Loki was sitting on the floor motionless, his head bent down, arms behind his back. A chain was fastened around his ankle, held an aura of magic around it, connected to the wall. The god gave a sigh, laying down on the floor, in the golden halls of Asgard, where he had grown up in innocently, believing always he had been a child of Odin and Frigga.
Sometimes he did have to admit he missed those days, since his deals in Jotunheim, with the frost giants, his true parents, and his life of weak tricks had changed drastically. Thrym, the King of the Frost Giants, had forced the god into several tricks against Asgard, which usually unfortunately Loki received no blame. But now, when trying to get the Golden Apples from the goddess Idun, he had been spotted and faced punishment for having an alliance to the Frost Giants.
Chained to the wall, resentment and bitterness controlled his body as he closed his eyes, wishing for anything but this. He felt like he'd rather be in Midgard, the home of the mortals, than be displayed in Asgard like a trophy for the others to scorn at. Admittedly, Thor had not specifically said anything of this manner, in fact the Thunder God had not spoken to his adopted brother for a few days, hanging around with the Warrior’s Three and Lady Sif.
Viewing his own slender fingers, staring at them with his tired green eyes, he realized how much he loathed being held here. Could he not be given a lesser punishment? At least not to be displayed like a received trophy, he thought bitterly and he scowled.
Loki slipped out of his green coat, embodied with gold, and listened to feasting going on in the Great Hall. He gritted his teeth, thinking of Thor and the others enjoying the meal, perhaps even saying snarky comments about his punishment. Loki heard footsteps, and Odin came through the doorway, looking down to Loki, who looked away, expressionless.
“I’m going to take Sleipnir for a ride to Alfheim.” He told him, the wise and ancient King of Asgard, a golden patch where one eye used to be, spoke in calm, level voice. Loki said nothing, knowing his son; Sleipnir had been favored by Odin after Loki had brought the 8-legged horse to Asgard. Loki himself barley saw his son anymore, much less spent time with him, as he had grown up, and become indeed a fine and strong stallion.
Odin sighed, and walked past his son, marching down the golden stairs. Leaning back against the wall, lost in thought, Loki did not hear the lithe footsteps of a girl. He looked up as the auburn haired maiden lowered a platter onto the floor, a slice of boar and a vine of grapes on the plate, along with a chalice of water. As she placed it onto the floor, her hands did not move tentatively, they were certain and smooth.
She did not have the air of a goddess, her dressing made that plain to see, nor did she wear gold rings or anything of the sort. She wore a straight green dress, and her hair was messily curling over her shoulder, her face warm and shy.
“Frigga told me to be your server throughout these days.” The girl folded her hands against her light green dress, dipping her head, showing no displeasure in this task. Loki blinked, not knowing this servant. “So it looks like I’m stuck with you for a while.” She spoke with a smile, and gave a wink with her deep brown eyes.
Her voice was even and somewhat happy, as if serving a traitor to Asgard heralded no fear Loki did not glance at the platter or make a move for it, he merely looked at the girl. “Who are you?” He asked, curious as she placed a fork on the plate, along with a small rag to wipe his face. His green eyes were piercing, not bitter, but curious, and their emerald depths were oceans of emotion.
She seemed taken aback from the question, as if not expecting him to speak to her. “My name is Sigyn, I am one of the servants here.” She said, shaking away from her surprise and smiling warmly again. A long silence followed this, and Sigyn began to trot away.
