This (short but important) chapter is the last of part one! Woo-hoo!
Please read, review and enjoy!
Charismatic
Sigyn has been in the hospital for two weeks and is well on her way to recovery. Loki has visited her every day.
That is, every day that Odin has not come up with something with which to distract him first. Lately, there has been a suspiciously excessive amount of diplomatic work for him, especially in cases in which it seems as though there is no need for him at all. Take now, for instance.
He is sitting next to Thor in a trade meeting regarding precious Alfish metals, which—who the fuck cares? Asgard already has plenty of precious metals. More to the point, Thor has had this meeting on his agenda for two weeks. Odin had instructed Loki to attend this morning.
Coincidence, he thinks not.
He sulks for the remainder of the meeting, only realizing that it is time to leave when Thor subtly leans into his side as he rises from his own seat.
"You are not yourself today, Brother," Thor observes, giving him a sideways glance.
Half-glaring back at him, Loki tries to shake off his annoyance at being minded like a child. Sure, his father does not want him to marry Sigyn, but what is he supposed to do? Marry her in secret? Get her pregnant so their parents would have to permit the union?
Admittedly, he does considerably like the second idea, but it is a no-go. Sigyn would never agree—and possibly kill him.
Thor raps lightly against Loki's forehead, inquiring, "Anything going on in there?"
Loki knocks his hand away with the intent to waive away his brother's concerns. He grunts instead, apparently not in the mood to hold a conversation.
"Tell me," Thor insists, proceeding to follow him down the hall.
"It is nothing," he contends, sighing.
"Really," Thor asks, brow raised. "Because I've not heard you sigh this much since the last time we did Get Help."
Finally, Loki stops walking to face him. "That is because Get Help is stupid."
Thor shrugs. "Is this stupid, too?"
"No," Loki bites at him. Thor gestures for him to continue, and he sighs in acquience.
"Another sigh," Thor mumbles out of the corner of his mouth.
Eyes closed, Loki orders, "Shut up." Unbidden, he sighs again. "I spoke to Father about the prospect of taking my relationship with Sigyn further." Thor's eyes light up, but Loki stops him before he can say anything. "He shot the idea down. Hard. So."
"So," Thor repeats, trying to prompt him into continuing. "So, what?"
Bewildered, Loki throws up his hands. "So, it is a hard stop."
As much as he hates to admit it, he cannot fight his father on this. If Odin thinks them a bad match, that is it. That is the end of the road. Odin would never allow even a modicum of a romantic relationship between him and Sigyn, so Loki must resign himself to keeping their relationship platonic, no matter how much it may kill his spirit to do so.
Thor places a hand on his shoulder, reclaiming his attention. "Loki, our father certainly has plenty of wisdom, but your future can only be decided by you." He pauses, thoughtful. "And Sigyn, in this instance."
Loki shakes his head. "You don't get it—"
"Perhaps I do not, but just listen," he requests. "You should at least find out how she feels before making any decisions. If she wants to be with you—and of course, she does—she may have an idea of which you haven't thought."
Loki's initial impulse is to frown at his brother's advice, but he feels his mouth quirking up into a half-smirk instead. Thor's counsel usually leaves one wanting, but occasionally, he gets it right. Loki is allowing the doom and gloom of getting scolded by Odin to get the better of him. What is he thinking, just giving up? He is too good at scheming to relent now, especially before he has exhausted all non-nefarious options. He nods, feeling a little more self-assured. "You're right."
"Of course," Thor affirms in his booming voice. They continue walking to the plaza just outside of the palace. He throws an arm around Loki. "Your older brother knows everything."
"Is that so," Loki asks, full-on smirking now. "What is the population of Muspelheim again?"
Thor gives Loki a firm shove ahead of him. "Shut up."
When Loki arrives at the hospital that afternoon, he is pleasantly surprised in finding Sigyn walking about the halls rather than confined to her small room. She is working on her physical therapy, and it appears as though she has made some progress. When she had started, she could neither walk nor stand without someone helping her. Today, however, she strides down the hall, completely unaided, though her lackeys, Pontus and Quimby, follow close behind her.
As Loki approaches them, he takes notice of her state of dress. Earlier in the week, she was still wearing the hospital wrap she had been given, but since then, she has recovered enough of her strength to cast illusions again. Thus, she has transformed her clothes into a light blue dress that reaches just beneath her knees.
The absence of the mysterious scar has not escaped his notice either.
She spots him, calling, "Good afternoon, Your Highness. How wonderful it is to see you, another walking individual."
Loki comes to a stop before her, feeling his eyes crinkle with his grin. "Ah, and may I just say, I very much admire your gait."
"Why thank you, kind sir," she quips, bending slightly in a half-bow before wincing near imperceptibly and straightening again. Beaming nonetheless, she informs him, "I've not stumbled at all today."
"Wonderful," he compliments.
Quimby chimes in, proclaiming, "That's our girl." This prompts little reaction from anyone until he rather thoughtlessly gives her a laudatory clap on the back. Loki and Pontus watch in slow motion and absolute horror.
Air audibly punched out of her, she lurches forward, falling into Loki's chest and clutching at his arms. A pained, quiet whine makes its way past her gritted teeth. "Are you okay," he asks, careful not to hurt her further.
Her breathing evens out and she opens her eyes again, nodding. From over her head, Loki watches Quimby turn tail and dash down the hall at a speed not at all appropriate for a hospital. "How far is he," she asks, voice muffled by his chest.
Without looking, Pontus tells her, "He'll reach the end of the corridor in two seconds."
Almost immediately, she materializes a copy of herself at the end of the hall. Her copy's arms are crossed as she glares down at Quimby, who had startled and tripped over himself when she had appeared. He lies on the ground, clutching his head with his legs folded towards his chest.
"I think he hit his head," her copy yells at Pontus, who groans before trotting over. Once he reaches them, he bends down to inspect Quimby's crumpled form, occasionally glancing up to speak with Copy Sigyn.
Meanwhile, Real Sigyn straightens and pulls away from Loki, though not completely. She leaves her hands on his biceps. That's a good sign, right, he thinks, slightly nervous about what he is about to ask her.
Her voice a tad raspier than it had been just a minute before, she behaves as though none of the preceding events had occurred, cheekily asking, "Escort me back to my room?"
"Why don't we go for a stroll through the courtyard instead," he replies. If he takes her back to her room, there is no telling how long it will be before someone comes along to disturb them. At least, in the courtyard, it would take Sigyn's friends or mother a while to track her down. He would prefer not to be interrupted.
She groans loudly, throwing her head back. "Fine," she relents, however jokingly. "I suppose I could benefit from some fresh air."
"That's the spirit," he commends, beginning to guide her outside.
Her hand resting comfortably in the crook of his arm, they share an idle conversation about all the foods Sigyn wants to eat but cannot because her mother has deemed them too bulky or spicy for her recovering esophagus.
"I could handle a spiced mutton pie," she continues, gesticulating with her free hand. She is looking at the ground in front of them, carefully watching her step. Loki cannot take his eyes off of her. "And I am this close to convincing Pontus to bring me one. He is quite easy to persuade."
"I'm sure," he agrees, amused.
The courtyard rests in the center of the military hospital. Its cobblestone pathways are lined with dozens of different species of flora, including shrubbery, trees and flowers from all over the color spectrum. They stop upon reaching its center, settling on a low stone bench off to the side. Sigyn takes a moment to sit without jostling herself too much. Once she has settled, she closes her eyes and lifts her face to soak in the sunlight, humming in delight.
Tentatively, he slides his hand over hers, strengthening his grip when she does not pull away. He had been a little worried that she would be adverse to being alone with him after she had thoughtlessly called him love the week before last, but it is as though the incident had never occurred. Though, thinks Loki, that is concerning on its own.
Nonetheless, Thor has given him good advice for the first time ever. As a result, he has finally mustered up the courage to speak honestly with her about his affections. He will go through with this.
"So," he says for the millionth time today. "I must admit I have ulterior motives in bringing you here."
Cracking an eye open and grinning slightly, she jests, "Are you going to kill me?"
Unable to think of an adequate reply, he presses on, "I never imagined I would meet anyone quite like you." He brings her hand up to continue clutching it over his heart. "You are gorgeous, intelligent, funny, strong, and charismatic."
Sigyn slowly turns to face him more fully, her smile slackening. Her eyes flick about his face, trying to read his emotions even as he speaks them aloud. "For over a century now, my parents have insisted I find a suitable wife, but I found no merit in the endeavor until fairly recently. Moreover, as I said before, you are so ama—"
His voice dies out as her free hand comes to rest gently but firmly over the open curve of his mouth. Confused and a little displeased at being barred from continuing during his confession, his brow furrows slightly.
She opens her mouth to speak, hesitating momentarily. She is as pale as she was the first day of her recovery, her face drained of all its lively color. If he holds himself still, he can feel her hands trembling against him, almost as though she is frightened. A part of him, however small, is still hopeful, but that feeling is dashed away when she utters a single word, "Stop."
He grabs her arm to pull her hand from over his mouth, surprisingly calm in the face of rejection. "Sigyn—"
"No, no," she interrupts again. This time she pulls away entirely, standing up and stepping back for good measure. "This is—Look, I understand that you may feel a certain way. However, I do not."
Standing too, he cannot stop himself from scoffing in disbelief.
She gives an offended squeak. "I am serious!"
"Sigyn," he repeats, leveling her with an utterly unimpressed look. She has always been terrible at lying. "You called me love mere days ago!"
She takes an urgent step forward, shushing him. She glances around to make certain they are alone before turning back with a deep frown and a furrowed brow. "That was a slip of the tongue."
"A rather telling one," he agrees.
She glares at him for another few seconds before breaking at last. "Fine, but nonetheless, however I—we—may feel is irrelevant."
"Why," he wonders, absolutely incredulous at this point.
Exasperated in turn, she shouts, "Because we run immensely disparate risks!"
Unwilling to relent, he runs a hand through his hair and asks, "What are you talking about?"
"Come now, you know of what I speak," she argues, mouth drawn in an upset line. "You are a prince—virtually untouchable. I, on the other hand, am in no way the person with whom your parents imagine you being."
He takes her hand again, and he is surprised when she lets him. "We could convince them otherwise."
"No, we could not," she sighs as her thumb runs over the back of his hand. "The way things are, it would be impossible. Maybe if it were you who would one day be king, or—I don't know, but as it stands, I have far too much to lose, and I know that I shall gain nothing."
Crestfallen, he shakes his head as though to deny her claims, but he knows that he cannot. If Odin were to discover that Loki had gone against his wishes, he would punish the both of them. Loki would be stuck in other realms doing diplomatic work for a century or two. Sigyn would likely lose her job as she is employed by the Crown.
If only I would one day be king, he thinks idly, replaying her statement in his mind. His father might be inclined to take his desires, fervent as they are, under consideration.
Sigyn frowns deeper. "I am sorry, Your Highness. I truly, truly wish our situation to be different, but it is not."
For an insane moment, he is inclined to kiss her and the run the risk of her being completely offended and never speaking to him again. Hypothetically, it could work out well, like in those old wives' tales, though he is pretty sure those are all fiction.
He settles for dropping his hands onto her shoulders and admitting, "This is not how I pictured pouring out my heart to you going."
"Me neither," she whispers, inching closer. Her hand comes up to stroke his cheek.
Of course, his earlier train of thought continues, it is Thor who is set to ascend the throne. I would have to unseat him. It is a quandary he has contemplated before. For all that he is fond of his brother in the moments when they are not driving one another mad, he has long thought that he would be better suited to rulership. Thor means well, but Loki would be the better choice for the Nine Realms.
"Are you sure I cannot change your mind," he asks, focusing on Sigyn once more and giving her one last chance to change her mind before he does something drastic. "I am on the receiving end of some very mixed signals right now."
Sigyn sighs again, and Loki recognizes that the two of them must have a record for the most sighs in a day. "You know I try to face my fears when I can," she tells him, and he silently agrees. She goes into battle without hesitation and heads off against people and traditions with which she cannot agree. "But in this case, I cannot let them go."
"Perhaps it will be for the best," he says, knowing she will interpret his words the wrong way. For a time—a long time, really, considering his half-baked plan has a lot of moving parts and will probably take no less than a decade to implement—it will seem as though he means for them to move on with their lives. Little will she know until long that he by no means intends to leave things as they are, and that what would really be best for everyone is for him to one day rule Asgard with her by his side.
"Listen, I have to go," he says rather abruptly, beginning to pull away.
"Right," she says, as though it was she who was just rejected.
"Not because of this," he assures her, even though yes, it is partly because of this. Really, he is simply excited with the prospects presented by his new plot. He's not had such a devious scheme in a while. "I simply have business elsewhere. I'll likely be gone for a day or two, so I won't see you until after I return."
She makes a noise of surprise, but says nothing else. She probably has whiplash from all the directions this conversation has taken.
After some deliberation, he drops a chaste kiss on her forehead. Her eyes droop at the touch, taking on a noticeably darker hue. She seems under a spell for a brief period of time, but she breaks whatever trance had come over her by taking a forceful step backward.
He holds her heady gaze for another second before he grins and points at her. "I almost had you."
Snorting, she shakes her head, though he is not sure if it is at him or to clear her mind. "Safe travels, Your Highness," she wishes him.
Loki departs the hospital after Sigyn insists that she can make it back to her room on her own. If worse came to worst, she had claimed, she could simply levitate back. Fair enough, he had supposed.
As far as he knows, he hasn't anymore pointless meetings to attend today, so he is perfectly free to venture into the Great Forest beyond the palace for a purposeful if not pleasant hike. As for tomorrow, his father cannot send him anywhere if he cannot find him.
The air grows chillier as his journey wears on, though he knows this not to be due to the falling night. Before long, he comes upon the grove for which he had been searching. Directly in its center, a flurry of snowflakes stand nearly still in the air, slowly swirling around, but never touching the ground or travelling too far from the trees between which they float.
It is at this point that he breaks into an all-out sprint. From experience, he knows he has to be going at full speed for this to work. The air only gets colder as he runs, though the chill bothers him little. Within the course of a few seconds, the Asgardian forest disappears, and he finds himself standing alone in the bowels of an icy fortress. He uses his connection to the astral plane to navigate through the corridors of the Jotun king's decrepit palace, making sure to avoid any of his henchmen. For this first visit, reconnaissance is the only task he need complete.
Truthfully, he has been contemplating this plan for centuries. Ever since he had found the rift leading to Jotunheim, really. The near-frozen realm, a long-time threat and tenuous ally of Asgard, is a perfect target. Moreover, all he truly needs for his plot to work is King Laufey's unwitting compliance and his brother's stupidity. Should everything go as planned, Loki will have for himself the throne, his father's approval, and with any luck, Sigyn.
End of Part One
The first chapter of part two will still be pretty fluffy, but in chapter two, we get into some SHET