#Sigyn: hm. continue talking.

[worstloki]

Loki unable to secure a marriage because of unworkable socialisation and awkward ulterior motives 🤝 Sigyn unable to secure a marriage because people keep slipping up and snitching on themselves

[mythologyfolklore]

Baldr in Hel - Ch. 04

Baldr's POV

.

At the end of the day – or rather, daily routine – Baldr and Nanna were bafflingly peaceful and consonant. Baffling for him, that is. After millennia of distance and icy silence between them, this took some getting used to.

He hadn't pinned Nanna to be so … genuinely funny. Not that he minded, of course.

“… and then Sigyn chased him all across Asgard with a pitchfork!”, she finished her latest tale.

Baldr chuckled: “Yes, that's a very Sigyn thing to do.”

He had always found his starry-haired older sister hard to deal with, most people had. Sigyn's abrasive and explosive demeanour was just repelling.

“I still have a few questions, though”, he told Nanna.

She considered, before agreeing to answer what she could.

“How did you and Sigyn become friends in the first place?”

Nanna laughed: “Well, I was curious about what's behind her bitchy exterior and she was the only goddess noticing that you and I were unhappy. We talked and before I knew it, we were best friends.”

Baldr had no idea why it made perfect sense to him, that Nanna would bond with a spitfire like Sigyn. They were opposites, while having just the right things in common with one another.

But before he could further ponder his ex-wife's friendship with his sister, he remembered something else. Something that had bugged him, ever since they had got here.

“Uhm, Nanna?”

She perked up at his tentative tone. “Hm?”

“If it's not too much to ask … why are you dead too? You caught up to me right when I got to the bridge to Helheimr, which means you died no later than a day after me. What happened?”

Suddenly her carefree expression vanished and she averted her gaze.

“You know, you don't have to answer, if you don't want to-”

“I killed myself.”

Cue his jaw dropping. “What?!”

“I killed myself”, Nanna repeated. “When I heard that you were dead, my first plan was to mourn you appropriately and then move on.”

“Makes sense so far.”

“But then I heard the other goddesses talk about me behind my back. Skadi had seen me look at Hermóðr for two seconds too long and then told the others about it. And with how envious the goddesses were of me, she found open ears. I heard her accuse me of being a gold-digger and a faithless bitch behind my back. Not the first time she said that either. She has been so infatuated with you this entire time, but you married me instead, so she hated me, like, you have no idea. Anyway, Sif brushed it off and pointed out how lovey-dovey you and I always looked and that I would likely die of heartbreak, once it sunk in, that you were dead. That was the moment, when I realised, that I would never be free to marry the man I love and just move on. You would always haunt me.”

Baldr felt his heart shatter.

Nanna swallowed what was clearly a lump in her throat and continued: “So I dressed my best, wrote goodbye letters to my loved ones and chugged a vial of poison. It kicked in, when you were carried to the pyre. The last thing I remember is collapsing and hearing someone say that I died of grief, before everything turned black, so at least that plan worked. Then I was burned with you, I guess, because next thing I knew, there was fog everywhere and I could hear the far-off voice of the gatekeeper talking to you. And, well, that's about it.”

“Nanna …”

“Don't get me wrong, I wasn't relieved or even happy, that you were dead. It wasn't like I hated you or anything like that. Actually, once I got over the shock and confusion, I felt … nothing. My own husband freaking died and I felt nothing!”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

“It made me spiral into a panic attack. Luckily Sigyn was there to reassure me. She said it's not uncommon, that people don't immediately feel anything after losing someone. That was a relief. I thought I was a monster for not feeling anything, but apparently that's a normal thing, so …”

Baldr chose his next words carefully.

“Nanna, you're not a monster. You and I hardly were close and even if we had been, you wouldn't have had enough time for everything to sink in to the point of grief. It was only a few hours between my sudden death and your suicide. I have seen people who lost someone dear and needed years to, you know, actually feel something. I think that's a defence mechanism. It's not weird that you had no immediate emotional response other than shock.”

She sighed: “Yeah … I know that now. And maybe I overreacted and didn't think things through, but everything just hurt so much.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Lighter than ever in life.” Her face grew sombre again. “I just regret having to leave our son and my friends behind.”

Baldr nodded sadly. “Same here.”

.

“By the way, remember when I questioned how you found out about me and Hermóðr and you didn't answer?”

“Huh. Now that you mention it …”

“So how did you find out?”

Baldr gave her an underwhelmed look. “Well, you should have chosen a more discreet spot than your husband's backyard to make out with your brother-in-law.”

“Oh … right.”

“Yeah.”

[aworldbreaker]

“this is more COMMON than you THINK.”

are you a good witch or a bad witch? what do you see when your close your eyes and is it still there when you open them? are you hounded by calls from the future or is the future stalked by your fervent searching texts?

well, which is it, boy?

it doesn’t matter, is what she really means to say. you can see it coming and going a thousand different ways and you’ll run from some and run to others but where you end up is never quite certain.

“knowing things isn’t always an art of certainty. i saw my life coming from so many miles away. i still tripped when it arrived. you will never, ever be ready.”

David had been clean for seven years now --- off of the VAPOR, anyways. Alcohol and bud were still an occasional vice, but for recreation as opposed to NECESSITY. And while smoking was somewhat enough to give him some reprieve, it wasn’t always enough.

Hence the HOOKAH BAR. It was just tobacco and flavoring, but the sensation was familiar enough. The smoke tickling the insides of his cheeks as they puffed full. The way that blue-gray cloud ( ‘ Its always so blue. ‘ ) billowed from between his lips --- David blowing rings of various sizes like the fucking Caterpillar.

Not vapor, but the next best thing. Especially when liquor was involved.

He wasn’t really sure how the conversation got started, but boy it got real deep REAL quick. She was just one of those people, that SIGYN. Had that aura about her. Made it easy to talk about those sleepy little thoughts in the back of his mind.

     “ So I guess...there’s no point in running away, huh?        Just gotta face it head on. Hm... that sucks.

       --- Seems like you got back up just fine, though.             That gives me some hope. “

...continued from HERE. ll @pekkt

[hyperesthesias]

Loki x Sigyn

Love Never Dies | Part XVI

Rating: G

Words: 3.664

Summary: Thor approaches Loki about his suspicions of his behaviour -- but can Loki keep Sigyn from him for long?

Notes: for some reason, tumblr isn’t showing my last chapter, so you can find it here. also i love the bro-angst in this one ok, enjoy!

Thor watched his brother retreat to his suite: straightening his clothes, smoothing his chest, running a hand through his hair, as he took in a deep breath, before he vanished near soundlessly behind the door. Loki had always been a well-groomed creature, good mannered when he wanted to be, choosing to ignore such pleasantries when it suited his boredom, but to see him so careful when there was no one present to impress struck Thor as only mildly odd -- for surely, Loki meant not to impress him; such would be nonsense. Thus, Thor lingered for only a few beats, thinking of his brother’s seeming increasing oddity from the conversation which had just ended between them, to the change in his mannerisms; and how he had been used to seeing Loki prepare himself to enter his own suite in such a way when Sigyn was with him, waiting patiently on the other side. It had been the topic of a brief conversation between them at one point: Thor asking why he always made certain his clothes were even, his cape well adjusted, his duster straight and fitted against him, while his hair without a strand out of place before he went in to greet her, to which Thor had never forgotten Loki’s response: ‘If you love someone, you always want to present your best to them.’ He’d always regarded them as wise words from an arguably unwise man. Then again, Loki was the one who had married happily before him, so he wasn’t entirely sure what that bode about himself.

Nonetheless, Thor decided to follow his brother’s advice -- to his own shock and surprise -- and before he knocked on Jane’s door, ensured his tunic was not wrinkled, and that his hair wasn’t more of a mess than it usually was, but more of an ‘organised mess’ as Loki liked to say. And once he finished primping, he knocked a little lighter on the door than he was used to -- heeding Jane’s request not to ‘scare the daylights out of her’ with his heavy hand. But he knew how to be gentle when needed, and listened quietly for when she bid him inside.

And when she had, he opened the door to greet her with a smile, raising the book to show her as he closed the door behind him. “I found one!” he said victoriously, joining her by her side, where he sat on the edge of the bed, opening the book on his lap, suddenly realising he was mimicking his father when he’d asked him to read him something before sleep. A wide grin parted his lips as he flipped through the pages. “I asked my father to read me a story of our victory every night,” he chuckled upon remembering, letting the pages fall to a particular story that had been well-read.

“Did he?” Jane craned her neck over his arm to see the writing and illustrations, glancing up at him with a glimmering curiosity.

He shrugged. “Only when I begged hard enough,” he simpered. “Father was a busy man -- he had a Kingdom to rule. Not much time for bedtime stories,” a saddened dip in his voice, as he thumbed through the story. “But Mother was more indulging, we saw her more often.”

Jane felt a familiar pity she hadn’t realised was there when he finished -- she hadn’t been able to see her own father very often because of his work. Nothing like ruling a Kingdom, but there was a part of her that felt some relation. She didn’t get many bedtime stories, either, with no mother to substitute in her father’s place, but when she did, she always insisted it be one of the NASA children’s collection books he’d gotten her for her sixth birthday. One of them was a pop-up -- that one was her favourite. 

She hadn’t realised her own grin had widened greatly, until Thor had turned to her to inspect her curiously and happily. 

“What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing, nothing it’s just -- everything’s so different here, but...so much the same,” she answered with a wistful breath. “Although, I can’t say I ever had a bedtime story book about battles.”

“Victories,” he corrected with a playful finger outstretched. 

“Victories, right,” she repeated with a chuckle.

“Loki did not care much for this book, though -- or many night time stories. He preferred the quiet,” he scoffed with amusement, more to himself, as he reminisced, eyes skimming over the words, remembering them in his father’s tones -- before he abruptly realised Jane had gone unusally quiet. She was, to be fair, a rather quiet person, though only so talkative when she was either nervous, or thinking far too fast than her tongue could carry her words. He bent his neck down to see her face, as she’d turned it away and barely looked at him. “Jane?” he beckoned. “Have I done something?” his immediate reaction.

“Hm? What? No! No, not at all. You haven’t done anything -- you never do anything -- I mean, what I mean is, you’re...” she trailed off, realising her habitual tongue had left her mind without her guidance and she shook her head as she tried to stuff it back in her mouth. “You’re fine.”

He narrowed his eyes only slightly as he closed the book and set it beside him on the bed. “Is this about Loki?” making the other most obvious connection -- she’d only begun to squirm when his name was mentioned.

She drew a sharp breath, raising her head to him, but refusing to settle her eyes directly on him. “Loki? No, I don’t...know anything about Loki.” 

“I thought Mother said he had been your escort these past weeks while I was gone,” he furrowed his brow, now fully suspicious of both Loki and Jane.

“Well, I mean...he was.”

“What did he do to you?” he started, his tone drying to darkness, already thinking of ways to make his brother pay for whatever it was.

“‘Do’? Why -- What -- Why does he always have to be ‘doing’ something?” she scoffed, throwing up her hands. 

“Did he hurt you -- was he coarse towards you?” he demanded again, this time more to find out what she was hiding -- unable to make sense of her sudden defence of him. 

“No -- no,” she shook her head. “He was...a lot nicer than I expected him to be. He really wasn’t too bad, all things considered.”

This did not console Thor -- not in the way he wanted. Glad as he may have been to hear Loki had not harmed the woman he loved, the void of suspicion only grew, leaving more and more room for possibility. “Then...what happened? While I was away?” he asked, his voice more uncertain now, not as steady as he would have liked, neither were his thoughts.

“I can’t...I can’t tell you...” she confessed quietly, in all but a whisper, her head bowed as she stared at her fingers resting on her lap. “But he didn’t do anything, okay?” she looked up at him, her voice -- while not very strong -- more firm this time, hoping to allay whatever fears were within him. 

But this was not enough. Thor said it was, if only by nodding in acceptance, and taking another piece of Loki’s advice that came into his mind as he saw tumultuous Jane sitting beside him: ‘If you do not know what to do when a woman is upset, keep your mouth shut, and embrace her.’

Thor’s arm wrapped around her, and he pulled her close to his side without saying any thing -- something had happened, something not meant for open light, and while he intended to find out, he wished not to press her further at the moment. Only embrace her, to allay her as well.

But he had every intent on getting it out of Loki. 

And if all ended relatively well, to ask him for any more advice.

Loki entered his suite, setting aside the ire his brother had riled in him, and the worry that wished to entice his mind, and instead felt a breath of sweet air when he neared his wife, still resting in their bed. Gently, he parted the curtain to see her, hoping he hadn’t woken her when he saw her turn towards him.

“Hello, my love,” her quiet voice called to him through the silence.

“Hello, my darling,” he whispered, and parted the curtain just enough to sit beside her. “Were you sleeping?” he asked, placing a hand near hers.

“No,” she rasped, struggling to sit up, “I find...as ironic as it may be, that I cannot sleep,” she strained a chuckle.

He helped lift her to sit up fully, and he covered her legs with the blankets. “I am sorry, my love,” he mourned. “Perhaps there is a tea I could make you before bed,” he mused, eyes mindlessly wandering away from her.

It did not go unnoticed by her, and she placed her fingers atop his, caressing his nail beds, tracing each shape with delicacy and knowing. “I’ve no need for tinctures,” she assured him. “Only your arm around me.” 

His attentions were brought back to her, while the worry did not leave his stony features, a smile was etched among them as he took a deep breath and ventured to lie beside her, along the small edge of the bed. “Then my arm you shall have,” he said at last, placing his head along the crook of her shoulder, and his hand round the shape of her waist. 

Sigyn looked down at her husband’s figure resting against her own and took a deep breath, with it, feeling everything was at last right: perhaps not that all was well, or that all was perfect, but whatever she had been missing, and whatever he had pined for in her absence, that gap was filled as they fit against each other -- as though they were made precisely for each other. In quietness, she continued to stroke his hair, combing her nails gently along his scalp -- knowing he was unlike her, that his hair could not feel, but she always accommodated for such differences between them, never shunning him for his foreign mannerisms, neither the colour of his true skin. In such contrasts, she found beauty -- she always had, whether in her husband, or in her people: asymmetry was a gift, an accentuation of the balance of life, and she revelled in the notions of things unlike her. Yet, she had no want to be any different than she was, her love was not lust of others’ selves, but unadulterated admiration. In this, she found she was very different from those around her, herself, and it was rare that others shared or admired her gift. But for all his chaos, Loki saw this part of her and relished it; and she believed it was only because of his chaos he was able to cherish her gifts, and sometimes share them -- whether he wanted to admit it, or not. She knew him even better than himself at times.

And while he rested there, along her shoulder, his eyes closed, his breathing nudging against her ribs, his locks of blackened hair falling through her fingers -- she thought on how lucky she was to love and have a mate who loved her just as dearly. 

But her gazing upon him was cut short by the sound of heavy knocking at the door, and Loki started fearfully awake from his brief dozing. 

She quieted his fears, placing a kiss on his brow as he groaned with dread and suspicion -- which only garnered a small smile from her. “You should get that,” she whispered into his skin.

He had half the mind to pout and ignore it completely, until he heard his brother’s voice on the other side:

“Loki, I must speak with you.”

“You know he will not relent,” she continued, ceasing her fingers’ motion as she looked at him.

He only let a louder groan, and turned on his back. “Very well,” he replied without moving a further muscle, and willfully created an illusion of himself to answer the suite’s door.

Sigyn could hear the conversation in the distance, beyond the bed curtains, though their view was obscured and their voices muffled:

She heard a pause from Thor as Loki’s illusion answered the door, and she presumed that familiar face of suspect on his features as he craned his neck to see inside Loki’s suite -- ever distrusting of his brother. “What are you doing in the dark?” Thor asked, both somewhat surprised, somewhat worried.

“I thought I made it clear I was not well,” Loki answered, “I much prefer to rest.”

“You can rest after we speak,” Thor demanded. 

She heard a sigh both from Loki’s illusion and Loki lying beside her, and she could not help a quiet grin. 

“Then speak! -- and make it fast,” Loki insisted, but did not let his brother past the threshold of his doorway.

She heard another pause from the older, as he presumably thought on how to continue. “What did you do to Jane?” he began without further hesitation, for there was no question in his mind Loki was responsible for some event in her life, for which he would answer.

A scoff from the illusion and he grumbled slightly. “I did nothing to the girl,” he replied, honestly. “And if she has said anything to accuse me, I resent it.”

“That is what worries me: she refuses to speak at all of what happened while she was left with you,” he growled, his voice becoming lower as a footsteps passed them by in the hall.

“And you immediately think I had some hand in harming her,” Loki’s indignation palpable, even from behind the curtain.

“I immediately think of your reputation of deceit and violence,” there was a brief pause between them before Thor continued with a mild scuffle: “I wish to enter.”

“I refuse it,” Loki persisted, and Sigyn could hear him bolster the door with the strength of his arm as the scuffle intensified:

“I do not wish to discuss this so publicly --”

“And I do not wish you to enter my presence.”

“What have you to hide?”

“Much that I will not share with you --”

“Brother, let me pass --” Thor presumably tried to push Loki aside to enter, but Sigyn could hear the distinct sound of Loki’s magic vanishing upon the touch of another, and Thor was left alone at the doorway.

Another quiet breath of dismay from Loki beside her, and he glanced to her in the dark, to which she returned the sight with a nod as she let him go.

“Brother, where are you?” a disheartened voice called from beyond the curtain, uncertain whether Loki was even there, nonetheless, he stayed, glancing around his suite, waiting for him to appear, if he would.

Loki swung his legs over the side of the bed, as he opened the curtain just enough for his lithe frame to slither through without revealing the bed’s precious cargo behind it. “I told you I was not well,” his voice rang as he approached his brother by the sofa. 

A brief silence between them as Thor read his brother carefully: “What happened with Jane?” he said once more.

“If something happened to your little beloved, I knew nothing of it,” he bit back.

“Then what is it you hide? I will not ask again,” the other threatened.

Sigyn felt her heart sink within her, for she hated to hear them this way; there had been a brief time during which they were cordial with one another, but such things do not last, not when wounds run so deep, she thought. Though she wished it were not so. She wished she could pull back the curtain, jump out of bed, and place herself between the two to cease their bickering and accusations -- for neither one of them would stop: Loki would never relent in protecting her, as Thor would never surrender his desire to protect Jane. They were much more alike in ways they would not admit.

But she could hear the growling beneath their voices turn to snarling as they defended their own actions, and the snarling turned to raised voices, which turned to grappling with each other -- and so the cycle repeated itself.

“I’ve no need to tell you anything!” Loki snapped back.

“You know why Jane refuses to speak -- I know you well enough to know when you hide something!” 

“You know nothing of me,” a growl.

“You can tell yourself that for however long you would like, but you know it is not the truth,” a hiss.

“I deny nothing of myself.”

“Then why do you hide here, in the dark, feigning illness?”

Loki had to quickly construct a lie to protect that which he could not protect before -- he would have to take the bullet this time, in place of the one that had pierced the heart of the one whom he loved. “You rather me here, and you know it,” he said at last. 

Thor fell quiet, and Sigyn could only hear the breaths of the brothers as they thought on words both brought aloud and those unspoken. “I rather the truth you will not give me.”

“And what truth is that? That I am naught but some villain for you to blame? Some fool on which to place every impetuous deed?” Loki’s voice hung in the vacuous air, his words a black hole for even the breath that was just there. “Is that what you want to hear? That I involved her in some scheme of mine? Then yes -- I am guilty! I beseeched her help on a benign project of mine, and swore her to secrecy. And do you know why?” he shifted a foot closer to his brother. “Because I was afraid of this very accusation -- that you would call me a criminal, and herd me before Odin’s feet once more as cattle, and I would be punished for some imagined sin.”

Sigyn was just as breathless as the pair of them, listening to her husband’s anguish as she could do nothing to help. Her fingers wrung in the blankets, saying some silent prayer that peace would waft between them somehow. 

She could hear Thor shift as he thought on his brother’s words.

“I never hurt her -- I would never hurt her. You know that more than well,” he finished, and all at once it seemed there was a collective intake of breath between the three of them, as though the vacuum was suddenly gone. “You...” Loki stopped and a thick swallow could be heard. “You were always kind to Sigyn. And for that, I owe you a debt of kindness towards the woman with whom you give your heart,” his words, though sincere, were nearly indistinguishable.

Though she could not see him, Sigyn felt the air around Thor soften as his brother spoke, and she heard his footsteps lighter as he closed the space between them:

“Thank you, Loki,” he murmured. 

Another lengthy pause as Thor cleared his throat: “I apologise for my assumption of your character -- but I will not apologise for your reputation,” he warned as he made for the door.

A small grumble before Loki conceded, showing his brother out, “That is fair.”

And as quickly as the entire skirmish had begun, all was silent and Thor had gone -- leaving Loki to tend to his wife who waited for him behind the curtain.

He collapsed on the bed, this time on his own side, with a great and treacherous sigh as he placed a hand over his face. “I cannot wait to be rid of other company besides our own.”

Sigyn could only chuckle with a breath. “And here I thought you were getting along.”

He only looked at her between his fingers. 

Thor made his way back to Jane -- a thickness wallowing in the pit of his stomach from Loki’s words. Despite what his brother may have thought, their heated exchanged never brought him joy neither resolution or comfort. The only comfort he drew this time was the knowing that Jane was not in any danger, neither had she been harmed, and that all she had wished was to maintain her integrity by keeping a promise.

He returned to her suite with a quiet sigh -- hoping not to sound too dejected in her presence -- but if he had, he hid it with a smile.

“Hey, how did it go?” she asked cautiously, having heard not the words, but the intensity of the scenario behind the conjoining door. 

He nodded as he sat beside her again, the bed groaning beneath his weight as he placed his hands on his knees. “Loki told me everything,” he started.

“He did?” her eyes widened, setting aside the book he’d left with her

“I know you wanted only to keep your vow of secrecy -- I, of course, do not blame you,” he assured her.

“I’m...I’m so glad he told you! That’s great!” she beamed, jumping to her knees on the bed, shaking her fists happily.

He hesitated, unsure why she was so happy, but he presumed she was glad she did not have to keep anything from him -- an admirable trait, to be sure. “Yes! Yes, I am glad, as well.”

“So, did you see her? How is she?” she pried, curiously, knowing it probably wasn’t her place, but she wanted to know how the Queen was, especially after her fall the other day.

But Thor only frowned at her, tilting his head as he tried to reason what she meant with what she said: “Who?”

[loki-god-of-menace]

A Summer Dance

@sigynhealerofasgard

Word count: 1056

The first summer festival of the season was always celebrated with a trace more vigor and revelry than the others. Though the citizens of Asgard relished any opportunity to meet in the feasting halls, share warrior’s tales over copious amounts of mead, ale, and wine, and dance to the skald’s lively tunes, the dawn of summer always made the drink flow faster and the music linger longer.

It was warm. A trace too warm, for Loki’s liking, but no one ever shared that sentiment. The crops had all been sewn, and the first, foriegn merchants bearing spring trade had arrived. There would be gaiety in town and among the taverns for days before and after, but all of the smaller banquets and private celebration culminated in the palace feast.

The floor of one of the largest halls had been cleared of tables at its center and the trilling, joyous songs of the skalds and accompanying players drew couples in brightly dressed pairs out onto the runed floor.

Loki lingered on the sidelines, sipping at a goblet of chilled wine; his third, for the evening. Thor was about, and if he listened hard enough he could distinguish his brother’s voice from the myriad of others still lingering by the refreshment tables were a majority of the warriors not inclined to dance remained to talk of past battles. It was not that his brother did not dance, but Thor had to be in the right mood to do so, and currently he was not in such a temperament.

Loki slipped deftly among the aristocracy standing here and there. He did not know why, but he imagined that there whispering quieted when he moved near. Perhaps it was entirely in his mind.

Nonetheless he continued, making a steady path toward a red-haired woman also not currently occupied with any partner. Loki might not admit it except to his private favorites among the skalds or those he considered his friends, but the music was alluring. Whether it was the subtle, almost imperceptible, softness in his mind from the wine or simply because the mingling of flute, lute, and a tune in their native Asgardian tongue drew him.

It was ridiculous to imagine the melody actually beckoning, but there was a quality to it that resembled that.

“Enjoying yourself, Sigyn?” Loki asked as he stepped up beside her. His voice did not carry beyond her ears.

Sigyn smiled, “Hm, somewhat. More so when I am in your company, seeing as since I joined the healers I do not know as many here.” Nor wished to.

Loki nodded and cast a measuring look out over those in the hall. He knew many of them - their names, status, and perhaps even a fact or two about their progeny - but he did not know them. His gaze fell away when he landed on the royal dais and his father.

“I got to see my sister though, and speak with her, which is a sadly rare pleasure.” Sigyn continued, her expression taking on a knowing gleam, “I cannot imagine who invited her, seeing as I would not even be here, except for my Healer’s duty, unless you asked me.”

Loki opened his mouth as if to give a clever excuse, but instead the light in his eyes turned ornery, “Anyone who has the privilege of being your sister should be invited.” He murmured, leaning closer to her and doing what he could to pressures his grin.

Sigyn let out a chuckle, which he relished having caused, and shook her crimson head. “Thank you, Loki. I was glad to see her again.” Her words were genuinely grateful, and his nod and the curve of his lips in response was equally as sincere.

“You are welcome.” He said and looked out again at the swirling figures. The music came filtering back into his hearing, and he once more had a hint of a sly smile when he glanced at her, “You could repay me in one way...”

An arch of her brow was her only answer.

“Dance with me?” Loki asked, offering out his hand. He would take other partners on polite principal, and he always enjoyed having the honor of leading Frigga in her first dance (an honor, one of the few, he and Thor were still equally represented in), but she was his favorite without question.

“Of course.” Sigyn agreed and stepped forward with her hand in his.

Loki did not know if it was the melody, his temperament, or the wine, but he found himself holding her a bit tighter as they whirled around the floor. Neither one of them paid head to her skirt or his cape; they both simply knew how to side-step the draping, folds of fabric without foiling the other’s tempo.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are a fine dancer, Lady Sigyn?” Loki complimented, as if they had just met that night on the floor.

Sigyn smiled, “You have, my prince.”

“And none other? A travesty.” Loki vowed, ignoring all the other couples as they were drawn deeper into the dance.

“And you, my prince.” Sigyn murmured, her breath a bit short from exertion, “You too are skilled at footwork.”

Loki’s mouth quirked up, “I had to be. My mother ensured my brother and I were both well trained in the art of dancing. But...” His breath too was a trifle stolen, “I like it best with my current company.”

Loki and Sigyn’s eyes did not leave the other as they stepped and moved and turned. That feeling in his chest - the one he could not explain, but the one that seemed to, more often than before, rise up when he was with her, - grew stronger and by the time they had finished, and were standing close enough he thought he could hear her heart beating with his, the undefined notion was a roar.

“Sigyn, I....”

She seemed to wait, wait for the words on his lips and those reflected in his eyes... but the moment passed. He smiled, but it was the cheerful smile of a prince adept at making such expressions even when his heart said something else entirely.

“Thank you.”

Sigyn summoned a curl of her own lips, “For what, my prince?”

“For the dance.” He said, and squeezed her hand.

[silhouetteofagirl]

Catalyst (from A Study in Synonyms)

A short story about how Sigyn totally fell hard and fast for Sigrun while still being madly in love with Alistair where time is wobbly and verb tenses don't matter. Again, briefly featuring a dog name the Lord of Farts.

Talk about a rare OT3.

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To any human or elf or spirit in a dead man’s body, for that matter, watching the two dwarves meet, they would have thought that they were old friends finally reunited.  For as soon as they had been able to parse what they were seeing, Sigyn had rushed into the fight with her daggers drawn.  It was contrary to her usual behavior, rushing headlong towards the darkspawn who were trying to recapture the other woman.  They had followed suit, of course, Justice bringing his great sword down and rending the hurlock grabbing at the woman nearly in two.  Once the other dwarf had regained her footing, she had joined Sigyn in attacking another.

They have never known the warden-commander to be cruel, but she tears the darkspawn with her daggers.  Later, she will tell Nathaniel that she prefers archery because it makes death a bit less personal, her daggers are only meant as a last resort and for those few personal kills she wishes to make.  Nathaniel will recall this fight and it will make sense, but for now, her brutality contrasts starkly with the woman who had killed a tainted human with as much mercy as she could manage when he had asked for relief.

The explanation that the two women new each other might explain her next actions as well.  When the last darkspawn falls with a gurgle, Sigyn is pulling off her helmet and grabbing the other dwarf by her shoulders.

“You’re alright.  I’ve got you, sister.” she says, her low voice is panicked.  “They won’t—”

“They got the whole legion! I was the only one who escaped—”

“Women?”

“Yes.”

“Ancestors take their souls.”

“And quickly.”

The exchange is rushed and the other dwarf removes her helm as well.  They bear the same brand on their faces, but hers is littered with tattoos.  There’s a moment of silence between them where they just look.  They contrast each other, Sigyn is dark with her chin-length hair and tanned skin.  Aside from her brand, the only markings on her skin are the faint holes where jewelry goes when she’s not fighting.  The stranger is fair with clear blue eyes and her dark hair is pulled back into small ponytails.  Whatever they see in the other, it seems to reassure them because then the other dwarf is cradling Sigyn’s head between her hands and Sigyn rests her forehead against hers.

“They won’t get you and if they do, I would give you a swift death should they try to turn you.” Sigyn words are spoken firmly and solemnly.

“Thank you.  I would try to return the favor.” She replies.  Then they part and the moment is over.  A look of comprehension crosses her face and she smiles, “Hey, you’re the duster who became the warden!”

“Better than dust town.” she shrugs and wipes off her daggers.

“I know a man who would give his teeth for your signature.”

“Teeth aren’t that valuable.  Don't know if I should be offended or complimented.” Sigyn frowns at a thought.  “Unless you’re using the teeth as a base for the upper castes…”

The other dwarf nods in confirmation.  “Doesn’t matter, though.  They won’t want to see me back.”

“Legion?”

“Yeah, these darkspawn are—”

“Wait, do you two know each other?” Anders can’t seem to contain himself as he butts into the conversation.

“Oh, stone! I’m Sigyn Brosca.” she holds out her arm.

The other dwarf grasps her forearm and her smile makes Sigyn fight a blush, “Sigrun.  Though now that you are a warrior caste, you sure you want to be touching a duster like me?”

Sigyn rolls her eyes and squeezes her arm, “I’m still a brand, and worse, a surfacer.  Besides, in Legion your caste means nothing.”

“I suppose that’s true.  Still, you can’t blame me.  You’re a hero.” Sigrun laughs at Sigyn’s grimace.  Then they let go of each other.  Sigyn quickly makes introductions, though Justice takes a few moments to explain.

“But he looks like—”

“I know, but reanimated corpse, not—”

“Corpse walking.”

“Yeah,” Once whatever clarification had just been made, Sigrun tells her story to the crew.

Much later, when Sigyn is curled up with Alistair and shakily telling him about how much she loves Sigrun, he’ll comment that it seems to him that it was almost love at first sight, “or should I say first fight?” She will groan and punch him lightly in the stomach.  He’ll moan in mock pain, but then she will straddle his lap and kiss him senseless.  Alistair will feel just as cherished as the woman his love is describing.

They push into the darkspawn breeding grounds, leaving Nathaniel behind to travel back to Vigil’s Keep.  “I need you to live, Nathaniel.  You are best suited of all of us to run the Keep.” Sigyn tells him softly as they prepare to chase after the lost legion.

“What’s Vigil’s Keep?” Sigrun asks as Nathaniel leaves them.

“The humans gave me my own fortress if you can believe it.” Sigyn laughs humorlessly.  “Keep trying to make me get to judge all these human affairs.  Me, a duster, being asked should we hang a man who stole some grain so he could feed his family.”

Sigrun’s blue eyes widen and she scoffs, “Really? Ancestor’s beards.”

“Keep telling people I’m a duster, not the best equipped to judge, at least not in the way they want me to.”  Talk becomes scarce after that as they find a survivor of the Legion, crawling away from the old taig.

Their mood is tense and somber, even Anders keeps his commentary to a minimum.  Eventually, he will piece together what had caused their fearless commander to jump at shadows.  And when he does, he will understand why both Sigyn and Sigrun murmur a quick blessing when they drop the lyrium bomb onto the nest of brood mothers and their clutch.

There isn’t a lot of time for Sigrun to fully settle at Vigil’s Keep.  In fact, there isn’t even time for her to complete the joining before Amaranthine is being sieged, but there is enough time for her to marvel at the place.  It’s not that Sigyn has gotten used to Vigil’s Keep and its splendor, it’s more that she can’t stop looking at it as a project.  Sigrun, however, can see the marvels and experience the wonder Sigyn can’t.

“I’ve never seen so many books in my life!” she exclaims at one of the many alcoves of books that are littered about the fortress.

“That isn’t even all of them.  We have a full library.  It’s just a mess after the explosion.  You can read them if you like.  I mean, if you were taught.”

“Only recently, but I did learn! Varlan, a legion squad mate, helped me.  Just had the one book.” A sad look crosses her face, “Didn’t think I’d outlive him…”

“Tell me about him?” she asks softly.

“There’s not much to say.  He wanted to die in battle, in glory.” her voice catches and Sigyn places a hand on her shoulder.

“It sounds like he got what he wanted.”

If Sigrun sniffles while looking at books so her face is turned, that’s her prerogative.  In the future, Sigyn will wipe tears away as she cries freely and Sigrun will return the favor.

But now Sigrun inhales sharply and says, “Yeah, he did, I guess.” Sigrun quickly wipes her eyes and turns to smile at Sigyn.  “What about you? You need lessons?”

“No,  I’m not great at reading, but my sister taught me the basics.” At Sigrun’s quirked eyebrow, she nods and leans against the opposite side of the book nook.  “Noble hunter, so she was worth teaching.  When we had a quiet moment, she would teach me.  But I got a lot better when I reached the surface.  Once it got out that I was barely proficient at reading, Alistair got me a few books and carried them.  Morrigan helped me the most though, it was easier reading with her.  If she judged me, she didn’t let me know.”

“You mention him a lot, this Alistair.” Sigrun has turned back to the bookshelves and is looking through them.  She’s been pulling out books, skimming the covers, and putting them back.  “Hm… there seems to be a lot of books about mabari war hounds.  Huh, what’s this?” Sigrun opens the book and quickly closes shut with a snap and a blush.  “Oh, that is a romance.  I dunno what an antivan milk sandwich is but— Aren’t we talking about something else? This Alistair fellow?”

Sigyn laughs softly and looks pensively as Sigrun continues on her search.  “Alistair’s mine.  He’s a fellow grey warden, very sweet and funny.  He always knows how to cheer me up or just offer comfort when I need it.  He’s actually one of the first humans I befriended when I hit the surface.”

“He’s human? Is he at least a short one?” Sigrun glances over her shoulder at the warden who is worrying a plain gold band around her finger.

Sigyn flushes scarlet and shakes her head, “Ah, no.  He’s actually quite tall.  This is beside the point.  I’m okay at reading, but not the best.  My writing is terrible, I will be forever grateful for Nathaniel.  He, at least, knows how to do this whole noble aspect of being an arl and his handwriting is beautiful.”

“Nathaniel is tall,” Sigrun says conversationally as she puts another book back into the shelf.

Sigyn stammers, “Alistair is taller and Nathaniel is lovely, but no.”

Sigrun cracks a grin, “I kid.  Just wondering if you like… height or if you are also open to folks more on your level.” Sigyn is still blushing as Sigrun gives another cursory glance at a book.  “Oh, this book looks interesting! It’s about human lore, maybe I’ll be able to understand more of their turns of phrase.  Anyway, Commander, don’t let me keep you.”

In the not too distant future, when Alistair comes to Vigil’s Keep unannounced to surprise Sigyn, he’ll meet Sigrun first.  She’ll be carrying a small pile of books, out of her armor with her hair released from its usual ponytails.  She will be the only person he can find this late in the night.  He, on the other hand, will be worn from the road and holding a very enthusiastic Lord of Farts who wants nothing more than to explore this new location.

“Pardon me,” Alistair will ask “do you know where I can find the Warden-Commander?”

She’ll look surprised and adjust the pile of the books so they rest on her hip, “Oh, didn’t no one tell you?”

“Tell me what?”  Alistair will note the expression of worry flicker across her face.  Trepidation will climb into his chest with icy fingers.  It had been a while since Sigyn’s last letter, but he knows just how long it takes her to write one.  He hadn’t been worried about the gap, especially since she had reported the death of the broodmother, until now.

“She’s sick and isn’t allowed to see anyone. Herbalist’s orders, not that she’s listening to them very well or keeping her from doing work.”  Sigrun will shake her head fondly.

Relief will flood him and he’ll chuckle, “That sounds exactly like Sigyn.  One time she got sick and we happened to be resting out at an inn.  One of the few times we spent any significant time in a town, but despite the fact she was exhausted, she adamant we leave.  Didn’t even listen to Wynne’s instance that she give herself time, but then I started to sneeze, hazard of sharing a bed, and then she was alright with spending a few days resting. Thank the Maker, I thought I was going to have to sit on her and I’m much heavier than she is.”  He’ll notice about halfway through his rambling story the look of comprehension on her face and raise an eyebrow at her.

“Stone, she wasn’t kidding about the tall part.” She’ll mutter to herself.  She’ll then perk up and smile at him, “I’m Sigrun. You must be Alistair.”

“Ah yes, I should have known. Your tattoos are very nice.” His next words will be hesitant as he won’t be sure what to make of Sigrun in this moment, “Did she mention me?”

In a moment, much, much later from this future moment, she will admit to him that she was trying to not resent him.  But nevertheless, in this moment, she will laugh softly, “Of course she mentioned you.  I was just going to take these books to her, walk with me.  But yes, while she’s reserved, it’s kinda hard to miss with how she blushes and worries that ring of hers. I just usually only get tall as a descriptor of you before she’s blushing too much to continue.”

“That sounds entirely unlike her. I’m the blusher.” he will say.

“Really? Maybe I’m just good at making her blush.”  In that same much, much later future, he will admit that this is when he started to feel the pangs of jealousy.  She’ll be surprised to hear that as it was clear to her just how thoroughly in love Sigyn was with him.  But before Sigrun can respond, Sigyn will sit straight up in bed, look at them blearily, and ask a question.  It will make absolutely no sense as she is still asleep.  They will tell her in unison to go back to bed.  She will then pout and her next sentence will make a modicum more of sense.  They will share a look and a smile.  Alistair will help pull Sigrun to her feet so they can crawl into bed with her just so Sigyn will lie back down.

But this time when they enter her room, there will be no greeting, no garbled language, just Sigyn asleep in a chair by the fire with paperwork scattered on the ground around her.  Sigrun will sigh fondly and put down the stack of books on the cluttered desk while Alistair will be frozen for a few moments looking at the woman he loves.  While he is temporarily paralyzed, Sigrun will gather the paperwork from the ground and place it on top of the books.

“Thank the ancestors she’s finally asleep.” She’ll murmur to Alistair as she makes to leave the room. She’ll give Sigyn a wistful look and then inform Alistair where she can be found should they need anything.  He’ll nod numbly and she’ll close the door behind them.

Then Alistair will suddenly be able to move again and he will command the Lord to sit and be calm.  Then he’ll cross to her sleeping form and just watch her.  Her nose is pink, her mouth is open, and she’s drooling slightly.  Alistair will still have to fight tears at seeing her for the first time in almost a year.  When he pushes her hair behind her near, she’ll stir a bit but remain asleep.  He will smile both at her and the row of earrings revealed, still defiant to high society’s standards even when sick.

He’ll press a kiss to her forehead and murmur soothing words as he gently lifts her so he can carry her to bed.  Sigyn will surface just enough to ask in a scratchy voice, “Alistair?”

“Yes, my dear.” He’ll reply as he puts her on the bed.

She’ll hum and mutter, “This is a nice dream.”  His heart will clench as she then snuffles and curls onto her side.

Then he’ll strip out of his travel clothes and pat the foot of the bed so the Lord of Farts will know he is welcome.  Alistair will, finally, crawl into bed with her and pull the covers over the both of them.  He will marvel that even after all this time, she curls into his warmth and how well she fits into his arms.  Silent tears will fall down his face as he presses a kiss into her shoulder and she lets out a small snore.  Eventually, he will fall asleep and in a few hours he will wake up to a very sick and very confused Sigyn.  Despite her croaked warnings, he will kiss her thoroughly and enjoy the proceeding week of sickness as an excuse to stay in bed with her.  But that is not now.

Now there is horde of darkspawn attacking Amarinthe and Sigrun is giving her a reassuring smile.  She’ll die for the cause of the Legion and, by extension, the Grey Wardens; however, Sigyn cannot shake the feeling that Sigrun will die for her.  The warden commander will take her newest and most enthusiastic recruit with her as they go to save the city and hopes it will not cost her life.  They barely know each other now, but something about Sigrun’s honest wonder makes Sigyn’s breath catch and her soul ache.  Given the chance, she could fall in love with Sigrun’s sincerity and, eventually, she will.