Work Text:
Loki was depressed and nothing seemed to cheer him up. Everything was a mess, wasn’t it? For centuries, he had believed himself to be the next king of Asgard, or at the very least, he had thought he had a fighting chance. But it was all lies.
In truth, he should have known. Odin always treated him differently from Thor. His brother had been the favourite, the golden son. Loki had always kept a little hope, at the back of his heart, that the AllFather might open his eyes and realize he was the better son, the best candidate for the throne. One day, their father would come to open his eyes and see him, truly see him for who and what he was: a good son, devoted to his family and to the realm, ready to do all he could to make his father proud of him, to make him love him – at the very least, as much as he loved Thor.
But it was not meant to be.
And now, he knew. Now, he understood why Odin would never have loved him so, why he would never have chosen him as Crown Prince of Asgard. Loki was not truly his son, and worse than this, he was a Jotun, the seed of his enemy. Never, even in his wildest dreams, would Odin have let a Frost Giant become the King of Asgard.
Never would he have truly loved him. He was just a political pawn, a stolen artefact, just like that stupid Casket.
So he had rebelled – not for the sake of creating chaos, but once again, to show Odin he was his worthy son, maybe not by blood, but at least through the principles the King had thought him. Conquest, the superiority of the Aesir race, and always a sense of your own nobility. You had to show through your actions that your birthright was deserved, do whatever was necessary for the good of the realms, even if those deeds could seem terrible to the common people. As long as Asgard was safe, it did not matter.
And so he did. It would have been nice to have a friend by his side, actually happy for him, cheering at his coronation, but he had none. Thor’s friends barged in, demanding his return, the return of their “true” king – though they did not know at the time his true nature yet.
Falling from the Bifrost had been as literal than metaphorical. He had fallen from grace – Odin’s grace. He had been lost, to himself as much as to the others. Thanos torturing him so he would bend to his will… there was no need at this point. Odin had already crushed his soul under the weight of his lies.
Anyway, he had been defeated by the Avengers and his brother. Did the Warrior three knew they were being replaced by a bunch of mortals? Well, well, well… First, Thor had found himself a mortal sweetheart, and now mortal companions. He would remind him once again how foolish this all was, how heartbroken he would be once they eventually grew old, withered and died, but Loki knew better now.
Thor’s new friends had had a very silly idea: after interrogating him for hours, they had decided he was not going to go back to Asgard and face the AllFather’s justice. No, instead, what he truly needed was… therapy.
Therapy? What the Hel was that?
Well, he found out pretty quicky. First, they made an appointment for him with what he understood to be a “healer of the mind”. No such thing in Asgard, the Aesir would have seen this kind of health issue as simple weakness, an excuse for cowardness, no less. But then, it was always the way his brother, his friends, their father saw him, wasn’t it? As a coward and a freak, and now insane.
Then, they made him wait in a room, full of other crazy people, until some woman shouted his name and asked him to come into the healer’s office. Usually, Clint would accompany him to the Doctor’s door, just to be sure he would do as he was told – did those mortals fancy him for a child? Other times, it was the red woman that came with him.
Thor’s friends called that the “babybsitting” chore. So yes, it did sound like they saw him as an infant, petulant and fanciful.
During the first appointment, the Doctor and Loki had entertained themselves in a game of staring. Loki had won, of course. Clint and Agent Romanoff had said that healer was very famous and very expensive, a specialist in his field, who used to have a radio show or whatever – did it truly matter? He was called Frasier something… the man was a bore, Loki swore that he would find a way not to come back, so he did not take the time to learn his name.
Yet, Clint insisted, promised him he would get dessert if he went to the Doctor’s office, and so, rolling his eyes and planning some mischief to pass the time, Loki eventually followed the Avengers.
However, Loki did not get to trick anyone before, during or after the appointment. In the waiting room, while Agent Romanoff was reading some trashy magazine, the God of Mischief, bored to tears, had started looking at the people sitting around him. Mortals, meaningless ants.
All but one.
The little red headed lady in front of him was a sight for sore eyes. Lovely, charming, the picture of courtesy and virtue, with her hands demurely on her lap, her pretty blue eyes trying not to make contact with anyone in particular. She had a quite exquisite mouth, and he could very easily picture himself kissing those plump lips, and from there, his imagination went into places the proper little lady might not have approved of.
On the next appointment, she was not in the waiting room. Loki felt frustrated, looking at the door, hoping she would suddenly appear. But she did not.
Appointment number four, five, six. Doctor Frasier… or was it Crane? kept calling him ‘Loge’, instead of ‘Loki’, which was annoying. He had asked him a few times if he had found the love of a worthy woman, if he was planning to burn anything yet and if he had Brunnhilde’s phone number… Well, the worthy woman was out of his reach, and Brunnhilde had a wife, and yes, he might burn his office to the ground if he kept making Wagner cheap jokes…. Still, Frasier said they were making progress, talking about his family, Odin’s lies, how his desire for the throne was actually a desire to be loved by his father. And it turned out he was NOT a narcissist! Fascinating! He could not wait to tell that to Tony Stark, just to shut him up. Great. Wonderful. Now where was his little lady?
On the tenth appointment, she was there, but she was leaving Doctor Frasier Crane’s office (he got his full name right, at last) while he was only entering the waiting room. Damn it! Well, he could still imagine her there, sitting on his lap, kissing him tenderly, while his hands wandered under her skirts, and her red hair, undone, cascaded over her shoulders in the throes of passion.
If Thor could have a Midgardian lover, why couldn’t he? And now that he had found her, he could not live without her. It was insane, but it did occupy his mind in the most delightful ways. He did not know her name, but he knew she had to be his, at any cost.
But first, some he needed some sugar!
After each appointment, Clint and Natasha brought him to that little coffee shop around the corner. A very quaint quiet place, with some nice smells of the hot beverage the Midgardians seemed to love so much. However, to the smell of coffee, Loki preferred the one of freshly baked pastries. He decided those were the new love of his eternal life, his attraction for them was even stronger than the one he felt for the Tessaract itself.
Pies. Glorious pies!
There were pies on Asgard, of course, but the ones from the coffee shop were masterful, a pure delight for his mouth and soul. A simple bite, and it was pure bliss, better than Valhalla itself.
At first, he had not understood what the fuss was all about, and why both Avengers had insisted to go to that place in particular and order that dessert with a “cup of joe, please!”. He did not care too much for the brown warm liquid, but the pies were exquisite and now he had become rather addicted to them.
So now, Loki needed two things. No, not the throne, or power. He was even letting go of the idea of Odin ever loving him the way he loved Thor. But those pies, and his little lady? Yes. He wanted them very, very much.
But then, the less he saw her, the less he craved pies. Even those delicious pies, with a taste of Valhalla, turned into dust into his mouth, just resigning himself to the fact he would never cross her path again.
“What’s wrong with him?”, he heard Agent Romanoff ask her partner.
Clint shrugged and whispered something about a “crush”. Well, the young lady’s absence was crushing his soul, that was for sure. He had never felt as badly, as depressed as he was right now. Nothing seemed to put a smile on his face. He tried playing a trick on the two agents, but it failed miserably.
Worse than this! The pair pretended to be surprised, and to be slightly wounded by his prank, but Loki knew. Yes, it was that bad, he looked that desperate that his guardians would want to spare his feelings.
He needed to see her again, before he really lost his mind, along with the rest of his dignity.
“Oh, buddy!”, he heard Clint call him, feeling his hand on his back, “I think there’s something behind the counter you might like”
“I am not hungry anymore, Warrior of the Hawks”, Loki declared gloomily. Still, he looked in the direction the Avenger had given him, and was taken aback.
There she was! Loki rose from his seat in an instant, ready to go and join her, but stopped. Ah, he looked ridiculous in his Midgardian attire. Worse than this, he looked poor. He remembered how Odin had some words with Thor one day, about his lack of decorum, and how he should always look his best, as he was a Prince and a god. It had been a great day for Loki, and since then, he had always done his best to look flawless, the picture perfect of Aesir elegance.
But here he was, looking pale, and tired, and in a suit that Clint had bought for him in some cheap supermarket. He could not seriously think of wooing his lady looking so indigent! She would laugh at him, and rightly so. In a gesture, he conjured new clothes, not Asgardian, as he did not want to look too much like the madman who had attacked New-York – that story would be for another day, if she ever recognized him. He could pretend he was someone else, someone important, some tall, dark, handsome stranger that would be worthy of her, and would seduce her with his wit and charm.
The girl in question had cardboard boxes in her arms and was chatting cheerfully with the waitress.
“Oh, here’s your most faithful customer”, the Midgardian woman said, seeing Loki approach them, “Siggy, this gentleman always comes here with his friends for your pies! He is clearly gaga for them!”
‘Siggy’, for the waitress had called her that way, raised her eyebrows, observing him carefully, before gasping, as she recognized him.
Damn. It was over. She knew who he was, she knew he was the one who had attacked her city, and would hate him from now on. And had the waitress actually said the pies were hers? So those delicate, dainty hands had baked those delicious pastries? She might not have been a goddess, but there was indeed magic in her hands. And he was about to lose everything: and his lady, and her heavenly desserts.
It would be depression, then, for each meal, from then on. He wondered what Doctor Crane would think about that… Hum. More work for him. For the rest of time. He would probably say something about how sex and food were linked, intimately. BUT PLEASE, NO MORE WAGNER. Though, Loki pondered, he did like ‘The Flying Dutchman’ better than ‘The Ring’.
When the waitress left them alone to take care of another customer, his beloved curtsied politely to him, and whispered, “Your highness Prince Loki”.
Ah. So she had not recognized him from New-York, but from Asgard… his lady was not Midgardian. How wonderfully appropriate! No heartbreak over an early death, as it would be the case for Thor’s lover and friends.
“You know my name, dear lady”, Loki cooed, smiling gently at the baker, though his desire was growing rapidly, “But I do not know yours”
‘Siggy’ was probably a nickname… He needed her identity. He needed to know her, like he knew her pies – intimately.
His lady nodded and blushed, a little embarrassed, which made her look even more adorable.
“I am Sigyn Iwaldidottir, your highness”, she said, while Loki kept his gaze on her, and only her.
Iwaldidottir? So Freya’s daughter, then? A princess of Vanaheim! How lucky he was, to be in love with a match that would be worthy of him, that could please both his father and mother. But then Loki remembered: it did not matter. His father’s opinion did not matter, not anymore. The moment he set foot again on Asgard, he would be arrested and sent to jail, if not worse. How unlucky, actually. He would become a shame to his lady, and she would never want to see him again. This was hopeless.
Still, what was a high born lady doing on Midgard, baking pies and selling them for a living? This was a mystery, and Loki loved mysteries. He needed to know.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Sweet Lady Sigyn”, the Prince started gallantly, “why are you in this mortal realm? Surely your mother must miss you”
Sigyn pursed her lips and played with her hands nervously. Ah. Had he hit a serious issue? Was it linked to her appointments with Frasier Crane? He remembered now how terrifying Freya could be. Being her child must not have been easy, even for a girl as lovely and gifted as his beloved.
“Mother is crossed with me”, the princess confessed, “I did something that she cannot forgive, so I had to exile myself”
Loki was now surprised. He should have backed off, but he could not imagine what terrible deed the sweet and gentle lady had done to deserve such a cruel punishment. Once again, he needed to know.
“My mother had planned this wedding for me, you see”, Sigyn explained, “with one of the warriors from your Father’s elite guard, the Crimson Hawks. His name is Theoric…But I did not like him. So I said no. And mother got angry. And I had to run, so I was not forced to marry him”
So she ran away from an arranged marriage? Nothing so terrible or unforgivable. Nothing like stealing a precious artefact, or destroying a city, or killing a few mortals…
Then Loki stopped his way of thoughts. He had forgotten for a moment how Freya hated Jotuns, and would never have any of her daughters marry one of them.
Damn. Well, Sigyn had disobeyed her mother’s orders once, maybe she would again, for the right gentleman?
Loki had always been confident, at the very least, in appearance, and yet, he felt hesitant. He did not dare – what if she took offense and ran away from him, as she did from her fiancé? What then? Would he let her go, or would he act as the villain he was supposed to be and run after her, forcing her to be his? The Prince was scared to ask himself the question, as the answer was rather obvious. He was addicted to her, as he was to her pies. And seeing her so lovely, desirable and worthy of his affection, he knew his obsession for her would only grow, until it swallowed them both.
“Would you”, he started, stammering a little, “accept my courtship, my lady?”
He could hear Clint and Romanoff snickering, and making noises, and whispering “Daww! Is he asking her on a date? So cute!”, once again infantilizing him, as if he was some child, falling in love for the first time, instead of a powerful god, with some experience in the matter.
Though, had he ever truly fallen in love before? Of course, he had had some lovers – but was it true love? No, not really. Here, he was giving his heart to Sigyn on the same plate where her pie had laid before, hoping she would take good care of it. He trusted her with it, and something at the back of his mind told him he could and should.
Sigyn blinked several times, obviously surprised, then blushed, her eyes aimed at her feet in pure bashfulness. She was so sweet it took him all the strength in the Nine realms not to take her in his arms and kiss her where she stood.
“Your highness”, she mumbled, confused, “I know you are famous for your playfulness, and usually I would appreciate it, however this is a little cruel, don’t you think?”
It was Loki’s turn to be bewildered by his beloved’s words. Cruel? He would never be cruel to her. He loved her too much already, and the mere idea of losing her was unacceptable. He needed her more than air, more than power or the throne, or Odin’s love. He would cherish her and never do anything that might push her away.
“My sweet”, Loki started, “I promise you there is no trick or lie. I do love you and am desperate to court you, if you accept, of course”
The doubt and apprehension were clear on his lady’s beautiful face. Was she as fearful for her own heart as he was with his? Of course, his terrible reputation and his last actions were not helping his case.
“Do you truly love me?”, Sigyn asked, her voice small, nearly inaudible, “Mother always said I was not pretty enough to be worthy of anyone’s notice. And Theoric did call me a frigid pedantic bitch…”
“He did what?”, Loki howled. He was going to murder that man. A mere soldier, insulting Njord’s granddaughter? How dare he… As for Freya, well, that was barely surprising, wasn’t it? She would demand perfection, and though, to Loki’s eyes, Sigyn was the true essence of beauty, she never would be enough for Freya – except maybe if Iwaldi had carved her into pure gold, encrusted with precious stones. No wonder the poor girl ended up at the same Doctor’s as he did. Loki, however, did not need a wife made of gold – his little lady made of flesh and blood, smelling of her delicious pies was all he needed and craved for.
Freya did not matter. They did not matter. Odin, Freya, and even bloody Theoric. Loki would love Sigyn and give her all the care and affection she might need… as he hoped she would do the same.
“I turned him into a turtle”, she quickly confessed, before hiding her face into her hands.
Well, that was a nice surprise. His sweet lady did have a little mischief in her, he cheered to himself. He would cherish that too, and see that it grew in his company.
“Good”, Loki replied with a smile, “Did you bake him into one of your delicious pies?”
Sigyn looked at him blankly, before bursting out laughing, holding her sides, not able to find her breath again. Her eyes were tearful, however those were not tears of grief but joy.
Yes, they would be very happy together, eating her pastries, and finding out the recipe of love, one that would last as long as Yggdrasil, and would only bring them bliss and delight.