#i might end up tagging this one as Loki/OFC if it grows any longer and especially if it grows any filthier

[nostalgia-tblr]

Six Some Sentences Sunday

Doing the meme (late) this week with a bit from the latest of a totally normal number of MCU Medieval Adultery AUs. Thor has gone off to war, leaving his pregnant wife behind with Loki who has promised to "take care of her" and obviously he means that and won't just seduce her as soon as Thor is out of the way.

Here's a snippet of him seducing her as soon as Thor is out of the way:

To test this apparent naivety he takes a berry from the bowl himself and carries it all the way to her lips, and without any hesitation she lets him feed it to her, and he is careful to squeeze a drop of juice from it so that he can brush that from her lip with a fingertip just to see how she reacts. Her tongue sweeps over the spot when he draws his hand away, seemingly unaware, her expression too serene to settle the issue of whether his brother’s wife is an idiot or a whore. Which would be worse? he wonders. Either way, it’s a little disappointing; there’s no real challenge there, all it would take is a little persistence and he could have her. Still, this isn’t about how difficult the task is, it’s about tarnishing something that Thor treasures, about being able to take something from him even if it’s only for the duration of a furtive fuck or two. Or more, he amends, as he watches Alfrida suck another stain from her fingers.

[writernotwaiting]

Fallen Angels -- ch. 22

Chapter 22 – Before: “Never say that I was false of heart” Chapter Summary: In which Loki follows through on certain threats, and Sigyn does not handle it with sanguinity. The action here picks up after the events of chapter 19. Rating: E for the story overall. If you are under 18, go read something else! Characters: Loki, Sigyn, Thor, Anna (ofc), Balder (might-as-well-be-omc), Amora (a might-as-well-be ofc), Odin, Elli (a stone giantess and might-as-well-be-ofc), Cyril (omc), Tyr Story Description: a post-apocalyptic, MCU-Norse mythos mash-up; science fiction/fantasy

I will re-blog with the tags.  I would be glad to add to or remove from the tag list at your request.

I think you guys should all go say thank you to @icybluepenguin, because she told me that I didn’t have to do a Certain Thing, and it has saved all of us a great deal of emotional trauma (which is not to say that there is not any trauma here, but it’s not nearly as bad as it could have been).

Ch. 1: Walking with unblest feet

 Chapter 21: Emotional Reinforcements Ch. 23: Seven for a Secret

Loki lay in bed that night seething over Sigyn’s confession — that she had endured a litany of humiliations in silence that he had kept himself willfully ignorant of. Well, no more. These Aesir wretches would no longer be suffered to act with such impunity. They will face consequences.

Not that night, no; he needed to plan. Reconnaissance would be necessary, as in any successfully waged war, and appropriate responses must formulated—responses that sent a comprehensible message, served as a deterrent, but remained untraceable. The trickiest part, however, was how to keep his activities a secret from Sigyn. It would take a few days to plan.

[read more break below]

Step one: reconnaissance.

A simple spell that clung to Sigyn’s clothes that would allow him to mentally follow her as she traveled out on her daily business. He began staying home from court a couple days each week. From their bedroom, he could enter a dream state as Sigyn went out, noting which merchants were kind, which petty, memorizing the faces of local officials who might offer trouble, or harassment.

As for identifying our friendly neighborhood street artists, more active investigations would be necessary, but not difficult, as the culprits surely believed themselves both above the law and to be doing Odin’s own work. A few nights in disguise at the local taverns would suss them out.

Step two: retribution.

******

“Loki?”

“Mmfff.”

“Loki?” Sigyn sat on the edge of their bed, already wide awake, dressed, and ready to start her day though the light had barely begun filtering through the windows. Loki was distinctly less ready to face the dawn.

“Mmmmff.” He rolled to his other side to face away from her.

“Loki!” She nudged his shoulder. “Where were you last night?”

“Out.”

“I got that part. Why? It’s the fourth night I a row. What are you doing?”

“Not being quiet enough, clearly.” He pulled a pillow over his head.

“Loki!” She lifted it up.

“Trouble sleeping.”

“That’s never taken you out of the house before.”

“The walk was helpful.” His answers becoming increasingly clipped. “Can we stop talking now, since I had finally gotten to sleep?”

“Fine!” She shoved the pillow back over his head and pushed herself off the bed. “I’m going out to check on Ingrid’s children.”

His terse, muffled reply filtered from under the pillow. “Good.”

Sigyn returned in the early afternoon in a somber mood, but Loki had gone to court and returned late. When she attempted to raise the issue again, he pushed her off, insisting he was still tired.

At two Sigyn jolted awake in the dark, instinctively feeling for her husband’s warmth to comfort her.

Gone—the sheets already cold where he had lain, and a yawning pit opened up in her stomach as she stared at the ceiling and waited for his return, ten minutes, 30, 45, an hour. Finally, the sheets dragged themselves back silently and Loki slid himself into bed, starting suddenly when his wife spoke, “where were you?”

A heartbeat, then two before he responded, “Out.”

Her temper flared. “Loki!”

“Out. Walking. I needed to think.”

“And you can’t think in the house?”

“No, I could not.”

“Loki.”

He just turned away and kept silent.

When Sigyn came down for breakfast, Hilda, their cook, was grim and Michael anxious. “What’s the matter.”

The two answered as a chorus, “Nothing, mistress,” then shot each other accusing looks.

“It doesn’t feel like nothing.”

The two exchanged looks once more before Michael’s mouth set itself in a tight line and left the room with a quick nod in Sigyn’s direction. Hilda’s eyes glued themselves to the dough she was kneading with increasing intensity. “There’s been an accident at Carlsson’s butcher shop, mistress.”

Sigyn replied with care. “What sort of accident?”

“Well, you know the constable’s son is Carlsson’s journeyman, yes?”

“Yes?”

“It’s oddest thing. Herr Carlsson’s got this clever mechanism that allowed the old man to hook the carcass from down low and it would automatically hoist the meat up to be butchered.”

“Yes?” Sigyn got that ugly feeling in her gut once more.

“Well, yesterday the old bastard went into the back and found Iricsson . . . stone cold. He must have started work early before Carlsson was up — which wouldn’t be unusual, he’s been hittin’ the bottle pretty heavy these last few years — it seems Iricsson must have slipped on some blood, and then the mechanism must’ve gone wrong ‘cause it hoisted up—” Hilga stopped suddenly as she glanced up and noticed Sigyn turn a pale. “Anyway, it was a bit of a mess, I hear.”

Sigyn felt her knees wobble and she sank into a chair by the kitchen table. Hilda finally paused her work to study Sigyn’s face, then she bustled about to place some cheese, warm bread, and tea in front of her mistress.

“It seems a pretty bad way to go,” Hilda continued in a pragmatic voice as she returned to her work, “but I can’t say anyone ‘round here will miss him.”

Sigyn opened her mouth for a reprimand, but then closed it tight, not knowing quite what to say. She chewed through the fresh bread that had never been so hard to swallow before.

She decided she would stop asking where Loki went at night.

**********

Over the next few months, though, she couldn’t help but hear things. One particularly bigoted dry goods merchant began to find it increasingly difficult to source products favored by his Aesir clients, and then gained a reputation as a supplier for outlanders. Another tradesman of Old Blood, found himself struck with a disease usually found only in elves. The local Minister of Aesthetic Standards began to suffer osteoporosis, and the children began calling him a dwarf.

All this while Loki became increasingly taciturn and bitter. His appetite fell off and he lost weight, though his gaze sharpened.

Sigyn did not handle this gracefully. Constantly worried, her temper became increasingly short (if that were possible). She snapped at little irritations and began avoiding Loki’s company, deliberately seeing patients after her husband was home from court, occasionally remaining at a patient’s house overnight if they were particularly ill.

For his part, Loki closed up, was increasingly absent — gone sometimes for days on end, but clearly unwilling to share where he went or why. She didn’t push.

One night the cook struck up a conversation as she prepped the evening meal. “I saw Master Loki come out of Angrboda’s house the other day. Is he to go to Utagard again, mistress?”

“No, not that I know of, Hilga. He must have been passing along a message, I’m sure.”

“Oh sure, that’ll be it, then.”

Hilga went on with her work for a bit and then added. “She’s had a bit of a time, hasn’t she, with those three kids all by herself. I’ve heard he helps her out a bit with them.”

“Does he?”

“Did you not know, mistress?”

“No. We haven’t talked about it.”

“Sure, but then you do plenty of good things that he never asks about.”

“Are you trying to get at something, Hilga?”

“No, mistress, nothing.”

That night Sigyn told Loki that she was moving back out to the country house for a few months. “I’m feeling claustrophobic here, Loki. I need to breath the fresh air for a bit. It’s spring now and I can help Anna with the gardens and plant my own herbs. I’ll come back in the fall once I’ve replenished my supplies for the winter.”

Loki rounded on her in astonishment. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m fairly certain you heard me.”

“Because you need air?”

“Yes. I feel like I’m suffocating here.”

“And you’re leaving me here by myself?”

“It’s not as though we see each other anymore. You’re gone more than you’re here, and when you’re here, you’re a stone facade. You will do without me just fine.”

“How can you say that?”

“I shaped my lips and exhaled — and like magic there they were.”

“You can’t—”

“I can! It’s only for the summer, and you are more than welcome to come visit — it is your house, as well.”

“Fine.”

“Fine. I’ll plan to leave at the end of the week.”

“Fine.”

She cried like a teenager all the way there. Wept herself to sleep every night for a week. Then pushed herself to fill the hours. She worked the soil and planted neat rows of herbs she found hard to purchase in town. She sectioned off a second bed for kitchen herbs and vegetables she had grown nostalgic for. Once that was done she planted flowers—everywhere. She was desperate for some measure of brightness, and this appeared to be the only way she could get it.

Anna’s children got in the way as much as they helped, though the eldest two seemed to have a knack for growing things. Sigyn taught them as much as she could, giving them a few seeds of their own and helping them pick out a likely plot to sow them in.

Fenryr followed her everywhere, outside and in. Laying in the grass as she worked the garden, following her to the village when she visited patients, lounging on the rug in the evenings, taking up residence under the table as she ate, flopping onto the bed as she slept — no mean feat, as he took up at least half of it. He sensed she was out of sorts, and insisted on being with her.

By mutual agreement, Loki and Sigyn shared no correspondence. Where before, the surveillance seemed a nuisance, now it felt sinister. Besides, she thought to herself, what would we have to say?

After a couple of weeks, Loki visited, stayed for three days, then disappeared once more. He never offered an explanation for what he was doing, and Sigyn did not ask. She did not want to know. For a host of reasons.

When the summons came, it took her by complete surprise.

“Mistress, there’s a messenger from court.” Anna shifted nervously from foot to foot as she said it, face broadcasting obvious dis-ease.

Sigyn furrowed her brow as she took in Anna’s words. “That’s not so unusual, Anna, where’s the letter?”

“He said he must hand it directly to you—he wanted to come into the house. It’s Tyr.”

“Tyr?” Sigyn stood from the table and started toward the door. “Why would they send someone of his rank just to deliver a message? What’s his mood?”

Anna put a hand on Sigyn’s arm. “He’s got an escort.”

That stopped her short. “How many?”

“A dozen or so. They seem . . . much more serious than usual.” Anna fidgeted again.

Sigyn scanned Anna’s face as she tried to decide what this meant. What has he done this time? She wanted to ask. Did he get caught?

And as if she could read her thoughts, Anna’s expression scrunched with worry and shrugged as if to say, I don’t know, but what could we do if he did?

Fenryr bumped against Sigyn’s hip and pushed his nose into her ribs, sensing her tension.

“Tell them I want to see the letter first, then I will come speak to them.” Anna nodded, and went back out the front door.

Sigyn curled her fingers through Fenryr’s fur as she waited. He had grown into an enormous companion, his head as high as her ribs, built with the hard muscle and endurance of a timber wolf, chest deep with muscle, but he was no match for a dozen soldiers led by a captain such as Tyr.

Anna returned. “He insists that he must hand it directly to you, mistress.”

Sigyn nodded. She breathed deeply before finally opening the door, standing just at the threshold, but going no farther.

“Tyr.”

“Lady Sigyn.”

Her eyebrow raised considerably at the honorific, and her mouth turned down in mistrust. “Your message, Captain?”

Her gave her curt salute by nodding his head, before he began. “Lady Sigyn, I am honored with the task of escorting you back to Asgard, where the Allfather has invited you to reside in court apartments.” He took a knee and held out a letter bearing Odin’s official seal, though he never broke eye contact.

“Invited?” She responded, cautiously accepting the missive.

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you’re to ‘escort me’?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His face remained stoic.

Her eyes narrowed. “Whether I will or not, I suspect.”

He stood up once more and brushed the grass from his knees. “Yes, ma’am.” They stood silent for a few minutes, sizing up one another, calculating. Tyr’s eyes taking in not only Sigyn’s formidable aspect, but also Fenryr, who had taken a station beside his mistress with hackles raised.

“I will be honest with you, Lady Sigyn. My respect for you has never waivered. Before your marriage, you healed my wounds when I served in the infantry, stitched my arm so cleanly there has never been a scar, set my leg so there’s never been a limp. You cared for the soldiers under my command with no prejudice as to rank or origin. I grieved when you were exiled, and felt it was a great loss to the army to see you go. But I have been given strict orders. I must bring you back to court, willingly or no. You may bring whatever possessions with you that you wish, whatever servants you wish, but you must come, and I must have you back in ten days’ time.”

“And not to my own house?”

“No ma’am. You are to live at court.” He paused before adding, “It is a great honor to be given royal apartments.”

Sigyn smiled sardonically at this. “Oh Tyr, I thought we were being honest.”

For the first time during their exchange, Tyr looked away.

[writernotwaiting]

Fallen Angels -- ch. 21

Chapter 21 – After: Emotional reinforcements

Chapter Summary: In which Loki and Sigyn have some unexpected visitors. This chapter picks up right after chapter 20 (oh my heavens – continuity for once!). Rating: E for the story overall. If you are under 18, go read something else! Characters: Loki, Sigyn, Thor, Anna (ofc), Balder (might-as-well-be-omc), Amora (a might-as-well-be ofc), Odin, Elli (a stone giantess and might-as-well-be-ofc), Cyril (omc) Story Description: a post-apocalyptic, MCU-Norse mythos mash-up; science fiction/fantasy

I will re-blog with the tags.  I would be glad to add to or remove from the tag list at your request.

Thank you again and again (and again), @icybluepenguin , for your help and encouragement and editing. You are an angel. Thank you also to @pedeka for being an unfailingly patient sounding board and for listening to my whiny writer complaints.

Ch. 1: Walking with unblest feet

 Ch. 20: Up from the Bottom of a Well Ch. 22: Never say that I was false at heart

[I borrowed this image from an actual rectory in Pembrokeshire that is now a B&B -- pretty, isn’t it?]

Unfortunately, Sigyn’s initial giddiness didn’t last. All her life, as long as she had remained ignorant, it had been easy to construct romantic fantasies about her parents — dreams of a persecuted race, or tales of forbidden love. The reality was decidedly less romantic, and much more baffling. Immaculate conception, apparently. An asexual creation from blood fished out of a well, and magically implanted into the womb of some unsuspecting (or complicit? The book was frustratingly silent on this point) fire giantess, who had then been hounded out of her realm by a fiery father — pun intended, thank you very much.

And why?

Certainly, it wasn’t because the Norns had suddenly gotten a maternal urge to cuddle a baby, sing lullabies, and change diapers, because they sure as Hel hadn’t done that. They created her, and then abandoned her. More than abandoned her — placed her precisely in harm’s way by leaving her mother vulnerable to the wrath of Surt, lord of all fire giants and first-class grump. Then they failed to intervene when she was dumped on Asgard, orphaned, with no hint of who her father was. It made no sense, and she felt more alone than ever, to think the Norns had created her, watched her grow, carved the runes that hinted at her fate just as they would for any other soul, re-arranged those runes as Sigyn had taken control over those the pieces of her destiny that she could — yet they had never touched her, never reached out to soothe, or forewarn.

Was she a chess piece?

An experiment?

An instrument of spite?

If it were the latter, she had certainly had success there, at least.

But why?

Sigyn lay awake night after night trying to understand it. Failing utterly.

Loki pulled himself out of his own distraction to try and push Sigyn through hers. Working on the theory that inertia would either be their greatest asset or their worst enemy, he scheduled her days — a body in motion will stay in motion. He invented seidr exercises, concocted ways for her to practice her fire magic, sparred with her — fire against ice. For this, they quickly discovered that they needed to reinforce the walls of their attic practice room. It turns out that the action of super-heated air on ice is, well, explosive.

On the other hand, it was also cathartic. Sometimes, you really just need to blow something up.

Late one afternoon as they sat in the bedroom nursing a few wounds from their latest session, Sigyn finally felt ready to talk pragmatically about everything. She dabbed a salve on Loki’s neck where he’d been burned. “I’m sorry, dearest. I let that one get away from me.”

“No, it’s my own fault. I got distracted when I saw your frostbite. I let my guard down.”

She snorted. “We are a pair, aren’t we? It’s a wonder we don’t simply cancel each other out in a great chaotic conflagration.”

“At this rate, we may yet manage it.” He reached around to caress her rear. “But it will be a glorious end.”

She sniggered but kept her focus on the wound while she talked. “I suppose we should tell Thor, eventually.”

“If we expect his help, yes.”

“And we shall probably have to do that sooner, rather than later.”

“Yes. We will need his help in speaking with the old bastard, and we need to take care of that soon if we are to get rid of that stone properly.”

Sigyn straightened briefly so she could look her husband in the eye. “Do you think Odin ever suspected what I was? Do you think he knew?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, honestly. It might explain his unreasonable hostility. Of all the bastards he fathered, you are the only one sired without his consent. They stole something from him when they created you. I can see where he would resent it, and resent you as a reminder of it.”

She turned to begin putting away her supplies. “I wonder if the Norns planned for him to take me in, and that somehow Odin sidestepped the path they had written for him.”

“That would be like him. He likes only the rules he imposes himself.”

She snorted. “Like father, like daughter!”

“That’s the spirit.” And he caught her around the waist to pull her into his lap.

They were startled then by a sharp banging on the kitchen door. They knew exactly who it was — “Elli.” Loki braced himself for a confrontation as they went downstairs.

When they opened the door, though, Elli just barely stepped inside before insisting they come out. “You must come and meet someone” was all she would say.

“Can they not come here?” Sigyn asked suspiciously.

“He is here, little one, but he cannot come into the house.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because he’s too hulking big to fit through the door, girl, and bless his heart, he’s never mastered shapeshifting, just a bit of camouflage. Come on, Loki. This is important!”

The couple found their boots and Sigyn her coat before they followed Elli around the side of the house. There they came face to knee with one of the oddest giants they had ever seen. He was 15 to 20 feet high at least, and looked as though he were carved out of solid rock, rounded smooth at the edges, and he sat with his knees drawn up practically to his chest while he peered at a tiny bird on the side of a spruce trunk, sunlight glinting off the golden rims of round spectacles that perched on his earnest face.

Elli led them right up next to him and gently tapped his shin. “Cyril.” And when this failed to elicit a response she raised he voice, “Cyril! Here he is!”

The giant scrunched up his surprisingly expressive face in frustration as the nuthatch flew off.

“Elli, you scared her off!”

“Cyril, he’s here. Can you do the bird thing later?”

He immediately looked chagrined, and turning toward the couple, rushed to apologize, “So sorry. I just . . . their lives are so very short. I feel as though I have to get to know them as best I can when I see them, because there is so little time . . .” He turned to face them fully, blushing slightly. “You understand, don’t you?” and a look passed over his face that seemed to plead for comprehension while fully expecting rejection.

“Um . . .” Neither Loki nor Sigyn quite knew how to respond, and they turned to Elli in search of an explanation.

An awkward moment or two passed, before Elli looked back up at the giant. “I apologize, Cyril. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to forewarn them of our coming.”

“So, they don’t know . . .” And he was clearly a bit embarrassed by this news. Elli shook her head. “Ah. I see.”

He seemed to buck himself up a bit, and straightened his shoulders. “Well then, we should get on with the introductions, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes.” And here Elli turned back to the waiting couple. “Loki . . . Sigyn? This is Cyril. Cyril, this is Loki and his wife, Sigyn.”

Cyril bobbed his head a bit as he replied, “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Nice to meet you, as well,” Sigyn replied.

Another awkward pause followed. Cyril seemed unable to speak, but just stared intently at Loki, eyes darting over every detail of his face, his brow sinking further and further into melancholy the longer he looked. Eventually, Loki broke the silence. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure of his visit?”

The question clearly left Cyril flustered once again. His brow scrunched with emotion as he turned a set of pleading eyes on Elli. “Could you, Elli?” as a little tear gathered at the corner of his eye. “I’m not sure I will be able to explain — he looks so much like her.” And here he produced an enormous pocket square out of who-knows-where, dabbing at his eye before blowing his nose in distress.

Elli sighed with a strange mixture of frustration and affection. “Loki, before your mother was contracted to Laufey, she was a bit of a romantic.” Cyril sighed and became intensely interested in his shoes. “She and Cyril apparently carried on a very long correspondence. They were, may I say it, Cyril?” He nodded sadly, another tear trickling down his cheek. “They were very much in love.”

Cyril heaved another great sigh, turning his gaze onto Loki once more. “She was so beautiful, like river stones washed in the rushing water of spring. Her laugh was like listening to smooth pebbles being poured into a clean clay dish — hair as dark as the deepest cavern, eyes as green as bright moss on the mountain.” He blew his nose once more and Elli took up the tale again.

“For years, their correspondence remained secret, because they knew they would never be allowed to marry — her parents preferred to play politics, and Cyril never showed any talent in that area.”

“Alas, no.” He managed a melancholy laugh.

“So, when the contract was drawn up, they were forced to part. When the war started, Cyril did his part, but he proved to be as poor a soldier as he had a politician, though he did show some talent at reconnaissance.”

“Yes, that seemed to be my only useful talent.”

“Reconnaissance?” Sigyn couldn’t help but snigger as she took in the giant’s enormous frame. “How is that possible? You would be spotted immediately.”

Cyril looked offended. “I’ll have you know, I was considered a top notch intelligence agent, young lady — and my eyesight is still particularly keen, even without these glasses.”

Elli intervened. “Cyril can, indeed, give a stunning impression of a boulder — it’s amazing what people overlook when they have fixed expectations. Despite this skill, however, the warrior’s life was never one he was suited for, and at the conclusion of the war, Cyril preferred to remain here — away from politics, and away from any reminders of . . . other things.”

“I see.” Loki nodded, more than a little effected.

“At any rate, Loki, I thought, perhaps, you should like to talk to Cyril a bit. He knew your mother better than anyone, including myself, and maybe you would like to hear a bit about her from someone who cared for her as she deserved.”

Loki looked slowly from Elli, up to Cyril, down at Elli once more and up to Cyril again, mouth open like a netted salmon. When he once more looked up at Cyril, the giant pulled a packet of papers from somewhere (do giants have pockets? Where was he keeping those handkerchiefs?) “Would you like to see a picture of her? To look at you — there is no question at all whose son you are. No one could doubt.”

Elli tugged at Sigyn’s sleeve to pull her back toward the house. The younger woman hesitated, however. “Elli, what about The Watcher? Heimdall can see everything outside of the house. He will tell Thor that Cyril in on Midgard.”

“The time for hiding is over, little one. We cannot defend you and stay in the shadows both. Let the Aesir come. We are not afraid.”

Sigyn slowly brushed her hand down Loki’s arm in question, but he barely registered her touch, swallowing hard and staring wide eyed at Cyril’s packet, his head barely moving as he nodded agreement, signaling both to Sigyn that he was ok, and to Cyril that, yes, he very much wanted to see what was in that packet. Sigyn let her hand fall and turned to walk back to the house with Elli.

Inside, the two women remained silent for a long while, keeping busy, but hardly registering what it was they did —just waiting and listening. Occasionally the murmuring of the men’s voices outside would be punctuated by a percussive sound when Cyril felt the need for another of his endless supply of handkerchiefs, otherwise nothing, until the women ran out of busywork, and sat together staring into the fire, Sigyn playing cat’s cradle with a seidr thread while Elli dozed.

“Elli, I found out what I am.”

The older woman raised her eyebrow at that. “Have you now? I’ve had my own theories for ages, but nothing sure. What did you find out?”

“As it turns out, my grandfather is Surt.”

Elli chuckled at that. “Well that certainly explains a great deal. I wondered about the fires.”

“It does make a lot of sense, doesn’t it?”

“And what of the other side of the family?”

“That part is a little more difficult to explain. There seems to have been a bit of deus ex machina involved.”

“Oh — someone was messing with the fabric of things?”

“On one of his quests for knowledge, Odin traveled to the Well of Urd. He made a blood sacrifice of himself. Afterward, the Norns pulled his blood from the water and did something. And then gave the seed to the youngest of Surt’s daughters.”

“You are Odin’s child?” Elli clapped her hands and cackled wildly. “Oh my great goddess! How beautiful! The symmetry is perfect!” She actually stood and whooped with glee. “We must celebrate the irony of the universe, little one! How glorious! Oh I shall take such joy in hearing every detail of your next encounter with old one-eye! It is too sweet! Bastard that he is — you know he’s half giant himself, the execrable hypocrite!”

Sigyn smiled at Elli’s antics at first, but gradually grew more sober until the giantess finally settled a bit. Elli stopped celebrating and turned to face Sigyn directly with an empathetic look.

“Oh but, little one, it can’t have been easy for you to discover this, was it? I’m sorry. I will calm myself.” She took a deep breath and sat down once more. Then her eyes crinkled once more and she sniggered again before she finally contained herself, and put a hand on Sigyn’s knee. “Are you ok, little one?” Sigyn nodded. “And Loki? How did he take the news that he has been married to his sister all these years.”

“Elli!”

She snorted. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shall stop. It’s all as the Norns would have it, I’m sure, at least mostly. It never is exact, is it? We are always mucking about with their work.” Elli finally sobered. “But are you ok? It is much to take in, I’m sure.”

Sigyn shrugged. “I’m getting better. It’s hard not to be angry that he has any claim to any part of me. I don’t want him to be my father, thank you very much. But there you are. We control some things, and others we do not.”

“And Loki?”

“He seems to have taken the news better than I, actually. He has gleefully concocted a dozen ways to tell Thor that I’m his sister — all of which involve embarrassing references to Thor’s attempts to flirt with me when we were young.”

“I would love to see that!”

Just then, a sharp rap came at the front door.

“Who the Hel uses the front door?” Mumbled Sigyn as she peered carefully through the casement trying to see who it was before she answered.

“Elli!” came a voice from without. “Are you there, Elli! Goat’s piss, I’m sure she said this was the place. Elli?”

“I’m coming, Logi, keep your shoes on.”

Elli opened the door to her young cousin while Sigyn peered over her shoulder. But Logi didn’t bother trying to fit through the door. Instead, he delivered his message from the porch. “Elli, we have to know the plan. The dolls are moving and there are more of them than we thought. They will be here in a week at most.”

“Oh great goddess’s tits!” cried the old woman. “Sigyn, go out back and tell your husband.”

They were interrupted just then, however, by the great BOOM of the Bifrost opening up. Sigyn ran to the window just as the shouting started out back.

“Odin’s balls!” and she turned to run out the door. “It’s Thor! Piss. Did he have to show up just right now?!?