Sigyn's Story Book
by Sigyn Wisch
PREFACE
Technically this story could be considered a fan fiction of The Gospel of Loki, from Sigyn's point of view, but that book is really little more than a timeline and simple frame. This story is the product of a frustrated young woman who has read Norse mythology since age 7, who instantly fell in love with Loki, and who is dismayed at his portrayal in modern media—and, of course, at Sigyn's. This is a goddess who is rarely mentioned or given any sort of characterisation (beyond "faithful to her husband"), and when she is, the result is very unsatisfactory.
The myths are very much condensed, as this story has been written with the assumption that its audience is familiar with Norse mythology. Constructive criticism, especially from those whose memory of Norse mythology outstrips that of the author, is very welcome.
Reader, be warned: Between Loki and his spouse, Loki is the nice one.
PROLOGUE
My name is Sigyn. You probably don't know who I am. That's understandable—which is not to say that it's acceptable.
Since everyone knows of my husband, Loki, to varying degrees, I'll explain my life in reference to him….
CHAPTER ONE: A NEW FACE
When Loki first came to Asgard, only the purest of heart and I were willing to welcome him. He was refreshing: Lanky, graceful, quick and sure of mind, quite a pleasant change from the usual rabble. He was wilder and freer than the rest of us, certainly not the type to need or want a constant companion—or so it seemed. His antics, nominally undertaken to prove his place among the gods, seemed only to deepen their initial mistrust of him. I found him clever and intriguing, clearly more intelligent than our lot. For whatever the opinion of a very minor goddess is worth, I was impressed. I wasn't exactly the only goddess who was, either, though I doubt the others were as impressed by his cleverness as they were by his looks. It became readily apparent that, if he wanted to, Loki could have his pick of women. Attractive though I found him, I wasn't interested in competing for him. I was a different kind of lovely than, for example, Freya, our lady of beauty and desire. Generally, the menfolk overlooked me. If Loki, too, appreciated Freya's good looks over mine, then he was just like the rest of the rabble and I'd have overestimated his attractiveness. In my way, I was haughtier than Milady the Goddess of Desire.
Still, as time passed, I grew to believe that among the denizens of Asgard, I alone fully appreciated Loki's propensity for mischief, his need for puzzles to solve, for entertainment, his vastly underrated cleverness. I grew to believe that I alone appreciated him. Oh, the other gods were grateful to him for getting them out of various scrapes, but it's common knowledge that gratitude is fleeting. I felt that they simply used Loki to do what they, in their limited scope of thought, could not. And so, I developed sympathy, respect, and affection for him in nearly-equal measures.
If the others took notice of me, they saw that I was growing colder and more withdrawn after every incident for which Loki was accused. At the time, I regrettably dared not speak out against my fellow gods. I perceived that I was not their peer, and remained silent in the face of the accusations being flung in Loki's direction like just so much monkey scat. Had I not been so cowardly, it probably would have turned out better for him in the end. My beloved Loki—before he ever truly knew me, I had failed him. He wouldn't understand my guilt if I explained it to him, and therefore, I never did.
"Beloved," yes, I should explain. How, exactly, was it that I grew to love Loki, to the point where I would gladly accept responsibility for his final punishment and the ill thoughts of our erstwhile fellows against him? How, indeed?