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hyperesthesias · 7 years ago

Text

Loki x Sigyn

Drabble: Ceremonies

Rating: G

Words: 2.793

Notes: From @serafina-constantine and my curiosity of what their Asgardian wedding would be like. Enjoy! ♥

“I don’t want to do this,” Loki murmured under his breath, grabbing at the breastplate beneath the leather, adjusting its discomfort that poked and prodded at his neck and ribs -- and when that was somewhat manageable, he moved from his breastplate to the cuffs along his arms, wriggling his wrists and wringing the metal of the armour until it felt somewhat tolerable. He had not worn his Asgardian uniform in some decades, having nearly forgotten the feel of its familiar nuisance -- that to stare at his visage reflected in the looking glass before him, it felt...wrong. Odd, in the very least. He was convinced he was staring at the image of a ghost, a haunting he though he’d burnt long ago, to never reappear. But there he was: different now, not as sullen, his skin a little darker from days in long daylight, his eyes a little brighter, but the shell remained the same: impenetrable.

How did he get here? A question that was meant more ways than one -- not only about the ghost’s visage, but about the circumstance of its reappearance. He had been on a diplomatic mission with his Queen, his beloved bonded, to Asgard, to share the story of Nashtar and to bridge any broken bonds between them. But something had gone terribly awry.

“There he is!” a booming voice came from behind him and Loki started at its suddenness, turning to see his brother with two steins of ale. “Look at you -- it still fits,” he chuckled and stuffed a mug into Loki’s hand before he clapped his palm against his brother’s shoulder and his face.

“And it’s still uncomfortable,” he growled, rolling his neck away from the tines of the breast plate beneath.

“Ah -- you’ll get used to it,” he landed a hand on his back and took a sip of ale.

Loki’s eyes wandered to the image of himself again as Thor’s words echoed within him. Would he get used to it? Would they be there long enough? Did he want to? His eyes flickered from the armour resting upon him to a glance of his brother nursing his drink, to where he -- for once -- found the notion both appealing and ingenious. He couldn’t do this, he didn’t want to, he thought as he took a drink, and then another. This wasn’t the type of attention he wanted -- he could already feel the stares, the whispered mockings, the scoffs, as he was paraded in front of the palace at his Mother’s behest -- with her best intentions -- and put on display for all to see, and after all he’d done; he wasn’t sure he could bear it, as he took a drink, and then another, larger drink -- then another, and just once more.

But he felt a hand on his stein as he nearly threw it all back at once, finding, as the glass lowered, his brother’s sights meeting his own.

“What?” he hissed, wiping his lips as he set down the glass.

“I have never known anything to rattle you so intensely, it’d drive you to drink.”

“Then perhaps you know me not well enough,” he spat back, swallowing as he collapsed into a lounge by the mirror. But he knew that wasn’t true -- Thor knew him better than most. He looked over as he felt the weight of the other sink into the lounge. “Did Mother send you here?”

“She suggested I aide you in readying for the ceremony,” Thor answered, with a knowing chuckle.

“So, she gave you no choice,” Loki interpreted.

Thor shrugged. “She gave me as much choice as she gave you for this wedding,” he looked into his glass.

Loki dragged a hand down his face as he sighed. “I don’t want to do this.”

“I thought you’d love the banquet in your honour,” Thor eyed his brother.

He only returned the glance with a glower, unamused to have his weakness jabbed. “They will have a banquet, but there will be no honour for me.”

“For your wife, then.”

“You know how Odin is, if she is not Asgardian, then she will never be enough,” he rubbed a finger to his brow, before he whispered, only to himself: “I never wanted that for her,” and he finished the rest of his ale.

But Thor heard, he always heard. “You both are already married -- there isn’t much he can do.”

“How reassuring,” Loki hummed, but hardly bothered to look at him, only massaging his temple with a single finger.

A grumbled sigh from the other, he struggled to comfort the one who did not wish comfort: “What I meant was, the ceremony is only for show.”

“A show for Mother,” he finished. “Because she did not get to see her son marry.” But the sardonic venom in his tone quieted when he stopped, and a soft chuckle came from the younger as he put down his hand: “She was livid when I told her -- utterly offended that I had not gotten word to her from across the Realms, even though I had no way of doing so. As though it was some personal slight against her,” he laughed quietly, hearing his brother do the same, with a knowing groan. “The only way I could appease her was by agreeing to this...fanfare,” he sighed.

“She has ways of getting what she wants,” Thor raised a brow, taking a sip.

“And much practise at it,” Loki shook his head, returning to massage his temple.

Thor resisted the intense urge to note aloud how familiar such traits sounded to the other beside him, but instead, took another drink. “She only wants to show others how much she loves you,” he began, and perked when he spoke again: “and how she accepts your wife, and her...culture,” he trailed off, an uneasiness gripping his words as he stopped.

Loki looked to his brother, noting the subtle grimace upon his features. “You know all those rumours we heard as children are false -- her people are not cannibals or whatever other wicked lies were conjured.”

He nodded, doubtful, but merciful still. “Well, the fact that you’re alive must mean something,” he nudged the other.

Loki rolled his eyes as he shook his empty glass. “I will see you at the ceremony later, brother,” he stood, rolling his neck again to pry away from the pauldrons poking his throat.

As much as the armour was familiar, so were the halls he once used to wander and roam -- the way the daylight lit through the sprawling arches and balconies, the way the winds wound through the pillars, whispering as they travelled, this part, he had missed. The quiet of late afternoon, the way the cool of evening mingled with the memory of day, making him to shudder as he took a breath. He remembered every path, every part, and every way he could not be seen -- for he wished to confine the stares and the mocks to as little as possible. But as he stood, debating between another glass or another taboo, split between two halls -- he chose the latter. Quietly slinking through the long shadows cast by the palace, he found his way to the suite in which his beloved was readying for the ceremony, in just a little while. He knew he was not meant to intrude, that they were to be parted until then, but he could not wait. A whole day had been long enough, and without his compass, he was lost.

Thus, he waited there, around the corner from her suite until a handmaiden left, and he could slip into the room without notice or shooing from the other maids.

“My love,” he called to her, quiet so as not to startle her, he looked around the main room, seeing clothes and jewellry, and other trinkets strewn around in a somewhat organised mess, until he came to the second room, where he saw her resting at a vanity, tending to her hair. “Sigyn...”

“Loki!” she spun around in her chair, a brilliant smile illuminating her as she jumped up to greet him.

He hurried to her, rushing into her arms, just as much as she did into his, and he picked her up and spun her gently about as he clung to her, burying his face into her hair, holding her just a little tighter than he normally did.

“What is it?” she said, when he finally put her down, cupping her hands to his face, rubbing her thumbs against his cheeks.

He shook his head, saying nothing for a little while, before he managed a smile, tucking a lock behind her ear. “I only wanted to see you.”

She knew it wasn’t the whole truth, but she asked nothing else, only caressing his neck, pulling up a piece of his leather suit to shield him against the piece of armour that seemed to be rather uncomfortable. “And seen me you have,” she pulled away from him for a moment as she held out the skirt of her dress. “What do you think? Traditional Asgardian -- your Mother gave it to me,” she beamed.

He could not take his eyes from her -- filled with her, utterly, completely. A pang in his core that she should fill such a dark creature as he with a light he could not contain. “You are...beautiful,” he winced as he spoke, swallowing hard as he gathered himself. “It suits you,” he gave her a gentle smile. To see her wear the culture in which he was raised, that she loved him so much to assimilate as he had -- from all the banquets he craved, and all the applause he’d ever wanted, he wasn’t sure he had ever been as honoured as he was in that moment.

But Sigyn stopped, releasing her dress to take his fingers tenderly with hers. “But that shadow upon you, does not suit you.”

“I can hide nothing from you,” he chuckled nervously, glancing downward.

“No,” she shook her head and smiled, coming closer to see his face. “What troubles thine heart?”

He breathed carefully, doing nothing for a little while, other than mingling his fingers with hers: “I...wish for better things than the spite of others. And...” he sighed looking to the ceiling now, instead, “...I do not wish any of it for you.”

Though he would not look at her, she could see it in his face: the tumult, the guilt, the regret, the disdain, the anger. He had been neglected, gaining an attention for himself he did not want, but for which he could settle over nothing else. “You fear me to be tied to your fate,” it was not a question.

‘Yes’ -- it barely came out even as a breath, it was hardly heard.

Sigyn said nothing for a little while, clinging to his hand instead of speaking -- she had known this fear of his, recurring as a nightmare that haunted him whilst awake. But it had never haunted her. She was herself, though they were bonded, she had only ever seen herself as herself, and terribly, terribly in love. Some called her foolish, others weak, or blind -- but she knew she was none of these things. She was. And she intended to be. No matter what.

“I will go with you anywhere,” she started. “As you will go with me. You are not tied to me as a weight --” she insisted, seeking his eyes.

He gave them hesitantly, but listened nonetheless.

“This ceremony -- is where we give ourselves as a gift to each other. And you are my gift Loki, not my burden.”

He had never been told that before. He had heard it in things she’d said, not in as many words, he had seen it in what she did -- but none other had ever told him he was not a burden. He could do nothing other than nod.

She reached up on the tips of her toes, placing her hands on his cheeks as she kissed him. “Now shoo -- I can hear your Mother down the hall.”

He broke from his shadow at the sight of her smile and once more stole away.

In his weakness, she’d given him strength, and he roamed the halls with bouts of nervousness, still, but he did not face those who whispered, he paid no care to others who might have looked ill upon him. He only kept his eyes forward on the path the pair of them set together, and looked upon nothing else.

And when the ceremony came, when he was paraded before the palace -- in a smaller crowd than he had anticipated, grateful his Mother knew him well enough -- he strode down the path to await his beloved before the King and Queen, feeling nothing but the coolness of the evening breeze, hearing naught but the whispers of wind, and seeing nothing but the brilliance of the stars that glimmered more brightly at night -- until the most luminous star emerged among the myriad of others: Sigyn.

There, in the distance, she came towards him -- willingly, with no fear harboured in her heart for him. The crown of flowers upon her head hardly worth touching her, that she deserved more than any realm had to offer; the gold that draped from her a disgrace, that there was no precious metal or precious stone that could compare to the divinity that was her; it was all nothing, for she was everything. He stood there, dumbfounded, speechless, rendered utterly immobile at the vision that approached him, that when she was finally beside him, he could do nothing but instinctively reach for her, his eyes still entirely captivated by her -- that he did not acknowledge the King when he began to speak, neither did he hear him. For all there was, was her.

Their hands joined together, and a rope of flowers bound them as the King recited blessings and prayers upon them both, and if Loki had been listening, he might’ve heard a sincerity in the King that had been lost for some while.

And when the prayers and recitations were completed, the pair led the way to the banquet hall, where they took the seat of honour at the bridal table. Gifts given and left at their table -- whether out of obligation or desire did not matter to Loki now, he had no other thought than to be near her, than to take in every nuance of her visage until he was entirely consumed. Amulets and ornaments were bestowed upon the bride, wishing her good fortune and happiness, that he began to grown concerned that there were far too many for her to carry -- but he wished them all to be true.

He did not relinquish her hand the entire banquet, despite the fact they were no longer bound by the rope, he found he could not let her go. She was his conduit, his grounding, his spark, all at once -- and with her hand in his, he felt alive.

And Sigyn knew this, and never did she try to pull from him, for in his hand, she felt safe -- she did not feel different from other others, she did not feel lost, some feather wandering never to touch the ground, she was able to do anything.

The feast lasted well into the night, and by the time all had finished their drinks and meals, they led the couple to their suite with happy songs and blessings with torches to light the way in the pitch of night.

Loki and Sigyn could hear the raucous crowd dwindle down the hall from behind their door, and they could do nothing but laugh -- finding their guests much more thrilled than even they. But they were different, and they knew this.

Still, they held taught to the other’s hand as they both collapsed on the bed -- both on their backs as they stared at the canopy above, utterly exhausted from entertaining everyone else the entire night, that they curled together, their hands never parting, relishing in each other’s warmth and coolness.

“Did you say these feasts last for days?” Sigyn suddenly recalled as she began to doze in his arms.

“Usually more,” he murmured in drowsiness.

Sigyn groaned and planted her head into his chest, clinging her other hand to his cape as she shook her head.

Loki could only chuckle and he sighed as he pulled her close, wrapping her in the breath of his emerald cloak, keeping his beloved close, and above all, keeping his beloved safe.

#logyn #loki x sigyn #sigyn x loki #loki #sigyn #ship: logyn #*

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