A/N at the bottom.
My footsteps pounded against the street beneath them with almost thundering sounds, but my ears were deaf to them. Just as my eyes were blind to the stares I received from my fellow Aesir as I wove my way through them, along with a few glares when I would misstep and nearly run someone down. Tossing as sincere an apology I could muster in my haste, I kept going.
Running was not something one generally saw in Asgard. Not from anyone over a century old. And not in the military. Unless it was at the training grounds or during one of the royal family's many festivals. We tend to be a proud race. And vain. And running was not conducive to keeping up a well-groomed appearance. It was silly, in my opinion.
"I am going to be late," I muttered, my voice laced with despair as I dodged a mother and child with a quick side step. My gaze swung to the twin suns hanging in the sky and I made a hopeless noise. "So late." Willing my legs faster, I summoned up the last bit of my strength and raced towards the house just inside the gates to the city.
Perhaps calling it a house was a stretch. Compared to most of the sweeping and towering buildings of the majestic city, it was nothing more than a simple hut. Only two stories, it was made of the simplest materials and hidden behind an overgrown hedge that the officials received no end of complaints about. The owner claimed it was essential for his studies and that the Allfather had given him permission. That sent the officials walking, ignoring every complaint that came in after that day. I still was unsure if what he had said was true, despite how close we had grown.
Skidding to a halt in front of the main door, I pulled on my magic and quickly settled my disheveled appearance as well as calming my erratic breathing. That was why I was here. The man living in the house was my teacher, a great sorcerer who was renown in the histories of the Aesir. In the Great War between the Frost Giants of Jotunheim and Odin's army, he had proven himself to the Allfather with feats of great magic. Upon the army's return to Asgard, he was granted high status and much wealth and riches. But all he wanted was to study.
A small smile crossed my lips, unsure where the impromptu history lesson had come from, and I lifted my hand to knock. The door opened on its own in answer. The smile faded and my brow furrowed slightly. He'd never answered the door this way before. "Master Garen?" I called, stepping hesitantly inside.
Study came the simple reply in my mind. My brow only furrowed further, but I obeyed his summons and stepped forward.
He was being strange, using his magic to answer the door and then telepathy. Garen rarely used his magic on me when I came for my lessons, preferring instead to allow me to work out the spell needed. The sorcerer often said that being born with magic did not mean I had the talent to control it. He frowned upon using it uselessly, preferring and insisting that I find other means to accomplish my goals first. And he rarely showed any pity when my spells went awry, claiming it was strengthening my skill and character. And skin I added mentally, rolling my eyes. My fingers brushed lightly over the crook of my elbow, the injury that flashed across my memory long gone. We Aesir healed quickly.
My unique dark gray-blue eyes spied the old sorcerer through the doorway, my pace picking up as my concerns lifted . . . until I caught the wariness in brown eyes as they lifted to meet mine. "Master Garen," I murmured, stepping up to him and giving a respectful bow. "I apologize for . . ."
"I am used to your tardiness, Sigyn," the sorcerer interjected, a weary sigh accompanying his words.
"I, however, am not accustomed to waiting," a second voice said. It was cool and smooth with just a hint of annoyance lacing through it.
My eyes snapped to the owner, widening as he stood and turned to face me. It was a young man with raven hair and piercing green eyes that seemed to stare straight through me. His green and black leather outfit creaked softly as he moved towards me, his tall lean form reminding me of a cat.
I knew it was rude, but I couldn't help but stare. He was slim, but that didn't mean he wasn't strong. His outfit did an extremely good job of highlighting his lean muscles. But that wasn't what kept my gaze. No, I couldn't tear my eyes away from his face. Handsome. It was all planes and lines: a high forehead and smooth cheeks highlighted with well-defined cheekbones and a straight nose. The expression on his face belied the annoyance in his voice, showing a calm almost disinterested look.
I knew instantly who he was. "Prince Loki," I gasped, remembering myself and placing a fist across my chest while dropping to one knee.
"You may rise," he said, his annoyance morphing into obvious amusement as I obeyed. "Garen is not known for his forgiveness. You should count yourself lucky." He tilted his head, studying me with extreme scrutiny. I held his gaze, not knowing if it was confidence or foolishness that made me do so when most others would bow their head in deference. The corners of his lips twitched, suppressing a smirk. "Sigyn," he purred, stopping a few steps away from where I stood. "I recognize your face."
"Her family is of the high nobility," Garen said before I could reply. "Her father is Vili Tannonson . . ."
"I did not ask you, sorcerer," Loki interrupted, his voice low and smooth and calm. It sounded far more dangerous than if he had yelled.
"Master Garen speaks true, my prince," I interjected, knowing how dangerous it was to interrupt a member of the royal family. But the dark prince's response made me wary and a bit nervous for my teacher had he continued. Those piercing eyes flew back to me, their depths calming only slightly. "I am Sigyn Vilidottir. My father is son of Tannon, husband of Ildri, and member of the High Council."
"Ah," he said simply, recognition lighting his expression for a brief second before it resumed its previous look of aggravation. "Fandral's sister." I nodded agreement, watching him warily. A multitude of emotions crossed his face before his expression returned to the cool disinterest he'd worn when he first stood. "Garen tells me you have become quite proficient in magic." He circled around me, my mind reeling slightly from the sudden shift in topic. The prince stopped in front of me again and gave my form a quick, up and down glance. "I would like to see just how much so."
My startled gaze flew to my teacher, the old man meeting it for a brief moment before turning his face away. I swallowed hard and returned my eyes to the dark prince.
Being known as the God of Mischief, Loki's magic was renown throughout Asgard. His pranks were famous, as was the population's general disdain for the younger prince. Asgardians did not appreciate their proud, vain personages begin humiliated, something Loki found great delight in doing.
Every student of magic knew of his power. We were required to study it. After centuries of life and years of study and perfecting his ability, Loki was the most powerful sorcerer among the Aesir.
"Don't tell me you're as thick as your brother," the royal said, a slight sneer in his voice as he jerked me from my thoughts. I felt the flush heat my cheeks as anger flashed through me. My mouth opened, a retort ready, when I suddenly remembered whom I was about to snap at. The clicking of my teeth as I snapped my lips back together was audible. Loki let a smirk slide across his face as my gray-blue eyes glared into his.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, pushing my anger down and adopting a carefully schooled expression. "Of course, your highness," I intoned, giving him a slight bow of my head before meeting his gaze. "What would you care to see?" Seeing his smirk grow and the appreciative yet mischievous light that flashed through his eyes, I knew he saw the aggravation that my eyes were unable to hide.
"I have yet to partake of my midday meal," Loki said after a moment, gliding towards the small desk I used to study. He grasped the chair and turned it, sitting so he faced Garen and I. One slender eyebrow arched as he studied me, waiting for me to figure out his actual request on my own.
My eyes narrowed marginally at him before turning to my teacher, the look in them asking if the prince actually expected me to be his serving wench. Garen just sighed and reached up to rub his temples, the actions answer enough. I huffed and turned back to the pale-skinned man, bristling at the extremely amused look that covered his face. An idea flitted through my mind and I paused, weighing the possibility. Making my decision, I kept my face impassive and waved my hand. "I hope it pleases you, Prince Loki," I said demurely, bowing my head and gesturing at the desk behind him.
Loki turned and took in the covered silver platter sitting on the dark wooden surface, as well as the silver goblet holding a deep burgundy wine. He shot me an appraising look over his shoulder and lifted the cover off the platter to reveal a plate filled with every delicacy the prince favored from the palace kitchens. The appreciation in his gaze was clear for a moment as he glanced at me once again before picking up a fruit and biting into it. Garen and I could hear the juices exploding in his mouth from across the room. "That is quite good," he conceded, reaching for the goblet.
I allowed my lips to twitch in just the barest hint of a smirk and made a tiny gesture with my finger against my hip. Garen made a slight choking sound as the red liquid splashed out of the goblet and covered Loki, the dark prince blinking in surprise. He quickly recovered, turning towards me with a dangerous expression. "And that was not," he said, his tone low and filled with a distinct threat.
I disappeared with a slight flash as he advanced towards me, appearing on the other side of the room and watching as he stopped short. "You insult my family," I spat at him, the dark prince whirling toward my voice. "And my intelligence."
"Sigyn," Garen warned as Loki started towards me, but I ignored him. My anger was too strong.
"Call me base, demanding I serve you like a common wench," I continued, nearly spitting the words while my eyes screamed defiance. "You may be a prince, but that does not mean I will stand by while I am taunted." He stopped, towering over me. His green eyes were a deep shade of emerald as his annoyance simmered just under the surface. We stood that way for a long moment, my neck starting to ache from having to tip my head back to look at him.
Loki laughed softly, startling both Garen and I with the sound. I blinked and the red liquid vanished from his form with a slight shimmer, evidence of his magic. "Very few are brave enough to confront a member of the royal family so blatantly," he mused. "Even fewer with me." He smirked slightly as my breath released in a rush; I was unaware I'd been holding it. The man reached up and gripped my chin between his finger and thumb, studying me carefully. "It is no small task to master the spell for teleportation," he finally said, dropping my chin and stepping back while his gaze continued to peruse me. "I would like to observe your studies in a more natural state." My eyes widened slightly and I stole a glance at my teacher. Loki made a sound that was a mixture of amusement and frustration. "If Master Garen allows it, of course."
My gaze swung back to him, the orbs narrowing slightly at the sarcasm clearly dripping from his final words.
"Of course, Prince Loki," Garen replied smoothly, bowing. "We would welcome you."
I watched as the prince pursed his lips, obviously catching the lie but choosing to ignore it. "Good," Loki said, nodding curtly. "I will return at this same time tomorrow." He met the old sorcerer's gaze. "Garen." My teacher bowed again, missing the daggers my gaze was shooting at him. So focused was I on making my teacher aware of my anger that I missed Loki's fluid movement to grip my hand until his fingers wrapped around mine. I jumped, turning to stare at him while he lifted it to his lips. A slight tingling sensation washed over me as he pressed a kiss to the backs of my knuckles, his gaze locked with mine. "Lady Sigyn." His voice sounded like a purr. "Until tomorrow." I simply watched him, my brain fighting to comprehend the events of the past half-hour as he disappeared in a flash of magic.
"Foolish girl!" Garen hissed once the dark prince had gone, smacking my shoulder quite hard. I winced at the blow, giving my teacher a meek look as I rubbed it. "You are lucky he seems to have taken a liking to you. I fear our fates if he had not."
Apparently, my anger had a small spark left. "It would have been on your head, Master," I retorted. "You invited him." My brow furrowed when Garen shook his head. "Then . . ."
"He always did enjoy popping in on me suddenly," the old man sighed, seeming suddenly weary. I watched him in confusion for a long moment. "Loki was my student," he finally explained, just as I opened my mouth. "When he was a boy. I did not imagine him to be the sentimental type, so, needless to say, I was extremely surprised when he came to see me today." He sighed again, running a hand over his face. "It would seem my first impressions were proven right. He simply wanted to gauge the progress of my current student." Garen gave me a wry smile. "He was always so vain and protective of his ability." He lifted a hand and rested it on the shoulder he'd just struck. "I am sorry." All I could do was nod dumbly, a certain phrase of Garen's finally sinking into my mind. "Come. We still have a lesson to get to today." I nodded again, still mulling over the words.
"You are lucky he seems to have taken a liking to you."
A/N: Well, there it is. Still a bit terrified about placing this out there for all to see, but blind leaps will always be scary. This story will be told from alternating points of view: Sigyn, which is first person past; and Loki, which is third person past. I do hope it isn't too confusing. The rating is "M" for later . . . if I decide to post more. Reviews are welcome to see if that is indeed the case! No flames, please.
Any grammar or other mistakes are solely on me.