The candle flames danced as if in a breeze, although the room was still. Sigyn paused, letting the hand that held her hairbrush fall to her lap. There needn't have been any warning. He could have slipped in like a spirit without disturbing the air, appearing behind her as solid or insubstantial as he liked. It was an act of respect, alerting her of his presence.
"My Lord."
"My Lady," the voice was dulcet. The slender figure that stepped out of the shadows was dark-haired and pale, a tall woman in a long green gown gathered at the waist with a gold cord. "Shall I brush your hair?"
She smiled in answer and shut her eyes. Loki ran the brush in long strokes from the crown to the ends making her hair crackle with electricity.
"You were missed at dinner," she said. "Both your mother and Thor asked after you."
He/she smiled. "Of my mother's good will, I have no doubt. But it was Thor I was avoiding."
Sigyn sighed, "And what have you done that you should need to avoid him?" She let her head fall back against his breasts, as he continued to brush her hair.
"I may have, in the guise of Sif's serving maid, sworn that Sif is dying of love for him. It is possible that I also told Sif of Thor's deep passion for her."
"You may have?" she smirked.
"I may have." Loki grinned back at her in the mirror.
She sighed again, "Oh, Loki, my love. Why do you do such foolish things?"
"Mmm, because it amuses me. In fact, they should be grateful to me!" He draped her hair over one shoulder and undid the clasps on her necklace.
"Grateful?" Sigyn raised an eyebrow at their reflections.
"They do have feelings for one another and yet the two great dunderheads would rather go to their graves than be the one that admits it first.
It was true. There was no denying that Thor and Sif had been meant for one another since first they had noticed a difference between sexes, since they had all been children.
I.
Alone in the corridor, she hears them before she sees them, the chorus of shouts and whoops, the crack of wooden swords against wooden shields.
Small and frightened, she presses herself as tightly against the wall as she can. But the blonde boy leading the pack thuds into her anyway as he careens down the hall, knocking her to the floor. The children's army stomps past her, toy weapons waving, a mixture of girls and boys. No one seems to notice her, and she doesn't want to be noticed, drawing herself into a tight ball around her doll.
"Are you alright?" asks a boy.
"Yes," she mumbles, afraid to look up.
"Oh, your doll's broken!" exclaims the boy who stopped.
She looks down at the doll in her hands. The face is cracked, nearly caved in. She fights back tears. Asgardian maidens do not cry. They do not cry over broken dolls.
The boy kneels down, and she is forced to look up at him. He has black hair brushed back from a high forehead, pale skin, and the greenest eyes she's ever seen. "May I?" he asks, reaching for the doll. She yields it to him. "My brother's an oaf," he mutters as he runs his fingers along the doll's face. So the blonde leader is his brother. He shuts his eyes and a green haze spreads around her doll from his fingers.
"There," he says, opening his eyes. "I'm sorry it's not very good. My mother could make it so you'd never know it had been broken, but I'm afraid this is the best I can do." He hands the doll back to her, and she sees that the face is whole, but the seam of the crack is still visible like a scar.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"LOKI" a voice booms down the hall, "YOUR ARMIES ARE FALLING."
Loki! A prince of the realm, and the blonde boy must be Thor, the future king. She stumbles to her feet, and bobs an awkward curtsey as her mother taught her.
Loki rolls his eyes, but starts down the hall to follow the other children. Suddenly he turns and asks, "What is your name, little golden eyed girl? So I shall know how to ask after you in future."
"Si-sigyn, your majesty."
His grin is wicked and teasing, "Farewell, Si-sigyn of the golden eyes." He bows with a flourish and disappears around the corner.
"Shall I prepare you for bed?" her husband asked, his voice shimmering between male and female, husky yet melodic.
He lifted the heavy gold collar from her neck and placed it on its stand as they watched one another in the mirror. "Your eyes are still green," she said.
He leaned in to slip her earring free, and breathed, just breathed against her neck making her shiver. "I wanted you to know who I am."
"I always know who you are."
II.
All Asgardians serve at table at some point. She is a lowly daughter of a lowly branch, and she is no exception. She has grown tall with youth, but the tray laden with fruit is heavy and awkward to carry, and she pauses to rest it on a table and readjust her grip.
There is a faint noise. She looks around, but it can only be coming from the door. The outer doors of the castle are locked at this time of the evening, and no one is to be let in by any but a guard. The doors are also a foot thick, so whoever is rapping is doing so with some force. Against her better judgment she peers through the window.
A soldier stands at attention, gold helmet shadowing his face. But for just an instant he looks up and she looks into green eyes.
She hasn't spoken to Prince Loki since he mended her doll. But she has seen him, watched him as he and Thor have sparred in the courtyard. Thor always wins and is always a braggart about it, but sometimes Loki can score points with his magic, throwing false images and letting Thor trip himself up with his own strength.
She is not a warrior. She can defend herself with sword and dagger as any Asgardian woman can, but it is not her skill and so she does not train with Sif and the other warriors, so their paths do not cross. But she listens to the stories that spread around him. His recklessness, his mischief making, his charm.
"My Lady," the Loki/guard says, "Please open the door. I was delayed by rabble in the city, and I am weary." Guards have keys to the doors.
"What of your key?" she calls.
"It was taken from me."
"Then you should sound the alarm."
"I will, as soon as you open the door."
She's curious as to why he was out so she lets him in, but asks as she does, "What takes Prince Loki out of the castle after curfew?"
He stops, stunned. There is a shimmer and he stands in front of her in his own form. His face and clothes are smudged with soot, his tunic torn. There is blood dripping from the fingers of his left hand which he cradles with his right.
"How did you know?"
"Your green eyes. And no guard would be so foolish."
He grins. "I have been visiting other realms."
She scoffs. "Heimdallr would let no one leave Asgard without permission, not even a prince."
He leans close, "There are paths between realms that even Heimdallr doesn't know about. I have walked the ice of Jotunheimr and spoken with the Vanir. I have even," he grins, "been to Midgard."
She pulls herself up to her full height, which is still considerably shorter than his, "I don't believe you. It is part of the tales you tell with your silver tongue."
"And what would a maiden know of silver tongues, my lady?"
She doesn't deign to answer. He doesn't remember me, she thinks, and then pushes the thought aside. Why should he remember her? A child he met once.
After a heartbeat he turns away. "Are they at dinner?"
"Yes, I am serving, and you have delayed me long enough." She tries to be haughty, but suspects she is failing.
As if in confirmation, he laughs and takes an apple from her platter. "No time to change then." He shrugs, and in a shimmer of gold, the Crown Prince Loki appears. His hair is combed, his face clean. He wears a green brocade tunic, with a gold collar and wristlets.
"How do I look?"
Exquisite, majestic, beautiful, she thinks. "You'll do," is what she says.
He twirls to see his reflection in the polished gold walls. "Enough to fool my father and Thor and anyone else looking. My mother will see through it. She can always see through my spells. No matter. She will be too worried about me to punish me.
"Thank you for opening the door. I am in your debt, and I always repay my debts."
He starts down the hall and she is left to heft her tray again, berating herself for her foolish hope that he would have thought of her as often as she thought of him.
But at the turning he calls back, "Do not forget to claim your reward of me, Lady Sigyn of the golden eyes."