Sigyn's Discovery (Marvel Loki Fanfic) - Chapter 2: Cold Child, Saving Grace

SIGYN

The stars burned through the deep blanket of night and peeked between the tall buildings of Asgard’s city—while I couldn’t see many, their guardian-like presence comforted me. Since my run-in with Odin earlier in the evening, I’d returned to the kitchens for a late shift to keep myself busy and only walked the palace halls again when I couldn’t sleep. After all, who could sleep if they anticipated swift consequences by the king for invading his privacy? My heart raced, though I was still. Moving about kept my mind off it.

As they always were in times of peace, the upper floors were largely deserted. The yawning palace chilled as I closed in on the judgment hall. Large bowls of flame flashed dancing shadows across the marble walls and pillars which interrupted the otherwise wide open space. They were old friends, the torches, always lively and changing—their waves and warmth beckoned me now as they did when I was a small child. I often thanked them in those days for helping me pass the time when Mother and Father worked tirelessly and needed me out of the way.


When I became old enough to carry secrets, fire listened when no one else would. It did so without casting judgment or making false promises—indeed, the torches were only responsible for bringing me a singed skirt.


That, and a curious young boy.


How long ago had it been since we met? I was merely six or seven, too young to be of any help and too old to be left in a nursery. Mother let me run through the palace’s upper floors while she arranged a banquet in the great hall. Father assisted the soldiers back then and worked in the armory.


They both had one rule—don’t fraternize with the nobility. Even then, I knew my place.


Instead of friends, I played alone by sliding on the cold stone floors in my thick stockings. My favorite blue dress was unkempt at best, but what good is a garment if it’s never worn? Mother stamped false stars upon the fabric using sliced apples, mimicking the shape of their seeds and giving me a sense of the sky whilst on the ground. As I whizzed down the halls on slippery feet, I became a shooting star myself.


But one false move and I tumbled into one of the torch bowls, toppling the pedestal with an unpleasant clang. Only my anxious heartbeat championed its volume, and I was certain I would be punished for making a mess. Yet after a few minutes, no one came to my aid or to investigate the sound, and the still-roaring bowl ahead was too close to resist.


I crawled toward it, careful not to put weight on my now-complaining leg from slamming into the stone so hard. Danger was a satisfying diversion. The blaze itself crackled and popped with embers that flew into the air like insects—directionless and fascinating. My youthful mind was easily entertained.


Easily distracted, too, as a bit of hot ash found my stockings without my realizing it. I yelped when the heat bit my flesh—it gnawed up my leg until the edge of my skirt caught as well.


At the back of my irrational mind, I wasn’t afraid for my life as much as I was punishment for ruining my dress. My hands slapped furiously against the flames to try and snuff them out. Though I screeched in pain and called for help, the empty halls surrounding me grew ever taller and more isolated. Seconds lingered like hours. The nauseating smell of smoke choked my ability to cry out more, and I coughed without fully catching my breath.


Every frantic gasp made my body tingle more and more. Impending shock. Despite the bright torch bowl still burning nearby, my vision became hazy and dark. With all the might left in me, I screamed for help a final time and prayed someone would hear me.


The boy sprinted toward me from the other side of a marble pillar. His black and gold armor clanked as he moved, though it didn’t appear to slow him down despite the fact he nearly drowned within it. Without hesitation, he knelt at my side and extended his hands over my dress.


There were no incantations. No special words or rituals. From his very fingertips, a rush of cold air swept the flames away even more quickly than they had kindled.


Did the skin of his hands change color for a moment? I wasn’t certain if it was a trick of the light or not and was too afraid to ask questions. The fire was out, but my skin erupted in small blisters. An injury was a new problem for my family to contend with.


The boy met my eyes and placed his index finger before his lips, signaling for me to remain calm. He repeated the action with his hands, this time over my entire leg, relieving me of the lingering burn. Beneath the scorched fabric—which he could not restore—my skin was normal again, not even slightly pink in comparison to what hadn’t been touched. The leg I hit against the stone ached a bit, but nothing more.


When he was finished, the boy grinned with all his very straight teeth and kicked his head back to move a few strands of black hair from his eyes. Every one of his movements was well-calculated and smooth. He was older than me, but not by much, only enough to reach double digits in age. His emerald gaze—complete with a ring of gold in the center of each eye—betrayed a playful spirit beneath his formal attire.


“What’s your name?” he asked. His soft, kind voice was nothing like his boisterous brother’s. Thor yelled often while running through the palace and made his presence known to all. But not this one. I’d never heard him speak before.


“S-Sigyn,” I whispered, embarrassed and all too aware that this was precisely what I was ordered by my parents not to do.


He glanced at my legs again. “You’ve got to be careful with fire, Sigyn. I won’t always be around to put you out.”


I nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”


“I am Loki,” he said, meeting my eyes with an expectant stare.


I bowed my head to get away. “Thank you, Loki.”


With that, he bolted through the hall the way he came, leaving me on the stone with the toppled torchlight. Mercifully, I had time to develop a lie for the status of my clothes; the truth would’ve made things worse.


Once or twice while growing up, Loki caught my eye—how could he not? We aged together, never too far apart. My secret admiration made his milestones worth witnessing; I stood at the back of the great hall with Mother and stared with awe when he was presented with his green cape and horned helmet for the first time. The skinny young boy was now a man, regal and ready for his own adventures. A fine specimen and worthy of his destiny.


Yet Loki’s victory banquets paled in comparison his brother’s lavish parties. Rumors brewed throughout Asgard that the two of them feuded over who would ascend to Odin’s position. Some nasty gossip suggested Loki wasn’t Asgardian at all. I argued against it—after all, he proved he was capable of benevolence, and I owed him my life. The least I could grant him in return was my allegiance, regardless of his shortcomings.


My dreams to thank the prince for his favor were little more than childish fantasies, dashed when news of Loki’s death reached my ears. That day, I placed flowers at Frigga’s chamber door, certain if she had been alive, she would’ve requested mourning tributes. They were quickly lost in the pile of tokens left for Frigga, whose death was still fresh as well.


I didn’t resent my permanent status as a servant; it was inevitable. But I did dread the wrath of lonely King Odin, who no doubt saw me as nothing more than a pawn in his palace.


My late walk on the noble floor successfully fatigued me—so much, I stumbled on the second skirt under my gray robe and hunched beside the wall to fix it. As if asking Odin about Loki wasn’t enough of an overstep, the color alone of the private sheet I wore was terribly suspicious. The startling green matched Loki’s signature shade and was rare among nobles, let alone servants. The fabric was warm and moved well, not thick enough to be more obvious than any matching underskirt I’d been issued, but instead of buttoning the side as I would a proper garment, a round, silver brooch served me well enough to keep it in place. As long as I didn’t trip on it, anyway.


While returning to my room, I passed Frigga’s chamber again. Before finding Odin on the steps inside, I intended to leave a token at her door since I’d dreamed about her recently—Mother taught me to honor those who appeared in my dreams as they took the time to visit from Valhalla. With nothing to offer but myself, I bowed my head and said a quiet prayer for her to find peace. When finished, I pushed the door slightly, halfway out of tiredness and half in curiosity to see if it had been latched.


The towering door gave way with my pressure, opening enough to tuck my foot in. Instantly my heart galloped. I gulped and pressed again, only enough to slip inside fully before closing it behind me. Surely the guard in the hall mindlessly picking his fingernails didn’t notice where I’d gone.


I deflated my lungs and closed my eyes for a moment, now wrapped in the blanket of solitude that was Frigga’s chamber. The reflecting pool before me showed the same haunting reverse image from the ceiling, and I went to the balcony to compare the stars painted above with what really peered down on the city from the sky. Light glowed from below like a false sunrise. A banquet in the great hall was still underway, and the delectable scent of roasted vegetables and boar would’ve made anyone’s mouth water. The steps where Odin sat earlier were empty as ever and a good enough spot to kneel for a proper tribute prayer, so I positioned myself to say my piece and leave.


Before I could settle on my knees, a low voice startled me. I wasn’t alone. Someone moved in the queen’s private quarters behind the reflecting pool. While no torches were lit and the space was pitch black, I was exposed on the balcony and rushed to hide by Loki’s shrouded altar.


Whoever was here, they didn’t acknowledge me. Their rambling tone reminded me of Father’s final days, when he talked in circles to nothing and no one. The voice struck a familiar nerve in my belly. The longer I hid, the more my eyes adjusted to the darkness.


“How could they have let it happen? How could I have let it happen?” he said, pausing to sniff loudly. The man paced in long strides before me, coming out to the reflecting pool and back into Frigga’s private room. “Why would they leave me there to...to rot when you needed my help? I could’ve done it.” His voice cracked as he repeated, “I could’ve done it.”


Odin. His words didn’t make sense and...he wasn’t limping as he would normally. He lurched forward like a stalking cat, still clutching the blue gown from earlier, using it to wipe his eyes.


Oh, no. I frowned to see him in such a state. Could I have avoided this if I’d told someone he was here, suffering? Should I let him know he isn’t alone?


“I did this.” Odin stood still with his back to me and faced the ceiling. His quiet sobs broke my resolve to watch him, and I averted my gaze.


“Forgive me.” He choked in a few breaths and released his grief with a final exasperation. “Please forgive me, Mother.”


The air in my lungs was stolen and blood pumped loudly in my ears. I turned to watch him once more, prayerful that this admission would have a simple explanation.


But the man before me shined—a flash of green around his countenance peeled back around his face and to his feet. Odin’s graphite and black armor revealed a black leather ensemble which hugged a slender male form. Green and gold details stood out. His voice changed as well, from raspy and quiet to deep and choked with pain. He continued to beg as if Frigga herself would arrive to grant him absolution.


Even with his face turned from me, his cascade of black hair was all too familiar.


I couldn’t stifle my own gasp and gave my position away. His eyes found me—in the dark, they were black. Dangerous. Frightening. My feet raced against my pulse and I knocked over the helmet’s pedestal in my panic, adding chaos and clamor to the precious seconds I had to escape. The door locked before me with a snap, no doubt one of his spells, and I was trapped in Frigga’s chamber with a killer. A monster. A traitor.


My savior?


Without protection, I stood between Loki and the exit, witnessing his true and broken form as I fell to the floor.

Loki's Golden Helmet