“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly, “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

-from “Through the Looking Glass” by Lewis Carroll

~ A Private Healing Room,

Two hours after the return from Jotunheim~

Sitting next to Fandral’s bed in the private healing room, Sigyn placed a hand on his slightly damp forehead.

“Despite my distaste for you seemingly knowing no bounds, I do hope that you won’t have to suffer long,” she said, winking.

“Your concern is much appreciated,” he groaned, offering a weak smile, and rolled to his side to face her. “Even more so because of said distaste.”

Sighing heavily, Sigyn offered him a real smile.  She hadn’t realized that she genuinely cared about his well-being.  She cared for all of them, even if they were idiots.  Well, not Hogun.  He was the only one with a brain worth its weight.

“How’s your shoulder?” she asked, leaning over to peek at the wound underneath the bandage.

Oh, that was a mistake.

She cringed, gagging a bit at the clear fluid seeping out of the jagged ripped flesh.  Fandral laughed as she covered her mouth and nose.

“Not too pretty, eh, pretty girl?” he said, wincing when the bandage tugged on the skin.

“I wouldn’t talk to her like that if I were you, Fandral,” Hogun said, approaching him to hand him a glass of water. “Loki would kill you if he found out.”

“No, he wouldn’t kill him,” she said sweetly at Fandral and wrinkled her nose. “He’d just, you know-” she waved a hand “-rough you up a bit.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” Fandral said, clearing his throat and putting a bit more distance between them. 

Across the room, Volstagg grimaced, rubbing a warm salve into the blackened flesh of his arm and shot him a look.

“Eir seems to have repaired you quite well.  Would’ve been nice if she’d saved some of her healing powers for the rest of us,” he mumbled.

Sigyn turned to face him. “Trust me,” she said, raising her voice enough for him to hear and shaking her head, “if you could see his shoulder, you wouldn’t feel bad about your arm.”

Seated in front of the center firepit in the room, Sif glared at her and asked, “Why are you even here?”

Sigyn opened her mouth to answer, but the woman cut her off. “I saw you and Loki in the observatory.  He had a death grip on you as though he should never let go.  Shouldn’t you be with him?”

Ever since the Vanir sorceress burnt her to a crisp accidentally (supposedly), Sif only tolerated her.  It mattered not that Loki’s little lover had gone to great lengths to repair the damage she did.  Sigyn could have been upset over her cold tone, but she was too tired to care.

“I was with him, yes, but I am here now,” she said, shrugging. “He just needed a bit of solitude after a day such as this.” She dropped her eyes and chewed on her lip, thinking back to the previous few hours she’d spent with him. 

---

~Earlier that same evening~

Loki sighed heavily, trying to steady his breathing, and stared at the ceiling above his bed as Eir personally checked him over for any extensive injuries.  He didn’t want her here.  He wanted to be left alone.  He was fine.

After that awful battle, Odin insisted he visit the healing rooms.  Naturally he refused, however, within ten minutes of returning to his chambers, Eir showed up at his doors along with a godsdamn flock of younger healers (students?) who trailed her into his room like a line of ducklings behind their mother.  He supposed it was better than having to do this examination in one of those uncomfortable healing rooms.  He wasn’t remotely ashamed of his body- quite the opposite, actually -but that didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed lying around shirtless in front of a dozen barely legal and rather clearly blushing healers.

At least Sig was here with him.  She sat on the opposite side of the bed from Eir, attempting to make conversation with him, talking about the weather of all things.  She wasn’t usually this chatty, and he knew she was just trying to distract him from the incredibly uncomfortable situation that involved a stranger’s hands running over every inch of his body.  

EVERY inch.

Gods, let this be over.

“Well, Your Highness,” Eir said plainly, standing up from his bed, “you have some rather deep bruises.”

He looked sideways at Sigyn and rolled his eyes.

Well, obviously.

He hardly needed a healer to figure that out.  What an absurd waste of his time- an overly handsy physical examination that provided no more information than glancing at a fucking mirror.

“But no breaks, fractures, sprains or bleeding,” the healer continued, brow furrowed as she shook her head. “Have you any idea why the Allfather was adamant you specifically be seen by a healer?”

He swallowed and plastered his most innocent expression on his face.  Yes, he had an idea, but he wasn’t going to voice it, now was he.

“I can only assume that he is simply a bit overprotective of his son.”

Much to his relief, Eir did not question him further.  She simply nodded and gathered her healing vials and tools, beckoning the others to leave him be.  He sat up and pulled on his robe, not bothering to tie the sash.  The healer was halfway to the door when she stopped short and turned to face him.

“Would you like a pain ender, Your Highness?”

Eyes sliding to Sigyn, he stood and nodded.

“Yes, thank you,” he said quietly and ran a hand through his hair as the woman pulled out a small vial of clear liquid and handed it to him.

“You should only need the one dose,” she said with a small smile and then after bowing respectfully, she left without another word.

Once she closed the door behind her, Loki walked to the sprawling balcony.  He wanted nothing more than to forget every single moment of what had turned into the worst day of his life, and that pain ender would be helpful in doing just that.

That is, I’ll forget it for a few hours.

Unfortunately, the details would come flying right back when the ender wore off.  Staring blankly into the cosmos, he rubbed an ache in his shoulder.

Sigyn remained seated on his bed, questioning whether to follow him out there onto his balcony.  Since returning from Jotunheim about an hour ago, he had said little more than five words to her.  She still had no idea what had happened, and he still wasn’t letting her see it, whatever it was.  Maybe he just wanted to be alone?  It didn’t seem like that though, considering he basically dragged her to his chambers, refusing to let her go to her own room.  

Pressing her lips together, she stood from the bed, and walking to the fireplace, she stared into the green flames.  She didn’t know what to do.  She didn’t want to press him for information that he wanted to keep private, but she also wanted to help him get through it, again, whatever it was, and how could she do that if she had no idea what had happened on Jotunheim?  With a heavy sigh, she leaned her forehead against the stone of the mantle.

“How can I help?” she whispered, knowing he could hear her. “Say the word.  I’ll do anything.  I can’t stand seeing you like this.  Is there anything you want?”

She really hoped he didn’t want solitude.  She would have complied to his wishes, of course, but she desperately wanted to at least hold him.  At most, she wanted him to trust her enough to talk to her.  Turning away from the flames, she looked at him out on his balcony.  He was facing away from her, so all she could do was stare at his back.

Loki didn’t answer her whispered question immediately.  He could feel her desperation, her desire to know the truth, and to some extent he did want to tell her, but he just wasn’t ready.  What if she saw the blue of his skin through the bond and feared what she saw?  For Hel’s sake, he feared himself!

He would run from himself if he could.  What would he do if she ran from him, if she left him?  He doubted she would, but still.  It was a possibility, and it would absolutely wreck him if it came to fruition.  Setting his jaw, he exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cold air.  He looked down at the vial in his hand and sucked in his cheeks.

Fuck it.

He tossed back the pain ender, letting his eyelids slide shut as the warmth went down his throat and filled his stomach.  It would be an escape for only a short while, but it would be an escape, nonetheless.  Licking his lips, he let his head fall back as a feeling of pure contentment settled deep within his abdomen.  Shit, he would regret this.

He was setting sail toward Happy Land to bask in the sun and sand for a few hours, then he would return to his boat and come crashing right back into the jagged rocks of Despair Island.  That’s how these enders worked.  He knew them well.  Not that he could be bothered to care when he felt like he was glowing from the inside out.  Frowning, he brought his head back up.  Sig had asked him a question, and he’d clean forgotten what it was.

Oh right—What could she do to help.  Was there anything he wanted.

Raising his eyebrows, he pursed his lips.  There was one thing he wanted, and it sure as Hel wasn’t a godsdamn conversation about his lovely tour of Jotunheim.  Turning to face her finally, he descended the balcony stairs, taking slow steps in her direction, an eerie calmness surrounding him.  He pulled his robe off and tossed it across his desk chair without taking his eyes off her.  As he came toe to toe with her, she tilted her head back to accompany their height difference. 

Sliding his hand into her hair, he kept his voice low. “I want you.”

She couldn’t help the arousal that shot through her from the tone of his voice and the intensity of his gaze, but she was also a bit concerned.  He seemed so emotionally detached, and if there was one thing Loki was not, it was detached.  Especially from her.  Their sex life was nothing short of passionate, emotions and sensations heightened to an almost (as ridiculous as it sounded) transcendent state.  He was always so giving, so anxious to please her.

Granted, that one time he fucked her against his bedroom wall after he saw her with Theoric in the library, he hadn’t exactly seemed concerned with getting her off.  She also had bruises for days, but even during that particularly rough session, he certainly wasn’t detached.  If anything, pushing that hard and fast into her just to prove she “belonged to him” was too attached.

But right now?  His gaze was too calm, his lids too heavy, his breathing too slow, his muscles too relaxed.  Impossible though it seemed, she wasn’t sure she wanted to sleep with him in this state- whatever this state even was.

Even so, her chest rose and fell faster as his fingers trailed lightly down the nape of her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw.  Leaning into his hand, she squinted up at him, trying to find the thing that he was hiding behind his strangely serene demeanor.  Where was the storm brewing up there in his mind?  There had to be one.  Where were the winds and freezing rain clouds?  Then it dawned on her that she felt incredible, her insides floating lazily in the gently rolling waves of a perfectly warm sea on a perfectly warm day with a perfectly warm breeze.

Oh…wait…

That vial Eir gave to him ten minutes ago…

He didn’t need it for the bruises, did he.  Oh, it was clear as day now.  His pupils weren’t dilated despite the dim light, despite his supposed desire for her.  No, they were as beautifully emerald as ever, though a bit redder around the corners.

Face falling, she dropped her head, trying to ignore the good feeling in her stomach.  How the Hel was she supposed to know if he really wanted to do this or if it was just that damn ender making him think he wanted to?  In spite of herself, she leaned her head back and moaned, biting into a smile.

Oh my gods, I might be in Valhalla.

Her body was glowing from the inside out, and she hated that it was a complete and total lie.  She never wanted to feel it again.

“Loki, this isn’t…” her voice faded, the unintentional smile on her face widening further as he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently lifted her head.

She wanted him to, but he didn’t kiss her, only blinking his too bright eyes a few times.  With no muscle tension in his jaw, as though he was in a trance, he pulled her toward the bed and carefully slid the leggings of her armor down her legs.  Dropping them on the floor, he pinned her beneath him and ran his fingers along the planes of her face. 

She sincerely hoped he would remember this in the morning.  She hoped she would.  Because everything about him- his hand on her cheek, his hips between her thighs, his hair around her fingers -felt too good to stop.  Unable to help herself, she turned her head and caught his first and middle fingers with her lips.  His mouth fell open, breathing harder as she lightly swirled the tip of her tongue around his fingertips.

The energy shift in the room was palpable, his eerie calmness switching to a more Loki-typical cocktail of barely controlled lust and chaotic affection.  She released his fingers and let her head fall back and arched up into him, muttering “so much better” under her breath as he hardened against her lower stomach.

Nimbly unfastening his trousers with one hand, he leaned down to kiss her jaw.  He felt her thumbs hooking into his waistband, but rather than push them down completely, she forced them just low enough to expose him.  Then, before he even thought to move forward, she grabbed his backside and pulled him into her.  Growling softly into her neck, he took it from there.

Not that “taking it from there” meant that he had any actual control over the situation whatsoever, since each roll of his hips was merely a slow-swinging sledgehammer destroying the wall, stone by stone, that he’d built to keep her safe from him- safe from the pain and anguish rapidly compounding in his mind.  Perhaps he had some power to stop those swings and spare his hard-built wall from complete annihilation.  Likely all he had to do was keep his face buried in her neck and focus solely on his extremely heightened physical sensitivity from this ender high.  However, he made the mistake of lifting his head to see her face.  He then of course lowered his mouth to hers, and his wall came crashing down like that.  Apparently heated kissing was significantly more destructive than fucking.

Good to know…

…bad way to find out.

Behind closed eyes, Sigyn saw it then.  She saw what happened in Jotunheim.  Fair skin turned blue, green eyes turned red, just like that nightmare she’d “shared” with Loki the night they first slept together.  She didn’t entirely understand what she was seeing, but she didn’t need to.  She knew it was causing a complete emotional breakdown within him, and that was all the information she needed to feel his utter sense of…of what?

Betrayal, her mind supplied.

Gods, she wanted to cry, and she very well might do exactly that.  Her heart was aching beneath her chest from his pain.  She loved him so much more than she would ever be able to express.  She felt his hips stutter to a halt, and he shuttered against her.  Could she please just hold him here forever?  No.  Not forever.  Not even for two more seconds.

He pulled out of her quickly and allowed her to kiss him as he refastened his trousers.  Pushing up from the bed, he walked to the fireplace and settled into the hearth sofa, staring into the fire blankly.  Save for the rising and falling of his chest with each steady breath, he was motionless.  Feeling positively empty, she crawled off his bed, went to his washroom to clean herself up, got dressed, and cast one more glance in his direction.  When he only continued his quiet study of the green flames, she left for the healing rooms to see the warriors three and Sif.

---

~The Private Healing Room, Presently~

Sigyn blew out a breath and refocused her thoughts on the present.  Her memories of Loki during the last hour were making her too emotional, and she didn’t particularly want to fall apart in front of present company.  Especially Sif, who was still looking at her with poorly veiled annoyance.  It was so unfair that the woman was holding a grudge against her.  Good grief, after all she and Loki went through just to spare her from a bit of early hair loss.

Alright fine, she was vain enough to empathize with that angle, but Sif started that fight with him.  It was her own damn fault any of it had happened at all.  She rolled her eyes and pushed her hand through her hair.  Ruminating over it would only leave her in tears, and for the love, she might as well go right back to thinking about Loki again if she was just going to cry anyway.  She peeked up at Sif who was now helping Volstagg with the healing salve for his arm.  

Must be nice having actual friends to help you.

Despite caring for them (even Sif…why else would she care what that woman thought of her?), Sigyn didn’t think of them as her friends.  Well, maybe they were, in a way, and she just didn’t feel part of the group because they’d treated Loki so poorly in the past.  She dropped her eyes and swallowed the growing lump in her throat.

Wonderful.

Her mind was drifting back to him.  Waterworks were imminent.  Gods dammit.  Crying made her look so pathetic.  Thankfully, Sif addressed her from across the room, distracting her from the utterly depressing thoughts doing the rounds in her head.

“Did you see Thor in the observatory earlier?  Do you know where he went?  I checked his chambers, but he wasn’t there.  I thought he would’ve come to find us by now,” Sif asked, standing up and crossing her arms as a deep frown creased her brow.

Sigyn’s jaw dropped, and she looked from warrior to warrior.  Wait… they didn’t know?  Oh Hel, she did not want to be the one to pass on the news of Thor’s exile.  How did they not know that?  Had no one seen the Bifrost roar to life?  

“Um,” she began, clearing her throat, giving herself a few seconds to prepare her words. “Yes, I saw him.”

She chewed her lip and let out a heavy sigh.  Might as well just get it over with.

“The king banished him.  I know not where to,” she added with a shrug as they stared at her, eyes wide, mouths agape.

“What did you say?” Sif choked on the words, hands fisting at her sides.

“I’m sorry.  I thought you knew,” Sigyn replied, wincing at the anger evident in the woman’s voice. “He took Thor’s power, his title, even Mjölnir.”

They gaped at her, as though she was a figment of their imaginations.  It was awful.  She couldn’t have imagined the hurt expressions on their faces.  Warriors just looked wrong when they were on the verge of tears.  She refused to face them one more second and pushed up from her seat.  She was done with this sadness.  It was everywhere.  Maybe she could go to the library and lose herself in a book.  Yes.  That’s what she would do.

Rushing after her, Sif grabbed her arm before she reached the doors. “And what of Loki?” she whispered heatedly.

Sigyn pressed her lips together. “What of him?  I told you that I left him in his chambers.”

Swallowing thickly, she looked at her feet.  Did Sif see his transformation on Jotunheim?  Did they all see it?

“I saw something I did not understand,” Sif said, lowering her voice further as she led Sigyn outside the door. “I thought maybe I imagined it.  Loki…. changed.”

Furrowing her brow, Sigyn pinched the bridge of her nose, absorbed in the mental image of his Jotun appearance.  She didn’t find the change ugly, only different.  It simply wasn’t what she was used to.  It was kind of amazing, honestly.  Even with blue skin, he wasn’t ugly…. or scary, for that matter.  As the thought crossed her mind, she hoped that through the many halls and walls between them, he could hear… or see… himself through her eyes.

Æsir had been taught, nearly from birth, to fear frost giants.  That they were a race of monsters.  The question of why his skin had changed remained unanswered.  Though she never saw a family resemblance between Loki and his parents or Thor, he was still too small to be Jotun, was he not?  Sure, he towered over her, but the frost giants were at least twelve feet tall!  

She went still suddenly, the color draining from her face.  What was it she said to him that morning in his mother’s chambers?  She screamed at him stupidly, something about idiotic Asgardians: “You’re not like them!  Sometimes I think you don’t even have the same genetic makeup!”

Covering her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut, stifling a cry.  What painfully wretched and true words.  Why couldn’t she go back in time and erase them from his memory?  From hers?  She was a fool, a fool with a tongue too loose for her own good.  Feeling Sif staring at her still, she opened her eyes, mulling over whether to admit her knowledge on the matter.  She sighed heavily, deciding honesty was the best route, and spoke in a hushed tone.

“I saw it, too.  Loki and I have a special,” she hesitated, watching the war goddess carefully before continuing, “bond.  Did the others see it?”

Looking around the open corridor and finding it empty, Sif kept her voice low.

“I think not.  None of them mentioned it.  Laufey grabbed him.  His armor broke beneath the grip.  Every point of contact between his skin and Laufey’s became Jotun in appearance.  If I’d not seen Volstagg’s arm turn black when one had grabbed him during the battle, I would have thought the change of Loki’s skin was a normal reaction to their touch.  Never before have I seen him terrified.  He is always ten steps ahead of everyone, but this?  The look on his face was proof that he was miles behind this.  Worst of all was the Allfather’s reaction.  I saw regret.  Guilt even.  I think he and the queen have been hiding something from him.  Something very grave indeed.”

Clutching her stomach, holding back a sob, Sigyn nodded.  She was done here.

“If you need me, I will be in the library.”

Willing back tears, Sif watched as the Vanir rushed down the hall.  She could only imagine the torture it must have been for Loki to discover that he’d been lied to his entire life.  She doubted he was still in his chambers.  As a man of unequaled intellect, he would no doubt seek out answers, but he wouldn’t go directly to the Allfather.  Most likely he would visit the casket.  Turning on her heel, Sif fled from the healing chambers and hurried to the weapons vault.

---

~Same Time, The Weapons Vault~

It seemed like a lifetime ago that he last looked upon the casket, and to a very real degree, it was.  When he saw the dead guards and listened to his now banished brother talk of glorious warthat morning, he was a different man living a different life.  This morning, before being forced to play a fun little game of “Gods and Monsters” in Jotunheim to indulge his idiot brother’s misplaced bloodthirst, he knew where he came from, who his parents were, and what his name was.

However, standing in front of the frost giants’ most powerful weapon right now, a mere twelve hours or so later, Loki questioned if knowing the truth was worth it.  His previous existence was a lie, but…

Bloody Hel- it was a FANTASTIC lie.

Why would he want to live truthfully- whatever the Hel that meant -if the lie was better?  This morning he was a prince of Asgard.  His name was Loki Odinson.  The God of Mischief.  Brother to Thor, son of Frigga.  His eyes were green, his skin fair.

Hanging his head, he scoffed quietly.  How ironic that the god of lies desired the truth.  Well, it wasn’t as though he could just ignore what happened on that wretched, wasted ice world.  Shaking his head, hands fisted at his sides, he approached the casket.

Standing before the ancient blue box, he whispered, “Just do it.”

Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his fingers around it.  Cold rushed through his veins, power along with it.  He felt alive, and beginning at his hands, Jotun blue spread up and across his body.  Salty tears pooled in his eyes, no longer the green hue he knew and loved.  Feeling a presence behind him, he turned to see the man he’d called father standing at the top of the stairs.

He desperately wanted that man to reassure him.  He wanted to hear him say that this was some unknown congenital disease or some Norns-only-knew curse.  Either would be preferable answers over “you’re a frost giant”.  The blue of his skin faded away as he set the casket back on its pedestal, and he looked at the older man questioningly, desperately.

Odin lowered his eyes and sighed heavily.  Despite so often being at odds with his youngest, he did love him.  In his own way.  He’d almost forgotten that he did.

“You are my son, Loki,” he answered his son’s silent question. “I raised you. You are my own.”

Loki took a deep breath, his eyes closing.  That answer was not good enough.

“Am I born of Frigga?”

Silence.

Odin shook his head slowly before answering a small eternity later.

“No.”

Knew it.

To think, all it took was one word- “no” -to send his entire world crashing down.  If no one was watching, he would fall to the stone floor and legitimately weep.  For years, for decades- no -for centuries, he’d wondered why his “father” judged him so harshly.  He’d never understood how simply being a second son made him a lesser son.

The disappointing son.

From his first memories, he was always on the receiving end of harsher discipline, greater judgment, less kindness, less understanding, and empathy.  And now he knew why.

I’m not the lesser son- I’m just… not his son.

How utterly simple.

And unfathomably cruel.

Odin steadied himself.  He had no choice but to tell his youngest the rest of the story, so he did just that.  He told Loki the entire story.  Finally, after all these years, he told him the truth.

Loki stared blankly, too stunned to believe, more likely unwilling to believe the words.  Laufey, of all those monsters, was his true father.  The Jotun king left him to die in the cold after their great war with Asgard.  Perhaps the giant discarded him because he was so small, so unworthy of the throne of Jotunheim.  Imagine that-

He was a disappointment even as a baby.    Before he took his first step or spoke his first word, he was a disappointment.  Asgard defeated the frost giants, and his fake father took pity on the runt of his real father’s litter.  Odin secretly brought him back to the realm eternal and suckered Frigga into claiming Loki was some sort of “surprise” pregnancy.  The rest of the story was quite anticlimactic really.  Long story short, they lied to his face for nine hundred years.

“So, when you said that I was born to be a king,” he said through his teeth, his jaw clenched, “you meant something else entirely.  Such cryptic words.  Have you any idea what those words meant to a young boy?  To me as a young boy?!  Was I supposed to sit on the throne of Jotunheim?! In what realm exactly was your head when you made that decision?!”

Hanging his head, looking wearier than Loki had ever seen him, Odin fell back on the steps unconscious.  Eyes wide, Loki ascended the stairs three at a time and bent over the king’s body, splayed across the steps.  Looking upon the old man’s now sleeping form, suddenly fearful that he would not wake, Loki called for the guards.  Running up the stairs after the guards and the man he could no longer call father, he did not see the warrior hidden from sight within the shadows of the vault.  Swiping at the tears on her cheeks (she couldn’t believe she was crying for Loki), Sif waited until they had disappeared to take her leave and find Sigyn.

---

~The Palace Library~

Sigyn rubbed her temples and groaned.  This blood bond was maddening.  She felt ragged, utterly spent from Loki’s emotional chaos.It was wonderful when he felt anything good, but that was the exception, not the rule.  Norns, he was so…what’s the word?  Hm…oh.

Broody.

Of course, after all this Jotun business, she could hardly blame him.  He had every right to feel awful, and wherever he was at this moment, he was wrecked.  Truly, she was going to lose her mind if she didn’t at least try to ignore it, so she willed her thoughts to focus instead on the image from the book in her hands as she sat atop Loki’s rafter in the library.

A little girl is passing through a mirror and meeting a red queen and…

That was as far as she got before she heard heavy boots approaching.  Oh for- setting her jaw, she rolled her eyes, knowing full well who had come to pay her a visit.

“I can think of only two forgivable reasons why the captain of the hawks would dare to approach me again,” she said, glaring down at her stalker.

“One: the chemicals in your brain have been thoroughly damaged by a powerful ‘razor sharp metal against your throat’ fetish, thereby rendering you incapable of self-control, or two: you have advanced stage short term memory loss and literally cannot remember that I threatened to char your testicles not five hours ago,” she snapped, closing the leather book sharply, its pages slamming together with an audible crack.

The torches throughout the massive hall of books burned brighter, sparks landing on the floor below.  Nervously eyeing the sparks and rising flames, Theoric responded calmly.

“I only wish to explain myself further.  I feel that our conversation on the Bifrost was left unfinished.”

She snorted, completely humorless, and hopped down from the rafter.

“No,” she said, replacing the book on the shelf, “I made myself perfectly clear.”

Taking a seat on a settee by the main fireplace, Theoric offered a smile, undeterred by her curt tone.

“You told me not to come within a foot of you, which if you will note, I’ve not breached,” he said, gesturing to the space between them.

She sighed as she sat in the armchair across from him.

“That may be the case, but the point remains.  I have nothing to say to you,” she said, waving her hand as though a pesky fly was buzzing around her head.

Her anger toward the man had waned significantly since Loki returned alive and uninjured, however, if that had not been the case, Theoric would be roasting right now.  Leaning forward, he held out his hands.

“I would give anything, do anything, for you, dearest Sigyn-”

“I most certainly am not your dearest,” she hissed, cutting him off, her grey green eyes flashing in the flickering light of the fire.

Breathing heavily, exasperated, he rubbed both hands down his face. “Well to me, you are.  Do not think to tell me what I feel.  My parents are both dead, and I’ve no siblings.  My soldiers look up to me, but they do not desire my friendship.  Sigyn, I assure you that you are the dearest person in the world to me.  It may seem rash., perhaps premature, but I know how I feel.”

She gaped at him.  He sounded positively mad.  She momentarily wondered if there was an institution in Asgard for such headcases.

“All you could possibly know is that you find my appearance pleasing,” she said, throwing up her hands. “You know nothing of who I truly am, captain, and if you did, I would wager that you’d find me far less appealing.  Valhalla, you are nearly Odin’s highest-ranking officer, commander of his finest soldiers.  You have fought many battles in the name of Asgard and come home victorious.  Your principles are solid.  You and I are nothing alike, Theoric.  I am terribly sorry that you’ve no family,” she paused, giving him an earnest look, “but if you continue in your pursuit of me, you will never have one.  I would follow Loki into Hel, and I mean it.”

Tired of the conversation, she rose and retrieved the book she was reading before Theoric showed up.  She climbed back up to the rafter, wishing he would just go.

Please just leave me be.

He stood and spoke with more authority, the authority of a commanding officer.

“I do know some things, Sigyn,” he said, his voice raising in volume as he stood to follow her.

“I know that you are a fearless warrior, brave enough to go to Jotunheim, outnumbered.  I know that when you love, you love passionately.  I know that you are fiercely loyal.  One such as you belongs in the company of the finest soldiers of Asgard.  I’ve seen your magic.  It is incredibly powerful.  That power could be used for good, Sigyn.  You are not bound to whatever darkness you think resides within you.”

He desperately wanted her to concede to the truth (it was indeed truth that she could rise from darkness) in his words, but when she merely sighed and shook her head, he felt his stomach drop.  She was refusing him again.  He hung his head.

What had he expected?  He kicked himself mentally.  Why had he allowed himself to fall for her? —to put this woman who wanted nothing to do with him on a pedestal?  For the sake of his own sanity, he had to cease this pointless pursuit.  This had been his last-ditch effort, and as much as he didn’t want to believe her, it was clear that she truly would stay with Prince Loki to the bitter end.  The second son had his talons in her, and she wasn’t even attempting escape.

Theoric didn’t know it, but his words hit her like a ton of bricks, and tears filled her eyes.  She could be good?  What did that even mean?  What was good?  Was love good?  Was dying for love good?  If not, then she was far from anything resembling good.  She looked up from the book.

“It wasn’t bravery that lit Sif’s body on fire,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion much to her embarrassment. “It wasn’t bravery that set me on the path to Jotunheim.  It was love, but it was love only for Loki.  You don’t seem to understand.  Why can you not believe me when I say that I would protect him with my life?”

The look on his face made her chest absolutely ache.  Gods, why did she have to be cursed with so much empathy?  It made it impossible for her to hate him.

“Theoric,” she continued before he could respond, “I am more sorceress than warrior, and I’ve no desire to fight in the name of Asgard.  I am not good.  Please do not let this unfounded infatuation destroy you.”

Squaring his shoulders, he nodded stiffly.

“He will be the death of you,” he said, eyeing her from under his brow, “and I will not stand by to watch.  I bid you farewell.  You shall not hear from me again concerning this matter.” 

Bowing quickly, he walked to the doors where Sif had apparently been waiting.  Ignoring protocol, he didn’t bother with a proper salute and brushed past her.

Sigyn stared off into space, taken aback by his words.  He’d said goodbye, swore he wouldn’t bother her again.  She had expected him to continue to pester her, and now she wasn’t sure how she felt.  Well, she knew she didn’t want him to pursue her, to love her.  She cringed at the thought.  Perhaps it was the reason he was done with her.  “He will be the death of you,” he’d said.She feared he was right, and at the same time, she didn’t give a damn.  She told him that she would follow Loki into Hel, and by the Norns did she mean it.

Deciding it best not to continue thinking on that, she returned to reading the story.  Honestly, it might have been written about her for all its similarities.  She too was once a little girl passing through a dreamworld turned nightmare.  She thought back to her life before Loki.  Despite many exceedingly dark memories, that Sigyn, the playful girl who enjoyed swimming, climbing, playing chess, exploring Vanir delicacies at the market, flirting with suitors just to see them blush, casting small spells….that Sigyn was no more.  Playing with fire died the moment she first saw Loki.  There was nothing playful about her magic now.  

In truth, however, the transformation began long before they met.  It started when she first dreamt of him.  Along with the dreams, her magic grew, and that magic led her out the door of her old life.

It led me to HIM.

She was a darker version of herself now, and like that little girl in the story, she felt there would be nothing worse than going back, even if it was the practical and safe choice.  Freya had always said that she was the darkest daughter.  At the time, she did not understand her unkind mother’s words.  Well, she understood now.  Lost in her musings on dark things, she didn’t notice Sif approaching the rafter from below.

“You must be deep in thought,” Sif said, her voice somehow deeper and more foreboding since their previous conversation. “My armor is, after all, very loud.”

A smile that did not reach Sigyn’s eyes stretched across her face.

“Yes, I suppose I was in my own head,” she said, a bit nervous.  Sif would not be here unless she discovered something…disturbing. “Why do you still wear it?  You are returned from battle, are you not?”

Jumping up, Sif grabbed the rafter with both hands and swung over it, gracefully positioning herself across from her.

“I could ask you the same, Vanir girl,” she said, slightly defensive.

Sigyn rolled her eyes- yet another example of Asgardian arrogance.

“My armor is pliable wool and leather,” she countered, shrugging one shoulder. “Yours is uncomfortable metal.”

Rubbing the back of her neck, she yawned.  It had been an exhausting twenty-four hours, and she had no interest in chatting.

“What do you want, Sif?” she asked, fully aware of the petulant tone of her voice.

Sif nodded to the book in Sigyn’s hand. “Nothing is more fitting for your prince than that story.  Loki is not who he was this morning.”

“I know that,” she snapped unintentionally. “Do you not remember our conversation outside the healing room?”

“That’s not what I’m referring to,” Sif said, shaking her head. “You knew that his skin changed, but you do not know what I just witnessed in the vault.”

Hesitantly, Sigyn leaned forward, her brow furrowing from worry. “Tell me.”

---

~The Allfather’s Bedchambers~

Kneeling by her husband’s bed, Frigga held his motionless hand, but she kept her eyes on her son.  Loki sat across from her on the other side of the bed, his jaw set painfully tight.  He had run into Odin’s bedchamber a few minutes prior, shouting at the guards to be careful with the unconscious king, and hadn’t said a word to her.  Working up the courage to say his name, she took a deep breath.

“Loki?”

She wanted to drop Odin’s hand and just run to her son and hug him until, well…until forever.  He was her baby boy, for heaven’s sake, and if she could just hold him and keep him safe forever, she would.  Fear kept her where she was, though.  She was afraid.  No, she was terrified that he would just push her away, and she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if that happened.  She already lost one son today.  Losing Loki would absolutely devastate her.  

He didn’t respond, but merely continued staring blankly at the man who was not his father.  The corner of his mouth twitched slightly when she said his name again.

Trembling with anxiety, her voice raised a pitch. “Loki, please?  You must speak to me.”

He finally raised his eyes to meet hers, emerald to azure. “I do not even know how to address you properly anymore,” he whispered, eyes shining.

Her face crumpled as she choked back a sob. “I am your mother, Loki,” she managed between painful breaths. “I have been since the day he brought you back, the day I first loved you.”

Her words cut him.  He looked at his chest, searching for the gaping wound, to no avail.

“Then why did you lie to me?” he asked, eyebrows knitted. “Did you or Odin honestly think it better for me to find out like this?”

She frowned, words failing her, tears filling her eyes.  She had never wanted to lie to him.  That had been Odin’s decision.  Odin’s awful decision.

“Loki…”

“I always knew that I was different,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“At the basest level, one could not, upon looking at us, see even a slight family resemblance,” he said, his voice raising just as surely as his anger. “And the heat.  I know now why Asgard has always been so gods damn hot for me.”

He ripped off his outer jacket.  What purpose did the heavy princely garb serve anymore?  Was he even still technically a prince?  Gods, this was the most wretched feeling of his life.  This was true pain.  True sorrow.  An actual knife to the back would have hurt less.  Sliding off the bed to sit on the floor, he held his head in his hands.  

Frigga clambered to her feet and ran to him, desperate to ease his suffering.  Was that even possible now after what they’d done to him?  No longer caring that he would probably push her away, she dropped to her knees next to him and threw her arms around his neck.  He attempted to push her away, just as she thought he would, but he gave up quickly when she refused to let go.  Protective arms holding him against her chest, she sobbed into his hair.

“We made a mistake, dearest.”

He looked up at her, astonished by such a simple excuse.

“Mistake?  That’s a fucking huge mistake!” he scoffed, wishing he didn’t love her at all, wishing he could hate her for this.

She didn’t think for a moment to correct his language.  She didn’t care.  She rather felt like swearing herself.  Shaking her head, she opened and closed her mouth.  What could she possibly say?  Staring at him, she came up with nothing, settling for just stroking his hair instead.

He held her gaze as a tear ran down his cheek. “Loki Laufeyson.”

The name tasted horrible on his tongue.  His entire life was a sham.

“How could you?  How could you?” He choked on his own words.

Not letting loose her hold on her son, Frigga pulled him further into her embrace.  Never had she been unable to comfort him.  Any time something had upset him, whether it being children mocking him at the academy, or Odin scolding him for something beyond ridiculous, or any other number of things, Loki always came to her first.

Now here she was.  A mother who couldn’t provide a haven for her beloved child.  She’d never felt more useless, more guilty, more of a failure in her long life.  If she couldn’t help him, who could?  Closing her eyes, she continued crying into his hair.  Indeed, there was someone who could help him, and it was akin to being stabbed in the heart knowing she was no longer that person.  Finally lifting her head, she shouted to the guards at the door.

“Fetch the Lady Sigyn.  Now.”

Tears running down her cheeks, she tightened her hold on him.  Hopefully, the young Vanir could do what she could not.

---

~The Palace Library~

Still seated on the rafter in the library, Sigyn mulled over Loki’s true name, rolling it around on her tongue, her taste buds finding it bitter.

Laufeyson.  Laufeyson.  Laufeyson?

She shook her head.  No, he was an Odinson.  Through and through.  He was and always would be Loki Odinson.  She didn’t give a damn about his true parentage.

Sif had relayed the entire scene from the weapons vault before announcing that she was exhausted and disappeared to her chambers.  Sigyn at once both loved and hated Odin.  On one hand, if it hadn’t been for him, Loki would have died without having the chance to live more than a few days.  On the other hand, the king lied to him, and it was no little lie.

Loki was the son of Asgard’s mortal enemy.  Had Odin really meant to one day just announce to his son that he was taking the throne of Jotunheim?  Was Loki that dispensable to him?  Had he really intended to just send him away to live on a frozen rock and rule a race he’d been raised to despise, after believing, throughout his entire life, that he was an Asgardian prince?

She didn’t know if it was her overwhelming sadness or his, but she jumped from the rafter, needing to find him.  However, as soon as she grabbed the door handle, it swung open from the other side, and several guards burst through.  She stumbled back in shock, clamping her hand over her mouth to stifle a small cry.  The guards seemed out of breath, and surprisingly upset for such typically stoic soldiers.

“Lady Sigyn,” one of them said, his eyes wide with concern, “your urgent presence is needed in the king’s chambers.”

Needing no further explanation, she ran past them and bolted for the east wing of the royal corridor, the sounds of their hurried footsteps attempting to catch up to her echoing through the hall.

---

~The Allfather’s Bedchambers~

Frigga heard the clatter of fast heels out in the corridor growing steadily louder, and she sighed.  A part of her feared it might be upsetting to see Sigyn, that it might be the epitome of ‘you’ve been replaced’.  Instead, she only felt relief wash over her at the sight of the petite dark-haired woman turning the corner and running down the hall straight for them.  Two guards, posted at Odin’s doors, spears crossed as a barrier, stepped aside for her.  Loki looked up at the sound.  As soon as he saw her, he pushed to his feet, just in time for her to throw her arms around his waist.

“Sig, I-”

“Don’t speak,” she said, putting her fingers over his mouth. “I already know.  You don’t have to say anything, love.”

Removing her hand from his mouth, she slid both arms up around his neck and pulled him as close as possible.  His breath hitched in his chest when she called him “love”, and he almost said it back, but she released her hold on him, and the urge faded at the shocked look on her face.  He followed her eyeline to Odin.

She gaped, horrified at the corpse-like king lying on his bed. “Dear gods, is he dead?”

Loki shook his head and rubbed his eyes to remove the evidence of his crying.

“No, it is the Odinsleep,” he explained, running a hand through his hair. “It is a preservation method of sorts.  That’s the best way to describe it, I think.”

Her eyes slid from Odin back to Loki. “How long does he need to be…. refreshed?”  She’d never heard of such a thing.

Frigga rose from the floor then.  No doubt it seemed rude, but she hadn’t bothered to get up when Sigyn arrived.  She felt the need to correct that.

“We do not know,” she answered, sighing heavily. “Days, months, years, it is unknown.”

“Years?” Sigyn shrieked, hating the sound of her own voice.

She grabbed Odin’s hand, shaking it a bit, willing him to awaken.  Despite her distaste for the old man, he had kept peace throughout the realms for millennia, and she was none too happy that he was lying down on the job, so to speak.

“But Asgard cannot hold its place within the realms without its king,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Frigga placed a hand on her shoulder, and Sigyn looked up at her.

“Asgard is not without their king,” the queen said, nodding to her son.

Rhythmic steps sounded from the hall then, and Loki, brows raised, mouth agape, turned to see the entire Hawk guard, all two hundred of them marching toward him.  Leading the charge, Theoric held Gungnir out horizontal before him.  Loki turned to Frigga as the Hawks came to an abrupt halt at the door and dropped to their knees in front of him.  Bringing their fists over their chests, they bowed their heads to him.  Solemnly, like the guards, the queen bowed her head, gesturing for Sigyn to do the same.

“Odin sleeps,” Frigga said, her voice strong. “Thor is banished.  You are the rightful king of Asgard, my son.”

Loki couldn’t believe his ears.  He was kingnow?  After this awful, dreadful day, he was now suddenly supposed to take the throne of Asgard?  He didn’t remotely know how to process this, but that didn’t matter now.  Closing his mouth and squaring his soldiers, he composed himself quickly.  He nodded to the woman he would continue to call “mother” and then turned to face the Hawks.  Theoric presented him with Gungnir, and pursing his lips, Loki closed his hands around the spear.  

All he ever wanted was to be Thor’s equal.  Being king was always an impossible dream, one that he was abruptly roused from earlier in the vault.  He’d never considered what sitting on the throne entailed because it was never to be his.  It was perhaps why, at least in part, he played so many tricks, why he was so mischievous all these years.  But now, holding Gungnir, feeling its weight, its power, which was as potent as the magic that flowed through his veins, he was determined to do right by his parents.  The two people who he wanted to, once again, claim as his own.  He reveled in the energy pulsing within his hands, and tongue sliding across his bottom lip, he turned slowly back to face Sigyn.  Her eyes met his, and moving the spear to one hand, he held the other out, palm up, beckoning her to come to him.

Smiling, relieved to see her son taking on this responsibility despite knowing the painful truth now, Frigga went to him and hugged him.

“I trust that Asgard, under your rule, is in good hands, my son.  If you need me, I will be here at your father’s side.”

Loki nodded once and said goodbye.  With a wave of his hand, the guards parted for him, and he pulled Sigyn through the two long rows of soldiers, Gungnir at his side.