Training
"Here you are," Loki says, dropping a small, wooden sphere into the palm of Sigyn's hand. The two of them occupy a small training arena on the east end of the garrison. A cool breeze is running through the area, in stark contrast with the early morning sun that beats down on them, bright and hot.
Today is her first lesson in illusionary magic with the Prince Loki, and she is more nervous than she would like to admit. Not only is this quite possibly her one and only chance to learn how to use her magic, but it is with the Allfather's second son, a master sorcerer in his own right. It would be nothing short of utterly humiliating for her to muck this up.
She inspects the wooden ball, brushing her fingers over its surface. "Is this an enchanted sphere," she wonders aloud, joking only in part.
He shakes his head. "No. It is completely ordinary." Her lips twist in disappointment as she tosses the ball from hand to hand. He ignores her slight displeasure, continuing, "I want you to change the sphere into a coin."
Her mind stutters a little at his request. Prior to this very moment, she had not realized that she could alter the form of inanimate objects. Not for the first time, she wonders what else she can do.
He plucks the sphere back from her hand. "Allow me to demonstrate."
Sigyn watches as green magic crawls over the ball, slowly turning it into a simple gold coin. He holds it out to her again, and she takes it. As she runs the pads of her fingers over the coin's exterior, she cannot help but feel a bit awestruck. She cannot say as to whether her awe is attributable to the magical display or her teacher.
Loki waves his hand, and the coin reverts to its original form. "All you have to do," he instructs, "is visualize how the coin looks and feels, and picture altering the sphere's molecular composition."
Despite not quite understanding, she nods, holding up the sphere and preparing to follow his directions. "Sounds as though it'll be easy enough."
Unsurprisingly, it is not. She tries for a full hour to turn the sphere into a coin, imagining with all her might its rough, wooden surface morphing into one that is smoother and made of metal. Ultimately, she gives up when the biggest reaction she can get out of the blasted thing is it rolling off of her palm and falling to the ground when she stares at it too hard.
"I apologize, Your Highness," she sighs, trying her hardest not to kick the ball away in a petulant fit of rage. "Clearly, I am wasting your time."
"Nonsense," he coolly insists. "These things take a while."
Shoulders sagging in relief, she figures that for all his posturing, perhaps he is not truly so grim. After all, he probably has to be a little intimidating given his upbringing. It may not do to have the reputation of being an easily cowed prince.
"Granted," he adds. "This is horribly boring for me, so I think it best that you work at this on your own."
Never mind, she begrudgingly amends, thinking that her appraisal of him had been right the first time.
"Alright," she breathes, anxiously wringing her hands in disappointment. "Well, how should I get word to you once I figure it out?"
"Just send me a letter," he tells her, turning away with his hands clasped behind his back.
As he walks away, Sigyn apprehensively bites her bottom lip. Not for the first time, she worries that if she fails to display immediate success, he will drop her as a pupil, and she will never learn how to properly use magic.
"Your Highness," she blurts, brashly stepping forward and reclaiming his attention. "Are you sure a letter will make it all the way to you? Surely, random women write you all the time."
"Yes," he grants, smiling as though pleased by her question. "However, I have a list of accepted senders, and I added your name just this morning."
"Ah, okay," she babbles. "Thank you. I—Goodbye, Your Highness."
"Goodbye, Sigyn," he returns and continues on his way.
Turning away herself, she grumbles, "Damn it." She slips the ball into her pocket and trudges out of the arena. "Why am I so fucking awkward around him?"
Two weeks later, she manages to turn the stupid sphere into a stupid coin. Two. Fucking. Weeks.
"Mother," she calls, scouring the kitchen table for the coin and the letter to Loki she had finished earlier. "Did you move my things from the table?"
"What things," Walentyna answers as she checks on the loaf she has in the oven. Today is her day off from the hospital, so she wears a plain, olive green dress rather than her uniform. Despite the simplicity of her looks, she looks gorgeous, just as she always does. In the back of her mind, Sigyn wonders at how her father threw away her mother so carelessly.
Ducking under the table to continue her search, she answers her mother's question. "A letter and—"
"Oh, yes," Walentyna replies as she closes the oven door again. "I sealed it and took it to the postal service this morning."
"You wha—" her shriek breaks off as she bangs her head against the underside of the table. Scalp stinging, she crawls backward on the dark slate kitchen tile and stands to face her mother. "You what?"
Walentyna spares her an unconcerned glance. "You heard me."
Sigyn groans loudly, utterly dismayed by her mother's actions. After two whole weeks of wasting time on a wooden ball, of all things, she cannot afford any more delays. If she waits any longer to get back to him, she fears, Loki will forget all about her.
Although, she supposes, it may be alright that Walentyna had sent the letter. She had already written it, and she can simply return the coin in person. She remits, "Fine. Where is the coin I had atop it?"
Walentyna goes to wash her hands at the sink. "I used it to pay for the postage."
Sigyn stumbles back in horror. "You what?"
"It is only a coin, Sigyn," her mother flippantly assures her. "I am sure you can conjure up another one."
"No," Sigyn bemoans, slumping against the kitchen island in defeat. What is the Prince Loki going to think when she shows up to their next meeting without the proof of her success? "I need that coin."
Sighing, Walentyna suggests, "Why don't you finish turning that wooden ball into a coin?"
Slowly, Sigyn lifts her head. "I did," she grits out, glaring at her mother's back. "Unfortunately, a traitorous woman stole it and gave it to a postal worker!"
"Oh, dear," her mother sarcastically intones. "You should kill her."
"Mother," she groans, dramatically sliding to the floor.
As she lays there, wallowing in self-pity, her mother comes to stand over her. "You could always turn something else into a coin."
"I can't do that," Sigyn insists, tone listless.
"And why not," Walentyna chides.
Sigyn lets her head loll to the side so that she can stare up at her mother. She is on the verge of explaining her logic when she realizes that there is no reason why she cannot use magic on another object. It is not as though anyone would ever know. Whatsoever she might decide to use would be a coin when she was finished with it.
"There we go," Walentyna commends as she sees cognizance dawn on Sigyn's face. "Now, stop acting like a child and get off the floor."
Sigyn manages to transform a feather she had found on the street into a coin before her next training session with Loki two days later. It had taken her a few hours, but after her trial with the ball, it was painfully easy in comparison.
"Let us see your progress, then," he requests. Proudly and without further ado, she deposits her gold coin into his open palm. In less than a second, he has twisted it between his fingers and turned it back into a feather.
Oh, fuck, Sigyn thinks, face falling. I've done it now.
He gives her a blank look. "This is a feather," he deadpans.
"Yes," she acknowledges, "it is. You see, Your Highness, I did turn the ball into a coin, as I told you. However, my mother took that coin and spent it, so I merely used something else for the transfiguration."
Loki lets the feather flutter to the ground of the training arena. "You tried to trick me." He smiles. "I'm impressed."
"Oh, no," she denies. "I was not trying to—"
"Ah-ah," he interjects. "Don't add lying to the list."
Slightly mortified, Sigyn falls silent.
He expounds, "Now, I'd belatedly realized that the task I had given you might result in you understanding only how to turn a ball into a coin. However, it would appear as though my concerns were unfounded."
Is that a compliment, Sigyn wonders. I can never tell with this guy.
Abruptly, he snatches a pebble off the ground and hands it to her. "Turn this into a button."
Nervous, Sigyn expels a slow, deep breath, closing her fist around the pebble and shutting her eyes. She visualizes the smooth texture and convex shape of a button. Slowly, the rough edges of the pebble shift and bend into rounded sides.
When she opens her hand, a small, blue button rests in the center of her palm.
"Yes." He plucks the button from her outstretched hand. "Very impressed indeed."
One of the men in Sigyn's platoon is off. She is not quite sure as to what is wrong with him, but he has been acting strange all day.
"Langley," she calls, pulling the man aside during drills. "Are you alright?"
"Is something wrong," he asks, not sounding at all put out by her line of questioning.
She tilts her head to the side. "You have been a bit slow today, and you look paler than usual. Have you been feeling ill lately?"
Cheerily, he replies, "Not at all," and returns to his exercises. Sigyn scowls, but lets the issue go.
During her lunch hour, she sits at a long, white table in the middle of the cafeteria with Quimby, Pontus, and a couple of the men from her unit. The commissary is large enough to seat everyone in the military, but since only a small fraction of the army is both on duty and on their lunch break right now, there are only a few soldiers per table. The canteen resides on the far end of the hall, serving as the only food outlet in Asgard that does not offer alcohol.
"All I mean to say," Pontus continues, an impish smile on his tan face, "is that I am a captain, and you two are lowly non-commissioned officers. That is what makes me better than you."
Between Pontus and Sigyn, Quimby throws down the potato at which he had been nibbling. "I joined the army a century after you. You had a head start."
Pontus shrugs. "Sigyn has been in the service for over a thousand years, far longer than either of us."
"Firstly," Sigyn starts, holding up a finger. "Lieutenants are commissioned officers, you dolt. Secondly, the only reason you made captain before me is because I have tits."
Across the table, Langley and another enlisted man with dark skin and curly hair, Folke, crack somewhat uneasy smiles at her remark.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Pontus groans, running a hand through his short brown hair. "Do not make this into a women's issue."
"I am not making it a women's issue. It is a women's issue," she corrects. "If I were promoted to captain, I would be the first woman to receive that rank since the Valkyrie Brunnhilde thousands of years ago. You men would be far too threatened by my stature."
Pontus glares for a few seconds before snapping, "You are not the best out of the three of us!"
"Yes, I am," she argues. "Every time we spar, I kick your asses. I have taken you both at once and still—"
Sliding into a seat across from her, Yvor rudely interrupts, "Are we talking about the witch getting spit roasted by these two fags?"
In unison, the three friends turn their heads and regard the intruder with blank stares, or a glare in Sigyn's case. By far, Yvor is the most irritating out of everyone with whom she has ever worked. He is haughty despite not being exceptional at his job in any way. When they had first met as recruits, he had shamelessly and relentlessly hit on her. She had rejected him, and he has been obnoxious ever since. When she was promoted over him two centuries ago, he became even more unbearable.
"Because if that's the case," he goes on, smirking nastily. "I'd love to fill that last hole."
Jumping at the opportunity to humiliate him in turn, Sigyn sneers, "Sorry, experienced riders only."
Chuckles break out around the table, punctuated by an offended grimace from Yvor.
"Whatever, witch," he grumbles, ducking his head. He begins shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth, which gives Sigyn another wicked idea.
Her lips curve into a malicious grin, and she asks the table, "Speaking of witchery, does anyone want to see a magic trick?" She does not bother to wait for an answer. As soon as Yvor looks back up at her, she waves her hand over his tray. Before everyone's eyes, the glop of mashed potatoes on his plate shifts into a pile of dung.
Face pinching up in disgust, he jumps from his seat, throwing down his fork and screaming, "Did you just turn my food into shit?"
"Why, yes," she affirms, sporting an utterly ironic, shit-eating grin. Leaning forward, she suggests, "Eat it."
"Why, you fucking bitch," he shouts, picking up his tray and tossing it at her.
Eyes widening in alarm, she manages to duck just in time. The tray sails over her head and smashes into the back of a sergeant from another division. Mouth agape, she slowly straightens as the entire hall falls silent.
The sergeant turns around, positively livid. Food and excrement slide from his back as he stands. "Which one of you threw that?"
Simultaneously, Sigyn, Quimby, Pontus and Folke point at Yvor. Despite the protests that gush from Yvor's mouth, the sergeant draws his sword. The technically uninvolved parties take this as their cue to flee the scene, and once in the hall outside, they disintegrate into giggling masses, barely able to keep themselves upright.
The sounds of shouting and blades crossing emanate from inside the commissary. Pontus sighs, "That was incredible." Still laughing, Quimby agrees.
"Too bad we need return to work now," Folke complains, prompting Sigyn, Pontus, and Quimby to groan in distaste.
She gripes, "There is no part of me that wants to return to the training grounds for administering drills." While the task poses little difficulty for her, it is boring beyond belief.
Pontus scoffs. "You think yourself so unfortunate? I have sentry duty in the throne room."
Quimby barks out a laugh. "Ouch. That, my friend, is the worst post in all the realm." Sigyn nods in agreement. Serving as a sentry in the throne room comes with a lot of pressure. One is always worried about messing up in front of nobles and royals alike. It feels like the gravest of sins to twitch, cough, sneeze, or even change one's expression.
"Woe is you," she taunts. Nodding to Langley and Folke, she orders, "Off we go, boys."
The three of them head off in the opposite direction of Quimby and Pontus. Folke tries to engage Langley in conversation as they walk down the spacious corridor ahead of Sigyn. She notices that Langley gives rather polite responses, despite the fact that most of what he usually says is absolute filth.
"Langley," she calls just before they reach the garrison's entryway. "Hang back. Folke, you go on ahead." Folke nods, proceeding outside.
Langley strides up to her, an uncharacteristic bounce to his step. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
Sigyn frowns. He never calls me lieutenant.
Instead of responding, she inspects the man closer. Just as she had noticed earlier, he is quite pale—pasty, really. He is certainly moving differently, too. Although, she has never paid enough attention to him to be absolutely sure.
Looking into his eyes, she feels as though she is standing next to someone else. In her mind, his brown eyes are sharp and green.
Operating on pure impulse, she whispers, "Your Highness?"
Rather than frowning in confusion—as a part of Sigyn had been expecting —Langley smiles an all too familiar smile. Shimmering green light overtakes his form, and soon enough, the younger of the two princes of Asgard stands before her.
She staggers back. "What the—How the—I mean, I know how, but you —I—"
Loki stands by whilst Sigyn flounders, visibly amused.
Face scrunched up, she cries, "Have you been doing this all day?"
"I think you know the answer to that," he tells her.
She does. All at once, her mind brings forth every moment she had spent with Langley—Loki—throughout the day. This is why he had been slow on the uptake during drills, she realizes, and he had only seemed pale because Loki does not know Langley well enough to get the color of his skin just right.
"Why," she asks, unable to think of anything else to say.
In lieu of answering, he inquires, "Do you know why your trick from the other week failed?"
Sighing, she forces herself not to roll her eyes in exasperation. "I don't know. Is it because you are a god?"
In spite of the pleasure he seems to take from her guess, he replies, "No."
Unable to keep the snark from her voice, she says, "No, you are not a god, or no, that is not why?"
His smile grows further. "No, that is not why."
She places a hand on her hip. "Why, then?"
Leaning down, he informs her, "One cannot trick a trickster."
Surprised and pleased with the validation she finds in his words, Sigyn blushes and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. However, before she can even think of a response, something else occurs to her. "Wait, where is Langley?"
Loki's cover would have been blown if Langley had shown up for work. Ergo, he must have ensured that Langley would not be coming in today.
He waves an errant hand. "He's fine." Not finding his words very comforting, she gives him a flat look. Not quite sighing, he divulges, "I disguised myself as you and gave him the day off."
She scowls. "Great." Now, I'll have to justify to my superiors giving an extra day-off to a soldier without rank.
"Anyway," she says, turning and striding out of the garrison. "I have to go watch a bunch of sweaty men jump up and down for the next few hours, so if you'll excuse me."
He grabs her arm, and she turns back to face him. "Hold on. You understand why I did this, right?"
She raises an eyebrow. "To train me to see through illusions?"
"Yes." Looking pleasantly surprised, he releases her arm. "Very good."
She tries not to take his astonishment personally. "Thanks," she bites at him. "May I leave now?"
The corners of his mouth turning down, he nods. "Sure."
"Great," she repeats. She slips on her helmet and bows before stalking away. It is only when she reaches the training arena that she realizes the prince had borne witness to the immensely inappropriate incident in the commissary. Grimacing, she sighs, "Fuck."
Six months into Sigyn's training with Loki, he deems her ready to learn how to alter her own form.
After explaining the details of the transformation in their usual meeting place, he instructs, "Given that you are only starting out, I want you to choose someone who you know well enough to be able to visualize every aspect of their appearance."
She rubs her hands together in contemplation. Reflecting on who she knows best, she decides, "My mother."
His hair flutters in the wind as he shakes his head. "I know not what she looks like."
"Right." She bites her lip. "Haldana, then."
"Very well." He nods and gestures for her to proceed.
Sigyn closes her eyes and envisions her sister. She focuses on one part of her body at a time. Her hair grows longer and golden. Her skin becomes smoother and fair. Her frame grows taller and more slender.
When she opens her eyes, Loki is standing closer than she remembers, scrutinizing her work. He circles her, eyes flitting up and down her figure. When he comes around to face her, his gaze fixes onto her face. "Your eyes," he says.
"What," she asks, blinking nervously.
"They're still brown," he informs her.
"Oh." She closes her eyes again, imagining them shifting from a dark brown to a vibrant blue.
He nods when he sees the change in color. "Excellent. I do believe such an illusion would be imperceptible to the layman."
Sigyn beams, clasping her now long-fingered hands in front of her.
"However," he goes on. "This is only one half of pulling off this trick. The other is to be able to make people believe that you are Haldana."
She nods, pursing her lips in contemplation. "And how do I accomplish that?"
He smiles mischievously. "I have an idea."
"Wait," she whispers a few minutes later, tugging at his arm just before they are in sight of the Warrior's Arena. "What if Haldana is there?"
"Then you can give her a scare," he proposes as he tries to drag her past the corner of the Mead Hall.
She pulls at his arm again. "What if the Lady Sif is there? I promised her I would never return."
"I outrank her in every way, shape and form, and I am giving you permission," he retorts, losing his patience and yanking her along with him.
As they step into the arena, his friends take notice of them. Thankfully, Sigyn notes, her sister is not present. Unfortunately, Sif is.
Considering Haldana's relationship with the woman, it is no surprise that Sif is quick to make her way over to Sigyn. "Hi, Dana," she greets. "Where is your Aerick?"
"Aerick," Sigyn parrots, brow furrowing. Who is Aerick?
"Shit," she hears Loki mutter under his breath. She turns to regard him, and her eyes latch onto the familiar sight of her sister. Haldana is wearing her armor, sword hanging at her hip. Her lengthy hair is piled on top of her head in a stylish, braided bun.
Shit, her mind echoes.
"Loki," Haldana angrily snaps, striding up to him. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Oh," he counters, grinning like a cat who has just spotted a low-flying bird. "As much as I would love to take credit, this is not my doing."
Haldana scoffs, turning to appraise Sigyn. "I find that hard to believe."
Seeing no point in continuing her deception, Sigyn drops the illusion, reverting to her own form. "Surprise," she whispers, waving her hands in an attempt to conceal her trepidation.
Haldana's mouth hangs open, and Sif shouts her friend's earlier grievance, "What is the meaning of this?"
Ignoring Sif, Sigyn addresses Haldana, "Who is Aerick?"
Disconcerted, Haldana looks at Sif. "What?"
Tone remorseful, Sif whispers, "I thought it was you."
Sigyn refrains from smiling at the fact that she had managed to fool her sister's best friend. Eyes darting to Loki, she finds that he is holding back a grin, as well.
Haldana is quick to catch on. "Has Loki been teaching you magic?"
"Yes," Sigyn replies, voice a bit high-pitched. "Have you been fucking someone called Aerick?"
"Yes," Haldana shrieks, her face heating.
A dismayed, indignant noise slips past Sigyn's lips. "Why did you not tell me?"
Haldana sighs, admitting, "Aerick is a lesser lord. My parents do not approve of the match."
Sigyn nods, figuring such a thing makes sense. Haldana's parents are awfully judgmental.
Abruptly, Haldana grips Sigyn's collar and leans in close. "Do not tell Father," she grits out. Her expression is fierce and would likely terrify most anyone, but Sigyn has never feared her younger sister.
She wrestles Haldana's hand away, promising her, "I would never." It wouldn't be fair, really. Not when her sister has kept her attraction to women a secret for so long.
"Good." Haldana nods, pleased with her sister's compliance. "Now, why did you not tell me about this," she asks, pointing at Loki, who stares back at her, unimpressed.
Sigyn shrugs. "I don't know. It didn't seem too important," she lies, avoiding everyone's eyes.
In truth, a part of her had feared her sister would not appreciate her spending time with the prince. He is Haldana's friend. Their worlds have always been separate, intersecting only at the point of their shared father. A father who loved Haldana and never acknowledged Sigyn.
Maybe if she learns how to use her magic, Sigyn thinks, that could change.