Sigyn's eyes popped open; one glance toward the window in her chambers and she could see it was still dark outside. There was no noise, no light, nothing to disturb her – if she didn't count the fact that now, at the end of her pregnancy, she sensed her girth surpassed even Volstagg's. Then she felt it once more, the tightening of her belly that had awoken her, the unmistakable dull ache that signaled the beginning of the end.

She'd had false contractions in recent weeks, her body preparing itself as a dancer would practice for a performance – but those had been intermittent and merely uncomfortable. These were different. The pain was sharper, and as she timed them in her head, she found them to be occurring at regular intervals. The wait between was still fairly lengthy, so she thought she would try and get a bit more rest before the hard work began.

Yet sleep eluded her, even after rearranging herself and her pillows multiple times, and she finally admitted defeat and rose from the bed. Pulling on her robe – cursing the fact that it didn't quite close in the front anymore – she waddled gingerly across the room, careful to hold on to the furniture as she went to prevent a fall.

When the healer had last examined her, she told Sigyn to prepare for the baby's imminent arrival; as such, Sigyn had requested that her mother be allowed to temporarily move into the room adjoining hers. Dagmar had taken no convincing at all, arriving that very afternoon with enough personal belongings to see her through the first six months of the baby's life. Though their relationship was better than it had been in years, there was no way Sigyn was going to allow her mother to be underfoot for that long; she would, however, put that conversation off until another time.

There was a door connecting their two rooms which Dagmar insisted stay open at all times, particularly at night. Sigyn made her way to it, peeking in to find her mother sleeping peacefully. There was no need to wake her just yet; at least one of them deserved to be well rested for the events to come.

Turning back, she walked carefully to the balcony door, opening it as quietly as she could and stepping out into the cool night air. Off to her left, she could see the Bifröst, the skeletal beginnings of what would eventually be the new Observatory jutting out where the bridge met the void. Occasionally, she would sit on the balcony and look at it, thinking about Loki until she could no longer stand the sight of it and everything it represented. This night however, was not a night to be morose.

"Hello, love," she said to the stars, hoping that wherever Loki's spirit had gone it was looking down on her. "I think I'm going to meet our child today. Watch over us if you can." Her belly constricted once again, even more intensely this time, and she had to lean onto the railing for support. "I wish you were here. I'm so scared."

The pain eased away, giving her a moment to rest and breathe deeply, before another contraction began. The time between was noticeably shorter; she decided that she'd better send her mother for the healer.

She moved as swiftly as possible back to Dagmar's rooms, gently shaking her awake.

"Mother. Mother, it's time."

Sigyn follows the directions to the letter, and finds the Queen's chambers easily. It's her first day as Queen Frigga's handmaiden, and she's not sure what to expect. Her hands shake as she knocks on the door, and when there's no answer, she waits as she was instructed to do. Having never been in this part of the palace before, she takes the time to look around and get her bearings, thankful for the chance to settle her nerves.

Tapestries on the walls depict battles she has only ever read about, the glorious warriors of Asgard against the other realms. Battles from long before she was ever born - and yet, she can clearly make out the figure of the Allfather himself amongst the figures. She thinks her own father would have been able to give her some insight into the history…but she pushes the thought away. It will not do to be weeping when the Queen returns.

Hearing footsteps, she hurries back toward the door, thinking it is Queen Frigga; instead, she finds Prince Loki approaching. She has only ever seen him at a distance, but she recognizes his dark clothes. Up close, he is much taller than she thought, his face brooding and austere. He stops short of the door when he sees her.

"Who are you?" he asks. He's not exactly unkind, but not particularly welcoming, either. Merely curious.

"Sigyn, Your Highness. Sigyn Arasdottir," she replies, nearly forgetting to curtsy to him in her anxious state. "Her Majesty's new handmaiden."

"What happened to the last girl?"

"I believe she recently married, and left to start a family."

"I see. Why are you out here? Does my mother have you studying the tapestries?" His eyes are enormous and intense, a shade of green she isn't entirely sure she's ever seen before, and it takes all her strength not to look away. She doesn't want to offend him.

"Oh, no," she says, flustered. "I was told to wait here if no one answered the door." She is certain he is judging her, and that she is coming up woefully short.

"So, she is not here?"

"I can only assume not, Your Highness. I didn't open the door." She hopes he doesn't find her impertinent for stating the obvious.

He smiles at her then, his eyes going soft and his teeth perfect and white, and the change in his features from severe to boyish is striking; she is stunned by how handsome he truly is. "Of course not." He looks at the door, then back at her. "Will you tell her that I stopped by to see her?"

"Yes, of course. Nothing more than that?"

"No," he says. "Thank you, Sigrid." He turns to walk back the way he came.

"It's Sigyn," she says under her breath, only realizing she's spoken aloud when for one step, he slows mid stride. She winces, positive he's going to turn back to her and chastise her for correcting him, but he continues on, disappearing down the stairwell.

Sigyn had just found a comfortable spot in the bed when her mother returned with the healer – along with the queen and her new handmaiden, Helga. Sigyn had met her a few times in the previous months, and she seemed kind, if a little timid. She trailed behind Frigga as the queen approached, and her eyes went wide as Sigyn grimaced from the discomfort of another contraction.

"Don't worry Helga," said Sigyn, attempting to put the poor girl at ease. "This isn't a duty the queen asks of all her handmaidens." She started to add that it didn't matter anyway, as the queen was out of sons to offer, but she thought better of it, choosing to concentrate on her breathing instead.

Dagmar busied herself with the healer, gathering a table for her tools and a comfortable chair to set at the end of the bed before offering to make tea for everyone.

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Lady Sigmundsdottir," said the queen. "Helga can make arrangements with the kitchens-"

"It's no trouble, Your Majesty. I like to keep busy when I'm worried."

"There's no need to worry," said Frigga, turning to Sigyn as she spoke. Sigyn wasn't sure if she was talking to her mother or to her; she figured it was probably both of them. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked, reaching to hold Sigyn's hand in hers.

"Anxious," said Sigyn, blowing a breath out between clenched teeth. "Anxious to get this over with, but also anxious to finally see my child."

"As are we all." She leaned in closely, her voice soft. "We should tell your mother the truth now. It won't be hidden much longer."

Sigyn had not told Dagmar about the baby's true nature, not wanting for her to panic, but also not wanting her to spread rumors before the palace was ready to reveal the news. The queen was right, however – if she didn't prepare her, Dagmar was likely to react badly if the baby's appearance was different than expected.

"Yes, of course," she said, watching as her mother poured several cups of tea, blissfully unaware of what she was about to learn about her grandchild.

Loki taps his hand on the terrace balustrade, the very same terrace where he first kissed Sigyn a mere three weeks ago, each strike of his fingertips alternately creating and extinguishing one of the hairpins he secretly kept after removing them from her hair that night. He has asked her to meet him here after her duties; the wait is interminable, and he wonders idly if his mother is keeping her away to torture him.

Much like his patience, he is already finding his resolve to take things slowly with her fading. His mother is still barring him from visiting during the day, so he has taken to meeting Sigyn outside his mother's chambers every morning before her duties, even for just a few minutes – anything to get him through the long days of responsibilities before he can see her again. He is sure even that won't be enough before long, but for now he stubbornly refuses to admit – even to himself – the intensity of his feelings for her.

Finally, he hears her footsteps approaching, and he hides the hairpin once again before turning to greet her. "I thought you'd never show."

"I'm no later than normal. Did you miss me that much?"

"Always," he says, pulling her in for a small kiss before leading her to table in the sun, strewn with books and a basket of food. Sigyn takes a book – one of her favorite volumes of Midgardian poetry he notes – and kicks her shoes off before lying prone across the table top. "Comfortable, darling?" he asks, ignoring his desire to roll her over and test the strength of the table, choosing instead to settle into a chair beside it.

"Yes, very," she says, reaching into the basket and pulling out an apple. "It's such a beautiful day. I'm glad you asked me to meet you out here."

He picks up a book himself, not really reading it, but instead glancing at her over the pages. She has an endearing habit of biting her bottom lip when she concentrates, and as he watches her, he begins to feel the familiar stir in his gut, the one that is becoming increasingly more frequent the longer he is around her. He is just about to reach for her when a shadow passes over his book and a drop of rain hits the page he is reading.

Before Loki can even get out a word of warning, the clouds overhead have increased exponentially, the sky cracking with a bright flash of lightning. The heavens open up, the sudden downpour drenching him and Sigyn before he can magic everything away. He grabs her hand as she scrambles down from the table, pulling her under an overhang on the side of the terrace.

"Where did this come from?" she asks, her hair plastered to the sides of her face.

Loki knows at once what has caused the shift in weather – Thor entertaining Sif in his chambers – but he just shrugs and feigns ignorance. He is already on edge; if Sigyn were to even look at him suggestively at the mention of sex, all of the gentlemanly behavior he is trying so hard to maintain will vanish.

"Do you think it will last long?" she asks, peering out from under their shelter, and Loki takes the opportunity afforded by her inattention to admire the way her soaked dress clings to her breasts.

As he watches, a single drop of rain runs down the side of her neck, pooling in the hollow at the base of her throat before continuing on down into her cleavage, and the urge to follow it with his tongue – to tear her dress from her body and cover her with kisses until the only moisture on her skin comes from his mouth – is maddening.

"No," he says, barely managing to lift his eyes before she turns back to him. "These kinds of storms never do."

The words have barely left his lips when a massive lightning bolt lights up the sky, its proximity a little too close, and Sigyn jumps, throwing her arms around him for protection. Before he can stop himself, his mouth is on hers, hungry and searching, and the press of her wet body to his leaves him breathless – and painfully hard.

He pulls back. "Forgive me-"

"For what? For stopping?" she asks, leaning back in, her mouth slack and her eyes closed.

"No," he says, narrowly avoiding her lips and stepping away. "I…I've left something in my chambers. I'll just be a moment."

"Oh, I'd love to see your chambers. Let me come with you-"

"No!" His voice is too harsh, and he backtracks at the hurt look on her face. "They're filthy – I'd hate for your first impression to be a disappointment," he says, knowing full well they are absolutely spotless, but desperate for her to stay behind.

"I don't mind-"

"Look – the rain's stopped, just as I told you it would," he says, practically sprinting away. "Wait here…I'll be back before you know it."

The doors to his rooms aren't even fully shut before he has his hand shoved down the front of his breeches. Three quick strokes and he's finished, his release so forceful his head swims and his legs go weak. With a quick wave of his hand, the mess he has created disappears. It takes longer for his heart rate to settle, and as he sinks to the floor against the door it occurs to him that his complete absence of self-control would be amusing if it wasn't so alarming.

He hasn't been this out of sorts since he was very young, just a boy still waking up in the night to a sweaty body and stained sheets. Sigyn's effect on him is extraordinary, and even as he begins to understand he may not survive her, he is also grateful that at least his arousal is never heralded by a short-lived thunderstorm.

"Jotun?" asks Dagmar, incredulous. "You cannot be serious."

"I'm afraid Sigyn is being truthful, Lady Sigmundsdottir," said Frigga. "Loki was born on Jotunheim, and raised here by my husband and myself as our son."

"No, no," said Dagmar. "Maybe I wasn't as intimately familiar with him as Sigyn, or even you for that matter, but there's no way he was jotun. No possible way."

Frigga sighs. "I can assure you, we never intended to-"

"Mother, please," says Sigyn. "It's a long story, one we don't have time for right now. I'm only telling you this to prepare you. We aren't sure what this baby is going to look like – it won't do to panic."

Dagmar rubbed her hand on her forehead. "I don't know what to say. Will you swear to me that you will tell me the entire story when this is over?"

"Yes, yes…of course," said Sigyn. "Thank you, Moth-" The words died in her throat as a flood of liquid poured out from between her legs, soaking the towels beneath her.

"Your water's broken," said the healer, kneeling down before her. "It won't be long now."

Loki watches Sigyn in his peripheral vision as she rises from the sofa in front of the fire and saunters to the bed, careful to keep his eyes locked on the pages of his book. The spell he's learning is vital. Thor's coronation is just over a month away; now is not the time for distraction.

He feels her eyes on him, knows without looking that she's studying him…trying to get his attention without interrupting him. She unties her robe, shrugging it from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor in a heap; beneath, she is clad in only her undergarments, and her bare skin glows in the light of the lamp on his desk. He could be to her in less than five seconds – inside her in less than ten – but he resists, shifting in his seat to ease the pressure on his rapidly growing cock, not once lifting his eyes from the incantation before him.

She hooks her fingers into her undergarments, sliding them off her legs in a deliberately sensual manner before standing upright once again. Tossing them his direction, she sighs loudly when they fall short of his desk. Loki closes his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers as if trying to stay awake – when in actuality he is trying to ignore how desperately he wants to bury his face between her thighs. When he opens them again, she has given up her efforts of seducing him and is lying in the bed, her eyes closed and the furs pulled up to her chin. He thinks he sees the glint of a tear on her cheek, but he isn't sure. It could just be a trick of the light.

An hour later and he is finished with his studying for the night, satisfied with the progress he's making. After a quick trip to the washroom to prepare for bed, he crosses the room once more, tossing his own robe aside before slipping beneath the furs opposite Sigyn's sleeping form.

Doing so shifts the covers from her body, revealing a bare shoulder to his gaze. He has left the lamp on his desk illuminated for just this reason; he is never happier than when he is watching her, especially when she is unaware. He reaches for her beneath the sheets, trailing his fingers up the inside of her thigh, and she stirs, turning to face him.

"What took you so long?" she asks, a pout on her face as she arches her back off the bed in a languid stretch.

"Am I too late?"

She peers up at him, her blue eyes wide in the dim light, her initial frustration giving way to the slightest of smiles. "Never too late, love. Never."

He grins as he pulls her close with a kiss, starting on her mouth before moving lower – down her neck, through the valley of her chest, counting each of her ribs with his lips, first down one side and then up the other, before swirling his tongue over the swell of each breast in turn. His hands are not idle, working her into a frenzy until she is slick and gasping and begging for him to take her.

At last, he covers her body with his, settling himself between her legs. He slides into her with a practiced ease, and the happy sigh she emits, coupled with her nails scraping the flesh of his back, nearly undoes him at once. She takes him in, hotter than the fires of Muspelheim and twice again as radiant, and Loki is certain that when the time comes and he must die, nothing in Valhalla will possibly compare to the beauty lying beneath him.

They move together as one, hips meeting hips, mouths and hands alternately locked together and roaming their bodies. It has been far too long since they were intimate; they are unhurried in their pace, and yet they reach their peaks swiftly and almost simultaneously.

Loki kisses her deeply as she clings to him, the flutters of her release drawing out the last of his own, and he thinks that if he has ever been content in his life, it's surely in this moment, in Sigyn's arms.

He lifts his head once his breath starts to settle. "Forgive me for making you wait. Have I made it up to you?"

She smiles up at him, eyes glazed and cheeks flushedand lips thoroughly kissed, and his heart skips a beat. "I don't know...maybe you should try again to be sure."

He dips his head down, reveling in her giggle as he nuzzles into her neck. "I believe that can be arranged."

Hours into labor, and no sooner had one contraction ended before another followed. Sigyn was positive she was dying, and all the months of waiting and preparing had been in vain. This baby is going to be an orphan before it even leaves my body. How terribly unfair.

Everyone in the room faded away – her mother as she dabbed a cool cloth to her head; the queen as she stood on the other side, holding her hand; even the healer as she waited at the foot of the bed. Sigyn's body took over, working almost without her assistance; it was the oddest feeling – being at once in control and yet completely out of control. She couldn't have explained it, even if she'd had the ability to do more in that moment than cry out. It was a mother's cry, a primal cry, a warrior's cry, and with it she could feel a kinship with the generations of women before her – from her own mother to the Allfather's mother – who had endured the anguish of childbirth to bring the promise of a new life into the world.

Something inside her shifted; in addition to the pain she now felt an unrelenting heaviness, an overwhelming need to push push PUSH, and distantly she could hear the healer telling her she was doing wonderfully, and that she could see the baby's head. A newfound strength overtook her; if she was going to die, it wouldn't be before she could see her child for herself.

Sigyn sucked in a hard breath, pushing once, twice, three times more…and with one final wail the unbearable pressure was suddenly lifted. She looked down between her trembling legs to watch the healer as she grasped a slippery bundle, writhing and screaming just as she had been mere seconds before.

"It's a boy, my lady. You have a son."

"A son?" asked Sigyn, her voice barely audible through panting breaths.

The healer wiped him down and wrapped him loosely in a blanket, passing him up to his mother's waiting arms.

Sigyn had never seen a more beautiful being in her life – he was pale blue, with strange, symmetrical ridges covering his body. He had a head full of black hair, long fingers, and his features – though still swollen and puffy from his birth – were exactly like his father's. Sigyn burst into tears at the sight of him.

Dagmar leaned over, stroking Sigyn's hair and kissing her sweaty forehead. "I'm so proud of you, darling. He's beautiful."

Sigyn grasped her son's tiny hand. "Ari. I want to name him Ari, after my father." She looked to the queen. "If you approve, of course."

"Ari Lokason," said Frigga, wiping a tear from her cheek. "It's perfect. Loki would have been so proud."

It is the day before Thor's coronation, and Loki has managed to momentarily sneak away from his father and brother. They have been bickering for hours over some of the more tedious details of the ceremony, and Loki is weary of listening to them. He figures he only has a short time before someone comes looking for him, but for now he is enjoying the quiet.

He goes to the banquet hall, hoping to catch his mother and Sigyn there.

He sees them as he rounds a large pillar, and he stays back, content to observe and not intrude. They are at the end of the room, the queen surveying the celebration preparations as Sigyn follows behind, scribbling copious notes as the queen talks.

Frigga turns his direction and catches him, giving him a knowing look before turning and whispering to Sigyn. She looks to him before setting her notes down on the table and hurrying to his side.

He doesn't go to meet her, instead staying where he is and enjoying the view as she approaches him – her smile bright enough to light the entire room. He has been neglectful of her lately, taking her for granted, a wrong he intends to spend the rest of his life atoning for – beginning the very next day by making her his wife. If Loki believed in the notion of luck, he would undoubtedly count himself among the most fortunate men who ever lived to have a woman like Sigyn to call his own.

"This is a surprise," she says as she nears him. "I didn't think I'd see you until tonight."

He holds his arms out, and she goes to him, unashamedly enjoying his embrace even in front of his mother. "I couldn't wait that long. I needed to see you now."

"Is everything alright? You look…oh, I don't know. Thoughtful."

"I've never been better, love," he says, and they are among the most truthful words the greatest liesmith of Asgard has ever uttered. "Never been better."

A short time later, there was a knock on Sigyn's door, and Frigga sent Helga to answer it.

Sigyn had been cleaned up, reluctantly allowing the healer to take Ari from her for a short time to be washed and checked over. She was attempting to nurse him when Helga came back.

"It's Prince Thor…and His Majesty."

Frigga looked at Sigyn, silently asking for her permission. Sigyn gave her a slight nod and the queen turned back to Helga. "See them in."

Thor peeked his head around the doorframe first as Helga opened it, his face as open and expectant as Sigyn had ever seen it, and she couldn't help but smile.

Sigyn had avoided the topic of Thor's proposal with him, and he had in turn not brought it up again. Even Sif's animosity toward her had eventually receded; Sigyn supposed the frequent thunderstorms that graced the palace for weeks after was evidence of Thor reassuring Sif of his loyalty – at least his physical loyalty – to her. She knew he hadn't forgotten their potential arrangement however, and that he would likely revisit the subject once her mourning period neared its end. But for now, they could put any awkwardness aside and celebrate the newest member of the royal family together.

"It's a boy, Thor. Come see."

He crossed the room, as quickly and quietly as his bulk would allow, and leaned over to look at his new nephew.

"He's so small," he said, his words full of awe. "Amazing."

"Would you like to hold him?"

"You would let me?"

"Absolutely. I trust you." She held Ari out to him, and he lifted him up, cradling him gently into his massive arms. "His name is Ari."

"Ari. A fine name. A strong name." He looked down at the baby, gingerly reaching out to touch his hand. "Strong like your fath-" he started, his words cutting off as Ari started to cry. "Oh, no don't cry little one. Ah!" He pulled his hand back with a start. "He's burned me!"

"It's his jotun defense, my son. He will learn to control it in time."

Sigyn had been so caught up in watching Thor that she hadn't even noticed Odin standing behind him. She swallowed thickly, not sure what to say to him.

"If his mother would allow it," he said, looking at her, "I would hold my grandchild."

"Of course," said Sigyn, watching with bated breath as he took Ari from Thor.

He cradled the baby gently, and to Sigyn's surprise Ari began to calm at once. Odin looked down on him, and Sigyn could plainly see a hint of sadness cross his features before being replaced by his usual stoicism. He turned back to her. "You have done well, my child."

"Thank you, Allfather," she said, taking Ari back as Odin held him out to her.

She looked down into the face of her son, his eyes – the lovely newborn blue of an Aesir – peering up into hers, and she made him a silent promise.

I love you my darling boy, my precious Ari. No matter what, I will see the destruction of the Nine Realms before I allow harm to come to you or anyone to take you from me.

A/N: A quick word about names: I am very aware that the mythological Sigyn and Loki had twin boys named Narvi and Valli, but their tale is unbelievably sad and depressing, so I have chosen to go a different route with my story. Illusion was never meant to be a faithful retelling of the Sigyn/Loki story from the myths and/or the comics anyway. 3

As far as pronunciation and spelling - I have tried my best to do at least some research on names and patronymics. "Ari" (according to my research) should be pronounced "Air-ee", and means "eagle". You will also notice that Sigyn's patronymic is "Arasdottir", not "Arisdottir", and Ari is a "Lokason", not a "Lokison". Again, according to my research, when the father's name ends in '-i', it is changed to '-a' for the patronymic. I certainly don't profess to be an expert on the subject, however, so if anyone has better information, feel free to correct me. :)