Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I cannot believe they fell for that!" Odin roared, head thrown back in laughter. Beside him, his blood brother’s mouth quirked up in a smirk, his quiet chuckle somehow crystal clear over the Allfather’s racket.

"Yes, well, to be fair–" Loki began, only to interrupt himself with a choked-off wheeze. Faster than Odin could question him, he turned into a squirrel and promptly hid himself in Odin’s cloak.

The reasoning for his strange behavior was made clear but a moment later.

"Good evening, Sigyn," Odin greeted, the corner of his one good eye crinkling in amusement. "I hope the day has treated you well."

"And you, my lord," Sigyn returned, genuine but distracted. "Have you seen Laufeyson, by any chance?"

Odin considered telling the truth. A warning chitter in his ear made him decide against it.

"I'm afraid not," he shrugged. "Why do you seek him? Has he played some mischief against you?" Odin doubted it. Anyone else, perhaps, but not Sigyn.

"Oh, Norns, no." Sigyn shook her head. "I've just... My grandmother sent me a plant from Jotunnheim, and I was thinking he would perhaps like to see it. It is of frost, not fire, but I was hoping he'd enjoy it still."

The quivering bundle of fur in his cloak stilled.

"I’ll tell him of it next I see him," Odin promised.

"He seems to be avoiding me of late," Sigyn whispered. Her face and tone were mild, as they always were, but it was the closest to heartbroken he'd ever seen her.

"He is a wild thing, always coming and going. I’m sure he means no offense against you," Odin comforted, a hint of threat that only Loki would pick up on slipping into his tone. He was rather fond of the young woman. "Certainly he’ll be back soon, full of tales to share with you and overjoyed at your new plant."

"Perhaps," Sigyn agreed, though she didn’t quite sound like she believed it. "I shall not take any more of your time, Allfather, as I have duties to attend. Good day."

"And you, lass," Odin nodded, watching her walk off. As soon as she was out of sight, the squirrel leaped out of his cloak, landing crouched on a branch as the halfling he knew so well. Odin raised a judging eyebrow at him.

"That young lady is just about in tears from you, you know."

"I am well aware, thank you," Loki growled, head in his hands. "I– she– how?!" He demanded, fearlessly looking the Allfather straight in the eye, his face more open than he'd dare let it be around anyone else. "How could she possibly miss me? The entire point of avoiding her was to save her reputation from being tainted by my own, and now she seeks to ruin that by asking after me? Why would she..."

He trailed off, looking into the distance.

"She likes you, you know," Odin said softly.

"I am well aware, thank you," Loki repeated, this time lacking any bite. "A plant from Jotunnheim... I bet it’s a Crystalleaf bloom — it’s the only plant from the colder parts of the giants’ realm really worth sending. I haven’t seen one of them in years." He sighed, wistful at the memory of the glowing flowers he’d once loved digging through the snow to find as a child.

"If you hurry, you can still catch up with her."

"I will bring her nothing but mischief and misery," Loki argued. "The others will turn on her the moment they discover her... fondness for me."

"You are not leaving her to pine after you," Odin said sternly. "If you wish to cut ties with her, you will tell her to her face."

Loki looked more miserable than Odin had ever seen him. "I can’t do that. I... Not to her. I can’t. Don’t make me... No. Not to her."

"Then go look at her flower," Odin ordered. "And tell her some story that will make her laugh."

Loki looked at him, something hopeful flickering in his gaze. "I could do that. Surely I could... I can be her friend for a while, let her realize her mistake and cut ties with me herself. The others will pity her at worst — perhaps even respect her for it."

"Or she might stay friends with you."

Loki scoffed.

"Thor likes you," Odin reminded him.

"Thor likes everyone," Loki said disdainfully. Anyone else speaking of his son with that tone would quickly earn Odin’s wrath, but he alone could hear the fondness beneath the Silvertongue’s scorn.

"Sleipnir likes you," he tried.

"He’s my son," Loki retorted flatly.

"I like you," Odin declared, putting his hand over the other’s arm.

"You’re a fool," Loki snapped, reaching up a hand to place over Odin’s, holding rather than pushing away. He paused. "Why me? Of all the Gods, why would she take an interest in me?"

"Why did you take an interest in her?" Odin replied with a shrug. To him, the answers to both questions seemed rather obvious.

Loki took a deep breath. "Fine," he exhaled, hopping off the branch. By the time he landed gracefully on the ground, his appearance was that of a familiar golden-haired woman. "But she better be okay with me being Sif while we’re in public."

"Thor won’t like that," Odin chuckled.

"Thor doesn’t like anything," Loki-Sif dismissed airily, sauntering away in the direction Sigyn had gone, the perfect picture of a noblewoman off to find her friend. "Good day, Allfather."

"And you, my dear," Odin sighed, shaking his head. "Why must the young always be so foolish in matters of the heart?" he asked no one in particular.

Far above, Huginn and Muninn answered him with screeches that none but he could understand.

Odin flushed red, though he grinned up at them. "To be fair, I was quite young when I was courting Frigg. And I was not near so shy about it."

The ravens merely cackled in response.

Chapter Text

"Woohoo!" Loki cackles, balancing on a thin piece of wood, gaining speed as he slides down the steep slope of ice.

Holding onto him tightly, Sigyn screams, breathless and terrified and awed all at once. Neither of them bears the milky-white skin of the Æsir at the moment; the biting cold of the frozen half of Jotunnheim clings to her like a shroud, yet is chased away by his inner fire. Blue and red, they catapult down the mountain, faster and faster and—

"Ready?" he yells over his shoulder, his amused voice torn quickly away by the wind.

Unable to answer over said wind, she presses her face to his back and nods quickly. He tenses very briefly at the extra contact, recovering quickly.

They're twenty feet from the cliff. He grabs her hands, tight around his waist, and spins her around so she's in front of him.

"Be not afraid, my dear," he whispers into her ear, grinning. "This is going to be fun."

Ten feet.

Two feet.

As their makeshift sled crashes into the canyon below, Loki explodes in red and green light, reforming into the largest bird he can manage. Sigyn screams, but he does not let her fall, his talons gripping her arms gently yet firmly.

He cannot truly carry her far, but he can glide safely across the open air, both of them collapsing into the snow on the other side of the canyon.

A shimmer of light, and he is back in the form he usually claims as his own, albeit still glowing in an attempt to keep himself warm. Breathless with effort, he turns to Sigyn, briefly worried he truly scared her.

The maiden is shaking with barely restrained laughter, her form icy but her voice warm, her fluffy coat askew and dress rumpled. She looks very little like a proper noblewoman — more like a mischievous child who can't stop herself from following the boys up trees, no matter how many times her mother scolds her about keeping her clothes clean.

Norns, Loki loves her.

"Did you enjoy it, my dear?" Loki asks. It's an unnecessary question, her joy is plain to see, but he can't help his desire to hear her praise spoken aloud.

"That was incredible!" she says finally, once she has gotten herself under enough control to speak. She looks at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Can we do it again?"

Loki is not used to having passengers any larger than a child when he plays this game. Even his largest flying form is not really all that big, and carrying her has quite tired him out.

But he is certain he will not drop her if they do it a second time, so he merely smiles and replies, "Of course, my dear, I'd love to."

Her squeal of happiness — so different from the muted smiles she normally shows the world — is well worth the effort.

Chapter Text

1) Laughter

When Loki first met Sigyn, he did not think much of her. She was a seemingly plain woman, mild in both demeanor and voice, just as dull as anyone else.

Then he heard her laugh, as mild as she and yet bearing a resemblance to music. It had bubbled forth, quiet and hidden behind a hand, in response to a trick that the rest of the Æsir hadn't thought so funny.

He was perched on the feasting table, flinging jests and dodging various forms of retribution from the angered Gods. He came to a baffled halt, turning to the one who found amusement in his insults. Unfortunately, this distraction left him open to being hit by a goblet of mead (most likely thrown by Thor, the oaf, though Loki couldn't be sure).

Sigyn's laughter rang out all the louder.

2) Theft

Sigyn screeched as water shot up from her vanity drawer. Though more lightly damp than truly soaked, she was furious. Howling laughter echoed from outside her house.

Loki spluttered as a cup of water was poured onto his head, his laughter quieted but not silenced as he looked up into the quietly rageful face of Sigyn. "Did you like my trick?" he asked, though he knew the answer was no.

"The comb that was in that drawer is my favorite, Laufeyson," she snapped — or as close to it as she ever got, her voice still infuriatingly cold. What did it take to make this woman really react? "If you've broken it..."

"Oh, of course not, my lady." He grinned, handing her the silver comb without fuss. "What do you take me for? I am a mere prankster, not so cruel as to be careless with the property of such a lovely thing as yourself."

He wasn't entirely sure where she got the second cup of water. Hours later, the memory of the indignant, shocked look on his face brought her nearly to tears with laughter.

3) Magic

No one can take a joke nowadays, Loki thought grumpily, running as fast as his feet could carry him. At least three Æsir were chasing him — perhaps five, depending on how far that last bucket of paint had managed to splatter.

Normally, he wouldn't be too frightened, but Odin and Thor had both been away on a diplomatic trip for some time. Without their protection, Loki would more likely than not be beaten within an inch of his life if caught.

"You look like a dwarven boar has found your scent." Sigyn, who was sewing by the side of the path, chuckled upon seeing him.

Against his better judgment, Loki paused in his escape; the chance to speak with Sigyn outweighed his fear of pain, though he wasn't entirely sure when that had become true. "One might as well have, my lady, for all the danger I've found myself in." He smiled at her, panting heavily from his run. Oh well, it wasn't like he'd be able to go on much longer anyway — though if he started fleeing again quickly, at least she wouldn't see his comeuppance.

(Her laugh always brings him joy, but he'd rather not hear it while dealing with the others' fists.)

Before he could run off again, Sigyn grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward a nearby tree. He let her guide him, a little saddened but not truly surprised at the idea that she would try to restrain him for the others, yet unwilling to risk hurting her with a struggle.

Sigyn picked up the cloth she was sewing, whispering something over it. A design resembling the world tree appeared on it, making Loki gasp. That was magic, unmistakably magic. Since when could she..?

"Be still and silent, Laufeyson," Sigyn whispered, throwing the cloth over his head. He obeyed, interested in where this would go.

He listened as the warriors approached, greeting Sigyn and asking if she had seen him — which was preposterous, of course, as the cloth didn't come close to fully hiding him. A camouflage spell was the only half-reasonable answer he could think of, as impossible as such a thing seemed.

Sigyn pointed them the wrong direction, as calm and pleasant as ever.

When the sound of their boot steps was far in the distance, Loki pulled the cloth off, staring at the mild woman — the mild sorceress?

"They weren't chasing me on a whim, you know," he told her quietly, not entirely sure why, lacking something better to say. Well, perhaps a thank-you was warranted, actually... "They were seeking revenge for quite the piece of mischief."

"Sit and tell me about it," Sigyn hummed, taking back her cloth and resuming her sewing. "I am sure it will make the most amusing of tales."

"Well, if it's tales you like..." Loki smiled, sitting and talking and grinning at each laugh he drew from her.

He didn't ask about her magic. She didn't tell him. She probably would if he did, he knew — but where would be the fun in that?

4) Teaching (To Be Written)

He saves her with lies, and rather than shun him, she demands to be taught.

5) Healing

He wasn't hurt that badly, really. At least not severely enough to suffer Odin's teasing or Thor's bungling attempts at patching up his wounds, and certainly not bad enough to risk the chance that the healers were still hung up over his last trick.

So he smiled through it and excused himself early from the feast celebrating the successful battle, ignoring Odin's knowing gaze. If he didn't want Loki to lie to him about his injuries, he shouldn't laugh at him over them. Not that he ever meant anything cruel by it, and he always healed them quickly, but still.

As soon as he was sure no one could see him, Loki stopped bothering to hide his limp, his arm curling against his chest in an attempt to lessen the pain. He considered how far his house was, and thought of changing into something more suited for travel. But he doubted he could fly in this state and his horse form had very little tolerance for limb pain, and he'd never been good at bears, so his Æsir-adjacent form would have to do.

He dragged himself up the path. One of Odin's ravens — he didn't particularly care which — followed him carefully.

"Go away," he snarled at her, his voice carrying birdsong wrapped around his words.

"Sigyn is not at the feast," the raven told him in the language of her kind. "She is still home." After imparting these words for reasons he didn't bother picking apart, she honored his request — rude as it has been — and flew away.

Loki paused. Sigyn's house was closer than his own. Far closer. His leg burned, the bone in his arm felt as if it were splintering worse with each jostling step, and his chest burned with a feeling he could not name.

He told himself it was a matter of convenience, even as his shoulders sagged in relief upon reaching her door. He knocked with his good arm, leaning against the doorframe and smiling when the door swung open.

"Laufeyson?" she gasped. "What happened?"

"Nothing to worry about, my dear," he assured her, regretting his choice to disturb her. "Merely a minor battle. I noticed your absence from the victory feast and thought I would regale you with a tale or two of my bravery." He lied smoothly, trying to force his body into a less pained-looking position.

Not fooled for a moment, for she never was, she gently pulled him inside. "I think I have a healing charm or two already charged. Sit down and let me see your wounds. Whyever didn't you go to the healers?"

"I have healed from far worse on my own," he rolled his eyes, struggling out of his outer layers to expose the injured areas. "Really, you needn't—"

"Oh shush, you paranoid man," she said sternly, running a rune-covered stone over his arm and leg. Instantly, he began to feel better, though not due entirely to the magic. "Just because you don't trust healers doesn't mean you should suffer like this! What was your plan, really? To—"

As she continued to rant, Loki blinked, considering her words. A part of him supposed he should be surprised she'd figured out his distrust of healers, but he was too used to her keen eye to really feel more than fond exasperation. What did surprise him was the realization that not once had he applied the same distrust to her.

Sitting shirtless and injured at her table, her face scrunched in annoyance as she scolded him and ran a magical artifact he knew nothing about over his body, he felt nothing but a sense of complete safety. More so than he felt even with his beloved blood brother.

Well, that was... new.

+) Trust

"Do you trust me?" he asked the question cheekily, unable to help himself even as the battlefield exploded around them. Perhaps it was not the best idea to poke fun when they had such limited time, he thought, but too late now.

She grabbed his outstretched hand, in the same moment smiling and saying, "Of course. Always." She said it easily, sincerely, with not the slightest hesitation nor jest.

Loki studied her posture, traced her face with his gaze, finally looked deep into her eyes — he could not find even the tiniest amount of uncertainty or deception.

How could she say such a thing, much less mean it? His own parents, brothers, child would not trust him so fully without tremendous cause. Odin and Thor were the closest of those he might call friends, besides Sigyn herself, the ones who knew him best — and they were perhaps the ones who trusted him least.

He had never taken her for a fool, but how else did you describe one who so blindly declared trust in the God Of Lies? He could bring about her ruin with but a few words, without any blame reaching back to him, if he so wished. Not that he ever would, of course; he would destroy any that dared to harm her.

Loki's eyes widened, the gape that had developed at Sigyn's answer growing larger, understanding dawning within him. An explosion far too close to them snapped him back to reality, and he pulled Sigyn through the battlefield, taking usually dangerous paths he knew would be safe only because he had manipulated them to be so.

Sigyn didn't ask him how he knew where to go, nor if the route was safe, nor even where they were going. She let him pull her along, helped in his plan without understanding, trusting him to protect her. A trust that was well-founded, as protecting her was precisely his goal.

Loki wasn't quite sure when it happened, but he had become a loyal, honest man — entirely worthy of such trust.

In the distance, Thor yelled in outrage, most certainly having discovered the little... additions Loki had made to his armor.

Okay, trustworthy as far as precisely one person was concerned, anyways.