We Swore
Part I
You grew so used to destruction,
even I love you
feels like violence
to your heart
Alaska Gold -
Slumped against the back of a golden throne, wearing the skin of another, hidden within plain site was the Trickster. His knees were spread apart and he held Gungnir loosely in his right hand, so as that the weapon appeared to be tilting. There was a heavy set, bored look chiseled into the deep wrinkles along the Allfather's face. The councilmen had gathered, saved for one, to discuss what they were going to do with the absent one.
The Hostage King and former king of Vanaheimr Njorth had come to the point where his health began to rapidly decline. For all their technological advances, the Asgardians themselves could only do so much to stave off death. With his impending death looming, there was political unrest rising. By blood magic, honor, and treaty, there was always to be at least one hostage from the Vanir royalty to be bound—prisoner to Asgard. In turn, one of Asgard's own royalty was to be hostage to the Vanir people. The hostages were a way to bypass marrying into peace. They were symbols instead of an agreed upon peace between the two realms.
The Vanir people had seemed to forget this. Vili, Odin's youngest brother and hostage to the Vanir people, had conveyed recently, via Huginn, that the Vanir were growing restless since the Svartálfar had revealed that Asgard was not the all-powerful empire it proclaimed to be once upon a time. The people had heard that Asgard's champion had abandoned them. With Thor gone, there was no mighty warrior or symbol of Asgard to send to stomp out the fire growing within the people's wild and restless hearts.
"Send Sigyn," chimed Vandrad. Loki's eyes perked up from the ground to curiously stare at the bold proposal. As the rest of the eyes fell upon the fragile, fidgeting man, the Trickster slid forward in his seat and straightened out his back. Sensing the pressure, the elderly man slowly, dreadfully, and painfully rose from his seat to stand. His olive arms visible trembled as he heavily relied upon them to balance himself. Vandrad took a needed breath to recompose before speaking.
"Send Sigyn," he repeated more boldly. "She has been raised here since she was a young child. She has, for all purposes, been raised as an Asgardian lady. She is currently the only child of Njorth who is not bound by marriage to any realm—"
"She is bound by marriage to Loki, Vandard," retorted the golden haired Baldr. Loki's sight slid to the decorated Crimson Hawk. As a Crimson Hawk, he was one of Odin's closest guards, and Baldr was the captain of those guards.
He had a round, boyish face and unkempt dirty blonde hair. Baldr had an athletic body that was fit and toned without being as overbearing as Thor's. These facets combined to make Baldr appear too young for his age. On more than one occasion he had been mistaken for a young adult instead of a seasoned man and proven warrior.
"Loki is dead," Vandard answered coolly.
"We thought that once before… " cautioned a third party.
"Loki is dead," the Trickster silenced confidently. "They found his remains…"
The room quieted for a moment. With an approving nod from the Allfather, Vandard began to speak in his trembling voice once again. "I say we break the treaty and allow Sigyn to return home. Her presence will quiet their fears and show compassion from Asgard."
"Vanaheimr needs to be reminded of our strength again," Loki chided. His eyes slide towards Baldr. "How is Sigyn in combat?"
Vandard sat with a sigh of relief as Baldr stood at the pine table. He cleared his throat before speaking honestly. "She is no Sif, Allfather. She could hold her own for a while, but she cannot lead them to victory. She lacks much that you see in warriors. Given that she has no magical abilities to make up for this fault, I cannot suggest sending her into battle." His voice was strained, and there was a distinct look of pain in his eyes as he spoke ill but truthfully about his friend. "She will not live up to her name as the Lady of Victories."
"Send her with an elite group of the Crimson Hawks then—"
"Allfather," Baldr broke mid-sentence. "If the Crimson Hawks fail, then you are sending Sigyn to her death."
"Or I will send her home where she will be well protected and will, for once, do something with her life instead of flirting with my best Crimson Hawks," Loki responded curtly. Baldr shyly looked away and quietly reclaimed his seat. The Trickster reclined into his throne with a deep breath. "It is time she gave back to the realms like her siblings have."
"Shall I inform her then, Allfather?" Baldr asked quietly. Like an omega dog, he refused to look towards his Alpha after the previous scolding.
"No," he replied bluntly. "I will inform her myself. Pick whomever you wish, but leave Theoric out of this." There was a slight acidic tone to his voice that leaked into the last four words. His tongue tasted bile his mouth from muttering those words. The thought of—no, he would not think of him! Yet, Loki could not help but dwell on the thieving, undeserving peasant that Sigyn has chosen to entertain herself with during the late hours of the night.
Loki rose and left the councilmen behind without saying much else. His mind was elsewhere, but wherever it was, it was making his stomach roll and his chest sting. The golden halls around him shrunk as he buried himself deeper and deeper into his thoughts. Images of the stoic, olive-skinned Theoric seared his mind. His knuckles tightened around Gungnir at the insult that Sigyn had touted in front of him for centuries. Yet, it was so childish for he could have escorted his own wife to the gatherings had he insisted. Young, dumb, and blinded Loki did not—he courted more beautiful women instead. Current Loki was wise enough to realize this, but he could not reason away the lingering burning in his chest.
Mindlessly he arrived at Njorth's chambers, only paying enough attention to drive the guards away. Inside, curled into a tight, boney ball in a sea of red silk and wolf hides was the Hostage King. He was as dark at the night sky with shriveled hair the color of the moon and stars. Barely noticeable now were the runes that he had etched into his own skin as a young prince long ago.
Beside him, holding his hand as he slept was Sigyn. She was the opposite of him, being pale as the moon with platinum hair. Even her lips were only the faintest shade of pink. The only hint of color on her body were her striking, crystalline periwinkle eyes that were set in the middle of her narrow, oblong face. Aside from the albinism, her facial structure set her apart from Njorth and his family.
He, like his two children, had round and compacted faces with narrowly set eyes. The Vanir build was stockier, rugged, built to survive the wilderness that ran rampant across Vanaheimr. She, once again, was the opposite of this. Sigyn was lanky and consisted mostly of limbs. When she stood, she stood as tall as Loki without any shoes.
Today, Sigyn was covered in a simple but eloquent, alice blue dress. Draped over her shoulders and spilling onto the floor was her Oxford blue cape, accented with a fox hide around the collar. Her entire body was completely lost underneath the cloak.
She looked astonished at Loki, unbelieving that she was to be graced with the Allfather's presence. "Allfather," Sigyn began to say with a nod of her head. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Loki moved forward to take a seat across from Sigyn. His eyes travelled firstly to Njorth, taking pity on the old man that he had to endure an extended death, before resting his gaze on his wife. She was older than he remembered. Then again, when was the last time he had taken time to study her? He could not readily recall the last time he sat across from her like this. In many ways, he felt as if this were a stranger in front of him.
"I have come to discuss what will happen once your father has passed," he spoke in a low voice so as not to wake the Hostage King. Sigyn, much to his surprise, did not look surprised. She perked up and refocused her attention on the Allfather. "Once he has passed, you will return to Vanaheimr to become queen and to silence the growing rebellion."
She gawked him. Loki was greatly confused by her reaction for this seemed straightforward and most lucky for Sigyn. Instead, her eyebrows came together while she pursed her thin lips. "Why?" she questioned boldly. "The Vanir will not respect my rule, Allfather. By his word—" Her eyes flashed to her father for a moment. "I am his daughter, but I am not his by blood. Blood, not words, matters most to the Vanir."
The sharpness of her words greatly irritated Loki. His teeth ground together before he spoke once more. This time, though, it was much more commanding, if not demanding. "It is time you took a position to govern, much like your siblings. You will go to Vanaheimr with a group of Crimson Hawks and restore order."
"No," she chided. "No, I will not!" Sigyn made a point to stand and let go of her father's hand. "I will not blindly follow the Allfather, and I will not follow orders given by someone impersonating him." Her dainty hands balled into tiny fists, as if that were to scare him. Loki was already scared from her remark. He curiously, cautiously looked towards her.
"What?" That was all he could muster for a reply.
"I am in no mood to play games, Loki," Sigyn scolded. "You know very well I did not mourn for you a second time when you were laid to rest with honors by the Allfather." Her face crinkled along her nose and cheeks. In the sunlight, Loki noticed a bit of her teeth glinting from underneath her parted lips. "And I am not scared."
The tremble in her voice betrayed her words. Without hesitation, Loki lunged hungrily at the opportunity. She flinched as he closed the gap between them. Inches were all that she had between herself and the illusion of Odin in front of her. "Do you not hear how ridiculous you sound, Sigyn?" Loki remarked with some amount of psychotic amusement in his voice.
"Do you not know how ridiculous it is to keep faking your own death?" she snorted. He scoffed, which only brought out the snarl from Sigyn. "No true king would mock a woman, let alone his wife. Frigga would be so disa—"
Sigyn's hands shot towards her cheek as she stumbled backwards against the wall. Loki's hand had slipped without hesitation. He sauntered forward as she collapsed onto the ground. She could see the boiling anger filling his eyes and stealing away his concentration from his illusions. She caught flickers of his sorrowful, green eyes and hardened face. "She died with a broken heart," Sigyn added without remorse, without care, and without mercy. "She died crying over you. You disgrace her still, even in dea—"
The words stung like hot coal to his skin. Her insults were unforgivable, and she needed to be punished for such defiance.
A second hand found itself cupped around her bruised cheek. His illusions fell away, and for the first time, Sigyn saw him as the disheveled mess he was. Greasy, curly locks tumbled over his shoulders like a black mop. Loki's face was more gaunt and sullen. There were visible black circles underneath his eyes from his never-ending, restless nights. He was ill, but with what Sigyn did not know.
"Do not speak of Frigga," he threatened wildly. The regret was clear in his voice, especially as his voice strained muttering her name.
Sigyn tossed his hand aside, and boldly bared her teeth again at him. "I shall speak of her as I wish," the lady snarled savagely. "And you—" She struck a finger to his chest, just above where his calloused heart lay. "You do not want to admit the truth that you scorned her for selfish reasons. You abandoned her like you abandoned me!" Her finger repeatedly struck him until he grabbed her with his free hand. He held tighter as she tried to jerk away.
Cold, as cold as diving into the water, terror flooded through her blood stream as Loki forced her against the wall. He used his weight to pin her to the wall. "You abandoned me," Loki spat onto her face. Sigyn meekly glanced at him from the side. The slight tremble her lips broke his restraint. His left hand caressed her cheek as her ran his thumb over her lips. They were slightly chapped from the dry air and bouts of crying but still soft underneath the scabs. He was reminded of Sigyn's habit of chewing her bottom lip when stressed.
His mind froze over a moment—he had forgotten about that habit of hers.
How could he forget? It was such a trivial fact, but the fact he had forgotten about it bothered him. Meanwhile, a vile ball of disgust and jealousy tumbled around on his tongue as he realized that Theoric had been the one to caress lips for centuries. This was his wife—she belonged to him, not Theoric. A sudden yearning to reclaim what he lost rippled through him. Loki forcibly kissed her hard, scrapping his teeth over her lips. All those centuries of jealously, hate, anger, and heartbreak were poured into a sloppy kiss. A twinge of happy anxiousness sprouted as he felt her lips move against his. This was his—she was his, all of her, even after all this time.
"Aaah!" Loki yelped. His hand shot to his lips, and Sigyn pushed him away. His eyes glowered at the image of her licking his blood off her lips. "You bit me," he gasped, astounded.
"You have no right to kiss me," Sigyn asserted. "None!"
"I am your husband!" Loki growled possessively.
Sigyn scoffed, half laughing at his statement. A grim smile spread from cheek to cheek. "You have not been a husband to me since Narfi."
The trickster froze at the mention his late son—how long had it been since he last heard that name? It sounded foreign to him. Blankly, he stared at Sigyn.
"You did not speak to me for almost a century after that. You—" She paused for a moment to calm her breathing and to settle the uneasiness swirling in her stomach. No amount of time could erase the scar on her heart. Nothing could ever ease the dull ache. "I lost a second son and a husband."
It was all too much, all too real for her to remain composed. Crisp, bitter tears rose from deep in her chest to pool along her eyelashes. Anger was seething on her lips, ripping open the scabs left there earlier, and leaving a bitter taste on the tip of her tongue. "I did not understand why Frigga was the only one allowed to be my midwife and why she hide away Vali until Narfi came. I saw him—this half blue monster with bloody eyes and runes etched into his skin."
Bewilderment was replaced by searing anger and a craving to inflict pain. "You knew," Loki whispered heatedly. "You knew what I was—just like the rest of them—and you did not even tell me. You are no better than the rest of them!"
Sigyn shook her head in denial. "Do not pin this on me, and do not dare question my honor," she warned wickedly. "I could no more tell you than Frigga could. I swore to Odin not to tell or risk being sent away.
"Besides, how was I to explain to you that the reason our children were born dead was because of what you are? How could I possibly explain to you that we would never have children together because of what you are? How was I to explain to you what you are?" She begged the question. "How, Loki? HOW?!" He flinched at her shrill cry. "Answer me, dammit!"
"I don't know," he answered regrettably. "But you should have tried. You are my wife."
"Perhaps I would have been a good wife had you been a husband to me and not thrown yourself at every whore in Asgard," she countered bitterly.
"Oh," Loki scoffed. "As if you are any better sleeping around with that brown-haired peasant, Theoric. You could have chosen someone better to fall in love with besides that oaf."
She boldly marched towards Loki, unafraid of the consequences. "I love him no more than I love you," she proclaimed proudly. "He keeps away the loneliness at night, and that is all. You are a fool to think anything else, and it shows you never knew me."
He stared her in the eye. Loki was half admiring her boldness—a trait she did not have when they were younger—and half disappointed that she took Theoric for even lesser reasons than he imagined. The old wounds on his heart were ripped open raw and bloody. Twice now he had been scorned. It felt no different than the first time. This time it might have been worse—he could not tell at present.
Perhaps what she said was true. Perhaps the trickster never knew the woman he took for a wife so long ago. An exhausted sigh spilled from his lips. The quiet moment revealed how emotionally tired he was from the short dispute. He also felt heavier inside and out, as if Thor's hammer was resting on his chest and his limbs were bound to rocks by bulky chains.
The trickster watched as she turned elegantly away to reclaim her seat beside her father. She bowed her head to the bed and took her father's boney fingers into her hand. Sigyn too felt the same burdensome weight. "My father knew too," she mumbled. "He knew before we married what you were." Sigyn lifted her head and saw Loki sitting across from her once more. It was as it was before but after the storm and rage.
"I knew you once, Sigyn," Loki spoke with a detached calmness. "You would not have cared if I were a Jötunn or Asgardian so long as you were queen. For either way you would have to be accepted as royalty among the noble women—no one could question your status ever again."
"Noble women are far more vicious than warriors," Sigyn responded drearily. "And now you seek to prove the noble women of Asgard right by sending me away to Vanaheim and my death. So much for fairy tales having a happy ending." The end of her voice was dry and disappointed.
"You may live," he mused. Sigyn shook her head and sighed. "Do not be so despondent, Sigyn. You are the Lady of Victory, and I am sure you will live up to your name."
The amusement in his voiced nauseated her. "I had hoped," she began. "That Frigga was right about you. I truly tried to believe her, even after Jötunheimr..." She sighed. "I never could..."
Loki's face became somber. His lips were thin and forming a slight frown as she continued to speak. "How ironic that when I think of my husband before Narfi, I think of him as an Asgardian prince. I am unsure of when you became a monster, but I believe it happened before the last Odin sleep. Somewhere over the centuries you turned into a monster in front of everyone. It took them, including myself, all much longer after that transformation to see it."
"And this all amounts to what exactly, Sigyn?" he questioned irritably.
"Regret," she answered honestly. "After your return, Frigga spoke to me. She thought I could save you from the monster within—bring back the prince you once were." Loki sat still as a statue, fuming inside at the mentioning of his—no Thor's mother. His lips drew tighter into a deeper frown. "I could not because all I could see was a monster. I failed her. I am deeply sorrowed that I could not fulfill her wishes.
"And my father—" She looked fondly at Loki. It was not him she was staring him. No, she imagined a younger Loki, a kinder Loki, a freer Loki. "He said you would save me."
"And what is that meant to mean?" Loki asked.
She looked back to father, half smiling and half frowning at the same time. Then she began to laugh to herself. He gawked at her laughter, unsure of the context. Uneasiness grew in bones. Loki never enjoyed being toyed with by persons who thought themselves better than him. He irritably clutched his thighs.
Sigyn quieted herself before grasping the wolf hide tightly between her fingers. "It means, as Thor's whore put it, I am fucked." She collapsed into the back of her chair. After a moment of staring down at her hands, she dismally peered at Loki. "When my father dies, so will I," she confessed.
Loki ever so slightly tilted his head curiously to the right. This was news to him. However unhappy she appeared to be across from him, he could only feel a slight justice in the universe being served. But still, why?
She breathed deeply before answering, "Not all beings in this universe are born—some us are created. I was my mother's crowning jewel in a long line of alchemy creations. Somewhere in my creation she went wrong, and death has begun to grow within me. My father has done his best to keep death from taking over by utilizing his magic. Without his magic and without returning to my mother, I will become death."
His brows were furrowed together, and his eyes were swarming with confusion and curiosity. "I do not understand your cryptic phrasing, Sigyn. What do you mean you will become death?" Loki inquired.
"My father said I was made too spiritually vulnerable. Something has taken advantage of my vulnerability and has sought to turn my body into theirs. In the process, my soul will be devoured. I will become—or rather my body will be—as what the voice claims, part of death itself. I cannot explain any better than that," Sigyn explained discouragingly. "My father said the only one who could rip this parasite out of me would be my creator, my mother if you please. Then she could fix my vulnerability."
"If she is your mother, then why not return to her?" Loki scoffed. "It is a simple solution."
She shook her head negatively. "My mother is a terrible monster who takes great pleasure in creating more monsters," Sigyn answered with brutal honesty and acceptance. Loki was taken a back by the bold statement. "And secondly, if she is still alive, then she is on Jötunheimr. As we both know, there is no easy way to reach Jötunheimr."
So many thoughts began to run through his minds. None of it made sense. "Your mother is a frost giant?" the trickster stated for clarity. Sigyn somberly nodded. His lips parted as he reclined into his seat. He licked his lips while staring blankly at the window. Finally, after a moment, he returned his curious gaze to Sigyn. Suddenly, she was much more interesting and precious to him. "Then how are you here?" Loki questioned civilly.
"My mother knew that the war with Laufey would decimate Jötunheimr. She preyed upon my father's sympathy and offered me to him." The lady looked fondly to her father. "Thankfully he claimed me as his own kin." Her voice was meek but full of indebtedness. She managed a meager smile towards her father and gently took his hand to squeeze reassuringly. Sigyn caught her breath as the Hostage King shakily returned the gesture.
Njorth's eyelids opened to allow light to dance off his foggy, blue-gray eyes. He aimed his gaze towards Loki as Sigyn muttered softly, "Father, no…" Sigyn despondently watched as her father stole back his hand and shakily gestured to Loki to take it. Insulated and scorned, she collected herself and walked towards the window before either of them could see her jealous tears brim along the edges of her eyes.
From his sunken, chapped lips, Njorth murmured in his husky, dry voice, "Loki…"
He perked at the call of his name. He had not heard the Hostage King speak in ages and much less towards him. There was a sense of respect and vague comradery for Njorth. Unlike himself, he would sadly die a prisoner to Allfather. So Loki extended his hand to Njorth.
The moment their fingers touched, the trickster's mind disappeared into a realm of complete whiteness. He felt unnerved that he casted no shadows and that light eminent everywhere. As he searched around him, his emerald eyes came to rest on a much younger, stouter, and muscular Njorth. The Hostage King held himself tall and proud yet welcoming.
"No need to be alarmed, this is simply my mind. My body is too frail for conversing. Sharing of my mind is the only way I have to communicate these days," the young king elaborated. "I do not have much time. So be quiet and listen." His voice ended curtly and took the trickster by surprise. Loki attempted to put space between himself and a now much more threatening Njorth. Instead the space between them shrunk. They were mere inches from each other's person. Loki's skin itched with anxiety.
The Hostage King brutishly grabbed a hold of Loki's high cheekbones and chin before dragging his face down so that they were eye-to-eye. "Years ago you swore to me that you would provide a safe home, food, and protection for my daughter. In exchange, I gave you my blessing to make her your wife.
"You have shirked your duties for far too long, Odinson. It—"
An explosion of fire lit inside of his throat, burning its way out. "I am no Odinso—"
"Shush!" Njorth commanded. Loki's lips were sealed with Vanir magic. This was Njorth's mind, and he was the supreme ruler everything around him, including for the time being, Loki. "You are Odinson. Like your brother, you are a disappointment to the realms. Much to my disappointment, I cannot take back my blessing and undo marriage bonds."
He surprisingly let his grip on Loki slip. The trickster stood straight once more, but submissively he continued to gawk at Njorth. "Should you choose to fulfill your promises, I will allow you to collect upon the debt that Angrboða owes me. She will—" He smiled eerily at Loki. The merry twinkle in his eyes sent a cold shiver through Loki's blood. "Give you what you need to right the wrongs of the Allfather."
Against his will, he could not open his mouth to ask for clarity. Njorth saw this struggle and chuckled. Something was awry, and suddenly, the urge to retreat became stronger, overwhelming. He could hardly breathe.
"Until then, everything the Allfather has done to hide your true form and limitations will be undone. No magic can stop or hide this." The Hostage King took Loki's left hand and ran his thumb reassuringly over the top of his hand. "This is my curse I give you to break, Loki Odinson."
Njorth stepped backwards. Suddenly, his sly and merry smile fell apart into a sorrowful grimace. "My kin will offer their assistance should you require it," he clarified painfully, regrettably. He breathed deeply as the onset of tiredness and despairing darkness began to taint his lungs and heart. The world around them began to crack. Slimes of indistinguishable blackness crept out of the cracks and encroached upon them. Death loomed.
Aghast, Loki wildly jerked away. "Release me, Njorth," he warned. He sidestepped as a bleak blob slunk between them. "Release me!" His voice became shriller and desperate as the world was consumed by the darkness. Loki fidgeted as he sought an escape. There was none—just darkness encircling them. The white light around them was fading. "If you do not release me, then my mind will disappear with yours!"
He looked desperately towards Njorth—he was but a fleeting ghost. Tears flooded from Njorth's frightened eyes. Nothing was more terrible than facing death. Loki could feel Njorth's fear seeping into his own mind, causing his bones to tremble and shake. "Tell Sigyn I am sorry that I had to spend my last words on you and not her," he murmured. "Tell her, I love her, and that she is and will always be daughter. Tell her please, Loki." His voice was quivering and drenched in regret for spending his final words so poorly. Terror burst from him as he began to fade into nothing. "Tell her please!" he sobbed. "Please…"
Loki blinked.
In front of him was Sigyn hovering over her father. She gripped his robes while caressing his cheek. "Father," she begged faintly. Her voice grained strength as she repeated his name over and over and over, again and again. Loki's retraction of his hand stirred Sigyn. For a moment, she caught her breath.
He peered down at his blue hand. Raised runes ran down from his arm to his hand. Loki could feel the heat from the room seeping onto his icy skin. From the corner of his eyes, he could see his blue reflection in the window. His stomach rolled at the foreign sight of his bloody red eyes. Where had his green eyes gone?
"What did you do to my father?" Sigyn shouted bitterly. "What did you do?!" She crouched over the bed, ready to pounce. "Answer me, dammit!" She bared her teeth at him, growling the last word.
Loki looked emptily at—no through her. "I did nothing," he answered bluntly.
"Liar!" she retaliated through ugly tears. They seared her cheeks as they trickled down and pooled on her chin in fat droplets. "Liar!" She lunged at him. Sigyn yelped as Loki caught her by her wrist. She snarled while struggling against his restraint. "Let go of me, liar! Guards! GUARDS!"
Loki stiffened as the door flung violently open. Theoric and Baldr barged spears first into the room. They paused for a moment at the sight of a Jötunn. "Theoric, Baldr!" Sigyn cried. "Allfather is gone! Loki has been impersonating—"
Loki held Gungnir in his free hand, aiming the mighty spear at the intruders. Frost crept along the handle and spread to the spear's golden tip. Curiously, he was acutely aware of the mild burning sensation emitting from where he held Sigyn. His keep focus was at the guards. A sly, bitter smile pulled at his thin lips. Oh, how he had waited years for this moment. Ever so slightly, he tilted the spear towards Theoric.
"I always told Odin that the Crimson Hawks were a bunch of idiots, and I proved him right," Loki gloated. "You could not even tell me apart from him."
There was a mild humming before the weapon discharged. Sigyn shrieked at the sound of the wall crumbling and tumbling to the floor. Loki peered through the dust to see Theoric collapsed on the ground. Blood dribbled from beneath his armor and began to pool along his feet. A warm and tingly happy feeling danced inside of him. "That is what you get for fucking my wife, plebian," he spat rancorously.
With no hesitation, he chirped merrily, "C'mon, Sigyn, it is time for a long overdue honeymoon." Loki dragged Sigyn behind him as he faced Baldr. The crimson hawked charged predictably forward. Loki easily mitigated the charge with a redirection of the spear and side step. The golden-hair warrior countered by dropping his spear and unsheathing his single-hand sword.
Loki swung Gungnir and collided with Baldr's sword. Sigyn flinched at the cry of metal clashing with metal. Badlr barreled down the spear, holding it off with his sword. With a thrust, Baldr pushed the spear away. Loki's grip on Gungnir was broken. The spear clattered out of reach onto the ground. The trickster overheard the wave of approaching Crimson Hawks rushing madly down the corridor.
The crimson hawk boldly and confidently strode towards the duo. "Surrender, trickster," Baldr boomed. "You have no where to go."
Loki huffed. "You are all fools," he retorted. He pulled Sigyn close to his chest and wrapped both his arms around her. "Say goodbye," he whispered lowly into her ear. In a blink of an eye, they disappeared.
It all happened too fast for Sigyn to process what had happened. One moment they were in the room, and now—where were they? She glanced over Loki's narrow shoulders to see the battalion of Crimson Hawks behind them, charging into her father's room. "How?" she gasped.
Loki did not—could not answer her. Exhaustion weighed down his limbs and the burning from Sigyn's touch was spreading and setting fire to his muscles. This ache was different—it was sapping his mana and physical strength. The barking of orders from Baldr brought him out of his momentary daze. His fingers clawed Sigyn's clothes as he pulled her closer, as close as he physically could.
The trickster gasped as the Asgardian docks materialized around them. He was oblivious to the terrified shrieks from the citizens. Sigyn buckled underneath his increasing weight. The edges of the world were turning black in his eyes, and that funny, impeding feeling of faintness was filling his head with fog. Disoriented and blinking madly, he stumbled towards the longship.
Sigyn tossed him off herself and broke his grasp on her wrist. "No," she hissed. "I will—"
"Do you want to live?" Loki retorted venomously. The menacing glare in his eyes sent a chill down her spine and goose bumps darted rampantly over her fair skin. Her lack of a response irritated him, stirring the sour and explosive brew in his stomach. "DO YOU?!" he shouted madly. "Get in this goddamn air vessel now, woman!"
She simply wide-eyed gawked at him. Sigyn could not move if she even dared; something about the wild and fiery tones of his voice stole her courage and strength. She was dead weight standing. The slightest tremble of her lower lip gave away the fright abounding in her gut. She was too scared to even clench her cold and sweaty palms. "Sigyn," he spoke crisply.
She gulped.
He huffed. "I am not the scariest nor the cruelest person in this place," he stated coolly. Her eyes searched his enviously green eyes, trying to find the lie in this one truth. "Come with me and I will take you away from here like I promised years ago. You will not die a hostage like your father, Sigyn. I swear." The sounds of clattering armor and weapons began to draw closer and closer, filling the silent gaps between them with anxiety and urgency. "For the sake of your father's last words, listen to me."
An arrow pierced her heart, and she drew a sharp, pained breathed. Trembling, Sigyn hesitantly joined him in the longship. "We all have to die someday," she stated emptily. So much was taken out of her, and even at her best, she had no elegant way to respond to his last statement. "Best to die trying to be free." She took a seat across from him and placed her right hand on top of her left.
"You do not trust me," he responded.
"Would you?"
He smirked at her remark. "No."
Loki exhaustingly dropped into the seat next to the rudder. His right hand hovered over the controls. He inhaled and exhaled slowly. The burning had subsided but the weakness within him remained. Now, afloat in the sky above Asgard, Sigyn could see this. Thankfully, she held her tongue and instead gazed at the golden castle that had been her home—a glorified prison—for as long as she could remember.
A hard lump of guilt swelled in her throat. No matter how many times she tried to swallow, it remained and grew larger. The hot feeling of tears building up again forced her to turn away from the sight and instead to look towards the mountainous island they were approaching. "Where are we going, Loki?"
Silence.
"Loki?" When he did not answer a second time, she turned her focus to him. The trickster was doubled over and slipping limply onto the floor. "Loki?" she asked more worriedly.
He lifted his head at her voice but could not see her—everything was white and too bright and too hot, as if the sun were inches away and a fire raged inside. Sweat drenched his clothes. That was only the surface. The yearning to rip off his skin and jump into the waters below was a dark temptation. Loki was far too weak to even attempt jumping overboard. "Take the rudder," he ushered meekly.
"Loki?" she repeated with more worry.
"Take the rudder and fly to the most southeastern corner of the island. There is a cove there. Wake me up once we reach it," he stated faintly but firmly. His hand slipped from the rudder, and so did his grasp on reality.
Blackness.