Chapter Text
There was a strange girl in the Queen’s library.
She did not appear to be a threat by Loki’s estimation. Young – likely near his age, give or take a few decades. Small – so short that her legs dangled off the edge of the couch she sat upon. Noble – judging by the rich color and fine fabric of her dress, as well as the gold and jewels adorning her.
Besides, anyone who was a true threat would not look so terrified upon being discovered.
“Who are you?” he questioned, moving further into the chamber but purposefully leaving the door ajar in case he needed to call for the guards.
The girl jumped off the couch and lost her balance as she quickly moved to curtsy. Her hair – the brilliant golden color typical of Asgardian nobility – fell over her face like loosened curtains. She finally righted herself and wrangled her hair back into place, looking at him with wide, ruddy blue eyes. “Prince Loki, it is an honor to meet you.”
Definitely nobility. She had the refined speech and enunciation typical of formal instruction, and though it was clumsy, she had curtsied properly. Still, it did not explain why she was there or who she was, and Loki was losing what little patience he had left after a morning spent with Thor and his new foolish ‘friends.’ “I asked you a question. Who are you?”
“Oh! My apologies, my prince.” Another curtsy, this one far more graceful than the first. “I am Lady Sigyn Hreiðarsdóttir.”
A somewhat familiar name. Lord Hreiðarr was the patriarch of a minor, but still respectable, noble house — large holdings in the west and a good reputation for producing capable warriors through the male line. Hreiðarr himself had gained acclaim for his service in the Crimson Hawks, then as a respected voice at þings once he inherited his father’s title. More notably, there had been rampant gossip in recent years that his wife could have no more children, leaving his daughter as his only heir.
Still, she had no right to enter the royal family’s wing, much less the Queen’s private library.
Loki approached, squaring his shoulders and jutting his chin out slightly to make him appear more intimidating and regal. “Well, Lady Sigyn, why are you here? Are you not aware that these chambers are reserved for the royal family?”
Her eyes grew wide, but she did not retreat. “Yes, my prince. I – ”
“Do not fret, Loki,” his mother’s voice drifted in from the balcony, laughter buried within its gentle tones. “She is here by my invitation.”
Queen Frigga walked in, Odin Allfather and two unfamiliar adults trailing close behind. Loki’s father wore a dour expression that meant he had recently lost an argument with Mother, and the other man – Lord Hreiðarr, presumably, based on the emblem of the Crimson Hawks he wore and bright eyes that matched those of the girl, Sigyn – looked much the same. The woman behind him must be his wife, then. Loki did not know her name, but could see the resemblance to her daughter in her golden hair and soft features.
Norns, he hoped this was not a betrothal. He knew royal marriages were often arranged quite young, but he was still centuries away from being of age! Besides, should a Prince of Asgard not marry someone more important than Lady Sigyn Hreiðarrdottir? Not that the girl’s expression gave him much hope. No, she looked at her parents quite eagerly, obviously hoping for good news.
Hreiðarr’s wife smiled at her daughter, giving a slight nod.
“Really?” Sigyn asked, clapping her little hands as she waited for an answer. But her father gave her a pointed glare. As if she were one of his soldiers, she snapped to attention, standing straight and rigid, arms held firm at her sides.
Queen Frigga cast Hreiðarr a disapproving glance before moving to stand before the girl, a hand held out for her to take. “I am very excited to work with you, Lady Sigyn. You have great potential.”
Loki wasn’t sure whether she inclined her head in thanks or to hide her blush. Perhaps both. “Thank you, my queen. I am eager to learn.”
‘Learn?’ Learn what? Loki wanted to shout, to demand answers, but he dared not. Had it only been his mother present, he would. But not in front of two strangers, and most definitely not in front of his father. He was a prince, very possibly the heir to the throne, and he would behave as such. Even if his every instinct urged him otherwise and his seiðr pushed against his skin, begging for release. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back, trying to keep it from escaping his control.
He remained still as his mother turned to him, that knowing glint in her eyes. How could she always tell when he was hiding something? No one else could do so. She must be using her spá-craft somehow. That was the only explanation Loki could think of.
“Sigyn has displayed great ability with seiðr,” Frigga explained, “much like yourself.”
Loki glanced at the girl again. Her cheeks were still bright pink, her smile wide, and she kept rocking up onto her tiptoes. Not someone whom he, or likely anyone, would expect great power from. Even her own father looked dubious.
Was her skill with seiðr, however powerful it may or may not be, worthy of a royal match? It was doubtful. Many noble Asgardian girls had at least some ability and were trained in basic spinning and healing spells. Why not choose one of them with a more advantageous position? Or one from a realm more versed in magic? What made this girl special?
Frigga released the girl’s hand and pushed her gently forward. “Go on, dear. Show him your trick.”
Sigyn cupped her hands in front of her as if to hold water. Conjuring water was a fairly advanced spell; perhaps she was more skilled than she appeared. Loki opened his mouth to offer an appropriately polite remark, but then her eyes flashed golden-yellow. A wave of clear water surged across her hands, its edges sparkling with that same golden color. A tiny swan rode on the crest of the wave, its wings spread almost triumphantly. As the water settled, it paddled around her hand, the very picture of miniature grace. It even honked, though it was quiet and rather high-pitched.
An illusion – a rather impressive one, Loki had to admit. Of course, he had mastered such things years ago and could now cast images of a far greater size. Still, this Sigyn was far more interesting than he initially assumed. It did not mean he wished to marry her, of course. He did not wish to marry anyone.
“Loki?” Frigga’s brows were raised in expectation. “Have you anything to say to Lady Sigyn?”
The girl was looking at him with those ridiculously large eyes and biting her lip. She was just as eager for his reply as his mother was. Loki looked at the others. Sigyn’s mother was wringing her hands, her father looking on in poorly concealed distaste. Odin watched with interest, but it was obvious that his mind had begun to wander – likely to more important things than whatever this was.
“Well done,” Loki said. A perfectly acceptable response, surely. Complimentary, but not overly so. Giving her the praise she was due without encouraging a relationship of any kind.
It seemed to satisfy Sigyn, for she smiled. Her mother did, too. Hreiðarr only raised a brow.
Yet it did not satisfy Frigga. “I thought it an incredible feat for one with no formal training in the art of seiðr.” She spoke as if she were correcting him, so he nodded in agreement. That seemed to mollify her, if only slightly. “Which is why I have decided to take her on as a student.”
Loki did not know whether to be relieved that he was not meeting his future bride or angry that his mother would bring another into their lessons. Their time together was more precious to him than almost anything, the only time when he felt he could escape Thor’s ever-present shadow. He would not tolerate an intruder, even if her seiðr did spark his curiosity.
Her wanting lessons in seiðrcraft from Frigga was intriguing, as was his mother agreeing to the task. Most young ásynja who possessed a strong affinity were sent to the palace of Karnilla for tutelage or were trained only in common householdseiðr.
"Why?" he asked. It simply did not make sense. It was obvious her father did not approve — Loki could tell that Hreiðarr was barely containing himself from objecting. Odin himself did not approve of Loki studying seiðr, so why would he want him to have a companion?
Frigga's benevolent smile tightened. "I thought you would enjoy having someone to share your studies with, darling."
Ah, that was it. Sigyn was not here because of her talents, at least, not entirely. She was here because Frigga wanted Loki to have a friend.
He did not need a friend. He had told his mother as much every time she broached the subject. Thor had his friends, and Loki had no objection to that, but he required none of his own. Solitude suited him just fine.
"I would be honored to learn alongside you, my prince." Sigyn was still half-bouncing up and down on her toes, smiling so widely her cheeks had to have been aching from the effort. She did have great potential, if her illusion was any indication.
Loki supposed that she would prove a powerful ally, if needed. There was nothing obviously annoying about her, save for her inability to stay still, but he assumed that would vanish once she stopped being so nervous. Perhaps studying with her may not be so bad.
He held out a hand. "Would you like to see my trick?"
She froze on the tips of her toes. "Yes, please!"
"Sigyn!" The scolding bark was the first thing Lord Hreiðarr had said since he came off the balcony. His eyes, a paler, sharper blue than his daughter's, blazed.
"Sorry, Father," Sigyn ducked her head, but did not blush this time. Rather, she paled slightly. "Apologies, my prince."
Loki shook his head. "I took no offense." In truth, he hardly even noticed her slip in etiquette. "Watch, Lady Sigyn."
He waited until she had raised her eyes to him before letting his seiðr rush to his outstretched palm, crackling and warming just beneath his skin. When he released it, sending it sparking into the air in brilliant explosions of grass-green, sky-blue, and sunny-yellow, he watched Sigyn carefully. The lights reflected in her eyes, the colors on the gold of her hair, but brightest of all was her dazzled smile.
"Amazing," she whispered.
Yes, perhaps having her around would not be so bad at all. If the Norns were kind, it might even be fun.
Loki's only consolation as he stood on the steps leading up to Hliðskjálf was that the squabbling men before the throne were the penultimate petitioners, so he would not be forced to endure the mind-numbing pageantry and monotony of his father's court for much longer. After long hours of Odin ruling against Loki's advice on nearly every matter put before him, he no longer had the energy even to attend the evening feast. No, a quiet evening alone in his room with a good book was far preferable to an over-loud feast hall packed with people he could not stand — with the sole exception of his mother, of course.
Truly, why did he even bother attending meetings of the Allfather's council if Odin dismissed so much of what he said? It was maddening. No matter how well Loki had prepared, how sound his arguments, his father would brush him aside more often than not. Yet when Thor bothered to attend, his buffoonish words were always heeded and praised. Though Odin often was wise enough not to follow through on many of his eldest's suggestions.
Many, not all.
Today, it seemed, was to be one of the rare occasions where he did listen to Thor. Loki felt a headache forming the moment he saw Thor turn to their father with a broad, eager smile — the opposite of the usual bored expression he wore during court.
"This is what I was telling you about, Father," Thor whispered. Though a whisper from him was as loud as a normal man raising his voice to be heard over a crowd.
He could only be this enthusiastic about a handful of things: fighting, feasting, or some terrifying beast he discovered on his travels that he now wished to keep as a pet. As Loki knew of no festivals or feast days in the immediate future, and he heard no growling or horrified shrieks, it must be the first.
Indeed, a warrior was approaching Hliðskjálf. Tall and broad, he wore ceremonial armor emblazoned with the blood-red crest of the Crimson Hawks, an elite unit of Asgard's military favored as companions to Thor alongside his "Warriors Three" and the Lady Sif. The man had likely uncovered some threat, and Thor was now seeking the Allfather's approval to take on the quest, dragging Loki along with him.
It was not until the warrior stopped at the base of the dais that Loki noticed the two people following him, hidden by his gargantuan mass, as well as the young woman beside him who had been concealed by his shadow.
Loki would rather fight Surtur with his bare hands than remain in the throne room a single moment longer.
His stomach dropped, and his seiðr began roiling beneath his skin with such restlessness that it was an effort to stay still. He felt as though he could not breathe. Even his heart slowed as his body prepared to either fight or flee.
For there was only one reason why a warrior would petition the king with a noble lady by his side and her parents behind — he was asking for Odin's permission to marry. But it was not just any lady beside him.
This brute wanted to marry Sigyn.
It had been decades since Loki caught even a glimpse of her, nearly two centuries since he spoke to her, but he would know her had it been millennia. He knew that golden hair, the soft blush on her cheeks, and those ruddy blue eyes that so steadfastly avoided him.
Norns, she was beautiful. Had Loki not known better, he would have thought she was using seiðr to make herself so radiant. He did know better, however. Though it had been so long, he knew she did not touch her seiðr , not even for simple tasks. She had not since the last time she spoke to him.
Well, she had not spoken to him — she yelled. Her golden-yellow seiðr had rushed past him like a great wind as she shouted those final words, 'I hate you, Loki! With all my heart, I hate you!'
She had some right to be angry with him, he knew. He had tried to apologize countless times over the years, but she had never allowed him. Nevertheless, the guilt of it weighed on Loki like an uru chain.
Thor stepped forward. "Allfather, I present Theoric Ármóðarson of the Crimson Hawks. I stand with him as his friend and brother-in-arms, and his advocate for his petition."
"Well met, Theoric," Odin greeted with a subtle nod. He always greeted warriors with far more respect than the majority of them deserved. "For what reason do you petition the throne of Asgard?"
Theoric bowed his massive head, Sigyn and her parents following suit. It was utterly ridiculous, a powerful lord like Hreiðarr taking cues from a peasant for no reason other than his vulgar capacity for violence. Even his voice was beastly. "Allfather, I come before you today to humbly ask for your blessing and witness on my betrothal to Lady Sigyn Hreiðarsdóttir."
Loki had not realized he had opened his mouth and taken half a step forward to interrupt until Frigga's hand clasped painfully around his arm. Her eyes were full of warning, her smile tight. He could not understand why.
This Theoric's request was outrageous! Sigyn could not be married! She was not yet of age and would not be until —
Damn it all. Her name day had been months ago, three days after Midwinter. How had he forgotten? Despite her loathing, he still held the day in high regard and always sent her a gift, after all. But this year… this year Thor had convinced him not to.
'She always sends it back, unopened,' he had said, in what was an unusually intelligent argument for Thor. 'It only hurts you, in the end. Why do that to yourself, brother?'
Loki grimaced at the memory. He had done so for one hundred and ninety-one years because he was a fool who held on to juvenile hope that one year, she would open it. The gift would make her happy, and she would remember their friendship fondly. So fondly that when she started to write a note thanking him for his thoughtfulness, she would be overcome by regret for spurning him so cruelly and race to the palace to beg him to forgive her. He would, of course. He was always so tender-hearted when it came to Sigyn. Then they would begin again as if nothing had ever happened. That they had never been parted.
It would take more magic than existed in the Nine Realms to make that hope a reality. So this year, Loki had not sent the gift, instead storing it in the same pocket dimension where he stored the rest of them. And everything else that reminded him of her.
So she was of age, what did it matter? There were still countless reasons why she should not marry this troll of a man, surely. Though in the moment, with Sigyn nearer to him than she had been in so long, Loki was having trouble thinking of them. It did not help that his mother's nails dug deeper into his arm, either.
"Lady Sigyn is a fine woman," Odin mused. "We hold her dear to our hearts, my family and I."
Loki glared at his father, catching his lone eye for only a moment before he turned back to Sigyn. She had turned further away from him, toward her would-be husband. Was she ashamed? To finally be standing in front of him again, only for him to see her with the same kind of man they used to mock?
Theoric took her hand, smiling at her in a way that was more proud than fond. As if she were a prize he had earned. "The Norns have favored me, my king."
"Indeed." Odin was silent for a moment, adjusting his grip on his staff before facing Thor. "As you are his advocate, I ask you this: Is this man worthy of our fair Lady Sigyn?"
Ah, yes. Loki had been so shocked at seeing her again that he had forgotten it was his own brother who sponsored the union. How long had he known of it? Was that why he had told him not to give Sigyn her name-day present this year? Not out of concern for his heartbroken younger brother, but rather for the benefit of this fool. He would pay for that.
"He is," Thor answered. "I have been honored to fight by his side many times. Theoric is as fine a warrior as I have ever seen — brave, strong, and loyal. He will be a capable protector for Sigyn."
"A sound endorsement. Thank you, my son." Odin then turned to Sigyn's father, who had already stepped forward. "Lord Hreiðarr, what say you?"
Hreiðarr inclined his head in respect, but Loki still saw his triumphant grin. "I have known Theoric for many years now. It was I who recruited him as a Crimson Hawk. His loyalty to Asgard and his capabilities as a warrior have only raised my opinion of him. I happily grant my blessing upon him, for I would be proud to have him as my son."
Loki swallowed a scoff. Or perhaps a growl. A curse, maybe. Yet relief soothed his anger, for it was obvious this was no love match. No, this was Hreiðarr finally succeeding in getting the son and heir he always wanted. The ungrateful cur. He had a daughter as brilliant and talented as Sigyn, but all he wanted was a son with just enough intelligence to swing a sword.
"Thank you, Hreiðarr." Odin turned his staff once more as he looked at Sigyn. His ancient face softened, as it always had. "An endorsement from a prince and the permission of your father are all well and good, but, in the end, it is only your consent that truly matters, Sigyn."
She deserved better than this, being used as a pawn for her father's gain. She deserved — Loki would not think it. Whatever his own wishes, Sigyn deserved to be happy, and though she now smiled, he could tell it was insincere.
When Sigyn smiled, the world brightened. Her eyes narrowed, soft crinkles at their edges that Loki always tried to smooth away, to no avail. Her lips spread so wide that her cheeks raised, and at least a hint of her teeth showed.
Now, the skin around her wide eyes lay flat, her lips were pressed together, and the world was as it always was. Sigyn did not want this. But if her father asked it of her, she would obey. Loki had once hoped to break that particular habit of hers.
Odin hesitated. "Lady Sigyn, is it your wish to wed Theoric Ármóðarson?"
Say no, Loki silently begged. Forget your father, and say no.
Sigyn blinked, widening that false smile for a moment. "Yes, Allfather, it is."