Chapter Fourteen—Queen Sigyn
Warnings: Drunken Advances
A/N: I think the update schedule is going to be every Sunday/Monday (depending on how long editing takes) so hurray! Also, if we get to 200 reviews before Christmas Day, than expect a little gift from jolly Saint Mim to spread some holiday cheer!
Sigyn ran a nervous hand over the many folds of her silk dress, the golden material offering some relief to her otherwise sweaty palms. Nibbling on her lip, she glanced down at the many layers of her skirt, the many overskirts swooping down from her bodice to reveal each intricate layer. Silk flowers trimmed the top skirt while embroidery and gems lined the ones underneath while her bodice was heavily embroidered with emerald twisting leaves and charging stags.
Seeing that her hands hadn't left a mark on her skirts, she glanced back up at the large oaken door that stood before her. She could hear the faint strains of music drifting through the thick doors to her ears. The ceremony had begun only moments ago and she now awaited anxiously for the doors to be thrown open for her entrance—when all her efforts and labors for the past week would prove if they paid off in a single dance. The dance that could bring dishonor and shame upon her for the rest of her life.
Letting out a long breath that barely calmed her fluttering nerves, she touched the emeralds that glittered about her neck over the golden silk that covered it. The feeling of the cool gems offered her some reassurance and the thought of the deep green color of the jewels brought to mind another stunning set of green, this one eyes that belonging to the man that she was to wed.
Then she heard the whine of the lyre as it gave the introduction to her entrance, her cue, and she hurriedly pulled the veil from her head down over her face, obscuring her and hindering her gaze. Not a moment too soon as the doors were thrown open before her and, taking a calming breath, she stepped forward and into the great hall, filled with glittering courtiers. All were paused in dance as they awaited her to join them. Each guest wore their finest; bright pinks and reds could be seen on elaborate Jotun gowns while the men wore their best furs, each sporting their house colors. A gleam casted off a golden crown caught her attention and Sigyn's eyes focused on the sight of the king, on the complete opposite side of the hall. He had started the dance to begin with and now he paused, waiting for her to join to continue on with the ceremony, just as the rest of the guests were.
Shoving this thought from her mind, Sigyn hurriedly shifted her gaze around, searching for her first partner. If she hadn't been so panicked, she would have supposed that the veil shielding her face was a blessing as the crowd of Jotuns could not see the absolute terror written across her face.
There! She caught sight of Menglad, offering her hand to Sigyn. Gliding across the emerald carpet, she made her elegant way to the lady. Taking Menglad's hand, Sigyn bent her knees deeply, sinking into a curtsey—as Menglad represented her mother in the ceremony—and when she arose, the music stared again, a wooden flute offering accompaniment as all the guests joined in the dance. Despite everyone swirling about her, their own steps difficult, Sigyn was acutely aware of the many eyes fixed upon her, scrutinizing her every movement.
Their opposite palms placed together and both of their bodies held the opposite way while they turned their faces towards each other, Menglad and Sigyn slowly rotated about each other before the two performed identical hitch-kicks, leading with their right feet delicately pointed as they circled. The two broke apart after a moment, Sigyn twirling so that her skirts belled about her and her arms delicately held above her head. Menglad had came to stand at her side by that point and, firmly grasping Sigyn around the waist, stopped her spinning. After a brief moment of both of them sashaying two steps diagonally left and then right, Menglad led her towards a group of women forming two circles, the outside circle rotating counter clockwise while the inside circle went clockwise. The women moved with easy, trotting steps, all moving with their toes delicately pointed.
The dancers parted and allowed Menglad to escort Sigyn to the center of the circle before Menglad, offering her hand in farewell, waved to Sigyn as two women from the circles glided to stand beside her and together, the three swirled out from the circles. Menglad's portion was now completed; the introduction was the symbolization of her being influenced and protected by her mother before she met other young women much like her—the two circles of women.
Sigyn passed for only a moment, her mind momentarily lost. Menglad had offered her support and now, as Sigyn forced her shaking limbs to pose in the starting position for the second part, she couldn't help feeling suddenly extremely vulnerable. But then her arms and feet carried her more of habit than her consciously thinking of it.
She swept her arms around her, taking a large leap forward before bringing her right leg about her left to twist her body into a spin, her hands fluttering about her as she did. The skirts offered her more weight and momentum but, thankfully, her practice skirts where only slightly lighter than golden skirts she currently wore, and she gracefully caught herself when she came out of the spin. After successfully landing the first spin, she twisted her body into a faster spin before kicking out of it and into another leap.
Landing on her tiptoes, she took a brief moment to regain her footing, Sigyn carefully balancing upon one foot as she extended her right arm towards the circles swirling about her while her left foot extended in the opposite direction. Despite the seemingly cumbersome skirts, the Jotun style of dressmaking allowed for easy movement, even with all the spinning and leaping that was required of the wedding dance—especially the second part.
Parting from the circle that began to disperse around them into pairs, Fulla, dressed in a pale green, came forward to take Sigyn's offered hand. Sigyn came down from her painful posture on her toes and the two girls linked arms, thus beginning the third part, to symbolize the friendships that mold the bride. Taking galloping steps in time with one another, leading with the right foot, the two built up momentum before pushing off from one another, spinning out from each in perfect synchronization.
Mirroring each other, the two turned back to face one another, and, taking small steps that they doubled back on every other step while clapping along to the music, the two finally met each other once more. Grasping each other's hands they kicked out with the opposite foot before doing the same again, using the reverse feet to previously as they did. Releasing Fulla's right hand, she swung her out and back in before Fulla did the exact same.
With that, from the dancers around them, appeared Mim, who symbolized her father that would take her from her childhood and lead her into adulthood, by giving her to her husband. Fulla releasing Sigyn's hand, she gave the princess an encouraging smile before offering a curtsey to her and rejoining the dancers. Mim, looking dapper in the navy of Gastropnir and his blue Markings offering stark contrast to his pale skin, marched to stand before Sigyn, as Jotun fathers were warriors.
The two stood still for only a moment before they both flung themselves in opposite directions, dancing wildly. Sigyn raised her feet high in reckless kicks and swung her gloved hands about in fists—as the dance required. The father's role in a Jotun child's life was to not only protect them, but teach them the art of warfare and fighting. Thusly, it was only customary for the fourth part of the dance to be the most savage, as it was essentially a war dance. Their movements were thrown and wild, as they danced back towards one another, mocking a fight through their kicks and arm movements.
Finally Mim reach out a hand and took up Sigyn's, spinning her once and easily catching her by her elbows before he lead her farther into the hallway, nearing the center. The dancers parted and in the clearing they left was a long figure. Sigyn's breath caught in her throat and she stumbled in her flowing gate at the sight.
It was Loki, his golden horned crown atop his head and the little emerald leaves glittering as the sun from the great glass windows poured in and caught the helm in all its glory. The king wore the emerald of Utgard, pristine white fur about his neck with a gold chain clasped at his throat, holding the cloak to his form. His torso, typically colored with the intricate blue of the Markings, were instead gold, making him appear he was half man, half statue. His piercing emerald eyes were fixed upon her, causing a blush to blossom across her cheeks though she hurriedly diverted her gaze, knowing that she wasn't to make eye contact with him—even though her face was obscured by the veil.
Quickly regaining her footing, she turned back to Mim, who kissed her gloved hand fondly before bowing away. When he was far enough away, he straightened before throwing a kick and spin, retreating to the crowd's dance about them.
Standing perfectly still with a proud, raised head, Sigyn awaited for Loki to step forward and slowly circle her. After a long moment, he finally came to a stop before her and offered his hand to her. Placing her golden gloved hand in his, he easily drew her into him, placing his other hand about her waist while hers rested on his shoulder.
Counting the beats off in her head 'one, two, three, one, two, three' aided by the melody of the music. They sashayed together, their actions starting slowly before the music picked up and so with it, did their feet. Their heels and toes tapped against the stone floors, in faultless harmony for every beat. Their feet against the stone formed its own rhythm, causing the musicians to drive forward ever faster.
Releasing one hand, the two swung about each other, hooking their arms around one another's waists, and spinning about one another, using the other's momentum to go faster and faster. They extended their arms to the dancers, and as they spun, others attempted to come and pull them apart but their grip held fast.
Swinging Sigyn out of the spin, Loki still held fast onto her hand, as the two faced forward and their feet clicked off its continuous melody simultaneously. A glancing kick with the heel off the stones, a double toe tap, a kick to the back then front that swung both of them around—breaking their grip just in time to turn with hindrance and then joining hands once more once both were giving the opposite direction—before taking a small jump and landing together, not a single wobble in their landings.
Their feet made every strike in faultless synchronization as the dancers closed the distance between them and the couple, circling about the pair as they stayed together every beat of the way. The dancers attempted to divert their focus from the dance through their own complicated and intricate steps, but neither paid any mind. Sigyn would later say it was because her mind was so focused on the singular task of guiding her own feet she had little attention to spare on much else.
Finally, the dancers began to form a line around the couple and fall into the steps of Sigyn and Loki until every single guest—all two hundred of them—were moving with the couple, leaping when they leapt, flawlessly keeping rhythm and beat with that of the pair. Sigyn couldn't help from keeping a smile from spreading across her face and a laugh from escaping her lips.
After the week of worrying and agonizing over every step, Sigyn had forgotten what dancing essentially was: fun. Moving in time with all the guests filled her with a sense of extreme amazement and the music carried her along, seeming to wash over her for the first time. It was a river that washed away all her anxieties and worries, leaving her with only the thrill of the dance.
Diverging from the line of dancers of who continued in their steps, Loki led Sigyn by the hand before turning to face her, careful to not look her in the eyes that were barely distinguishable through the veil. Falling back into their position from the beginning of their portion of the dance, they easily glided around the hall together in an elegant waltz that was the most familiar to Sigyn, as waltzing was the favorite form of dance in Asgard.
Loki held her close in his strong arms as they sashayed together, the dancers dispersing from the line and forming couples that began to join in Loki and Sigyn's swirling patterns. Then, when they reached the center of the room after making a complete circuit around, the king slowed his bride and came to a halt. Taking their cue from their monarch, the dancers impeded their movements as well, their complete attention devoted to the king and the woman in his arms.
Knowing this to be her cue, Sigyn released Loki hands, turning away from him as she swayed to the music as it begin to draw into a close, her hands fluttering from side to side. When she was a distance away, she pivoted on her left foot in a slow revolution to face Loki once more. Extending her left hand to him, she took slow galloping steps back to him, doubling back ever few steps and bowing her head shyly. Finally, she returned to him and he held her as he did before. Her leaving and coming back to his side signified her desire to invoke the Fortnight Privilege and Loki's face betrayed no surprise at her citing it.
From the crowd emerged Thiazi, wearing the burgundy and silver of Thrymheim, walking in measured steps and he drew to a stop before the couple. Loki was loathed that he was the man marrying him but it would be highly suspicious for him not to be, being the most powerful lord in Jotunheim and the practical choice for all ceremonies.
There was a pause as he surveyed them with a smile before he started with the Asgardian part of the ceremony, saying, "King Loki, the bride you have chosen has been accepted by the people of Jotunheim. Now I ask not the king, but Loki if he accepts Sigyn of Asgard as his wife to love, cherish, and protect till the end his days. If you do, say aye."
"Aye," Loki said without hesitation.
"And now I ask not Princess Sigyn, but Sigyn if she accepts Loki of Jotunheim as her husband, to love, cherish, and respect till the end of her days. If you do, say aye," Thiazi continued, turning to Sigyn.
Smiling brightly, Sigyn replied, "Aye."
"Now I ask for the rings and crown to be presented," Thiazi announced and at his command Mim and Fulla, both bearing cushions, emerged from the crowd. Both walked with careful steps as upon the emerald cushion that Fulla bore was a twin set of golden rings—an Asgardian tradition—and upon Mim's gold cushion was a glittering crown made of delicate gold leaves that were studded by the occasional emerald leaf. It was identical to the massive crown that rested upon Loki's brow though it lacked the interlocking antlers.
Taking the rings, Thiazi declared, "With these rings, you have sworn to each other as a couple, to be faithful, honest, and true to one another. May these rings be a reminder of that promise." Fulla stepped forward and offered the rings to the couple, Loki taking the smaller one and slipping it onto Sigyn's gloved ring finger before Sigyn did much the same.
After Fulla stepped back, Thiazi continued, gesturing for Mim to step forward, "With this crown, you bear the responsibility to Jotunheim together with your husband, the king." At that, Sigyn knelt onto one knee and Fulla, cushion tucked under one arm, carefully removed her veil. With Sigyn's fiery hair exposed to the crowd, they saw her exotic fiery red curls tamed into an intricate Jotun style and, woven into it, edelweiss only found on the slopes of the Jotun mountains. Thiazi took the offered crown from Mim and, with as much pomp and regality, lowered the crown to rest upon her brow.
"Rise," Thiazi commanded and she did so, pulling herself gracefully up and allowing Jotunheim their first proper look at her. There was a murmur of approval that rippled through the crowd at the fair sight of her. Letting the murmurs continue for only a moment, Thiazi declared, "I know pronounce this couple husband and wife." A mighty roar of cheering went up at that.
Stepping aside, Thiazi allowed Loki to lead Sigyn past him to stand properly before their people. Loki's smile was brilliant, it stretching widely across his face while Sigyn, albeit blushing fiercely, was beaming at the Jotuns—her people. When the applause began to fade, Loki announced to his people, "Jotunheim, I present to thee your Queen, Sigyn of Jotunheim."
The applause that met this rang in the couple's ears and Sigyn glanced up at Loki, who she found was doing much the same. His grip on her hand tightened and together, as King and Queen, they glided from the hall as husband and wife.
"Aesir century," called the familiar voice of Captain Foreseti over the general din of the mess hall. "Listen up."
All the men, bemoaning the interruption of their meals, reluctantly set aside their bowls of broth and lamb. Thor, seated at his usual table with his fellows, raised a bushy blond eyebrow in silent questioning if anyone knew the reason for their Captain interrupting their meal. Hod silently shrugged while Ull muttered darkly, "It better not be another ten mile march around the city walls." Bragi chuckled at that before they all fell silent as Foreseti continued speaking.
"Orders directly from up-top," he began, "We're marching out by dawn's light tomorrow morning; bring all necessary equipment, men—we're not going to be returning anytime soon. We're being stationed along the Jotunheim border approximately twelve miles south of the Jotun castle of Lyfjaberg." There was a pause as the Captain gazed at all soldiers in the century, all of them regarding him in silent shock and then he continued, "We're going to war, men. Aesir Century dismissed."
With that, the Captain strode from the mess, leaving all the men in shocked silence. Thor could feel the blood drain from his face as he casted a look at his companions. None of them offered any sort of response to this, all of them mirroring Thor's stunned expression. There was only one thought that ran through Thor's mind in a frantic, panicked pace as they all sat in silence: Sigyn.
The night air was cool as it travelled through the open rooms of the palace in Idavoll. Most of the inhabitants of the palace had retired for the night, few torches to be seen burning in rooms, though there was one solitary flickering lantern in the Emperor's personal study—a library nearly as large as the palace's main one. Balder sat hunched over a map of Asgard and Jotunheim. He had been sitting in that position for hours, it seemed. Hunched in silence and lost in his own musings, at his father's large study table—more like a banquet table than anything—covered in maps, scrolls, books, and every shred of information he could find that was, even in the most minute way, relevant.
His mind was working a thousand different avenues, all trying to come up with a feasible reason as to why Jotunheim would attack. Was the peace treaty a ploy to trick Asgard into relaxing its defenses? It hardly made any sense, seeing as the Emperor was perhaps only slightly distracted with the northern lords arriving in Idavoll to whine, but the garrisons had yet to pull out of Jotun territory and there was always the western, southern, eastern, and Idavoll's own legions to defend the empire. To assume that Asgard ever had relaxed forces as a gross miscalculation.
Balder's brown brows furrowed as he stared at the little star marked Utgard, thinking of his sister. Today would have been her wedding day, he knew, and he had sent his prayers to her for her to be successful in her challenge. But he worried that perhaps the wedding hadn't taken place; that she had been disposed of by the Jotuns. His mind shied away from the thought; not wanting to even consider the possibility that his sister was harmed in any way. But, he assured himself, it was illogical for the King of Jotunheim to want to hurt her as much as the idea of Asgardian relaxing its defenses had been. He sighed, running a hand through his brown hair.
There was a soft knock on the door and Balder's attention was finally drawn away from his close studies. "Enter," he called. The oaken doors were swung open, allowing entrance to Sif, a lantern that illuminated her delicate features held before her. Balder quirked a brow at the sight, inquiring, "Lady Sif? What can I do for you?"
"Prince Balder, it's too late to be studying," Sif replied in way of response, inclining her head slightly to him.
Balder sighed, saying, "I just can't seem to come to any sort of conclusion or find any answers whatsoever!"
There was a long pause as Balder pushed himself warily up from his chair, putting the maps and scrolls back into order to return to the next morning. "We're worried about you, Balder," Sif replied, entering further into the room.
At this, Balder paused abruptly, looking at Sif out of the corner of his eyes as she set her lantern on the study table before he took a deep breath and continued in his task of sorting. It was something in the way that she had said it, something that implied she was meaning herself in 'we all' and not in a simply friendly way. Balder wrote it off as his sleep deprived mind causing illusions. He was acutely aware of how close Sif was to him though; if he were to just reach out his left arm, he would be able to touch her arm. He studiously ignored that thought and remained silent.
"You have grown so much in the past month, and I'm not just talking about your height and your voice lowering," she continued on, not seeming to notice Balder's actions. She was right; he had grown from his scrawny frame of five foot, two inches, to six-four in only the past four months or so while his voice was becoming steadily deeper. He had hardly noticed the change aside from his tunics needing to be lengthened. "You're becoming a true leader. You'll make a fine emperor; better than Thor would have."
This made Balder stare at her in shock. He couldn't believe that Lady Sif, one of his older brother's closest of companions was saying such things. She drew closer to him still and he fell back a step, bumping into his chair in the process, finding her words revolting. Yet she advanced until she was almost touching him and Balder could smell the stale scent of drink on her. "You're drunk, Lady Sif," he said flatly, not betraying his surprise with the smell yet her voice and frame remained so steady.
Ignoring him, she looked searchingly into his blue eyes and said, "You've really grown handsome." She reached a hand up to trace along his defined jaw and he wrenched out her touch, making him loose his balance and plop back into the chair. Sif seemed quite alright with this new arrangement and she promptly straddled Balder's lap. "You know, I've always thought you to be attractive," she whispered huskily.
"Sif, you're really drunk," Balder exclaimed, trying to push her from his lap but she wouldn't budge. "Sif, this isn't you—" And then he froze. It was a moment of complete and utter shock and for a moment his mind seemed incapable of any rational thought whatsoever. For, just as he was protesting, she had captured his parted lips with his own and she was kissing him fiercely. He wasn't responding to her in the least, as she kissed him, tangling her fingers in his brown hair.
And then his mind kicked in, he pushed her away from him, finally forcing her to relinquish her claim on his lips and she fell away, stunned. Taking advantage of this, he quickly placed her back on her feet before hurriedly standing from the chair and moving away, keeping a wary eye on her. Sif blinked at him for a moment before wobbling, her stunned expression turning into a frown, before she fell into the chair Balder had vacated only moments before.
The prince blinked at her for a long moment before taking a couple of hesitant steps towards her. He was surprised to see she was completely unconscious. Sighing, at least glad for this small mercy, he went to the her side, knowing he couldn't just leave her there for the night—in the morning both her head and cramped muscles would be aching and he at least wanted to spare her some of that pain. After blowing out the lanterns' fire, he easily scooped up her frame, though she was finely muscled, she was light in his arms, he carried her from the Emperor's study, nudging the door open and closed with some difficulty as he did.
As he walked through the deserted hallways towards her chambers, his mind agonized over the events that had only just transpired. Replaying her arrival, her words, and finally the stale taste of drink in her kiss in his mind, his thoughts grew more confused and muddled with every step he took. How had she even found him tucked away in the Emperor's study? It was a highly trafficked part of the palace and no one beside his father knew he was there for the evening. It simply didn't make one bit of sense; it was completely illogical.
Finally, he reached her chambers and, pushing aside the curtain that served as her door, he entered into her bedchamber, placing her gently onto her pallet. After pulling off her boots, he spread a blanket over her form. She looked so peaceful sleeping there and Balder was confused afresh, as he felt something stir inside his chest. Shaking himself from these thoughts, he turned and exited, setting his feet in the direction of his own chambers.
When he reached the royal wing of the palace, his stride slowed and he glanced warily about. Something seemed wrong, something in the air made his skin prickle and his step to become silent. Reaching for the knife clipped to his belt, Balder continued silently down the hallway towards the open doorway of his rooms. He pressed his back against the wall when he reached it, peering wearily into the room. He could see his pallet outlined in the moonlight that came in through the wide, airy windows and furrowed his brows at the sight.
His pillows and blankets were ripped to shreds, feathers covered the pallet and the ground around it, a murder scene or so it appeared. Tightening his grip on his dagger, Balder shuffled away from the wall, sucked in a silent breath for courage, and ventured into his bedchamber.
It was over before he entirely knew what had happened; he heard a rustling sound from directly to his left and he just had enough time to swing his dagger, making a dull thud in its target. With wide-eyes he watched as a man fell to the cool stone floor of his bedchamber, a blade falling away from his grasp, as he clutched a scarlet flower of blood blossoming from his stomach. The man, silent as his tongue was cut from his mouth, opened his mouth in a mute cry of agony, blood leaking from his mouth like pleas for mercy, before he went limp.
Balder watched all of this in silent horror. He didn't know how long he stood there—it felt like hours must have passed—but finally, he bent, wiped his blade clean of blood on the man's black attire, before standing and exiting his bedchamber, dagger still drawn, in search of guards to clean up the mess.
A/N: Many notes about this chapter! For the dances, I tried to stick to one type of dance per portion with it being as follows: Menglad's section- traditional waltz, the women's circle-ballet, Fulla-swing, Mim-war dance, Loki-River dance (traditional Jotun style of dance) and waltzing again. Also, sorry for Thor's small appearance, but he and the Aesir gang will have more screen time coming up! And, I've figured that Sif is about seventeen while Balder is (almost) fifteen and I know she's a little out of character but she's drunk, really drunk. Okay, I'm done now! Thank you for reading and please leave a review!