AN: Shit did life get in the way of this chapter. I'm back from the dead with more garbage, let me know if you're still reading!

Part 3

Sigyn's hand shook as she ran a comb through the tangled lengths of her hair and lined her eyes with kohl. It was more than just nerves; she hadn't attended to her appearance in some time and the motions came back to her slowly. She leant back on her stool and attempted a limp smile. The liner had only deepened the shadows beneath her eyes, she observed with a twinge of regret. She rubbed at her eyelids, smudging some if it away.

'What's the occasion?'

Sigyn jumped at the enquiry. She turned to see Lofn peering at her from the doorway wearing a quizzical expression.

'I'm to dine with someone tonight,' she admitted stiffly.

Her sister beamed. 'A man?'

Sigyn nodded.

'Do I know him?'

'You hate him,' Sigyn replied.

'Master Olak?' the younger sister squawked, scowling in disgust at the thought of her own crabby old tutor.

She shook her head, amusement tugging at her lips for a moment – a feat only her dear Lofn had the gift for. 'No – the King.'

Sigyn wasn't sure which went wider – Lofn's eyes or her mouth. 'What did you do to deserve that?'

'He wants to … repay me, for saving him years ago.'

Lofn raised a brow and sauntered inside. 'You missed a patch,' she observed, taking up the comb and a knotted lock of Sigyn's hair. 'Let's hope he isn't looking for a wife!' she jeered as she teased out the knots. 'You'd have to sleep with one eye open from the wedding night.'

Sigyn's giggle quickly caught in her throat like a burr. She met her sister's eyes though the mirror, and smiled wistfully. 'I loved him once,' she confessed, exhaling the weight of the words in a whisper. Her fingers slid idly to her neck, where his grip had collared her the night before. 'That's why I saved him.'

She gaped, her ever-honest hazel eyes betraying a shifting mixture of distaste, incomprehension, and pity. 'You mean, before he went mad?'

'Yes,' Sigyn justified, and went on to ponder how mad was too mad. But had she not spurred his fall from grace? Had she not been the one to push him from the Bridge, and into the clutch of Thanos? Was she herself any more sound of mind? Suddenly, she was grasping her sister's arm, searching her face imploringly. 'Lo' – do you think the boy I fell for may still live in the man he became?' she said in a rush. 'What if I've gone mad, too?'

Lofn leant to press a kiss atop her hair. 'You're not mad, sister. We all miss the All-Mother.' She encircled Sigyn's shoulders with her arms. Then she added, 'Can I tell Mama?'

'No,' Sigyn protested swiftly. 'She'd try to put me up to some elaborate seduction to influence his policies. I want her out of this, whatever it is.'

Sigyn walked to the palace. She followed the last trails of sunlight as murky storm clouds encroached on the horizon, leaving the humid air redolent with petrichor. A faint breeze wove through her fingers like the tug of a gentle hand, beckoning her as though impatient with her apprehensive pace.

She knew where to go. She bypassed the great hall, turning from the commotion inside into a gilded corridor. The guards at each set of doors waved her through along her route to the Royal Family's private dining room, where she'd occasionally accompanied Frigga for luncheon – but never supper.

When Sigyn reached the final passageway leading to the chamber, her feet dragged to a stop. She dug her nails into her palms, willing herself to approach the steward waiting outside the door. With a flush of anger she forced one foot in front of the other, and all too soon arrived at the threshold. The steward ushered her inside and departed with a bow.

'Good evening.'

Loki sidled into sight with slow grace. His attention trailed over her lingeringly, her unpractised attempts at grooming surely plain to him. She dared only a fleeting glance his way to see he was handsome as ever. The roguish length of his hair seemed at odds with his elegant features and regal bearing, creating an intriguing portrait of rebellion and refinement. The madness now creeping out through the cracks in his once perfect composure served only to unnerve.

A small feast awaited them upon a long table. She rose from her curtsey, and His Majesty led her to a chair.

Frigga's. Sigyn froze, her gut twisting with guilt. Loki pulled the seat out and waited, until she stumbled forward and took his mother's place at the table, feeling abominably unworthy. She desperately wondered if it were too late to honour her oath to Frigga, to jump out of the Queen's chair and run; back to the refuge of her lab, her books, her potions.

'Busy day?' Loki ventured as he settled at the opposing end, interrupting her wild thoughts.

'Yes –' She faltered at the thought of her directionless, distracted routine. Her stare skimmed across him to the knife set before her, glinting in the firelight. 'No, not really.'

'Lady Sigyn if you're to dine with me, I would ask that you look at me.'

Sigyn gradually forced her eyes upward. As her gaze grazed painfully on his, he leant forward, brows lifting earnestly in a glimmer of the Prince she remembered. 'I'm not the boy who saved you, and you're not the girl who saved me. Let us meet as the strangers we've become.'

The tension in her muscles relented. 'Yes Sire,' she breathed, allowing her weight to rest fully upon the cushioned dining chair.

'May I call you Sigyn?'

She nodded.

'Then you may call me Loki.'

'Pleasure to meet you, Loki,' she obliged him.

Sigyn wasn't hungry, but she set about filling her plate to please him. She doled out a few roasted vegetables to start with, and a hunk of bread. Meat, no matter how deliciously prepared, did not appeal to her palate anymore. She nibbled at a few pieces uneasily, but had soon taken to picking at her food with her fork more than eating it. Her attention shifted to the goblet beside her plate, and she grabbed it, taking a long draught. The mead swept straight through her hollow chest, blunting the edge of her misery that lingered there like a noxious vapour.

Her habits did not escape the King's notice. 'You've no appetite?' he commented.

She lowered the goblet from her lips. 'I'm afraid I lost it some months ago.'

He nodded to himself. 'I confess my own appetite is like quicksilver. Each evening I sit down to feast, starving, but before I can satisfy my hunger it disappears, and the feeling of food in my throat sickens me.'

Sigyn observed the wasted banquet spread between them. 'We're proving poor dining companions,' she jested gently.

'Just companions, then,' Loki proposed, abandoning his plate and leaning back into his chair. He cocked his head and surveyed her across the table. 'So, how do you occupy yourself now with no Queen to attend?'

Sigyn set down her fork gratefully. 'Research, mostly,' she answered. 'Medicinal Haematurgy.'

His lips sprang into a surprised smile. 'Martial seidr doesn't interest you? Your talent is formidable.'

'I've trained in combat, as all the Royal Handmaids,' Sigyn conceded. 'But the All-Mother guided me towards the healing arts. I think my gift disturbed her.'

'Do you fear your talent?'

She hesitated in her answer. 'I might have loved it once,' she admitted. 'But I've made too many mistakes.'

A shadow crossed his expression. 'I've never let that stop me.'

'Evidently,' Sigyn muttered, but Loki only sipped from his own goblet, appearing lost in thought for a few moments.

His next question was elusive. 'If you'll excuse my curiosity – I've never been well-liked, on any Realm – If I may ask …' His smooth words faltered. 'All those years ago, how did you – how did such a depth of affection … arise?'

Sigyn was equally speechless on the matter. She fought to dispel the blood gathering in her cheeks. 'I … Well ...'

He smirked as his discomfort became hers. 'Come now,' he crooned with another tilt of his head, 'your secret's out already.'

She supposed he was right. Sigyn dared not look away from the candlelit centrepiece as she took a few moments to make sense of her sentiments. 'After you saved me from the thorns, I began to take closer notice of you, hoping to find a way to repay your kindness. I took too much notice. The All-Mother spoke of you often, with such fondness … I saw everything she did, and more.'

Try as they might, their conversation kept circling around Frigga. She haunted every blink of the eye, each beat of the heart, relentless as a restless spirit. Loki had gone very still, his expression becoming immobile. A heavy silence stretched between them, until it broke when he drew an abrupt breath and asked, quietly, 'What was the ceremony like?'

He hadn't been there, of course. Frigga was sent off without her favourite son to bless her journey.

'It was held in the evening,' Sigyn recalled. 'I dressed her myself. The gown embroidered in the shades of a blazing sunset – with pearl white petals sewn across the shoulders. Bronze breastplate; her favourite silver circlet. She sailed flaming into the stars, the fairest warrior leading her slain subjects home to Valhalla.' Sigyn's throat tightened as she recounted the details, and she felt tears welling in her eyes. With a shake of her head she bitterly commented, 'I should have been fighting alongside her.'

'You're not to blame,' Loki consoled in a hoarse voice.

'You don't understand,' Sigyn pressed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her shame. 'I served on her vanguard. But I was – moping – in my lab when they struck. I didn't reach her in time; she had to face Malekith alone.' She bit down on her lip.

He leaned onto his forearm, the move barely compensating for the distance between them. The air of fragile formality had been stripped from the room, unveiling the grief haunting the King and his companion. 'None of the guard reached her; you're no more responsible for what happened than they.'

'But I would have made the difference. I'd have boiled that creature's blood in its veins before it touched her; burst Malekith's heart with his own ichor. All this power, and I do nothing but harm –'

Loki raised his palms to her. 'You're entirely mistaken –'

Sigyn's tears slipped from her blackened lashes. '– I failed her so many times –'

'I did it,' Loki spat suddenly, silencing her.

Sigyn glanced swiftly up at him.

He glowered with the same flames of self-hatred that burnt her own heart to coal. 'I directed the beast right to her.'

'Why?'

'I wanted to see how much damage could be done to the House of Odin from my cell. I didn't think she'd be at the heart of it, protecting an Infinity Stone.' His grit his teeth on the crack in his voice.

Sigyn gasped a sob, her body seizing up with sorrow. The table blurred before her, and she lost sight of him at the end of it. She strongly suspected he had uttered his confession to no other soul. 'Then I should have been there to allay your mistake.'

'You needn't have if not for my foolishness,' he croaked in response.

With a sniff Sigyn blinked away her tears, and directed her stare at him. 'I forgive you,' she whispered.

He coughed a masochistic laugh. 'Nonsense –'

'I forgive you. And the truth will die with me.'

It was Loki who broke his gaze this time. 'I'm not asking for it.'

'But how sorely you need it,' she determined.

'That's not what you're here for,' he reminded her, and she fell silent. Loki shook his head at Sigyn. 'You grieve her like a daughter,' he remarked. 'But you've a mother of your own.'

Sigyn drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. 'Your mother understood me in a way my own cannot,' she explained. 'Freyja loves me very much, but I confound her. She's always off travelling exotic realms, courting witless fellows, playing her games.'

'You just poison them. Totally different.'

Her jaw fell, scandalised. 'My intentions were far from –'

He managed a chuckle. 'It would seem the apple is not so far fallen from the tree as you'd claim. You'd have heard the All-Mother say, that the sorcerer who does not know his talents is often-times more dangerous than he who does. Most of all to himself.'

'I'm nothing like my mother,' Sigyn flared. 'My talent lies in helping people and protecting the Realm. In healing the worthy and dispensing of the unworthy.'

Loki bared his teeth in a sly grin. 'Don't tell me you didn't find some satisfaction in having your yearning returned. Or that you didn't nurture some small hope that despite your best efforts I might still glimpse you, or stumble into you. That I wouldn't forget, and this – here, now – is what you truly wanted.'

His words crept into the darkest chambers of her heart, and it beat wildly beneath her breast as if trying to flush him out. Her face hardened to a mask of lead, vainly shuttering on the buried truths he'd excavated from beneath her prideful honour.

He continued, 'I won't pretend I don't enjoy pulling back on the same strings you bound me with, and watching you choke in the snare of my pain. Know thyself, sorceress.'

Don't deny you're every bit as corrupt as I. Sigyn realised Loki's forgiveness was not given so easily as her own, but she believed her work could win it. 'Whatever hopes you ascribe to me departed as ash on the wind long ago. I'd have you know, I've dedicated my time to rendering Sanguine redundant.'

'Oh? So you do something of value in that lab of yours after all.'

'I'm developing a universal blood substitute.'

That gave him pause. 'Ambitious,' he admitted. 'Has it proven promising?'

'I'm experimenting with an enchantment structure that might stabilise a solution of the components of all blood types.'

He quirked a brow. 'Such a structure would be unstable by its very nature.'

'Yes. The formation starts with – actually, it's probably better if I draw it – have you a quill?'

'Over here,' he said, rising from his chair and waving her over to the table before the fireplace. He retrieved a quill and inkwell from a nearby set of drawers, but found it absent of parchment. Sigyn smoothed out her dampened handkerchief on the table as Loki settled beside her on the settee.

'This is holding it all together,' she explained, loading the quill and sketching out the array of seidr. She arranged another pattern of symbols within it. 'While the core is dynamic. See it has to recede the non-matching blood types upon contact so it isn't rejected.'

Loki leant over her shoulder, and reached out a slender hand to slide the illustration closer. 'Norns,' he murmured, squinting at the symbology. 'It's powerful, but elegant.'

'How durable do you think it is?' she asked. 'It needs to be incorruptible.'

'You've reinforced all the vulnerabilities,' he noted, pointing out the weaker links. 'This is … an impressive piece of work, Sigyn. Do you have everything you need?'

'My stores are running low, especially the rarer samples,' she admitted. 'My work was resourced at the Queen's discretion.'

'I'll see that it's renewed.'

Sigyn gave her thanks, and reconsidered Loki's earlier statements. 'So, do you still think I'm wasted in a lab?' she teased.

Loki regarded her with a look of steady appreciation. 'From what I've seen, you're not wasted anywhere, Sigyn.' He leaned in fractionally. 'In fact, I would see that no part of you goes to waste.'

Her skin crisped under the caress of his sly wordplay. But she remembered his interest was only a refraction of her own. Sigyn cast her eyes back down to her design. 'There's ... another working I'm devising,' she revealed. 'There isn't a safe method of lifting spells from the blood, but I've a few theories I think are promising. We could experiment.'

This did not seem to spark the same interest as her first idea, and his focus dropped. 'What's done is done,' he muttered.

'If I crack it, I could purge my taint from your blood,' she argued hopefully.

Discomfort knitted his brows, and he grew strangely guarded, folding his arms. 'It's not necessary.'

'Wouldn't you prefer to be free of me?' Sigyn implored.

He shrugged. 'Not particularly.'

'You only think that because of the curse.'

'Sigyn.' He grew stern. 'I don't want to be cured. My mind has been tampered with well enough – deceived, manipulated, ensorcelled. Let it be my own, such as it is.'

'But –'

'It's part of me now.'

'You wouldn't feel that way if you let me –'

Loki grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her to face him. 'You can't undo what you did,' he rasped, his gaze a fierce jade gleam. 'You can't undo what you did. You can only make up for it.'

'Nothing could make up for my mistake,' Sigyn lamented hopelessly.

'That's for me to decide.'

She peered up at him. 'Am I forgiven, then?'

He rolled his lips together in consideration, releasing her and grasping his leather-clad thighs. 'Maybe tomorrow night.'

He was inviting her back again, after this debacle of a dining experience? 'I probably won't eat anything,' she doubted.

'Nor will I. We'll find something to do.'

After bidding Sigyn goodnight and sealing the door shut, Loki plucked her forgotten handkerchief from the table. In a flight of fancy he cupped it to his nose and inhaled. Her scent was not a soft dream, recalling exotic flowers – but a spiced vision of medicinal herbs and poison berries, laced with his ink. Before he could take a second whiff Loki wrenched it from his nose, disgusted at himself. He strode to the fireplace, but his arm stiffened as he made to cast the cloth into the flames – and he could only crush it in his fist.

He couldn't explain to her his instinct to preserve her curse. Not yet, anyway. He was depending on her guilt. But close to daybreak as Loki tossed and turned in his blankets, a suspicion had dawned on him; that whatever imprint Sigyn's blood had left on his might have conferred some form of protection long after his fall from the Bifrost. If not for the sheerest veil shrouding his heart from the Scepter's influence, Thanos might have claimed him after all.