Sigyn knew she was in trouble. She knew that she was running late, and she knew that Theoric was going to be displeased with her. When her intended was displeased with her, the rest of the day tended to be miserable; she would suffer for it when he returned from training.

It hadn't been her fault, you see, but Theoric was sure to blame her regardless. As always, her fiancé did not bring his helmet at the start of his training session with the Crimson Hawks; he had no need for it, and it attracted too much attention when he marched through the streets of Asgard with it under his arm. Despite the fact that everyone knew he was a part of Odin's elite squadron of soldiers, he seemed to think he was ordinary and common when in his street clothes. So, every day, he would leave early in the morning to train, and Sigyn would deliver his beautiful golden helmet, freshly polished, for him to partake in official duty during the afternoon at the palace.

Unfortunately for her that day, she was distracted by a neighbour's concern for the dying plants in her garden, who had called on Sigyn to offer some advice. As always, Sigyn was more than happy to help the elderly woman next door, the wife of another Crimson Hawk, but she let time slip away from her. So, perhaps it was her fault; the broth she had been boiling in the meantime overflowed from its pot and spilled all over the kitchen floor, and when Sigyn returned, she was forced to choose between cleaning up the disaster that was sure to stain the tile, or polish Theoric's already spotless helmet. So, she chose to attend to the mess, as her fiancé would have been absolutely furious with her if he returned to a home smelling like broth.

However, even though it only took her ten minutes to mop the mess and spray down the area to eliminate the smell, it meant she was now ten minutes later than normal to give Theoric his helmet. If there was one thing her fiancé loathed, it was tardiness; he was such a punctual person, such a perfectionist, and he liked the people in his life to be moving at the same pace as he at all times. Sometimes Sigyn simply couldn't keep up anymore.

They had been engaged for two years at this point. An arrangement had been made between their fathers, who had been friends for many years, to marry their children before either of them was born. Sigyn hailed from a modest background, on the lower rung of the ladder as far as Asgardian gods were concerned, whereas Theoric's family were known for their military prowess and centuries of service for the ruler of Asgard. Her father was a healer, and had served with Theoric's father and the All-Father himself during a particularly long war against the trolls. The men apparently returned home the best of friends, and their families grew together as time progressed. Theoric arrived in this realm first, and three years later Sigyn was born; unfortunately, her birth destroyed her mother, and she was left in this place with only her father to care for her.

She had always known she was intended for Theoric, but it wasn't until she became of age and a ring was produced did she realize the seriousness of this commitment.

For years she had watched Theoric grow into his position; he became a serious, stern, perfectionist – much like his father – before he was even technically an adult, and she assumed that was how he ascended into the Crimson Hawks at such a young age. He was a stickler for a variety of things: time, appearance, cleanliness, symmetry, tone of voice, and public affection. They were supposed to marry a year ago, but her father fell ill a week before the wedding and passed suddenly during the night. She was so distraught, so destroyed to lose the man who had been her stable foundation for her entire life, so the wedding was put on hold.

Instead, Theoric's mother suggested the pair try living together for another year to ensure that their partnership would be strong. Whatever issues they may have, they would become aware of them before they were husband and wife, and the issues could be sorted.

Well, Sigyn had found a number of issues with Theoric, and he with her, but the only ones that seemed to matter were Sigyn's flaws. She could be clumsy, forgetful, and inappropriate in public situations. Her cleaning skills were subpar, and he noted that her talents in the bedroom were sorely lacking, but acceptable enough. Sometimes, he seemed only to tolerate her, and other times he was exceptionally jealous of the glances other men through her way. He wanted her to both leave him alone in public yet be by his side to show a unified front. If Sigyn could one day find the courage, she would dictate his flaws to him, though perhaps not all at once as he did whenever they had the smallest of arguments. For what it was worth, Theoric was a jealous, possessive, controlling perfectionist who could never give so much as an inch to accommodate for Sigyn.

Naturally, as most men of his nature are, he was quite different in public among his friends and peers. To the rest of the realm, Theoric was the underdog, the youngest of the Crimson Hawks, and a genuinely pleasant individual who worked hard and valued all the right things. Occasionally he let Sigyn have that side of himself in private, but these days it was so rare that she had come to dread the thought of their wedding in three months' time.

If people knew the truth, they may ask her why she didn't leave him. Women in Asgard did it all the time; they tried out their lovers, and if they were suitable, they married them. Some families were stuck in an archaic time in which women were bought and sold, but her family had made her believe it had never been like that. She was never sold to Theoric, only promised because of the strong friendship that united the family. Her father, when he was alive, thought there was nothing better in this world than good friends and a strong family bond: with her marriage to Theoric, he could have both. So, to honour her father's optimistic view of the world, she decided her loyalty must go to Theoric. After all, his persona may change after they are married, after he knows that she cannot leave him for anyone else. Perhaps his jealousy and his anger with dissipate, his grip on her lifestyle lax…

She stayed because he wouldn't let her leave.

Sigyn feared the man she was going to marry. She feared the sway of his emotions. She feared her inability to live up to his exceptionally high expectations. She feared what would happen on the day he grew tired of correcting her. She feared what he would say when she showed up at the training grounds ten minutes late with his helmet.

Clad in a fine light pink dress – fabric cinched at the waist, gracefully flowing around her arms, her skin complimented by the tone – Sigyn almost flew out of their shared home in the army barracks. Her neighbour tried to flag her down again, but when the older woman saw the blonde racing forth with Theoric's helmet under her arm, she fell silent. Sigyn was grateful that she hadn't interrupted again, but she also knew that the older woman was acutely aware of the way Theoric treated Sigyn on a regular basis, but held her tongue because Sigyn looked so absolutely in love with her man. So, when she retreated into her house, she knew it was because her neighbour thought it wasn't her business to get involved in Sigyn's relationship, and because that neighbour knew Theoric would have Sigyn's pretty head if she was late.

She followed the usual pathway to the training grounds located on the outside of the main city centre. They were nowhere near the palace, which was unfortunate now for Theoric, as her tardiness meant he would be late for duty with Odin across the city. She swallowed thickly, a worried expression on her face as she braced herself for the harsh talking-to he was going to give her when she arrived.

The training grounds were completely open beneath the sun, and it was several arenas for different sorts of activities. Theoric and his crew always finished in the arena that focused strictly on building up their cardio and endurance; she usually met him just after he had showered, and he would take his helmet, kiss her goodbye in front of the other Hawks, and tell her what he wanted for dinner when his shift was finished. Today, the team was standing about near the entrance of the arena, and Sigyn felt her heart drop to her stomach; had they been waiting for her? Surely his entire regiment wouldn't linger simply because one stupid girl was late with a helmet!

Theoric looked incredibly unimpressed with her as he stood in the shade of a pavilion, his eyes trained on her as she approached. The other men seemed engrossed in a conversation and only one or two looked up at her arrival. She smiled apologetically, but she knew by the expression on his face that she shouldn't even bother to charm her way out of this one.

"Where have you been?" he snapped, a hand latching onto his helmet and yanking it from her grasp. "Do you realize you're late?"

"I know, I'm so sorry," she whispered, keeping her voice hushed to avoid a scene. "Please don't shout at me…"

His forehead crinkled as he stared at her for a moment, seemingly disgusted with the comment, and then leaned a little closer, "Why would I shout at you here?"

"I don't know," Sigyn replied quickly, shaking her head and fidgeting with her nails. "I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry."

"Good afternoon, Lady Sigyn," one of the other Hawks greeted. They all smiled at her now, and she felt Theoric place a hand on her lower back as she returned the gesture the best she could.

"How lucky you are, Theoric, to have such a lovely lady bring you your gear! My wife wouldn't give up her afternoon spa trips to lug my armor down here…"

They all shared a good laugh, and Sigyn offered a chuckle.

"Yes, I'm a terribly lucky man," Theoric mused, planting a kiss on her temple. "Excuse me for a moment."

She swallowed down her nerves as he tugged her away, and once they were out of earshot, the tone of his voice shifted back to the one she was most familiar with.

"And you have no idea how lucky you are that we were detained for reasons beyond our control," Theoric hissed, his blue eyes narrowing at her as he gripped her arm with one strong hand. "If I had to wait here for you while the rest of them left…"

"I didn't mean to be late," Sigyn insisted as she reached out to brush a bit of dust from his black training gear. He flinched away, which made her retract her hand quickly, eyes cast down, "But I was detained-"

"It doesn't matter," he told her firmly. "You should plan for anything and accommodate for problems. Are you really that incompetent these days that you can't even bring me my helmet on time? Has wedding planning gone to your head?"

Her lip quivered; lately, her first response to his reprimanding had been to cry, because at this point she wasn't sure what else she could do. However, she knew that if she started to cry now, he would face questions from his companions, and that would only make tonight worse than it was shaping out to be. So, she steeled herself, sucking in her cheeks to stop her lips from shaking beneath his gaze.

"Is this what I can expect from you once we're married?" he demanded, "Tardiness? Excuses? Sigyn, I will not stand for it…"

He trailed off suddenly, and Sigyn glanced up, wondering if she might be let off with a slap on the wrist for her failings that day. However, he seemed preoccupied with suddenly examining his helmet, and she realized, to her horror, that he discovered that she hadn't bothered to clean it in her haste.

"What is this?" he demanded, pointing out the smudges left behind by a mixture of their fingerprints, amplified beneath the warm sunlight on that gloriously warm afternoon, "Did you even run a rag over this before you gave it to me?"

"I…I…" she stammered for a moment, and then realized that it would be worse if he caught her in a lie, "No, but that was because I was running late-"

"Do you want me to look unkempt in the house of Odin?"

"No, no, never-"

"Enough," Theoric told her quietly, rubbing at the fingerprints with his thumb. His gaze had returned to his companions, and he nodded dismissively toward the exit, "We'll continue this conversation tonight."

She nodded quickly, blood pounding so loudly within her slime frame that she wondered if the rest of the squadron might have heard her weakness. Sigyn cleared her throat as he started to walk away from her.

"What would you like for dinner?" she asked in an attempt to restore their normal routine. "I was thinking the broth you like with some-"

"You were thinking, were you?" he sneered, his back to his companions, eyebrows up, "If you were thinking, why did you bother to ask me?"

"I thought you might want something different-"

"I don't want that," Theoric told her. "The broth was too strong. Ask my mother for something I like… It still baffles me that after this long of an engagement you can't cook anything for me."

Her eyelashes fluttered in an attempt to push the tears back in, and she forced a smile instead; "I do like seeing your mother. I'll see if she has any opinions for me."

He gave her a nod: no kiss, no nothing. Instead, he simply marched back to his squadron and settled back in the shade, leaving her squinting in the sun in his absence. Defeated, Sigyn felt her shoulders slouch as she turned back and strolled down the exit of the arena briskly.

Loki couldn't believe how incredibly boring his sentence had turned out to be. One year ago, he was escorted back from Earth by Thor in chains, the tesseract safely returned to Odin as though it had never left Asgard. At first, he was locked in a dark cell, his powers drained by the All-Father, and his muzzle firmly intact. No visitors, aside from the servants who brought him meals, and no sunlight; nothing that was remotely necessary for survival until he had learned his lesson. Naturally, Loki was a being more capable of survival under harsh conditions than most, even if he was Laufey's son and not Odin's, and he endured his punishment in a spiteful silence. It was a lonely existence, despite all the thoughts that bounced around in his head, and he hated how weak his being felt without the full extent of his abilities at his beck and call.

Eight months of darkness passed, and finally Loki was brought into the light. He understood that Odin and Frigga had come to some sort of agreement that it was time for him to return to the civilized world of Asgardian society. It was a reintroduction of sorts, but he needed to show that he was worthy of such leniency by the All-Father. Loki knew how to play the part; he even kissed Frigga's cheek when he saw her again, but he could tell form her expression that she was horrified from what the darkness and isolation had done to his physical form.

His jail cell moved from the bowels of the palace to his old room near Thor's, and for a month he was only permitted to wander those four walls. Naturally, it was a grand room with a private bath and all of his old things, but it felt like a mockery of his previous life to be trapped in there. In a way, he hated being entombed in that room more than he did in the darkness. He could see all of Asgard: all the people, the buildings, the fireworks for celebrations. More servants were permitted to bring him things, and his muzzle was removed so that he could properly eat meals in solid form. His strength grew slowly. Thor visited more often, and those were the visits he could barely tolerate.

He understood the man's reasoning about why they ought to be able to resume their old relationship; they had grown up together, they had laughed together, and they had endured the hardships of being Odin's sons together. Wars, women, drinks, their parents… Everything that siblings ought to experience together, they certainly did, and Loki once had great affection for his adopted brother. Unfortunately, the jealousy consumed him some time ago, and the jealousy turned to anger, and anger was incredibly difficult to let go of. So, during that month, Loki would tolerate Thor's visits for maybe twenty minutes, and then the anger would seep through, and Thor disappeared shortly after. What he hated the most was that he knew Thor thought that these visits were rehabilitating him in some way, that trips down memory lane would make the Bad Loki disappear back into the depths of his mind.

Not likely, and no one would believe him if it did.

When his exile in his room finished, he was given the freedom to wander the palace and the surrounding grounds, but nothing more. Odin restored a fraction of his powers, which meant he could perform party tricks with his magic. The All-Father seemed to sense a change in him; he hadn't lost his rage, his jealousy, his carelessness for others, but the fire that pushed those feelings to surface, the one that made him do terrible things, seemed to be extinguished. He began to hate himself once more, hate that he had been broken so quickly and by the liars who were once his family. However, in his self-hatred, he was fairly harmless.

There had been no chance to scheme, no way to alert any of his old contacts in different regions of his return to Asgard. So, he continued to be a prisoner here, and there was no possible way for him to get out of it. People had become privy to his tricks, knowledgeable of the ways he had manipulated them in the past, and under Odin's orders no one was to give him any leeway. At this point, he couldn't even persuade the cooks to give him a nibble of dinner a little early, which was a terribly depressing thought.

Thankfully, his pathetic state seemed to be enough to persuade Odin that he should have the ability to wander the city now, and for almost a month he walked the same path every single day. He rose late, refused Thor's offers to train with him and the Warriors Three, and always wandered through the city until nightfall loomed over him. Some knew who he was, the fallen prince, and for the most part he found they steered clear of him. For those who were unaware of his prestigious title, one that Odin insisted he still maintained, they avoided him because of his look; sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, a grim sneer for whoever ventured too near.

For everything that he felt, Loki felt bored. Life was so incredibly dull when one had nothing left to live for, nothing to keep them going. He didn't want to read, nor did he wish to study magic; if one couldn't put it to use, what was the point? The city streets had become so familiar – as if they weren't already – that he could navigate them with his eyes closed. There was nothing for him, not anymore, and he realized that while this punishment was dull, it was effective; the All-Father knew precisely what he was doing.

That day had been exactly like the previous one, and only remotely less interesting than the day before that. As always, Loki ended up down near the army barracks at midday. The complex was surrounded by a wall at the bottom of a hill, and from the rocky outcropping that Loki usually situated himself on, he could see all the little attached dome houses. Greenery thrived down there, which always made Loki chuckle; greenery, life, flowers surrounding hardened service men and their families? It seemed a little comical, a little odd. It was a remarkably clear day, warm under the sun with his thick, dark traditional garments hanging off his frame.

He had managed to regain some of the muscle he lost during his first bout of isolation, but he had stopped trying recently. What was the point?

Even the breeze was warm that day, and he found himself staring beyond the army compound and out to the mountains that lurked in the distance. If he could just get through the mountains, there would be countless other regions full of people who would prefer to see him rule Asgard… he was sure of it. However, someone would recognize him during any escape attempt – if Heimdall hadn't already realized it – and he would lose some of his freedoms once more for his betrayal. To escape this place would be divine, but after months of planning possibilities, he realized there was no ways to make any of them come to fruition. So for now, all he could do was stare: stare and hope that one day his misery might come to an end that he deemed appropriate.

It was rare that someone interrupted his tranquility on the hillside. He found a small cluster of rocks to sit against, but there was also a pathway that wound down the mountain; it was quite long and a little excessive, but it had been built for the civilian population who did not want to traverse the steep hill on the original straight path. However, there was an alternative route from the army compound that went around the hill at the bottom, one that led straight to training grounds and beyond; it was much more scenic with the lake on the other side, and most people chose to simply walk that than march the hill's path.

However, on this day, it seemed some lone soul had bothered to climb up all those stairs on the other side, and was currently on their way back down. It normally wouldn't have broken his attention simply to hear someone walk by, but it was the sniffling that snagged him. He glanced to the side, and actually found himself doing a double take when he spied a young woman tromping along the cobblestone pathway. They were close, he seated by the rocks and she hurrying along the trail, and yet she didn't seem to notice him. Instead, she marched on, stumbling here and there in her haste. Loki couldn't help but stare; no more mountains for him, not when he had something else far more beautiful to admire.

She looked familiar, and yet he couldn't even begin to place her in his mind. Tall, slim, dressed in pale pink and wavy long hair – blonde. Exquisite, even in a hurry.

He hadn't been much for relationships in his life; women were complicated. He was a complex man himself, but he was no match for the mind games that some women in Asgardian high society liked to play. Thor was lucky enough to catch the eye of Lady Sif when they were young, and therefore it was quite easy for him to find a bedfellow who wasn't completely insane. Loki, however, seemed to luck out in that department with every attempt he made, and eventually he gave up. Aside from casual affairs here and there, he hadn't bothered with women in quite some time.

Perhaps that was why he was so quick to interest when that gorgeous creature strode by him. He watched as she followed the curve of the path, and then leaned forward a little when her stumble turned into a full-fledged fall. There was a cry, and she then disappeared from sight beneath the short wall that encased the path.

Eyebrows up, he looked over his shoulder, squinting a little in the sun, and then turned his attention back to where he had last seen her. She hadn't gotten up yet. Loki frowned; it would have made him a terrible person – well, more terrible – if he continued to sit there and she was bleeding out from a cracked head, or something. Besides, there was no one else around, and surely someone from the army compound a mile or so away hadn't seen the accident.

He eased himself off the rocky ground, and then swung a leg over the small stone wall. Hands in his pockets, he strolled along the path until he reached the curve where she had disappeared, and soon found his mystery woman sprawled out on the ground, her hands over her face. From what he could tell based on a quick assessment, she was fine physically, but clearly there must have been something else if she had yet to stand up.

Loki cleared his throat, and her hands flew away from her face. He grinned down at the woman, "Are you all right?"

Exquisite indeed. The clearest blue eyes he had ever seen stared up at him, wide and alert as though he had intruded on a private moment. Her face was remarkably proportionate, perfect in its symmetry and hue of her lips. He might have been staring a little too intensely, but he couldn't help himself: any man would ogle in his position.

"Oh, yes," she said quickly, her cheeks suddenly red as she sat up.

He extended his hand to her, more than ready to help her to her feet, but she didn't seem to notice as she pushed herself up, a hand on the nearby wall for support.

"My… My shoe got caught in the crack," she explained, nodding down said shoe, its small heel still stuck in the ground.

Without thinking, Loki reached down and yanked it free, and then handed it back to her, "They really ought to make this path a little safer, particularly for shoes."

She smiled demurely as she slipped her shoe back on, and then nibbled on her lip. When she looked up at him, he noticed the redness around her eyes; it detracted from her beauty.

"Thank you," she said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. They stared at one another for a moment, and she licked her lower lip before turning away.

"Wait," he called, reaching for her and only just missing her arm. "I don't know you…"

He hadn't meant for it to sound stupid, but he knew just about everyone who was part of the aristocracy, and she was far too pretty to be a working-class girl.

"You do, actually," she told him, a small wobble in her voice as she spoke. His green eyes darted down to her lips when she smiled again, "We met when I was a girl… Your… Your father had a celebration and my father was invited. You were… a teenager, and therefore not really all that social unless you were with your brother."

"Was I?" he inquired, taking a step forward, head to the side. It didn't even bother him that she had referred to Odin and Thor as his family. How would she know otherwise?

She nodded, "We only spoke for a moment."

"And you remember who I am after only a moment?" Loki asked, continuing to move toward her as though there were some magnetic pull. She fiddled with her fingernails, and then swallowed noticeably enough to catch his eye.

"Well, yes, everyone knows who you are," she remarked sheepishly.

"And yet," he chuckled softly, "I still don't know who you are…"

"Oh," she said, her eyes widening. "Sorry, right… My name is Sigyn. I'm… Kjell the Healer's daughter."

"Sigyn," Loki repeated, tasting the name on his tongue for what felt like the first time. There was a faint recognition, but his memory was clearly nowhere near as good as hers was, "You'll have to forgive my ignorant teenage self for ignoring you. That would never happen now."

Her cheeks tinted again, much to his delight, but she took a step back when he made an attempt to approach further.

"Thank you for my… shoe," she managed, smiling a little before scuttling away down the path. He felt the loneliness creeping in within a moment of her absence, and he followed her in a few quick strides.

"Can I walk you somewhere?" he asked, eyes trained on her. "Wouldn't want you to fall again."

"Oh, thank you," she said quickly, her arms wrapped around her slim frame, "but I don't think that would be appropriate."

His gentle demeanor dropped by the way she looked at him, and he felt the anger rising once more. How dare she say that? Naturally, most people were bound to think it at this point, but she had the audacity to come right out and say it?

"And why isn't it appropriate?" he demanded, resisting the urge to grab her arm and pull her back so that she could look him in the eye when she told him, "Is it because I'm me? Can't be seen with the disgraced prince of Asgard? The foolish conqueror?"

Her jaw dropped a little, but she was quick to close it, shaking her head with those wide eyes that he found easy to stare into.

"No, no, it's nothing like that," she reassured him hastily, but he shook his head, scoffing.

"Oh? Then what is it?"

"It's… It's just that I'm spoken for," she said meekly, holding up her left hand for him to view a small gold ring on her finger. "He wouldn't be very happy if another man walked me home. It's not personal, I promise."

"Who is he?" Loki demanded, grabbing her hand and pulling it closer to investigate. He barely even stopped to think about what he was saying, what he was doing; all he knew was that the jealousy he was so intimately familiar with had sprung up out of nowhere.

"Theoric of the Crimson Hawks," she squeaked as she tugged her hand back, but Loki kept his grip firm. He took a moment to examine her ring, and decided almost immediately that it was not satisfactory for the hand on which it sat.

"I think," he started, finally releasing her hand. "You should have a far nicer ring than that, particularly on the salary the All-Father allows his Hawks."

She ran her hand through her hair, and then shrugged, "Maybe the one he gives me when we're married will be nicer…"

The corners of his lips quirked up, and for a moment the jealousy was kept at bay; she disliked it too. He then reached for her hand once more, gently this time, and brought it up to his lips to kiss. His eyes watched her, and hers watched her hand, until finally she pulled it away with a little more force this time.

"I should go," she said quickly.

And with that, she hurried away, nearly running down the pathway, stumbling here and there, and never once did she look back to see if he was still watching her. Naturally, he was. Perhaps his punishment wouldn't be so boring after all. Perhaps, finally, there was something he could work toward.

Perhaps.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

So as it says in the chapter, this takes place three months before the prologue. It is a post-Avengers fic, and they will make an appearance, but ages down the line.

As I was writing this, I felt like Loki was a bit… romancey. That wasn't my intention, but I decided to go with his comic/myth story in that it was an immediate love/lust/interest/obsession when he set his eyes on Sigyn, despite the fact that she was supposed to marry Theoric. The big change here is Sigyn and Theoric's relationship, which I'm excited to develop too.

Sigyn is also an incredibly weak woman at this point, and I think she's always been a little bit of that. She had the submissive personality that made it easy for someone controlling to take over, so I think that's why we see her weakness. Strength comes, but it takes time.

Thanks to all for all the reviews, adds to lists, etc.! I thoroughly appreciate all the support!