest had plummeted over the past five minutes), and not even from his use of her full name, but because he knew how awful she felt in that moment, and he knew how to make her feel better, yet he explicitly chose not to.  What, was this his version of teaching her a lesson?  She wasn’t a child.

He raised his chin. “I know you’re not a child.”

“Stop reading my thoughts,” she said, eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and hurt.

“Well, it seems I can’t trust you to be honest with me, so you leave me no choice.”

Taking a step back, as though he’d physically hit her, her lips trembled. “That’s not fair-”

“I wasn’t finished,” he said, cutting her off with a sharp look, voice low but firm. “You once said to me that I shouldn’t try to distract you from unpleasant but necessary conversations with sex, suggesting that it was my way of hiding things from you, which to be fair, I was at that time.” His heart strings could barely stand her watery puppy dog eyes, so he gripped the edge of the desk harder to keep from running to her and granting her the hug she wanted.  No, he was going to stand his ground, or…. sit his ground, on this desk, apparently.  “So I’m not going to allow you to distract me and avoid this,” he pointed back and forth between them, “with cuddling either.”

She scoffed. “One measly little hug is hardly cuddling.”

“True, but what starts as one measly little hug quickly turns into cuddling, and you know it,” he explained, dropping his eyes, keeping them trained on the shining dark wood floor, refusing to let her beautiful sad face guilt him into getting what she wanted.  

Not that she was trying to emotionally manipulate him.  It was obvious that she was genuinely in pain, but he knew that if he wrapped her up in his arms, he would let it slide, the fact that, unbeknownst to him, he had been hurting her every time they had sex, and she had fucking allowed him to keep doing it.  That was not acceptable.

Shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, she swiped at them. “Fine.”

With that, she stumbled to the washroom, cradling her lower stomach as she slammed the door behind her.  Eyes pinched, Loki listened to her crying, feeling positively wretched.  Rolling his eyes, he bent over, putting his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

Well, that went swimmingly—Thank the Norns he’d put a silence spell over his chambers, otherwise the entire palace would have heard her sobbing in there.  Was he so terrible for being upset with her for, in a sense, lying to him repeatedly since their reunion?  Maybe he was the one overreacting here.  He shook his head, sighing heavily.  No, she was all over the map on this one.  Coming on to him aggressively in one second, then angry at him for not fucking her when he knew it caused her pain, so much so that her magic had stepped in to protect her from him?  Then lashing out at him for supposedly never wanting her but only pretending to…. for what?  His masculine pride?  Irate enough to set fire to every wick in the room, then desperate for him to just hold her?  How was he supposed to keep up?  If he didn’t know how her cycle worked now, he would’ve told her to schedule a pregnancy exam first thing tomorrow.

Coming out of his defensive thoughts, he remembered that she was suffering right then.  Alone.  Behind a closed door.  Not ten feet from him.  And he was still sitting here like some sort of apathetic monster rather than the man who loved her.  Pushing off the desk, now (quite ironically) overwhelmed with the need to hold her for an hour straight, he walked to the washroom and knocked on the door twice with the knuckle of his forefinger.

“Sig, love, may I come in?” He frowned at the deafening silence from the other side.  Setting his forearm across the intricately carved wood, he leaned his forehead against his wrist and sighed—Don’t go cold on me now. “Please?” he added, listening carefully for any hint of movement from her.  

Nothing.  

Lifting his head from his arm, he knocked again. “Sig?”

Still nothing.

Increasingly scared as the silence lingered, he opened his mind to the bond once more, needing to know that she hadn’t jumped out the window or something similarly ridiculous that his mind was now cooking up.  Feeling the heat of her magic welling up in him, he breathed a sigh of relief.  It was short lived, though, as a distinct gut stabbing sensation came over him.  He cried out, eyes popping from the intensity of the pain shooting through his stomach.  His mind reeled, screaming at him to turn off the bond now.  Two more heaving breaths and he managed to focus enough through the haze of agony to shut it down.  Gasping, he clutched his chest, now thoroughly terrified.  Was she dying in there?!  He heard her then.  It started as a struggling whisper, and quickly rose to a shrill scream.

“Loki!”

“Sig?!” he shouted, rattling the doorknob.  He banged his fist on the door, yelling for her as he grit his teeth, in a panic over what horrors might be happening to her in there.  Flicking his wrist, his seiðr shot from his fingers into the lock.  With an ominous ‘click’, the door swung open so abruptly he stumbled back.  Eyes blown wide, his jaw dropped.  On the floor next to the bath, Sigyn was curled into a ball, shaking as dark crimson blood pooled around her.

“Oh no no no Sig,” he croaked, running to her, heart plummeting as he dropped to his knees next to her.  Breathing hard, experiencing agonizing flashbacks of that dreadful day he’d found her bleeding out in Odin’s chambers, he gingerly peeled her arms away from her middle and slid the flaps of her robe aside to scan her body for the source of the bleeding.

Looking up at him with big scared eyes, her lower lip trembled.  She gasped his name, mouth hanging open, a mix of salty tears and saliva falling onto the marble tile, combining with the blood under her.  Tears burned his eyes as they traveled down the length of her exposed sweat slicked torso, his hands hovering over her uselessly.  He couldn’t suppress a choked cry of “please don’t do this to me, Sig” when he saw the blood coating her legs.  Hands shaking as he carefully surveyed the sensitive flesh at the apex of her thighs, he cursed.  By Hel, had he done this?  Blood boiling at the prospect of bearing responsibility for such a horrific injury, he looked her in the eyes.

“Will it hurt if I pick you up?” he asked, knowing it didn’t matter.  There was no way in Hel she could walk in such a state.

“Y-yes,” she answered honestly, reaching up to grip his biceps as though her life depended on it.

“Arms around my neck, baby,” he whispered, sliding one arm under her knees and the other under her back.

She stared up at him, focusing on the lines creasing his forehead and between his eyebrows as he lifted her off the ground.  She might have questioned the unexpected moniker (Baby?) under less grave circumstances, but as it currently stood, she felt as though her insides were genuinely ripping apart.  She bit into the flesh of her arm to keep from screaming.  He tried his damnedest not to jostle her while carrying her to the bed, whispering “gods, love, I’m so sorry” against her cheek as he leaned over to lie her down, not remotely concerned with the bloody mess she would make on his sheets.

“Make it stop, please,” she gasped into the crook of his shoulder, clinging to his neck with what little strength was left in her arms, shockwaves of agony shooting from her pelvis outward in all directions as her body came into contact with the bed.  

“I can’t,” he whispered, eyes shining with tears.

“But you brought me back from Helheim,” she sobbed.

“With black magic.  Sig, you were dead.  I had nothing to lose if I failed,” he coughed, sniffing back tears as he wiped hers away with his thumbs. “I have everything to lose now.”

“Then drug me at least,” she begged, letting go of his neck to cradle her midsection. “I know you can do that because you fucking did it to yourself,” she spoke through her teeth, not out of anger, but because talking hurt.  

Leaning forward, Loki kissed her forehead. “Love, my drug is a pathetic imitation.  It wouldn’t do a damn thing at your level of pain,” his lips trembled against her brow. “I need to get help now.”

Helping her adjust her head so it rested a bit more comfortably on one of his pillows, Loki conjured a loose black nightgown just long enough to cover her nakedness without hindering a physical examination.  Placing a hand over her pelvis, he whispered the only safe healing incantation he knew, meant to slow severe bleeding.  His magic shimmered around his hand, spreading over her skin, and she groaned underneath him.  It wouldn’t do anything for the agony she was in, but it wouldn’t make it worse, and it was the only thing he knew to do for extreme injuries like this.

“Give me ten seconds,” he croaked, voice cracking as a stray tear fell down his cheek. “Count them out loud.  I’ll be right back.”

With a flick of his wrist, he vanished right before her burning eyes in a flash of green.  Sobbing, she curled around herself, cradling her stomach, and did as he’d told her.

“One,” she coughed, shrieking as the pain transformed from a stabbing ripping sensation into burning from the inside out, possibly from her fire trying (failing) to help.

I’m not weak.  I’m not powerless.

“T-two….”

Breathe!

“Th-th-r-ree….”

Please, stop!

Loki reappeared before she could spit out ‘four’ through clenched teeth.  Pushing the damp hair sticking to her cheek behind her ear, he leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

“I have to hide,” he breathed into her hair, disoriented from the rapid back and forth teleporting. “My mother is fetching Eir and will be here shortly.”

Eyes blowing wide with fear, she released her hold on her stomach to cling to him instead. “No no no no no, please don’t leave me again,” she cried, fingers tangling in his hair that was curtaining their faces.

“I have to, love,” he whispered shakily, his breath sending a cooling wave of relief over her too hot face, “no one can know I’m back yet.  Sig, darling,” he pleaded, gently attempting to pry her fingers off his neck, afraid to hurt her further, “you have to let me go.”

“B-but y-you, but you f-f-fell,” she choked, stuttering verbatim the words she’d said to him (through Two) not two human days ago when he’d nearly stormed out of the tower over some hypothetical baby.  He couldn’t leave her.  He couldn’t.  She didn’t want to do this alone.  She needed him.

Loki dropped his forehead to hers, eyes sliding shut. “And I came back,” he said firmly, deja vu washing over him even as the phrase fell from his lips. “I’m just going to be in a sphere.  Right over there,” he pointed to his balcony. “You’ll be able to see me still.  Yes?”

Darkened stormcloud eyes darting wildly over his sharp features, Sigyn finally nodded, releasing her hold on his neck and returned her hands to her stomach. “Yes,” she whispered, so godsdamn terrified she thought she might die from fear alone right then and there.  Why was this so scary?  She’d lived through a childhood of abuse, fought frost giants, been to Hel and back, watched Loki fall and grieved for him in agony, been to Midgard and back with threats of death and torture from an unseen force, but this would be her end?

“Alright,” he nodded, planting one last kiss on her forehead, then cast a sphere around his body just as someone knocked on the door.

“Sigyn, dearest?!”

It was Frigga’s voice on the other side shouting and, thank Odin, the locked door shimmered with the queen’s golden magic, opening without Sigyn having to somehow get up.  She’d all but forgotten that Frigga, having been Loki’s tutor from a young age, was a sorceress herself.

“Oh my sweet girl,” the queen cried out, a hand flying to her mouth at the sight of her bloodied almost daughter lying helpless on her son’s bed.  Hurrying to Sigyn with Eir and two younger healers hot on her heels, Frigga knelt next to Sigyn, shivering violently, curled into a ball.  The queen reached for her hand and kissed it. “It’ll be alright, my love.  Our healers are here now.”

“Brenna, put a towel under her for the blood,” Eir said, voice calm and low, pulling up the portable soul forge to examine Sigyn. “Ionna, go pull that drape closed,” she ordered her helpers who quickly set to work, efficiently doing as they were told.

Pull the drape closed?  Crying harder now, Sigyn’s red swollen eyes darted to the balcony where her sole reason for fighting through this blinding pain stood, invisible to everyone but her, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck.  The fear of no longer having Loki in her line of sight was somehow more terrifying than the physical torture being inflicted on her body.

“No!” Sigyn blurted out, startling the woman who had yanked the curtain halfway across the expanse of balcony.  The woman turned, shock evident on her face, eyeing Eir in silent question as to what to do.

Loki’s finger flew to his mouth at Sigyn’s ear piercing shriek, silencing her with just a look, the crease between his brows deepening.  She felt helpless, lying beneath an advanced Asgardian tech golden projection of her insidesーa soul forge.  Was it too much to ask to at least see him?  He didn’t have to hold her, or kiss her, or speak, or even be in the room.

“The wind is too strong for the soul forge, Lady Sigyn,” Eir explained simply, not removing her eyes from the projection, “and the cold makes the pain worse.” She waved a hand at the healer holding the drape, and Ionna finished her task.

Feeling positively broken and weaker than ever, Sigyn turned her face away from the balcony, her mental state collapsing into delirium, likely an involuntary psychological response meant to protect her from too intense to withstand suffering.  Completely unaware of her surroundings now, and incapable of containing necessary secrets, she wailed Loki’s name, screaming “come baaaack!”, voice hoarse and broken, between gasping breaths, writhing on and gripping the black sheets that no longer smelled like him, but only the tangy coppery scent of blood and sweat.  

Eir paid no attention to Sigyn’s wretched cries, only squinting at the discolored and too bright pulsing deep inside the projection’s abdomen.  But Frigga knew better than to ignore the voice of the daughter she’d never had.  Azure eyes narrowing ever so slightly, she followed Sigyn’s line of sight which was currently unfocused yet glued to the drapes.  It clicked then that her son was using another sphere to spy on his injured lover, most likely drowning in a sea of anxiety and fear since he couldn’t be by her side through this nightmare.

Sigyn cried his name again and again, head tossing side to side on the pillow. “He left.  He fell.  He fell.  He’s gone.  No no no no,” she moaned, her words devolving into another fit of heartbreaking sobs.

Pacing the length of the balcony, Loki wrung his hands.  Her screams were as sharp as daggers, piercing his heart the longer she shrieked for him.  He’d lost count of how many times she’d said ‘but you fell’ or something to that degree by now.  It seemed no amount of ‘and I came back…. I’ll always come back’ could convince her of that truth.  Certainly not when she was bleeding from the inside out, falling into what probably looked like psychosis to the team of healers surrounding her.  

This was awful.  Did she think he was just ignoring her?  Hel no.  He was desperate to see her, to hold her, but being in the room with the healers was a risk he wasn’t sure he could take.  What if he got caught up in a moment of fear or anger, forgot his place, and let the spell drop?  What if he couldn’t stop himself from touching her?  Or them?   What would they do with the knowledge of his return?  Blowing out a cool breath, watching it color the even colder air around him, he ran a hand through his hair.  Hearing her call out for him again, he wondered if it even registered as his name to anyone other than him, considering how distorted and gravelly her voice was.

Ask for a godsdamn ender, Sig! ーhe pulled his hands down his face, fighting the urge to punch a pillar.  He put his head in his hands as she continued wailing, clearly too delirious to use the bond.  She’d begged him to drug her, well now here were the keepers of the actual drugs she wanted, the kind that would literally end her pain, but she was helpless to ask for them!  This was a nightmare.  Maybe he should just drop the sphere entirely and run in there to give her an ender himself.  Why the Hel had the chief healer not immediately given her a vial of it upon entering the room?  What, was it now Æsir healing policy to torture their patients?!

“Dearest, focus on me.  Focus on my hand, darling girl.  I’ve got you.  Momma’s got you.”

His head shot up.  Had his mother just called herself ‘Momma’ to Sigyn?  Did Sigyn call her that?  It shouldn’t surprise him, honestly.  Sigyn’s biological mother was a bitch and a half, and had left a gaping hole labelled ‘caretaker who actually loves me’ in her daughter’s heart.  He threw his arms up angrily.  Why was he wasting time pointlessly musing over Freya?  Silently telling himself to grow a pair, he pulled the sphere flush with his body, so he could squeeze between the edge of the drape and the wall.  

By Hel, he’d sustained sixteen copies of himself in his freezing cell, for no less than twelve hours, shortly after he’d been disgustingly retched on by ten chitauri monsters, dragged feet first into the brilliantly named ‘punishment room’, and chained to a wall to receive sixty lashings across the bare skin of his back for the high crime of sarcasm.  If he was incapable of upholding a simple sphere in the presence of three healers, his adoring mother, and Sigyn, he had absolutely no business ever calling himself a sorcerer again.

“Norns,” Eir gasped, isolating the area of concern and expanding the forge.

Sigyn was delirious, but not so far gone that she missed the alarm in the chief healer’s voice.  Raising her head an inch to see what Eir had found, she instead saw Loki, distorted by the sphere, walking closer to the bed.  She let out a heavy sigh of relief, now entirely apathetic to Eir’s discovery as he approached.  Shaking his head, he silently reminded her to ignore his presence, and she fought the instinct to nod in understanding.  Wearing the sphere as though it was a second skin, he risked reaching out to wrap his fingers loosely around her wrist, not tight enough to leave indentations.  She pushed up then, starting to reach for him, oblivious to the healers presence now that he was touching her, but he quickly moved his hand to her chest, holding her back as his eyes remained locked on the projection.

“Lady Sigyn,” Eir cleared her throat, closing the soul forge quickly, “do you remember being stabbed on the day of the battle with the Jotuns some three months ago?”

Opening and closing her mouth several times, Sigyn raised an eyebrow, another tear escaping the corner of her eye.  Did she remember that day?  Did she remember being stabbed?  The day Loki fell?

“How could I fucking forget?” she whispered shakily, trembling from the memory of Laufey’s icy blade slicing through her skin as easily as a knife through warm butter, completely unconcerned that she’d just cursed at the highly respected chief healer.

“Administer an ender now, Ionna,” Eir nodded to her healing kit.

Eyes sliding shut, angry with herself for not thinking to ask for enders (you bloody fool!), tears poured down Sigyn’s cheeks, nearing unconsciousness from the constant agony of the past five minutes that felt more like an hour at least.  The assistant healer held her head up enough to swallow the liquid.  Within seconds, she breathed easier, her stomach filling with the normal warmth of her magic.  Gods bless.

Seeing her relax into the pillows, finally free from pain, Loki had to stop himself from climbing onto the bed and wrapping her up in his arms.  He had to stop himself from kissing her senseless.  He had to stop himself from demanding an explanation of her injury.  He also had to stop himself from sneaking another vial out of that kit for himself.  Godsdamn enders—Aptly named things.  They could easily end his existence as he knew it.  Would he ever not crave them under extreme emotional duress?  Maybe a thousand years from now.

“My apologies for the delay in pain relief, but the enders distort the soul forge,” Eir explained, gathering her things. “I would go into greater detail, but time is of the essence.  I’m afraid you have a severe cervical infection that has spread to your uterus, Lady Sigyn, and I believe it is related to your former injury.”

Eir cleared her throat, eyes locked with Sigyn. “The blade perforated the left side of your cervix that day.  As you’ll recall, you ran out of the healing rooms within only hours of me stitching you up, which certainly did not help the healing process, but upon examining you much later after the bridge had broken,” she stopped, sighing heavily at the sight of tears pooling once more in Sigyn’s eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to bring up such a sensitive subject, but it bears revisiting.  My examination revealed that your injury had already scarred over, perhaps because of the fire you’d been using during the battle cauterizing the wound instinctively.  Due to the multitude of wounded that day, and many days after, there were time constraints and dwindling supplies, I decided to allow you to heal on your own, so long as you took care with heavy lifting, running, jumping, any athletic activities.  Do you remember me saying that?”

Sigyn nodded, eyes wide and scared. “I know I didn’t exactly follow directions, but I would’ve gone mad if I was to be bedridden,” she shrugged, “maybe I rode Sinir too often, but…. but…. you checked me regularly when I visited Heimdall.  And I wasn’t experiencing any pain.  Everything was fine,” she whispered, thankful the pain was gone but also nervous as to where Eir was going with this.

“Everything was fine, yes.  Obviously something has changed since my last examination,” she paused to let out a heavy breath. “Do you recall that I specified sexual intercourse as particularly risky?”

Loki looked at Sigyn, who only gaped at the woman mutely, then down at the blood on her thighs.  Chewing his lip, the pieces started coming together.  The nausea, the weakness, the fainting, the exhaustion, the chills, the fever, the thirst of the past few days.  These were not symptoms of pregnancy, but of a rapidly spreading (possibly lethal) infection.  Eir hadn’t fully healed her due to the already cauterized nature of the wound, which was only a result of Sigyn’s magic working to save itself.  How had Eir justified not treating properly?  A chief healer should know better!  The fire didn’t heal Sigyn!  Like he’d said to her earlier, the heat only masks the pain.  He didn’t give a damn about whether or not the healers had been short on supplies then.  What a pathetic excuse.  

Eir sighed. “The reopening of the wound would be consistent with vaginal penetration.”

Loki grit his teeth, wanting to throttle Eir…. and himself.  Knowing now that his reappearance in Sigyn’s life had played the fundamental role in reopening the wound, tears burned his eyes.  She’d been celibate since the injury…. until four days ago.  Eyes pinched, he shook his head.  But…. shouldn’t three months have been long enough to heal?  By Hel, she was Vanir, not human!

“This is not happening,” Sigyn said to herself, putting a hand over her mouth.  

It all made sense now.  Her magic was the only thing that had been sustaining her all this time, and she’d depleted it not only taking Jane through the portal, but regularly while on Earth, what with melting metal alloys and raging over the tesseract and Thanos and tracking spells, and of course getting Loki’s pants off as often as possible.  No wonder she’d fainted and vomited repeatedly.  Had using up her fire in the portal during the return to Asgard been the last straw for her body?  Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs the ender had spun in it, she pinched the bridge of her nose.  Thing was, she’d felt revived after her shower, so…. then what?  One drive of Loki’s hips and she was completely done for?  Eir’s voice broke through her musings.

“I am not here to judge you resuming such activities, Lady Sigyn.  There is a time to grieve for a loved one and a time to move on, naturally.”

Sigyn would have rolled her eyes if she’d had the energy to do so.  The chief healer was completely misinterpreting her silence on the matter.

“That’s not…. you don’t understand,” she paused, pulling a hand down her face, anxious over what to say to protect Loki who was now sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, legs pulled to his chest, forehead resting on his knees.

What do I say?ーshe slid a hand toward the back of his head, just barely brushing his hair with the tips of her fingers.  She frowned when he merely shrugged in response, no doubt hating himself for, in his mind, having done this to her.  Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath.

“How do you treat the infection?  And what is it even from?  I was unaware that my body was even capable of contracting or…. or developing such a thing?” she asked, choosing avoidance rather than blatant lying.

Eir looked down at her hands. “You’ll have to pardon me for insisting, Lady Sigyn, but I am unable to answer properly unless you are completely honest with me.  Have you-”

“Yes, alright?” Sigyn blurted out, startling everyone, including Loki who turned to face her, pupils blown with fear, no doubt wondering if she was about to tell them everything. “I’ve been…. involved with…. someone….” she trailed off, hoping against hope Eir wouldn’t ask her to expound. “And please stop calling me Lady Sigyn.  I’m just Sigyn.  No more of this damn nobility nonsense,” she swiped angrily at the tears streaming down her cheeks again, feeling as though she was under interrogation for a crime she didn’t commit.

“Of course,” Eir said calmly, “I’m relieved to know for certain how the wound reopened.  It’s good news, Sigyn.  It means it didn’t just happen of its own accord, which would have been far more grave in nature.  You’ll be back to normal once I cut out the infection, which I need to do…. well, now.  It’s spreading quite rapidly and will overtake your ovaries soon.”

Loki was now on his feet, hands in his hair, panic infusing every cell in his body.  Cut out?  First off, vials were used to treat infections (nearly nonexistent as they were) in Asgard, not scalpels.  But honestly, what infection was this?  And…. and it was no longer just the uterus, but all the plumbing was in danger now?  Shoulders shaking, he rubbed his eyes with his palms.  

This is not happening.  Not to my Sig.

He all but crumpled to the ground as Sigyn pushed up, attempting to join him on the floor, but she stopped with a gasp, only remembering he was invisible at the last second.  She knew he was blaming himself, and she hated it.  This wasn’t his fault!

Eir frowned. “And one more thing.  Something concerns me, Sigyn.” 

How thoughtful of you to be concerned ーLoki glared up at the supposed healer, who hadn’t bothered to heal Sigyn in the first place, impossibly irate with the inability to speak his mind.  He had questions, dammit!  And Sigyn was too drugged to ask them for him.

“The invading microbes appear to be a mutant form of organisms only found on Midgard,” Eir continued, “a strain called septyloccus laureus that lives safely on human skin and in their airways, but can become pathogenic if it goes deeper, mostly through open wounds.  Now, that bacteria alone would be completely harmless to an immortal Vanir, such as yourself.  Again though, it mutated with a different microbe, of which I am unfamiliar.  And since I am well-educated in all microorganisms from the nine realms, be they bacteria or viruses or parasites, these must have come from deep space, since I don’t recognize them.  As you know, we took a census last month, and no one on Asgard is from deep space, and the only human that has been here in three centuries, at least, is Jane Foster,” she frowned, “who has gone missing actually.”

Sigyn bit her lip.  Deep space?  Well, she was familiar with one person who had spent some time in deep space.  Sighing heavily, she hung her head.  Loki had carried something with him from the desert, that had combined with something from Earth, and passed it to her.  That was the only explanation.  Right?  Of course, that begged the question, did he still carry it?  Was it internal?  Or had it just been on his skin, and been washed off after the first shower on Earth?  And how the Hel was she supposed to explain any of this to them?  Maybe a story about a half mortal half alien man secretly hiding in an undiscovered Asgardian cave or something.  Oh but then they’d go looking for the nonexistent cave.  And the man.  Maybe she could say that she and Jane, the only human they knew of, had been sexually involved?  Good heavens, what would Thor say about that?  But unless Jane had visited deep space, how did that explain-

Just tell them the truth, love ーLoki pushed up to his knees, looking entirely defeated.  Hiding information from the sole person who could save Sigyn was no longer an option.  Even if that person deserved a solid punch to the jaw for denying her the care she’d so desperately needed three months ago.  Once he had the throne again, he might just demote her from chief healer, and she should be grateful for such a merciful sentence, considering a month in the dungeons would be more appropriate.  He then disappeared into his closet to put on a shirt.  He wasn’t about to waltz out there half naked after that interrogation concerning whether or not a dick had quite literally rammed Sigyn through.  Why yes—Yes, it had.  His had.  Clenching his jaw to keep from growling out loud, he grabbed a new pair of not blood soaked pants, feeling a pang in his chest at the sound of her small, shaking voice from the other side of the wall.

“Alright, there’s something I need to tell you,” she started slowly, “several days ago, I was reading through Loki’s old journals…”

From there, he listened to her tell Eir and the other two healers everything.  Well, not everything.  She left out the part about the tesseract, which was still tucked away in its protective Wakandan cube.  It was now in its temporary holding place, the personal astral dimension he’d created centuries ago from which he ‘conjured’ his daggers (among other things), until he could safely lock it away in the vault.  She didn’t mention Thanos either, instead saying that Loki had fallen through a rip in space and time, which would explain his being covered in space pathogens or something else similarly disgusting.

As a man who prided himself on his personal hygiene, this new information was positively horrifying.  It made sense though.  He’d lived in abhorrent conditions, and despite using the bathing facilities right before Thanos sent him to Midgard, who knew if the clothes they’d given him were completely clean.  They hadn’t smelled bad at all, but still.  It had probably been floating in the air all around him at the time.  Shit.  If only he’d thought to wash himself once more before pounding into Sigyn that first time, then this probably wouldn’t be an issue.  The injury might’ve taken a beating, but an infection wouldn’t have taken hold.  That was where the pain had come from.

He heard her say that he had then landed on Midgard, and come back through the portal, though not the exact location.  She stopped talking then, and the uncomfortable silence that followed was setting his stomach in knots.  

Is she done talking?  Is that my cue—Puffing out his cheeks, he blew out a nervous breath, wondering why he was so damn scared.  After all, he could hear the healers thoughts, and though they were skeptical of Sigyn’s sanity, they didn’t seem to be averse to her story being true.  That is, they didn’t think of his resurrection as something to be feared or reported to the current king as a danger to the people.

Please get out here!

His head snapped up at Sigyn’s desperate plea coming through the bond.  Oh, that had been his cue.  Feeling like a coward for hiding in his dressing room, he steadied his breathing and stepped around the corner into the room.  With a half-hearted smile, he held out his arms.

“Surprise,” he said with a sad little laugh, dropping his arms and pocketing his hands as he walked with a purpose to Sigyn.

Reaching for him, she grabbed his waist, pulling him down to sit with her.  She couldn’t have been more relieved to have his arms around her openly for the healers to see.  She hated the hiding.  Not only that, but she no longer looked completely mad for claiming her dead boyfriend had been making love to her on the regular.

Boyfriend?  Really, Sig? ーLoki eyed her sideways, one eyebrow to his hairline.

Stark said it, and…. it grew on me ーshe hung her head, missing that conceited but surprisingly big-hearted human.

It’s a half-baked term at best, positively infantile at worst ーhe settled next to her on the edge of the bed, carefully pulling her up into a seated position, cradling her head against his chestー but I’ll allow it for now.

How gracious of you ーshe rolled her eyes, sniffing loudly.

Kissing her forehead, he then looked up at his mother, eyebrows raised in question.  He was about to ask her how to proceed now that his return wasn’t a secret, but the younger of the two assisting healers, Brenna, let out a sound very much akin to a kicked dog and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“My king!” she sobbed, practically throwing herself at his feet, crying into her hands, whispering “thank Odin” behind her fingers.  Loki’s mouth hung open, staring at Brenna mutely, her muffled cries becoming louder by the second.  Five straight minutes of sobbing later, she let her hands down and looked up at him, red-faced with tears in her pretty almond-shaped brown eyes.

“I’ve prayed for your return every day,” she whispered, wiping her cheeks with the skirt of her dress. “We all have,” she added, gesturing to Eir and Ionna, also on the verge of tears.

Eyebrows raised in shock, Loki looked from the young woman up to the other two healers.  They nodded at him, and to his astonishment, dropped to their knees, bowing their heads.  He wasn’t sure what he had expected from anyone upon learning of his return, but he certainly had not expected this.   Thanking the gods and kneeling?  

This is madness ーin shock that they were happy to see him, his eyes watered.

Is it? ーletting out a shaky breath, Sigyn pulled him even closerー You deserve no less.

“But,” Loki started, shaking his head to clear the confusion, “I’m not king, am I?  Thor is, yes?”

“Yes, dearest,” Frigga nodded sadly.  Her eldest had only just stopped the storms, decided to take up the mantle, to finally lead their people, only for Loki to return.  Oh, the dreadful irony.

“Surely he won’t be for long though?” Ionna interjected, concern creasing her forehead. “Now that King-” she stopped, clearing her throat, “I mean Prince Loki is back?”

Perhaps he should have been more grateful to receive such praise from these women, but Loki had never cared less about the throne than in this moment, here with Sigyn clinging to him like he was her only liferaft in the middle of a storm blown sea.  Nothing else mattered more than saving her.  Nothing.

“Gods bless that ender,” she whispered, nearly unconscious, into the crook of his neck.

“Yes, bless them,” he muttered into her ear, glad her pain was gone, even if only temporarily.

Frigga placed a hand on his shoulder then. “We needn’t discuss your brother at present,” she said, turning to Eir. “Now, what exactly does ‘cut out the infection’ entail?”

Every hair on the back of Loki’s neck stood up at the mention of the impending surgery.  Looking at Eir in his periphery, he chewed his lip as Sigyn slumped against him, completely conked out.  Well, that was good.  It was probably best she not hear the graphic details.

Eir shook her head, pushing to her feet. “As I said earlier, if it were not a mutant pathogen, it shouldn’t have affected her at all.  Well,” she clasped her hands in front of her, “even mutated, it might not have done anything to her if it weren’t for the reopening of the previous injury, which I’ve no doubt weakened her greatly.  How she didn’t experience pain during,” she cleared her throat, “certain activities, I’ll never know.”

Jaw clenching, Loki held the healer’s gaze from under his brow.  Was this woman actually chastising him?  This woman who allowed Sigyn to go about her business without vials or any other treatment because…. “meh, she’ll be fine”…. “meh, low supplies” ….?  Wow—The pair on this woman.

“Not that it’s necessary for you to know such information in order to actually do your job and heal her this time around,” he snapped, breathing harder, “but her magic reflexively erased any discomfort, and she only just told me there’d been any hint of pain at all.  I know my name isn’t exactly synonymous with honor, but I would never force-”

“Oh goodness, my prince, you misunderstand me completely,” Eir held up a hand, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, “I did not intend to suggest such a thing, and I am terribly sorry for conveying as much with my words.” She lowered her gaze, staring at the floor, and one could have heard a pin drop as they waited for his response.

A small part of him, the old part of him, liked the fear rolling off Eir the longer he remained silent.  That feeling of power, of intimidation, of dominance, had always been intoxicating to him.  But the newer part of him, the part that died in a battle to save Asgard from the frost giants, the part that was tortured yet somehow persevered in the desert, the part that chose to team up with Stark and Rogers and Romanoff and the other humans to spare Midgard of all places from destruction, the part that loved the sleeping woman in his arms and would die in a heartbeat for her…. that part of him was anything but pleased to witness a healer cowering under his gaze.  For pity’s sake, Brenna certainly wasn’t on her knees at his feet because she was terrified of him.  No, it was because she had faith and hope in him as a leader who would care for his citizens.  And apparently, Eir and Ionna felt similarly.

He wondered momentarily what in the nine Thor had done to lose all that favor that had been lavished upon him since his birth.  He was the golden boy, beloved by all.  Had breaking the bridge been enough to ruin his brother entirely?  What the Hel had happened these last three months?  He blinked rapidly, coming back to the conversation at hand, focusing once more on the chief healer standing silent across from him.  Nothing changed the truth that Eir had failed Sigyn miserably, but it would be foolish to be anything other than merciful.   Appear to be merciful, that is.  He was still pissed off with the woman, and rightly so, but it wasn’t worth his new and improved reputation to go and lash out at her for her negligence.

Steadying his breathing, he nodded once. “Very well, just take more care with your words in the future, Eir.”  He raised an eyebrow in caution, and she blew out a breath.

“I absolutely will, Your Highness,” she nodded emphatically, clearly relieved. “If I may continue?”

Loki waved a hand. “Yes, go on.”

“Because of the decidedly alien nature of this infection, I’m not confident that any of our vials will cure it.  And due to the rapid spreading, we don’t have time for trial and error.  Either I remove her cervix and uterus, then cauterize the connective tissues, or as I said previously, it takes her tubes and ovaries as well.”

Rendered speechless, Loki’s jaw dropped.  He tightened his hold on her, pulling her legs across his lap.  Ultimately, this was his fault.  Not because of the sex.  Not because Eir hadn’t healed her.  No, it went much further back than that.  This was because he had led Laufey into Asgard.  And he had left her alone in Odin’s chambers.  He would never forgive himself for that.

Eir dropped her eyes. “She’s far too young to remove her ovaries without doing permanent severe damage to her endocrine system, and I would need to perform surgery anyway to heal the open wound, otherwise we risk sepsis, and forgive me, Prince Loki, but that would in all likelihood kill her.  I avoid scalpels as oft as possible.  I assure you, I don’t do this lightly.”

Loki dropped his head, putting his nose in Sigyn’s hair.  He knew Eir was right.  He’d taken his fair share of medical and healing electives, and even if they weren’t specific to Vanir, they were close enough.  There was nothing else to be done.  Sitting here ruminating on it wouldn’t change a damn thing.  So be it.  She would never carry a child, and he hoped she wouldn’t hate herself for it.   He certainly wouldn’t.  His love for her did not remotely hinge on her ability to breed as though she were nothing more than a baby maker.  Gods, no.  She was infinitely more than that.

Nose still in her hair, he sniffed back tears before raising his head once more. “When?”

Eir pressed her lips together. “Now.”

“Do what you must,” he nodded once, swollen red eyes watching Ionna and Brenna open a hovering healing bed.

“I will, my prince,” Eir offered a small smile, bowing her head to him as he lifted Sigyn onto the bed, “She’ll be awake and well and safe tomorrow, and you’ll be able to see her in the healing rooms, if you want.”

Rolling his eyes, he snorted, humorless. “No, I don’t imagine I’ll want to see the love of my life after you’ve cut her open.  I won’t want that at all.”

“Loki!” Frigga shot him a warning look, clearly unimpressed with his sarcasm.

Eir waved a hand before he could respond. “Oh it’s just part of the job.  I’ve heard worse, trust me.”

“Can I trust you, Eir?” he whispered shakily, holding Sigyn’s limp hand while Brenna set the soul forge over her unconscious body once more.

“Yes, you can,” Eir said, voice strong, “my king.”

Wiping his wet cheeks with the back of his hand, Loki nodded, letting go of Sigyn.  It took everything in him to stay where he was as they left, gliding the bed to the surgical seiðr wing.  It would serve no purpose to follow them, other than to torment himself further.  His magic was nowhere near exhausted, so holding up a sphere was certainly within his capabilities, but the constant stress of the last three months and four days had drained him of all physical energy.  He wouldn’t be allowed to watch the operation anyhow.  Not that he wanted to see something so horrific.  Ignorance is bliss, after all.  The door closed behind them, and he fell heavily back onto his bed, legs dangling off the edge.  

“Eir will take excellent with her, Loki.  You know this.”

He jumped at the sound of his mother’s voice, having completely forgotten she was there.  Sighing loudly, he ran his hands down his face.  This was not how their return to Asgard was supposed to be.  

“If only she had taken excellent care three months ago,” he said into his hands.

“In her defense,” Frigga said, sitting down next to him, “so bitterness won’t ensnare your heart, darling, keep this in mind.  After the battle, after the bridge, our healers and their supplies were in high demand.  And without the bifrost, we couldn’t receive foreign aid.  Vials were scarce, and we couldn’t produce new ones fast enough to keep up.  Healers were exhausted.  The city had nearly been overrun.  No doubt Sigyn’s fire had helped her show signs of healing at a far more rapid rate than most of the wounded.  You’re not being fair to Eir.  Though I completely understand your anger.  I’m angry, too.” She squeezed his knee, and he only hummed in response, too tired to discuss it further.  Hands falling from his face, he descended rapidly into a near dream state, the typical crash after a rush of adrenaline.

Frigga smiled, somewhat sadly, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “Sleep,” she whispered, and putting her fingers on his temples, gold light shimmered around them. “See you in twelve hours, my darling boy.”

Pushing up from the bed, confident that the dip in the mattress wouldn’t wake Loki now that she’d put a heavy sleep spell over him, she pulled her shawl tighter around her.  The drapes did not properly keep the cold at bay for her liking, though she knew it was Loki’s preferred temperature.  They’d been heavier when he’d first moved into these chambers as an adolescent, but he’d immediately thinned the fabric, and darkened it to block the dawn light—So typical.  

She smiled at the memory of him scrunching his nose at first sight of thick royal blue drapes, twisting his hand and proudly watching them turn black under the glowing green of his magic.  It was a simple enough spell, but he’d only recently mastered that skill.  Sometimes she missed teaching him magic, seeing the excited light in his eyes from new enchanting experiences.  Sigyn was the only person who would see that light in his eyes from now on, wasn’t she?  Not from spells, just from this strange and chaotic journey called ‘life with Loki’.  Pushing the growing sadness to the back of her mind, she looked down at him, passed out on the rumpled black sheets that were positively soaked through with blood.  Well, that wouldn’t do.  With a wave of her hand, the blood disappeared, not only from the sheets, but from his shirt and hair.

There—Now when he awoke it would be just a touch less horrifying, before he remembered Sigyn had been cut into and went into a panic.  Pulling a fur over him, she whispered “I love you” and hurried to the door, anxious for her own bed, tired as she was.  Before her fingers made contact with the handle, however, the door swung open, and she stumbled back with a shout.  Eyes wide, her hands flew to her mouth.

“Mother,” Thor growled, bursting through the doorway, slamming it shut behind him.

She reached for his shoulder. “Thor, I-”

“Dear gods, Loki?!” he shouted, darting across the room to his unconscious brother.

“Thor, how did you-”

“Huginn and Munnin showed me,” he said, cutting her off as he placed the back of his hand against Loki’s forehead.

Frigga wrung her hands.  Norns, she’d completely forgotten about the ravens.  If her mind had been functioning properly, she would have cast an invisible wall across the balcony.  Come to think of it, why hadn’t Loki done that?  Quite a misstep on his part.

“Loki?” Thor croaked, sniffing back tears. “Brother, can you hear me?”

“Dearest, I put him under a sleep spell,” she explained from the door, unsure as to whether or not her presence was welcomed.  No doubt Thor was beyond angry with her for keeping the truth of his brother’s return from him.

“Well, wake him up!” he shouted as he leaned over Loki, pulling him up, nothing but dead weight in his arms, hugging him to his body. “He looks dead still, and I can’t bear it….” he trailed off, sobbing openly.

“Thor, darling, he needs rest…. desperately so.”

“I don’t give a damn what you think he needs.  He can sleep again later.  Wake him up!” Thor spat through his teeth, rocking Loki against him as though he were a little boy still, which he realized was ridiculous on his part, but he didn’t care.  His beloved baby brother was alive, and if his mother didn’t lift her magic in the next three seconds-

“Alright, Thor, I’ll do it,” Frigga sighed, running a hand through her sleep mussed hair, “but let him down first.  Unless you want to be stabbed.”

“Oh, right.” Thor laid Loki back onto the sheets and stepped away.  His mother was one thousand percent correct.  A dagger to the gut was almost guaranteed, considering Thor was responsible for the bridge travesty.  And no doubt Loki remembered every second of it, probably in extreme slow motion.

Frigga sat down, once more placing her fingers on Loki’s temples.  “Loki, my love?”

He groaned in response, clinging to sleep.  Rolling over, he hugged a pillow, curling his body around it.  Thor let out a sharp cry, clapping a hand over his mouth because Loki had moved and made noise like a not dead person.  Loki’s eyes shot open at the sound, and he sat up abruptly, gaze sharp as a hawk, instantly landing on the blond man, bouncing on his toes in anticipation, standing ten feet away.

Nostrils flared, chest heaving, Loki grit his teeth as Thor took a step toward him. “Keep the fuck away from me,” he sneered, pausing to steady the shaking of his voice, green light pulsing faintly around the tips of his fingers, “…. Brother.”

FEARLESS CONTINUES IN CHAPTER TWELVE: LOOKS THAT KILL

Visit the Trilogy main page HERE.

Chapter links: ¹ You’ll Have Answers Later ² Talk Some Sense to Me, Sig. ³ Interlude in Asgard (Endless Grief) ⁴ Wild Magic (It’s All We Have) ⁵ Heat is My Specialty (What is Blue For) ⁶ Storms Pass, Loki. ⁷ Trust Me, I’ve Got This. ⁸ A Heavy Gift ⁹ Sick and Tired ¹⁰ Hold On, We’re Going Home (Green Is for Life Part 2) ¹¹ Home is Chaos ¹² Looks That Kill ¹³ Living Ghosts ¹⁴ No Rules (Tick Tock) ¹⁵ The Calm ¹⁶ The Storm

Chapter 17 Coming October 2021

CHAPTER ELEVEN THEME SONG:

“Falls (Reprise)” by Odesza ft. Sasha Sloan

What Readers Have Said

About CH 11 “Home Is Chaos”

“Loki has every right to be furious with Thor but I hope he eventually forgives him. Thor loves his baby brother so damn much. (I damn near cheered when the healers welcomed Loki back.)”

-Ferbette, on CH 11 “Home is Chaos” , 08 Dec 2018 (AO3)

“The plot twists in this story are SOMETHING. I never predicted or even considered the fact that Laufey’s wound could be the cause of her suffering. I thought it could perhaps have been something to do with Thanos and the Other, but this is much more devious. It pains me that you throw all this self loathing on Loki and then add to the pot by him being partially responsible for her injuries. Plus the fact that he blames his brother so much (even though it technically was his doing) for what happened that day. I just want everything to be perfect in his life. lol. Because I adore him. I hope he at least forgives his brother, especially after seeing his reaction. Thor didn’t react like an arrogant first son, he reacted as a big brother who mourned for so long. Devastating. Loki shouldn’t hurt him back by cruel dismissal. I’m looking forward to the rest of this series 🙂 ”

-DevilishDoll, on CH 11 “Home is Chaos” , 21 Apr 2019 (AO3)

“Wow, what an emotional and dramatic chapter was this to read. Poor Loki and Sigyn, but especially Sigyn of course. I really hope she will be fine, although I’m sad for her that she will be unfertile. And my, Loki is so not happy to are Thor, although I can’t blame him. Thor is the reason for his fall and posting Sigyn. This story and chapter is pure magic, I’m overwhelmed with feelings every time I read a new chapter.”

-Maïté on CH 11 “Home is Chaos” , 05 Oct 2019 (AO3)

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