A/N: So, yeah, I'm actually going to be incorporating Norse mythology into this. Or at least trying to. Sorry in advance.

Fidelitas
A Lily By Any Other Name

Twenty three years later…

Intervening in some inter-galactic terrorist attack was not how Hannah planned to begin her first year studying abroad.

She had just been walking the streets of downtown Stuttgart, sightseeing before her studies, when a freaking car almost barreled into her before flipping over on the road. Having had ducked in time to remain unscathed, she watched as a large crowd assembled in front of the auction house down the street. Furrowing her brows, she decided to investigate, because how could she not after almost getting crushed beneath a car. Picking herself off the ground, she cautiously walked toward the crowd. With a gasp, she however realized that what she thought was a crowd wasn't really a crowd; it was a large group of people that seemed to be held hostage in the plaza, no one daring to move. At the front of the mob, on the steps leading up to the building, stood a man clothed in some sort of weird golden armor complete with a cape and a helmet. He was waving some sort of staff around, pacing back and forth.

From the way he stood, he seemed to be in the middle of a monologue that Hannah was too far away to hear. Maybe this was some sort of weird German tradition that she wasn't aware of. Or maybe he was a coplayer or something, since his attire looked like something straight out of a J.R.R Tolkien book. Hannah dared to edge closer, trying to listen to what he was saying. Part of her wanted to turn back and alert the police or something (seriously, why was there no SWAT team here yet?) but another slightly more instinctive part of her knew that this was no cosplayer and that these people were in danger.

"KNEEL!"

Hannah flinched as the man brought his staff down on the ground with a loud, metallic clang. Suddenly, a force field seemed to form around the people, who all dropped to their knees. Hannah blinked and hid behind a phone booth. Had she really just seen bars of rippling energy materialize out of thin air? And more importantly, had the man with the staff conjured it? She inched even closer, weaving her way around a car blocking the exit to another street.

"Is not this simpler?" The man asked, a smile playing on his lips as he walked through the crowd. His voice seemed to bounce off the nearby buildings. "Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave subjugation."

Subjugation? Humanity?

"The bright allure for freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity…"

A scramble for power and identity? Okay…

"You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel."

It seemed as if the crowd was holding its breath, everyone too scared to breathe. Like a lion amongst sheep, the man moved with an easy, predatory grace, basking in his own power, knowing crowds would part for him not out of respect but out of intimidation.

Like a lion amongst sheep.

Yet his voice, smooth as velvet and dark as obsidian, had Hannah captivated.

He's a silvertongue.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah saw an old man stand. He had to be at least eighty, from how shakily he stood, but he kept his head held high.

"Not to men like you."

His words were directed at the man with the staff as he held his gaze. The rest of the crowd seemed awestruck. His words held the spite of decades; the anguish, the humiliation. His tone said never again.

However, the other man seemed unfazed by this outburst.

"There are no men like me—" He started, his tone tinged with amusement.

"There will always be men like you."

Silence settled once again over the crowd. Hannah could hear her own pulse racing.

"Look to your elder, people," The man with the staff smirked sardonically and raised the staff once again, this time directing it at his challenger. The tip was glowing blue. The old man stood his ground, his head held high with pride. "Let him be an example—"

"STOP!"

Hannah ran in front of him, ducking at the last second before a blast of blue energy hit her. She stayed down, her heart racing at a million miles per second, the adrenaline rush making her throat go dry. Her head was spinning and her stomach churned as she clutched the ground, trying not to fall over. All around her, she could hear people murmur.

"Silence." It was more of a deadly order than a shout.

"Stand, girl."

Hannah could see the golden butt of the staff, a sweeping green cape skimming the floor, expensive-looking leather boots. She took a shaky breath. From his tone of voice, she knew there was no ignoring him. She stood, trying to muster all her courage as she looked up to him. Up close, she could see his sharp features framed by the golden helmet. High cheekbones, messy raven hair peeking out from underneath the gold of the headpiece, piercing green eyes that held secrets and mischief, lips that were usually smirking pressed into a thin line…

I feel like I've seen him before.

"No. It can't be..."

His voice jarred her back to reality. It sounded weak, broken. His green eyes were searching her, looking her all over. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, his staff clattering to the floor. Hannah stepped forward almost involuntarily as she held his gaze. That energy, that magnetism, it was coming from him. He radiated energy, a glow. ..

Almost like magic.

She hadn't realized she had reached out to him and laid her hand on his arm. His eyes suddenly grew soft and the tongue she somehow knew to be razor sharp was quiet, speechless. His hand gently caressed her cheek, cold against her skin.

"Sigyn—"

Loki.

"Loki, drop the weapon and stand down."

As if snapping out of a trance his—Loki?—eyes narrowed and flashed a cold blue as he spun around. His staff flew back to his outstretched hand. Hannah scrambled away from him, confused by what had just happen. How did she know his name? Was that his name? Why did he call her Sigyn? Hannah's mind reeled, questions flying around.

Who is he?

In the sky, some sort of aircraft hovered above them, the warning seeming to come from there. Hannah turned on her heel and ran like everyone else without sparing a glance at the scene behind her, her heart pounding against her ribcage and her lungs burning. But as she ran back to her flat, she could still feel sharp green eyes glued to her, staring at her with a soft brokenness. The spot where he'd cupped her face still felt cool. That famed silver tongue had tied itself into knots at the sight of her. That pull, that glow, that energy…

Magic.

A/N: plz review and favorite if you like it! Please! Reviews are amazing!