~One Hour Later, The Palace Healing Rooms~

Pacing across the balcony, with thunder clouds twisting viciously over his head, Thor turned when he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. He was certain it was Eir, the chief healer, coming to deliver him the horrific news of Sif’s death, and he turned to face the calm and peaceful woman.  Her hair was pulled into a loose and low bun, the lines of time drawn across her features, and when she smiled warmly at him, he gaped, hopeful.

She spoke kindly. “Sif breathes, and she will live.”

His heart not only warmed at her words but set itself on fire with relief.  He loved Sif far more deeply than he’d realized.  Shameless, he let the tears spill over, sobbing openly, and grabbing Eir in a tight hug, he whispered “thank you” into her hair.  He ran into Sif’s healing room and stood over her.

She was awake, but her body was most certainly still broken.  Her skin was still black and bleeding and paper thin from the flames that had engulfed her, but she managed to smile for him, grimacing as her burnt skin stretched across her face.

“I’m so glad, so relieved that you are still with me,” he said, swallowing back a sob.  The words were only a whisper in her ear as he leaned over her, careful not to put any of his weight on the bed or touch her.

She didn’t speak, but her eyes glistened with angry tears.  Sif had been in love with him since they were children but had never allowed herself to hope for reciprocation.  However, his words, his tone, and the look he was giving her suggested that he might return her feelings after all.  She blinked at him, wishing it didn’t hurt so damn much to move her mouth so she could scream at him— Why now?! I’m practically on my deathbed! A near corpse! And now you decide that you love me, you huge brute?!

Thor stepped back and turned to Eir. “How long will she need?”

“A fortnight, perhaps?  It’s hard to tell, but she is extraordinarily strong of both body and will. Such a combination will bring the healing about much sooner.  She will be right as rain in no time.”

Eir’s peaceful face turned down a fraction as she continued, “However, I’m afraid that her golden locks will not return.  The follicles on her scalp have been damaged beyond repair.  I assure you that she will still be most fair.” She turned to Sif. “Take heart, young one.”

Sif ignored the pain in her face as it crumpled with the news of her hair.  What a stupid thing to be sad about!  She was alive and would return to battle, to life, to that gorgeous daft man leaning over her!  Oh, but never again would she have need of a brush nor braids. Thor’s fingers would never graze her cheek to tuck it behind her ear.  She may have prided herself for being as strong as a man, but she was still a woman, and her hair had been her crowning glory, so to speak.  She’d loved it.  It had been flaxen and stunning!

And now it was gone.

At her hacking sobs, Thor reached for her before remembering how badly he would hurt her if he touched her, and looking into her eyes, his own full of love, as though he’d never seen the beautiful blue hue of them before, he spoke assuredly.

“They will pay for what they have done to you, dearest.  I swear it.  I will return soon.  I must go to my father.  They are receiving their judgment as I speak.” He smiled at her and left the room as she continued to sob.

---

~Same Time, The Throne Room~

“Explain yourself!” Odin growled at Loki who stood at the base of the dais, Sigyn at his side. 

Arms out, palms up, Loki opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by his brother’s booming voice echoing through the golden hall.

“You coward!” Thor jabbed him in the elbow before ascending the stairs.

As Loki glared at him, rubbing his now sore joint furiously, Thor bowed his head to their father, hiding the tears in his eyes while informing the old man about Sif’s condition.

“Thank Eir, she will live, Father,” he said.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Odin’s shoulders slumped. “I am greatly relieved to hear-“

“Her body will mend itself,” Thor interrupted, and turning to sneer at Loki and Sigyn, he added, “but her hair is forever lost.”

Thor’s glower turned to a frown, and Loki rolled his eyes, looking away from his brother.

Oh dear, how ever will she go on now.  

She’d be as bald as those Midgardian birds.  What were they called?  Oh, that’s right—Eagles.  Sif would be as bald as an eagle.  He would have chuckled at the joke if he wouldn’t get clocked in the jaw by his brother’s massive fist for doing so.  Point was, Loki hadn’t killed Sif, and he was still standing here in this useless tribunal as though he had.  More importantly, it was Sif who had attacked him!

He really didn’t see what all the fuss was about.  It was just fucking hair.  Sif was alive, was she not?  Sigyn’s quiet voice interrupted the silence then, saying exactly what he’d been thinking, and he winced even as she said it.

“At least she’s alive,” Sigyn said so quietly that her words were barely audible.

Her eyes blew wide then—Oh my god, did I say that OUT LOUD? 

Odin’s head snapped up, his eyes aimed sharply at her, and he stomped Gungnir angrily. “Silence, little witch.”

Jaw clenching, Loki stepped in front of her instinctively.  He’d be damned if he let that old prick do anything to Sigyn.  Pressing his back into her front, he reached behind them and clutched her waist, pulling her forward tightly against him.

She shivered in response.  Was Loki using his own body as a living shield for her?  It was a good thing he was holding her, because now her knees were weak enough to break beneath her own weight.  The only thing that could possibly distract her from the feel of Loki’s hands on her was the look Odin was giving her.  Well, that, but also, the king had just called her a little witch.  The disrespect!

Biting her tongue, she gave it approximately two seconds of thought before deciding that the ”witch” part wasn’t that far of a stretch, but little?—Just because she wasn’t a damn giant like the rest of them?  She wanted to scream that she wasn’t little…. just normal.  She rolled her eyes.

Asgardians.

Swallowing back an ill-advised insult at his father for calling Sigyn a witch (he was nearly positive Odin meant bitch), Loki looked back and forth between the king’s grip on the spear and the expression on his face.  Silently willing the old man to just dismiss them to their rooms without dinner or something, Loki tightened his hold on her, the seiðr in his veins making his fingers itch.  The magic screamed at him, begging to be used to protect her.  He inhaled through his nose and out his mouth, trying to keep his emotions under control.    

The king shifted his attention back to Loki. “I will have my son explain his actions.”

Lips set in a thin line, Loki lifted his eyes to meet Odin’s. “Father,” he paused, thinking of how to best phrase it, “the only defense I have is that Sif attacked me first, and we all know of her military prowess.”

“You lie!” Thor growled and jumped down the steps, ready to punch the living daylights out of his brother.

“Enough!” Odin shouted, stomping the spear again, the gesture halting the blow.

Loki stepped back to avoid the hit, and Sigyn grabbed his shoulders from behind to avoid tripping over the hem of her skirt.  Digging her fingers into the rough leather, she pressed her lips together to stop the embarrassing moan rising in her throat.  Norns, he had more muscle tone under that armor than she’d realized.

Righting himself, Loki hissed, “Thor, was there ever a man who fought her and came out with naught but a scratch?   I think not, brother.  She misinterpreted my intentions, accusing me of trying to kill you!  Her sword was at the ready before I even spoke to her.  I only meant to protect myself, to deliver a blow that would end the fight!”

“Oh you ended it alright!” Thor spat, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

With a frustrated sigh, Loki leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and grit his teeth. “Gods damn, Thor, I wasn’t trying to kill her!  My aim was just off!”

“Oh, come off it!” Thor scoffed. “Your aim is impeccable.  You are never off.”

Loki almost thanked him for the compliment, but thought better of it.  Now was not the time for quips.

Bringing his head back down, he stared daggers. “What would you have Father do to me, Thor?  What justice is great enough for you?”

His hands were still on Sigyn’s waist behind him, his grip tightening.  She winced at the movement.  Her sides would have finger shaped bruises by morning.

While Thor and Loki had a staring contest, Odin addressed Sigyn. “Stop hiding behind my son, girl.  Are you a coward?  What have you to say for your actions?”

Glaring, she bit the insides of her cheek—I’m not HIDING, he’s HOLDING me here, you geriatric monster!

She had the good sense not to say that out loud.  Stepping around her protector who released her reluctantly, she held her head high.

“I feared Thor would kill Loki and simply lost control of my magic.  I would never have willingly done that to Sif.”

As shameful and horrific as her actions had been, she didn’t think she deserved this kind of treatment.  She’d lost control momentarily.  Sif.  Was.  Alive.  

Are we done now?

She wanted to leave and get back to that almost kiss with Loki.  Her eyes glazed over as she imagined his tongue in her mouth, and much to her horror, she moaned at the thought.  He shifted somewhat, and she wondered if he was responding to the sound.  Or maybe he could see the images in her head.  

Thor shook his head.  He wasn’t sure what punishment fit the crime, but it looked as though his father was going to allow Loki to get off with no more than a slap on the wrist.  He hadn’t seen what had transpired between Loki and Sif in the arena, but he refused to believe that she had provoked his brother.  She must have had a reason to fight Loki, though what it had been, Thor had yet to find out.  Just as he was about to remind his father that Sif was nearly killed at the hands of his brother and that Vanir witch, Odin’s staff came to the ground.

“Loki, my son, you nearly killed a woman I love as a daughter.  What justice would you have?” His eyebrow rose in question as he looked upon his youngest.

Loki hung his head to hide the roll of his eyes.  This was ridiculous.  Was this really all because of Sif’s stupid hair?  Fine.  If Odin wanted to know how to discipline his own son, then Loki would tell him.  Pursing his lips, he considered the options.

Banishment was out of the question.  Sif had thrown the first punch, and Loki did not wish to leave Asgard again.  He’d already been banished for three weeks (maybe two, he couldn’t remember) earlier that year for positively idiotic reasons.  Apparently, Odin had a serious problem with snakes in his food.  Loki didn’t think that should have warranted three(ish) weeks in dull as fuck Alfheim.  Honestly, he would have preferred Midgard.  So, what could he do to return to his father’s good graces?

Wait… was this punishment for Sigyn, too?  What if Odin banished her from Asgard?

Gods, please no.

He wracked his brain for something— anything —that didn’t involve separation from her.  Suddenly, Thor’s earlier words ran through his mind.

Her hair is forever lost.

Smiling wide, Loki’s head snapped up. “I would give her shining new tresses,” he said plainly, as though it was that simple.

Thor scoffed. “What sort of justice is that?  You restore her hair, and that’s it?  All forgiven?!”

Odin sighed and hung his head.  His sons’ incessant bickering would send him back into Odinsleep.  At the sound of their father’s exasperation, the young men clamped their mouths shut.

“Eir herself said it could not be done,” Odin reminded Loki. “How would my son do what Eir cannot?”

Eyebrows raised, Loki held his hands up. “Who fashioned Gungnir?  Who wrought Mjölnir?  Can the same hands that crafted such weapons not weave a few locks of hair?  The dwarves shall make the hair, and I shall travel to Niðavellir to retrieve it.  All will be made right as rain.” He ended his explanation with a shrug and a smirk.

Granted, it wouldn’t be an easy journey, by any means.  Nomadic rock trolls roamed freely in Niðavellir, and they were fully capable of breaking even a prince of Asgard.  That, and he was loathe to beg Eitri, king of the dwarves, for a favor since they did not hold Loki in high regard, but it was his only option.  Anything was preferable to banishment.  Well, no… living out his days separated from Sigyn anywhere, even in Asgard, would be Hel.  Was it rash to feel that way?

Hel yes, it is, and I care not.

Odin seemed satisfied by the offer and nodded at Loki. “You will do this with four conditions.” The king set his jaw, and his voice seemed to drop an octave. “You and this girl shall be stripped of your magic.”

Never having heard of such a thing, Sigyn gaped at the man.  Her magic?  Gone?  How?  She looked at Loki, hoping for some sort of clarification.  

Loki groaned and ran a hand down his face.  He hadn’t thought of having their magic removed.  Cringing, he eyed her with sympathy, wishing he could spare her from the experience.  Having magic removed was like peeling off a layer of skin.  Slow and agonizing.

Sigyn frowned back at him, and instinctively shrank into herself.  Fear was written all over his face, as though he’d been through this before.  Oh, this was going to hurt.

Odin snapped his fingers, and a servant came forward, setting down two gold chalices at his feet.  The king then thrust his hand forward, and green light oozed from Loki’s fingers, his eyes, his mouth, shimmering around him, bathing him in an eerie green glow, resistant to the departure from his body.  Nausea twisting his stomach painfully, he retched dryly.  Every joint screamed, bone against bone rubbing together without the seiðr filling the void between.  He hitched forward, hands gripping his head, beads of sweat appearing on his brow as his insides writhed in pain.  Sigyn, too, dropped to her knees as the black smoke was pulled from her body, dry hacking coughs escaping her throat.

Odin’s fingers closed into a tight fist, and wrenching his arm back, the green and black mists shot forward into the two chalices.  The servant immediately covered them with lids, and everyone could hear the muffled shrieking under the lids, as though their magic was tortured by the loss of their hosts.  Loki and Sigyn gathered their weakened bodies off the floor, and she had to stop herself from swearing at the Allfather.  She hated Odin in that moment, but shouting “fuck you” would have been positively idiotic.

“My second condition is that you shall be unarmed,” Odin said.

Loki grit his teeth as a Crimson Hawk stepped forward and removed the dagger from Loki’s boot as well as the throwing knives from his waist.  

Odin groaned.  Disciplining either of his sons was not his favorite task, though he knew the younger one thought it was.  

“Thirdly, I will not provide payment for Eitri’s services.  You shall have to procure resources elsewhere.  The final condition,” Odin turned his gaze on Sigyn, her eyes widening, fearing his next words.  

What more was he going to do to her?  All this for a mistake?  It wasn’t as though she’d laughed and tossed a lighted torch on Sif’s body!

“The final condition,” he continued, “is that, since you are so fond of this girl, Loki, she shall accompany you on this quest, also unarmed.”

Loki’s mouth dropped open as the same soldier removed Sigyn’s quiver and bow.

She considered keeping her hidden dagger, but the soldier cleared his throat and pointed to her leg.  The skirt had unfortunately fallen open again after she’d stood back up after having her magic taken.  Grimacing from the pain caused by the lack of her magic, she bent down and unsheathed the knife and set it in his open hand, none too gently.

Loki had to hold himself back from choking the soldier for staring at her leg.  He settled for just glaring at the Hawk before returning his eyes to his father.  Risking a step forward, now genuinely afraid after seeing Sigyn’s weapons seized from her, Loki held his hands out to the king.

“Please, Father, with no magic and no weapons, how are we to defend ourselves?  How am I to protect her, if need be?  What of the rock trolls?  We will be outnumbered!” His insides were positively boiling.  Odin was sending them to their deaths!  If she was lost to him, he would destroy everything in the nine.  

Odin’s voice echoed angrily throughout the room. “Perhaps I should instead send her to Muspelheim.  She does seem to love playing with fire.”

Sigyn felt the bile rise in her throat then.  Muspelheim was home to fire demons and their king, Surtur.  With their scorching fingers, she would know true torture.  If anyone had told her that she was capable of turning into a godsdamn damsel in distress from fear alone, she would have laughed in their faces, but sadly, that’s exactly what happened.  Her vision blurred to black, then her eyes rolled back, and Loki caught her as she fell, pulling her limp body close to him, one hand at her neck, the other wrapping around her waist.  

He seethed, thankful, for the moment, that his magic had been stripped from him, lest he send out a burst toward the Protector of the Nine Realms.  That would have most certainly earned him exile; the term certainly wouldn’t have been as short as it had been previously.  Loki was nearly as frightened of his reaction to Odin’s threat to kill her as he was to the threat itself.  What hold did this woman have on him that he should think to destroy the nine for her?  And indeed, that was his intention as he held her unconscious body against his chest.  His instinctive response was that, well, yes, he would.  Nothing terrified him more.

Thor’s voice broke through the stunned silence. “Father, no.”

His earlier words, laced so with revenge, fled from his mind as he looked upon Loki holding Sigyn desperately, his green eyes glistening with tears.  Voice softening, attuned to his brother’s pain, Thor spoke carefully, wary of Odin’s reaction.

”Surtur would surely kill her.  Muspelheim is too harsh, Father.  Niðavellir and their magic stripped of them and rock trolls are enough.”

At Thor’s words, Odin relaxed, and Loki looked between them.  He envied whatever it was that flowed between the two that allowed Thor to have such an effect on the Allfather.  Was there so much love amongst them that Thor could truly say anything to him and not fear the king’s response?  It would never be so for him.  Pulling himself together, nodding at Thor, he bit back an angry sob.  At least he had Frigga.  He still had Frigga.  His mother loved him.

Mother loves me—He repeated the incantation in his mind until he was no longer aware of his surroundings, so lost in his musings he was.

Odin spoke firmly. “Make haste, my son.  Your dwarves await you and your maiden fair.”  Waving them off, he frowned as Loki bowed slightly, barely lowering his head.  

Sweeping Sigyn up, one arm under her knees, the other under her shoulders, Loki turned on his heels making his exit, head held high, the hawks in tow.

---

~Journey to Niðavellir~

“Prepare Sinir!” Loki growled as he neared the stables.

The hawks were still at his heels, watching him for any sudden move.  Glaring at them, he set his jaw.  Did they think he was foolish enough to further aggravate his father?!  As though he needed further unjust punishment for this non-crime?!— stripped of his magic, Sigyn stripped of hers, and no tangible weapons to aid them in a highly likely fight?!

Genuine fear crept in at the edges of his mind as he carried her, still limp and unconscious in his arms.  He placed his ear to her lips, relaxing at the feel of her breath.  A young stable hand approached him, the dark chocolate horse that had been gifted to him as a boy followed, pulled by the bit.

The boy bowed as he caught up to them. “Sinir, for you, Your Highness.”

Loki nodded as he lifted her, dead weight that she was, onto the saddle, and placing his boot in the stirrup, pulled himself up behind her.  He gripped the reins and pulled them, silently commanding his horse to turn in the direction of the Bifrost, and at the click of his master’s tongue and the barely-there kick of his legs, Sinir neighed and took off at a full gallop, not slowing until they were upon Heimdall. Loki jumped down pulling his maiden fair (gods, his father was such a dick to call her that) with him, placing her feet on the ground but still holding on to her.  Would she ever wake?

“Niðavellir.” It was curt and unkind, but he had no time to exchange pleasantries with Asgard’s gatekeeper.  Loki stood at the eye of the bridge as it spun to life, and as the familiar gravity built quickly, pulling at his body, which was still wrapped around Sigyn, beams of light shot into space, dragging them with it.

Twenty seconds later, when they landed in the dark and barren dwarf land, she clutched at his neck, gagging, and coughing.  Somewhere along the gut-wrenching ride, she’d come to— NOT pleasantly. Doubling over, she spit out the extra saliva flooding her mouth.  She hated vomiting (who didn’t?), and doing it in front of Loki would be utterly humiliating.

Between retches, she shrieked, “No, no, no!”

Clamping his hand over her mouth (clearly not concerned that she might spew her guts right into it) and holding the back of her neck with the other, Loki shushed her, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring. He shook his head, and she nodded in silent understanding.  How ironic that she trusted a trickster god with her life.  There was not a doubt in her mind that he would not only kill for her but that he would die for her just as easily, no hesitation.

He released her, pushing a hand through his hair nervously.  No magic, no daggers, no bow, no arrows— He wracked his brain for the solutions to all the “what ifs” running through his mind.  The rock trolls had most certainly heard the Bifrost and her overly dramatic cries (really? that upset over a little nausea?) and would arrive soon.  In other words, they needed to run.

Words were unnecessary, and comprehending their dire situation, Sigyn grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet.  Running across the wild grass field, their boots silent as the grave, they switched places, and Loki led her in the direction of King Eitri’s dwelling.  Then the earth suddenly quaked beneath them.

On all sides, trolls appeared, their thick towering bodies thundering toward the pair.  Loki cursed as he pushed her behind him for the second time that day, and she spun so that they were back to back.  Once again, he reached back to hold her, and she clutched his hands as he pulled her tightly against him.  The trolls looked as though they would roast them on a spittle over an open fire and eat them for supper. His death grip on her did not loosen as the biggest of the trolls, presumably the leader, circled Loki and the woman he wanted to protect from everything.  Caught in a staring contest with the mud-colored creature, he turned in a slow circle, keeping himself between the disgusting thing and Sigyn.  Granted, he knew that these disgusting trolls could attack Sigyn from the other side, but something about this particular one in front of him seemed especially menacing.  He would not allow this one to touch her.

Cringing at the nausea that had now crept back into her stomach at the sight of their revolting appearances, Sigyn turned around, crushing her face in between Loki’s shoulder blades.  Dear gods, she felt weak and powerless again, and it was unbearable.

Showing its teeth, the leader roared. “The dark prince of Asgard!  The second son has come to visit us!  Oh, but he’s brought us a gift, a very enticing gift.”

The motley crew of hideous monsters howled and laughed at their leader’s words, and glaring from underneath his brow, Loki sneered at them.

I have no powers, dammit!

What could he do?  If he had his daggers, they’d all be dead within seconds.  Only one option remained: his words.

They don’t call me “Silvertongue” for nothing.

“Don’t flatter yourself, troll,” he droned, “I do not holiday in Niðavellir.  I desire only to speak with Eitri.”

The leader bared sharp pointed teeth at Loki and raised his axe. “I have a name, lesser one!” 

Rolling his eyes, Loki scoffed.  Lesser one?  Really?

Cretins.

Talented actor (it was kind of like lying, right?) that he was, he not even so much as blinked at the threat.  He smirked, one eyebrow rising imperceptibly, and bowing his head mockingly, he removed one hand from Sigyn’s waist, then put it across his heart.

“My apologies.” After a beat of silence, he continued. “Perhaps you would like to share your, no doubt, highly respectable title with me.  I do so love knowing the names of my victims before removing their heads.”

Sigyn shouldn’t have been shocked when the creature inched back, shifting its weight from the front foot to the back foot.  She also shouldn’t have been shocked that the thing lowered its weapon just that much.  She shouldn’t have been, but she was; silently marveling at Loki’s ability to manipulate and cause fear using only his words.  Outnumbered he may have been, but he was hardly outmatched.

“I am called Hallsteinn, and you are trespassing,” the leader growled, glaring at Loki before turning its perverse gaze on her, “and I will have that pretty thing behind you as your payment for sparing your life, prince.”

Absolutely seething, Loki pulled her further into him.

Like Hel you’ll HAVE her, filthy mongrel.

He gave an impressively convincing laugh and taunted, “Great Hallsteinn, she would not go willingly.  For certain, if you attempted force, you would most assuredly lose more than your head, starting with the slow removal of your other woefully unskilled appendages, for she also possesses the magic that flows through my veins.  Rest assured that if she didn’t kill you first, the hundred Crimson Hawks cloaked in shadow surrounding you surely would.”

Eyebrows shooting to her hairline, Sigyn looked over her shoulder for the Hawks.  Only seconds later, she remembered that they were alone.  Goodness, Loki was so convincing.  Rolling her eyes at her own gullibility, she pushed her face further into his back, reveling in the smell of leather and peppermint and woodsmoke.

Master of Lies, indeed.

If they made it out of this dreadful realm, she was going to show him a great deal more than just her fire magic.  She listened, amazed, as the trolls’ cautiously retreating steps rumbled the ground.

Not Hallsteinn, but one of the simple-minded minions spoke. “You lie.”

The leader shot an angry glare at it, and the other troll shrank into itself, lowering its head.  Daggers continued to fly from Loki’s eyes as a crooked grin played at the corner of his mouth.

“Try me,” he warned, then raised a finger and looked up and around as though listening for a pin to drop. “Can you not hear them? The seiðr-laced Asgardian steel of their blades being unsheathed? Can you not feel their steps behind you?”

His words were a knife, dipped in poison, held at the ready, waiting. The trolls looked around nervously. Certainly, they were physically bigger than the famed Crimson Hawks, but these trolls had neither the training nor deadly, enchanted weapons.  Hallsteinn looked questioningly at Loki, clearly trying to muster the confidence to call the man’s bluff.

However, Loki merely arched an eyebrow, and the finger that he had raised to the sky, he pointed directly at the creature. “You’ll be the first lamb to the slaughter.”

“Stand down!” Hallsteinn commanded immediately, and they obeyed, lowering their weapons.

Without any further words, they backed away until Loki and Sigyn were only specks in their eyes.  Trusting no threat remained, the trolls turned their backs and ran to their caves.

Rubbing her temples (oh, a wretched headache was brewing) she kept her voice low. “I was sure we were done for.  They were going to kill you and do gods only know what with me.”

She’d never felt so angry in all her life —not at the trolls, but Odin.  That royal son of a bitch had removed her only weapons and sent her to a realm of monsters.  Her skin crawled at the memory of Hallsteinn’s gaze.  She lurched forward, and Loki snaked a hand around her waist as she gagged for the thousandth time since arriving in this stupid wasteland.  How many godsdamn times would her stomach do this to her?!

“You must think very little of me, Sigyn,” Loki whispered close to her ear, and oh, she could have sworn that his mouth…or breath…or voice…all of it…was an iceblock on her neck, miraculously curing the nausea.  Gods, she wanted to forget their mission and just do things to him.  Her gaze hovered lazily over the hinge of his jaw as he continued speaking.

“Do you think me only capable of protecting you with magic and daggers?” He clucked his tongue, pulling her by the hand along the foot trail to King Eitri’s mountain home. “They would not have laid a finger on you.”

The only fingers going anywhere near Sigyn will be the ones attached to MY hands—he bit his tongue so he wouldn’t accidentally say that sentence out loud.  He took several deep breaths, trying to ignore the gloriously graphic images in his head.

After a minute of tense silence, wherein he’d composed himself, he leaned down and whispered, “It’s not much further.  See that arch at the base of the mountain about a hundred yards hence?  That’s it.  Come.  The trolls won’t be after us now.”

They separated and ran at full speed, crossing the distance in five seconds, and halted at the door of the dwarves’ home.  Since they had been on the receiving end of Loki’s tricks before, the dwarves did not like him, but the short creatures were his only option.  He had to be on his best behavior.  There was no going back now.

---

Sigyn wished for her cloak as she and Loki were escorted down winding stone stairs.  It was cold under the mountain— not Jotunheim cold, but most definitely colder than Vanaheim.  She wondered how Loki, being Æsir, could breeze through the blustery cavern with not a hint of discomfort.  Asgard was so warm.  That is, usually it was warm.  Was not the cold unpleasant to him?  Leather layers aside, an Asgardian should feel at least a shiver, but he was acting as though he’d been raised on a glacier.

A pair of heavy stone doors opened before them, and Loki grabbed her hand as they were led down a long aisle.  Dwarves lined the sides, peering eerily at them.  King Eitri and his wife Egvanda sat, waiting as the two foreigners came to the base of the thrones.  Loki bowed slightly and Sigyn, following his example, gave a shallow curtsy.

“What business does the Dark Son of Asgard have with the dwarves?  Has your brother lost Mjölnir?  Surely Gungnir is not broken?”

Loki snorted at Eitri’s sarcasm. “Your grace, I’ve come to ask your craftsmen to fashion an entirely different treasure.”

He kept his tone respectful.  He needed to get back to Asgard, and Heimdall wouldn’t open the Bifrost until that stupid hair was in Loki’s hands.  Eitri is the only option, he silently reminded himself, lest he screw this up with excessive snark.  This was no time for tricks and mischief.

The king looked from Loki to Sigyn, questioning as to the purpose of her presence. The smile left Loki’s face and was replaced by a look of contrition.  His pleading soulful green eyes would melt even a frost giant.

“We cannot return to Asgard without it.  Lady Sigyn of Vanaheim and I request that you weave a crown of golden tresses for a beloved warrior, for the woman was severely burnt in a fight, and her hair will not grow back.  The Allfather gave his express command.  Either we give her new hair or face banishment.”

The dwarf king seemed to ponder over it as he stroked his long beard. “Golden tresses.  Golden tresses.  Hmm,” he said, looking across his court questioningly.  Receiving a multitude of nods, he answered, “It shall be done.”

Relief flooded Sigyn’s body, but she retracted in an instant when the man clarified, “For the price of two hundred gold pieces.”

Loki leaned down to her ear, grinning wryly. “Don’t suppose you’ve two hundred gold pieces hidden under those skirts somewhere?  I’d gladly search for them.”

She pressed her lips together— Oh. Don’t. I. Wish.

Hopefully, at some point his hands would search for something under her skirts, but now was not the time to get lost in explicit fantasies.  Blinking rapidly, she returned to the moment at hand.  They had to use their own means to pay for the locks, and the royal’s endlessly deep pockets had been sewn shut temporarily.  When the answer came to her, she could have face palmed right there.  It was so obvious.

She smiled warmly at the King. “I believe my mother might be of help.  Freya, with whom I am sure you are familiar, is in Vanaheim currently.  Is there a way to communicate with her somehow?”

At Sigyn’s words, Queen Egvanda stood and turned to a young girl next to her. “Kindra?  Daughter, would you fetch the looking glass, please?  I shall have words with this Freya.”

The girl nodded, vanished, and returned within half a tick, holding a small piece of jagged cut glass, no bigger than a palm.  Sigyn and Loki watched curiously (and impatiently) as the queen spoke inaudibly at the mirror.  The woman paced behind the throne, shrugging and un-shrugging her shoulders and shaking and nodding her head.  Finally, after a small eternity, Egvanda returned to her throne and sat.

Wondering what Freya had said, once again, ridiculous nausea twisted Sigyn’s stomach.  She and her mother weren’t exactly on good terms, and she feared that the woman had refused to pay the price.

“I’ve spoken with Freya,” Egvanda said. “She will pay.”

Loki relaxed his shoulders, which had tensed during the absurdly long mirror conversation, then gave a reassuring squeeze to Sigyn’s hand.

Unfortunately, the queen spoke again, adding two words to her previous response. “In silver.”

Eyes rolling, feet all but stomping the ground as a child throwing a temper tantrum, Loki cursed under his breath.  Damn that daft fertility goddess!  Did she wish to never set eyes on her daughter again?

Sigyn looked confused. “I do not understand.  Does that mean she agreed to pay the equivalent price, but in silver?” This was not good.

Egvanda nodded. “Yes.” Then, she turned to her husband who was glaring at the floor, a scowl written on his face. “What think you, my love?”

Looking up finally, the man gave a nod. “Hair you’ve come for, hair you shall have, but for the price of naught, you shall have strands of naught.”

King Eitri waved them off saying, “We require the night sky to craft the tresses.  The night sky of a fortnight.”

---

~Leaving Niðavellir, Two Weeks Later~

Much to their dismay, while waiting for the dwarves to work their magic, Loki and Sigyn were confined to separate guest chambers.  That is, if one thought a dungeon-like cavern was comparable to chambers.  At some point during their sentence, a guard informed her that her mother’s payment had been received.

Since she was underground and had no reference for the time of day, Sigyn had scratched the days off on the wall with a small rock like some sort of medieval prisoner of war.  On day fourteen, the door to her guest dungeon opened, and she jumped as Loki walked in.

Long shining raven black tresses were fanned out across his long fingers.  Staring at him, dazed and barely noticing the beautiful work of the dwarves in his hands, she fought the urge to run to him and jump in his arms after not seeing him for two weeks.  Tying a silver ribbon around the strands, he placed them gently in a black wool satchel that was slung across his body.  Looking back up at her, his usually sleek hair disheveled now and hanging in his eyes, he offered his hand to her.  Lacing her fingers with his, she felt like she was glowing from the inside out as he dragged her out of the cold cell.  They climbed the winding stairs and upon reaching the world outside the mountain, she let out a series of heavy breaths and laughed.

“It was terribly suffocating down there,” she gasped, relieved to be above ground again.

He said nothing, only nodding as he led her back to the Bifrost site.  It was the long walk she remembered, though not fraught with rock trolls this time, thankfully.  They came to the intricately burned pattern in the dirt, and showing off the black strands, he looked up at the invisible gatekeeper.  As the rush of wind and light rained down on them, Loki wrapped his arms around her.

He put his chin on her head, and she inhaled the cool scent of his neck before he whispered, “Hold on to me… and, for the love of Frigga, please don’t retch on me.”

Deposited safely in the observatory twenty seconds later, he pulled her toward Sinir who stood underneath the arch of the doorway, the horse’s chocolate coat shining in the light of the rainbow bridge. Having been out cold during her first ride, Sigyn was pleasantly surprised (to say the least) when Loki lifted her onto the saddle first, and then seated himself behind her, his arms reaching under hers to grip the reins.

Her eyes blew wide— Dear gods…What. A. Man.

With a click of his tongue and gently pressing his heels into Sinir’s hide, the horse galloped, full speed, to the palace.

---

~A Private Healing Room in Asgard’s Palace~

“I assure you, Sif, you are even more beautiful now.  The black,” Thor paused, breathing heavily, admiring the dark locks in contrast to her fair skin, “it really suits you.”

His low whisper combined with the stroke of his hand across his friend’s now fully healed face made her head spin.  When Loki and that witch woman returned only seconds ago, Sif had, much to her embarrassment, wept with joy because, finally,  she would have hair again!  But then he had pulled the horrid ebony mane from the satchel that hung from his body, and her happy tears were replaced with painful sobs as Eir placed the locks on her head, rooting themselves magically in the once destroyed follicles.

Sif touched the new strands hesitantly, shooting a glare at the pair of evil magic-wielders.  The hair was as soft as feathers and just as shiny in appearance, but it looked wrong.  However, the way Thor looked at her, as though his eyes were gleaming with want, she concurred that they were, at least…. Complimentary.

The captain of the hawks and his lieutenant, the ones who had escorted Loki and Sigyn to and from the bifrost, appeared at the door while Thor openly drooled over Sif. 

The men spoke in unison. “The Allfather will see Prince Loki and Lady Sigyn in the throne room.”

Loki rolled his eyes and placed a protective arm around her.  Sighing heavily, she hung her head.  Odin was the last person she wanted to see right then.

---

~The Throne Room~

Standing from his throne, the Allfather spoke plainly. “Huginn and Muninn have shown me your success in Niðavellir.  Your weapons await you in your chambers.  However, you were to obtain golden tresses.  For the slight that has occurred against the Lady Sif, you will wait two fortnights before regaining your magic.”

Jaw dropping, Loki took a deep breath to calm the anger building beneath his skin.  Other than a slight eye roll, Sigyn didn’t even react.  The old man being a complete dick was no surprise to her at this point.

Loki stepped forward. “Father, Sif is far more beautiful than she was before.  Thor said so himself.”

“As I said,” his father raised a hand, cutting his son’s defense off, “you shall regain your magic in two fortnights.”

Loki scoffed at the dismissal but said no more.  Grabbing Sigyn’s hand, he turned to leave, dragging her with him.

As Odin watched them go, he wondered if perhaps an extra stipulation should be added.  He imagined that they would easily find other ways to occupy themselves without magic.  Why, what were two fortnights, when they could spend the time in the other’s beds?

“In addition,” he called out, and Loki turned slightly to eye his father over his shoulder.

Good gods, what NOW?

“In order to show your respect for your fellow warrior’s loss,” Odin continued, “during the remainder of your sentence, you and Lady Sigyn will have no contact with each other.  This is the express command of your king.  If you hold to these conditions, I will grant you the return of seiðr after that time.  You have my word.” His spear hit the ground, then he returned to his throne.

Exchanging angry glances with Sigyn, Loki pulled away from her and stepped closer to his father.

“Why?!  Father, we went to Niðavellir, did we not?!  We faced hundreds of rock trolls!  We spent a fortnight in the cold dungeons of the dwarf king’s home, and, might I add, we were separated from each other the entire time!  I realize that we returned with tresses that weren’t exactly what you-”

He abruptly stopped speaking when Odin pointed Gungnir at him.  Would the Allfather— his father —use that fatal weapon against his own flesh and blood?  Loki’s heart ached within his chest, his eyes glistening with fresh tears.  Thor would never have found himself in such a position.

“NO!” It was Frigga’s voice, ringing out from the pillar she’d concealed herself behind, that dared to scream at the king.

Odin spun to see his wife charging toward him and placing herself in front of her son.

“How dare you threaten our son with that!” she shouted, pointing to the spear. “Would you make good on it?  Has he not done enough?  Have they not done enough?!”

Loki suddenly feared for his mother.  He’d never seen her speak to his father in such a manner, and he knew not what the king might do.  Placing his hands on her shoulders, Loki pulled her into a hug, looking up at Odin accusingly as Frigga buried her face in his neck.

“Might I remind you that I am the king of the nine, and I will not tolerate insolent words.” The old man’s eyes flashed with anger, but he sat down.  No, he would never strike his son, even though they were so unlike.  He chided himself for the use of such empty threats.

Loki shook from the barely controlled anger humming in his veins.  Only his mother, because of her proximity, could have known it was there.  There was no point in arguing with his father further.  The old man had made up his mind, and there was nothing Loki could do to change it.  He needed his magic back, and if this was the only way to get it back without further conflict, he would do it.  He didn’t want to, but he could handle two additional fortnights.

“Father,” he spoke carefully, “we will submit to your ruling.  Two fortnights apart, and then our magic shall be our own again.” He paused, and closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “I ask only that you allow me one brief moment with her.” No way in all the nine would his father allow it, but why not ask?

Frowning deeply, Odin just glared at his son, and Loki set his jaw, nodded once, and turned to get the Hel out of there.

Then his father spoke. “One moment.”

Loki’s eyes blew wide in shock.  He didn’t know why his father was allowing it after all, but it didn’t matter.

Don’t need to tell me twice.

He descended the steps in one bound, closing the distance between himself and Sigyn in two seconds.  Not giving a damn about his audience, his hands flew to her hair, pulling at the thick strands as he brought his mouth down on hers.  Never had he felt so much heat in one kiss—as in, her hands felt nearly like fire on his neck when she reached up to (somewhat clumsily) grab at his collar.  Not to mention her mouth, which she’d opened without hesitation (in full view of a few dozen soldiers and palace workers!), the second his tongue barely touched her bottom lip.

Melting into him, she let go of his collar and pushed up onto her toes, winding both arms around his neck as he dragged one hand down her back, pulling her flush against him.  She was floating, seeing stars, and wonderfully light-headed as his arms tightened around her.  Possibly, she was seeing stars due to a lack of air inside his rib-crushing hold, but more likely, the blood in her head had rushed down her body to instead pool between her legs, and the rerouting was causing glorious problems.  Problems so glorious, in fact, that she was oblivious to the onlookers who, no doubt, either wished she and Loki would get a room or, more disturbingly, were enjoying the view.

Unfortunately, for the latter half, the view didn’t last more than ten seconds at most.  Suddenly, a second pair of hands grabbed her shoulders and yanked her, rather painfully, away from Loki.

Shooting a glare at the person who was now ushering Sigyn down the hall, Loki fisted his hands, beyond enraged with his situation.  He had no choice but to stand there like some magically-neutered, powerless peasant while another man—some stupid Hawk—took her further and further away.  When she looked over her shoulder at Loki, her lips swollen and bruised from their kiss, he exhaled slowly, reminding himself that this was only temporary.   Looking at the “bright side” wasn’t in his nature, but if he didn’t focus on that one sliver of hope, he might land himself in an eternal prison cell for running after Sigyn and slitting that Hawk’s throat.

With more than a few witnesses.

Tears stung Sigyn’s eyes as the soldier leaned in, too close for comfort, and said, “My lady, the Dark Son is not the only man in Asgard who is quite taken with you.”

She glared as the warrior looked intensely at her.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued, “I am Theoric, Captain of the Crimson Hawks.” 

From the front of the throne room, Loki’s jaw clenched.

Theoric, hmm?— Well, at least now he knew the name of his victim before he removed the man’s head.