Tale as old as Time

Evermore

Flying was fun, though the weather was rough. Jotunheim's icy rain felt like sharp needles, piercing her feathers and freezing her skin. Still, Sigyn flapped her wings with all of her strength to beat the cold winds.

Suddenly, the light disappeared from the sky, making her travels even more arduous. A shiver ran though her spine as she guessed what was happening. She turned her little head to look above her, and saw two large birds of prey, ready to pounce on her.

They both looked scary, with their golden eyes, dark crimson feathering and sharp claws. Sigyn held back a cry and tried not to panic. As a little bird, she did not stand a chance. She needed to change, and quickly...

But as she started chanting her incantation to turn into a more fitting adversary for the two creatures, she saw a bigger beast, all blue with ruby eyes. Its neck was rather terrifying, long and sinuous, reminding Sigyn of a snake. Its teeth were acute, but the two birds of prey were quick, attacking the beast, and wounding it.

The princess did not need to be told who the creature was. It was obvious Prince Loki had followed her, and she guessed she was glad for it, as he had unwilling provided her with a good diversion. But now, he was the one who needed saving? She rolled her eyes, and tried not to judge him too hard. He did come to her rescue, after all.

Quickly, Sigyn turned herself into the biggest dragon that Jotunheim had ever seen, taller than Loki's castle, larger than the mountains of Nidavellir. Her prince was in such bad shape he could not fly anymore, falling to his death, before Sigyn caught him with her tail, while she was busy chasing those two pests away.

When she was done with them, she flew back to Loki's castle, sighing in frustration. So much for her escape. Her freedom did not last long... Well, she could still run away, afterwards. But first, she had to take care of her self-proclaimed husband. The birds of prey had injured him quite seriously, lacerating his arms and his chest with their claws and teeth. He needed care, as soon as possible. She wanted to go home, but she could not leave him to die, most of all when he had tried to save her.

A beast he might be, but a heroic beast, to say the least. Odin might have regarded him as unworthy of his name, however, from what Sigyn had witnessed, it seemed Prince Loki was as noble as any Aesir warrior. She was certain his mother and his brother would have been proud of him.

Arriving at the castle, she turned herself back into her usual form, and laid down Loki's bruised body on his bed. He was feverish now, calling after Queen Frigga and Prince Thor. Sigyn sighed, wiping his brow with her lace trimmed handkerchief. He must have missed them quite a lot, in this lonely castle.

Had she been terribly selfish to try to escape from his clutch? Had she not, he would not have been hurt. Well, it was too late for regrets now. All she could do was tend to his wounds, and see that he had a quick recovery.

And so, for the next two weeks, Sigyn took care of Loki, healing his wounds thanks to spells and incantations, preparing his meals, fussing over him. It was rather obvious the prince was enjoying the attention, though he pretended to be indifferent. She could see something new in his eyes and his demeanor every time she entered his rooms. Sometimes, he would straighten up, arrange his bed clothes to look a bit more elegant. Other times, he would pretend to be more sick than he actually was, so she would keep on taking care of him. Sigyn was no fool, she knew exactly what he was doing. Yet, she could not help but to find him endearing, eventually wondering why she had ever wanted to flee his company.

For hours, she would read to him, novels from Midgard, poems from Alfheim, and epic tales from Asgard, changing her voice for each character, which her prince seemed to enjoy and appreciate. He would laugh and hide his tears, and smile at her when he thought she was not looking. And the more time she spent with him, the more Sigyn felt her heart growing fond of him, longing for the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch.