~The Following Morning, The Observatory~

Ominous and deep, Heimdall’s voice bounced off the golden interlocking gears of the Bifrost observatory as Sif approached him early the next day before dawn.

“Lady Sif,” he greeted her. 

She felt the floor vibrate under her boots.

“Good Heimdall,” she said, bowing her head to him as she around him to peer out the opening of the observatory.

Stars, comets, moons, planets, all distant lovely shapes, shone in the deep dark of space.  Beneath the observatory, the Eternal Sea roared, falling over the edge of the realm, disappearing into that deep dark.  Approaching the gatekeeper, seeing the glow of his golden eyes, she straightened her shoulders, intimidated.  It wasn’t often that she went to him with a request for his sight, but after Sigyn informed her of Thor’s banishment, and worse, that his location was unknown, she couldn’t help herself.  Despite being exhausted from the battle in Jotunheim, she didn’t sleep even a wink last night.  She just tossed and turned, wondering where her almost-paramour was, if he were injured, and if he would ever come home.

“He is well,” Heimdall responded to her unspoken question, eyes forward, unmoving from his post. 

She sighed and hung her head.  Of course, he was well.  She should have known.  Thor always adapted quickly to any environment, no matter his familiarity with it.  Rocking from one foot to another, she nervously rubbed a smudge from her vambrace.

“I am glad to hear that,” she said, turning to face the gatekeeper. “If I may be so bold, I should very much appreciate knowing where he is doing well.”

He glanced at her from his periphery before returning his eyes to the cosmos.  Ever since the Allfather banished his son, Heimdall kept his all-seeing gaze on Thor.  Painful as it was to hear the prince scream up at him- “Heimdall?!  I know you can hear me!  Open the Bifrost!” –upon first gaining consciousness after his fall to the mortal realm, the gatekeeper obeyed Odin’s command, refusing passage back home for the young Asgardian.  All he could do was watch Thor from the Bifrost observatory, and he saw every moment the once-golden-son spent with the humans.  Choosing to leave out the details of a blossoming relationship between the eldest Odinson and a mortal woman, Heimdall spoke finally. 

“He is on Midgard.”  

Cringing, Sif scoffed. “Of all the realms within Yggdrasil the Allfather could banish him to, he chose the mortal realm?”

Rather than merely glance sideways at her, Heimdall turned his body to face her completely- a rare occurrence indeed.

“Lady Sif,” he said, staring directly into her light hazel eyes, “there is always purpose behind the king’s actions.  You know this.  Would you prefer he spend his sentence in Muspelheim?”

Turning away from him, she rolled her eyes.  Well obviously, fire demons were worse than humans.

Technicalities.

Unable to deny her own curiosity, she asked, “Must his exile continue if the Allfather sleeps?”

Perhaps the further questioning irritated him, but at least she refrained from stomping her foot like a frustrated child.  He should be grateful.  As should she, considering the likelihood that somehow word of the “war goddess throwing a temper tantrum” would reach her fellow soldiers.

“I know he has fallen into Odinsleep,” she added, holding his steadfast gaze. “I saw it myself.  Thor must return now.  Asgard needs a king.”

“Thor need not return,” he countered, looking away from her to focus once more on the nine realms. “Asgard is now under the protection of King Loki.”

Her jaw dropped.  Say what?  She brought her hand to her mouth.  A frost giant was now sitting on the throne of Asgard?

Loki is the ruler of the nine realms…this can’t be true…it MUSTN’T be true.

Despite her empathy for him in his current situation, she still only trusted him as far as she could throw him- in other words, not at all.  She once kicked him in the chest, which blew him back maybe…ten feet?  Honestly though, Thor’s younger “brother” was solid as a rock, much heavier than he looked.  She was stronger than many men, sure, but no way in Hel did she have the upper body strength to lift Loki enough to throw him.  All that to say, she didn’t trust him with the throne one bit.

From her first memories, he was always jealous of Thor and his status.  Also, lest anyone forget his vicious nature, Loki stabbed her, twisted the blade, then broke her back without a care for her life in a moment of rage.  Oh! − and in addition to that heartless, cold-blooded, altogether unforgivabledeed, to this day, he still consorted with the woman who magically set her broken body on fire! 

She rolled her eyes at her own adolescent refusal to just let it go.  They paid the price for their actions, and to be fair to Loki, he fought alongside her as her brother in arms.  She rarely saw him throwing daggers, but she always heard those blades piercing unseen enemies coming up behind her.  He’d no doubt saved her life and her friends repeatedly throughout centuries of battles.

Including yesterday…in Jotunheim.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Loki shouldn’t be trusted with the throne.  Scowling at his new title, which he’d been vying for from day one, she jumped on her horse and rode back to the palace, shouting “Thank you, Heimdall!” over her shoulder.

---

~Same Time, Loki’s Chambers~

Loki rolled over and rubbed his eyes as the first light of the day streamed through the thin opening between the dark green drapes drawn across his balcony.  Stretching his long body beneath the black sheets, he grimaced as a sharp pain shot through his core.  Not only was the bruising from the battle causing the pain, but after fucking Sig a good five times the night before, his hip flexors were positively screaming.  Yes, he got a bit carried away, but how could he not?  She’d dropped to her knees in front of him and said, “allow me to serve you, my king.”

Godsdamn.

Running a hand down his face, he closed his eyes, the memory of her dark red lips on him making his head spin as all the blood drained out of it.  He slid his eyes over to her.  Her back was to him, her bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheet.  Biting his lip, he reached over and ran his first finger down her shoulder, dragging the sheet that much lower.  She shivered in her sleep, and he scooted up behind her.  He moved her hair aside and leaned in to kiss her neck, stopping himself when he remembered that the king’s servants would be arriving shortly.

Rolling his eyes, he kissed her shoulder and pushed up from the bed, pulling on his trousers- not wise to be seen naked on the first day of a… new job.

Wouldn’t want them to see my crown jewels.

Chuckling quietly at his silent joke, he plucked her underthings from the floor and pushed the sheets off her.  Dear gods, he would most certainly not allow them to see her naked.  

Waking with a start thanks to the cold air, she curled into a ball, trying to warm herself. 

“Loki!” she cried out, reaching down, ferociously grasping the covers. “What are you doing?”

Shooing her hands away from the blankets, he pulled her up, looking her up and down appreciatively.  Dammit− if only he had more time.

“My quarters are sure to be overrun with servants soon, and obviously I can’t have anyone else seeing you in this…” he trailed off, then cleared his throat and gestured to her body “… this… mouthwatering state.  It is a sight for my eyes alone.”

Raising an eyebrow, she smirked, letting him slide the thin garment over her head.  He finger-combed her hair then kissed her nose.

“There,” he sighed, “You may now curl back up under the covers if you wish.”

Covering her mouth, she yawned and fell back, yanking the sheets up.

“Thank you for your generous permission, my king,” she whispered with a wink.

Eyes narrowing, he leaned over her.

“You must stop calling me that, Sig.  Unless you wish to be ravished immediately,” he insisted, catching her lips with his before walking to the drapes to pull them aside.  

“As if you would be able to perform such a task,” she said around another yawn and rolled over. “It’s obvious in your gait.  You are just as sore as I am.”  

Her mumbling was nearly lost in the pillow, but he heard it nonetheless and laughed quietly.  She had a point.  Strolling to the ledge, he gazed at what was now his realm.  Snow covering every surface still, Asgard shimmered white.  The usually golden luster was still lost under the frozen blanket, and he snorted at the irony of the situation he now found himself in.  The coldest days in the history of the golden city had come under the ruling of a frost giant.  

Well, HALF frost giant… I hope.  

This was not how he would have chosen to acquire the crown.  Had it been an option, he would have requested an official coronation ceremony and a celebratory feast worthy of Volstagg’s stomach.  This would do, though, and he couldn’t deny the joy it brought him when the spear was handed to him by none other than Theoric himself.  When the hawk backed away from his new commander last night, the look on that poor bastard’s face was one of sheer devastation.

It’s fine.  I’ll put him out of his misery soon enough.

Out of his periphery, he saw Sif astride her stallion, Þori, galloping down the Bifrost.  Sighing, he frowned at the time-consuming responsibilities of the crown.  He returned to his room, and just as he expected, it was now bustling with servants.  The throne could not be empty when Sif and the warriors arrived.  No doubt, they would ask him to bring his brother out of exile.

They won’t like my answer.

---

~The Throne Room~

Elbow resting on the arm of the most powerful chair in Asgard, Loki leaned sideways and set his chin in his hand.  He was already bored (nearly to tears), and it was only morning, for Hel’s sake.  He ran his finger over his lips and listened, uninterested, as the director of mead production discussed the honey shortage due to the freeze.

Dear gods, WHO cares? let them drink liquor!

Good thing he didn’t say every thought that floated through his head.  Flippantly telling a citizen “who cares?” in response to a concern that affected their livelihood wasn’t exactly the best way to foster good relationships with the people.  But really, just put the damn beehives in warming units.  Was that not an obvious solution?  Why would anyone bother the king of Asgard with this shit?

He turned his head away from the director at the sound of steps approaching the throne, watching with narrow eyes as Lieutenant Gylfi, second in command of the Hawks, came to a stop at the base of the dais and knelt, right fist over his heart. 

“Your Grace,” the man said humbly, “Freya of Vanaheim requests audience with you.”

Bringing his hand to his forehead, Loki hid the roll of his eyes.  Of all the people in the nine, that woman was his least favorite.  She was even worse than Theoric, for at least the hawk never actually harmed Sig.

When she first told him the story of her visit to her home realm during Odin’s completely unfounded “no touching” probation, Loki heard two things: Freya denied her own daughter access to her home even though it was dark and freezing and raining, and Freya lied about providing the silver for Sif’s hair.  Perhaps it was an overreaction on his part (he wasn’t exactly known for honesty himself) after Sig recalled the details for him, he very nearly flew off to Vanaheim intent on chopping off that woman’s golden hair then slicing up her face so thoroughly that none would even recognize her.  

He took a moment to phrase his answer to the request in his head.  Hmm, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t command Gylfi to “drag that bitch back to the Bifrost and throw her off it.”  His response needed to be firm, not rude.  After a beat, he leaned forward.  Elbows on his knees, knuckles under his chin, he pursed his lips. 

“I have far more urgent affairs that require my attention.  Have a guard escort her back to the Bifrost.  Tell her King Loki sends his regards.”  

Good gracious, nothing was more urgent than a honey shortage.  The merriment of their people was in grave danger!  He sighed.  All jokes aside, it was a bit overwhelming.  The amount of requested council bemused him.  Annoyed from being pulled in every direction, he set his jaw.  If he was to meet with the director of every single industry in the realm every single day, he feared he would resort to throwing himself off the Bifrost.  

Gylfi bowed and took his leave, exiting the throne room.  Freya stood just outside the door, tapping her foot impatiently.  Scowling, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well?” she asked when he did not immediately usher her in to see the king.

Glaring at her, the hawk lieutenant spoke curtly, hiding how much he enjoyed the opportunity to refuse her.

“I regret to inform you, Lady Freya, that King Loki is unavailable for council but sends his regards,” he informed her. “You are to return to Vanaheim at once.”

Hands on her hips, she fumed.  This was unconscionable!  She came all this way only to be refused entry?  She understood that Odin did not hold any great affinity for her, but since when did he just downright…

Wait…

Her eyes went wide, replaying the soldier’s words in her head.

“Did you say King Loki?” she asked, and he nodded once.

What sort of evil was this?

“I will see Frigga immediately!” she shouted, pushing past the guard and storming into the throne room.

Upon seeing a green caped raven-haired man seated, legs splayed wide, on the throne, her hand went to her mouth.

“So, it is true,” she whispered.

She had to be seeing things!  Sigyn would never escape from him now− not that she ever believed for a second that her darkest daughter wanted to escape.  The stupid girl fell head over heels in love practically the day she met that damn prince…or king, as it was now.  This was a nightmare.

Seeing Sig’s awful mother barging into his throne room like she owned the place, Loki had to stop himself from sending a lethal burst of magic right into her chest.

“Lieutenant,” he growled, standing to his feet. “What is the meaning of this?”   

Rushing to the throne, Gylfi bowed humbly. “Your Grace, I beg your pardon.”

Rubbing his jaw, Loki waved his hand, disgusted by the mere presence of that woman.  Good gods, he despised her.

“Just get that thing out of my sight,” he sneered.

Suddenly desperate, she rushed forward, bowing at the base of the dais, nervous after her serious misstep.  She never feared approaching Odin, but his son was an altogether different story.  Despite his rather handsome face (and the rest of him, as far as she could tell), she was terrified of the dark prince.

Dark… king.

“Your majesty,” she pleaded, her voice shaking as she clasped her hands together, “I understand that you have many other duties, but I’ve traveled such a great distance.  If it is possible, I would like to speak with my sister since you are quite overrun.”

Narrowing his eyes, he gripped Gungnir more tightly, his fingers itching to make her howl in pain.

“Have you gone deaf, Freya?  You will return to Vanaheim at once.  And the queen, who is most certainly not your sister, is not accepting visitors in her present state of grief.”

Lip trembling, she bowed lower.

“May I see my daughter, at least?” she stammered, her eyes filling with tears.

He inclined his head, looking at her from over his nose as he considered her request.  Likely, Sig would burn the woman alive, pissed off as she was with her pathetic excuse for a mother, which would relieve him of the task.  Smirking slightly, he shrugged one shoulder.

“You’ll find her in the training arena.  However,” he paused, raising a finger, then spoke through his teeth, “if any harm should come to her, I will scatter your parts throughout the nine.”

He turned to Gylfi then. “Take her to Sigyn.  If she allows this woman to talk, fine.  If not, fine.  Either way, promptly return Freya to Heimdall when Sigyn is done with her.”  

The young hawk bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

---

~The Training Fields~

Sigyn smiled gleefully, the satisfying thwack of her arrow hitting the bullseye of her burlap enemy from fifty yards.

“Did you see that, Fenrir?  Nailed it.  Like Mjölnir,” she joked, looking at the wolf sitting at her right expectantly.

When he only laid his head on his paws, she raised her eyebrows. “Nothing?  Oh, but that was by far one of my best puns!  Come now, show me your version of a laugh.”

He offered a quiet bark and licked her fingers as she tickled his chin.

“Good enough, I suppose,” she said with a shrug.

Setting another arrow to her bow, her eyes narrowed and the hair on the back of her neck stood up at the smell of fresh evergreen and sage—Vanir evergreen and sage.  Only one person smelled like that, and she had no wish to come near that scent again.  Anger building in her chest, she turned to see her “mother” gingerly descending the stone steps at the edge of the grounds.  

“Now that is a real target, Fen,” she said, her voice low as she pulled the arrow taut and aimed it at the quickly approaching woman.   

Without hesitation, she released the arrow.  Fenrir took off after it, catching it in his teeth right before it planted itself in Freya’s shoulder.

Slipping on the ice at the sight of the giant wolf leaping at her, she screamed and fell, twisting her ankle in the process.  She watched in horror, one hand clutching her throat, the other holding her hurt ankle, as Sigyn and her accompanying black smoke stalked toward her.  She scrambled to her feet despite the pain and put her hands out in front of her, palms out, genuinely terrified that her daughter might kill her.

“Sigyn!  Please!” 

Sigyn took the arrow that Loki’s wolf offered her and checked that the tip was still sharp.

“You have some nerve coming to Asgard,” she said coolly, returning the arrow to her quiver. “Or perhaps it isn’t ‘nerve’ so much as it is sheer idiocy.  Perhaps you are actually foolish enough to assume I would never truly consider matricide.”

“Imagine the desperation it took to send me here,” Freya said, her voice trembling and her body shaking from both the cold and her fear of her daughter.

Raising her eyebrows and tilting her head, Sigyn put a hand over her chest dramatically.

“Desperation?” she repeated, lacing her tone with extreme concern. “Oh dear…oh no… are you in need of monetary assistance?  Is that what you mean?  Do you believe your daughter has some sort of sway over King Loki’s pocketbook because she has exclusive rights to his bed?”

“Sigyn, no I-”

“Hm… well… let’s see here,” she cut Freya off and tapped her chin. “Your daughter-” she made air quotes “-has yet to test his financial generosity, but if she were to ask him for such a thing, how much help do you need?  Will two hundred gold pieces do?  Oh, but that is too much.  How about silver?  Will that do?  Or is this about something other than money?  Are you desperate to claim a higher social status?  Do you now think yourself better than your noble Vanir birth?  Do you require a tiara now that you have close ties with Asgard’s crown?”

“NO, if you would just listen to-”

“Would you like to formally request a warm bed within the golden halls of the palace?  Since your daughter only makes use of the king’s bed, you might be able to use the guest chambers that Queen Frigga provided her upon first arrival.  Oh, you poor thing, just look at you shivering over there.  I imagine the unusually frigid Asgardian weather is getting to you.  Would you like a seat in front of a nice hot fire?”  She winked and flashed a dazzling smile. “If fire is what you’re looking for, you came to the right place.”

Wringing her hands, Freya’s golden hair whipped about her face as a cold gust blew across the field.

“You have every right to be angry, but I have reason to fear for your life,” she said, her voice raising a pitch from fear.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, do shut up,” Sigyn snapped, giving an exaggerated eye roll.

Freya looked nervously across the empty field. “Why are there no other soldiers here?”

Sigyn raised an eyebrow, smirking just a touch.  No doubt that sniveling golden-haired whore meant to ask why there were no witnesses here.  She snorted quietly under her breath, then sighed, very tired suddenly.  Any amount of time with Freya was exhausting. 

Running her hand through her long raven locks, she spoke plainly. “King Loki-”

Also known as the love of my life…

“-has decreed a grief holiday for the Allfather,” she explained, “but since I am not of Asgard, I am not required to abstain from my usual activities.” When Freya only continued to stare at her, she shrugged and threw up her hands. “Why are you here?”

“Please, Sigyn, I am your mother.  Call me as such,” Freya pleaded, hands clasped in front of her.

Turning on her heel, Sigyn started walking back to her archery post then shouted over her shoulder, “I am not worthy of the name Freya, if you will kindly recall!”  

The woman shook her head at her daughter’s stubbornness.

“I am here because I’ve had terrible dreams of your death!” she called after her. “I wake screaming, Sigyn!”

She wasn’t making it up.  The nightmares haunted her, and even though she held no affinity for her darkest daughter, she didn’t wish her dead.  Nervous, she approached the dangerous younger woman.

“You do not have the gift of foresight,” Sigyn pointed out as she readied her bow, “therefore I don’t give a damn about your dreams.”

Crossing her arms, Freya huffed.  She knew it would be a pointless journey to Asgard, but after she told Nanna of her dreams two nights past, the girl insisted that she bring Sigyn home.  Unfortunately, she legitimately liked her other daughter, which meant she couldn’t just ignore her request.  Angry, the faint lines in her forehead deepened into a hard scowl as she thrust her finger at her daughter.

“To think I came all this way because your sister wanted to protect my most pathetic, dark, and evil daughter!  You aren’t worth the trouble,” she shouted, “so enjoy rotting here with your bastard king!”  

Sigyn’s eyes blew wide.

Bastard?!

Oh, bloody HEL NO- Freya was welcome to insult her all she wanted, but she refused to allow such an awful word to be said about Loki.  Especially after Jotunheim.  She gave in to her instincts and unsheathed the dagger at her thigh, then lunged at her mother.  The wretched woman screamed, clawing at Sigyn’s hand wrapped around her black blade, which was now seated in her shoulder, blood pouring out of it.

“I knew you would never come of your own volition!” she hissed through her teeth as Freya sobbed and fell to the ground. “Of course Nanna sent you!  You couldn’t give a damn about me,” she continued, lowering her voice, “and if you ever speak ill of Loki again, I’ll cut out your tongue.”

Tears continued to stream down Freya’s face, not only from the agonizing pain in her shoulder, but in hopes that the sight of the tears would grant her mercy.

“Are you so far gone in your obsession with the dark son that you’ve gone blind?  He is killing you, daughter!  Slowly, bit by bit.  And you are letting him!”

Sigyn’s eyes slid from Freya’s face to the dagger in her shoulder, then back to her face.  She sighed and dropped her head.  There it was again…

Empathy.

She was disgusted with her own weakness at the sight of her not-mother’s tears.  Freya didn’t deserve her pity in the slightest, but she was giving it anyway.  Damn it.  Shewrenched her blade from the woman’s shoulder and placed her palm on the wound.

Freya screamed as scorching heat traveled from Sigyn’s hand through her skin and into her muscle.  Trying to pull away, she sobbed, trapped suddenly within a wall of burning, poisonous smoke.  Sigyn dropped her hand, eyeing the now cauterized wound and inspected her work.  Satisfied, she let the smoke cage dissipate.  At her mother’s awed expression, she raised an eyebrow.  Freya had no idea of the power that flowed through her veins.  

“I couldn’t have you flying back to Vanaheim with a gaping wound, now could I?”  she said and stood, Fenrir joining her once again now that the smoke was gone. “We’re done.  Come, Fen!”

With Loki’s wolf at her feet, desiring nothing more than solitude after this horrible run in with her cruel mother, she ran for the forest.

Freya tested her shoulder, and finding it quite healed, returned to the waiting Gylfi at the base of the steps, and headed for the Bifrost.  She knew that when Sigyn said “we’re done”, it was final.  She would never see her daughter again.

Good riddance, you little fire witch.

---

~Later That Evening, the Throne Room~

Marching down the long aisle to the throne behind Lieutenant Gylfi, Sif leaned over to Fandral who was holding a hand over his still healing shoulder.

“What did I tell you?” she whispered harshly in his ear. “Now do you believe me?”

“I never said I didn’t,” he whispered back through his teeth, grimacing when he twisted the wrong way and pain shot through his shoulder.

“Well, it’s only natural that the next in line to the throne should now sit on it,” Volstagg offered, keeping his voice low as he came closer to them from behind.

She glared back at him- the man had no clue just how unnatural it was.

The warriors plastered smiles on their faces as they came to the base of the throne, kneeling before Loki who was smirking at them (mostly at Sif).  He kept his eyes on them as he dismissed the director of such-and-such, or something-or-other and motioned Thor’s friends forward with two fingers.

“I wondered when I might see my friends.  You’ll have to forgive me for not visiting the healing room.  I’ve been rather,” he paused and gestured to the throne, “busy.”

Fandral opened his mouth to speak, but Sif cut him off.

“Your majesty,” she said, a bit of disgust seeping into her tone, “do accept our condolences for your father and brother.”

Volstagg spoke quickly after, his words spilling nervously from his bearded lips at the sight of the tension in Loki’s jaw. “And our congratulations, naturally, of course, on your well-deserved rise to the throne, Your Majesty.”

Loki rolled his eyes at the man.

Kiss ass.

He tilted his head sideways, looking back at Sif through narrow slits of eyes.  Lips pursed, he stood slowly.  

“I thank you for your kind words,” he said, not remotely thankful, “but you know that neither Thor nor the Allfather are dead, so condolences are quite premature at this point.  Tell me, Sif, what is your purpose for this meeting?”

As though he didn’t already know.  Even if he couldn’t read her mind (which he hadn’t been), it was written all over her face what she wanted.

Swallowing loudly, suddenly nervous, she shifted her eyes between the warriors.

“We come humbly asking you to pardon Thor and bring him home.”

Taking a deep breath to ease the surge of anger rising within him, he descended the steps.

“I thought as much.  I’m sorry to say that my brother will stay on Midgard until the Allfather says otherwise.”

Without thinking, she rose to her feet, stepping toe to toe with him. “You can’t-” 

Her words stopped short when the sharp end of Gungnir touched her chest.  Loki stared daggers.  Here he stood, as the rightful king of the nine, and she dared to question his authority.  He’d never hated her more.

He knew what she was thinking.  That he was just jealous.  That all along, his desire was to trick his brother into banishment.  That he didn’t want Thor to come home because- oh dear! − then he would lose the throne!  That this had nothing to do with the fact that he truly couldn’t just undo Odin’s last command.  Bloody Hel, that woman could not be further from the truth, and he wanted to strangle her for it. 

After all the trouble he and Sig went to just to restore something as insignificant as her pathetic hair?  After all the trouble he went through on Jotunheim to save Sif’s neck, to save all their necks?  Gods, if he hadn’t bothered to stop that Jotun from killing Thor before they departed, Laufey never would have grabbed him and ruined everything.  He went through that agony for Thor.  After all that, Sif still had not one ounce of gratitude.

Fandral quickly grabbed Sif, pulling her back down to a penitent position.

“Of course, your majesty,” he said, angry with her for putting them in this situation. “We understand.”

Sif yanked her arm away from her blond comrade. “If I may be so bold, your majesty-”

“You may not,” Loki growled, feeling his magic pooling in his chest, willing it to settle down. “Thor is mortal now and has no place in Asgard amidst the gods.”

He couldn’t believe he had to explain this to her as though she were an uncomprehending child.

Well, if the shoe fits…

“My brother has no title, no power, and not even his hammer,” he continued, staring pointedly at her. “As I said, I will not undo the Allfather’s last command.  Understood?”

Slowly rising, the warriors three nodded and took their leave, while Sif remained in place.  She watched Loki carefully, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears.  

“But he is your brother,” she pleaded, much to her own detriment.

He hung his head, frustrated beyond belief at her incessant whining.  Why did his brother like this infuriating woman?  Looking back up at her, he squatted to her level.  

“You worry so much for a man who has given his heart to another.  Thor has found a new woman, a mortal named Jane Foster,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Sif squelched the desire to crumple to the ground and sob.  She had not considered the possibility of a new paramour, and it gutted her to hear it.  Holding her head high, despite her heart breaking, she squared her shoulders.

“I worry more that a frost giant sits in the Allfather’s stead,” she whispered just loud enough for Loki to hear it, immediately regretting it when his eyes went wide.

Grabbing her by the elbow, he yanked her to her feet and dragged her to the hidden space behind the dais.

“How the fuck do you know that?” he whispered angrily through clenched teeth, hand flying up to close around her throat, his body shaking with barely contained rage.

“I saw your skin.  In Jotunheim,” she willed her voice to hold steady, refusing to cry like a little child.   

Slamming his fist into the pillar at her back, he snarled, “Have you spoken of this to anyone?”

Shaking her head fiercely, she swallowed back the bile rising to her throat.

“No!  I swear it!”

She was positively terrified of him.  Ever since that day he and his dark sorceress lover nearly killed her, she felt weak in his presence.  She felt damn near paralyzed right now.  He wielded more strength and power than she and the warriors wanted to admit.  She struggled to pull his fingers off her neck.  

Eyeing her carefully, he looked inside her mind, and when he found no hint of deceit in her answer, he loosened his grip.

“Good,” he said quietly, checking his periphery for onlookers. “If that information becomes privy to another soul, I swear I will finish what was started in the arena that day.  I assure you that I would not require Sigyn’s assistance, and you would lose a great deal more than your hair.”

Ashamed by her cowardice, her eyes brimmed with tears. “I will go, if I am still free to do so.”

Eyes narrowing, he hesitated before nodding. “You may.”

He watched as she retreated down the aisle to the exit, not turning her back to him.  Once she disappeared from his sight, he announced his retirement for the day, barking at the soldiers to keep their posts and change guards at the usual hours.

---

~Late, Loki’s Chambers~

Pacing across his balcony in his informal leather leggings and tunic, Loki ran a nervous hand through his hair.  Sif knew of his true parentage, but he knew she wouldn’t dare tell anyone.  He made sure of that- of all the sentient beings in the nine, she knew he didn’t make empty threats.  More than ever, he needed to prove his allegiance to Asgard.  He couldn’t have his citizens become suspicious of him like Sif.  He didn’t steal the throne, but if she believed it, others would too.

Wracking his brain for a praiseworthy act to gain their trust, he ran his hand along the ledge as he walked, painfully aware of the guards below who were casting nervous glances at him.  Inspiring fear was not his goal, but he did need to show strength and courage since the peace treaty with Laufey was now shattered.  He needed to rebuild that peace somehow.  War was not an option.  After all, sending thousands of soldiers to their deaths was a terrible way to start one’s reign.

His musings ceased when he realized the moons had been shining for an hour at least, and Sig was still gone.  Brow furrowing, he looked over the ledge to see her room- not that she would be there, seeing as how she already moved most of her things to his chambers.  As he suspected, her room was dark.  He returned to his chambers, nervously looking around the empty space, calling for her in the washroom, dressing room, bedchamber, and antechamber to no avail.  He opened his mind to her then, tapping into their bond.  Sifting through the garbage of the day, he drained his memory of industry directors and idiotic warriors and Thor.

Finally, he found her deep in the heart of Asgard’s forest.  As the bond worked its magic, he felt her desire to return home to Vanaheim despite her having renounced it, claiming that Asgard was her home now.  No, not Asgard…

Me.

She said that I am her home.

There was only one thing that could possibly make her miss Vanaheim, and it would kill her.  Panicking silently (oh dear gods, Sig!), the fear of losing her becoming a very real possibility, he grabbed his long leather jacket and yanked his boots on, yelling for the guards.  Throwing his chamber doors open, he ran for the stables.

“Muster the Hawks and prepare Sinir!”

---

~Somewhere in Silver Forest~

Sigyn cursed her mother silently for the rotten mood that had befallen her.  She’d been having a good day, too.  Waking from the best sleep of her life.  Spending the morning reading, practicing spells, laughing at Loki’s annoyance with his new subjects.  The silent snide comments he made throughout the morning made her turn blue in the face from laughing so hard.  Then she had the arena all to herself, shooting arrows, laying waste to her targets, and all the while her new ever-present protector Fenrir stayed by her side.  She thought it odd at first, when Loki commanded his wolf to “watch over her” in his stead due to his new schedule.

As though I can’t take care of myself…come ON, Loki.

However, she couldn’t deny that his protective instinct toward her was somewhat… flattering.  More importantly, Fen’s company was comforting.  The wolf bonded rather quickly with her, and now she wanted him with her simply because he was such a sweetheart.  A ferocious sweetheart, but a sweetheart, nonetheless.

Petting his head as they trudged through the snow laden forest, she peered up, blinking at the cold frozen drops falling through the trees.  She loved Asgard’s moons.  They were so much more brilliant than Vanaheim’ s.  Or maybe they weren’t, and she was simply biased toward this place now because she fell under Loki’s dark spell.

No, this wasn’t a spell.  She genuinely fell for him.  No magic necessary.  Thinking of her childhood home used to make her homesick.  Yet now she was so far gone in her obsession with him that the thought of traveling to Vanaheim, thereby putting a vast expanse of space between them, made her drop to her knees, overwhelmed by waves of nausea.  Fenrir nuzzled her neck, and she looked up, furrowing her brow at a strange sight straight ahead.

A hole in a boulder, perhaps ten feet across and ten feet tall, was frozen over.  Not the entire rock, just that one spot.  She knew it was the Jotunheim portal.  She saw it in Loki’s mind weeks ago.

Walking to it, she peered into the ice, seeing nothing.  Smoke billowing from the tip of her finger, she touched it.  The ice melted under her touch, and she put her eye to the opening.  Jotunheim shimmered on the other end of a prismatic cave, bending and unbending with the strange physics of the portal.  Shivering as it iced back over, she stepped back.

“You know that’s where your dad is from, Fen?” she teased, continuing her trek through the trees. “Foliage in Asgard dies every Sólstöður, doesn’t it?  The trees are barren, unlike Vanaheim.  Trees are always green there.”

She paused then in her walk, eyes widening upon seeing an actual evergreen….in Asgard.  Well, that was odd.  It stood proud, though smaller than the surrounding huge two-hundred-foot leafless ash trees.  It was a magnet pulling her closer and closer to its healthy reddish-brown bark, the dark green needles whistling in the frozen wind.  Watching as it altered itself, she continued, hypnotized by its beauty.  This was not a tree.  No, this was another portal.  To Vanaheim.

Fenrir anxiously bounded to the trunk that pulsed against the air molecules surrounding it.  Reaching forward, the illusion shattered under her hand and before her, within the tree, was another prismatic path akin to the frozen rock portal.  Smile playing at the corners of her mouth, she cautiously put a foot in.  Fenrir barked, biting her dress, trying to pull her back.

“It’s home, Fen.  Stop that.  Come on.  I’ll show you.  It’s so beautiful.”  

All thoughts of Asgard faded in an instant, the enchanting tree seemingly casting a spell over her.  There was nothing she wanted more in the nine (not even Loki) than to sit on her high perch and hear the roar of the great waterfall tumbling down the cliff.  Without another word, paying no attention to the sound of hooves pounding through the maze of trees behind her, she pushed through the tree’s strange substance.  With no choice, since Loki had ordered him to protect her at all costs, Fenrir ran after her, his howl echoing through the forest.

---

Hearing Fen’s scared cry, Loki kicked Sinir into a full gallop, knowing for certain where he would find her.  After the great Æsir-Vanir War, now seven hundred years past, when Odin defeated King Sveigðir’s army, they signed a peace treaty and formed an alliance.  In response to what the Vanir thought was an absolute travesty, a thousand strong militia formed.  Either they discovered or created the portal (he knew not which or how) and charged into Asgard.  Not even Heimdall with his all-sight saw where they came from.  Only Odin knew the portal existed before then, but Loki saw the charge with his own two eyes.

He was only two hundred years old at the time, practicing magic in the solitude of the trees when the Vanir stormed into the forest.  Hiding in the shadows that day, he watched the Crimson Hawks defeat the Vanir militia, completely baffled as to where the Vanir had even come from.  To this day, the rebels remained imprisoned in the dungeons of Asgard, unable to speak of the portal to anyone.

Full of rage over the attack on his home, Loki went to his chambers after he saw the militia that day, and he prepared a death enchantment, then returned to the tree.  If the Vanir should venture through it, they would see a Valhalla worthy illusion of their home realm through the portal, and the spell would put them into a death trance.  They would long to return to Vanaheim to sacrifice their own lives for their beloved home- painfully so.  

Since he was an incredibly young Seiður at the time, he was careless with the spell.  He meant for it to hold any future Vanir threats at bay, pulling them back immediately if they found their way through.  Unfortunately, the spell worked on both sides of the tree as well as on any Vanir, non-threatening ones as well, who came near the tree.  He didn’t consider the possibility that he might one day fall in love with a Vanir woman, nor that she might discover the portal.

Fenrir knew the tree well, and his warning howl pierced Loki’s heart as surely as Sig’s black dagger would.  Speeding to the deadly Vanaheim portal he found long ago, he looked through the pulsing tree.  He saw Fen and Sig on the other side, and they were climbing a cliff.

“SIGYN!” he called after her, though he knew she wouldn’t hear him in her trance.

Tears filled his eyes, and his chest burned the higher she climbed.  She was going to jump.  She was going to jump off that fucking cliff, and he had maybe twenty seconds to stop her. Sinir grunted and snorted underneath his tightening grip on the reins, pacing back and forth anxiously while his master panicked at the sight of his only reason for living nearing the high peak.

Oh gods, I can’t lose her.

Setting his jaw, he commanded his horse back into a full gallop through the portal.  He couldn’t rule Asgard without her.  She was supposed to be his queen, and he would bring her back alive.  Even if he had to go through Hel first.