NAKED

Summary: Sigyn was his friend from beginning. She was his first kiss to a girl other than his mother. But she was a Jötunn—a threat to his realm. He could not allow that threat to go unnoticed, but Loki did not expect the outcome of revealing the truth about her to change him from an honest and beloved prince to an aloof and devilish trickster with little empathy for anyone but himself.

Rating: NC-17/M

Warning: Foul language, violence, sex, and character deaths.

Disclaimer: Marvel characters from the Thor!Universe are property of Marvel. All other characters are adaptations of Norse mythology and the property of Veguard and Scrimpy (byebye-babeh).

Authors: Veguard and Scrimpy (byebye-babeh)

Before Reading Notes (BRN): This story is currently a two-shot story unless we receive enough feedback (in the form of reviews, favorites, and/or alerts) to continue this story.

Prologue:

I loved her. I still love her, though I curse her in my sleep, so nearly one are love and hate, the two most powerful and devasting emotions that control man, nations, life. - Edgar Rice Burroghs

Young Loki stood stoic on Bifröst with his father's great and mighty hand resting coolly and calmly on his scrawny shoulder. His unruly, ebon' hair had been slicked back by his mother, but no one could tell for Loki had run his hands so many times through his hair that it was a complete wreck. It was very fitting for inside he was a complete wreck. His eyes kept glancing down at his green and gold embedded shirt to make sure he wasn't bleeding. It sure as hell felt like he was bleeding out. Odin passed his paler-than-usual son a concerned glance before sighing. The All-father tugged the adolescent closer to him, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "You have done well, my son," he muttered just loud enough for Loki to hear only. "They are a threat to us." Loki absently nodded, but the words did not ease that burning, aching, sickening pounding behind his soft ribs. He was turning more and more green with each stab from the broken shard that once made up his heart.

Loki was so ashamed to be feeling such emotions. If his father knew how much he wanted to break down and cry out all the pain, Odin might not be standing beside him at the moment. His chin hit the top of his collar bone as he struggled to not let a soft cry escape his clammy and snotty throat. He turns his hands into fists till his finger nails were biting into the soft flesh on his palm. But he enjoyed the pain; needed it to distract him from the other pain that threatened to make him look weak like a maiden. No, he had to be strong! Be like his father! Show no emotion. Be calm. Be collected. Act like a true prince who loved his realm more than anything or anyone else residing within his realm.

But that was easier said than done. For all his life he had been like Thor, unafraid to show his emotion and voice his opinion, and now he was forced to restrain his feelings and thoughts. He had to think about each word before speaking so as not to worsen the situation. For the first time, Loki found himself forsaking the truth for the words that others wanted to hear. He was not ashamed of lying like he ought to have been because the lies made him look stronger and better. Most importantly, the lies protected him. They kept him from more hurt and kept others from feeling the hurt caused by shame that Loki felt sympathy and pity for their greatest enemy—he closed his eyes with a heavy and hot sigh. Loki had to be like the others and hate those forsaken Frost Giants. He needed to learn to lust for their blood and death until each and everyone of them was eradicated from the sacred World Tree.

The striking and clattering of hooves on the glassy surface of Bifröst sent his heart racing frantically. His heart suddenly felt like a pin cushion for all the needles. Loki could feel each one sliding and slicing its way to the very center of his core. Baldur rode the gray Gísl, holding the leather reins in one hand and gripping the golden hilt of his mighty sword in another. The dim light from the night above and the bridge below illuminated the God's square and youthful features. Baldur was older than Loki but only freshly recognized as a man and noble warrior. He was decorated in the tradition rose gold armor of the Crimson Hawks, Odin's favored guards. The helm was sharp and beak-like, looking menacing and ominous. Beneath the helm, swirls of his sandy brown hair swept out to shift in the wind. The deep maroon cape draped over Baldur and his stallion reminded Loki of a blood bath and just how very close he had come to seeing a blood bath in front of his eyes.

Following behind Baldur at a regretful pace was the brown and black Glær. Atop of him was a hooded figure cloaked in shimmering black that glistened underneath the heavens. Loki could only see the sunken outlines of her face. Her thin lips were curled down into trembling frown. But he knew she could see him, and he felt her piercing gaze driving the knives in his heart deeper until he was hyperventilating; which turned the first whimpers of a sob. Odin took his arm and wrapped it around his son, pulling Loki so that he was in front of him. With a quick glare from Odin, the woman retreated her onslaught from Loki. The All-father breathed out deeply and gaze Loki another squeeze. "Without you my son, they could have destroyed us," Odin spoke admirably. A low hiss came from the cloaked maiden as she passed the father and son to meet Heimdallr. "You have saved this realm."

"They were never a threat, All-father. This thou know," Ullr stated boldly as he came storming up to his king on the chestnut Glad. He was a warrior in his prime, but an dishonorable warrior because he forsook swords and axes for crimson shields and poison arrows. His gold steel and wooden bow was strung across his leather and gold chest piece. Hanging from his saddle was a full pouch of those infamous arrows. Their yellow sheen sent a chill down Loki's spine. Just touching the tip was said to kill an Asgardian. He was so very grateful that his father was behind him; otherwise, he knew that Ullr would have planted one of those arrows into his chest. Though he felt his father's protection in his powerful grip, his father could not erase the venomous image of the fiery red-haired and blue eyed hunter. Loki swore he saw a bit of foam at Ullr's mouth from the pure rage thrashing inside his form.

"And you are a fool for letting your heart cloud your judgment," Odin responded like a true king.

"Aye, then let the fool be me," Ullr boasted. "But let us see who is being laughed at the end of days." With sharp, harsh jab of his heels, the hunter spurred his stallion forward. Loki pressed into his father to avoid the flailing hooves.

Next in the small parade came the black as raven and vicious as boars Svaðilfari. Riding bareback atop the giant steed was another form cloaked in the same black cloth. Hrimthurs' hood hung around his neck like a noose waiting to be tightened. His blue flesh left a bitter chill biting at Loki's skin along his arms. The Jötunn's triangle face and bald head was marked with centuries worth of scars from accidents, battles, and animal fights. There was no question that he was wise but in boding evil manner. He did not give Odin or Loki a moment of his time; his eyes were set on Heimdallr who stood at the edge of Asgard.

Pulling up the back of the parade was the Van Hostage-King Njörðr. He was stout, thickly built man; it was a very typical build among the Van. With his bushy eyebrows and curly, dark copper hair set against tan and taunt skin, Njörðr was a cross between a teddy bear and an angry, burly bull cow. Right now, he looked all angry bull wrapped in brown and black leather, ready to charge and gorge out All-father. But Njörðr would never do that. Not after losing his beloved sister in the brief-conflict between the Van and the Æsir. Since then, he had never lifted a sword again. He had traded weapons for sorcery till he became the very best in all of Asgard. Loki would know; he trained under Njörðr with his father's permission. But that would be no more. Loki would never be able to gather enough courage and ignorance to return to the Hostage-King when he was the reason for the new misery weighing heavily on the seaman's hunch shoulders.

Holding onto Njörðr was the smallest figure. She too was cloaked in a same cloth as the two before her. Her hood was pushed farther back on her head, so as to expose her soft, child face. Loki desperately wanted to look away, but this deep desire and fear kept his eyes fixated on the ten year-old. He couldn't quite believe that the fair skin maiden in pastel dress who tended to flock to the shadows or the back of the crowd could possess blue flesh of their enemy and eyes the color of Æsir blood. Her bald head glimmered, and up till now, Loki had not thought much of it. It was a custom among the Van for their girls to remain bald until they were wed. But it also made sense she would be bald if she belonged to the same damned race as Hrimthurs and Öndurdís.

That little fact tore Loki in two halves; one which wanted to scream and shout at Sigyn for not telling him what she was from the very beginning and question her how she could keep such secrets from him. That same half wanted to see her burn and writhe in pain. Then the other half of him was weeping and crying for her, wanting to beg his father to let her stay. She was his friend, his first kiss, and unknown to him till the moment he felt his heart break, his first love. That bit of him was dying from the sight of Sigyn.

As Njörðr passed them, Odin guided Loki to the observatory. Inside Heimdallr stood with his sword poised between his legs and looking grimly towards his king. Öndurdís was there with Ullr loyally at her side. The magic which had made her appear small and Asgardian had faded. She stood well over eight heads taller than Ullr. In her blue arms was a bundled and shaking Sigyn, gripping onto her mother with all her heart and life. Loki could hear her whimpers and soft prayers, but he did not know what she said because she spoke them in a foreign tongue.

"Please, All-father," Njörðr pleaded as he rushed towards his king. The distraught in his voice hit Loki hard like a wooden sword to his cheek. "I implore you to reconsider decision to exile them. Öndurdís, Hrimthurs, and Sigyn have lived here for years without harm. They are as much Æsir as you or I. Please."

"I cannot," Odin grumbled. "Their presence is a threat to the safety of this realm."

The Hostage-King bit his lip, chewing on it as he clawed his mind for something, anything. "Sigyn is my adoptive daughter," he begged through a whimper. "I have marked her as my own, raised as my own, and I have loved her as my own. You have loved my other two children, Freyja and Frey. Why can you not love her as well?" He tugged at his leather chest piece where his heart throbbed. "Look at her, All-father. She is small for a Jötunn, and she shall die if you exile her to Jötunheimr! Please, let her at least stay."

"Yes, please," Öndurdís whispered. It was rare to hear her strong, brass voice quiver; Loki could not recall ever hearing her voice squirm like that worm drying out in the sunlight. "You know what Jötunheimr has become!" She looked desperately to guard. "Heimdallr shall tell you that if she returns to her home, then she shall die."

"You are her mother. Protect her," the All-father decreed.

"Make an exception!" Njörðr begged; more fury than sadness was stirring in his voice.

He looked down at the short man; his lips staying in a thin, tight line. "As a king, I can make no exceptions for no one," Odin replied neutrally. "They shall return to Jötunheimr as per the truce with King Laufey. If I allowed them to stay, then by the truce, I would be harboring them as prisoners of war. I refuse to unleash war upon these realms." The room fell silent as he sighed and looked to the floor with half-closed, sympathetic eyes. "I know your pain, old friend, but I am bound by my responsibilities as the All-father of these realms." He looked solemnly to Njörðr, watching the pain dance in the Hostage-King's eyes. "Say your goodbyes to them, Njörðr." The Hostage-King hung his head low. He said nothing, just struggling to take in the weight of those words.

"Father," Loki peeped quietly, somewhat hopeful. Odin looked down at his son; his eyes turning softer for the young lad. Heimdallr leaned closer, as did the other two Jötunn. "Is there no way for Sigyn?"

"No," he answered, not wasting any time. "She is cursed." Loki gave a small nod while the last drop of blood dripped out of his withering heart. From his large, doe-like eyes came a few regretful tears. "Send them on their way, Heimdallr," Odin demanded coolly.

He coaxed his son to turn around and leave the rest, but Loki was unyielding. All-father stood to watch as his son stood his ground. Those dark, gray eyes were glued to Sigyn, saying all the things that he could not get his tongue to pronounce. I am sorry. I did not mean for this to happen. Please. Sigyn? Are you even— She turned her head away from his pitiful eyes. In a flash like lightening against the sky and sea, he daringly stepped forward and pulled his lips back into a snarl. "Sigyn!" Loki commanded (and begged) through a rasp and hiss. She reluctantly turned her head back to him, but her face was like that of steel. He, who had always been so good at knowing people, did not know Sigyn at that moment.

"My name is Angrboða," she corrected after a long moment of silence. Her simple words sapped his strength. If his father had not been beside him, Loki would have fallen over from lack of blood to his brain and the jiggly fat that had replaced his knees. Her red eyes, the color of his heart, were bitter and cold like that realm she was from. That was the only thing he knew about; the fact that she was cold to him, lost to him. All that they had shared and built no longer meant nothing. Not Einmyria or Eisa. Not Fenrisúlfr, Jörmungand, or Hel. Not Narfi or Váli.

Odin took Loki and escorted him away. Each step was a relief, and yet, each step was freezing the pieces of his heart where they laid broken and scattered n his chest. While he still ached in his chest and his stomach did kicked around all those other organs in his abdomen, he found a shred of comfort that this was not unusual for the Jötunn. His father and the rest of Asgard were correct that they were spiteful, cold race who did not know the value of betrayal. For fuck's sake, all their race was good at was betraying people and causing misery and war. And yes, his father was right that as long as there were Jötunn, they were a threat to Asgard.

He settled into his leather saddle atop his prized chestnut mare. Beside his mare was the wobbly and odd colt with eight legs. Sleipnir was always sliding across the place. There were too many legs for him to control at his young age. He sneered at the colt since it had been sired by that ghastly Svaðilfari. Loki was not sure what his father saw in the colt. The poor thing should have been put out of its misery. It would have been more humane. As he commanded his mare to turn, he caught sight of Njörðr bent over Sig—Angrboða in final embrace. The light bounced off her tears. His chest throbbed a bit more, watching as her chest heaved up and down with each gasp. It would have been much more humane to kill the Jötunn instead of letting them suffer. And for sure killing them would cleanse Yggdrasil of their sins. Again, he did not understand his father's logic in sparing them.

"My son," Odin ushered.

"Coming, Father," Loki muttered.

He came beside his father. Their horse's trotted in time with each other, and behind them the colt was slipping and sliding underneath his numerous gold hooves. He looked forward for a brief second before he was compelled to steal a quick glance at the observatory. Sigy—Angrboða was being lifted up by Öndurdís. She rested her chin on her mother's shoulder, wrapping her arms around her mother's thick neck. Her large, almond eyes exposed her soul to him. Please. Loki. I can explain. I can expla—he returned the gesture of displaying his back to her silent please. Behind him the rumbling began as the observatory. The air crackled with their departure, causing a ripple in Loki that had him grasping clawing at the green cloth he wore.

Odin sighed as he watched his son writhe on the inside from the misery. "Pay them no heed, my son," he advise thoughtfully. "They are part of the past now."

Loki nodded before letting his heavy head fall forward to the ground. "Of course, Father," he assured with as much emotion and control he could muster from his limp body. He took in a deep breath, and then exhaled, taking with it a bit of Sigyn. He slouched his shoulders as he stared at Asgard's glory in the night. Loki watched how the starlight played off the shimmering, metal wonders. For the love of his realm, he had to let her go to ensure Asgard's glory would never fade or be threatened.

He swallowed the rock in throat as he looked down to his thumb and slid the gold band off. Loki marveled at the fine craftsmanship that had gone into make it. So very subtly there were silver strands weaved into the gold band to create the World Tree. It had been the recent gift Si—Angrboða had given him for his last birthday. But that was the past, and past was meant to be buried. He held out his hand over the edge of Bifröst and let the ring plop into the crashing waves and smooth rocks below him.

Loki began to cleansing of them, the Jötunn, with the cleansing of Angrboða from his life.

AUTHORS' BLOG-THINGY-MAJIG

Scrimpy: A little bit of a surprise for those who follow me! I actually posted something that wasn't TGA! This is a wonderful collaboration done with Veguard (Vee). I was so excited when she through me the plot that I just had to start writing it with her last night! And bam! In 24 hours we have this prologue done! Not too shabby, eh?

Vee: Haha, yes! A collaboration with my favorite author! Damn, I am happy we wrote this! Hopefully you are glad we wrote this as well. We would love to hear what you thought of this story. Should we continue or just leave it a one-shot? What did or did you not like? Any constructive criticisms you have? Whatever you think, just write a review! We would love feedback on this story!