This chapter jumps back a few months, occurring roughly a week after Ch. 18, a.k.a. Thor: The Dark World!
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Deception
She finds the book in a dark and gloomy place fraught with dangerous obstacles. The way in through Niflheim had been the easy part of her journey, but it had only grown more perilous from there. Giant monsters and vagarious demons, staggering heights and crumbling cliffs, and stifling heat and chilling cold had greeted her throughout her trek, but she had finally made it. Despite her worries that a second trip would be impossible, she was in the secret heart of the secluded realm once more.
She knew she did not have much time. Undead Draugr warriors surrounded her, and though a spell kept them at bay, it would not hold up forever and was already draining her energy. She needed to find the name now.
She flipped through the book, pushing back hundreds of pages at once as she scoured the words written before her. Once far enough back to where her own name had been, she cursed, turning forward once more. She had missed it. How could she have missed it?
One warrior broke past her defenses. It ran at her, howling mad. With a blast from her hand, it went flying back, blown apart as it hit the ground.
Where is it, where is it, she wondered, frantic. She was going page-by-page at that point, carefully reading every line.
Finally, after four-thousand-three-hundred-ninety-six pages, she found
ᛋᛁᚷᛁᚾ
That cannot be it, she thought, her eyes rounding as dread filled her. This was the right time. It had to be there. That cannot be it. That cannot be all there is.
She flipped forward another hundred pages and back another two-hundred. Nothing.
Five more warriors slipped through, two of them fast enough that she had to fight them off herself. As her blade sliced through the last one's rotting rib cage, seven more broke free of her spell. She had run out of time.
Cursing, she erased the name and prayed it was the right one.
Loki stands in the spot in which Sigyn had died on Midgard for hours, unable to comprehend where she had gone.
Upon returning to Asgard two days after her supposed demise, Thor had reported that her body had been stolen, but Loki doesn't believe that for a second. No, he is of the belief that she had simply woken up and walked off, and he is certain he can find her.
Thus far, he is stumped, but it is not as though he is truly worried—not yet anyhow. She can take care of herself, he knows, and Midgard is somewhat of a familiar stomping-ground for her. Nevertheless, seeing as this is his third trip to Midgard since she had disappeared and there still seems to be no trace of her, his uneasiness has only had room to grow. On this trip, as he had done on his last two, he had gone back and forth from the hospital to which she had been taken, trying to retrace her potential steps. There had been not a drop blood left behind in the morgue, no whisper of dark hair disappearing around a corner on the security cameras, no sightings by passersby—Nothing.
It cannot be possible that she has simply up and disappeared, he inwardly insists, staring imploringly into the deep pit in the ground left behind by the Dark Elves' ship, as though beseeching the ground to crack open further and spill the planet's secrets to him. In all likelihood, she is in hiding somewhere on the globe. He knows that she is clever enough to conceal herself if need be. Their brief stint on the run together in Asgard had proven that, but there is nothing from which to run now.
Watching as a clump of dirt breaks off from the wall of the elf-made gorge and tumbles to the bottom of the pit, he wonders if perhaps she is frightened of Odin and his threats of retribution. His father is a vicious opponent to have, and he usually makes good on his threats, one way or another.
Loki bites back a curse at the realization. If only he could let her know that Odin is no longer a threat. Him standing in Odin's stead is proof of that.
Upon waking up alone on Svartalfheim after that monster had stabbed him in the chest with his own sword, he had bided his time, letting the pain settle as he waited for the convoy he had known his father would send after them to arrive. He had delighted only partly in slaying the soldier who'd had the misfortune of discovering him—he had recognized him as that half-witted corporal who had tormented Sigyn for eons—and taken his form to return to Asgard, using the man's corpse as a stand-in for his own. Once back in Asgard, he had taken the opportunity to inform Odin of his fictitious, untimely demise. He had then beset Odin with a spell, his father weakened by the loss of his wife and the shock of the tale Loki had spun for him.
It had been a complicated enchantment, spun with the knowledge of everything Frigga had ever taught him about magic and all the rage that made up his soul. After everything that Odin had done to their family—his deceit, their broken dreams, their unfulfilling fates—Loki had thought that forcing the old man to live out the rest of his days on an unremarkable planet with no knowledge of any greater purpose would be a fitting way to end their story. With Frigga gone and Thor off to nurse his hero complex, everything seems to have tied up as nicely as anyone could have expected. All that leaves now is for him to tell Sigyn that Odin is no longer an obstacle to anyone's happiness.
Unfortunately, he would have to first find her in order to tell her anything of the sort. It should be easy, he thinks, what with being granted the power of Asgard's king. As the ruler of Asgard, when one sits on the throne to survey one's realm, everything is within one's sight. As a child, he had thought it an awesome power, asking his father to look into Niðavellir and tell him what the dwarves were making. When he had stood in for his father as Prince Regent, it is how he had seen Thor on Midgard and controlled the Destroyer remotely. More recently, it is how he had seen Sigyn die at the hands of the Aether, mere minutes after he had returned from the other side of the very same planet on which she had been.
It had been the most grotesque thing he had ever seen. Not only for how sickening and graphic it had been—he can recall with excruciating detail how viscous the blood trailing out of her nose had been, as though it was suffused with shredded brain matter—but for the fact that he had never before seen a loved one die. His mother had died in the palace while he had been outside of the military hospital. He had seen Laufey die, if only because he had killed him himself, but that had been different. He had not loved Laufey, and Laufey had not loved him. His birth father had abandoned him to die, and watching him be blown apart had been a realization of justice, not some tragic affair.
He had also watched from his throne as Thor had failed to return with Sigyn's body from Midgard. Haldana had awaited him anxiously at the Bifröst, already wearing the string of Sigyn's hair that Thor had brought back for her days earlier. When he had arrived sans Sigyn, bringing only the news that the humans had promised to alert him if they found any pieces of her, Haldana had crumbled, falling into his arms and sobbing until she lost her voice.
From the throne room, Loki had turned his sight from the scene. He could not allow himself to get caught up in the emotions of the ridiculous story Thor had been fed. The idea that not only is Sigyn dead, but that some ignoble humans are dissecting her body for glory is ludicrous. He refuses to be swept up in the sheer terror it instills in him, not when he knows better than to believe it.
He is all but certain that Sigyn has shielded her mind and soul from being detected via the astral plane or any other means. There is no other explanation as for how neither he nor the Gatekeeper can see her, and he knows the skill to be in her range.
Moreover, after seeing and speaking to her in that dark, cluttered, scarred dimension that he cannot seem to escape, her survival is the only thing that makes sense.
Loki stood above the familiar terrain, surveying the gray, diminished landscape in dismay. That void was just as dismal as he remembered it. The ground was uneven in every direction, as though designed to trip one up. The light there was dim, and he could barely see twenty feet ahead of him in any direction.
Shaking his head, he looked down at himself, happy at least to be without pain while he was there. There was no sensation in that place, he recalled, so he would not have to bear the pain of his new injuries while he languished in the void. Just as he had the last time he had been there, he picked the most comfortable looking stone within sight on which to lounge until he could escape this place.
"Hello," called out a familiar voice, grabbing his attention.
"Sigyn," he answered in question, whipping around to find her standing but a few feet away. She appeared painfully confused as she stood amid the tattered remains of a destroyed planet. He was beyond disturbed at the sight of her, wishing against all odds that he was hallucinating her presence. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed over to her and grabbed her hands. With the lack of sensation that came with watching her fingers sliding along his palms, he bit back a curse as he realized she truly was there with him. "What happened? Where are you," he asked, frantic.
Her befuddlement growing, she tilted her head to the side. "We're both on Earth, are we not?" Her gaze slid past him, likely getting lost in the fog surrounding them. "Where are we," she asked him.
He did not answer, unsure of what to say. He could not very well tell her the truth; he suspected she would have a meltdown if he did. "Loki," she repeated, starting to look as nervous as he was. She tugged on his hands. "Where are we? What is this place?"
His mouth opened and closed without his saying anything, hesitation ruling him. He might not want to tell her the truth, but neither did he want to lie. He decided on an evasion. "I will tell you everything as soon as I find you."
"When you find me? What—" She stopped speaking as a breeze picked up, blowing directly between them. Sigyn shrunk back from him, her hands slipping away. She made to follow after him, but her feet would not carry her forward.
He tried to impart a final word of reassurance as he felt himself beginning to slip away, but the next thing he knew, she had vanished right before his eyes, and he had woken up alone on Svartalfheim.
A part of him finds it odd that he had woken up before she had supposedly died, the timing not quite making sense. Still, he will not let some trick of time and space stop him from looking for her, even if searching on Midgard appears to be a hopeless pursuit.
Disgruntled by his third failure in locating Sigyn, he turns away from the site in a huff. He almost barrels into a woman with an eye-catching poof of red, curly hair in his haste to get away, side-stepping her on his way back to the same spot Thor has been using to travel to London with the Bifröst.
While on Midgard, he had disguised himself as a postal worker, though he transforms back into a nondescript soldier for his journey back to Asgard. He calls on Heimdall to summon the Bifröst, and moments later, he is home once more.
Heimdall watches Loki pass by with cunning eyes, which he avoids meeting. "No luck with that for which the Allfather sent you to Midgard," the man asks, likely hoping to catch him in a lie.
Loki is not so foolish as to believe that Heimdall is completely unaware of anything amiss, but for now, he is certain that the Gatekeeper has not gotten wind of his deception. He has plenty of experience in shielding his presence from the man's gaze, and Sigyn's current use of the same tactic only proves how effective it is.
"None," he responds, careful to keep his voice devoid of any inflection. He does not want to give Heimdall any more reason to be suspicious.
Once back in the palace, he morphs back into Odin as he strides through an empty corridor. Two members of the King's Guard nod at him as he arrives at his father's bedroom, one reaching back to open the door for him. After the door is closed, he rubs at his wrinkled face, dreading the prospect of another night of scouring the astral plane for Sigyn when every day and night this past week have borne no results.
Knowing from experience that he needs to be in the right headspace to have any hope of success, he begins taking off his father's armor, having put it on manually after taking the man's form in the morning. Technically, he could keep it on and merely disguise himself in his own clothes, but he would much rather be free of the entire charade, especially the restrictive clothing, at least when he is alone.
A voice calls out, "Hello," and he jumps, fumbling with one of the gauntlets and letting it drop to the floor with a clang.
Whipping around, slowed slightly by the bulk of the metal still tied to his legs, he is greeted by the sight of one of Sigyn's friends sitting on his mother's favorite settee. With no need to fake outrage, he barks, "Who are you," as though he does not already know the answer.
Pontus does not move from his perch on the settee, his burly frame held up by a surety Loki has never before seen in him. His grim expression makes him appear all the more imposing, as though he is a bad omen wrapped up in a man. "Come on, I don't have to tell you," he says, dipping his head before adding, "Loki."
What the fuck, Loki thinks, trying to keep his surprise from showing on his face. Pontus should not be able to recognize him. He has yet to drop the façade of Odin's form. Not only that, but he has told no one of his plans. If he had been expecting anyone to discover him, it had been Heimdall, not a commoner with whom he had interacted fewer times than he has fingers to count.
Despite his disquiet at this odd turn of events, he refuses to be intimidated, especially given how inconsequential he has always considered the other man—if ever there had been a time when he had considered him. "How did you get in here," he asks. Trying to channel as much of his father's pomp into his words as he can, he adds, "You will answer your king."
"The members of the King's Guard have no idea that their charge has been abducted right under their noses. Do you really believe that is the only thing that has slipped past them," Pontus asks. "It was impressive, by the way, how you managed to sneak Odin past them and squirrel him down to Midgard."
At more of a loss than ever as to how Pontus is aware of any of this—that he had survived, as well as how he had dispatched with Odin—he starts grasping at straws, "Are you a spy?"
Pontus snorts, an amused smile playing at his lips. "For whom?"
Unsatisfied with the answer, Loki frowns, his brow dipping in consternation. With Odin's face, he imagines he looks like a grumpy, weathered lynx. The errant thought makes him frown harder.
After some consideration, he decides to drop the illusion, figuring that asking Pontus if he was a spy gave him away. The rest of Odin's armor shifts, the metal taking on the consistency of silk. It slithers to the floor, collecting around his feet in solid, individual pieces. As his father's remaining attire turns black and green, he feels his skin tighten, his spine lengthen, and his hair grow.
Pontus beams, though Loki can feel the quiet fury rolling off of him. "There he is." At last, he stands up, stalking over to the raised platform on which Odin's bed sits and stopping five feet away from Loki.
Getting straight to the point, Loki asks, "How did you know it was me?"
The man merely shrugs by way of response. He dons an inoffensive smile, but it does not fool Loki. No, Loki thinks, this situation is too strange for it to be anything other than premeditated.
When he receives no answer, he changes tactics. He asks, "Why are you here?"
Pontus's smile grows so much as to become disturbing, showing far too many teeth. "Do you know what I have been doing for the past eight-hundred years?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," Loki intones. Discreetly, he creates a duplicate of himself and steps back from it. He creeps quietly down the steps between him and Pontus.
Almost as soon as Loki would have reached him, Pontus takes a step back, his eyes refocusing on what should look like empty space. Loki almost reels back, thrown to have the man's attention on his actual body, but he does not drop the illusion. It must be intuition driving Pontus, or perhaps he made a sound; surely, he cannot actually see Loki.
Loki silently steps closer, and Pontus takes a reciprocal step back. "I've been having nightmares about the same scene, over and over again. Sigyn screaming, blood pouring down her face, and then she drops like a stone—"
His words evoke images of the Aether consuming Sigyn until it had burst and she had plummeted toward the ground. Her screams had been the worst part of the entire ordeal. They had sounded so raw, so animalistic, that he doubts she had been conscious of them at all.
Blind with rage at Pontus's glib tone, Loki tries to land a kick along Pontus's ribs, but the other man dodges out of the way just in time. Suitably stymied, Loki lets the illusion drop, seeing no point in carrying on an unconvincing charade. Even as his duplicate vanishes, he keeps himself invisible, hoping to catch Pontus out eventually.
"Once she came back from Midgard with you and your brother," Pontus goes on, conveniently sidestepping Loki as he trails after him. "I dreamt of her death every night."
"I suppose, you want me to feel sorry for you," Loki's disembodied voice sneers.
"Hardly. It is you for whom I feel sorry." Pontus matter-of-factly informs him, "It is your dreams she will haunt now."
That gives Loki pause, and he stops in the middle of the room. It suddenly strikes him how often Pontus has turned up like this, appearing entirely out of place, yet having some sort of obscure purpose with something odd to say. There had been the night before Loki had let the Frost Giants into Asgard for the second time, Pontus arriving just in time to stop Sigyn and him from sharing a first kiss. He recalls, too, when Pontus had tried to catch up with them before they had left for Svartalfheim last week.
Loki thinks back on what else there is of the limited interaction he has had with the other man. The day they had first met, Pontus had glared at him from across a hospital room. A few days after that, he had somehow known how quickly Quimby would run to the end of the hall after accidentally aggravating Sigyn's wounds. Most conspicuous is the hearsay; that he had not spoken to Sigyn for nearly the entirety of the past two years, as though he could see her fabled end coming. And his dreams—
Suddenly, it hits him. "You can See," he surmises. Pontus having the Sight is the only thing that makes sense. A gift for foresight is all that could explain his penchant for popping up at the opportune moment or knowing that which has yet to be revealed.
Pontus's eyes are still focused on the space directly beneath his chin, so Loki drops the glamour on himself, and they make eye contact once again. It turns out to be a mistake, as Pontus takes the opportunity that Loki's lowered guard present to jump up on one leg and kick him in the chest with the other. His foot makes direct contact with the freshly healed wound he had gotten from the sword he had buried into that ugly, giant Dark Elf.
A garbled scream escapes him as he topples backward and lands flat on his back, doubly aggravating the wound. Black spots dance in the corners of his vision, and he tries in vain to get his bearings and push himself back to his feet. Pontus's foot makes a comeback, landing in the exact same place and derailing his progress. A second scream is lodged in his throat, kept there by sheer force of will. If they make too much noise, they will alert the guards posted outside the door, and his time as king will be over before it has begun.
Pontus puts his weight on the leg holding Loki to the floor. Loki suppresses a groan. "To answer your question," Pontus says, speaking as though they are idly discussing politics. "I am here to destroy your spirit, as you have so destroyed mine."
Loki wants to bite back a retort, but cannot find the breath to do so, the pain in his chest so acute.
Gritting his teeth, his eyes practically glowing with hatred, Pontus presses on, "Her death is your fault. The day Sigyn met you, I saw the next fifty years, climaxing in the nightmare that had plagued me for so long." He takes a slow, steadying breath. "I pleaded with her—begged her—to forget you and your promise of magic, but she would not hear me. Somehow, you had charmed her already, and at such a time as when only feminine wiles could manage such a feat." He pauses meaningfully, his lips curling into a taunting smirk. "Although, you and I both know that would not preclude her from any attraction to you."
Mortification curling in his breast, a flare of panic rolls through Loki. His magic responds, a dagger appearing in his hand. He shoves it through the narrow space between the man's greave and solleret, driving it straight into Pontus's ankle. Pontus howls, the sound cut off as he bites his tongue and hobbles backwards. As soon as the weight of him is off Loki's chest, Loki reaches up to grip the dagger's hilt, ripping it out of the man's leg and using the momentum to toss him onto the floor.
His leg hamstrung, Pontus tries to haul himself away from Loki, using his upper body to drag himself across the floor. Loki trails after him, taking measured, leisurely steps. "It looks as though foresight cannot account for everything." He bends down, placing a foot on Pontus's ankle and leaning on it. Pontus hisses through his teeth. "You said you came here to destroy my spirit. You've failed."
"I have yet to begin," Pontus spits, reeling up from his supine position. Loki delivers a vicious blow to his face, feeling the delicate bones there crunch underneath his fingers. Pontus collapses once more, breathing heavily as he brings up his hands to gently caress his nose. "Borr damn it, this is why I look so bruised tomorrow."
Loki's lips curl into a smirk. "This is why one does not tangle with a god."
"Oh, get over yourself," he huffs. For a moment, it seems as though he wants to push himself back up, but he must think better of it. "You know, Sigyn never suffered from the delusion of godliness, even after she discovered that she was a god, herself. She thought it was ridiculous and self-important, and that it had no bearing on anyone's actual merit."
Vaguely, Loki recalls Sigyn ranting off that very line to him. It had been during one of their many spats after their return from the Battle of New York. Idly, he wonders if she had repeated the line to Pontus, or if Pontus had simply had a vision of their conversation.
The latter theory makes him squirm, uncomfortable at the prospect of voyeuristic psychics. "Stop talking about her in the past tense," he orders Pontus. "If you really are a witch, you should know she's alive."
Firmly, Pontus replies, "I prefer the term 'seer,' and it is because I am one that I know she is not."
"You're wrong," insists Loki.
Shaking his head, Pontus pins him with a perceptive stare. "I know it all, Loki. I know your little jaunt to Helheim failed."
A jolt shoots through Loki at his words, disbelief and shock mixing together to make his stomach churn. Over twenty years' worth of doubt and dread come rushing to the surface, tipping his buoying calm toward panic. Subconsciously, he feels the first bit of his confidence in his ability to locate Sigyn chip away.
Pontus speaks up again before Loki can spiral too far past the point of despair. "I know, too, that all this was so you could have a throne."
As his eyes refocus on the man lying beneath him, Loki is distracted. He starts hissing out a lie before he has decided what tale to spin. "I never wanted—"
"Even the God of Lies can't lie to a psychic," Pontus interrupts, heading him off.
"I've wanted other things more." While it is true that he wants the throne—he deserves it, after everything that has happened—he could have done without it. Running off with Sigyn had not involved a throne, at least not Asgard's. Even before everything had fallen apart, before he had first devised his plot to steal the throne from Thor, if his father had done things differently—if he had not raised two sons to both expect a throne—he might have been satisfied with less. Perhaps in another world, he could have been content with another role for himself while Thor ruled.
"They're all lost to you now," Pontus jeers, his cruelty cutting through Loki's moment of reflection.
Feeling tired, Loki decides he has been bombarded enough for one night. He pulls back, easing his foot off of Pontus's ankle and stepping away. "I suppose you think that justice."
"Not nearly enough. I'll never see her again because of you." Pontus pushes himself to his feet, leaning on his good leg and panting from exertion. With his expression still lined with fury, yet pulled down by exhaustion, he continues, "Tomorrow, when you finally realize that what I say is true—that she did die on Midgard—you should know that it was an absolute point in time. It had to happen. There was nothing you could do to stop it. In this world, Malekith killed her, but in others—" His lips draw together abruptly, as though to stop the flow of words before he gives away a secret. Once he has mastered himself once more, he finishes, "Sigyn had to die one way or another."
Loki listens to Pontus's deranged rambling with no small amount of restraint. It takes all of his willpower not to strike the man down for his gall, enraged as he is at this attempt to dissuade him from recovering Sigyn. However sure he is that Pontus would deserve it—and that it would certainly improve his own mood—he does not want to do something he would forever regret. Already, he is picturing how angry Sigyn will be when she finds out he stabbed Pontus. He cannot imagine what she would do if he killed him. "You're delusional. Get out."
After Pontus has made himself scarce, Loki stubbornly persists in looking for Sigyn despite the man's warnings that it will all be for naught. He is at it for hours with a disheartening lack of results. It feels as though he is groping around a void, trying to grip onto something that no longer exists. By his account, it doesn't make any sense, and his conviction drives him to continue searching despite his failure thus far. Still, he tires eventually, collapsing on his father's bed in distress when he acknowledges that he will need to get some sleep if he has any hope of success.
He wakes early the next morning, unfortunately feeling as though he has not slept at all. Skipping breakfast, he throws himself into the astral plane, feeling a rush as the life energies and consciousnesses of those nearby in the physical world push up against him. Descending farther into the other dimension, he pushes through space, trying to pull himself towards Midgard. Once there, the sheer number of lives overwhelm him, along with the strain from the distance.
Pushing through, he casts out his mind, trying for the umpteenth time to locate Sigyn. Usually, it is relatively easy to detect other adepts in the astral plane, their consciousnesses naturally brighter and more concrete than others. However, today—as has been the case all other days—the universe is dim in her absence.
Loki pulls himself back to the material world before long, no more successful that he had been the night before. Though he knows that his trouble is due to her own interference, she should not be so strong as to combat him so effectively. He stings with the realization that she has clearly surpassed him in telepathic ability and falling behind has cost him any chance of finding her through usual means.
Another thought occurs to him. If he is unable to sense her life energy or her consciousness, he should at least be able to latch onto the source of her magic by using his own. To do so, he would need to perform a spell, for which he would need a well-used item of hers.
A plan forming in his mind, he vaults up from his cross-legged position on the floor. Within moments, Odin is marching into the hall with his guards on his heel.
The first person he runs into is Volstagg, and his plan solidifies further. Loki wraps the man up in meetings and meaningless tasks for the remainder of the day, and as he walks off, Loki ditches Odin's guard and slips out of the palace as Lord Volstagg.
He makes haste down the familiar path to Sigyn's house, arriving in what is perhaps record time. Once the modest dwelling is in view, he spots Quimby hauling boxes from Sigyn's house into his own. Alarmed, he tries to stop him. "What are you doing?"
Quimby glances at Loki before walking past him as if he had not spoken at all, trudging into his own house. Taken aback, Loki briefly contemplates following him, but he is quick to reemerge. "Lord Volstagg," Quimby says, as though he has only just noticed his presence. "What can I do for you?"
"What are you doing," he asks again.
Quimby sighs, and Loki gathers that he is biting back a snappy retort. "I am cleaning out my neighbors' house."
"But you cannot," Loki sputters. What will Sigyn say when she returns and all of her belongings are gone?
"I can, and I am," Quimby states calmly. "The owner has specifically requested—"
Loki interrupts, verging on outraged, "Andor?"
He shakes his head. "The Lord Andor gifted the house to the Lady Haldana as something of a consolation present." Frowning, his tone turns bitter. "He didn't give Sigyn the house she lived in her entire life, but for his real daughter—" He cuts himself off, his teeth gritted as though he has to physically keep his grievances from spilling out of his mouth. "She is upstairs, if that is the purpose for your visit."
Loki wanders into Sigyn's house, disturbed to find the first floor almost barren. It is almost completely devoid of furniture, the sofa in the living room being the only thing that remains. Everything else is gone. All of the cabinet doors hang open, revealing empty cupboards. The walls are devoid of the paintings and knit tapestries that had adorned them for centuries. The kitchen table at which he had sat with Sigyn countless times, talking late into the night, is gone, the empty space on the floor like a sore.
Desperate to be away from the ache he feels developing in his chest, he climbs the stairs to the second floor. He immediately notices that the small table and vase of flowers that had always sat at the end of the hall there are missing. As he nears Sigyn's door, having passed Walentyna's desolate room, he stops, unsure if he can stand to see it just as vacant as everything else.
The sound of muffled sniffling prompts him to continue.
Haldana is bent over Sigyn's dresser, weeping quietly. Her nails dig into the wood, carving grooves onto the surface. A wobbly smile comes to her face when she spots him. "Hi," she whispers.
"Hey, Dana," he replies, the old nickname feeling out of place on his tongue. It has been so long since he last used it.
He looks around the room, despairing at its emptiness. The bed is stripped bare, the old, frayed mattress left naked on the bedframe. The closet is devoid of clothes and any knick-knacks have been removed from the room. Somehow, the changes make the room look bigger.
She follows his gaze. "I've cleaned everything out. She took most everything of use or sentimental value when she left, so this is all that remains." She gestures to a box at the foot of the bed.
Kneeling, he drags the box over to his side. He sifts through its contents, pushing aside various souvenirs that Haldana had given her from their travels over the years, abandoned sewing projects, and half-empty bottles of perfume.
He'll have to steal something from this box, he realizes. He'll have to be quick about it, seeing as he'll be doing it right under Haldana's nose. Nonetheless, he hesitates. Haldana is right; all of these items hold little use or sentimental value. In picking which one Sigyn has used the most, he will have to be incredibly discerning. Biting his lip, he wonders if he should choose the trinket with the most fingerprints on it or the fragrance that smells most familiar.
Haldana bends down to pick up the box before he can decide. "This will come home with me," she informs him as she sets it on the dresser. "Everything else is going to the neighbor's children and the women's shelter in the lower town."
"The women's shelter," he picks to question, of all things.
Shrugging, Haldana says, "It is what Sigyn would want."
"Alright," he says, accepting the answer even as he tries to think of a way to convince Haldana to keep Sigyn's things where they are. It will be easy for her to get anything she likes back from Quimby, but once something has been donated, she will consider it as good as gone. "Why don't I take everything over to the shelter for you?"
She waves a hand. "The neighbor has already started."
Before he can think to censor himself, he mutters, "Shit."
"What," she asks, leaning towards him.
"Nothing." Another idea occurs to him, and he reaches for the box. "Why don't I take this to your house?"
She slides it away from him. "Why are you being so helpful?"
"Aren't I always," he replies, figuring it would be something Volstagg would say.
"When a feast is involved, to be sure," she says, smirking at him even as a whisper of suspicion glints in her eyes. Her gaze jumps around the room before landing back on him. "Why are you here?"
Fuck, he thinks. Truly, he could not have chosen anyone worse among his friends by whom to be caught out. The Goddess of Caution and Battle will have his plan laid out in front of her before long. His luck, as always, is astoundingly bad.
Unwilling to surrender so soon, however, he plows on with a lie. "I wanted to lend a hand."
Her brow wrinkles. "How did you know I was here?"
"Aerick told me," he fibs.
"Aerick told you," she repeats, disbelief woven into her tone. "Aerick is staying with his sister because she went into early labor last night. We've not spoken since yesterday."
Jaw clenching, Loki rolls his eyes at himself. If only he had said something else; he might have fooled her. On impulse, he shuts the door, keeping them both confined to the room as he debates as to what he should do. He could kill her, he supposes. Already, Pontus is aware of his deception. He does not need another person in on the secret. It would be messy, but he could clean up the evidence and stage her death elsewhere. Although, he would likely have to kill Quimby, as well, if he wants to account for everything.
The idea is dismissed almost as quickly as it had come to him. The thought of filling Sigyn's empty house with the blood of her sister and dearest friend makes his stomach turn. More than that, there are few people in the universe who he actually likes, and fewer still than there had been last week. He cannot afford to start picking them off himself.
With no small measure of regret, he drops the illusion he had been wearing. Haldana all but stumbles back, her eyes growing wide at the sight of him. His name slips out of her, cocooned in a ragged breath as her hands tremble at her sides.
He holds up his hands, trying to placate her. "Before your mind turns there, I have brought no harm to Volstagg. I have him occupied with meetings—"
"How could you have him occupied with anything," she bursts out, her voice shaking with outrage as she shouts him down. She steps forward. "Does he know you live?"
"No," he answers. Subtly, he bites the inside of his cheek. Here it comes.
"Then how could you—" She breaks off, her eyes taking another turn around the room as she thinks. When she meets his gaze again, realization has settled on her face. "Odin," she breathes.
Cursing silently, he tries again to assuage her. "Odin is not dead either."
"Is that meant to reassure me?" She holds his gaze for a moment longer before dropping her head and pinching the skin between her eyes. "Why is it that you must betray everyone who has ever cared for you?"
"You exaggerate," he replies.
"I do not believe anyone has been so spared your cruelty," she returns. "For you to cast out your own father—"
Inflamed, he heads her off. "He took me from my birthplace first. I did no more than return the favor."
"So, this is revenge," she surmises. "I suppose, I should not be surprised."
There is a sinister tone to go along with her statement, and he smarts at it. "What is that supposed to mean?"
She shrugs. "It is only that I find it interesting how you engage in such vengeful pursuits mere days after revenge killed Sigyn."
"Are you implying that it is my fault," he asks, his voice dangerously quiet. In his mind's eye, he replays his memory of Pontus passing on the very same sentiment, and his umbrage grows.
"All I am saying is that you are here, and she is not," she responds wetly. As he stares into her glassy eyes, trying to appear dispassionate, he finds himself echoing her mood.
The sudden shift in his emotional state takes even him by surprise. His eyes begin to well, and his breath starts to hitch. He can hardly believe he is about to cry in front of her, but there does not seem to be a way out of this room. If he moves from in front of the door or goes through it himself, she will leave, too, and his secret will be out by nightfall.
Why is he even crying, he wonders. Sigyn may not be here right now, there may be no trace of her for some Borr-forsaken reason, but it is not as though she is actually dead. No matter what Pontus says, or what Thor says, or what the humans say, she is not dead. It is impossible. He knows it is.
Haldana's soft, tentative voice calls out to him. "Loki? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he answers, his pitch weighed down by the bay of tears that has settled in his throat. He brings up a hand to wipe at his eyes.
"Good," she intones, sounding oddly relieved. Puzzled, he looks up in time to see her face scrunch up in a fierce expression he has only ever seen her wear in battle. Her arm swings out from behind her, and she slams a bottle of perfume into the side of his head.
The bottle shatters, tiny bits of glass sinking into his skin. He inhales most of what was left in the bottle through his nose, the lavender scent suffocating him with its potency. Overcome, he curls in on himself, coughing so hard he almost retches. Though he is already hunched over, and Haldana could realistically step around him, she shoves him out of the way as she throws open the door and flees the room.
Hands on his knees, Loki forces himself back up, knowing he has to be fast if he wants to catch her. As soon as he stands in the doorway, however, his attention is caught by the open window and memories of Sigyn leaning out of it whenever he would knock at the front door.
Loki dives through the window, his form changing halfway through it into that of a capercaillie. He lands on Haldana's head just as she comes through the door, flapping his wings and pecking at her forehead as she screams and stumbles back inside. As soon as they are over the door's threshold, he casts himself back and lands on his feet, reaching out to close the door.
Haldana looks to be gearing up to charge him, so he holds up a hand. "Before either of us do anything else we may regret—"
She sneers. "Oh, believe me, I shall never regret—"
"Enough," he shouts, his patience wearing thin. Taking a deep breath, he schools his expression into something more affable. "I just need something of Sigyn's, preferably something she used a lot." She appears unmoved, so he adds, "Please."
"Why," she asks, eyes wide with incredulity.
Sighing, he resigns himself to having to explain everything to her. This is not how he pictured this day—or this week, this year, his life—going.
"Listen, I know you think differently, but Sigyn is not dead," he starts. "She is in hiding from Odin, and I need to tell her that he is no longer a threat, but I cannot do that without finding her first. The usual ways of doing that are not working, so I need a keepsake of hers to cast a spell."
She looks at him as though he just told her the moon was purple. "Loki, Sigyn is dead." She holds up her braid, pointing at it. "I am wearing a lock of her hair."
A lock of dark brown is woven alongside strands of golden hair, tied at either end with a string. His eyes zero in on it as he gradually realizes that it is the answer to all of his problems. A small knife materializes in his hand.
"No, no, no," she murmurs, slowly backing away, "no, no, no."
He walks closer to her. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."
"How about no way," she fires back, continuing to move away from him. Her heels run into the stairs, and she takes a blind step up them. "You cannot have my sister's hair. It's mine."
"Who's obsessed with her now," he taunts, throwing her words from over the decades back at her.
"Still you," she yells, turning around and making a run for it.
Loki takes off after her, knowing she has nowhere to go this time. He catches her dipping into Walentyna's bedroom, likely trying to trick him into running past her so that she can make her escape as soon as his back is turned. He saunters in after her, blocking the door.
"Give me the hair," he orders, his voice deceptively calm.
"You're mad," she returns, her back against the far wall.
He steps closer, offering, "You can have it back once I've finished with it." After all, he'll have no need of it with Sigyn back in his arms.
"Loki, this is not healthy. You need to accept that she is gone," she tells him.
"I see no reason as to why I should." He comes to a stop two feet away from her, close enough to reach out and take what he wants.
They stand apart from one another, each of them standing almost entirely still. Haldana's form is tense, every muscle in her body primed for sudden movement, whereas his is forcibly relaxed, trying to give off the illusion that he is entirely at ease. Almost a minute passes without either of them saying anything or moving at all, though they both turn their heads when the door opens downstairs.
"Lady Haldana, Lord Volstagg," Quimby calls, his voice rising through the floor like smoke. "Are you still here?"
Haldana opens her mouth wide, inhaling sharply in preparation to yell. Loki rushes forward, clamping a hand over her mouth and placing his knife at her throat. In a perfect imitation of her voice, he answers, "We are finishing up in the bedrooms. We will be down soon."
A breath away from him, Haldana's wide, furious eyes bore into his own, conveying her displeasure at being overpowered. Looking down at her, he's struck by how similar she and Sigyn look, though the differences are as stark as night and day. Whereas Sigyn's gaze retains a fire to it whenever her anger burns through her, Haldana's grows flinty and cold, steadfast and brutal like a storm on a planet with no surface.
Loki maintains eye contact as he gradually moves the knife towards her plait, dragging the dull edge of the blade along her skin as a warning to remain quiet. Untying the end of the braid with one hand, he brings up the knife to cut along the section of her hair with Sigyn's tied into it. The clump of hair falls into his waiting hand.
He waits until he hears the front door close before pulling away. He digs his thumb in between the golden and chocolate strands, tossing the former at Haldana's feet once he has them separated. Turning around, he moves towards the bed, picking it up from one side and setting it on the other. The mattress falls from where it had been perched on the frame, both pieces standing vertically in front of the window, leaving the door as light's only avenue into the room.
Making use of the extra space in the middle of the room, Loki begins drawing runes in the air. He casts them in a circle once finished, and they rotate around each other as he repeats the process. Once there are two circles, each containing equal halves of the spell, he levitates the hair in between them, where it remains floating.
He steps back as the runes glow a bright green, each of the circles beginning to move closer together. He expects that once they cross, his magic will run over Sigyn's hair until it turns pink and shows them her location.
Once the bundle of hair has turned green, each strand pulling away from the others as much as the band that ties them together will allow, Loki's nerves sing, and he turns to Haldana, grinning. "Here we go." Casting a sidelong glance at him, she remains impassive, showing neither enthusiasm nor apathy. He elects to ignore her, leaning forward, his attention rapt by the spell as it draws to a close.
Without any flourish, the hair falls to the floor.
His anxiety skyrocketing, he stammers, "It—It didn't work." He steps forward, picking up hair to inspect it. He knows not for which irregularity he is searching, and sure enough, he finds nothing amiss. "I must have cast the spell incorrectly."
"Loki," Haldana mumbles, pity clear in her tone.
He holds up one hand as the other starts on writing the runes again. "Just once more."
He tries the spell again, this time forcing more of his energy into the casting. As the spell does its work, he can feel it draining him, but he holds strong. That being said, he almost crumples to the ground when it fails once more.
Feeling almost numb from disbelief, he wonders, "Why is it not working?"
Haldana steps away from the wall, dipping forward to pick up the hair before moving towards the door. As she steps through it, she casts a forlorn look at him from over her shoulder, but he barely notices. His gaze is still caught by the spot on the floor in which Sigyn's hair had fallen.
Distantly, he is aware of the door closing and footsteps sounding down the hallway. Everything else cuts out after the noise putters out to nothing, and Loki stands in the middle of the room of a woman who hated him and screams at the top of his lungs.
It had been Walentyna who had told him a year ago that Sigyn was going to die, but he hadn't believed her. Not only that, but he had promised her that he would prevent such a fate. He supposes that fact should not bother him so much. She and Sigyn are set for different afterlives—her for Helgafjell and Sigyn for Valhalla—so it is not as though she will ever know he could not keep his promise. Even with them both dead, she will never see Sigyn again.
As it hits him that the same is true for him, everything else falls away.
By the time Haldana comes back for him, his throat is sore and the metal of Walentyna's bedframe has been warped into an immutable shape. Though it surprises him, she is alone. A part of him had thought that she would simply leave him in the dark as she alerted Hogun of his treachery. Still, despite the thought that his chances of getting away with his ruse may remain, he does not move to meet the light that floods the room when she opens the door. He stays turned away from it, drawn in by the darkness the corners of the room reflect from his soul.
"Come on," she says, not unkindly. "I need help moving the last of the boxes to the shelter." Deigning no answer, he remains seated on the floor with his back to her. Frustration leaking into her voice, she commands, "Loki, let's go."
"No," he refuses flatly.
"No," she echoes, indignant.
Loki doesn't answer again, not seeing fit to entertain her any further seeing as how she is just going to have him arrested. There is no reason he should run an errand with her first.
"Come on," she repeats. "Enough with the dramatics."
"Dramatics," he parrots, snorting lightly. "Of course."
"You are being dramatic," she confirms. He keeps his eyes on the carpeted floor beneath him, uninterested in seeing the disdain he can hear in her voice on her face. Never mind that he does not give her his attention, she goes on, "You need to stop deluding yourself. Sigyn is dead, and you are not king."
A bitter smile coming to his lips, he finally raises his head. "Must you condemn a man for dreaming? We all cannot be as unfeeling and unambitious as you."
Haldana says nothing for a moment, equal parts rage and sorrow warring on her face. "Unfeeling?" His smile turns to a frown, unable to keep up the façade of gleeful malignance, and he nods. She huffs, throwing the box in her hands to the floor. "You know, I was not happy, at first, to learn I had a sister. Neither was Sigyn, but we grew on each other. Do you think that I am happy now, having outlived her? Having watched her die during the Convergence?"
Though a part of him feels badly for attacking her—both verbally and physically—now that she has said her piece, he does not back down. However unhappy she is, she has been unfeeling towards him for decades now. "I think you are happy I am alone."
Her expression doesn't lose any of its scorn. "When you fell in love with her, I was terrified. I thought you would destroy her, and after a while, I thought she would ruin you, too." She runs her eyes over him. "It looks as though she did."
Looking away, he says nothing, unwilling to acknowledge the truth to her words.
"I will say that in the end, I truly thought all would be well. I thought you two would get your happy ending." She steps closer, kneeling down in front of him. "I am not happy that you are devasted, Loki. I am devastated, but we have to move on. She would not want us to wallow in guilt and self-pity forever."
Shaking his head, Loki stays turned away. He wants to do exactly as she says he should not. Wallowing in guilt and self-pity forever is all he wants to do—it is what Sigyn would do, he knows—but he is nothing if not pragmatic.
He bites down on his lip so hard that he is sure the flesh will bruise. "May I have more than a few minutes to dwell on my misery, at least?"
Peering at him consideringly, she nods after a moment of quiet. "After you come to the women's shelter with me."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," he snaps, irked at her persistence. "Why?"
"For closure," she suddenly yells, her patience having evidently run out. Standing up, she stalks over to the box—lying on its side with its corners crushed in—and heaves it into her arms.
"What fucking closure," he shouts back, pushing himself to his feet and stomping out of the room after her. "What do I care for some run-down shelter?"
Haldana stops and turns around so abruptly that he almost stumbles into her and sends them both tumbling down the stairs. "Are you serious?" Bewildered, he shrugs. "Loki, Sigyn was born there."
"She was not," he denies at once. Without responding, Haldana turns to walk down the stairs, so he follows. "She was born at her grandparents' house."
"Did she tell you that, or did you make assumptions," she calls over her shoulder.
"She told me that she lived with her maternal grandparents during her initial infancy—" He cuts himself off as he hears where he had been misled.
Mercifully, she doesn't bother to rub his misapprehension in his face. She nods to two boxes filled with linens sitting on the kitchen island. "Turn into Volstagg and pick those up."
For moment, he contemplates continuing to resist. All he wants to do is crawl under a rock and stay there, letting it crush any sentiment out of him. Not to mention, he has gone surprisingly far with Haldana today; he is still reeling from the fact that she came back to Walentyna's room without anyone to arrest him—without Quimby, at least—and after he had robbed her at knifepoint.
In the end, he changes forms and picks up the boxes, tempted across town by the revelation of Sigyn's true birthplace.
He identifies the shelter by the sign that hangs over its front door, having never visited it before. Even though it was commonplace for the royal family to make an appearance at the various charitable foundations around Asgard, the women's shelter had never been on the list. Most of the women there were the wives of soldiers, and the Crown did not want to appear as though it was picking sides.
Even at two stories, the building is shockingly small, just barely taking up the street corner it occupies. The exterior is markedly worn, with dilapidated shutters hanging from the sides of windows and chipped paint from the ground to the roof. He can scarcely believe that Sigyn—someone larger than life and whose very presence seemed to fill up a room—had been born in such a dingy, cramped space.
As soon as he steps through the door, a little girl barrels into his legs, throwing her arms around his limbs and digging her fingers into the pits of his knees. Swaying perilously, he just manages to catch himself on the doorframe before he would have crushed her with Volstagg's weight or dropped the boxes on her head.
A cane hits the ground with a crack, and the child breaks away from him and disappears around a corner. Peering around the boxes, he is greeted by an old woman who smiles at him from behind stringy white bangs. "Our security guard," she says. More seriously, she explains, "The children get excited when men come around."
He nods, not sure what to say to that. Mercifully, he is saved from any further, awkward interaction when Haldana nods at him to follow her into the basement. Once downstairs, they leave the boxes with the others marked for donation.
Peeling away, Haldana shuffles around, mumbling to herself, "I know it is around here somewhere." Her hands root around one of the shelves above a cabinet, eventually landing on a large tome there. It appears to be a handmade book, made from loose leaves of all different sorts of paper sewn together over the years.
She is flipping through it, flicking from page to page until she lands on one that indicates the year of Sigyn's birth in sprawling letters across the top. "Here it is, the only record in Asgard that shows Sigyn's true parentage."
Sigyn is the third child listed on the page. Her entry reads
Sigyn, daughter of Walentyna Beirnesdottir and Andor Rahnson
"The official record says either 'Nomansdottir' or 'daughter of No Man.' I cannot recall exactly," Haldana comments. Her thumbnail digs into the parchment under Walentyna's name. "Her mother's name isn't even on it."
Loki has seen his own birth record dozens of times, though in recent years, he has viewed it in a different light. The date and time of his birth must have been chosen at random for the forgery Odin made, and who knows what his real name actually is. Even the eye color should have been recorded as red, not green.
The frown he has been wearing deepens as he continues to look down at Sigyn's entry. Another false document.
He steps back. "If we're done here," he prompts, wanting to flee the hovel that had seen the beginning of Sigyn's life. He's not sure how much longer he can last here without feeling as though the air is running out.
Glancing at him from over her shoulder, Haldana says, "You may leave. Hogun and I will find you in the morning, and you shall tell us where Odin is then."
Not bothering to respond, Loki turns to make his escape, striding up the stairs and out of the shelter with haste. Rather than make a speedy return to the palace—an easy feat should he choose to duck into an alley and take the form of a bird—he takes his time, winding through the streets and maneuvering around the throngs of people crowding them. After his trek, he ends up circling the palace three times before he ventures inside, needing the fresh air for a while longer.
When he returns to Odin's quarters that night, feeling wrung-out and empty, he doesn't collapse into a pit of despair or fall onto the bed as he so desperately wants. No, he will have plenty of time for melancholy and fitful rest after he is ousted from the throne.
To his surprise, Haldana arrives sans Hogun again the next morning. She walks into Odin's study alone, taking slow, calculated steps over to where he is sitting at his father's desk. He stays focused on what he is doing, trying to reallocate enough of the decennial budget to the arts so that it may expand without drawing too much attention.
"What do you think you're doing," demands Haldana, coming to a stop in front of him.
"Paperwork," he answers, not moving his eyes from the desk. "Where is Hogun?"
She answers his question with one of her own. "Do you know what I discovered this morning?"
"Contrary to popular belief, I am not a mind reader," he dryly informs her.
Harrumphing, her nose in the air, she elaborates, "I realized this morning that I had unfinished business at the women's shelter, so I went down there to take care of it before having to deal with the mess you have created, and what did I learn when I arrived?" At this, Loki looks up, already knowing the answer. "For the first time in history, the shelter has received an enormous endowment from the Crown."
"Are you so surprised," he asks, reminding himself of his long-held vow not to take offense at anything one of his self-righteous friends may say.
"And not only that," she soldiers on, her tone queerly inflamed. "But when I went to Hogun's office to inform him of your treachery, he informed me that the Veterans' Home had received a surprising, dramatic increase in funding!"
Leaning forward, he wonders, "Why are you saying good things as though you are detailing atrocities?"
"Why are you doing them," she shoots back.
Blowing out an irritated breath through his nose, he explains, "Disbursements of funds to welfare or interest projects cannot be taken back on a whim. If Odin is to take the throne again tomorrow, I should like to have accomplished something."
His answer gives her pause, her expression indicating that she had not expected it in the least. "What would you do if you did not have to worry about Odin?"
Briefly, he wonders what she cares for what he would like to do but decides to indulge her curiosity all the same. "Compelling the correction of birth records to include the mother's name." Haldana's brow raises. "It would allow for mothers of illegitimate children to have full custody of their children and take the burden off the Crown as the king would no longer have to claim such children as wards." After a beat, he adds, "She could have been Walentynasdottir."
Haldana's eyes shine with curiosity. He feels almost as though he can see her thoughts flash in her mind before they spill out of her mouth. "Would that not threaten patrilineality? It would cause a fuss if so."
"Not as such," he answers promptly, having contemplated the issue over the course of the night. "Taking one's father's name would remain the default, and allowing an unclaimed child to reside under their unmarried mother's protection would not threaten inheritance or the like."
Humming thoughtfully, she wonders, "What else?"
Wary of ridicule, he hesitantly divulges, "I would remove all of our intergalactic military posts."
"What," she blurts, laughing as though she finds the notion mad.
Bristling, he defends himself. "Asgard has poured a significant portion of its funds into military expansion despite having supposedly ended universal expansion centuries ago. Whenever we enter another realm for so-called peacekeeping purposes, we devastate the local economy and bring down the standard of living for decades to come. I see not why we should continue such practices when it would be better for all those involved if we did not, especially considering I would likely not be here if such were the case."
At the end of his impromptu diatribe, Haldana is silent and stoic in her contemplation, apparently struck by the reasoning. After a moment, she murmurs, "If only the legitimate king of Asgard was inspired to act as such."
"If only," he returns bitterly, tossing his pen onto the desk as he stands, splattering ink across the various sheets of half-written decrees he has spread out. He supposes, they might as well get this over with now. His numbered days have run out. "If you're ready—"
"I'm not ready," she interrupts.
He sighs. "By Buri, woman, must you drag this out?"
"Afraid so," she says, sighing, too. Her eyes boring into his, she ponders, "What if I were to keep my silence?"
"I beg your pardon?" Never would Loki have imagined that Haldana, of all people, would suggest joining him in a plot for treason. When Thor had asked her to help them flee Asgard to save the Nine Realms, sure, but her coming to him and offering to aid him in quietly overthrowing Odin? Unthinkable.
"I think you are right. I think your father would try to throw out all of this, even the additional funding for the Veterans' Home," she asserts. "For whatever reason, I think he lost his passion for bettering the realm when the Valkyries died. I think he lost his passion for leadership; that is why he tried to pass the torch onto Thor too soon."
"What are you saying," he asks carefully. He wants her to state her offer clearly.
She expounds, "I am saying that if your wilder ideas were to be put in check by, say, a wise, benevolent goddess—"
"Spare me," he mutters under his breath.
"—that perhaps you may be the better choice for the throne," she finishes.
Standing, he walks around the desk, puffing himself up and trying to appear as intimidating as possible. "You do realize, I hope, that once we start this, there is no going back. Even if you want to stop me later on, you would be admitting to treason for however long you held your tongue. No matter any objections on your part, I would have all the power."
Her eyes crinkle as she tosses him a defiant grin. "Your dream come true."
"I mean it," he pushes. If he is to trust her to keep his secret, he has to know that she will not run away scared at the first sign of trouble.
"I mean it, too," she assures him. "I would like to take a risk for once."
He hums idly. "How glad I am that you are choosing a venture with such low stakes."
"Yes, well, I do have one stipulation," she hedges.
"I thought your entire involvement was stipulation," he snipes. Turning away, he moves back around the desk to take his seat once more.
"Ha-ha," she intones, her voice containing a surprising amount of humor for its sentiment. "The caveat is that eventually, we have to tell Thor."
Hearing his brother's name abruptly sours his mood. Snapping his hand out, he smacks it against the desk's wooden surface for emphasis. "No."
She crosses her arms. "I will not lie to him forever. He deserves to know that you are alive. You pretending to die in his arms devastated him."
"I care little for his feelings," Loki sneers.
Brow drawn, she asks, incredulous, "How could you say that?"
"Because he lost her body," he roars, slamming his hand against the desktop once more. Of every careless thing Thor has ever done—from casting Loki to the side once he realized he was more beloved than his little brother to heedlessly assuming he could solve every problem with his fists—this is by far the worst. Not only had he unwittingly wrecked Loki's chances of being reunited with Sigyn, but he had made impossible proper funeral rites for her.
Silence reigns for a long moment while Loki fumes. When Haldana finally breaks it, it is with a quiet whisper. "That was not his fault."
With a bitter laugh, he remarks, "Everyone's unending patience for and acceptance of his incompetence. It is something I will never understand." This is especially true now, he thinks, considering that the only person who was ever so understanding of him is gone.
The introspection derails the swirling vortex of thoughts regarding Sigyn's demise that has been clouding his mind since yesterday. Instinctively, his eyes slide over to the door that connects Odin's study to his other rooms. He pictures another door past it, one that leads into his mother's quarters. It has been over a week, having accepted her death all the while, and he has not dared to trespass as far.
Eyes dropping to the floor, his soft voice reopens the conversation. "I meant what I said yesterday. I need more than a few minutes to accustom myself to the idea of living without her, and—" He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I've not so much as touched my mother's rooms."
Haldana nods consideringly. "I understand, of course, and now that there is no threat of impending imprisonment hanging over you—"
"Never was I going to let you imprison me," he objects sharply. How naïve of her to imagine he would suffer that indignity twice.
"Now that there is no threat of imprisonment," she repeats harshly before forcibly relaxing her glower. She gestures to the mess of scattered paperwork in front of him. "You can leave all of this for another day. It would be a good excuse, even, to say you, as Odin, need some days to coalesce and see to your late wife's belongings."
His nose wrinkles at the thought of having to refer to his mother as his wife, but he resigns himself to it all the same. He had chosen the fiction himself, after all.
"Very well." He segues, trying to get her out of the study. "If that is all—"
"One last thing," she interrupts.
He bites back a curse. "It never ends with you, does it?"
"Says the man who just returned from the dead for the second time." She bends at the waist, dipping her hand into her left boot and fishing around for something. She pulls out a slip of paper and hands it to him.
Gingerly, he accepts it, grimacing at her as he does. He unfolds the sheet with the same degree of hesitance, though as soon as he has the page spread out before him, he grips it without restraint, having recognized the handwriting straight away.
"When did she write this," he breathes, his eyes scouring the letter.
"Three months ago," reports Haldana. "As her next-of-kin, however unofficially, her assets transferred to me upon her death. This is all the bank had to give me."
His vision blurs. "She was always going to come for me," he realizes, his breath shallow.
Haldana's parting response is eerily cryptic. "And providence stayed her." He does not look up as the door clicks shut behind her, just barely noticing the movement in his periphery.
His eyes do not leave the letter until long after she has gone.
Dearest Mother,
To say farewell in writing is not what I consider to be ideal, but I know you would stop me if I gave you the chance.
By now, I am sure you have realized that I transferred the majority of my meagre fortune to you not out of consideration for my impending demise, but as an opportunity to empty my account completely without gaining your suspicion. You receive this letter as I have been condemned for my treason against our realm, and I humbly beg your forgiveness for this last bit of shame I have wrought upon you.
I know you think me foolish and naïve for it, but I love Loki. If I am to die soon, I should like to spend my final years in his company. I know I could not otherwise endure the three-thousand years I would spend in Valhalla without him.
Give my good-byes to Haldana, Quimby, and Pontus. My apologies, too.
Though I have given you no grandchildren, I understand that for a mother, to live without one's child is an unbearable fate. No apology could ever suffice.
As promised, I shall die with my sword in my hand.
With all my love, forever,
Sigyn, your daughter.
PONTUS STAYS GASLIGHTING LOKI LMAO
Next chapter is the last of Part 3, and it will be up within the next few days!
P.S. Who else hated Thor: Love and Thunder?