Sigyn's Discovery (Marvel Loki Fanfic) - Chapter 1: Where One Should Not Be

SIGYN

My foolhardy and curious nature couldn’t resist Queen Frigga’s open bedchamber.


Most servants had no business on the noble floor of Asgard’s palace and never trespassed here—for me, it was a force of habit. Keeping an old routine, I strolled past her room after my kitchen shift was over, too stubborn and lonely to develop new interests. Every time I checked before, it was firmly sealed with a strong lock and an ominous energy. Now it beckoned me through the crack with a wisp of fresh air and a promise of adventure.


Somehow I didn’t consider that I was the room’s second visitor. After two strides, I froze with fearful humility.


Frigga’s husband, Odin the Allfather, sat on the curved steps before her balcony. I’d never so much as made eye contact with him because he frightened me so much, but in that moment, he was subdued. His single angry eye focused on a blue iridescent gown in his hands, which he squeezed into fists and released as if they breathed with him. The eyepatch on his other side was much more comfortable to look at; it couldn’t stare through me the way I feared.


I paused at the edge of the round pool in the center of the room, keeping him on my right side and far away. If he ordered me to go, I could make a quick escape. If I’d had any real sense, I would’ve turned the second I saw him; yet I was never known for being silent and chose boldness over brains.


“Allfather...might I ask what troubles you?”


Odin simply flicked his eye back to the garment. His metal and leather armor gave me secondhand discomfort as I watched him—it had to be heavy, hot, suffocating. He was trapped by the very thing that supposedly protected his body. A small yet very visible prison.


I interpreted his silence as an invitation.


As I slowly sat on his right side, I adjusted the inner skirt beneath my gray servantry robe to keep it hidden. The found fabric was reserved for people much higher than my station, so remaining in his presence where it could potentially be seen was an unnecessary and reckless gamble. Yet another reason why I should’ve left him alone.


Odin sighed and stared straight ahead at the reflecting pool. Artwork on the vaulted ceiling—intricate planets and constellations I couldn’t put names to—echoed on the water below. Wind rustled the light curtains on either side of the balcony, though it never made even a single wave on the enchanted liquid. It was constant while the surroundings changed, much the same way the world continued to grow and evolve in the queen’s unchangeable absence.


I whispered, “You must miss her. We all do.”


Again he gave me no response. His ever-twitching expression said he held many unexpressed thoughts—about her, about me, about whatever else filled the mind of a man who had lived longer than I could fathom.


Uncomfortable with the stillness, my mouth ran away with me, volunteering information to fill the void. “I served Frigga for a time. Took over when my parents died—Valhalla, be with them. It might’ve been only a year, but she became like a mother to me.” My belly filled with warmth thinking of those days. “Dear Allfather, must you mourn alone?”


Evidently, my words weren’t the comfort I’d intended. Odin glared at me. Negative energy flowed off him, as did a marked rush of cold air. “What’s your name, child?” he asked, sending a shiver through my spine with his judgmental tone.


“Sigyn, daughter of Edda. I’ve worked in the palace all my life, as did my whole family.” I gulped, averting my gaze to the pool again and regretting how I addressed him so casually. The echo of our voices off the walls gave the room an eerie, open quality, as if it was Frigga’s ghost personified. Was I an unwelcome visitor despite my familiarity?


When he made no other comment, I attempted to recover by turning the attention back to him. “During your battles, she and I sat on these very steps. Her worry over you never ceased.”


He nodded, gifting me mercy in his response. “And all that time, I never thought I’d have to worry over her safety.” With that, he sighed and grasped the robe in his hands ever tighter.


I glanced over the whole room once more and stopped at the shrouded pedestal directly ahead. The black cover draped over it stood as proof that this, too, was a memorial. I knew the sinister shape underneath the sheet well; Frigga displayed it proudly when she was alive. Her son’s gold helmet was the last proof of Prince Loki’s forfeited status as heir to Asgard. The dual horns curved up and over in a symmetrical yet threatening show of height and power; even without an owner now, the helmet had a personality. She never spoke ill of Loki in all the time I spent with her, and I was oddly grateful that she did not live to hear of his true passing, as she already had to do so once when he’d been lost to his own pride and recklessness.


My boldness took over yet again. “Allfather...do you also mourn your son? For Loki?”


His head snapped toward me in the same manner as his voice. “Do not question things you know nothing about.”


My hands went up reflexively. “I’m sorry, I—”


“He was not my son, and you would be better served to know your place.”


I stood and stumbled, twisting to walk backward away from him. His stern admonishment dwarfed my own emotions on the matter.


“Forgive me, Allfather,” I said, trying to command my trembling hands to hold still as I curtseyed.


He yelled, “You do not belong here. Why did you come?”


I asked myself the same. What drew me in? What possessed me to ask the king about something so personal and, daresay, controversial?


His shouts made me jump. “Go. Go!”


Unable to mend or answer for the obvious wound in his heart, I left the king on the steps in Queen Frigga’s room, regardless of the nag in my mind that insisted his outburst was a cry for help as much as it was a demand to mind my own business.