Chapter 6

Secrets

Sigyn

I am surprised to see the Allfather in the healing room so frequently – it is obvious he finds any excuse to come. At first I assumed it had to do with the tragic scene I witnessed after the dark elves attacked – when he brought his wife here, knowing she was already dead but in desperate hope that he was wrong. Under any other circumstances, the death of the queen would have been an all-consuming grief – she was my (albeit distant) kinswoman and my teacher for many, many years, and always exceedingly kind to me. Only the death of my husband could overshadow such a loss.

I was the one who thought to send someone to tell Loki – by then it was days later, and I stopped in the middle of rearranging some potions, in a sudden sweat, sick to think that no one may have thought to tell him. Thor was never good for thinking of that sort of thing and Odin … Odin was still angry with him, understandably. I likely sent him to his death – Loki left with his brother to avenge their mother the day after she and the others killed in the siege were laid to rest, and never returned.

No one mourned publically this time – as far as most of the nation is concerned, he's been dead to us since he tried to destroy Jotunheim. We mourned him then, and I suppose to most of them that's all they needed. I drank to him seven days later in my own chambers, trying to keep the tears from my eyes, and said a prayer to his daughter for his soul, with hands folded over a little fire in my hearth. "Oh blessed and lovely Queen Hela, have mercy on your wayward father. He did many evil things, things which I know are unforgiveable, but even so, I pray that you'll have mercy on his soul in Hel." I can't even bring myself to think about the alternative – even though he probably deserves it, I couldn't sleep at night if I thought Loki was being tormented in Nifleheim. "I pray you bear him my love. Many of those I love are in your care, and I thank you for watching over them." But not the one I miss the most – my beloved's soul is in Valhalla, where I shall never reach him. It is a great honor, I remind myself every time I have the thought. Maybe he is finally happy there – maybe the thoughts of what the siren did to him are finally gone in that battlefield paradise.

My attention is called away from the prayer by the sound of Váli's tears – I lift him from his crib and comfort him as best I can. "It's all right little one," I say softly, rocking him gently. He's proven capable of grief even at his tender age – he was always a quiet child until the battle, but now he wails for seemingly no reason, trying to call his papa back and not understanding why I am the only one to respond. "Oh my sweet Váli … you have no idea what you lost that day," I say softly as my tears fall onto his cheek.


I remember when Loki and I were children – the first time we met was while I learned from his mother. I had just come from my home world to learn magic under Queen Frigga, and of course this prompted an introduction to both the boys, who were only about a hundred years older than me. Even then, at the tender age of six hundred, the difference between the twins was startling, not just in appearance, but in manner. Thor was the ideal of his people – strong, brave to the point of rashness, an eager and skilled warrior. Loki was the ideal of mine – intelligent, scholarly, skilled in magic, reserved – I immediately, to his annoyance I think, latched onto him because he seemed familiar compared to the other Aesir. I always wanted to play with him, and could rarely be persuaded to go play with the other children unless he was there too. He didn't like to play with the others, so often this involved me annoying him by following him – I was a century younger, a difference that seems so much greater to little children than it does to adults, and I cried far too easily. Even so, he tolerated me – probably on orders from his mother.

Eventually, I started to befriend Sif, as she was a friend of his brother's and similarly disinclined to talk incessantly of boys and dresses, though she was a little warrior and I a little scholar. (Occasional conversations about the former were acceptable – dresses, never.) This friendship was cemented one day when she held Loki down for me so I could steal a kiss despite his protests. I kissed him on the lips and he blushed, silent for a moment, before quickly wiping his mouth and making a sound of disgust, even though he was still blushing. Then Sif kissed him too and he did the same with her – blushing and almost smiling before remembering he wasn't supposed to like it. Thor stood by and laughed uproariously at his brother's plight, but fled and cried out for his brother when Sif and I chased him so she could do the same. (He proved more evasive than his brother and managed to escape unkissed, that day at least.)

I can't say when it was that the tables turned, and he was the one who wanted me – certainly not when he got old enough to notice girls, as the existence of his children attests. I'd like to think it wasn't just because of Theoric … all though maybe it was. Maybe it was jealousy, maybe it took knowing someone else noticed me to realize what he felt for me.

I'm sure there were signs, but I was naïve and missed them completely. Until that night – the night it was made painfully clear. We were in the royal library late at night, working out a task his mother had given us, but he was distracted, as he always was, by the hunt for the solution to Fen's plight. "Loki – we can look again after this task is ended," I said as I gently pried the book he had fallen asleep reading out of his hands, trying to guide him back to the task at hand. "Then we will have all the time in the world for it."

"What would I do without you?" he asked with a weary sigh, but smiled up at me as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. That smile could have lit the way in the darkest of caves.

"Evidently, fail your mother's tasks," I teased, but he ignored me.

"Do you really love him?" he asked, looking more serious, and it was so out of nowhere I thought he meant Fen, since that was closer to the topic at hand.

"Of course I do – he's a sweet boy and I couldn't try to help him more if he was my own flesh and …"

"Not Fen," he cut me off quickly, and I knew immediately what was coming.

"You mean Theoric? Why do you think I'm marrying him?" Father had pitched a fit about it … Theoric was just a "lowly" knight in the order of Crimson Hawks, and he thought I could do "better." I am not sure why Loki thinks I would defy my father for anything other than love.

"I just … he's so … not good enough for you," Loki said, stumbling over words, apparently trying to find an inoffensive way to put it and failing horribly. "I don't mean his station," he added quickly, which only left me fuming over what other qualities he may have found lacking in my fiancé. "I just thought you would marry someone … more scholarly. Go back to Vanaheim to find a mage or …" he hesitated, but I knew what he was going to say.

"If you wanted to be more than friends, Prince, perhaps you should have said something before I was engaged to someone else," I said, trying not to sound too angry. I only called him Prince when I was angry enough to be formal.

"That's not what I meant," he tried to lie to me, giving me a look like I was being ridiculous.

"Isn't it?" I asked, and seeing he was found out he looked almost apologetic.

"Forget I said anything – I would see you happy more than anything."
"And you think I'll be happy with someone not good enough for me?"
He looked cowed by that. "Definitely forget I said that – that sounded much worse aloud than it did in my head."

I couldn't tell if he was sincere or not, but either way I softened my tone. "You would sacrifice your happiness to see mine?" I asked, a little incredulous.

"There is an edge of selfishness in it too … I value your friendship enough that I would sacrifice a chance at something more to maintain it," he said smoothly. "But yes, in a heartbeat."

I felt blood run to my cheeks, and I was sorry for my earlier hot-tempered reaction. "For whatever it's worth … if I didn't love him …"
"At the risk of being curt, I would rather not dwell on might have been, Lady Sigyn," he said, and the formality stung. I didn't like the taste of my own medicine after all.

"Very well – let us pretend the last five minutes did not transpire," I said quickly. To which he pretended to go back to sleep in the book, which made me laugh a little in spite of everything.

And now they're both gone – and I'll likely never see either one of them ever again, even in death.

No. I will see Loki again one day. Loki is in Hel – he has to be. His own daughter wouldn't …

I cannot bear to think about it.


Once again, the king has found his way here to the hospital wing almost at the end of the night – when I am nearly ready to go home to my sweet boy. It can no longer escape my attention that he is here to see me – and I have no idea what I would say if he ever made his affections overt. What will befall me if I am honest? Will he understand and not take offense when I say that loyalty to his now dead son and wife could never let me see him that way, even if my tastes did run to older men, which they do not? (It would probably be best to leave the latter part out of the explanation.) I can only hope that my sister healers Astrid and Tara …

Do not intentionally leave early with no warning to me so that I am entirely alone with him for the first time in my life. Curse them. I try to busy myself with looking over the only patient on the ward – a young boy sleeping off a healing potion for some badly broken bones after an unfortunate riding incident – but that excuse won't last long. "What service can I offer my king?" I ask, in the most professional tone I can muster, just as my sister healers did when he came in.

"I wish to speak with you, Lady Sigyn, alone if possible," he answers, which of course was exactly what I was dreading. He usually lingers at the edge of the room, but in this case he's stepped close enough that I'm boxed in by the hospital beds.

"No one shall enter this ward until morning, unless an emergency arises," I answer honestly, despite wanting, very much, to lie and try to put off being alone with him for a while. "And this young man is under the influence of medicine which produces extreme drowsiness as a side effect and could likely sleep through another invasion."

"That is good – then I would speak to you if you will allow it." As though I can refuse my king.

"I will, my lord."

"There is no need for such formality, not from you," he says with a wave of the hand, which only makes me feel even more uncomfortable.

"What did you wish to speak to my about, my …" I catch myself before I call him my lord, since I was just told I did not need to be formal with him.

"I hope you will forgive my intrusions these last few weeks – forgive an old man's need to be near one who reminds him of his wife and son." Now why doesn't that make me feel any more at ease?
"It is no intrusion, my … it never bothered me," I say even though that's the exact opposite of what I actually feel.

"I watch you toil over patients and I remember all the hours you spent with my son, both of you bent over your books, working at the studies his mother set for you and seeking the remedy to his sons' condition …"
"You will forgive me, Allfather, if I ask you not to speak of Fenrir and Jorgumunder to me," I say, swallowing my anger. Especially Fen – to hear him speak of Fen makes my blood boil. It has also not escaped my notice that he has stepped closer with almost every word so that he is now uncomfortably close. He seems surprised by my reaction to that – but he keeps talking with no sign of being flustered by my words.

"You were so loyal to Loki, always – would I be wrong to hope that you were one of the few who mourned him, even knowing what he was?" Those words are a dagger in my heart – he has to ask?

"Yes," I say softly, and by now he's close enough that I almost want to step back but I resist. "If I can be so bold, you were wrong to disown him."
"You know what he did – on Earth and to Jotunheim," he answers, not sounding anywhere near as angry as I expected.

"I know his actions were unforgiveable. But I also know he was raised by people who taught him to hate everything he was …" The Aesir don't understand why I cringe when I hear them teach their children rhymes about the Jotuns or even the dark elves – I don't forget for a moment my people were once their enemies as well, and it's a vile thing to me, to teach children to fear and hate everyone of a given race. Some part of him must understand that – after all, he had compassion on a suffering Jotun child, enough to bring him home.

"What do you mean by that?" he asks, more sharply, and I could curse myself for my stupidity in saying that. Loki's heritage is still a secret, though a badly kept one.

"I mean that … His magic and knowledge were never as valued as …"
"Oh – you meant that too, but I think you meant something else, primarily?" he says, almost playfully. That expression is not one I have seen from him, all though I never knew him well. It almost looks like …

"It's only gossip," I say quickly. I overheard two guards gossiping about it – one of them claimed to have overheard an argument between Odin and Loki about … his heritage. But I don't say that – I don't want one of them to be in trouble if it's true. "I would have dismissed it if … If it didn't make so much sense."
"Why does it make sense?" he asks, and sounds almost offended at that.

"It explains why … why he had such an affinity for the cold, why even in the warm castle his skin felt cold to the touch, why he was so very different from his brother … if I was compelled to venture a guess I would say he was only half Jotun and half elf, and that would explain even more. It was easy for me to believe, for that reason."

"Half elf?" he asks, puzzled.
"His face had an elvish look to it, but perhaps that is the bias of hindsight." He pauses, considering that, and I finally take a breath and dare to step back. "And anyway – there is no way of knowing what befell him in the wide universe, between then and his capture … his scars were terrifying …"
"You saw his scars?" he asks, but instead of sounding accusing he … almost smirks. I blush furiously.

"Only the ones on his arms – I visited him in his cell and he showed them to me."
"How many times did you visit him?"
The question is so loaded, I have to close my eyes to hide the fact my eyes have gone damp with the sudden pain of it. "Only … only twice. It should have been more," I say, after taking a deep breath, trying not to show my regret. "A friend deserved more." While my eyes are closed, I hear a footstep and try to step back, but back into the empty bed. "Why does this matter to you, my lord?" I demand, opening my eyes – only to gasp at what I see.

"Shhh," Loki says as he covers my mouth to stifle the cry of surprise that arose automatically in my throat. Tears spill from my eyes and I give no effort to stifle them as I gaze at the friend I've lost twice now, here before me in the flesh. I put my hand over his hand on my mouth and kiss his palm, which encourages him to move it to my cheek and grasp my hand. His other arm goes around my waist and the closeness that made me so uncomfortable just moments ago is a terrible gulf I'm happy to see closed as he pulls me into an embrace. I'm so small that I'm a head and shoulders shorter than him – I'm more than happy to hear his heartbeat in my ear as I rest my head against his chest. "Am I dreaming?" I ask. "Don't wake me up if I am," I say.

"You're not dreaming," he says and strokes my hair. And all at once, joy turns to anger as quickly as discomfort and regret had turned to joy. I pull away and slap him.

"What are you doing? What have you done with your father? How could you do this to us? Twice?" I ask in a harsh whisper. I slap him again and he only flinches a little but seems to accept this.

"Odin is alive – he is safe."
"Show me," I whisper sharply. Now that I know what is at stake I speak in whispers – even though I know he probably has yet another terrible scheme in progress, I cannot overcome my urge to protect him.

"Not yet – not until you know what I am doing and why," he says, and the look in his eyes is so desperate I have to believe there is more to his side of the story. "I will not speak of it here – in case someone comes in unexpectedly," he says, taking back his father's form. "Can I trust you to remain silent until you have heard my say?"

Against my better judgment, I nod.

"Very well. When is your work ended tonight?"

"Just before dawn – where shall I go then?"

"Go to your quarters when your shift is ended – relieve whoever tends your son and then go to the east library. No one will be there. I will send someone to tend your son until you return." With that he leaves – I almost ask him to stay a while.

I sink into one of the beds, trying to process what has just happened. I should raise the alarm now, I'm party in his treason for not doing so. Why do I still believe him after all he's done?

At least partially because I want to – perhaps that makes me a fool.

The last hour of this dreary night shift trudges by, with no company but the soundly sleeping boy. I turn over every possibility in my mind – can he have a good reason for this after all? Is he just unhinged by his self-loathing and the horror that befell him when he fell through space? Is the Allfather really safe? If I need to … who will believe me if I tell them, and is there anything I can do to gain Loki any measure of mercy if they do?

Of course it's my luck that this is the morning that Mara and Alric are both late – when Alric finally arrives I almost run back to my quarters (all though I try not to hurry until I'm out of his sight to avoid rousing suspicion). I find Syril, the thousand-year-old girl who watches him while I am on duty, sleeping soundly next to Váli's crib, with Váli as well tended as he always is. I gently wake her and send her home. Before long, a servant girl I've never met arrives – she looks confused about why she's here, and normally I would be loathe to trust anyone I don't know with Váli, but I see little choice this time. I promise he's a good boy, and promise him I'll be back soon even though he is too little to understand, and then leave for the east library. Again, I have to force myself not to run.

At this hour, there's no one here – I wander the aisles for a moment. I feel a hand tapping on my shoulder and I turn around to see a stranger and jump until he speaks with Loki's voice. "I couldn't well walk the halls as myself or the Allfather, could I?" he teases me, and I throw my arms around him and give a sigh of relief.

At this hour we will most likely be alone – even the magic students and healers-in-training will be in the west or north libraries pouring over magic and science books, not in the dusty old east library with it's very, very dull history books. Even so we go to the back and he retains his disguise and we speak in hushed tones.

"I thought you were dead – I thought you were dead twice," I say harshly.

"I know – I'm sorry but it was the only way," he says tenderly, brushing my hand with his. I try to ignore the way that makes me feel. "You don't know … I wish I didn't know, I'm sorry to have to tell you but you're the only one I trust to help me in this quest." I'm nervous – he sounds like a madman.

"What is this quest you speak of?" I ask.

"You have to understand what I saw on the other side, when I … fell …" he starts.

"You told me about the madman," I say softly. The purple tyrant – the courter of death.

"I didn't tell you about his plans," he says.

"Other than sending you to take over Midgard?" I ask, again bitterly.

"I didn't tell you why he was willing to give me Midgard." My heartbeat speeds up a little – this doesn't sound good.

"Why is that?"
"He's planning to take the rest of the universe – he didn't have much interest in a backwater little planet like Midgard. I had hoped … to slam the door in his face and halt his plans … or failing that to bring you and those few I love to Earth for safety." I study his face searching for any sign of deception – but of course he's always been an accomplished liar. Do I really believe him … or do I just want to?

"How does he think he will do this?" I ask skeptically.

"He spoke of a gauntlet with settings for jewels that would each grant incredible powers, and together mastery of reality itself …" That sounds far too fantastic to be true – there are plenty of powerful artifacts but that sounds ridiculous. "A right-handed silver gauntlet with settings for six gems – does that sound familiar?" I feel a little sick at that – I have seen that. Once or twice I've been given entry to the Allfather's vaults, neither of them happy occasions, and each time I've hurried by a seemingly simple gauntlet and wondered why it required such guarding.

"But it can't be that powerful …" I protest.

"The mind gem alone allowed me to control any Midgardian I touched with it," he answers. I had wondered how he accomplished this when Heimdall told me of it … That was never an ability he had before. It's not an ability I think anyone has outside my people … or at least I did. "The Tesseract is another."

"What does that have to do with …"
"I tried to warn the Allfather … but he would not listen to me. He had the Tesseract and planned to obtain the Aether from the mortal girl's body – it is too dangerous to have two of them together, along with the gauntlet. Having even one is dangerous – two would surely draw him here. I do not plan to make his destruction of the universe any easier of a quest to undertake."

"Why couldn't you tell anyone else? Someone else could have convinced him – your mother …"
"He never listened to Mother – if he had, do you think I would have been kept in the dark so long about my heritage?" I have no counterargument to that. "And anyway – she was not allowed to see me. Every time she did, it was only in defiance of his will." That makes me feel sick – how could any father order such a thing?

"But Loki this is … what are you going to do? What have you done with him?"
"I've already sent off the Aether, and I will let my scepter stay where it lies on Earth and prepare both Earth and Asgard for battle. As for the Allfather, I told you – nothing. I saw my chance when Thor took me to Svartalfheim, and I took it. Odin sleeps, as he does in the Odinsleep, and will remain asleep until I rouse him."

"Show me," I demand.

He concentrates for a moment and with a wave of his hand, he opens a portal so that I can see into some kind of stone chamber where the Allfather lays asleep on a bed which emanates a soft golden glow – he definitely appears alive. "Take me to him," I say slyly – I'll have a better chance convincing someone to believe me if I know where the Allfather is.

"I will not."
"How can I be sure you're not lying? That this isn't an illusion?" I ask.

"You can't – but I won't make you party in my treason," he says flatly, one hand on my shoulder.

"Because you don't trust me?" He doesn't know that he shouldn't. He's not the only liar in the room.
"Because I love you," he says, and I'm so caught off guard I don't know what to feel, let alone what to say. "I love you and I would not have you share in whatever is going to happen to me for this plot."

"Then why tell me at all?" I ask, struggling to parse out his motives.

"Because … this is not a burden I can carry alone, though I have tried. And, if I am honest with myself … I have longed for so very long to tell you that I was not lost – knowing you were the only one who mourned me." He has so much faith in me and I …

"Loki I …"
"Shhh," he says gently, putting a finger to my lips. His finger is soon followed by his lips, ending any doubt about what kind of love he meant – it's been so long since I've been kissed like this. I almost lose myself, until, unbidden, an image of Theoric comes into my mind. I try to remember I'm not betraying him, that my duty to him is ended, but even so I hesitate to kiss Loki back even though … I do feel something for him.

"Oh," he says softly as he pulls back, sounding heartbroken.

"No it's not like that," I say quickly, with a hand on his shoulder. "It's just … it's so soon, after …"

"Of that you're right, Sigyn, I am sorry," he says softly, taking my hand and kissing it. Which stirs up butterflies in my stomach as though I'm a child, some silly girl with her heart set on an older boy. Like I once was.

"Only grant me some time, most worthy prince," I say, taking his hand in turn and kissing it the same way.

"The virtue of patience is one I am having to learn more and more of late, Sigyn – but for you I will gladly suffer waiting," he answers.

Maybe I'm a fool, but he has my silence – I'll speak of what I have seen to no one.


Only two days after I learn the truth, Sif returns with Lorelei in tow. How I had longed to go after her myself, how I admire Sif for bringing her back with minimal injuries, knowing what she did to men we loved.

Female guards (even with the muzzle, it is better to be safe than sorry) haul the witch away, and I embrace my best friend. "You got her!" I say breathlessly, letting out the breath I didn't realize I had been holding since I learned she escaped with many of the other prisoners during the siege. "You must tell me all about it!"

We drink wine – or I sip and she drinks anyway – as she tells me the story. It is late at night here – she'll make her official report to the Allfather in the morning. "And you won't believe who aided me – remember the mortal Thor spoke of, the one called Son of Coul?" I nod – how could I forget? What a twist of fate it was that Thor and Phillip found each other … and that Phillip should meet his death at Loki's hands.
"He is alive – I do not know how, but he is alive."

"What?" I ask breathlessly. Joy swells in my chest – thank the gods! I wonder why Heimdall didn't tell me Phillip survived …

"It's too bad Loki isn't here to hear it – I would love to see the look on his face when …"
"Sif," I say sharply, more sharply than I meant to, and she looks apologetic, probably remembering how close we were and thinking she's insulted me.

"I am sorry, I should not speak thus of a dead friend."
"Oh it's not that … I was just going to … you can't tell the Allfather about this."
"Why not?" she asks suspiciously.

"I will tell you more when I can – but please, trust me in this. Don't tell him. Tell him you were helped by mortals but don't tell him their names – certainly don't tell him that the one we had thought slain by Loki is alive." Phillip bruised Loki's ego by blasting him through a wall – I don't want to imagine what Loki will do if he learns he's alive. I love him but … I don't trust him not to do something he would regret later, not anymore.

"Very well – I will not, unless he asks directly," she says, which is fair enough. Loki won't think to do so – this line of questioning shouldn't come up. Phillip should be safe and Loki … Loki can never know what he really did when he killed … when he tried to kill Phillip. I won't let him live with that.


Author's Note

This is going to be our only Sigyn chapter for a while. I initially wanted it as a flashback … well, more of a flashback later on in the story but I decided to put it here for better pacing and also foreshadowing.

I decided to make Thor and Loki supposedly twins because 1. This would explain why nobody questioned that the queen hadn't been pregnant before Loki was born 2. Then talk of how Loki and Thor are so different isn't "Wow those brothers have nothing in common, that's suspicious" it's, "Isn't it adorable how the princes are twins but are like night and day?" since everyone loves twins like that 3. It can ramp up Loki's bitterness a lot. It's not just "Thor being born first is so unfair," it's "So Thor is the oldest by ten freaking minutes and he gets everything even though he's an idiot and I'm the competent one?" 4. They look pretty much the same age in that flashback in Thor.

Just for reference, I listened to the song "Now You Tell Me," by Jordin Sparks a lot while writing the scene in library.

I really hope Sigyn doesn't come across as stupid for not seeing the obvious with Loki and how evil he is (to be fair she is doing better than some of the fangirls). The intent is that this is a guy she's known since they were the equivalent of eight and nine and a half (roughly) and so she never wanted to believe he was evil and is eager to take his excuses. And while he's not exactly lying to her right now but … he's omitting a lot of the truth.

And now to address the elephant in the room: Norse religion in the MCU. I have been wondering how exactly they were handling it since Thor. Then in Dark World Odin's like "Oh we're not gods," and I'm like "Oh okay so they're just doing the advanced alien thing." And then an hour or so later they had a clearly very spiritual ceremony (the funeral) in which something clearly supernatural happened, namely that you saw all the dead people become soul dust and ascend to (presumably) Valhalla. So … yes they are gods, basically. This is what happens when you have two different directors and God knows how many screenwriters.

Speaking of … this is what happened while I was writing this part of the story.

Clippy: So I see you have decided to touch on the confusing, often troubling theological puzzle that is eschatology in the Marvel Universe, considering that you are bringing up both the Norse afterlife and implying that little Coulson went to Heaven when he "died." Would you like some help?

Me: *clicks on no thanks option*

Clippy: Good because you're on your own sister. *disappears*

Which … am I going any deeper with it? Heck to the no. I do talk about it more later in the story but I don't go very deep with the implications. This aspect of it was a little bit uncomfortable for me to write because I am a Christian who believes in Heaven, so it is kind of odd to me to be writing about it side by side with the Norse afterlife which I feel to be fiction. Basically, let me offer this disclaimer: I am not making any statements with this story about my beliefs or anyone else's and I advise not thinking about it too hard.