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Loki stared up the ceiling of his prison, his mind alight with more activity than it had in months. The excitement from the attack had long since faded. The bodies of dead guards and prisoners had been taken away. Blood still slicked the floors, but nobody had been sent wash it away. He was alone.
He imagined in the next few days those who were injured would come trickling back in and the steady hum of threats and discontentment would fill his ears once more. It was a blessing and a curse. Silence meant peace, but it also meant lack of distraction.
Who had attacked? How had Heimdall failed to see them? What did they want?
He had the questions, but no clear path to answers. Still, he focused on those questions, practical problems with clear solutions, rather than other more painful questions that twisted his insides into knots.
Who else was dead?
He tried to picture Odin lying still on the ground with an unknown assassin’s blade in his chest. He waited for the surge of delight to fill him or at the very least satisfaction; all he found was guilt and a steady ache. Thor’s body came next. The ache grew worse.
He shook his head willing the visions away before they drew him in further. They did not deserve his concern or pity. If they were alive than he had nothing to fret over and if they were dead…well all he lost was his chance for revenge.
The thought rang false, but he clung to it all the same.
As if to punish him for speaking lies, a different face passed through his mind.
Mother…
His heart clenched. Surely, she would have been kept somewhere safe. He and Odin never saw eye to eye, but he could not deny how much Odin loved Frigga. If there was anyone he was certain had survived it was her.
Who was looking after…?
In an instant he was sitting upright, hit with a sudden surge of panic and sickness. He let out a low groan, rubbing his face hard as if hoping the process would wipe away the vision from behind his eyes. He would not think of her. He would not allow her to occupy his thoughts any more than she already did.
It was a fruitless effort, but he tried all the same. Even after two years he had not given up the hope that one day he would look inside his heart, and she would no longer be there. Maybe then it would hurt less.
Footsteps sounded accompanied by the light clash of metal on metal. Guards were escorting someone below.
Loki straightened, morphing his face into an impassive, almost bored expression. He didn’t care who it was coming to visit. It was a distraction, nothing more.
Carefully, he turned and allowed himself to rise to his feet.
He was in no hurry. What else did he have to do?
He watched idly as four guards entered, forming a protective circle around his guest. Despite his efforts, surprise and relief touched the corners of his eyes.
“Mother.”
Frigga paused in front of his cell before gesturing to the guards.
“Leave us.”
They did not need telling twice as all four of them made their way back up the staircase.
Loki waited until the clamor of armor had faded before he spoke again.
“As I hope is evident, I had nothing to do with the day’s little excursion,” he said, dryly.
“I’m well aware of that,” Frigga said. “Malekith and his Dark Elves were the ones to attack the palace.”
Loki’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed? Now that is something. And what would finally bring them here?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Something about her tone gave him pause. It wasn’t hard or defensive. She sounded…tired.
“Loki,” she continued, her voice tight with emotion. “Something has happened. I think it would be better if you sat down.”
His eyes narrowed. He didn’t know how he missed it before. She had been crying.
“No, I don’t think I will,” he said, skeptically. “Tell me, has my dear brother finally cut off his mortal coil?”
“No.”
He hid his treacherous relief with a rueful smile. “Oh, that is a shame. Was it Odin? I could use some good new today.”
“Both are well.”
His lip tightened. Another name pressed against the seam of his mouth, but he would not give it voice. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.
“Then I don’t see what could possibly be so important for you to visit me in person.” He gave a dismissive gesture with his hand as he started to turn away. “Now, if you don’t mind there are a number of other things I’d rather be doing—"
“It’s Sigyn.”
He stopped. Something twisted hard inside him as panic took hold of his chest. Visions he had tried moments before push away flooded his thoughts; blood against pale skin as bright eyes faded into nothing. His throat tightened to keep the bile from rising.
He cursed his body for the speed of the reaction. She sided with Thor. She betrayed him. She left him to rot in a cell without a word. She had forgotten him. She did not deserve anything from him. He shouldn’t care. He would not care; but, he wasn’t fooling anyone.
Just the sound of her name and he was already thinking of ways to get out of his cell.
“What about her?” he said, not daring to turn back around.
“I’m so sorry, my son..."
“Where is she?”
Even without looking at her, Loki knew his mother’s eyes were once again filling with tears. The next words she spoke were a choked whisper.
“She’s dead. Loki…Sigyn is dead.”
For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He couldn’t feel anything. All that existed were those three words; Sigyn is dead.
He waited for the weight of them to fall, but all they did was hover like a fog inside his mind. They were just words. He knew words; there were times they were worth less than the air. Perhaps this was one of those times. Maybe that was why he felt numb.
“No,” he said, his voice shockingly calm.
“Loki…”
“No,” he repeated, shaking his head, his mind desperate to clear away her words. “I want to see her.”
“I don’t think that will be possible.”
“I am her husband, surely I’m allowed that right.”
“Don’t do this to yourself,” Frigga pleaded. “Allow your last memory of her to be as she lived, not as a corpse.”
He felt the urge to scoff. The last memory he had of Sigyn was as an illusion fighting back tears as she refused to look at him.
“You hurt me,” her voice echoed back to him. “You’ve been hurting me for years. All I wanted from you was some acknowledgment. I suppose I’ll have to make peace with the fact I’ll never get it.”
“I need to see her,” he insisted. “If she thinks she can’t trick me into an apology—”
“This isn’t a trick.”
“I don’t believe you!” he roared, finally turning to face her. Fear and rage filled his blood. He clung to it. It was the first solid feeling he had and he would not allow himself to slip back into nothingness.
Sigyn couldn’t be dead. He would not let her get the last word.
Frigga watched him a long moment, her eyes filled with pity.
It stung to see. In a moment of self-reflection, he realized how deranged he sounded. Still, pity led to action.
Stepping to the side of his cell, she waved her hand allowing the barrier to melt away. Before he could even attempt at freedom a pair of heavy chains wrapped themselves around his wrists.
“A precaution,” she said, regretfully.
Loki had no intention of escaping until he saw Sigyn, but he gave a try at the cuffs all the same. As he suspected, nothing happened. Whatever enchantment was on the chains dampened his powers; he couldn’t even change the color of his hair.
He straightened his back, making a point to keep his chin high. “Lead the way.”
Frigga stayed beside him, pausing only once they reached the landing and guards.
“My Queen…” One began to protest only to be cut off by a raised hand.
“Any qualm Odin might have will be for me to deal with. I am still your Queen, and my son wishes to pay last respects to his wife. If you feel he has no right to that request, I suggest you inform the All Father now.”
Each of the guards looked to each other, clearly waiting for another to go. None dared and they continued on.
Loki soon realized while they had moved up from the prisons, they had started to move down into what he knew to be the crypts.
Cold dread crept along the edges of his heart as they moved ever further downward. The reality of what was coming, of who was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs grew heavier with each step.
He wanted to stop. Perhaps if he turned back now, he could trick himself into believing Sigyn was safe. It wouldn’t be the first time he bought into his own lies; but he kept on, his feet moving ever forward.
The doors to the crypt creaked open, the hinges rusted from the damp cold. A line of fresh corpses met his eyes. All were dressed in Asgardian armor. Some small part of him wondered where the dark elves and escaped prisoners were, but it only lasted a moment. His eyes were only looking for one face.
Frigga moved ahead of him before stopping at the end of the line.
Loki followed, his hands shaking so hard they began to rattle the chains at his wrists. Before he had time to stop himself, he found her.
Sigyn was dead.
It surprised him, how quickly he understood that to be the truth. So often in stories the protagonist paused to state how their fallen comrade appeared to be sleeping, but Loki knew better. Sigyn never slept like this; back stiff, hands folded, and mouth closed. She craved softness and comfort. Every night she would inevitably curl into herself, her hair a golden mess of curls as she murmured small nothings under her breath.
No whispers came. Only stillness and quiet.
Loki reached out, pressing his fingers against her cheek.
She was cold. He instinct was to pull away, but he found he couldn’t.
This wasn’t right. Sigyn didn’t like the cold. How often had he teased her as she buried herself in blankets on winter nights only to have her pull him under with her. She was warmth. It was like the sun itself clung to her skin. He never needed fire or furs, just her. He had only ever needed her.
He could feel something start to fracture inside him; a crack splintering off into a thousand fine branches.
He knelt beside her, rubbing his hand against her skin as if that would be enough to ignite the warmth back into her.
“Sigyn?” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.
He knew he would receive no reply, all the same, the silence made the branches grow deeper and more pronounced.
What was the last thing he said to her? He couldn’t remember. He had been so angry; betrayal and pain were all he could focus on. Whatever it was, he knew it wasn’t kind. He had wanted to hurt her, and he did.
“You hurt me,” she had told him. “You’ve been hurting me for years.”
“I didn’t mean it,” found himself saying. “I didn’t mean it, Sigyn.”
He took her face in his hands and shattered.
“I didn’t mean it. Please my love, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t…”
He couldn’t stop repeating himself. Dead or not, gone or not, he needed her to hear him. He needed to say he was sorry.
Vaguely he felt arms wrap around him. He recognized his mother, and, in that moment, he was a child again, lost and alone.
“I don’t know what to do,” he sobbed. “I don’t know what to do.”
Frigga held him tighter. It was the only thing keeping him in his body.
“It’s alright,” she soothed. “You don’t have to do anything. She knew you loved her, despite everything, she knew.”
Loki shook his head. His mother didn’t understand. She didn’t know the things he had said, the Gods awful things he said.
The steady ache that he had grown accustomed to felt as if it were being sucked further into him leaving a mass of emptiness in its wake. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To wake up one morning and find her no longer in his heart?
He buried his face in his hands, sucking in desperate breaths as sobs wracked his body.
No. She was still there. He could feel the weight of her even in the blackness. She had sunk into his bones, breaking every part of him in the process. The pain was all he had left of her. Fitting considering how much pain he caused her.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore as useless pleads and cries poured out of him. His mother’s arms were the only thing keeping him upright. But eventually, slowly, he got hold of his lungs again. Air re-entered his body and he even managed pulled himself away from his hands.
His eyes stung as finally allowed himself to really look at her. They had dressed her in clothes he didn’t recognize. Armor lay over her chest and a blue cape wrapped itself around her as she held a sword in her hand; a warrior’s pose. He looked around at the other bodies; soldiers fallen in battle ready to be sent to Valhalla.
“Why is she here?” he whispered, his voice rough from crying.
“She died a warrior’s death,” Frigga answered.
Loki shook his head. “She is a Princess of Asgard, not a common solider. She shouldn’t have been near the fighting.”
“She volunteered,” Frigga said. “Malekith was after the Aether which is currently bonded to Jane Foster. Sigyn vowed to protect her, and she did. Malekith’s attack was a failure because of her actions.”
Loki nodded along, disregarding the why and focusing on the who.
“Malekith killed her.”
Frigga shook her head. “Yes and no. She and Malekith battled, but it was one of his Kursed that struck the killing blow.”
He stared, the floor dropping from beneath him. One of the Kursed. He had seen him change right before his eyes before escaping the prison. He was the one to tell the creature how to find the main hallway. He had led that monster straight to Sigyn.
He was going to be sick. He could feel the acid bile stinging his throat but before anything could be done about it, the clatter of armor captured his attention.
“Escort the prisoner back to his cell.” Odin’s voice came like an echo in the cavernous room.
Loki stiffened, his wave of sickness replaced with something much more useful; fury.
“Father, leave him be,” Thor said, but Odin ignored him.
“Guards.”
The sound of armor came closer and Loki readied himself for attack. This was what he needed. He might not have a knife or his powers, but he could still fight. He needed to break something.
Before he could act, however, Frigga pulled away from him holding her hand up.
“Do not come any closer,” she warned.
“Frigga,” Odin warned, “I had given strict instructions not to allow Loki out of his cell.”
“And I chose to ignore them,” she said, her voice going low. “Your son has just lost his wife. Have some pity for Gods’ sake.”
“He is also a traitor to Asgard,” he said, before turning his tone gentle. “I sympathize and can admire your caring heart but given the current threat it is necessary to keep up all known enemies of Asgard under lock and key.”
“You sympathize? Loki spat. He turned to Odin, rising to his feet to meet his anger. “How long ago was it you wanted to throw her to the wolves for the sole crime of calling me husband?”
Odin finally turned to Loki, but much to Loki’s disappointment his shoulders slumped his eyes daring to be soft.
“I was wrong,” he admitted. “Sigyn has since proved herself to be a loyal servant of Asgard. She fought with honor and died with it.”
Loki’s jaw clenched, his fury only growing. He let it, utilizing years of resentment and injustice to act as kindling. It may burn him from the inside out, but anything was better than guilt or helplessness. This at least gave him purpose.
“Servant?” he growled. “Just another tool to be used? That’s all she ever was, wasn’t it? She served her purpose in your plans for me. Quite useful to have the rightful King of Jotunheim married to a Lady of Asgard. And when that plan failed you meant to throw her away until she proved herself useful. What better than a powerful sorceress dependent of your mercy.”
“Those were her choices.”
“What choice did she have?!” Loki snapped. “She couldn’t return home. Every single in person in Asgard would turn her away thanks to you.”
“No, thanks to you,” Odin said, his gentle tone replaced with that of a King. “It was your actions which led to the mistrust of the people. You forced that shame upon her.”
“And one word form you would have lifted it.”
Odin said nothing, but the look in his eyes did not give Loki satisfaction. There was no hint of defeat, only more pity. Just more kindling.
“I understand your grief,” he said. “But blaming me will not bring you peace. Sigyn died to correct the damage you caused. Her loyalty was to her people, even if they did not love her in return. It was a selfless act. Perhaps you can learn from that.”
Loki didn’t move as red struck across his vision.
He was going to kill that man. Sigyn was dead and he was speaking platitudes, washing his hands of her blood.
“Take him away,” Odin said.
The heavy footsteps echoed around him just before hard hands dug into his flesh. It was now or never.
Loki let himself go limp, the sudden weight of his body, knocking the guards off balance. A few swift kicks behind the knees and they were down. He grabbed for the nearest belt, tugging the blade free of its hilt. Two other guards still stood, scrambling for their weapons.
Loki’s lips turned into a sneer as he charged, only to fall.
The weight of his chains grew, plunging his wrist to the floor. He let out a feral yell of frustration as he struggled, but his hands remained pinned. Guards swarmed him; the sword kicked out of his hand. He was being pulled and shoved, but he didn’t care. He wanted blood. Anyone’s would do.
“Enough,” Thor’s voice boomed.
Suddenly the guards were shoved aside and Loki felt the familiar strength of his brother’s hand on his arm.
“Thor,” Odin warned.
“I will escort Loki back to his cell,” he stated. “You have done enough.”
Nobody gave protest as Thor lead Loki out of the crypt towards the surface.
Adrenaline and anger still pulsed inside of him as they climbed ever higher. He let it run wild knowing the moment it faded he would find himself on his hands and knees again, pleading through tears. He needed someone to focus his fury on. Thor was a good a target as any.
“Do you think this will absolve you,” Loki spat. “You are as much to blame as Odin.”
“Enough, Loki.”
“You wish to remain blind to the truth? You were the one who locked me away and threw away the key. I could have saved her. If I were there–”
“But you weren’t,” Thor cut off. “You haven’t for years.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Your own,” he said, stopping to look him in the eye. “Do not blame me for your actions, brother. You were the one who invaded Midgard. You were the one who pushed Sigyn away. Do not speak of truth and lies when you cannot face the reality.”
“And what reality is that?” Loki challenged.
“You broke her heart.”
The words came like a slap. Guilt turned inside him. The creature turning into a Kursed behind his eyes.
You hurt me. You’ve been hurting me for years.
He pushed it down turning back to the anger and letting it burn the rest.
In a flash Loki launched himself at Thor using all his strength to pin him against the wall. Still, strength was never his strong suit and the chains around his wrist were making the unlikely impossible. It only took a moment for Thor push him off and turn so that he was pinned instead.
He struggled, but Thor held fast, keeping his arm against this throat.
“Are you done?” Thor said, his tone oddly calm despite the circumstances.
Loki barred his teeth, as he seethed with unfocused rage. “Not nearly.”
“Good. We can use that.”
Loki paused, his eyes narrowing.
“I need your help,” Thor confessed. “And in exchange I can give you what you crave.”
“You have nothing I want.”
“What of vengeance?”
He cocked his head, his lips turned into a mocking smile. “Vengeance on who?”
“The men actually responsible for Sigyn’s death,” Thor pressed. “Malekith and his Kursed. They were the ones to attack the palace. They killed Sigyn. Not Odin. Not me. Not even you.”
Loki did not say anything, but the fact he wasn’t trying to fight Thor was answer enough.
“Sigyn died to stop them from destroying Asgard and the rest of the Nine Realms. Help me and we can stop them. Her death will not be in vain.”
Loki shook his head. “In vain or not, the reality remains the same.”
“That maybe be so, but you cannot change the past. The future is all we have. Stopping Malekith may help you find peace there.”
“I will never know peace again,” Loki murmured. “Not unless you’ve discovered away to bring back the dead.”
Thor shook his head. “I cannot give you that. No one can and that is the truth even you cannot bend.”
Loki’s lips tightened. What did Thor know? He was the God of Lies. The truth was an afterthought, reality bendable. Why couldn’t he bend the inevitable truth of death? He could do it, he just needed time. Time that would be wasted sitting in an Asgardian cell.
The fire inside him demanded blood. Malekith’s would just be the beginning.
“Then suppose revenge will have to do,” he said, his body surging with new glorious purpose. “Where do we start?”