A/N #1: I feel I would be remiss if I didn't warn that there is talk of miscarriage/pregnancy loss (not graphic, but it does include mention of blood) in this chapter, for those who might be triggered by that sort of thing.
It is forty-two years since what the Midgardians call the Siege of New York.
Forty-three years since Loki fell from the Bifröst; forty-four since he first laid eyes on his beloved outside his mother's chambers.
Yet even after so long a time, for the Silvertongue, Sigyn will ever be that for which words fail him.
He is a man who delights in the chaos and uncertainty of the universe, yet to Loki, Sigyn is his one constant, the single fixed point around which every other part of his life revolves. His lover, his wife, his greatest champion.
She is called many things: Sigyn the Faithful. Esteemed ambassador of Asgard. Sister. Friend. Mother.
But for Loki, she is only Sigyn, and she is a perfect good.
Since Odin's passing twenty-seven years prior, Thor's time as king has seen unprecedented growth and prosperity – though Sigyn's tireless work as one of Asgard's most trusted ambassadors can hardly be underestimated. She is honored and respected across the Nine Realms, yet at times it has been a struggle. Thor's high regard and recommendation of her skills has certainly helped, but there are those who still cannot comprehend her choice of husband.
She has long ago stopped trying to justify herself to those who do not understand her love for Loki, despite everything he has done.
It isn't hard for her to ignore most of the criticism lobbed her way – usually from people who aren't close to her and her family, people who don't ultimately matter – yet there is one whose unwavering negative opinion is a wound that has yet to fully heal.
Her brother Edmund makes no secret of his continued dislike of Loki. His wife Ingrid has worked hard to ensure their children together – two lovely daughters named Káta and Halldís – know their extended family. But Edmund remains steadfast in his displeasure, despite all of Sigyn's efforts to convince him otherwise.
But she will continue to try, in the hopes that one day, they can make peace with one another.
She likens it to trying to describe to a small child how the Bifröst works – speaking slowly and using small words helps, but can never fully encompass the depth and breadth of something so wondrous as her love for her husband. Sometimes "it just…is" must be explanation enough.
It has been three grueling days of meetings with a delegation from Midgard, invited to Asgard by Thor himself. Generations of them come and go so quickly, each of them thinking they can improve on their predecessor's achievements, and as a result the trade agreements between their realms are constantly being reviewed and examined. Sigyn has become an expert at appearing to give them what they want without actually changing anything. Flattery has always been the Midgardians' weak point; they walk away feeling as though they have accomplished much, until their children come of age and the cycle starts anew.
Loki is welcome to join the negotiations, but he almost always declines, as he finds the Midgardians too tiresome and petty. Their most recent ancestors have taught them to fear him, and rightfully so, but he wearies quickly of toying with them. One day they will grow complacent, thinking his misdeeds only a myth, and his games will begin again…but for now, he bides his time.
The one time his presence is required is during the banquet given in the Midgardians' honor the night before they return home. He is still a prince of the realm, and some duties are unchanging.
At dinner, he watches with amusement as the delegates try to hide their discomfort at his presence. He resists the urge to conjure spiders into their food; Sigyn would be displeased, as their sons are present and she has reminded him time and again to be on his best behavior when they are watching.
He shifts a single finger into his jotun form, stirring it in his wine to chill it. Beneath the table, he slips his other hand up Sigyn's leg as she sits next to him, taking notice that she is drinking water. "No wine for you?" he asks.
"One of us needs to be in control of her faculties, love," she says, nimbly blocking his hand before he can get too intimate with its clandestine exploration.
He chuckles, taking her hand in his instead. "You know, I've been unfailingly polite, and yet our guests still watch me as carefully as a mouse would a cat."
"It's because you're smiling. It worries them when you smile."
"Ah, they shouldn't worry," he says, leaning closer to her but keeping his face forward. One of the Midgardian delegate's wives is seated directly across the table and can't stop staring at him, her appearance alternating between paralyzed fear and outright lust. "I only smile because of the secret knowledge I hold."
"Is that so?" Sigyn pushes her food around her plate with her fork, but doesn't look at him.
"Oh, yes. Knowledge for which any of our guests would pay a great price, and yet I would hold it close, even upon pain of death."
"I see," she says. "And as your wife, may I be privy to this secret knowledge?"
"Of course. It is merely this," he says, careful to keep his voice low," – that the face you put forward for them is but a façade, a carefully honed bit of trickery to rival even my own best work. And yet, the moment this intolerable dinner is over, I'm going to take you back to our chambers and fuck you senseless, until you're writhing and moaning beneath me like the wanton minx I know you truly are."
Sigyn has spent years schooling her features into an appearance of indifference at his deliberate provocations, but he hears the catch in her breath and glances at her in time to catch the slightest flush of her skin at the neckline of her dress - the telltale signs that she wants him as badly as he wants her.
Her mouth turns up ever so slightly at one corner. "Hmmm. And what if I want you beneath me?" she asks.
At this, Loki's smile widens. The delegate's wife squeaks, excusing herself and nearly bolting from the table.
The doors to their chambers have barely shut behind them when Loki magics away Sigyn's clothing.
"You'd better be able to bring that dress back in one piece," she laughs between kisses. "It's one of my favorites."
"I'll conjure a thousand dresses to replace it if I have to. But you know I prefer you like this." He lifts her up and carries her to the bed, practically throwing her onto its surface.
"Darling, I know you're eager, but be gentle with me."
"What if I don't want to be gentle?" he asks, his voice thick as he makes quick work of his own clothing. "What if I want to ravage you?"
He joins her on the bed and swallows any answer she might have given with his mouth on hers. He buries himself inside her without preamble, his skillful fingers finding every place on her skin that he knows drives her wild, and before long she is writhing and moaning beneath him, exactly as he knew she would be. He is nothing if not an expert at satisfying his wife.
He ensures they are both well pleased, and rests his forehead to hers, eyes closed and his body still trembling. "Beloved, you are magnif-"
"I'm pregnant."
He waits a beat before replying. "So quickly? I've only just -"
"Seven weeks. I'm seven weeks pregnant."
He raises his head from hers. "What? How?"
"Well, much like this," she says, squeezing her legs together as he rests between them, "but seven weeks ago." She is trying to make light of it, but she knows he is upset. She had hoped a post-coital conversation would soften the blow.
He stares at her long and hard, his mouth set in a thin line, before pulling himself from her body and flopping onto the bed beside her. After a moment, the heavy silence is more than she can stand.
"You're angry."
"It's no wonder you're such an excellent diplomat, darling. Your observational skills are unparalleled."
"There's no need to be an ass."
"We discussed this, Sigyn. At length, if memory serves. After…" He cannot bring himself to finish the thought, raising his hand to cover his eyes. "How?" he asks again.
"Any number of reasons, love," she says, sitting up. "We take precautions, but short of a more permanent solution, the only way to ensure this couldn't possibly happen would be abstinence. I don't think either one of us could live with that." She leans over him, moving his hand away from his face. "I choose to see this as a blessing."
"It's not much of a blessing when the danger is so great." The mirth and mischief in his eyes are gone, replaced with worry. Her stomach twists at the sight.
"The greater the risk, the greater the reward." It's a trite thing to say, but she can't think of anything better.
"I would sooner have Valhalla closed to me for eternity than risk losing you."
She stops herself from pointing out that it is likely already closed to him forever. "What would you have me do?" she asks instead. It is a rhetorical question, one she doesn't expect him to answer – but when has Loki ever done what she expects?
"Does anyone else know?"
"No, I wanted to be sure first – "
"Go to the healer first thing in the morning and terminate it."
She recoils from him in indignation. "You aren't seriously asking me to do that."
"I'm not asking."
"I can't do that. I won't."
He stares at the ceiling, unblinking.
"Please…talk to me, Loki."
"What is there to discuss? Your mind is already made up." He pushes her aside and rises from the bed, swiftly conjuring his clothing to his body and leaving the room without another word.
Sigyn does not try to follow him. He will return in his own time, as is his way, and she will wait patiently until he does. Loki is not one to be pushed, even by her. She lays back, her hand rubbing her belly anxiously.
It was fourteen years after the Siege of New York.
They were aware of the risks. They appreciated just how blessed Sigyn had been to carry Ari and Eiðr to term without complications for them or for her, given their mixed heritage. But Sigyn grew weary of being the lone female in a house full of men. She longed for a daughter, and so, they tried once more.
It took no time at all for her to conceive; Sigyn had proved herself to be quite fertile, and Loki's insatiable desire for her ensured there was no opportunity wasted. In this, her third pregnancy, it seemed they were to be doubly blessed; one of her early visits to the healer revealed twin heartbeats in her womb.
She agreed to scale back her diplomatic duties – against Loki's wishes that she cease them altogether and remain under his watchful eye until delivery – but she convinced him that some travel would still be required. In truth, though she would have never told Loki for fear he would misunderstand, she enjoyed the time away. He still hated to share her with anyone, and her duties were a welcome respite from his otherwise constant appropriation of her time.
One morning not quite halfway through the pregnancy, Loki rose early, leaving Sigyn to rest. She and Ambassador Bjornson had returned from a journey to Midgard only the day before, a full day sooner than expected. She had been unusually irritable, retiring to bed not long after her arrival home. It had been a stressful trip, one she refused to discuss with him, which generally meant he had been a topic of conversation. For such short-lived creatures, the Midgardians certainly had long memories.
He was nearly to the washroom before he felt the chill of something damp on his skin. Glancing down, he was stunned to see his left thigh covered in blood, still fresh and sticky. He wiped at it absentmindedly, certain he had no injuries, when his breath caught in his throat. He hurried back to the bed, pulling the sheets and furs back so forcefully it startled Sigyn awake.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes going wide when she followed his horrified stare to the crimson soaked bed beneath her body.
"Oh," was all she managed to say.
He fell onto the bed at once, summoning every incantation and spell he could think of to try to repair the damage – I can fix this, I need to fix this, please let me FIX THIS - before her calm voice finally broke through his keening whines.
"Loki, stop," she said, wiping the tears from his face while ignoring her own. "I need you fetch the healer. Can you do that for me? Please?"
He choked back a sob and nodded.
When he returned with her not even fifteen minutes later, the healer barely examined Sigyn before pulling Loki aside. "I will make her comfortable, Your Highness, but it would be best if you waited outside."
He stood firm, refusing to budge. "Absolutely not. How dare you even suggest-"
"Loki," said Sigyn, and though quiet, the steel in her voice was enough to give him pause. "Listen to her. Ari and Eiðr might need you."
Loki looked at her despairingly before allowing the healer to push him back into the corridor. His roar of frustration as the door clicked shut frightened a nearby housemaid badly enough to send her running for the king. Thor came at once, Sif at his side, both of them still dressed in their sleeping clothes and robes.
Loki insisted Sif sit with Sigyn; he would not have his wife suffer alone if he was to be kept from her himself. He then spent the next hour pacing the hall, completely inconsolable, alternately plotting the violent deaths of any Midgardian who had dared cause this to happen and blaming his jotun physiology for allowing the risk to her; Thor – the mightiest king Asgard had ever known – could only look on in helpless wonder. Sigyn cried out only once (whether from sorrow or pain or some awful combination of both, Loki couldn't tell) and were it not for Thor's strength holding him back and his own grief-induced weakness, Loki would have reduced the entirety of the corridor to rubble.
When the healer finally reappeared at the door, Loki shoved his way past her without a word, going straight to his wife and ignoring everyone else present. He took notice of two wrapped bundles lying near the healer's tools, both unbearably small, and chose to ignore them, too.
Sigyn was lying on the sofa in front of the fireplace, desolately staring into the flames. The bed had been stripped completely, the furs and sheets lying on the floor in a pile. Loki made a mental note to destroy everything before the day was out, bed included. He would have no reminder of this day in their chambers.
Kneeling beside the sofa, he gathered Sigyn gently into his arms, listening carefully as Thor talked to the healer.
"She returned from Midgard just yesterday. I must know…was this a deliberate act on their part?" asked the king, and Loki was grateful to hear the anger in his voice.
"No, Your Majesty," said the healer. "There's not always a simple explanation for these things. But rest assured, whatever the cause, I have no reason to believe this was anything other than a terrible coincidence."
Sigyn wept into Loki's chest. "I'm sorry," she said, again and again, a plea for absolution. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
He pulled her in tighter.
Sigyn does not see Loki again for two days.
He could be anywhere at all, though past experience tells her he's likely still on Asgard, brooding in one of his numerous secret sanctuaries. She knows of many of them, but she is positive he still keeps some hidden from everyone, including her.
The Midgardian delegation is concerned when he does not show up for their departure. They use a transportation vehicle – the seventh iteration of one designed by Stark Industries – to make their journey through the Bifröst easier, and when they reach the Observatory they make an obvious show of checking to be sure Loki isn't hiding in it somewhere. She almost hopes he is, as then she would at least be assured of his well-being…but of course there is no trace of him.
As much as she hates to admit it, Loki's absence does allow her to wrap up her work from the visit without interruption. Ari and Eiðr don't question her as to their father's whereabouts, and Sigyn is once again grateful that they never fear he will not return to them.
On her third night alone, hours after falling asleep, Sigyn awakens to her husband's arms around her. His voice is mournful in her ear.
"Forgive me. I'm just so frightened."
She spins in his embrace, burying her face into the open collar of his tunic. He smells of wind and fire and sweat and dirt, and she is drunk from it. "As am I. But we can manage together, don't you think? Won't it be worth it?"
He strokes her hair. "Beloved, you are always worth it."
Another year has come and gone.
Five months have passed since Sigyn was safely delivered of a daughter, Unna. Her name means "contentment", appropriate not only for her – for she is a very happy baby – but also for her parents. Loki insisted that Sigyn not travel at all during the pregnancy, and for once she offered no resistance to his demands. In reality, she was as fearful as he was, and they both shed countless tears of happiness and relief the day Unna was born.
Ari and Eiðr tolerate her presence, but are unimpressed with the uselessness of an infant. Yet when they think no one is looking, Sigyn has caught them watching over her as she sleeps, two young sentries prepared to fight anyone who dares to disturb the smallest of the family. They remind her too much of Edmund, and she makes a mental note to ensure Unna doesn't tolerate any overbearing behavior from them.
Loki is completely smitten with her. Given the chance, he would perfect a spell that could allow him to nurse her himself, but Sigyn won't permit it. She enjoys that part of motherhood too much to want to share; besides, it's nearly the only time Loki will allow Unna out of his arms. It will be a miracle if her feet ever touch the ground.
When she was five weeks old, Loki was holding her in his lap when something remarkable happened. She smiled up at her father for the first time…and her appearance – her soft brown hair, and her skin, a jotun blue that matched her brothers' perfectly – shifted to mirror Loki's paler Aesir form, right down to the green eyes and black hair. Sigyn's first instinct had been to accuse Loki of changing her.
"Why would you do that?" she'd asked angrily. "She's beautiful the way she is."
He'd looked up at her, his eyes wide. "I didn't do it. She did. Watch." He'd shifted then to his jotun form, and at once, Unna's appearance had reverted back. He'd laughed then, delighted that, at last, one of his children had inherited his aptitude for magic.
Sigyn is not quite as enthusiastic.
She knows that with Loki as a tutor, Unna will be the most troublesome of their children. She already dreads the inevitable day when he will set his most prized student upon the court of Asgard, to cause mischief and mayhem for her Uncle Thor, but for now Sigyn will revel in the calm beauty that is the baby at her breast.
"Is she finished?" asks Loki, hovering next to Sigyn as she nurses Unna in their bed. "She misses me. I can see it in her eyes."
"Her eyes are closed, love. Now shush," she says, waving him away. "She's nearly asleep, and I won't have you disturbing her."
He doesn't move, watching intently but remaining quiet. Unna's tiny body finally relaxes, and her mouth goes slack, a thin string of spittle still tethering her to her mother's breast. Loki reaches down and wipes it away, his finger lingering slightly longer than necessary on Sigyn's nipple before gently scooping his daughter up into his arms.
Sigyn reaches to cover herself, but Loki stops her with a look. "Leave it. I'll be right back." He carries Unna to the adjoining room, settling her in her crib before returning to Sigyn, who is waiting for him right where he left her. She reaches out to him, and he goes to her.
His Sigyn…his home.
A/N #2: I'm so very sorry for the last bit of angst in this chapter.
There are a few reasons I included the pregnancy loss - for one, it was a way for me to highlight that despite all the happiness Loki and Sigyn have achieved, there are still very real risks and heartaches that they face together. Emphasis on together. Also, this was my way to pay homage to their mythological children (who died very horrible, brutal deaths), while still allowing Loki and Sigyn, in this version, to have surviving children who grow up and have long, happy lives. These twins (boys, though it's never mentioned in the story) are absolutely meant to be Narvi and Vali.
This is in no way meant as any disrespect to those who currently and actively worship these deities - my characters are very clearly based on MCU-verse versions of these people...and in my opinion, the MCU versions of these Norse gods are as similar to the mythological versions as a domesticated chihuahua is to a direwolf.
Anyway - massive thanks to those who have followed/favorited/reviewed this story over the past 14+ months. As a balm for all the heartache, next Monday I will be posting a bonus chapter (kind of a post-credits scene) that is probably the sappiest, fluffiest thing I've ever written. :)