**Author's Note**

FYI: I do know how to spell "hell" properly in English. (omg XD) I chose to have these characters say "Hel" instead as a shortened term for "Helheim".

Chapter 3: Are We Blood Brothers?

Blood boiling in his veins as he stormed into his chambers, Loki twisted his wrist and the enchanted black doors slammed behind him. He'd barely touched his food at dinner thanks to that aggravatingly gorgeous woman. What had he been thinking when he'd requested that his mother seat Sigyn next to him? He certainly hadn't been using his head when he made that decision.

His nearly empty stomach growled as he grabbed a kelly green apple from an aged brass bowl atop the black wrought iron sofa table and bit into it, his jaws sending a loud crack through the dark room. He grimaced at the tart taste and threw the rest of the fruit across the room with such force that it smashed the mirror it collided with. At the sound of shattering glass, the large sleeping black wolf that was sprawled across the fireplace rug lifted his huge head to glare at his master. Loki glared back, lips pressed into a thin line, jaws clenched.

"Sorry, Fenrir," he mumbled, the words so low that even the beast, with his superior ears, leaned closer to hear the apology, cocking his head to the side and blinking at him, as though asking what happened?

Loki squatted next to him and hung his head. If there was anyone he felt he could speak to, completely uninhibited, it was the great wolf, who understood and empathized, wordless though he was. The fact that he couldn't spill Loki's secrets didn't hurt either. Even Frigga, in all her gentle motherly love and leadership, had proven to be an unworthy confidante at times.

Nothing more than a boy, Loki was playing tag with Thor and his friends in the palace halls. Concerning himself with not getting tagged, he found his way to the servants' wing. Atop a plain wooden table sat a beautiful bouquet of flowers. They smelled as sweet as they looked. Reds, oranges, purples created a fiery sunset blooming. Stealing them for his mother, he quickly ran in the direction of the queen's chambers.

Thor charging around the corner, of course, caught him. "I thought we were playing tag? And here you are collecting flowers like a girl! You're it now, little girl!" Thor laughed and made to run away but Loki grabbed him by his sleeve, and when it ripped, the older brother turned red with anger.

"I didn't mean to, Thor!" Loki cried as the blond boy punched him hard in his gut causing him to drop the flowers and double over in pain. Thor was powerfully built even as a child, and Loki bore the brunt of his, mostly, playful violence.

"What are you doing with these stupid stems anyway?" Thor reached a hand to Loki and helped him to his feet, regretting his actions at the sight of his little brother's skinny frame hunched over.

Loki smiled proudly as he swiped the buds back up and held his stomach, wincing slightly. "They're for Mother. I found them, and she will love them."

"She won't want them if you stole them." Thor sniffed at a blossom and scrunched his nose. "They stink."

"They do not! And she won't know where they came from anyway." Loki turned and skipped in the direction of the queen's chambers with Thor hot on his heels.

"I'm going to tell her that you took them." With that, Thor grabbed the bouquet and ran to their mother's rooms.

When Loki caught up to his brother, Thor was already handing the flowers to Frigga. "He stole them! I saw him!"

Frigga looked at Loki, a disappointed expression spreading across her elegant features, as he held his head low. He only wanted to give her something pretty. Who cared where it had come from? What did servants need them for anyway? In his mind, he did nothing truly wrong. His mother dismissed Thor and called Loki to sit with her, discussing the usual 'don't take what isn't yours' and 'the ends don't justify the means' lectures that he'd been given before.

"Do you not like them at all, Mother? I thought you would because they are so pretty...like you." Loki's eyes glistened, waiting for her response, hoping for some semblance of affirmation, of appreciation.

"I do, my love." Frigga hugged him, and he left feeling whole, complete, loved.

When he received the same lecture, albeit in a far more stern manner, from Odin at the night meal, Loki looked at Frigga. She kept her eyes on her husband, and Loki fought back tears.

Loki stopped the memory dead in its tracks. It had been, perhaps, a silly thing to feel betrayed over, but it was just one of countless others he kept pushed at the back of his mind. He loved his mother, and she loved him, even if she'd shared some things with Odin that he wished she hadn't. Frigga wasn't perfect, but she was still the anchor in his constantly storming sea every time he was reminded of his strained relationship with, well, everyone.

His unseeing gaze wandered from the flames to the ceiling, mouthing why as he shook his head. He'd hoped that Sigyn would be a new confidante, a true companion. He rolled his eyes. Obviously he'd wanted her in his bed, too. Looking around his room, he chewed his lip. He also wanted her on his desk. And on that chaise lounge. And up against that wall. And that one. That one, too.

Damn. It.

The line between his brows deepened as he scratched the back of his neck. It seemed he'd lost those options already. Fenrir laid his heavy head on Loki's leather clad thighs.

How had he let this night go to Hel? Sigyn's once wanton thoughts had become anger-filled within the span of a few seconds. Why had he been so arrogant? Just how fragile was his ego? All because the green dress wasn't for him. Really? What was it he'd said to her, in all his idiocy?

You're no match for me.

What an incredible lie. She absolutely was his match, and he could not lose her. For gods' sake, Sigyn was a sorceress, and a dark one at that. He didn't just want her, he needed her. His mother's voice sounded in his head.

"There's a young Vanir woman arriving today, Loki, and I think you will like her very much."

He snorted, unamused. Hadn't that been the understatement of the century. Was it possible that she didn't want him as much as her thoughts had originally suggested? He shook his head. No, he was certain she wanted him. Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes. Did he really care how she felt? With the way he was responding to this situation, clearly all that mattered was that he still wanted her, desperately so. Hel, he was already losing his mind over her, and he'd only known she even existed for about five hours!

Loki stroked Fenrir's head before pulling himself to his feet. The glowing green flames in the fireplace mocked him with their dancing, and he snuffed them out with another flick of his wrist. His usually comforting dark chambers were suddenly stifling as an odd sense of claustrophobia settled over him. Sigyn had had a magnetic effect on him, an effect which he'd not been prepared to handle. Never in his nine hundred years had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. Removing his black topcoat and armored breastplate, leaving only his black and green leather tunic, he left to lose himself in the only place no one would bother him.

So much for no one bothering him. He'd not had fifteen minutes to himself before he heard the familiar heavy footfalls of his brother.

"Loki?" Thor used his best version of a library voice. Not that there was anyone else within the hall to scold him. "Brother, please? I barely saw you in the dining hall. Father spoke of politics at me the entire meal, and when he finally released me, I saw my brother storming out early."

Sadness enveloped his tone, and Loki could not continue in his favorite hiding spot among the rafters. Thor's pain was his pain, and he would not endure it willingly. He suffered enough on his own.

"I'm up here, Thor." He spoke from his makeshift seat atop the cherry plank, his long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, his back leaning on the vaulted ceiling.

He closed the book he'd pulled from the shelf. Midgardian poetry was oddly beautiful despite his lack of respect for the humans. It had been foolish though to read such romantic words in his current despairing mood. Closing his eyes, he recited a passage from memory.

"I have known the arms already, known them all—

Arms that are braceleted and white and bare

(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)

Is it perfume from a dress

That makes me so digress?"

Sigyn's face (and that gorgeous not for his benefit dress) came to mind. He desperately wanted to feel her arms and be close enough to smell her neck. He had been so close at dinner. Then he went and screwed it up. Reading this romantic shit was definitely not helping his mood.

"Doing a little light reading for the evening, I see," Thor said with a small smile, his voice softening further as he stared up at the musing black haired prince.

Loki shot a glare at him. "I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas."

Perhaps he truly would have been better off if he'd been born as a lobster. Hanging his head, he sighed. Thor climbed gracefully, impressive for his size, up to Loki's perch and hurled himself over the rafter, and straddling the thin plank, boots hanging off the edge, he swung his legs slightly as he peered at his dark brother.

Loki stared daggers. "Don't ask."

Thor put his hands up as though admitting defeat. "I wasn't going to."

Leaning his head back, Loki sighed heavily. "That woman."

It was all he could manage as he pulled his hand down his face. Sigyn had rendered him speechless. It baffled him. No one rendered him speechless.

Thor threw his hands up and hung his head. "Now that Vanir girl is on the receiving end of your scorn as well? You just met her, Loki."

Turning his head sharply, Loki snapped, "I know that!" Balancing the book on his thighs, Loki looked sideways and crossed his arms, .

Thor played with the fabric of his cloak, pulling at an imaginary thread. He worried for his younger brother. Loki needed to get a hold of his over the top emotions if he were to be Thor's highest adviser when the throne passed to him. After all, how could he rule Asgard without Loki at his side? He was cunning and far superior to Thor in his intellect. Even if he could find a way to bring and sustain peace within the realms without Loki's diplomatic skills, it wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to do this alone. His love for the man brooding across from him was enough to break him. Thor would die for his brother, not a second's consideration needed.

Loki slid the book just inside the waistband of his breeches and jumped down with ease, feet landing squarely beneath him. Thor's boots thudded softly on the floor behind him. Walking in circles around one of the many fire pits in the hall, Loki groaned.

"She is not ... behaving as I'd hoped. Well," he ran a hand down his face, "she had been."

That horrible display with Fandral, of all people. Gods, she'd all but stuck a knife in him and twisted the blade within the wound when she'd walked off with that vapid blond cretin. He rolled his eyes. This was ridiculous. What sort of god of mischief didn't like a sharp tongue? A clever retort? What the Hel was wrong with him? Maybe Loki had been pursued so often himself that he'd forgotten how to pursue. Or maybe he so often shielded his heart that he'd forgotten he had one. Tonight Sigyn had proved that it still beat within his chest. He was not the cat, and she was definitely not the mouse.

Sighing, Thor ran a hand through his blond locks. "What did you expect her to do? Should she have just crawled into your lap on the spot? I know you asked mother to place the girl next to you."

Thor put his hand on his brother's shoulder only to have it shrugged off, his jaw clenching at the hostility rolling off of Loki. It mattered not who or what had upset his brother. Thor was always on the receiving end of Loki's wrath. Perhaps it was because, as brothers, they had no need for pretense between them, thus giving their emotions free rein because of that same blood that flowed through their veins. However, that shared blood slithered black through Loki. Something was off within him that Thor never could pin down, and he sometimes thought they were not brothers at all.

Loki's voice dripped with sarcasm as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, did Mother tell you, then? Or did the mighty Thor seek out the seating chart himself? She can't keep anything from you."

He had to rid himself of this incessant unworthy feeling. It was killing him. He'd felt it throughout his childhood. Odin had given Thor preference in everything. He had the better tutors, the more skilled trainers, the bigger horse, the benefit of the doubt even when the golden prince hadn't deserved it, the shorter lectures…the fucking hammer. Teeth clenched and eyes pinched together at the thought of Mjölnir, his Seiðr rushed out of his extremities in a glowing green light, and he kicked powerfully at a plush reading lounge, its heavy brass frame flying into a nearby bookshelf. Beautiful leather bound pages scattered across the floor along with the feathers that had been encased in the now shredded fabric of the seat.

Thor's voice cracked imperceptibly. "Mother adores you, Loki, and you know it. Remember that Midgardian bard? She used to recite his sonnets to us at bedtime. 'Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.' She taught you that, and you'd do well to remember it." Loki's despair was his Achilles's heel. Keeping his wits about him became damn near impossible when his little brother behaved so hopelessly.

Exasperated, Loki rubbed both hands down his face. "Why must you always come after me in the manner of a shepherd on the trail of his lost little lamb? Just leave me be, Thor!" Loki bent, removing the shining silver dagger that he kept faithfully sheathed in his right boot, and slammed it point down onto the closest cherry wood reading table, one of hundreds scattered throughout the hall.

Lips in a thin line, Thor crossed his arms. "I can't imagine that the Lady Sigyn did anything so horrific to deserve this kind of response."

Steadying himself in preparation for the coming onslaught of piss and hate, Thor squatted low, barely escaping the body bending pain of his brother's magic, as the green light shot out from Loki's hand. Thor pulled Mjölnir from his belt, and seeing the hammer, Loki closed his eyes and sheathed his knife. Returning to his full height, Loki swallowed back the frustrated growl that wanted to escape from his throat. Why was he letting her get to his head like this?

"You've no idea what took place in that hall."

Thor hung the hammer once more on his belt and rubbed his eyes, exasperated. "She toys with you, Loki." His baby brother was exhausting him with his sarcasm and bitterness, and for all his intelligence, Loki was being impossibly dense. "Can you not see that? You will lose her, that is, if you haven't lost her already." He didn't wait for Loki's to respond, only sparing him one last look of concern before turning away from the seething glare etched into his brother's features and exited the library silently.

Loki climbed back to his rafter perch. Sighing, his shoulders slumped, and he pulled the book from his waistband. It was a relief no one was there to see his pathetic display of emotion. He would have been humiliated. Remembering the words on the page, having put them to memory long ago, his lids fell shut as he whispered them to himself.

"I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Til human voices wake us, and we drown."

Thor paced in his chambers. His attempt to comfort or understand Loki had failed, once again, miserably. Anger was brewing within him steadily, starting at the middle of his chest and moving outward in all directions. Needing to let out the aggression, he grabbed his crimson cloak and stabbing his arm forward, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of Mjölnir, flew off the balcony and landed at the farthest end of the training arena.

The moons were mere slivers of light but Thor could still make out the shape of something straight, thin, and black zipping through the air on the other end of the arena. The thing, which as his eyes adjusted to the dark, was an arrow (was that smoke trailing behind it?) embedding itself into one of many practice dummies the warriors used for archery practice. Within the span of five seconds, ten more followed, each splitting the previous one in two.

Amazed and in awe of such skill, he turned his gaze to the small shadowy figure wielding a longbow, that was clearly not of Asgardian make. Eyes widened in shock, he ducked at the sudden change in posture of the small dark warrior, and with an audible whoosh, an arrow slammed into a pole only three inches in diameter of the fence that formed the boundaries between the four separate fields right at his back. The wood splintered just as his chest would have if he'd remained standing. He resumed his posture cautiously as the figure grew closer, running directly at him.

Who else would be out here at this either very late or very early hour? He had no time to guess as the figure came clearly into his vision and stopped short. Storm cloud green eyes bore into him as she lowered the lithe and gracefully curved longbow so that it hung to her side, brushing against the dark green silk of her skirt.

Sigyn.

She wore no cloak, no coat, no outer protection from the icy wind that whipped about them. Her dress swished about her, and her long black hair spun around her face as a gust blew across the expansive field. Seeing her now, in all her wild, dark, dangerous beauty, he could see why Loki had been so deeply affected by her, even within such a short period of time. He'd never known his brother to have a type, but if Thor could have imagined Loki's dream girl, it would have been this woman. The dark clouds above seemed to descend upon them as they glared at each other, and a soft layer of snow formed on the dead grass under their feet. Thor broke the silence that overwhelmed the ten feet separating them, a deep chasm that he had no intention of falling into.

"Why are you here?"

Deep frown clouding her lovely features, she shrugged. "I've always found violence to be the best remedy for sleeplessness." She turned her gaze to the hammer in his fist and back up to his face. "I think perhaps you believe the same."

A genuine smile broke across his face, and he held up a finger. "Violence that doesn't hurt anyone," he clarified, to which she shrugged and nodded. "I think perhaps our sleeplessness stems from the same root," he added.

The black smoke that had first shown in the throne room, formed at the hem of her dress, and she once again fisted her hands. Thor gave her an empathetic half smile. Loki had hurt her. Badly. What had that idiot brother of his said to the poor girl?

"Whatever he said," Thor whispered, daring a step forward as she stood still, eyes not leaving his, "I promise you, Lady Sigyn, he did not mean it."

She merely shook her head, still staring at him, but not seeing him. Her eyes glazed over as a pair of emerald eyes set in a sharply carved pale face framed with the blackest hair flashed across her vision. The angry tears on her cheeks froze as the temperature dropped further, and her face crumpled shamefully.

"I want to hate him," she said and ran a thumb under her eye then offered him a watery half-hearted smile. "But I can't."

Thor's heart broke in mutual understanding, and he crossed the distance between them in two steps, wrapping his strong arms around her. She started at the sudden physical contact, but he did not release her. The dislike she'd had for the golden prince from the moment he'd hurled that insult at her in the throne room faded somewhat under his kind embrace.

Thor stepped back to look her in the eyes. "It's as exhausting as it is impossible to hate him. Believe me. I know that better than anyone."

Loki awoke on his library perch. He had fallen asleep with his head bent to the side, resting on his shoulder, and it had left a terrible pain in his neck. Rubbing the ache, he stood from the rafter. It was still dark out, and the torches in the room had been snuffed out, he guessed by palace servants, while he'd been asleep. The moons cast a silvery glow through the arch window, and he crossed the wooden plank to admire them. The moons had a way of reminding him how small he was in this universe, and thus how small his problems were, which was incredibly comforting when he was overwhelmed. And if ever he'd been overwhelmed, it was now. The library stood at one end of the palace and faced west. There was little to see from the window other than the training arena which was currently unoccupied and covered in a new layer of snow.

Wait...

Cocking his head to the side, he jumped to the window ledge and squinted his eyes for a better look. At least, at this hour, it should have been unoccupied. The dim light from the hazy moons fell, showing very clearly, a tall broad figure with a blond head and a hammer swinging at its side, but the figure was not alone.

No. No. No.

Loki had to be hallucinating. He wished he was hallucinating.

Walking next to him, shoulders covered with his brothers red cape, was a woman with long black hair. Heart sinking, angry tears building, Loki's stomach churned as he watched the scene in horror. The blond man was draping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. Pulling Sigyn close.

Jaw clenched, Loki's eyes blew wide. What was this? Had not an hour passed since that blond man walking across the field below had been in the library, seemingly so concerned for the happiness of his younger brother? And now Thor was taking the one thing that Loki wanted and claiming her for himself? Loki went numb. He wanted to look away but apparently he was a masochist, and he continued to stare in shock at what appeared to be a love scene playing out before his eyes. He didn't want to actually destroy anything, not really, but his magic had a mind of its own, swarming around him, bathing him in the eerie neon green light of his powerful Seiðr, and sharp deep cracks wove a jagged web across the plate glass window, twenty feet wide and twice as tall at the tip of the arch, before exploding violently, heavy shards of the glass crashing loudly in the garden below. The pair in the arena heard the sound (who wouldn't have?) and parted, staring at the empty space where the window had been.

Loki watched as Thor shook his head and finished the trek across the arena in solitude. The other figure removed the red cloak and stilled herself, facing him, her moon lit eyes meeting his as the wind whipped his hair about his face. Unable to hold her gaze any longer, he turned away, jumping back to his rafter and down into the dark hall where his magic had left nothing but broken fragments of furniture and pages of books hurled in all directions across the massive space, all the while hearing her quietly crying his name into the frozen wind.

Frigid Playlist:

3. "Line of Sight" ODESZA ft. WYNNE & Mansionair

**Author's Note**

I think it goes without saying that I did not write the poems that Loki quoted. T.S. Eliot "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" and William Shakespeare "Sonnet 116"