The Burden Of Her Arms (Loki/Sigyn)

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

He didn't speak to Sigyn for weeks. Beyond orders and short, one or two word comments, silence hung over their interactions. He wasn't as cruel again as he had been the first day and he suspected her anger had subsided a little because of it. But she was still resentful. She curtsied and called him "my Prince" or "my lord." It was irritating but it was proper etiquette and if he wished to retain the appearance of being above her, then it would have to continue.

He never brought another woman back to his room. Somehow it felt like he was betraying Sigyn and defiling a room that was hers as much as it was his. As if to add insult to injury, it seemed wrong to make her strip the bed after he had brought another woman to it.

Still, he drank and laughed, trained and hunted with Thor and his growing band of followers. He flirted with women and quickly learned the art of seduction. Before long he had joined the ranks of men known for entertaining the poor, neglected wives of the court. He was the youngest of that group, only a century and a half in age, no longer a foolish pubescent boy but not quite a man. But he carried himself as though he were older and the women had no problems with it so long as he was willing.

He traveled with Thor and Fandral and Volstagg. They ventured to Alfheim and Vanaheim often but Midgard was a particular favorite of theirs. They were treated as gods, the food was good, the women were curious, and the realm itself was good for exploring.

Skirmishes were eagerly attended and the celebrations after were rife with drunken foolery and stories of their bravery. Somehow, Loki could not put on the farce of being so brave and mighty as Volstagg or Fandral and he was not so good with people as Thor. But he entertained the men with riddles, bets, and tricks, and behind their backs he entertained their wives.

He was Thor's darker, more mysterious brother. The quiet one with a mischievous face and hands well suited for magic of more than the illusionary kind. His nickname was well founded, no matter what meaning one took from it, and he rather liked it: silver-tongue.

But his smiles were forced and his mornings were commonly spent slipping silently out of rooms and avoiding his mother's concern.

Odin spoke to him more and included him in their activities now. He laughed with him and praised him for his work. But his relationships changed, his studies gathered dust in a corner, his moments alone were... questionable.

It wasn't until he frightened himself that he had had enough of this farce. He was in his room, by the window. Looking up as he pulled the curtain closed, he found himself studying the high curtain rod and wondering idly if it would hold his weight.

It was a curious thought, one borne of an isolated, pained state of mind more than the feelings in his heart. But it sent his heart into his stomach and he backed away from the window, fearing the thought that may follow. He quickly left the room and desperately sought out company. But no one distracted him and alcohol could not soothe his wretchedness. He spent the night in the library, frantically trying to find a book to engross himself with until morning. At the first sign of dawn, he went in search of Sigyn.

**

"Sigyn?"

She looked up from her book. It was late and curfew was in a few minutes. Her mother sat by the wash stand, braiding her hair back. "Don't tell me that you still worry over that boy."

Sigyn sighed and flipped a page. "No, you know I don't. He's done enough. I can't love a man I can't trust."

Minha nodded and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Well, at least you're smart enough to know what you want."

Smiling a thin-lipped smile, Sigyn kept reading. The bed dipped as her mother sat beside her. "You love 'im." Minha accused, narrowing her eyes.

"No!"