No beta, all mistakes are mine
IMPORTANT: Sigyn's look in this fic isn't mine! It belongs to nanihoo, one of the best artists on tumblr in my opinion. Her art is to die for, especially all her Logyn drawings, which are one of the main reasons I got into this ship.
You can find her art tumblr here:
And her main tumblr here: .com
Great things happens to those who wait.
It is a truth held across the realms, the promise of a reward for patience and goodwill.
Loki, for all his cunning, has little patience to spare. He hungers too much, craves to vividly for that. However, when it is needed, when the reward is sweet, then he will play the long game. He will plan, wait and whisper. In those times, seeing the men and women dance to a tune of his own making is almost as delicious as the prize itself.
Sigyn is a patient woman. It is a quality she takes pride in, a mark that separates her from those Aesir who so love brutish charges and quick battles. It is that patience that allows her to endure the presence of those she despises so much. In those times she smiles indulgently, and none but Loki will ever know of the sharp scorn behind that gentleness.
(Neither of them have goodwill, not anymore, but they have always been adept at using the one of others.)
Great things happen to those who wait. Loki and Sigyn have waited long enough.
"I find it odd that of the two of us, you would be the one pacing," Loki drawls from his chair. He doesn't even look up from his book. Rather, he flips a page as he carelessly stretches his legs in front of him.
Of course, it is all purely affected. Today is too important a day for their alertness to falter. Sigyn knows that Loki is just as much on edge as she is, for experience tells them that it is always the final step of a plan that goes wrong. He is most likely baiting her, an attempt a distracting himself until the guards come to escort them.
She will not respond to such provocations, no matter how much it may amuse her love. And so she states simply: "I worry."
"Evidently." He snaps the book shut, walking up to her from behind. Gently, he wraps his arms around her waist, resting his chin on top of her head. Instinctively, she relaxes into his embrace, her back pressing against his front. "You needn't. You weave fate as well as any Norn, Sigyn. You're skills are too outstanding to fail now." He kisses her hair. "We have both played our parts beautifully."
"It is not our abilities I worry about." She says softly. "So many elements we cannot control…"
He chuckles. "Fear of chaos, love?" He spins her around, tilts her head up. His eyes shine with mischief, his smirk a dangerous thing, and like this he almost looks like the young boy who first stole her heart. Almost, if it weren't for the cold bite and sharp blades dancing behind his eyes. Too many years have passed, too much bitterness and brushes with madness for them not to be there. They make her love him more, if possible. He could hide them, if he so wished, but he lets her see. He trusts, and that is the greatest gift he can offer. "Should I be worried, or flattered?"
She rolls her eyes at him. "As if I could ever fear you." She leans her head against his chest. "Chaos I can deal with. It destroys everything and threatens all, and there is a fairness in it that makes it manageable. It's the Aesir themselves that are the problem." She huffs in frustration. "At heart they are like children. They will flock to whatever makes them feels safe, makes them content, and will turn away just as easily. And that preoccupies me."
He laughs earnestly this time. She bristles. "Do not mock me, Loki. We need them still."
"We always will." He agrees. "I laugh because my dear betrothed is so astute, yet oblivious at the same time. The masses are indeed like children, and all the easier to enrapture for it."
"Oh?" She very much wants to cling to her irritation, yet she feels the corner of her lips turn up at his nonchalant confidence. "Enlighten me, then."
He strokes her cheek, looking very satisfied with both of them. "All you need is to tell them a good story."
At his answer, her expression morphs into one of surprise, before letting way for her chuckle. "And we have woven quite a tale, haven't we?"
Once upon a time, there was a princess that lived far away from home.
Sif looks around the room, her discomfort showing despite her best efforts. The woman in front of her calmly sips her drink.
It is odd for her to be uncomfortable in such a room. Although it is not nearly as magnificent as the halls of Asgard, there is still a simple beauty in it. White walls left mostly bare, with the exception of a large tapestry depicting Yggdrasil hanging upon one of them. Wooden furniture made more comfortable with fine cushions and blankets. The entire room is brightly lit, its large windows left wide open, allowing the sounds of the Vanir capital to reach the two.
Truly, the room is welcoming, and Sif should be more at ease. But it is also true that the shield maiden has spent most of her life in the company of men and warriors. The training grounds she so favors are simple in their mindset, the company she keeps frank and straightforward in their behavior. Here, everything is too delicate, too feminine for her taste. The fine furniture feels much too fragile compared to the chairs of iron and gold she is used to.
These quarters demand restraint and gentleness from all who enter, and such behavior destabilizes Sif.
(Sigyn knows this, took great care in arranging their meeting here. She has never been one to pass up on an advantage.)
"It had been so long, my Lady Sif." She speaks with warm politeness, as befits one once raised as daughter to the All-Father.
"Indeed it has."
"I imagine you must have been much too occupied to come all the way to Vanaheim." Sigyn twirls a strand of hair as she speaks, keeping her tone deliberately casual. Her eyes, on the other hand, are alert, ready to spot any reaction to her words.
"These past few years have been… eventful." Sif replies, knowing all the while that that is not what Sigyn is referring to. Thor's coronation may have been the beginning of a restless period, but Sigyn has taken residence on Vanaheim centuries before.
(To use the word banishment would be admitting shame upon the house of Odin, and that is something no Aesir could ever consider.)
"Yes, I've heard. It broke my heart, to hear of the trials you have suffered." It is half-true. Her heart broke for one man only. "A worse torment still was knowing I could do nothing to intervene."
The accusation hangs in the air, unspoken but clearly heard. Sif bristles on behalf of her kings. "Lady Odindottir…"
"Iwaldidottir," her host cuts her off coolly. "It is the name I was given before my…departure. I am certain you remember. You were there after all."
"I had thought you had taken it yourself," Sif snaps, "since being a daughter of Odin had been the source of your woes."
If she had hoped to shame her, she remains disappointed, for Sigyn's eyes merely narrow. "Why are you here, Lady Sif?"
"The All-Father would welcome you back in Asgard."
Sigyn's breathe hitches.
How long has she been yearning to hear those words? How many days has she spent weeping, mourning her loss?
"Why?" She keeps her voice as steady as she can. "The All-Father has never been one to revoke his sentences."
"Circumstances have changed." The shield-maiden's speech is cold and practiced. She does not believe the words she says, but she will speak them as the voice of her King. "Prince Thor has left Asgard for the foreseeable future, Loki is in the dungeons still. His actions during the convergence have earned him some new consideration. In this new situation, your presence would be an advantage."
Of course, Sigyn thinks. Loki should have been left in his cell, to spend an eternity in the shadows as the people slowly forget his existence. The stain on the house of Odin hidden away for good. His prowess against the Kurse has most certainly prevented that. The All-Father must play with this new card dealt.
But why summon her back? What purpose serves this move?
It doesn't matter, she decides. She has no problem acting as her enemies wish if it serves her own interests as well.
She smiles as warmly, and prepares for war. "Then of course, I shall obey the All-Father's wishes."
Once upon a time, there was a monster who was the son of a king.
Inside the dungeons of Asgard lies the fallen Prince.
They call him Liesmith, Laufeyson, Kinslayer and Deceiver.
Disgraced once, but that was before the Dark Elves attacked, before the beloved Queen fell to the blade of the Kurse. Before the dark prince avenged her, slaying the beast with all the might and fury of a son of Frigga. And as the golden heir was barricaded away in the palace, shielding his mortal lover who bore the Aether, it was Loki who pushed back the enemy, with spells and illusions, so dishonorable but oh so effective.
So no, he can no longer be called disgraced. Not when he stayed during the battle, watched as the All-Father rode in and killed the wretched Malekith. When Odin-King turned to gaze upon the man that should have been in the dungeons, the mage merely bowed his head and offered his wrists to be bound.
Dutiful, Honorable, Liberator and Avenger. But Odinson no longer, Prince no longer, hailing from the land of ice and monstrous giants. The people do not know what to make of him now.
Loki prefers it that way. In their ignorance, he will give them the answers that please him.
Staying had been a gamble, the possibility of being granted freedom more appealing than a life as a fugitive. And closer in reach than it has been in a long time.
So here lays Loki Laufeyson, fighting boredom in his cell by contemplating his next move. Perhaps he shall make himself ill, enough so that the All-Father would have to send a healer. Or perhaps even carry him to Eir's side. Would sympathy garnered and an opening to the outside world be worth deliberately putting himself in a position of weakness?
The idea has merit.
Footsteps echo in the corridor, the sound coming closer and closer to his cell. A visitor, then. How very surprising. Has the All-Father been missing the pleasure of his company?
He looks out towards the end of the hallway, and his eyes widen.
Sigyn.
His once-sister.
He had heard of her pardon, a favor from a guard he had saved during the invasion. It is a rare thing for Odin to revoke his sentence.
Why would she risk such a chance by coming to see him?
Unless of course…
He watches her in silence, watches as she stops in front of that golden barrier and studies him. He studies her in return.
She had been almost fully grown when she had been banished by their then father, but he can still recognize some visible changes in her. Her skin is a shade darker than before, and more freckled than he remembers. She is slightly taller than before, although she is still small enough that the top of her head would barely brush his lips. Her light brown hair is a shade redder than he remembers, tied in the elaborate fashion of the Vanir. The dress she wears is of the same style, the neckline more plunging than what can be found in Aesir garb. It is her face that bears the most difference though. Blue eyes much darker than before, and not because of the hue of her iris. Her entire demeanor is more controlled than it had been, a mask he recognizes well for it has been his for a long time now.
Is that all that has changed, he cannot help but wonder. Has time erased any sentiment she might have held towards him, or does the cause of her banishment still hold true? It has been centuries, more than enough for her to move on to new interests. Yet her affection had been strong indeed….
"Loki" she breathes like a prayer, and he has his answer.
He raises an eyebrow, and smirks. "After all this time, dearest Sigyn? I am unsure whether I should be flattered or concerned."
She smiles in return. "Concern for me of for you?"
"For myself, of course," he says amiably. "I do know where obsession might lead. Shall I expect a knife in the back should you not get what you desire?"
"Time hasn't curbed your tongue any I see. You still have a remarkable talent for finding the worst in every situation." Her tone is pleasant, but he can hear the faint trace of hurt she cannot quite hide. "Do you think I would harm you, Loki?"
"As I said, it has been centuries. We have both changed, and may as well be strangers to each other."
"Clearly," she answers in a clipped tone. "Do all strangers rank so low in your eyes?"
Against all expectations, he feels a stab of guilt, for causing pain to a woman he has not seen in centuries. But then again, she had been dear to him. So beloved.
To sooth her, he offers: "A lesser woman would have withered away during her banishment. A lesser woman would not have visited me upon her return."
"No woman is lesser when it comes to her love." Her gaze is strong, her head held high as if she were daring him to contradict her.
"Love… Is that what this is then? After all these centuries, I wonder how you can still feel anything of the sort towards me." He turns around, walking towards the back of his cell. There he picks up a book, fingers trailing delicately over its spine. "Love, I have discovered these past years, does not hold against strong blows."
Except his mother's, which shone in her eyes even as she visited her fuming son, even as he denied her…
He pushes that thought away. Not here, not with a witness.
No more weakness.
"Mine has endured stronger blows than time," she says, shaking her head. "The worst of all was knowing that you did not love me as I did you. You still do not"
He turns. "I cared for you, deeply and well." He closes his eyes. "But, no, not in the way you would have wished. I was an Odinson then. I could not conceive having any sort of romantic interests in…"
"I know," she cuts him off gently. "I know, and I never blamed you for it. I understood, and was content in knowing you cared for me in some measure, even if I wished for more." She bites her lip then. He remembers that habit of hers, an involuntary gesture whenever her nerves get the better of her. He teased her mercilessly about it, once. She would tease right back, referring to his tendency repeatedly smooth his hair whenever he feels frazzled.
She never made any mention about his preferred studies, nor about his fighting style.
His thoughts are interrupted when she resumes speaking. "What of now?"
"Now?" he furrows his eyebrows in confusion.
"I am an Odindottir no longer. I am once again in Asgard. There are new opportunities. Would you…consider such a bond between us?"
No, he wishes to snap. To fall back on cruelty, because it is all he has had for a long time now. Be gone now, you love-struck fool. I have neither need nor want for you. I do not care about the pathetic yearnings of a naïve girl who only has her quim to offer!
He wishes it, but he looks at the softness of her expression, the tenderness in her eyes, and he sees Frigga.
("And am I not your Mother?" "You're not.")
He swallows, forces himself to bear her gaze.
He cannot harm his Mother again, so he whispers: "I would not… reject the idea."
She smiles then, bright and beautiful, and the joy she radiates is so pure and honest that he cannot help but feel warmed by it. He can feel his gaze softening, and the mood of their encounter has just changed drastically.
He thinks of a trickster boy and a lovely girl hidden underneath a linden tree
"Let me woo you then, my dearest one." Her first burst of sentiment has been tempered, for she has most likely learned to be more careful in such dealings. Still, humor shines in her eyes as she says this.
Almost against his will, the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. "Woo me? Conventions would dictate otherwise."
"Are you truly going to pretend to be concerned with those?" She smirks. "Then let me assure you, my courtship will be as traditional as any other. Baring the obvious detail."
"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "Then what may I expect courting gift?"
She leans closer then, placing a hand against the golden force field. "The Realm. I shall give you the Realm, if you would share it with me."
He tilts his head slightly. "I do not share," he warns.
"Well," she replies pleasantly, "I suppose you had better learn."
What life for the hero, before he began his journey? Who was the princess, before she had been locked in her tower?
There are no answers to these questions, nor will there ever be. They have no place in the story, you see, and so they are irrelevant.
The past ceases to exist once the tale begins.
Loki kneels before the All-Father's throne, hands trapped behind his back as chains prevent him from using his seiðr.
It is an unpleasant sight, Sigyn thinks, but necessary. Every story needs a beginning, and this one is striking if nothing else.
She looks at the crowd within the thrones room, nobles, guards, politician and gawkers, all gathered to see the spectacle that is the once Prince. It is all so very crass, and all very reminiscent of the past, but she crushes her anger with cold determination. Let them see him low, let them see him humbled: it will only make their rise more spectacular.
Their rise, for this is as much for her as it is for him. She knows better than to be selfless now, especially where her love is concerned. In her plans, they both succeed together, but she will not sacrifice herself for his sake.
The King stands, slamming Gungnir on the floor. Immediately, all eyes are on him.
"Loki, of Asgard," he starts, taking care in neither claiming him as his own nor denouncing him as his enemy's. "For your actions on Midgard, you have been condemned to spend the rest of your natural days in isolation within the dungeons, as declared by me and as approved by the Council of Nine."
The once prince keeps his eyes on the ground, in a show of deference and humility. His fists clench behind his back, although none gathered notice with their attention still on the All-Father.
"However," Odin continues, "your actions during the Dark Elves' attack and subsequent battle have earned you some new consideration. During those troubled times," Sigyn snorts: what a quaint word for invasion and war, "you have proven yourself to be a defender of Asgard and of her people. It is now time for you to prove yourself her servant."
A flash of seiðr erupts from his spear, hitting the chains and manacles that bind Loki. Immediately, they vanish. Loki takes this cue to rise and look at his once Father.
"From this day forward, and until I decree otherwise, you are a citizen of Asgard, to put your life and talents at her disposal. Although your crimes cannot be erased, reparations can be made: our defenses have been shattered by our enemies, and although the Realm is not vulnerable, it is nonetheless exposed."
"I task you, Loki, to work for the defense of your home. Wards you shall build, that may not be broken by any enchantment or weapon. Prosperity you shall cater, by putting your mind to the service of those who rule this Realm. Peace among the realms you shall promote, by forging bonds with the Nine for Asgard."
"Do this, and your titles and rank shall be returned to you."
Loki bows low. "Let it be as you command, My King." His voice is calm and steady as he speaks.
As the crowd murmurs around him, he risks as glance towards Sigyn. Her eyes meet his, and she nods solemnly.
This is their beginning.
There is a feast, as there usually is. Some things never change, Sigyn muses.
She sits somewhere within the second table down from the All-Father's seat; it is hardly a prestigious placement, but it is to be expected. It has the distinct advantage of being well within the eyesight of most guests, allowing her to remind them all of her presence. From that, the whispers commence, speculations about the meaning behind her return. Those who have long been part of this court note the odd timing between her arrival in Asgard and the once-prince's conditional release.
The woman next to her is one of them. A gossiper as well, Sigyn is almost certain. Although the two of them are by all appearances holding a conversation about a novel they have both read, her interlocutor keeps making attempts at shifting the conversation towards more current events.
"Truly, my dear, you are much more cynical than I in your approach!" Mábil Lydikdottir giggles. "The romance between the two characters is uncommon, I grant you, but even in real life, what love can achieve is hardly to be believed." At that, she glances towards Loki, and Sigyn must resist the urge to sigh. A fool for romance, this one. What happened, and what is between her and Loki can hardly be considered such.
"Perhaps you are correct," she says instead. "I would probably do better towards myself if I were to simply let myself enjoy a tale told. Alas, it is not the Vanir way of reading."
"It is fortunate you have returned to Asgard then. Books may soon regain a new appeal entirely."
"With the palace's library at my disposal, I do not doubt it for a second. There a books there that cannot be found with Vanaheim's large collection. Consulting its shelves is one of the first acts I wish to do now that I am here." With that, she takes a sip of her wine, certain that Mábil will take the bait.
She is not disappointed. "Truly? And what of your other plans? It has been centuries, after all."
Sigyn looks away. "When I first set foot in this realm after so long, I felt the need to go through the city that had once been my home." Once is the important word, she is of Vanaheim now. "I was… well I suppose you could say I was shocked by what I found. Most of the rubbles have been cleared, true, but the desolation…" She swallows. "I have found more orphans than I thought possible among a race so resilient. I suppose most thought the same, for the orphanage I visited could barely hold all of its charges. It was a painful sight."
It isn't a lie. She despised the court, who have never truly accepted her until it had been convenient for their entertainment. She hates the All-Father, who without a moment's hesitation destroyed the life that she had built. But towards the people of Asgard she holds no grudge, for they have had no part in her torment. It would talk a darkness of heart she does not possess to be unmoved by the sight of suffering children.
Moreover, she plans to be Queen of these people some day; she must do right by them.
"Building a new building would be simple enough, but I am afraid it won't suffice. Those children are simply much too isolated from the rest of the realm. They grow up within the orphanage, live among themselves and when the time comes for them to leave, they have nothing."
"A great sadness indeed," Mábil murmurs, "to be cut away from your line."
And that is a simple fact of Asgard, Sigyn thinks, that an orphan has no true place. The sole hope for a child would be that he possess some uncle or relative willing to keep him, or is rich enough that his place can be maintained through gold. But for one who has no true family left, there is no hope of escaping until adulthood. Aesir simply do not welcome a stranger's child within their line. Blood will always prevail over bonds.
Sigyn learned this first hand.
(The only exception would be Loki. Although his true birth is now known to all, a thousand years being called Odinson and wearing Ás skin are hard to erase from the people's memories. A handful of years as an outcast will be much simpler to forget.)
"I believe there is a way out from this," Sigyn says determinedly. "If only orphanages had more ties with the rest of the villages, if workers were more prone to look for apprentices among the parentless, their future could be much more secure."
"And you plan on finding that way? Ambitious," Mábil comments. "How do you hope to manage such a feat?"
Sigyn blushes, and it is half-honest. The sheepishness, however, is feigned. "I'll will work something out."
Mábil giggles. "I certainly hope you will! It is a most worthy endeavor!"
"Perhaps you would seek to assist me, then? I could certainly use any help I might find."
"Perhaps," the Lady says pensively. She twirls a strand of red hair around her fingers. "I cannot think of any way I might at the moment – I have never had a mind for such things. However," she says with a smile, "do come to me should you think of anything! I would be delighted to be of use!"
"Thank you, my Lady," Sigyn says with a true smile. The girl is kind, if nothing else. She can appreciate that.
"Please, friend, Mábil will do just fine!" At that moment, musicians settle in front of them, and the sound of tambourines and strings grow loud around them.
"Oh, wonderful," the woman grumbles, "let us stop our conversation now, for there shall be no way to speak over such noise."
The brunette chuckles as she looks at the players. "It is true I am unused to such sounds. Vanir music tends to remain in the background."
"Truly? Are the instruments any different?"
And thus their conversation continues on a more light-hearted subject. Sigyn smiles with satisfaction: by this time tomorrow, half the court will be aware of her intentions. It will be such good source of notoriety.
The halls of the palace haven't changed since he last walked them, yet Loki cannot help but see some newfound beauty in them. Although they do not belong to him as they once did, they are much more welcoming than they have been in a long time. It makes him fall back into old habits, namely wandering though the building as he thinks.
Some tasks the All-Father has given him, each of them colossal in their own rights. Vague, as well, conveniently so. When will he have assured enough prosperity? How much peace does he need to promote? By the stipulations he had accepted, there could be no limit to what he is required to do.
Perhaps that is the point, he thinks bitterly. Odin need never recognize a duty accomplished, thus keeping him on a tight leash for the rest of his life. He would spend his life neither prince nor free, constantly fearing that the King might strike him down once more.
He could flee, right here and now. Leave this place behind, go far beyond the Nine to a place no Aesir would think to follow. It would be a relief: what has he keeping him here? Who would welcome him? Odin has made his feelings clear. Thor, the fool, has returned to Midgard after refusing to take the throne. Loki wouldn't have to suffer his misguided attempts at stopping him. Although his…brother may claim to have "hope for him once more" (and oh, all it took was killing the right enemy, howvery typical), the simple truth is that Thor cannot accept that the person he once knew is gone. Lies and horrors and grief have reshaped Loki completely, and he knows now he will never be anything approaching a good man. Thor, for all that he claims to love him, cannot see that, much less accept it.
There was only one person who could welcome him truly, and love him unwaveringly. (He hadn't believed it then, but he does now, and she is gone, gone and he'll never be able to tell her.) But she is dead, he has avenged her. There is nothing else. There is no one else –
He pauses mid-step, leaning against the wall. That isn't quite true, is it? Sigyn is here, and for reasons he cannot imagine, she seems to want him to stay. She even has initiated an alliance with him, of sorts.
Unless she is lying, and that is always a possibility. After all, she didn't seek him out once during the feast, even though it had lasted well over five hours and most guests had left their table to mingle shortly after three had passed. But she never came to see him, even as he stayed put, making idle conversation with some Lord he doesn't remember the name of.
He groans when he catches his own thoughts. He sounds like a desperate child, begging for attention. Unacceptable.
He does not need her, truly. He would have been freed whether she had come or not, and perhaps Odin brought her back only to give him a reason to stay. It wouldn't surprise him. Whatever the case, he has better things to do than obsess over her during long evenings. Out of the two of them, he is not the love struck fool.
Love…
He had accepted her ridiculous offer for a suit, amused by her daring and flattered at the sentiment. And maybe she had been in particular high spirits when she had approached him. That would explain her unbelievable claims, for he cannot accept such foolish an idea. How can she claim to love a man she has not seen in centuries? He is willing to believe her feelings were genuine, once. She would not have acted as she had otherwise. But now? Time wears affection down, so do deeds and rumors. His actions in Asgard and Midgard are sure to have reached her ears.
He closes his eyes, swallows. How can it be true? How could her love possibly endure all of that?
How, when Odin's hadn't?
He gets up and storms down the halls, furious at himself. He will not dwell on the past, nor on lacking that which he does not desire. (For he does not. At all.)
And he has never had any desire for her. She had left, and he had forgotten her. He had moved on, until the whispers had died down and the once Odindottir was but an old subject for the most avid gossipers. He had been fine, and just because she returns lovely as ever ready to offer –
To offer.
He sighs, slowing his pace. That is the heart of the matter, is it not? Sigyn came and gave. All Loki has to do is accept, and then mark the gift as his own so that none may take it away.
He is a creature of greed, a well of unfulfilled desires and a man of boundless selfishness.
If Sigyn were to truly give him such devotion, if it truly is no lie, then yes, he knows he would not only accept it, but guard it viciously, never to share.
(Perhaps nothing has truly changed since that day under the tree).
But, he reminds himself viciously, he has no obligation to return the sentiment, nor does not have the time to.
With a snarl, he heads towards the library.
He has duties to attend to.
Iwaldi was one of Odin's closest friends. A wanderer from his early days, a true warrior during his kingship, he was held in high regards by the All-Father. He had come from Vanaheim at the king's request, with nothing but a satchel of money, his wife and his then young daughter. The All-Father had been amused, and had offered him a mansion right near the palace.
Iwaldi wandered in the early years of his stay, exploring the earldoms of Asgard and reporting what he found. His travels were long, his rests were short, and Sigyn grew up in her mother's care, her father but a man who visited often.
His knowledge of the realm became so great, the King called him to serve in his Council, as efnimaerr.His duties were many, his leisure times were few, and more often than not he was called to some province to reason with a Lord. Sigyn grew still, in a wing within the palace this time.
And one day he died, his wife and he attacked by some outlaws no one ever identified. All there was left was Sigyn, with no family in Asgard. What happens to the orphaned daughter of a Council member? Is she sent away from the palace, to live in the orphanages that are below her rank? Would some other family take her in, old as she is?
The speculations only grew after the funeral, until the All-Father stepped forward. In memory of his friend, and his service to his realm, Odin would take the daughter as his ward.
And thus, at six hundred years of age, Sigyn gained the tittle of Odindottir.
Of course, their first meeting after his release would happen just after he has decided not to concern himself with her.
Sigyn sits in the back of the room, her back turned to the large window that gives this section most of its light. Her hair is tied back in a bun, rather severe by Aesir and Vanir standards. A functional hairdo, he gathers: judging from the thickness of the tome she has opened, she has been reading for quite some time.
For the longest time he deliberately ignores her, looking through the shelves for the books he needs. However, his plan turn to dust when he cannot find the most important one, a compilation of all the nobles and their functions at court. It has been to long since he has been cut from Asgard's society, his knowledge is no longer accurate he is certain. He needs that tome.
It takes him a second to realize it is the one set in front of Sigyn.
Of course it is.
He glares at her half-heartedly, only to have her lift her eyes to meet his, and smirk. Without breaking eye-contact, she deliberately turns a page before looking back down, the picture of studiousness.
He is grudgingly impressed.
It is for that reason alone that he walks up to her, or so he tells himself. He settles himself in the chair across from her. She doesn't look up as she murmurs: "May I help you?" Her tone is demurely polite, but the glint in her eyes betrays her mirth.
"I believe you may," he replies smoothly, "although it is well mannered of you to ask for permission."
She snorts, shaking her head. "I shall give this to you when I am done, not a moment sooner."
"That seems fair, if remarkably unsharring. When can I expect that to be?"
"I know not," she says cheerily. "What a treat it will be to find out!"
In other circumstances, he would have glowered at her mockery. However, it has been much too long since he has had any decent conversationalist to exchange with, and Sigyn appears to be far more than decent. So he merely smirks as he says: "Only half as much as obtaining the book myself."
"Come now, Loki," she chides, "I thought you more patient than this."
"I can wait, when it is needed, but I also have a healthy distaste for inefficiency." He tilts his head towards the tome. "I would wager you intend to go through every page in order to find relevant information. A tedious process, wouldn't you say?"
"I might," she answers casually. "However, I am too unfamiliar with Asgard's inner working to discriminate my readings."
He leans back in his chair. "I imagine you could ask for help from any patron of this place. The ignorant seldom come here."
She stills for a moment, before slowly raising her eyes. "I will not ask for help from any ofthem." She says nothing more, but the ice within her eyes is more than enough.
He studies, she remains silent, and they remain that way for a long time.
He understands why she will not accept any assistance. He himself would rather burn a thousand times than accept help from those who humiliated or wronged him.
They are the same in that regard, although perhaps Sigyn is more pragmatic in her hate. She has made no attempt on Odin's life, after all.
"Would you accept my assistance, My Lady?"
He is uncertain of why he offers, and is almost certain she will reject his offer. (By all rights she should, for his hand in her humiliation had been so much bigger than the mere murmurs of the court.)
(Some nights he allows himself to feel guilty about that)
She contemplates him, one eyebrow raised. "Would you offer it?"
He walks to settle next to her, reaches for the pages and turns them when she offers no objection. "Your main concern, as you most likely know, will be to distinguish true power from the posts given to keep some half-ambitious nuisance placated. As a general rule, you need not concern yourself with a member of the House of a Hundred."
"I remember that much," Sigyn murmurs. "I wonder if any of them realize they are expected to debate, and nothing more."
"Strictly speaking, their role is to give a detailed account of any situation and their recommendation on how to deal with it to the Council. That is enough to give them the pretense of usefulness. I suppose that you could deign to remember Porsi Róison, seeing as he presides that House."
"He's still alive then? He was old even when we were young."
"He still has a few centuries left in him," Loki shrugs. "He not a brilliant man, but he does not get in the way, at least."
"Noted. I took an interest in the members of the Council, of course, seeing as I will need their approval for whatever endeavor I make." Sigyn leans back and stretches her arms. "I have met a few of them already, they seem like a competent folk. Is there anyone else I should be aware of?"
He hums in thought. "The trade guilds have grown stronger in the last couple centuries, and show no sign of weakening. You would do well to forge some ties with them. As would I for that matter." He lets her turn the pages towards the desired information, and curses. "Damn, most of their leaders have changed. I know none of them."
"I do, actually." She points at the name that's third from the top. "Eiya Gunnrjardottir. I have met her a few times during her visits to Vanaheim. A strong character, although not always the gentlest when it comes to dealing with others."
"How odd, coming from a merchant. I would have thought she would be more diplomatic."
"She gets impatient at times," Sigyn comments. "But she is still skilled at her trade. It is why her guild is still the third richest in Asgard, I imagine."
He contemplates that information for a long moment, before raising his eyes to meet Sigyn's. "Is she ambitious?"
She smirks knowingly, an eager spark in her eye. "Extremely."
He can feel his own sharp grin forming on his face. "Her guild could easily become the strongest in Asgard, were she to be supported by power from the palace."
"And if she were to use her own influence to build that power, it would be a fair trade, wouldn't you say?" Sigyn replies. "A good merchant knows when to make an investment. She would be very useful to me."
"To me as well." He frown in mock concern. "I hope we are not going to fight over her. That would be a disappointing conclusion."
She flashes her teeth at him. "Here I thought we couldshare. Have you learned how to do that yet, or shall I give you more time?"
He snorts despite himself. She always enjoyed bringing up his previous statements back against him whenever she could. It made for a nice challenge, to make sure never to give her any ammunition.
He rather missed this.
He shrugs. "Well, if we are going to be allies, I suppose some concessions can be made."
"Oh, allies are we?" she teases. "What a wonderful step up from "strangers"! And so soon! Can I hope to be promoted to friendly acquaintance within the next month?"
"Play the game well and I shall consider it."
"I am beside myself with impatience."
He smiles and leans back towards the tome towards the next page of interest. The two of them work well together, and finish within a couple hours they finish what would have taken much longer had they been on their own. So they talk, about the court, the selection in the library, the merit of Vanir food as opposed to Aesir.
It is only when the servants come to light candles that Loki realizes how late it has become. It felt like no time at all.
A collection of truths that won't make it into the tale:
It takes several months for Sigyn and Loki to get their footing. That time is spent meeting the right people, learning the rhythm of the court, attending feasts and ceremonies. It is overall a dull affair.
The All-Father is seen mulling on top of Hlidskjalf, or quietly talking to Heimdall. He sends Huginn and Muninn to another realm, and listens closely to their reports. In all three cases, he meets the news given not with alarm, but with simple disappointment.
In the ruins of Jotunheim, the Jotnar slowly starve to death.