AN: Glad you're reading my story! This is actually my first fanfic, I know it's pretty nerdy it's about Norse mythology. . To me, Loki is the most fascinating figure in Norse mythology, and I've always wondered about the time he spent with his actual wife. (Which clearly was not so much time.) Though this is set just before Ragnarok, it is not very consistent with the timeline of the myths, because Loki should have been bound just before Ragnarok. I hope this doesn't upset anyone too much. Now, if you're still reading this (Good for you) you can read the story. Remember to rate and review! Please, be negative if you want to.
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The windows and door of the small hut rattled. A storm like no other raged outside. The woman huddled in a bearskin blanket shivered, and wondered if this same storm was enveloping all nine realms. She did not doubt it, too. She knew of the powers at work behind this storm; she knew of the Great Battle that was going on while she, alone and unneeded, sat hidden away in a hut in the woods.
With a crack of thunder and a stroke of lightning at the same time, the wooden door flew open. The woman rose cautiously to close it, but she gasped as she saw the tall figure in the threshold. He stood hunched over with one hand keeping balance on the doorpost, the other cradling his bowed and bone-white forehead.
She recognized him almost immediately, though it would have been nearly impossible for anyone else to do so. He was soaked through with blood, rain, and dirt. His entire body was convulsing with pain and cold. The only color in his face was the red blood dripping from his wounds. Throwing off her bearskin, she rushed towards him and dragged him by the arm out of the doorway.
"Sigyn…" he moaned, wearily collapsing into her embrace.
'Loki," she sighed, "My dear husband."
With effort, she pulled him over to the hearth and had to hold both arms around him to keep him sitting up, so the embers could even try to warm his near-frozen body. He began to cough. Sigyn clumsily reached for the kettle of water she had failed to boil hours before. She poured the water down his throat, and he gulped it down greedily. She hesitated when she saw the scars across his mouth. She'd missed those scars. They were not new wounds, like all the others on his face. They were a price he'd paid long ago, and left his face to look permanently twisted.
When he drained the kettle, Loki took it from her hands threw it on the floor. He glared at it and narrowed his eyes. He appeared to be lost in thought.
"I don't deserve this." He finally said.
"Don't deserve what?" Sigyn asked quizzically. She leaned over to pick up the kettle.
"All this," he made a vague circular motion with his weary arm, "Water. Shelter. You."
"Me? Whatever do you mean?"
"It's heroes like Odin, or Heimdall, or Thor or anyone else, who deserve a devoted wife like you. And even though I say that, I curse their names. I do, and sometimes all I want is to see them dead, or suffering – or worse. But I am not blind, Sigyn. I cannot deny their valor and glory in battle, or judgment, or any of those things the Aesir value so much. And what am I? The Trickster, the Prince of Lies! Worthy names for a coward like me, I know. I don't mind if those names are all I am to the Aesir, or to everyone in all nine realms. I value those names. But to you I am still your 'dear husband.' I pity you, Sigyn."
"You pity me?" She laughed bitterly. "I am everything I could be as your wife – faithful, patient – surely the envy of countless Aesir and Jottun, and after all these years all I get from you is pity?"
"No, Sigyn! I simply feel bad – No, guilty - that I could not love you as much as I should have all these years. I said I don't deserve you. And you deserve better than me."
"Is that your choice, what I deserve? You know I have wanted to do nothing but make you happy, and if that is my choice, then it is no one's place, not even yours, to tell me if I deserve it or not. If you truly feel guilty, then stay with me, Loki. Forsake this battle, Loki. If we truly do not have much time left in this realm, then spend your last days with me." She tightened her arms around his shaking body and buried her face in his soaked woolen cloak. Hot tears began to fall down her face.
"It's not my choice, no. But as your husband, aren't I supposed to want the best for you? Humor me Sigyn." He nearly smiled, and Sigyn's heart nearly lightened. 'You know I am not very well learned in the art of being a husband."
"Oh Loki, for all your wit, you can be such a fool. Don't you see? To me, it is the Trickster and the Prince of Lies, who is 'my dear husband.' He is the man with whom I fell in love. He is the man I have never betrayed, through all the years he betrayed me. He is the man I deserve. I could never love a better man – no matter how many battles he wins, or Jottun he kills, or dwarves he outsmarts."
She grabbed the hood of his cloak, and threw it back. She stared deep into his astonished face. Her eyes fell on the scars across his mouth. Her fingers twitched to stroke and comfort them, her lips ached to taste them. She pulled her hands up to his neck, and she drew him into a fervent kiss. She felt her body go up in flame as she felt his scars. Loki pulled away gasping for breath. The fire from her body seemed to pass over to his eyes, and they flashed red with desire. When their mouths met again it was he who had control, and he pulled an arm out from Sigyn's tight hold to fully take off his cloak. His hand clutched at her golden hair, desperate to keep her close, possess her. Her lips moved past his mouth, to the fresh wound on his cheeks. Loki winced.
'Am I hurting you?" she whispered, drawing back.
"Yes," He hissed, 'Keep doing it. I have been the one hurting you for far too long."
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Hours later, they lay in each other's arms, breathing heavily into each other's hair.
"Sigyn," He breathed in her ear, "Are you awake?" He lifted his head to get a better look at her. She lay wrapped in her bearskin on the cold floor. One arm was wrapped around his waist, the other around his shoulders. She looked tranquil, which amused him, but hurt him too. He gingerly tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, to get a better view of her pale cheek. She stirred.
"I'm… awake." She opened her eyes. The serenity of sleep slowly began to drain from her face. "Is something the matter?'
He took her hand, and clenched it until her knuckles ached and her fingers tips turned dark red. "promise me something Sigyn,"
"Oh, Loki, anything." She could never say it, but sometimes she hated him for making her so desperate to please him.
He hated himself for it too. It gave him eternal satisfaction to see others fall, make mistakes, hurt themselves. He felt the whole world deserved to have him watch them suffer. Every Aesir, every Vanir, every Jottun was such a rotten creature, corrupt, immoral. He loved to be the one who showed them a taste of their injustice, even he it meant he fell with them. But Sigyn was different. He could never find any fault in her. Perhaps that was the reason why he could never stay with her for very long – he could not hurt her and feel good about it, like he could with anyone else. And he hated himself that it was not until nearly the end of time that he whispered the words she had wanted to hear all her life.
"Promise me you will always be there for me."
"I promise, Loki. Until the very end."