Loki watched the golden-haired maiden fly across the wheat fields, arms outstretched and sunshine in her hair. She looked happy. Certainly she was livelier than he had ever seen her at court. Though, she was perfectly unaware that he was watching her from the boundary of the palace grounds. That probably contributed to such a display of mirth.
The Vanir princess had disappeared from her chambers sometime in the night. The maids had found her bed empty, but none of her possessions missing, leaving the court to whisper that she ran away. The palace grounds had been searched, every inch of the gardens crawled over, every hedge looked under. When it was apparent that she was nowhere to be found, the Allfather reluctantly notified Queen Freyja. Aghast at the Asgardians' incompetence, she had issued a proclamation promising a boon from the goddess of love and war to the person to bring the princess safely to her mother.
Loki cared naught for love or war, but his father's favor surely would shine upon him if he returned her. Lady Sigyn was a valuable hostage—King Odin would be very displeased if she were to slip from between their clutches.
Sigyn crossed over from where the wheat field kissed a meadow, her pale, loose gown fluttering in the breeze. Long white limbs flashed bright against the greenery around her. Loki watched as she paused, distracted by patches of wildflowers, and knelt down to gather a handful of them.
It had been easy enough to find her. Well, easy enough for him, since he knew where to look. It didn't surprise him, really. No one in Asgard knew how to use their eyes; not in any useful ways. Oh, surely they could see, of course, but not what mattered. Take, for instance, Sigyn. Everyone knew she was homesick: the desire for Vanaheim was plain enough to see on her pretty face. Very few, however, noticed the way she stared longingly off into the horizon from balconies and stairway windows. The way she spent her days wandering the farthest reaches of the royal gardens and forest, dreaming of what lay beyond.
Loki had noticed though. He liked to be alone, and there were only so many places to be alone in Odin's palace. Often times, though Sigyn was unaware of it, they were alone together. He would bring a book to one of his favorite spots, and sooner or later, Sigyn would wander through. Sometimes she spent hours just a few feet away from him, sometimes only a few minutes. She'd only noticed him once or twice. Though in fairness, often as not he had made himself invisible.
The subtly cruel jests of the Warriors Three echoed in his head as Loki swung up into his saddle, and his horse pawed anxiously at the ground. Best leave rescuing the princess to your brother! If we need someone to talk a monster to sleep, we'll send for you. The fools were out scouring the marketplace at that very moment, if he had to guess. Le them. It would be Loki who gained the praises of Odin when the day was done, not Thor or his friends.
Digging his heels into the beast's sides, they thundered across the ground, trampling wheat as they went and leaving unpleasant memories in the dust. A cloud of dirt flew behind him; he knew he must look terrifying, the very picture of death himself, with his black leather armor and black destrier, the setting sun at their backs. He liked the wind his face though, and the smell of the earth that fell away beneath his horse's hooves.
"SIGYN!" He shouted when he was half way to her.
The startled maiden shrank away at the sight of him, flying across the field towards her. Dropping the crown of flowers she had been twisting together, she took off, skirts bunched in her fists, towards the forest at the very edge of the meadow. He cursed and urged his mount forward. Why did she have to run from him?
The tree line approached, and Loki plunged into the gloom without hesitation.
Sigyn's heart hammered wildly in her chest as she flew across the meadow, uncaring of the briars and brambles that tore at her shins and knees. She did not want to go back, not to Asgard, and not with him. She knew the second son of Odin by his voice, though it would be hard to mistake him for anyone else, garbed as he was in black, his pallid skin bright against the darkness that surrounded him. He frightened her. She found his quiet demeanor and the way he was always watching unnerving. If anyone could look straight into another person's soul, it was Loki.
Sigyn found herself at the edge of dark forest. Pale, ashy branches twisted up towards the sky in tandem with the drab green moss that dripped towards the earth. It felt cold. Glancing behind her, she saw Loki was gaining distance; he would be upon her in moments. Taking a deep breath, she dove into the tree line.
She hated it in Asgard. She hated the false faces and kindness. She desperately missed her sisters, and even her mother. She knew a bridge to Vanaheim lay somewhere in these woods. Surely her home would call to her; surely she'd be able to find it.
"I am a daughter of Freyja. I will not be dragged back to that wretched place on the back of some man's horse," she chanted to herself.
Soft dead leaves cushioned her feet as she ran, masking the sound of her flight, if only a little. The trees reached out for her, their caresses tearing and clawing at her nightgown and skin with desperate love. She knew, despite her best efforts, it was easy to hear her crashing through the underbrush. Despite her love of nature, she'd never learned to walk with the light steps of a hunter. Still, there was no way he would be able to ride a horse in this choking, thick bramble of leaves, brush, and trees. He would be slowed by what had previously made him fly.
A fallen log lay directly in her path. Unwilling to turn away, she leapt over it. For a moment, as her feet cleared the air, she felt truly free, soaring above everything. But her elation was short lived. As she fell through the air, Sigyn realized she had misjudged what lay beyond the dead trunk. As the earth fell away below her, fear twisted in her belly. A shrill scream tore from her lips as she met the bottom of the slope with a jolting pain and shock of cold water. The stream's edge was a severe wall right above her, far too steep to scramble back up.
The grey twilight of the forest suddenly seemed less comforting; its concealing nature now a danger, rather than a boon.
Grabbing hold of a tangle of roots growing out of the sandy walls around her, Sigyn pulled herself up to stand. Her left ankle twinged for a moment. She paused, before carefully standing on her feet. White hot pain shot up her leg, blinding her. Sigyn fell backwards in the winter's cold water, another scream bubbling from her lips. Shaking, and very much afraid, she slowly made her way back up, clutching to the roots for dear life. The icy stream danced around her feet, and tendrils of ruby-red life blood drifted downstream, away from the gashes on her fair skin.
She took a deep breath. "I will not be afraid. I am a daughter of Freyja."
Her words echoed around her, mixing in the air with the gurgling of the water and gently dance of the leaves above her. She had no idea how she would get herself out of this predicament.
"Sigyn?"
Her head snapped up, towards the gentle call. Loki stood at the edge of the ravine, an unreadable expression on his pale face.
Loki stalked silently through the underbrush of the forest, his horse trailing behind without too much guidance. Whatever had possessed that accursed girl to venture in here was beyond him. Everyone knew bandits, monstrous wolves, and worse lived these woods. He only prayed to the Norns that he would find Sigyn before anything else found her. His father would be very displeased if any serious harm befell their political leverage over Queen Freyja.
A sharp cry from just beyond his sight broke the silence around him.
"Blood and damnation," he spat.
Tying his horse to the nearest tree, Loki took off towards the sound, eyes scanning the nearby foliage for signs of his missing maiden. A large felled tree loomed before him, and Loki swerved to the side. Lucky too, because beyond the log, the earth fell away into a sharp ravine, a gurgling stream at the bottom. Another cry echoed through the woods, this time much closer.
"Sigyn?" He called, almost certain she must have fallen.
A pair of bright blue eyes blazed up at him, amid a cloud of disheveled blond hair and a dirt smeared face. Sigyn stood at the side of the stream, true, though it felt as if he were looking at her from above a grave. Blood trickled from gashes all over her tender skin, bluish skin.
They stared at each other for an eternity of seconds. Until, shaking his head, Loki dropped to his stomach and inched along the edge, so that his upper body peaked over.
"Take my hands," he called down, extending his reach.
Her eyes flashed at him.
"I…I can't reach," she responded, voice trembling, and not moving from her spot.
Annoyance rising, Loki ground his teeth, "you haven't even tried." He paused, trying to find the right words to comfort and convince. "I promise I won't drop you."
He wasn't sure she believed him, and for a moment it seemed as if she wouldn't move. Then, haltingly, she half pulled, half walked her way the few feet to where he stood, her face screwed up in pain. Slowly, she reached up, the tips of her fingers brushing against his gloved hand before they fell away again.
"I'm too short!"
Loki scooted himself forward as much as he dared, "use both of your hands, Sigyn. I can't move any nearer, or else we'll both be stuck."
He didn't relish the thought of tumbling headfirst into what was surely an icy stream. And if they were both stuck there, Norns knew what would become of them. The steep riverbed twisted through the forest as far as the eye could see.
"I can't! I can't!" Fear colored her voice, matching the cold purplish blue color of her lips. "If I let go, I'll fall…I think my ankle is broken."
Loki bit back his frustration. She was afraid and lost in a forest; of course she wouldn't be calm or helpful. Sigyn needed to be coaxed like a frightened kitten.
"You can. Balance on one foot and hop. I promise I'll catch you," he repeated, hoping that though he was famed for lies, none passed his lips at that moment.
She looked up at him, a glimmer of hope peaking out behind the storm of uncertainty that were her irises. Slowly, so as not to lose her balance entirely, she eased her injured foot from out of the water. He watched as she relaxed each individual finger off of the roots before her, until she stood, balancing precariously on one foot. Her eyes closed and her lips moved in a silent chant. Arms outstretched, Sigyn jumped.
Loki's fingers locked around her delicate wrists. Gritting his teeth, he pulled up. He knew it probably hurt—her shoulders must be screaming in agony—to have her body hauled up by her arms, but Sigyn didn't make a sound of protest. Once she was up far enough that she could grip the ledge, Loki let go of one wrist and wrapped an arm around her slight waist. Rolling sideways, he pulled her the last few feet over the ravine's edge.
They collapsed backwards, a sprawling heap of limbs onto the damp grass and rotted leaves. Sigyn lay horizontal over his stomach, breathing heavily. Her fire hot skin warmed him even through all the layers of leather. Bruises began to bloom over her wrists and forearms, and for that Loki felt sorry. He stayed on his back for a moment, staring up at the canopy of trees in the growing twilight. His gloved hand still was resting on the small of her back.
"Are you alright?" He asked, finally breaking the almost silence of the forest.
At the sound of his voice, Sigyn shot up and scrambled away. The subtly distrustful look that was usually fixed on her face at court was back. She hugged her knees to her chest and glared at him from against the trunk of a nearby tree.
So much for gratitude, he thought in annoyance. He couldn't imagine what he'd done to her to make her so distrustful. Honestly, they'd probably only spoken half a dozen words to each other since she arrived in Asgard.
Balancing on the balls of his feet in a crouch, Loki stalked towards her, keeping her gaze level and locked with his. She really does have lovely eyes. He frowned as the errant thought brushed over his mind. Once he was but a foot from her, he remained motionless, hands out before him in surrender.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Sigyn stared at Loki, crouched before her as he was, as if she were a wounded, dangerous animal. Perhaps she was being foolish to distrust him so; her mother always said she was a foolish girl, with too much imagination for her own good. But still, she did not like Asgard, and she did not like Asgardians.
Her ankle throbbed painfully. She looked down, noticing how the flesh was beginning to swell, an ugly green and purple color spreading over her pale skin. Looking back up at him gave her pause. Loki was a skilled magician; perhaps it would be good to trust him, at least for the moment. And it was not as if he had ever done her harm. In fact it was quite the opposite, recently.
"Let me look at your ankle," Loki's elegant voice was soft, and slow, as if she would bolt away if he spoke any louder.
His eyes were the only bright thing about him—they glittered like emeralds wrapped in smoke. His eyes really are lovely. Though their intensity had frightened her previously, she found them comforting. A bright beacon for her soul, lost in the forest.
She nodded, chin jutting forward. "This doesn't mean I'm coming back with you."
He gave her a wry smile before fixing his glove between his teeth and, biting hard, pulled it off. Removing the other one, he closed the distance between them and carefully took her ankle between his large, white hands.
"If you decide to run from me, remember, the places you hasten to are harsh. I hope you more gently run and restrain your escape," He paused and smiled at her. "I myself will pursue more gently. Least we be right beneath this tree again."
Sigyn thought he might have winked at her as his playful chastisement echoed through the air. One hand cradled her ankle allowing the other to ghost over her skin, golden tendrils of light spiraling around her limb. His hands were not warm, but after the icy water she had been in, they felt better than a roaring fire. Slowly, like the low tide receding from the shore, the pain in her ankle disappeared. Loki moved carefully up her leg, caressing each cut and gash with fingertips. Sigyn's breath caught in her throat at the tender feeling of his skin on her skin.
"What are you doing?" She whispered, voice wavering.
Loki trailed his fingers up her calf, to the back of her knee. Wherever he touched it felt like fire—sweet, gentle fire—was burning on her flesh.
"Healing you," he breathed.
Sigyn was sure he could hear her heart hammering away in her chest as he moved his ministrations to her other leg. Gentle caresses kissed each cut until her injuries disappeared, leaving naught but the memory of his touch in its wake. The wet fabric of her nightgown left beads of water on her skin as his fingers inched it higher and higher. Farther and farther up her leg he moved, tending each injury as he went, until his fingertips brushed her inner thigh. Her cheeks coloring red, Sigyn pressed her legs together—she'd never let a man touch her so freely before, and even if it was to heal her, Loki's fingers felt like divine fire on her skin. It frightened her that she liked it. She shouldn't like it.
Hand trapped betwixt creamy flesh, Loki's heated gaze caught hers. For a long moment, neither of them looked away. Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly. Slowly, she relaxed her legs, until he could remove his hand. Not letting her embarrassment get to him, he continued his treatment.
"Let me see your wrists," he commanded, hand held out. "Do you shoulders hurt?"
She offered him her left hand, and shook her head, "Not unbearably so."
Loki nodded, letting his thumb stroke and swirl its way up her forearm, the same golden threads and sweet fire trailing after his touch. One wrist healed, he took the other and repeated, his cool fingers licking their way up her sensitive skin. Once he was finished, he felt her shoulders over, for what she did not know. But it brought him dangerously close to her. She closed her eyes as his fingers danced along her cervical searching for breaks.
Pleased with his examination, he stood and brushed forest debris from his prolix legs. The twilight was growing thicker around them, and if it weren't for his pale skin and bright eyes, she feared she would lose his figure entirely. He offered a hand to her.
Sigyn stared at him for a moment, before placing her palm in his. His long fingers entwined around hers, strong enough to keep her close, but lose enough not to hurt.
"You can run away again in the morning, after we've both had some rest. Let's make camp," he murmured, leading her through the trees. "Can't have you falling off anymore cliffs, can we?"
Loki watched Sigyn as she stood in the middle of the clearing. She looked lost in her own skin; unable to help him make camp, she had resigned herself to watching. They seemed to be engaged in a sort of game. She would cast that forget-me-not blue gaze his way, while his head was turned or his shoulders bent. But the moment he looked up, she would be staring off into the trees, or at the patches of night sky that peaked through the canopy of leaves above them. Then it was his turn to admire the gentle curve of her neck or the dip of her waist. Or even the lovely swell of her lips.
Adding a few more branches to the fire, Loki stood and crossed to his horse.
"Are you hungry?" He asked over his shoulder.
Without waiting for her whispered "yes," Loki rummaged around in his saddle bag. After a moment he produced a pomegranate, its red shell vibrant against the gathering darkness. He hadn't really expected to be gone this long, so it would have to suffice. Unsheathing one of his daggers, Loki stabled the top of the fruit, twisting the blade until he heard the telltale crack. Running the knife around and around until it was cut in twain, he cleaned the weapon on his trousers. The red juice blended into the dark leather, anyway. Loki held out half of the pomegranate to Sigyn in offering, its red juice dripping between his fingers and staining his hands.
Slowly she approached him. Reaching forth her hand, she plucked, and ate, retreating back to her side of the flames. Pale white fingers brought seeds to lips, one at a time, staining both a vibrant, bloody red. Loki watched her from over the fire, eating his own half. The bittersweet seeds burst in his mouth and danced over his tongue. Impatiently, he brought the fruit to his lips and sucked greedily at the sweet flesh. Bitter red juice ran over his lips and chin, but Loki minded not, hungry as he was.
Over the hard red shell of the pomegranate and the crackling flames of the fire, Loki watched Sigyn watching him. Pale eyes wide; her breath hitched in her throat. It seemed their game had paused, or perhaps evolved.
Finished, he threw the rind in the fire, and wiped his chin on the back of his hand. Noting the cool breeze playing with wisps of her golden hair, and recalling the bluish tinge her skin had taken in the stream, Loki stood and unfastened his cloak.
"You must be cold," he murmured stepping around the fire.
Sigyn nodded, and he draped the black material over her delicate shoulders, his fingers stroking the nape of her neck in the briefest of caresses as he did so. She gathered it around her, hugging that small part of him close.
"Thank you," she murmured.
The symphony of midnight whispered to Sigyn as she tried to sleep. As far as lullabies went, it was lacking in soothing qualities, though it certainly was beautiful. Owls and other nocturnal birds cried to each other as smaller, earth bound creatures scurried over the moss and leaf blanket of the earth. The fire fizzled to her left, as the wind danced with the leaves. Giving up on finding a comfortable position, Sigyn sat up and searched for the moon above.
"It's no use running in the darkness," Loki's low voice cut through the eternal night around them.
Sigyn glanced over at him, across the glowing embers of the fire. He was on his side, head propped up on one hand, his handsome face thrown into high relief by shadows.
"I can't sleep, though it be the darkest part of night," she mused, not dignifying his remark with a true answer.
"What does night have to do with sleep?" He asked, laughter lacing his voice.
Sigyn bit her lip to keep from smiling. Truly he liked to tease, to bate her into a darker, richer frame of mind.
"Were you watching me sleep?"
He glanced down at his hand where it rested next to his chest on the dirt ground. With a sigh, he rolled onto his back.
"You weren't sleeping." A long pause, "I'll take you to your mother in morning."
She raised an eyebrow. Sigyn had not expected that. Certainly being dragged back to the Allfather by her hair had been a more expected, though less desirable, outcome.
"Not back to your father?"
"You miss your home," he said, simply.
The pale light of dawn filtered through her eyelids, and Sigyn awoke from a sleep she hadn't felt herself fall into. She sat up, rolling the kinks and cricks out of her neck, shoulders, and back as she did so. Truly, if she never spent another night outside of a bed, she would be happy. The fire had been stamped out, and her breath hung thick in the cool air. Loki stood a few paces off, saddling his horse. It was a fearsome black beast, huge and hulking. Sigyn preferred her mild-mannered mere, though she was far away in Vanaheim.
Standing, she wandered over to them both, unsure if she could make herself useful in anyway. Instead, she continued the amusement she had started last night by watching him, the eternal watcher. His features were familiar, of course. Proximity bread familiarity, or perhaps it was amiability. Either way, the straight line of his nose and curve of his cheek was not a new sight. She focused instead on his movements—graceful, measured, and controlled. From securing the saddlebag to adjusting the horse's harness, his movements were choreographed and well-practiced, like a dancer. She wondered if he ever did anything spontaneous.
Out of the blue, Loki's hands encircled her hips. Sigyn gasped, a jolt of fear (and perhaps, if she was really being honest with herself, excitement) trembled through her bones. Opening her mouth to protest, she closed it again when she found herself seated astride his horse. Her nightgown was rucked up around her knees, and try as she might to pull it down, it wasn't possible in her current position. A moment later, Loki swung up behind her. The saddle pressed their bodies together, so that his leather clad thighs hugged the contours of her bare legs. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pressing her back against his solid chest. His other hand held the reins loosely in front of them both. With a slight nudge of his boot, the horse sprang forward.
The horse picked its way slowly through the choked underbrush of the forest, and eventually Sigyn relaxed into the gentle swaying of the animal's gait, though she didn't enjoy being so far off of the ground, and was thankful that they couldn't move faster in the present terrain. Loki's arms, too, were comforting—with one securely around her waist, Sigyn felt safe, and free from the danger of falling. He wasn't burning hot, by any means, but the proximity of Loki's body to hers gave some warmth in the cool morning air. She was certainly more comfortable that she had been on the ground.
Slowly, her eyelids became heavy, swayed as she was by the rocking of their mount. It became more difficult each time she blinked to keep her eyes open, and soon she stopped struggling. Head resting on his shoulder and the steady intake of breath into his lungs as her lullaby, Sigyn fell asleep.
"Sigyn," Loki's voice hissed through the haze of her slumber.
They had stopped moving. The sun beat down through the canopy of leaves, imbuing their surroundings with a green glow.
She tried to speak, but before she could start her question Loki's gloved hand covered her mouth, smothering her words into the soft leather. His lips were a hair's breadth away from her neck, and when he spoke they tickled the shell of her ear.
"We're being followed. Stay on the horse—he'll protect you."
She wanted to ask why he couldn't protect her, but a moment later Loki slid from the saddle and, silent as death, stalked through the foliage. Just before he disappeared from sight Sigyn thought she saw the bright glint of a blade.
Knuckles white as she gripped the horses reins, she strained her ears to hear anything beyond the wind in the trees. Perhaps a whisper of leather and the shuffle of feet reached her, but it was nearly impossible to say. She was so focused on trying to hear something it took her a moment to realize what she wasn't hearing. There were no animal noises, no bird cries, not even the hum of insects. It was as if the forest had gone completely still. Even Sigyn knew that wasn't a good sign; silence meant there was something more dangerous than animals lurking nearby.
She cursed herself for her own foolishness. She had brought this stupid situation on herself, she knew, by running away from the claustrophobic confines of Odin's palace. Worse, still, she had led them to this forest with her own foolhardy desire to slip through Loki's fingers. A twinge of guilt pricked at her heart. If it wasn't for Loki, she'd probably be stuck in that stream, ankle still broken as her heart.
Suddenly, a dark figure crashed through the underbrush, tearing her from her reflections. He was dressed in a ragtag assortment of armor and leather clothing, and he smelled of urine and unwashed body. Sigyn screamed as he charged towards her, knife drawn. Spooked by the abrupt noise, or perhaps reacting to the advancing man, the beast reared up. Gripping the reins tightly, Sigyn struggled to stay ahorse as silver streaked through the sunlight. A shoed hoof came down hard on the man's head, and he collapsed in a heap. The little fragments of white skull which dotted the ground were quickly covered by red blood and greyish pink brain.
She stared in horror at the body for a moment, before a scream tore through her throat. She had never seen a dead man so close before, and she had especially never seen anyone die. Remembering Loki's insistence on her silence, she covered her own mouth with her hand, though she could not stop her cries, only muffle them.
Another man appeared from out of the greenery around her, his eyes white and frenzied. Before he could take a step forward, a black, fearsome figure materialized behind him. With a snarl and an expert jerk of his hands, Loki snapped the other man's neck, and the body slumped to the ground.
Sigyn's heart was racing and she felt hot and cold all over. As her screams died on her tongue, blood rushed heavily through her ears. The trees began to dance around her. Struggling against it, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and all she saw was black.
Something cold was pressed against her lips. Sigyn sputtered and gasped, as more cold wetness trickled down her throat. She opened her eyes.
Green. Deep emerald green, framed by black lashes. Sigyn blinked. She was half on the ground, half propped against Loki's knee, and one hand cradled the back of her neck. He put the wineskin of water on the ground and brushed an errant strand of hair from her forehead.
"You fainted."
She watched him for a long moment, his words sinking into her consciousness.
"You killed a man," she returned, finally, sitting up a little.
"Technically, I killed several men." He shifted his legs, making her more comfortable, but didn't let go, "how are you feeling?"
Sigyn felt distracted by his proximity, the nearness of him. She was entirely wrapped up in his limbs, the scent of him surrounding her. She breathed in deeply: leather, magic, and pine. Recalling the thread of his words, she rubbed the back of her head.
"I think I'm alright," a long pause, punctured by deep breaths. "Did I hit my head?"
"I caught you."
Sigyn's gaze fell to his lips—thin but soft looking. Heat rose through her. What was the matter with her? A daughter of Freyja didn't act like this. Looking away, looking at anything other than his face, she scrambled for something to say.
"Who were they?"
Her question seemed to break whatever peculiar spell that hung over them. Standing and picking her as he went, Loki frowned.
"Bandits, it seems. Not very good ones, though," he paused to place her on the horse and mount behind her. "There was nothing much of value on them."
She knew it should seem passing strange to her that he could snap a man's neck one minute and so gently tend to her the next. Yet in the murkiest mists of her recollections, Siygn could remember her father acting so towards Freyja.
She relaxed back against his chest as they continued through the forest, his arm resting loosely around her hips.
Friyja's palace had an airy, organic quality to it, as if it had been grown from the surrounding cliffs, a natural extension of the realm. Lush gardens flowed over and around the regal complex, as much a part of the structure as the great hall. Flowers bloomed in every direction and Loki finally felt as if he understood Sigyn's obsession with the gardens in Asgard. The austere golden buildings he had called home were a far cry from this living, breathing, thing.
As they clattered over the drawbridge on his horse, Loki felt a tightness mounting in his chest. He would soon depart, leaving the maiden who shared the saddle with him to her mother. His father would be displeased, angry, even, that Loki had not brought Sigyn to him. But the Allfather could not and would not understand that this was where she needed to be. Loki couldn't explain how he understood that, but he did.
With heavy heart, he dismounted in the courtyard. Turning, he placed his hands around her slight waist. Sigyn braced herself against his shoulders as he helped her down, their bodies seeking the other out for stability. Loki let his eyes linger over the delicate features of face. He expected to see joy; joy for being home and joy for being away from Asgard, and it was there, truly, but there was also something else. An uncertain longing that seemed both foreign and familiar to him.
Walking into the palace, he kept his hand on the small of her back and it was a small victory that she didn't prickle at his touch.
Freyja stood at center of her great throne room, a cluster of officials and dignitaries swarming around her. When Sigyn saw her, the maiden gave a happy cry and raced across the marble floor to her mother's outstretched arms. Loki stood back, and watched silently. After embracing her daughter, Freyja held the girl at arm's length and gripped her chin, twisting her head from side to side.
"Are you well, daughter? No harm has befallen you?"
Sigyn had the good sense to look sheepish.
"Loki kept me safe," she finally murmured, eyes still downcast.
For the first time since she had laid eyes on Sigyn, Freyja looked towards him. He could feel the calculations of her stare—she was reading him the way he read others, deciding what his motives must be, to do such a kindness to her daughter. Loki liked it not. After a long moment the Queen of Vanaheim inclined her head.
"Thank you, Odinson. As promised, you shall have a boon. You may ask anything of me, up to half my kingdom."
For once, Loki felt at a loss of what to say. He had not planned on returning Sigyn to her mother, so he had not thought of what he would ask in return. He knew there ought to be something he, or rather his father, would want, something advantageous for Asgard. As his mind raced, Loki's gaze shifted from the Queen to the princess besides her. Sigyn was watching him, a soft smile on her face—it pleased her, he supposed, to see the knight in shining armor rewarded for rescuing the damsel.
Loki smiled, "I ask no boon, your majesty. I simply request permission to write Princess Sigyn from time to time."
Freyja seemed suspicious of his modesty, but instead of questioning, she shrugged, and turned her attention to Sigyn.
"Daughter, what say you? Is this agreeable?"
He could not say he was expecting the look that appeared on Sigyn's lovely face, or that he could even really understand it. She seemed upset, perhaps disappointed. Before his eyes, the girl from the forest retreated behind a mask of courtesy, and the girl he knew so well from Asgard returned.
"Yes, of course," her voice was formal, stiff.
Loki bowed to Freyja and Sigyn in turn. "I shall take my leave, then."
He was half way across the courtyard, struggling to quash the inexplicable sense of regret that was forming in the pit of his stomach, when he heard her.
"LOKI!"
He turned to see Sigyn standing on the great marble steps of the palace. Flashing eyes like fire in the stars, she strode over to him.
"Have I offended you, Sigyn?" He ask, keeping his voice calm and his bewilderment off of his face.
She whacked his arm—not hard enough to hurt, though. "Yes you have, you fool."
He stared at her in astonishment. Had she lost her mind between the forest and the palace? Where was the timid maiden he'd pulled from a watery grave? Hands on her hips, she glared at him, challenging their game of missed looks.
"Why did you not ask for my hand?" She demanded. "My mother promised you up to half the kingdom for Valhalla's sake. My hand is hardly any trouble compared to that."
Try as he might, he couldn't keep a smirk from spreading across his lips. She looked beautifully fearsome when in a fury.
"Do you want me to ask for your hand, Sigyn?"
Her indignation faltered for the briefest of moments. "Don't you want to?"
He was smiling in earnest now, and, looking into her eyes, he felt as if he read himself in truth.
Of course he wanted to take her to wife—the idea had grown and spread at the back of his mind since he had chased her across the field. Sweet, gentle Sigyn, who couldn't walk through a forest without alerting everything within a ten mile radius to her presence, but who could inspire the deepest feelings of loyalty, of course he wanted to ask for her hand.
All those days of watching, and he hadn't realize he was the one being enchanted. He had chased her through that forest not because he wanted to drag her back to the Allfather for scraps of affection, but because she was affection itself.
Loki's smirk softened into a smile that reached his emerald eyes. Taking a step towards her, he slipped his arm around her waist, tugging her close. She didn't resist his embrace, but instead molded her body to fit his, hands clinging to his shoulders. She felt good, pressed against him, little though she was. He cupped her cheek for a moment before lifting her chin so he could see those startling sapphire eyes. Her breath hitched in her throat and Loki could feel her heart hammering against his chest, matching the rhythm of his own.
Sigyn's lips were parted, ever so slightly, and it was all the urging he needed. Bending his head, Loki pressed his mouth to hers.