One more chapter until the end of part one! Please read, review and enjoy!

Out

Early the second morning after the attack, Walentyna checks up on Sigyn yet again. She measures her blood pressure, takes her temperature, and re-dresses her wounds. Part of Sigyn feels bad having her mother worried and fretting over her, but at the same time, she cannot help but bask in the attention.

"Now, remember," Walentyna lectures, pointing a wooden tongue-depressor at her, "plenty of fluids and as little excitement as possible."

Sighing, she agrees, "Yes, Mother."

Her mother holds her serious expression for another second before letting it drop. She bends down, grasping Sigyn's cheeks and squishing them together. Showering little kisses all over her cheeks and nose, she whispers, "I love you, darling. Everything will be alright. You are safe."

Sigyn scrunches up her face, embarrassed despite their lack of company. "I know." Truthfully, she had not been scared by the events of the feast. Certainly, in the moment, she'd had fear and adrenaline coursing through her, giving her the courage she needed to keep moving, but by the time she had been in any real danger, she had only a moment to contemplate her predicament before she had blacked out. Once she had woken up, she had been in the clear. She had not felt very much fear that she might die, though those close to her clearly had.

"I know you know," her mother concedes, straightening up again. "Although, maybe you could consider a change in career to something a little less dangerous? You are still young. You could be anything you want."

"I think you know what I want," she says, gentle but unapologetic in her conviction.

"Yes," Walentyna sighs, lips twisting in displeasure. "Speaking of things you want, there is a matter I wish to discuss. The Prince Loki—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," Sigyn interrupts, cheeks aflame with her hands held up in front of her. "What makes you think I want him? I don't—I never said—"

Walentyna holds up a hand, effectively stopping the outpour of rambling. "That's enough denial, dear. You cannot put all your hopes into this boy. He is not a sure thing. Not for you. You are from two entirely different worlds."

Sigyn shakes her head, totally not in denial. "I do not know what you mean by that. It is not as though he is from Jotunheim or anywhere so—"

"Sigyn," Walentyna interjects, trying to rein in the rambling once more.

Groaning, she acquiesces. "Okay, okay, I know, but I feel like we really have something. I mean, I l-like him, and I just know he feels the same way."

"And if that feeling goes away," Walentyna asks, shaking her head. "Or if he is not permitted to feel that way?"

Sigyn's patience runs short, and she snaps, "Stop comparing my relationship to what you had with Andor."

Jaw clenched, Walentyna's gaze drops for a moment. It is once in a blue moon that either of the two women speak of Sigyn's estranged father, the subject causing too much pain for them both. In recent years, however, Sigyn has found the topic less and less excruciating to discuss. She no longer feels the deep-seated abandonment that she had when she was younger as she has realized that he had never been there for her in the first place. Besides, he is a horrible man—not exactly what she would want in a father or anyone else in her life.

Her mother feels differently though, and she knows that. "Mother," she pauses, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"You do not have a relationship," Walentyna murmurs. Her eyes lift back up to meet Sigyn's. "That boy can have whatever he wants, but if you give up something for him, you will never get it back."

Sigyn could hear Haldana's steps thundering after her as she fled the scene. She picked up her pace, lengthening the distance between her sister and herself. She ran until her lungs were burning and she had left behind the castle's shadow. Stopping outside of a garment shoppe, she awaited Haldana's arrival.

It took Haldana two minutes to catch up, and she almost passed the alley in which Sigyn resided. She slowed to a stop, taking a few steps back to meet Sigyn, who kept her arms crossed and her face carefully blank. Heaving a half-sigh, half-gasp-for-breath, Haldana ventured, "Listen, Sigyn, I—"

"What the fuck was that," Sigyn shouted, breaking after a full nine seconds of stony silence.

"I'm sorry," Haldana fired back, eyebrows drawn together and hands spread in desperation. "You do not understand—"

Pointing her finger, Sigyn gritted her teeth and spoke over Haldana's sordid apology, "No, you do not understand. I trusted you with a very important secret, and you just blurted it out to the heir to the fucking kingdom!"

Haldana shook her head, hoping to assuage her sister's fears. "Thor is not like Odin. He won't—"

"That does not matter," Sigyn yelled, slicing her arm through the air as a signal for Haldana to shut the fuck up. "Now, he knows. As does his brother, who I was planning on telling in my own damn time! If this gets out, it will ruin my reputation and my career!" She stepped forward, lowering her voice. "But more than all that, you have betrayed my trust."

Haldana ducked her head in shame, clenching her fist at her side. "I did not just blurt it out for no reason—"

"What was the reason then," Sigyn barked, her voice having returned to its previous volume.

"Would you stop interrupting me," Haldana shrieked. Sigyn shrugged, gesturing for her to continue. "I do not trust Loki, especially not with you."

Sigyn snorted in derision. "This shit again."

"I am serious," her sister insisted. "For Buri's sake, he is the God of Mischief and Lies. He has a different devious plot every week! You will only get hurt in the end."

Sigyn shook her head, biting back a sardonic smile. "I am a big girl. Now, why don't you mind your own business and let your older and much wiser sister handle herself?" With that, she stalked away, intent on going home before she did something stupid like talk Pontus into taking her out for a drink.

"You're only eighty-six years older than me," Haldana shouted after her, the sound of her voice farther and farther away with every passing second. "And I am still really, really sorry!"

A knock sounds at the door, bringing Sigyn out of her reverie. She looks up to find Colborn standing in the doorway. "Commander," she greets, smiling. "How nice of you to stop by. Please come in."

He steps into the room, making his way to a seat under the window on the far side of the room. He is dressed in civilian wear, which includes leather shoes and a brown cap atop his head. "I am glad to see you faring well. During the attack, I had feared I would lose Teppo, Kustaa, and you."

She means to shrug demurely, though it comes off as awkward as a result of her injuries. "Well, we survived."

"Yes," he agrees, grimacing.

He averts his gaze thereafter, and a twinge of unease burrows into the back of Sigyn's mind. "Is there something the matter, Commander?"

Bringing a hand up to cover his frown, he meets her eyes once more. "There is a rumor that has spread across Asgard I wish to authenticate with you."

The twinge grows into a full-blown forest fire of worry, but she maintains a neutral, interested-but-not-too-interested façade. "Of course."

He takes a moment before softly whispering, "You are an invert." It is not a question.

They maintain eye contact for several long seconds, throughout which Sigyn's inner monologue chants: Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

She had not been foolish enough to believe the topic of her sexuality would never come up again after Haldana's stupid fucking admission on Sigyn's part without her fucking permission. Nonetheless, after she had spoken with Loki and it had turned out to be a non-issue, she had sort of forgotten about it. Nothing else concerning her inversion—by Borr, she hates that term—had come up, and immediately afterward, a lot of other stuff had happened.

Chest hurting for a whole new reason, she is just as quiet in her response. "Yes."

Colborn slouches forward in his chair, rubbing his hands down his face in frustration. "I have been advised by peers and superiors alike to dismiss you from service and have you returned to your previous unit."

Face falling into a severe frown, Sigyn feels her eyelids grow heavy. She tries desperately to keep her breathing even so as to not collapse into sobs. She is the first woman ever appointed to the Queen's Guard, and her tenure is over already. What a disgrace. "I understand."

"However, I am choosing to discount their counsel." Sigyn's head snaps up in shock. He continues, "I do not believe people should lose their jobs as a result of their," he hesitates, searching for the right word, "proclivities."

She shakes her head, completely dumbfounded, yet pleased. Extremely pleased. "I—Thank you, Commander. Truly, you cannot know what this—"

Holding up a hand, he halts her speech. "You will never be promoted, you understand. If you live out. This is as far as you will go, and I cannot promise that even I can always keep you from losing this job."

Nodding solemnly, she assures him, "I realize that."

"Then why do it?" Colborn's voice booms in the small room. He is visibly distressed, almost twitching in anger. Sigyn wonders why that is. He has barely known her for two weeks; they have hardly built even a professional relationship. "Why live this way?"

"It is not a choice," she gently informs him, trying to be polite. He is letting her keep her job, she pointedly reminds herself.

"No." He frowns. "I mean, why be out? Why not say it is a rumor—"

No longer offended, she smiles ruefully. "I hardly think I could accuse the Prince Thor of lying or spreading misinformation, especially when he was not incorrect—"

He interrupts her in turn, "You could just—" He trails off, grasping at nothing, figuratively and literally.

Sigyn leans forward, trying not to jostle herself too much. "I never thought I would make it to the end of my life without being out." Shrugging, she adds, "And I was right. What's done is done. Why pretend otherwise?"

Giving a bemused snort, Colborn gestures as though to imply that he is at a loss. "You are mad." He stands. "But I wish you the best of luck."

Smiling and nodding, she tries once more to not be too offended as he makes for the door.

Upon reaching the doorway, he stops and turns back. "Once you recover, you should come over to my house for supper and meet my, ah, wife, Alva. They're always bemoaning our lack of guests." With that, he departs, leaving Sigyn to drop her jaw in shock.

That sly bastard, she thinks, mouth still agape. No wonder he didn't fire me.

The other eight women in the Legions of Asgard—such a pitifully small number, thinks Sigyn—decide to visit her as a group two hours later. They are a comforting if somewhat infuriating presence.

"I am glad you're alright," Dagny, a pale dark-haired woman, declares. "But you look simply terrible. You should have just died."

Upper lip curled, Sigyn gives a fake laugh. "Hilarious." Dagny, with her harsh words and jealous streak, has never been fond of Sigyn. It figures she would only come by to tease her.

"I am serious," Dagny goes on, a tinkling lilt to her voice. "You're all gaunt and tired-looking. And your hair—Ugh."

"I think she looks lovely," chimes in a familiar voice.

Eight out of the nine pairs of eyes in the room snap to the doorway to see Loki standing with a bouquet of pink campions clutched in one hand.

My favorite flower, Sigyn thinks, her face hopefully not taking on too much of a dreamy expression.

Dagny, the only woman not facing him, opens her mouth without much thought as she turns around. "Well, you would be wro—" Her voice dies in her throat as her wide eyes land on him. Swiftly spinning on the balls of her feet, she whispers to Sigyn, "Help me."

"Oh, I would, but," Sigyn exhales in a dramatic sham of a yawn, even going so far as to stretch her arms over her head despite the twinge of pain it causes, "I am ever so tired-looking." A few chuckles sound throughout the small room, to which Dagny responds by turning and bolting through the door, metal greaves clacking together as she darts down the hall.

Lieutenant Ylva, the older woman with scraggly gray hair in the far corner of the room, clicks her tongue, muttering, "Coward." She is met with an array of grumbled responses.

"Shut up, Ylva," commands Corporal Hillevi, a blonde muscular woman, her arms crossed over her armored chest.

Ase, the red-haired woman closest to Loki, gripes, "Borr damn it—"

A short brunette, Sergeant Tyra, scrunches her nose in distaste. "Nobody cares—"

"Old bitch," Sigyn concludes, glaring at Ylva from the comfort of her pillows.

It is a shame that Ylva is such an unpleasant person. She was the first woman to make it to the rank of lieutenant since the Valkyries. Once upon a time, Sigyn had looked up to her, but her admiration had quickly washed away the day she and Ylva had met. She had expressed a desire to follow in Ylva's footsteps, and without any remorse, Ylva had dismissed her as some foolhardy girl. Ironically, Ylva has in no way congratulated Sigyn on her promotion to captain, which just so happens to be a rank above lieutenant.

Ylva shakes her head before settling her gaze on Loki, her eyes sparkling with malicious intent. "Apologies, Your Highness. Young women have no sense of decorum these days." Loki's mouth opens and closes, clearly at loss for how to respond. Fortunately, he is not left on the spot for long as various women jump in again to hound her.

"Shut up, Ylva," Hillevi repeats.

"For Borr's sake—"

"Nobody cares—"

Arm swept toward the open door, Sigyn shouts, "Get out!"

Her mischievous smile not diminished in the least, Ylva makes her way from the room, much to the pleasure of her colleagues.

Time stands still for a moment as a hush falls over the room. Finally, Loki breaks the silence. Taking half a step back, he announces, "I'll give you ladies a minute."

At his words, all of the women remaining—save for the youngest, Tove, who stands on Sigyn's right—wince. It is not uncommon for the rest of the military to refer to the Association of Female Armed Services Members and Veterans, a labor rights group Sigyn had organized roughly three-hundred years ago, as the Ladies Lunch Club. Quickly, Loki opens his mouth to remedy the situation—no doubt having remembered this information, which she had shared with him some time ago—but he keeps his silence as he notices her discreetly waving of his concerns, having been able to follow his line of thought.

Once he is back in the hall, the women resume their conversation. "Well, would you look at that," Tyra taunts. "The prince brought you flowers."

There is a chorus of oohs from around the room.

"So, it's true, then," Borghildr chimes in. "You're fucking?"

Before Sigyn can respond, Ase pipes up, "He can still hear us."

Sigyn gives an embarrassed squeak and makes a frantic gesture. "Ase, close the door! Borghildr, shut the Hel up!" Ase, sending a sweet smile out the door, takes a short step to grasp the knob and close the door. Sigyn's head swivels back in Borghildr's direction, "Bitch, what the fuck?"

Smiling, Borghildr raises her hands in mock defense. "Hey, that's just what people have been saying."

Mumbling under her breath, Olga, a shapely dark-skinned woman, adds, "They've been saying other shit, too." By the disapproving look in her eye, Sigyn can tell exactly that to which she is referring.

"One of the rumors must be true." Hillevi smiles, shooting Sigyn a knowing look.

Approximately eight-hundred years ago, Sigyn had caught Hillevi and Olga making out in the women's locker room at work. In an effort to calm the two women who had immediately began begging her not to tell anyone, she had come out to them. Even today, they scarcely speak of that afternoon for fear that their collective secret may get out.

Tove, who may have a little hero-worship for Sigyn, is quick to rebut the older woman, almost sneering in her vehemence. "No."

"Yes," Sigyn sighs, seeing fit to end the debate here. The pain in her chest acutely intensifies for the second time today. "I am queer."

The women respond in various different ways. Tove and Ase gasp, perhaps in outrage or simply shock. Olga gives Sigyn a have-you-gone-mad glare. Tyra leaves without sparing anyone a second glance.

Wryly, Hillevi mutters, "Well, that's three down."

Feeling a sudden hand on her shoulder, Sigyn looks up to find Tove staring down at her with admiration shining in her eyes. "You are so brave."

"Shut up, Tove," Olga shouts, waving her hand dismissively. "You," she continues, pointing at Sigyn. "You are a stupid bitch. They are going to kill you."

"Be not absurd," Sigyn fires back, however half-heartedly. She will not admit that Olga has echoed one of her own deepest fears. "No fuðflogi or flannfluga has been killed in nearly five-hundred years."

Olga takes a brash step forward, yelling, "And who the fuck has come out since then?"

Eyes prickling in both panic and anger, Sigyn opens her mouth to retort, but Ase speaks first. "Olga," she says, glancing between her and Sigyn. "Are you a flannfluga?"

"I should hardly think so," Hillevi comments, her voice composed but dismal. "Olga has been married for over three-hundred years, after all." Coolly, Olga locks eyes with her from across the room. At the end of whatever silent conversation that transpires behind them, Hillevi turns and stalks from the room.

"Four down," Sigyn remarks quietly to herself.

Olga makes a clicking sound with her tongue, glaring at Sigyn once more. "Fuck this," she spits, and then she's gone, too.

Sigyn glares after her, absolutely furious at her for her reaction. One would think that she would be supportive considering how long they have known one another. Yet, there are always those who fear progress and the repercussions with which it comes. Not Sigyn, though. Nope, no way. Not scared at all.

Tove draws back her attention. "Is everyone always like this," she asks, sheepish.

"Basically," Sigyn replies. The nine of them may be the only women in the army, but that does not mean they have to be best buddies. Truthfully, she is only friends with Ase, Hillevi, Olga, Tove, and Tyra. Well, maybe not Tyra anymore, Sigyn considers. Or Olga for a little while. "So," she starts anew, trying to cheer up Tove. "How is the old squadron treating you?"

Tove had finished basic training and been placed in Sigyn's previous division three weeks ago, as the youngest woman to ever join the military at two-hundred seventy-seven years old. Unfortunately, she had not been in Sigyn's platoon, so they had only spoken a handful of times, most of which Tove spent asking Sigyn about her own experience in the military and her veterans association.

Tove shrugs. "It's been good. Everyone, uh, seems to like me." She scratches the side of her head, looking as though she is contemplating sharing her next words. "They, um, call me 'New Sigyn.'"

Shaking her head, Sigyn rolls her eyes disapprovingly. "Of course, they do." She pats Tove's shoulder. "Nevertheless, do not let them push you around."

"Oh, I don't think they would do anything like that," Tove chirps, perking up a bit. "Lieutenant Arvid has me stationed in the throne room this week. Everyone says it's the best post in the realm."

Ase makes a sad cooing noise. "It's actually the worst, sweetheart."

Disbelieving, Tove looks to Sigyn for confirmation. She nods, apologetic. "Look on the bright side, I will be in there all the time once I am not in here anymore."

"Come along, dear," Ase says, throwing her arm around Tove and guiding her towards the door. "I shall buy you a treat."

"I am not a child," Tove tells her, obstinate.

Ase throws Sigyn a good-bye wave on their way out. "Oh? I hadn't realize you had spontaneously aged twenty-three years and gotten to your fourth century in the last few minutes."

Sigyn drops her head back once the door clicks shut, the back of her skull thumping gently onto the top of her pillows. "And then there was one."

Eyes trained on the ceiling, her thoughts roam. She thinks about the pain in her chest. The pain in her back. How tired her bones feel. How tired her eyes feel. How over her life feels. It may be sort of possible that coming out to the entire world could be a bad idea. Had been a bad idea, seeing as how she had already committed to it. Not that it had been her idea or anything. Stupid Haldana and her big mouth. With a little hesitation, she adds, Stupid Prince Thor and his loud mouth.

Feeling her eyes begin to prickle, she bites her lip to hold in her feelings. She does not want to cry. She did enough of that yesterday, and over Norval, that stupid son of a—

"Sounded as though that was a fun visit," Loki remarks, having let himself in while Sigyn was stewing in her own misery.

She laughs haltingly as he comes to sit beside her. "I think I'm just a little upset," she pauses, swallowing roughly around a lump in her throat as she thinks of an excuse, "because of the drugs."

He attempts a smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. "Or could it be because someone tried to kill you and you've been outed to the entire realm?"

Shaking her head, she is on the verge of denying his claim when her face crumples, and she bursts into tears instead. She allows her erratic emotions to finally wash over her, her agony only increasing as the heaving of her chest irritates her wounds. She opens her eyes again when she feels Loki stroking the back of her hand in comfort. "I'm sorry," she gasps.

Loki's brow furrows, "What for?"

"For the panic attack. After I—" Her voice cuts off as her mouth suddenly dries. "After I found out about what I did to Norval."

Placing his hands over one of hers, he insists, "There is no need for any apology, Sigyn, please. You were justifiably upset."

"Still," she maintains, watery eyes cast down while her free hand picks at an imaginary thread on her sheets. "I can only imagine how people must think of me now."

Loki barks out a surprised laugh. Affronted, Sigyn lifts her gaze to meet his. He is quick to squeeze her hand in reassurance. "Surely, you jest. You, a soldier, managed to last a millennium before taking a life. To speak nothing of your moral will, the sheer skill that requires is beyond words. Furthermore, when the need finally arises, you have a sword in your chest and you have blacked out?"

Lips quirking upward, she squeezes one of his hands back. "You flatter me."

"Rightfully so," he agrees.

Looking past him, her gaze settles on the campions he had set up in a vase on the table beside her bed, likely while she was wailing. "Thank you for the flowers." She smiles at him. "They are my favorites."

He returns her soft smile. "I know." Sigyn looks back to the flowers, admiring their bright, pink-purplish coloring. Frankly, she is surprised he remembered her favorite flower. She doesn't even recall telling him herself.

His hand comes to rest gently over the curve of her neck, and she flinches at the sudden touch. "Did the glass get you yesterday," he asks, brow drawn in concern.

Eyes widening in shock, she throws her hand up to cover the scar upon which he has become fixated. It had completely slipped her mind that she does not have the strength to cover it with an illusion. "No, um," she scrambles for a believable explanation. "It is merely an old scar."

His mouth twitches, conveying discomfort. "How did you get it?"

"I do not know," her mind immediately supplies, having realized she would never think of anything better. "I have had it as long as I can remember."

The latter is true. Ever since she was little, she has had a long, ugly scar running across the middle of her neck, right over her throat. When she had grown old enough to become embarrassed by the attention it would garnish, she had started covering it with make-up. Once she had gotten the hang of illusionary magic, she had simply relied on that. Little good it did her now, of course.

"Can I see it again," he requests, gesturing to his own neck with a crooked finger. Reluctantly, she lowers her hand to her lap, watching as he studies it once more. He leans forward in his chair. "It's so long—"

"Uh," Quimby's voice suddenly sounds from the hall, his head peeking through the doorway. "Are we interrupting something?"

Loudly, Sigyn says, "No," grateful for the interruption. She and Loki edge away from each other unconsciously.

Unbothered, Quimby enters the room, going to the same chair he had occupied the previous day. Sigyn expects Pontus to be the other half of the "we" Quimby had mentioned, but he is instead joined by a woman with light green eyes, a willowy figure, and cropped, golden hair.

"Elshe," Sigyn exclaims, her mood changing instantaneously.

Elshe skips over, enveloping Sigyn in a gentle shoulder-hug. She pulls back to run her eyes over Sigyn's face. "How are you?"

"I am fine, really," she assures her.

Nodding slightly, Elshe looks as though her concerns have been assuaged until she, too, notices the scar on her throat. "Quimby didn't tell me the Lord Norval got your neck."

Oh, come on, Sigyn internally gripes. Again with the neck? Seriously?

Quimby is quick to insert himself, pulling Elshe back and whispering to her, "No, that's from something else. Leave it be."

Her brow furrowns. "But never have I—"

"Leave it, woman," he repeats firmly, though his expression turns apologetic when Elshe raises her eyebrows in vexation.

"Anyway," Sigyn intones, turning back to Loki, who no, she had not forgot was in the room with them. "Your Highness, this is Elshe, Quimby's fiancée. She is a chef at a lovely café on the waterfront." Elshe stands once more to shake Loki's hand, and Sigyn continues, "Elshe, this is the Prince Loki, of whom I am sure you know."

"An honor," Elshe greets, visibly bewildered at the way Loki cups her hand the way fancy people do. That had taken Sigyn a while to get used to, as well.

"The pleasure is all mine," he returns. He addresses Quimby next, "I didn't know you were getting married."

Having clearly not expected Loki to directly converse with him, Quimby flounders for a moment. "Ah, I—Yes. Our wedding will be in the coming spring. I'm surprised Sigyn did not tell you." He turns to her. "Do you not talk about us?"

She makes a nonchalant gesture. "I believe it rude to talk about one's other friends. It is almost like gossip." She turns to Loki for support. "Would you not agree?"

Loki shrugs. "I don't exactly have 'other friends.'"

Sigyn lets loose a series of airy giggles, lightly smacking his arm. "You are so silly."

Quimby shoots a discreet, amused look at Elshe, who rolls her eyes and drops a coin into his hand.

This prompts Sigyn to give Quimby an incredulous, slightly outraged glare. How dare he make bets on her love life. Not that she is in love with Loki, of course.

Quimby smiles unabashedly by way of reply.

Loki ends the break in verbal conversation the three of them have created. "I, for one, am loving these painfully obvious, silent exchanges you all are having."

Sigyn doesn't think as she responds, "Sorry, love." A tense stillness falls over the room, and she is just as shocked as she finally realizes what just came out of her mouth. "Loki! Prince Loki," she amends rather frantically, avoiding eye contact with everyone so as to not humiliate herself further.

She finds herself spared when her mother enters the room. "Everyone out," Walentyna orders, unrepentant. "I need to change Sigyn's bandages."

"Bye, Sig," Quimby says in farewell, his hand resting on Elshe's lower back on their way out.

When she sees Loki wave at her in good-bye in her periphery, she tries not to think about how hot her cheeks are and returns the wave without meeting his gaze again.

Walentyna waits until they have all filed out before speaking again. "You're embarrassing yourself, love."

Sigyn merely groans in dismay.