No matter how compatible two people might appear to be, inevitably, unpredictable hurdles are bound to emerge in any sort of relationship, regardless of its nature. No pair could ever be fortunate enough to avoid being hampered by their own fears and insecurities as well as the other person's. Because of their superior physical attributes, powers and longevity, Asgardians were considered godly in comparison to ordinary humans, when in reality, in essence and setting physiology aside, both species were equally as flawed. Moreover, to those self-inflicted deterrents, one would have to add those contributed by external factors over which neither had any control.
As they grew older and more experienced, and the All Father, in turn, wearier, the two Princes of Asgard were sent on expeditions without the King's assistance, although always accompanied by a handful of warriors, of course. After all, Thor was expected to one day succeed Odin as protector of the Nine Realms, and there were lessons that could only be learned through experience, much as his father would have liked to find a way to magically and instantly transmit all of the wisdom thousands of years had taught him, sometimes forcibly so. The God of Thunder proved himself to be a warrior beyond compare, a mighty fighter, a fierce combatant— although everything he had in physical prowess, he seemed to lack in instinct. While his battling abilities appeared flawless, in terms of maturity, the eldest Prince appeared to have a long and winding path left to journey ahead of him. Both King and Queen were appeased, however, by the fact that he had his younger brother's council to turn to, hoping that Loki would become the voice of reason that Frigga had been for Odin all those centuries, in spite their inevitable and at times juvenile rivalry.
Needless to say, such occasions in which the two brothers abandoned Asgard in order to place themselves right at the heart of a battle threatening a different realm rendered Sigyn frightened and uneasy. More often than not, it was days before they heard from them at all, and out of respect of the secrecy of their bond, it was not as though she could rush to greet the main source of her concern the moment he set foot back into the Palace. Instead, she'd spend those days hoping to catch rumors and bits of news down the corridors, staring out her balcony towards the horizon as she waited for the Bifrost to open.
One day, the report of marauders attacking Vanaheim reached them; immediately, the Princes were sent to ready themselves for battle. Given her history, Sigyn was comprehensibly apprehended, even more so than she usually was whenever those military expeditions presented themselves. Which was why, even though they had already said their goodbyes in the privacy of her chambers, the maiden succumbed to the impulse of biding him adieu once again, this time in the armory. While the Warriors Three and Lady Sif inspected and collected their choices of weapons, Sigyn had tugged at Loki's leather armor, leading him to a secluded corner where they wouldn't be seen.
"You do realize this is by no means different than any battle in which I've been involved before," he reassured her, still unable to keep himself from smiling for he always found her evident concern a perfect source for further teasing.
"I do," replied she, acting as though she hadn't the faintest idea what had inspired him to make that specific remark.
"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it."
"Something on your mind, your Highness?" Sigyn wondered, her eyes slightly narrowing at the sight of a seemingly amused smirk on his lips.
"Oh, plenty," he whispered, his delight only enhanced by the fact that he had managed to steal a fleeting smile from his companion.
"For your sake, I hope that includes the intention to make it back from Vanaheim alive."
"It's occurred to me," he joked. "Is that fondness-induced concern I detect?"
"You are making it that much easier for me to see you off to a bloodbath," she answered facetiously.
"That wasn't a no," he celebrated.
"You're infuriating."
They kissed and Sigyn held his face in her hands.
"Don't you dare die," she whispered in all seriousness. "I'll kill you if you do."
"If I die, you will kill me," Loki amusedly repeated, wanting to highlight her promise's incoherence.
"If you die, I will kill you," Sigyn confirmed just as mirthfully.
"I believe you," he reassured her before they kissed again.
The rest of the day went by, during which the warriors departed, and the maiden tried her hardest to keep herself otherwise occupied. After the completion of her education, Sigyn struggled to decide on a profession; she would have become a healer, for she was a wonderful diagnostician, were it not for the fact that she was hopeless when it came to practical treatment —as evidenced by the askew, awkward stitches she had applied above her own eyebrow—. In the end, and not without some assistance, she found the closest thing she had ever had to a vocation at the Royal Library and Archives, where she became a cataloguer. Hardly a thrilling occupation, but fortunately in this case, distracting enough.
It was in the middle of that night, which had been uncommonly restless, just after she had at last managed to doze off, that Sigyn was abruptly awakened by none other than the Queen of Asgard, who immediately requested that she followed her, and almost as if she had somewhat perceived that would have been the fastest way to get Sigyn to oblige, she promptly mentioned that it had to do with Loki. At once, the maiden was following Frigga towards the healing room. While the doors were wide open, the room was understandably packed with people, and so Sigyn had to settle for standing outside, catching only mere glances of the situation over other people's shoulders.
While she waited by the very threshold of the healing room for an opportunity to step inside, Sigyn toyed nervously with her fingers, and at one point, she caught sight of Thor emerging from the room with his hand resting upon the shoulder of a member of the Einherjar. Since they were standing on the opposite side of a vast hallway, which in turn was muffled by the constant buzzing of murmurs flying about amongst so many people, it was hard for her to distinguish everything they were saying, although she did perceive a very distinctive "you have my thanks" from the son of Odin before the two warriors grabbed each other by the forearm as a form of friendly handshake. Thor rushed back inside and just as the guard in question seemed to be turning to face her way, Sigyn immediately glanced at a different direction.
Once the initial frenzy given the urgency of the situation had transpired, several people dispersed, chiefly guards and assisting healers. Eventually, Odin himself left the healing room, his firstborn marching off right along the side of him, several guards following. Having looked to the Queen as a silent request for permission and received a gentle nod of her head in return, Sigyn stepped inside. By then, Loki had already been treated and was being left to rest until he had enough strength that he could be moved to his chambers.
"Leave us," Frigga commanded, and while the few people remaining left, she placed a firm yet gentle hand on Sigyn's shoulder in order to keep her from leaving with them; when the room had emptied and without saying a word, the Queen walked away behind them and closed the door behind her back.
For a few seconds, Sigyn stared at the closed door agog, hesitant as to whether accept that generous and yet unexpected moment of privacy or not. After she had overcome her surprise, she stepped towards the Prince lying in the center of the room, her fingers lightly landing on the surface and shyly inching their way towards his hand.
"Of course you're freezing," she scoffed in a whisper the second their hands came in contact, proceeding hold his between both of hers in an attempt to warm it up. "Why must your hands always be freezing?"
After a few moments of silence, Loki began to stir and then —not without some effort on his part— he turned his head towards his visitor, gazing at her through his lashes.
"Am I dead?"
Sigyn exhaled a faint chuckle, and although she was not quite sure if he was being serious or merely playful, she smiled amusedly nonetheless as she shook her head no.
"If you were, I'd be killing you right now, remember?" she whispered, glad to see the God of Mischief smirk weakly in response.
"As I recall, your only request was that I avoided dying, you've never I couldn't get dangerously close to it," joked Loki in return, eyes sliding shut once again as he leaned his head back down.
"You utter fool," she protested half-heartedly as she leaned closer to him, only now processing the violent rush of emotions that had surged through her in the beginning. "This is what happens when I try and convince myself that you could make it through just one night without me to keep your idiotic impulses at bay."
Again, Loki smiled and he slowly tilted his hand to the side so their fingers would become interlaced. Sigyn brought his hand up to her lips and kissed the back of it before hugging it to her chest.
"Do you recall what happened?"
"I got stabbed— or rather, impaled is more like it, at least that's how it felt."
Sigyn swallowed around a lump that had formed in her throat as she gave his hand a soft squeeze.
"From the little I've managed to hear, it seems like a guard found you and saved your life."
"The next thing I remember is Thor..." An abrupt realization sent adrenaline shooting through his system, which only lasted for as long as it took him to try and sit up, resulting in him grunting through the pain between gritted teeth as he lied back down.
"What do you think you are doing?" Sigyn complained as she helped ease him back down, placing a hand on his shoulder just in case there was a second attempt on his part.
"Where is Thor? What happened?"
"He and your father left for Vanaheim just a moment ago."
"What?!"
"You were not honestly expecting they'd take you back there." For the sake of wishful thinking, she had posed it as an affirmation rather than a question.
"Why not? Am I expected to just lie here while my brother and hundreds of Asgardian men bleed on my behalf?"
"Yes, that is exactly what you are expected to do," Sigyn insisted. "Loki, you were almost killed, I believe you've served Asgard well enough."
"Dozens of others are being killed in Vanaheim this minute."
"Odd how someone as self-centered as yourself hasn't drawn the conclusion that your life, as second in line to the throne of Asgard, son of Odin All Father, and a prince, might just be considered to be more valuable than most people's."
With a sigh of defeat, the younger Odinson leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling.
"I don't know which is resulting the most wounded: my body or my pride," he complained.
"Hm, at least your ego seems to have made it through intact, be glad about that," she teased, taking a seat on the very edge of where he laid.
A few minutes of silence went by, each absorbed in their own train of thought and simply keeping each other company in the process. While his honor remained significantly bruised over that rather public moment of vulnerability, that did not stop Loki from welcoming the occasional gestures of affection Sigyn extended to him, caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers or bringing her chin to her chest so she could press her lips to his knuckles, responding by extending to the back of her hand a caress with his thumb as well.
After arguing over the fact that Loki needed to rest and that therefore it was time for Sigyn to return to her chambers, during which he requested that she stayed until he fell asleep and she replied by saying she was perfectly aware that he was very much capable of staying awake for the rest of the night in order to prevent that, she left the healing room. It being so late at night, and with the hallway outside appearing nearly absolutely dark save for the faint moonlight coming through the arches, Sigyn had not expected to find someone standing right beside the door after she had closed it behind her.
"Lady Sigyn—"
Startled, she gasped, turning swiftly to find the guard with whom she had seen Thor talking not long before. Exhaling with relief upon recognizing him, she relaxed her shoulders. The member of the Einherjar smiled, bashfully lowering his head in an attempt to conceal it.
"Forgive me, my Lady, I meant not to frighten you."
"Do ease your conscience, Sire, I was hardly frightened, only momentarily nonplused," Sigyn corrected, offering a kind smile in return nonetheless, grateful that her eyes were already adjusting to the faint lighting. "How may I be of service? Sir...?"
"—Theoric, my Lady," he introduced himself. "The Queen called for at least one guard to escort you back to your chambers safely."
"Oh! I see... How very kind of you," she thanked him, but did not start walking just yet; for a few seconds, instead, she toyed nervously with her own fingers as she debated whether or not it would be wise to express her appreciation, fearing it might hint a complete stranger into the nature of her relationship with the God of Mischief. "Incidentally, Sir Theoric, I believe I owe you a great amount of gratitude."
"My Lady?"
"Well, for having saved the Prince, that is."
"I'm sworn to protect the throne, my Lady."
"Even so."
The warrior accepted her thanks with a kind smile and a polite bow of his head.
"I imagine you must really esteem him," he ventured, if only for the sake of making conversation. "The whole Royal Family, that is."
"We did grow up together," she remarked, glancing momentarily at the closed door beside her. "I suppose it does make a difference to me whether he lives or dies."
Theoric's brow furrowed. "You suppose, my Lady?"
"Oh! No, of course it does, I was only making a jest," she clarified with a soft chuckle.
Just as she was explaining herself, the guard appeared to finally register the comedic intention of her comment, chuckling himself.
"Yes! Of course, yes, I see..."
And as their faint laughs dissipated, an uncomfortable silence took over, which the maiden was quick to put to rest. After all, appreciative as she was, more was she eager to get some rest at last, feeling as though their exchange of pleasantries had run its course.
"Shall we?"
"Quite right!" recalled the guard in a startle, and together they left for her chambers, where they wished each other a good night.
Theoric himself was hardly the culprit for the one particularly hard to surmount obstacle which would eventually come between the future husband and wife —if anything the warrior became an excuse, or rather a poor collateral victim on some level— but he did mark the very beginning of a series of ill-fated junctures which snowballed towards it.
Another source of friction unravelled the following evening. While significantly recuperated, the God of Mischief remained unfit for battle, although that did not stop him from spending the entire day testing his limits until the results were satisfactory enough for him to return to Vanaheim. Ironically, all that straining did was delay his full recovery even further.
After the sun had set, Loki had at last succumbed to Sigyn's request to let her inspect the dressing around his wounds, having most likely been postponing it for hours because he knew she wouldn't like what she'd see. Indeed later at the Central Lounge as they sat alone, the moment she saw the blood-dyed bandages, Sigyn gasped, immediately scolding him for having asked so much of his injuries, causing them to bleed.
"If I didn't know any better," ventured Loki in an attempt to defuse the tension. "I'd say you were genuinely worried about me."
"In order to know better, you'd need to know something in the first place," she replied as she started removing the stained dressings so that she could replace them with clean ones.
"I'm all right," he reassured her in a much more serious tone.
"Sweetheart, you are bleeding, how could you possibly be all right?"
"Oh! Am I interrupting?"
The two of them glanced at each other at the sound of a third voice punctuating their conversation, and after having repressed a surge of stupefaction, almost as if they had telepathically taken the same decision to pretend they hadn't heard it at all, Sigyn went back to dressing his wounds.
"I do beg your pardon," insisted Fandral, practically beaming as he walked around the room, clearly refusing to let the matter slide so easily. "It was not my intention to pry— I must ask, however, for this is as fascinating as it is historical, I would never forgive myself if I didn't investigate further… is Loki in love at last? He must be, look at him! He's positively glowing."
The younger Prince made no retort; he merely lowered his gaze and stole occasional glances from his companion, who was —unfortunately, since it would have been the perfect distraction— already finishing with applying fresh bandages to his wounds.
"What was that word you called him, Lady Sigyn, if you would be so kind as to remind me?" asked the warrior.
"Comes as no shock to me that you should have a hard time retaining a term of endearment since no one besides your own mother would ever call you one, now leave us," snapped the maiden, eager to rid them of his unwelcome company.
"Now, now, my Lady, the intention behind my taunting is far from malicious, you have my word."
"Your intentions are as insignificant to me as is the validity of your word, Sire," replied she.
"Always a pleasure to bear witness to your ruthless candor, Sig," Fandral continued teasing as he made his leave. "Do keep all your wits about you…" He glanced momentarily at Loki. "—you'll certainly need it."
He disappeared through the threshold at last. As Loki finished strapping on his leather armor, Sigyn rose from her seat with a sigh.
"All is well, it would seem," she assumed, for the fact that Fandral was back from Vanaheim and in such playful a mood suggested that not only was the battle over but that Asgard had emerged victorious. "If he truly is as fond of his countenance as he lets believe, he should be an awful lot more cautious about preserving it," she mused bitterly.
Had she taken a moment to contemplate why she felt so fervently antagonized by the warrior's teasing, she would have realized that as far as she was concerned, she could not have been less interested in Fandral's opinion or in whatever he might do now that he held that information, which in any case would most likely be engrossing to very few whose opinion she also disesteemed. What truly aggrieved her, the genuine reason behind her resentment, was her dismay over how Loki, whose serene demeanor only served to enhance her trepidation, endured this unprompted change in the nature of their rapport.
"I should be off."
"Right then," answered a disheartened Sigyn, linking her hands in front of her as she unwittingly adopted a dignified, formal stance.
"If I know my brother, and to my misfortune I do," continued the Prince. "we have quite the celebration to look forward to tonight. On account of yet another victory at the hands of the Mighty God of Thunder."
Suddenly realizing the true cause of his downcastness, the maiden felt significantly relieved. As someone prone to frustration —he seemed to have a natural talent for it—, any mishap no matter how small that should befall him while in that foul mood would only serve to further exasperate him. Knowing this, and seeing as he was about to try to reattach his cape to his shoulder pieces, Sigyn stepped forward to take over. While hardly an intricate task, she wanted to spare them both the inevitable escalation of his irritability should his impatience get the best of him.
"You've had plenty to do with this victory as well," she reminded him.
"Could you not patronize me?"
"Could you mind the way you address someone who knows exactly where your open wounds are located?" She downrightly smacked his hands away and without his animosity hurdling her, it only took her a moment to attach the emerald green fabric to his armor. "And quit pouting."
"I'm not pouting, I'm not a child."
"Well, you had me fooled," she disagreed; one deep breath later, realizing his dejection hadn't dissipated in the least, she grabbed him delicately by the chin. "You almost died fighting for this realm. Odin himself had to take your place, would he have done that if he believed Thor could lead Asgard to victory all by himself?"
Loki scoffed, placing a hand on her forearm so he could lean away from her touch and pace about the lounge instead.
"So all I've done is survive while my brother thrives in the battlefield and reaps all the glory for himself."
"What matters is you've survived!"
"What honor is there in plainly surviving?"
"What good is honor to a dead man?"
By then, they had raised their voices, practically bellowing at each other from opposite sides of the room. Loki remained enraged, unyielding, and soon enough Sigyn came to the conclusion that there was no argument she could extend to which he wouldn't put up a fight, there was nothing she could possibly say or do that would change his mind. While a common sight when it came to the God of Mischief, it had been the first time Sigyn had ever stood at the business end of it instead of being a neutral contemplator.
"Why survive?" she echoed at one point, very deep down in her soul hoping that either he would see reason the moment he heard his own words spoken back to him or that a chance existed that she had misheard him altogether.
Needless to say that hope came crashing down when Loki responded with nothing but silence, noticeably upset and yet too proud to give in. Sigyn huffed a sad chuckle of disbelief and shook her head, glancing away from him so she could blink away the tears forming in her eyes.
"As... illuminating as this glimpse into your priorities has been," she managed, struggling to mask the strain in her voice. "I'm scarcely in the mood for company at the moment, let alone celebration, so... I'll be withdrawing to my chambers for the night, if your Highness won't mind. Not that you will, of course, since you've been perfectly clear about how scantily my own concerns and feelings matter to you."
She left the room in a huff.