The stars are the only lights in the sky this night. Sigyn taps her feet quietly through the halls of the palace as she returns to Frigga's chamber. Her regret for speaking to the Allfather with such boldness is upsetting her; how could she be so foolish and believe her words would have no consequence? As her feet fall one by one on the stone floors, she can hear little beyond the broad echoes of feasting from the great hall. She will not be caught this night, but that does not ease her mind for what might await her tomorrow.

The torches light the yawning halls in the palace, getting brighter as she closes in on the great hall. The firelight flashes dancing shadows across her face. Sigyn's young beauty is easily ignored as she does not don herself with fancy clothing, nor does she manipulate her face with unnatural pigments. Her hair is often wrapped up in a simple coif, exposing the back of her neck and keeping stray strands away from her face - an advantage for a servant in the kitchens. Tonight, Sigyn's eyes are swollen from tears, which is a rarity for her. She usually relies on the fact that her thoughts work faster than her mouth can lead, which generally keeps her from getting into trouble. With the exception of this day, Sigyn is anything but obvious to the house of Odin.

Beneath her gray robes hangs a single sheet of green fabric, which she found in Frigga's room some time ago. She wears it as a second skirt for warmth, and also as a tribute to someone she once admired. The same hue of green was the color of Prince Loki's formal cape, making it so much less gaudy than the bright red worn by his brother.

This long walk to Frigga's chamber reminds Sigyn of days spent in her childhood. She would often play within the palace halls as her parents worked. After all, where else was she to go? In times of cold weather or when great events were held in the palace, large bowls of fire scorched within the halls as they do now. They were an easy trap for a curious young girl. Sigyn rarely remembers details of those days, being so long forgotten, save for one burned in her memory.

...

On a day long since passed, as the servants of the Allfather brought forth yet another feast of battles won, a very young Sigyn wandered off into the palace halls. The feasts beckoned all noblemen and women to the great hall. Sigyn's family usually prepared the food instead of partaking in it; such was customary for their station, and they did not have a place for her in the kitchen. To keep her from getting in the way, her parents sent her out into the empty palace, considering it a harmless place with all of Asgard gathered to the feast. Not as tall as her peers, Sigyn could not yet reach the flaming torches; they crackled with magic far above her. She wore an old, tattered blue dress which was hand-decorated by her mother, and thick stockings to keep her warm.

Sigyn ran down the halls and stopped short to slide on the smooth floors. She particularly enjoyed counting the many marble tiles to see how far she'd get. Despite hours of the same game, in a split second of misfortune, she fell on the stone and slipped hard into a pedestal. The bowl of fire atop it fell onto the floor, still lit, making a fantastic raucous. Sigyn was afraid that such a thing would get her into trouble at home: a fact that almost brought her to tears at first. She nursed her bruised leg and thought of excuses. But after a few minutes of solitude, once she was sure no one would come to investigate the sound, the bowl of fire enticed the girl to come closer.

Sigyn looked again to see if anyone else was watching, and found herself the only audience to the tantalizing flames. She crawled closer on her now injured leg. Before she could reach it with her hands, an ember cracked and startled her, lifting a single ash into the air and onto her stockings. At first, Sigyn didn't notice and kept staring, hypnotized by the heat and the shapes in the flames. When she did finally detect the burning fabric, the fear alone was petrifying; Sigyn could do little but feel the heat rise on her leg, too afraid to try and snuff it. Eventually, she cried out for help, but with everyone in the Great Hall no one could come to her aid. The flames only grew further and further up her garments.

Sigyn was soon left screaming, not able to articulate anything other than pain. She tried to kick with her good leg, only hurting the one she had just slammed into the stone. Desperate, she called out for help again, only to be swiftly approached by a young boy who looked not much older than she. What help could he possibly be? He looked Sigyn in the eye and knelt beside her, holding his hands above the fire. In an instant, his eyes concentrated on the burn. Sigyn stared at him, awed by the cool air rushing off his fingertips, suffocating the flames. The action took mere seconds, but she was spared from no greater injury than a blistering burn on her lower legs. She could not say the same for her blue dress.

The boy turned his gaze again to face her, smiling widely. This child, with deep green eyes that pierced through her even in youth, had rescued her when no one else could even hear her. His black hair fell in a few strands upon his face, and he brushed them away. He was dressed in formal clothing, a suit of armor too large for his stature, but Sigyn was sure his complexion had changed color - if even for a moment. She was not sure if she could believe her eyes. Did he just turn blue?

He placed his finger in front of his lips in a "shh" motion, and repeated the action: this time, the cooling effect running off his fingertips healed her legs from the blisters, leaving little more than a darkened scar.

"What's your name?" the boy asked her, smiling with satisfaction.

"S...Sigyn," she stammered back, quietly.

"You've got to be careful with fire, Sigyn, I won't always be around!" The boy jumped up and ran through the hall, much darker now with the missing light. Despite being told several times by her parents not to consort with the royals of the house, Sigyn knew the boy had to be one of them. Her mysterious hero must have been heading to the feast for his father, Odin, yet he chose to help the poor girl's fiery predicament along the way.

For once, Sigyn was not invisible, and now she believed she owed her small life to Prince Loki.

As a young woman, Loki caught her eye more than once or twice, but Sigyn did not attempt to reach higher than her station, unlike some of the other servant girls who would pine for the men in the royal court. She admired from afar as he matured with time, returning from battles and finally growing into the armor. As a man, Loki was truly regal, slender and strong. Magic seemed to ooze from his form, hypnotizing even the most wary court members. Eventually Loki would be honored in the great hall with his own feasts, only to be overshadowed by his boisterous older brother, Thor. It was hard to tell which one had more pretentious formals, with Thor in great golden wings and Loki with his horns. Sigyn had once seen Thor trip on his cape while walking drunk through the halls in the palace; while amusing, she thought he was clumsy, and far too proud. Loki carried himself differently: taller, and more carefully, as if he was always certain that someone was judging his every move. She admitted to herself more than once that if he had noticed her, she would not pass up the opportunity to thank him for his deed. The girl always felt she owed him something.

Sigyn wept privately when she learned of his passing on Svartalfheim, revisiting the pillar where they met many years before. After all, she felt he was already lost with the Bifrost years ago, and the pain of knowing he had returned only to leave again was difficult to bear. He would never know her gratitude, and she would forever be burdened to carry her unrequited admiration.

...

Tonight, Sigyn walks those same halls toward the noble chambers, hoping to again see Odin and apologize for her misguided outburst. As she crests the corner, no one is in sight, save for a single guard thoughtlessly picking at his fingernails far down the hall. She notices that Frigga's chamber must still be occupied, as she sees a light flickering beneath the door. Perhaps Odin never left, and is waiting for Frigga's ghost to return; if not, Sigyn can hope to hide in solitude and reminisce. Again making light steps, the girl pushes the door open a bit, then a little further, stepping in without making a sound. She just as silently closes the door behind her.

Her eyes close, and she exhales a long sigh of relief, thinking she is alone. When Sigyn turns, she can hear the hushed whispers of someone at the back of the chamber. She startles; afraid she will be caught again where she is not supposed to be, Sigyn hides behind a pillar at the front of the room. The girl recognizes the voice as Odin's, and is compelled to listen intently.

"How could they have let you die? How could I have let you die?" Odin seems to ramble the same questions - difficult truths without an answer. "Why would Thor leave you to protect the mortal, and not allow me hence? How could they leave me there to rot...when you needed my help?" Odin's voice is cracking. He paces the room, never letting go of the robe. His hands are tensing up noticeably. The Allfather still leans hard on the left, though he doesn't appear to be in physical pain from his leg any more than he is from his heart.

His words do not make sense to Sigyn. How could they leave him there to rot? Was Odin not at the front of the battle, along with Thor? His time spent in this chamber must have sent him into madness! The King's voice is intense, with a quality that Sigyn has not heard before, almost as though he is barking out his vexations. Sigyn blames herself for leaving him in this state and not telling anyone.

"Please forgive me." He pauses, and Sigyn thinks she hears him sobbing. Her heart is aching at every quickened breath. She considers giving him privacy and sneaking back out. Just as she turns, Sign overhears a final exasperation:

"Please forgive me, mother."

This last omission astounds her. Sigyn peeks around the pillar to look at Odin's face. As she does, a shimmer of light surrounds him, fading back to reveal an entirely separate countenance. The sound of his voice changes from raspy and quiet, to deep and choked with pain, as he keeps begging for forgiveness. His armor peels back in the light, showing now a tunic of black and gold, with threads of iridescent green intertwining the fabric. He is taller, now slender, and no longer appears frail. Frigga's robe is still up against his face, whoever's face it is, hiding his identity.

But Sigyn knows instantly, by the fall of his black strands of hair, exactly who stands before her.

Her shock is only matched by her doubt, and she cannot stifle the gasp. The man turns fast, matching her eyes. Her first reaction is to head for the door. While she turns, she knocks over the pedestal where the helmet tribute sits, which loudly clangs upon the floor. It only adds chaos to the precious seconds the girl has to escape. Sigyn stumbles over her feet without looking back. With a flick of his hand, the door locks, and the girl is trapped in Frigga's chamber. Standing with no protection, Loki stares at Sigyn, revealed in his true and broken form, as she falls to the floor.