Sigyn stared at the hunter's weapon, the black hole at the end of the barrel darker and less caring than the void through which she had just traveled. Not even five minutes on Midgard, and she was going to die. Not only was she was going to die, but Loki would move the heavens and all nine realms from his prison cell to tear asunder the gates of Valhalla to find her – not to bring her back, but to tell her what a monumentally idiotic decision she had made.
She opened her mouth to speak, to beg for her life if she had to, but before she could get a word out, the gun was ripped from the hunter's grasp by Mjölnir, which was already flying back through the air and into Thor's waiting hand.
"We mean you no harm Midgardians, but threaten one of us again, and that will change."
Sigyn's legs went shaky with relief, but with difficulty she managed to remain upright, noting with a panicked amusement the look of recognition on the hunter's face as his attention turned to Thor.
One of the man's companions pulled a rectangular item from his pocket, a communications device along the lines of one Thor had described to her from his most recent trip to Midgard. "Oh my god, you're that alien! From New York! Holy shit, no one's gonna believe this –" He touched the front of the device, and a bright light flashed from it.
"I would ask that you temper your language. There is a lady present," said Thor, stepping between him and Sigyn to stare down at him. "I assume Stark did not send you as a part of our welcoming party?"
"Stark? You mean Tony Stark?" asked the first man, his mouth puckering in a pout of confusion. "Ah, fuck no," he said, before glancing at Sigyn sheepishly. "Sorry, ma'am. I don't know anything about a welcoming pa – "
The rest of his words were drowned out by a mechanical whine from above. The wind picked up, whipping Sigyn's hair and dress around violently; it was much colder than she'd expected, and she cursed herself for not thinking to bring a heavier shawl. She looked up to see a small airship above the clearing, a disembodied male voice emanating from it.
"Looking for me?"
The ship descended rapidly, a hatch on the rear of it opening as Sigyn watched. Before it had even fully landed, she could see a dark-haired Midgardian man walking down the ramp, a wide grin on his face.
"Sorry for the delay, big guy," he said, once the airship had powered down enough for them to talk without yelling. "Better late than never, right?"
More flashes of light from the group of hunters caught the new man's attention.
"Now those don't look like the latest generation Stark phones. Tell you what, you give those to us, and my associate here," he nodded to another man making his way down the ramp, "he'll get you all set up with the newest we've got. They won't even be on the market for another month." He didn't wait for a reply before he turned back to Thor.
"You might want to re-calibrate your rainbow wormhole – your coordinates were a bit off. Good thing your arrival lit up half the sky, or we may have had an intergalactic war on our hands thanks to a few overzealous hunters."
"I had it under control," said Thor, the leather of Mjölnir's shaft creaking under his tightening grip.
"Yeah, sure you did. So, who'd you bring with you this time? No megalomaniacal would-be despots, I hope."
Thor eyed him sternly before turning to the rest of their party. "Anthony Stark, may I introduce two of our most senior Asgardian ambassadors, Radi Bjornson and Sandarr Sperlason. Ambassadors, Anthony Stark of Midgard."
The men all shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with one another before Stark turned his eye to Sigyn.
"You've been holding out on me Odinson. I was beginning to think you Asgardians only came in one style – large, strong, angry, and male."
Thor watched him carefully, his jaw set in a hard line and every muscle tensed. "Stark, this is Lady Sigyn Aradottir. She is training to become a diplomat under Ambassador Bjornson. Sigyn, this is Anthony Stark."
He took Sigyn's outstretched hand, pressing it to his lips in a chaste kiss in lieu of a handshake.
"She is married," said Thor, his voice carrying the sharpness of a newly honed blade.
"Ah, so she is," said Stark, throwing a cursory glance to the ring on her hand. "That's a shame."
"Mr. Stark, it is an honor to meet you," said Sigyn, smoothing down her hair and trying to remain as impassive as possible. "I am quite anxious to learn more about your realm."
He studied her for a moment, the curiosity in his eyes nearly palpable – not unlike her husband's. Despite her repeated attempts to get him to talk about it, Loki had not been very open about his time spent on Midgard, but from what she could gather his interactions with Stark in particular had been quite…challenging. "Happy to hear it," he said finally. "Let's get out of here before we attract any more devotees."
Their party followed Stark up the ramp and into the airship, their belongings having already been gathered and stowed away. They were directed to a row of seats along the edge of the interior.
Stark looked at Sigyn as she secured herself into her seat. "Had to fix the buckle on that one. This guy ripped it out last time he was here," he said, nodding at Thor. "Pulled his little brother out of there like those straps were made of paper, and then jumped right out the back without so much as a thank you or a parachute. Do you know him? Loki, I mean."
Her first test, one Sigyn hoped she wouldn't fail. "We've met." Certainly not a lie, but a much safer answer than the entire truth.
"You know, I couldn't help but have a little admiration for that son of a bitch – mean as hell, but he did have a certain charisma." He turned to Thor. "What'd you do with him when you got him home?"
"Loki is in prison, for the time being."
"For the time being? That sounds less permanent than I'd like. Should we be worried?"
"Loki is not currently a threat to your realm."
Sigyn found it exceedingly difficult to refrain from joining in and defending her husband, but she remained quiet. If she started talking now, she wasn't sure she could keep her composure enough to be taken seriously.
She trusted that Loki had been truthful to her about his time spent in the void, and what had moved him to invade New York, but these people didn't care. When Loki came to Midgard, he brought destruction, mayhem, and death along with him. Countless humans had lost their lives, and it was going to take a lot more than a simple explanation of Loki's admittedly suspicious motivations to earn their forgiveness. It was a task Sigyn feared would prove insurmountable.
"Ah, Barton," said Thor, looking past Stark. "I trust you are doing well."
Sigyn followed Thor's gaze to see another man sitting across from them, watching them carefully. Where Stark was full of charm and curiosity, this man was simply intense. He looked at each of them in turn, stopping slightly longer on Sigyn before turning to Thor.
"Been worse," he said with a noncommittal shrug.
Stark introduced the man – Clint Barton, one of the humans Loki had forced into helping him – to the rest of their group. "Don't worry, we checked them over – no mind-control spears that we could find."
"Good to hear."
He said nothing else, returning to his observation in stony silence as the hatch closed and the airship started to rise.
The trip to their final destination was uneventful, and quicker than Sigyn had imagined it would be. She listened politely as the others discussed various topics – staying quiet and trying not to call too much attention to herself. She was thinking of Ari, hoping he wasn't missing her too badly, when a gentle nudge from Ambassador Bjornson shook her from her reverie.
"Lady Aradottir, I believe our host is speaking to you."
Stark was looking at her expectantly. "I think we lost you there for a minute, sunshine."
"Forgive me, Mr. Stark. I've never been so far from home before."
"Missing your husband?"
"Yes." It was the safest response, one they would be expecting, yet one that gave nothing away. She hoped her face was as guarded as her answer.
"He didn't want to come with you?"
"He was content to stay at home." This was as close to an outright lie as she was comfortable with, and she didn't need to turn to Thor to feel his stare. "Midgardian diplomacy is not his area of expertise."
"And what is?"
Thor answered for her. "Sigyn has answered enough of your inquiries, Stark," he said, his tone friendly but firm.
"Sorry, big guy. I tend to forget just how chivalrous you Asgardians tend to be. Well, most of you anyway."
A motion from the pilot caught his eye, and he nodded before turning back to Sigyn. "I guess we'll just need to get to know each other better later," he said, rising from his seat as they came to a stop. "For now – welcome to New York."
Loki stared at the floor as the water drained from his shower, his fingers slowly working through a particularly tough knot in his hair; it was longer than he preferred, but there weren't any guards willing to trust him around sharp objects enough to trim it. Sigyn had mentioned she liked it longer, that it softened his features and made him seem slightly less severe, and for that reason alone, he tolerated it. Well, that – and the knowledge that one day soon she might tangle her own fingers in it once again, gripping him to her and crying out his name as he delved between her thighs…his cock twitched in eagerness, and he had to redirect his thoughts. You fool – that is exactly what they want from you.
The guards made no secret of the wagers they made on his behavior – a tankard of mead for every cutting remark, the polishing of a shield if he physically lashed out – but their latest bet, brought about by his recent spontaneous nuptials and delayed honeymoon, incensed him: the first guard to catch him pleasuring himself would have an entire week's shifts covered by the rest of his brothers-at-arms, a prize far too great to resist. Loki only thought he'd been watched carefully before; now, the near constant scrutiny of every move he made, no matter how innocuous, was infuriating.
Predictably, they had underestimated his self-control. His wedding night – if it could even have been called that – had been the most trying, but he'd managed. His skin had very nearly ignited with the memory of Sigyn's lips on his, sweeter and softer and more inviting than he remembered. Bringing himself to release in that state would have been effortless, but Loki would see every guard in Asgard rotting in the dungeons with him before he would give into his urges and grant them the satisfaction of catching him.
His determination, however, did not preclude him from taking long showers (a luxury his mother had insisted upon – once a prince, always a prince in her eyes), much to the chagrin of whichever guard was forced to watch him as he bathed. Even the hot water eventually turning cold was no obstacle to his enjoyment – as the temperature changed, he would simply shift into his jotun form to stay out of his cell as long as possible.
The confinement of that small room only served to set his already frayed nerves even further on edge – he couldn't help but worry constantly for Sigyn's safety while she was gone. Torture, violation, imprisonment, death – each scenario his mind conjured for his new wife's time on Midgard was worse than the last. The weakness and helplessness he felt were still new and decidedly unpleasant – his whole life, he'd always taken great pains to remain in control, but it seemed like lately, he'd been anything but.
"Are you quite finished? Or are you planning on using all the water in Asgard?" asked the guard, just another in the long line of wardens whose names Loki had never bothered to learn, an exaggerated sigh punctuating his words.
Loki could have remained as silent as he usually did, but he took pity on the man. "Perhaps I sense how much you enjoy admiring my bare behind and I don't wish to deny you the pleasure." The mead the guard earned with that acerbic response would have to be enough recompense for the otherwise uneventful surveillance of his charge.
Loki's fingers finally worked through his hair unimpeded, and he stepped out of the water and turned to the sentry. The man couldn't help but glance down, the tiniest hint of displeasure at serving yet another week's worth of duties crossing his features before he threw a towel Loki's direction. "Dress quickly."
"What's wrong? Tired of feeling less than a man at the sight of me?" asked Loki as he dried off. At the rate he was going, his loose tongue would have the guard too drunk on mead to serve his next shift.
The man snorted. "At least I keep my wife happy," he said, apparently angling to add a shield polishing to his list of prizes.
The urge to pummel the man into the ground almost overwhelmed his better judgment, but Loki just smiled at him. "One night with me, and she would learn for herself just why jotuns are called Frost Giants. Pity for her I'm no longer available."
A veil of anger clouded over the guard's eyes, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Loki was still dangerous – and likely strong enough to do the man some serious damage before he could call for help.
Loki took his time getting dressed, simply because the man had told him to hurry, but there was only so much he could do to prolong his freedom. He slipped on his soft boots, running his hands through his wet hair as he stood up and stepped forward.
They walked back toward the main hall of the dungeons, coming to where it split into two different paths to find two more guards awaiting them, one of them holding a pair of shackles.
"What's this?" asked Loki, a stab of panic in his gut. Protecting himself against one guard was easy enough, but three? His two regular visitors – Thor and Sigyn – were off-realm. Without the fear of being caught, what was to keep these guards from hurting him in some way? The wagers on his behavior he knew of might pale in comparison to those he didn't.
"Your cooperation is appreciated, but not essential…jotun." He spit the last word out as a curse. "You have nothing to fear, provided you allow me to put these on without a fuss."
Loki did as he was asked, putting his hands out and suppressing a wince as the cold metal slid around his wrists.
They herded him down the corridor away from his cell. As much as he hated the small room, it had become a strange sort of comfort to him in the months he'd been incarcerated, the last remaining place in Asgard he had any sort of order and control. He couldn't stop the odd sense of unease that surfaced as he was led away.
He recognized where they were going without needing to ask – the hallways that led to the royal family's apartments were as familiar to him as the anger and disappointment he'd lived with for so long. He'd only been there once since his return to Asgard, when his mother had brought him to her rooms on his third day back. This time, he was escorted to her private gardens instead of her chambers, where she was waiting for him.
"Remove his shackles," she said to the lead guard when they arrived.
"Your Majesty, I'm afraid I cannot – "
"Do as I ask or you will be serving the rest of your days on the furthest outposts of the nine realms."
With reluctance, he turned to Loki and grabbed his wrists. "If it were up to me, you'd never leave that cell again."
Loki rubbed his wrists dramatically as the shackles fell away. "Mother," said Loki, feigning an exaggerated look of innocence. "This guard is being mean to me."
Frigga rolled her eyes and spoke to the guards. "Wait outside the doors. No one is to enter or leave without my permission. If Loki tries to escape," she turned to her younger son, her expression serious, "you have my consent to use any means necessary to restrain him."
The lead guard tightened his grip on his staff, the look on his face giving away his fervent hope that Loki would do something to give him the opportunity to do just that. "As you wish, Your Majesty." They split up, stationing themselves at their posts without another word.
"So," said Frigga, ushering Loki to a pair of chairs beneath a tree once the guards were out of earshot. "I hear congratulations are in order."
At his puzzled look, she continued. "Are you not now properly wed?"
"Ah, yes. Forgive me for not getting the invitations out sooner," he replied. "It was all very spur of the moment."
"And your bride – was she amenable to your plan?"
"She found the venue quite lacking…but she willingly consented."
"And what motivated you to do such a thing?"
Loki considered his words carefully, but he knew his mother well. She was not one to question him without at least a little knowledge of the right answers. He decided the truth – at least a half truth – would be the best option.
"Edmund came to see me. He tried to convince me that Sigyn was better off without me. I disagreed."
"Is that all he told you?"
"What do you mean? Was that not enough?"
"Why did you insist on Thor's presence? Any of the guards could have served as witness just as easily."
"Well, I wanted at least one family member at my wedding, and it was far too short notice to send word to Jotunheim." She tilted her head, giving him the same look she always did when he tried to hide something from her, the one that never failed to move him. He sighed, rubbing his freed hands nervously up and down his legs. "Edmund told me Thor proposed to Sigyn in my absence. I needed to hear it from him myself."
"I see. Loki, I'm reminded of a memory of you as a small child, ages ago. You had a favorite toy, a stuffed rabbit that never left your side. Thor made the mistake once of trying to take it from you. Do you remember?"
"Skoppa. I remember." That rabbit had been his constant companion, his one true friend in the world, until Thor had attempted to get his grubby hands on it.
"And do you remember what happened to it?"
"I locked it away where no one could have it. Not even me." He couldn't help but smirk at his mother's subtle yet skillful manipulation. "This was different, Mother. Sigyn is not a plaything, but she is mine. Not Thor's, not any other man's. Mine and mine alone."
"So, it was an act of possession? Or do you truly love her?"
He looked at her, incredulous. "I love her more than Volstagg loves food. More than Fandral lusts after wenches, more than Sif loves battle, more than Hogun loves silence. More even, than Thor loves his precious Mjölnir. You know this. How could you even ask me such a thing?"
"I only wanted to be sure," she said with a smile. "What did your brother say when you asked him about his proposal?"
"I intended to ask him about it," said Loki, looking off into the distance. He'd wanted to confront his brother, to scream and rage against him for what he had done, but upon Thor's arrival in the dungeons, Loki had changed his mind. "I couldn't do it."
"And why not?"
"That insufferable oaf…he is the most honorable man I know. As much as it pains me to think on it, I know he only acted out concern for the welfare of Sigyn and my child – and out of his love for me." He turned back to his mother, a small laugh escaping his lips. "Tell him I said any of that, and I will deny it until Ragnarok itself."
"Your secret is safe with me, dear. However, you have made one mistake."
He bristled. "And what is that?"
"You say that Sigyn is yours and yours alone. I believe there is one other who would take issue with that claim."
She stood from her chair, walking to the door that led to her personal chambers. Opening it, she spoke briefly to someone Loki couldn't see before reaching forward. When she turned back, she was holding Ari in her arms.
In the weeks since Loki had last seen him, it appeared Ari had grown exponentially. As they approached, Loki could see his son looking up at his grandmother, smiling around tiny blue fingers that had lodged themselves in his mouth. Loki's chest hurt at the sight of him – this time not out of fear or anger, but out of something far more frightening. Love.
"Consider this a belated wedding gift. Would you like to hold your son?"
Loki nodded and reached out, with more than a little trepidation. He hadn't held Ari in his arms since the day after his return to Asgard; it would break him if his son reacted as badly to him as he had then. He took him gently from the queen, noting that he was much heavier than he was expecting.
Ari regarded him, his blue eyes enormous, and for a heartbeat Loki was convinced he was going to cry. Instead, and to Loki's immense relief, he began chattering excitedly at him.
"Hello little one," said Loki with a shake of his head. He tried to swallow, finding it far more difficult than it had been mere moments before.
Ari continued to babble, something Loki couldn't quite place. He turned to Frigga. "What is he saying?"
"Listen carefully," she said, an enigmatic smile on her lips.
Loki looked at his son, narrowing his eyes in concentration. At first, it was just nonsensical noise, but then it clarified itself, forming a single word repeated over and over.
"Papapapapapa," said Ari, revealing four perfect white teeth as he smiled up at his father, his wet hand reaching for Loki's cheek.
"Papa?" said Loki, choking back a sob. He looked to his mother. "How?"
"Sigyn intercepts your clothing from the prison before they can be laundered. She uses your tunics as a blanket for him so he will know your smell. She even asked for a small portrait of you from the palace collection to be hung by his bedside. Ari knows you Loki, because his mother has worked tirelessly to ensure he does."
Loki pulled his son tighter to him, kissing the crown of his head. When he pulled back, Ari's hair was damp with tears.
Renewed determination flowed through Loki's veins. He was done with the constant surveillance, the endless eyes watching and scrutinizing every move he made. He wanted his life back; he yearned for his wife's touch, craved his son's admiration. He would see Ari grow to be a man, not from a prison cell, but by Sigyn's side – by any means necessary.
Sigyn's New York obligations kept her blessedly busy, allowing her no time to get bogged down in thoughts of her son and husband back on Asgard.
Her days were spent in various conferences with the two senior ambassadors, meeting with one international delegate after another – all of them anxious to learn more about Asgard, while simultaneously seeking reassurance that there would not be a repeat of what they referred to as the "Siege of New York". She allowed Ambassadors Bjornson and Sperlason to field all the diplomatic questions, deferring to their vast knowledge and expertise, but she listened and observed as carefully as she could – delighting in learning by experience for once, rather than a book.
They had been escorted on a tour of the most devastated parts of the city, many of which would still need years of work before they were fully recovered from the attack. As part of their mission, the Asgardians were prepared to provide what they could to hasten the process – but the haunted looks that Sigyn was faced with every day were clear proof that for some of them, no amount of time would ever fully heal their pain or end their suffering.
Thor stayed busy as well, not with political maneuvering, but with councils concerning mutual defense. There were always new threats on the horizon, threats that the two realms could work together to defeat. Thor may not have had a diplomat's strengths, but his vast knowledge of war and battle was something not to be overlooked.
In the evenings, they would reconvene at Stark Tower. It had been deemed the most central location for them – and the safest. The CEO of Stark Industries – and Stark's longtime companion – Pepper Potts, was usually there, too. Sigyn was thrilled to have another woman to talk to, especially one who seemed to balance her work and her personal life so well. Had they met under different circumstances, Sigyn was certain she and Ms. Potts would have had much to bond over – both of them seemingly fated to spend the rest of their lives with the most difficult and demanding personalities each of their realms had to offer.
Thor was never far from her side when they were all together, his body language asking without words questions of her safety and security. She did what she could to communicate to him that she was fine, hoping the Midgardians weren't too suspicious of his protective behavior.
On their fourth night, Thor didn't return in time for their evening meal. It grew late, the dusk fading into full dark with still no sign of him.
"I wouldn't be worried," said Ambassador Bjornson, noting her troubled look. "The Prince is fully capable of looking after himself. It's getting late, however, and we have a full day tomorrow. I am retiring to bed; you should do the same."
"Yes, of course," said Sigyn. "I may wait just a bit longer first."
She sat in the common area of the floor they had been given, idly flipping through the reading material that had been left for them – thin, soft-covered books, filled with page after page of glossy, colorful portraits of items for sale and famous people of Midgard. Nothing kept her attention for long, and she was just about to give up and go to bed when the elevator door opened.
She jumped from her seat eagerly, hoping to see Thor – but greeted with the sight of Stark instead. Her face fell.
"Don't look so disappointed," he said. "You're going to hurt my feelings. Expecting someone else?"
"Thor hasn't returned yet this evening. I'm concerned."
"His meetings must have run longer than expected. I'm sure he'll be along soon."
"I'm sure you're right, Mr. Stark," she said, anxiety coiling in the pit of her stomach. "I – I should probably retire for the evening."
"Wait, I've barely had the chance to speak to you since you arrived. Please, sit." He settled into a seat across from hers. "So, Lady Aradottir, how are you liking Earth – sorry, Midgard – so far?"
"Your realm is lovely, though I fear I've not seen nearly enough of it to give a properly educated opinion."
"Yeah, New York is amazing, but it's still not everything we Midgardians have to offer." He pointed to a large box hanging on the wall, a device they had referred to as a television. "Those who can't travel usually just use this thing to see the world."
He pushed a button on a smaller device and the screen sprang to life. The image that came up was of some sort of party, well-dressed people mingling around while a man spoke at the front of the room. As she watched, she could see the figure of a dark-haired man making his way down some stairs in the background. When he reached the bottom, he swung a hidden cane from behind him, knocking another man down with such force it had to have broken bones.
The attacker grabbed the man who had been speaking by the collar of his clothing, dragging him forward and flipping him onto a large stone table. As he did, his face came into focus for a split second, and Sigyn couldn't stifle a gasp. Loki.
On the television, the room had erupted into chaos. "Damn, I'm so sorry," said Stark. "Sometimes I think that's all they ever show on TV anymore." He pressed another button, and a different set of images came up – Loki yet again, but this time in the very building she was currently sitting in. Fighting with Stark, fighting with Thor – and yet always with a maniacal sort of glee. It was sickening.
"Excuse me," she said. "I'm not feeling well." She nearly threw herself from the room and down the hall.
She came to a balcony entrance, and stepped outside. They were high enough above the city that a small breeze was able to reach her, cooling her heated skin.
Loki had never been very forthcoming with her about what had happened on Midgard, insisting that it had been unpleasant and terrifying. From the images she had just seen, she knew he had been telling at least a partial truth. It had been unpleasant and terrifying – but mostly for the Midgardians. He had appeared to be deriving some sort of perverse pleasure in their fear. In her heart, she knew he hadn't been in his right mind, but it was still horrifying to see it for herself.
She was using the edge of her sleeve to wipe away her tears, cursing her lack of a proper handkerchief, when she heard the door open behind her.
"You gonna be okay, sunshine?"
"Forgive me, Mr. Stark. I haven't been this ill since I was preg –" She almost caught herself, but she stopped too late.
Stark raised an eyebrow, the surprise at this new information plainly written on his face. "Pregnant? You've got kids?"
She mentally chastised herself for letting such a foolish detail slip. Trying to lie would be a waste of time; this man was as smart as Loki, and just as dangerous. "Only one. A son."
"Why didn't you bring him with you? A little junior junior delegate? That would have been a hell of a field trip for him."
Sigyn added field trip to her list of things she'd have to research later. "He's only an infant."
"What's his name?"
"Ari."
"Ari. Good name. Let me guess…named for your father?"
"Yes, that's right. How did you –"
"I dated a girl from Iceland once," he said with a wave of his hands. "It's a country here on Earth…er, Midgard as you call it. Two girls actually." He looked at her with a grin. "Twins, to be honest."
"At the same time?"
"Every chance I could. It was all very…educational."
Sigyn couldn't stop her eyes from widening; she was beginning to wonder if the Midgardians enjoyed trying to shock her. "I can only imagine."
"They taught me quite a bit. Their naming system there, it's very similar to yours I believe. Patronymics and all that?"
"Yes, patronymics." Her pulse began to race, fear taking hold as Stark steered the conversation to its obvious conclusion.
"So, your kid…what is he? Ari Thorson?"
"Thorson?" Sigyn let loose a nervous giggle. "Oh, no. No. Thor and I are merely…acquaintances."
Stark narrowed his eyes, her slight hesitation between the last two words not going unnoticed. "Acquaintances? Yeah, I don't think so. He calls you Sigyn, while everyone else calls you Lady Aradottir. He watches over you like a momma bear hovering over her cub. Do you even have bears where you're from? Doesn't matter – the point is, there's something between the two of you, something more than you're letting on, and I'm just dying to know what it is."
"We are friends. Nothing more than that."
"Not your type, huh? Smart girl like you, probably into the more intellectual guy. The thinker. Maybe someone with a hint of, oh I don't know…craftiness and cunning?" His smile remained, but his eyes went serious. "Tell me, what is your son's patronymic?"
Sigyn took a deep breath, trying to buy time. In preparation for their trip, she and Thor had never really discussed what to do should she find herself alone with anyone who'd had dealings with Loki; truthfully, it wasn't something they'd considered to be a serious possibility. Yet here she was, and the way Stark looked at her spoke to the fact that of all of Thor's Midgardian comrades, he was the one most likely to put the pieces together.
There had to be something she could recall from her training to avoid Stark's incessant questioning; he obviously suspected something – something very close to the truth – but watching the images of Loki's time on Midgard had left her too emotionally compromised to think clearly.
"Well, he's named for my husband. His father." A terrible answer, one that would only provoke more questions, but she was out of ideas.
Stark rolled his eyes, exasperation cracking through his friendly veneer. "Yes, but what's his name?"
The small amount of control she had remaining to her began to slip. "Why does it matter?" she asked, her voice more desperate than she'd intended.
Stark pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing in an effort to calm himself. "I had hoped this conversation would go better than this. That maybe you'd be a bit more helpful. But it looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way."
He motioned at a window behind her, and she turned to see Barton coming through the door to join them. The already chill air seemed even more frigid in his presence.
"Agent Barton and I had a very interesting discussion earlier," said Stark. "Care if I share your information with Lady Aradottir, Clint?"
"Not at all."
"So, as you know, Clint here was one of the unfortunate few to have very personal dealings with the last Asgardian who came to visit us – the one from those videos. One not quite as benevolent as you appear to be."
She turned to Barton, and had to look away from the intensity of his stare. Stark hadn't even said Loki's name, but the hate in his eyes was practically enough to choke her. "Yes, I am aware."
"Well, it seems that Earth's would-be dictator didn't require much rest during his short stay, but he did need to gather his strength a time or two. And one of those times, Agent Barton found him with a very strange item. A braid of hair – too long and the wrong color to be his own or Thor's."
Sigyn blinked slowly. Panic was welling up in her chest, but she fought to remain calm. She didn't say anything, not wanting to help tighten the rapidly constricting noose around her neck.
"He didn't dwell on it at the time, as occupied as we all were, but after Loki's defeat, we went back and gathered any and all evidence we could find. And wouldn't you know it – we found a few hairs."
Sigyn forced herself to keep her gaze steady, to not look away. "What does this have to do with me?"
"See, that's the interesting thing. We were afraid Loki had a human captive somewhere, so we ran tests on the hair hoping to identify who it belonged to. The results were peculiar but conclusive – whoever or whatever the hair came from was not from Earth."
"He'd just come from other realms, realms we on Asgard weren't even aware of. It could have come from anywhere."
"Yeah, it could have, but I don't think it did. Barton here, he's known for his powers of observation. It's kind of his thing. And that day you arrived, you pinged all kinds of warning bells in his mind."
"How is that? I've done nothing wrong." She thought back, desperate to figure out what she had done to reveal herself, but she came up empty.
This time, Barton himself spoke up. "When Stark mentioned Loki's name, you touched your wedding ring. Unconsciously, I'm sure, but revealing. And your hair? It's the exact color of that braid."
Sigyn could feel a flush creep into her cheeks, unbidden and unwelcome. "Where is Thor?" she asked, needing a familiar face in that moment more than she needed air.
"Occupied for the moment," said Stark. "We don't need him right now. This is just a friendly chat."
If this was friendly, Sigyn didn't want to see hostile. "I touched my ring, I have similarly colored hair – that's all very good, but it's not proof of anything."
"You're right," said Barton. "But this is." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
Stark took it from him, opening it and reading over the contents. "Hmmm. Now this is very interesting." He turned the paper to Sigyn. "Science, magic – call it whatever you like, but sometimes, it just works."
She glanced at the paper, unable to garner any meaning from its contents. "What does it say?"
"You'll have to forgive us, but our last interaction with your kind made us a bit more…careful. Humans tend to leave parts of themselves wherever they go – and it seems Asgardians do as well. My housekeeper found a few strands of hair in your bed when she was cleaning, and per my request, she brought them to me. We compared them to the alien hair we already had.
"Having the hair root would have been ideal, but we work with what we're given. This paper says the mitochondrial DNA we extracted from each was a perfect match. Unfortunately, that doesn't rule out maternal-line siblings – but in one of your many conversations, you mentioned to Ms. Potts that you only have one brother and no sisters."
Sigyn just stared at him, her mind reeling. She hadn't given these Midgardians nearly enough credit for their resilience and tenacity. Craftiness and cunning indeed – she would have been impressed if she wasn't so terrified.
"So, Lady Aradottir. Would you care to share with us how an Asgardian whom you profess to barely know – one who very nearly destroyed our entire realm – came into the possession of a lock of your hair?"
A/N: I hope this monster of a chapter makes up for the long wait since my last update. I have been utterly overwhelmed by all the new Favorites/Follows - thank you so much to all of you! Reviews are also always welcome and much appreciated!
