#sigr edda

Summary: Sigyn of Asgard is the Goddess of Victory and wife to Loki. Or so humans have mistakenly believed for a thousand years. In truth, she is a peasant living in the shadow of Asgard's palace with power she's yet to understand. After inadvertently gaining the affection of the God of Mischief over the course of a few decades, it's not long before she is forced to choose between her loyalty to Asgard and her love for Odin's traitorous son. Her journey in doing so will take her to Midgard, where her reputation as a hero won't save her from a prophecy that spells death for herself and half the universe. Events span from before the first Thor movie to past Endgame & the Loki series.

Part Four: Sakaar

Chapter One: Sister

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Soft burbling pulls Haldana from slumber. Her eyes drowsily blink open against the gentle light pushing through the curtains. She rouses fully when the mattress dips as Aerick climbs out of their bed. She peers through her lashes to watch him sluggishly trail across the room and pick up their daughter, who lifts her arms into the air as soon as he nears her.

“Good morning, dove,” he coos, pressing his nose into her sparse blonde hair. “Let’s go outside before we wake Mama.”

“Too late,” Haldana grouses fondly, pushing herself out of bed. She slips on a robe before treading over to her husband and child. “Come here,” she growls playfully as Aerick slips Sigyn into her arms. Holding her up in the air, Haldana smacks kisses all over her face as she squeals.

As Aerick begins to dress for the day, she steps out into the hall. Helga, Sigyn’s nursemaid, greets her there, taking Sigyn into her own arms. “Good morning, my lady,” says, curtsying respectfully. “Do you need the little one today?”

“Yes, I am breaking fast with the king this morn, and his favorite subject is invited.” She runs a finger along Sigyn’s cheek before dropping her voice an octave. “After that, she will spend the rest of the day with my parents.”

Helga’s eyes dart to the open doorway behind her. “Very well, my lady. I shall dress her up nicely for you.” After sparing Haldana another curtsy, she heads to the nursery, Sigyn peering over her shoulder as she goes.

Haldana returns to her bedroom with her chin up, ignoring her husband’s hard stare. “You did not inform me of your plans to send our daughter to your parents,” he accuses.

“I needn’t inform you of anything,” she returns, digging into her closet for a dress for the day. She settles on a knee-length dress, seeing as how she plans on a rigorous sparring session with Volstagg and Fandral in the afternoon. Getting back into shape after a pregnancy is no small feat.

She lays the dress on the bed as she beats a hasty retreat into the bathroom for a shower. She spends more time that she may need to under the warm spray of water, hoping that when she returns to the bedroom to dress, Aerick will have forgotten their brief spat.

No such luck. “You know I do not trust your father with her,” he rebuts, reviving their conversation whence Haldana had naively thought she had left it to die.

“You catastrophize,” she says dismissively, not wanting to wade into another blow-out on the topic. She drops the towel and pulls her dress on over her head. “My father has never harmed Sigyn.”

“Of which Sigyn do you speak,” he returns coolly.

Summary: Sigyn of Asgard is the Goddess of Victory and wife to Loki. Or so humans have mistakenly believed for a thousand years. In truth, she is a peasant living in the shadow of Asgard's palace with power she's yet to understand. After inadvertently gaining the affection of the God of Mischief over the course of a few decades, it's not long before she is forced to choose between her loyalty to Asgard and her love for Odin's traitorous son. Her journey in doing so will take her to Midgard, where her reputation as a hero won't save her from a prophecy that spells death for herself and half the universe. Events span from before the first Thor movie to past Endgame & the Loki series.

Part Three: Earth

Chapter Four: Death

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On their way home from the funeral, having decided after some debate to stay in her house for their last night in Asgard, Sigyn drags a heavy feeling of anguish along with her. For most of her life, she’d known that she would one day have to send her mother off to the next world. After learning of her prophecy, she’d been foolish enough to believe she’d gained respite from such an experience, but fate has dealt her yet more misfortune.

Eventually, she catches sight of Quimby’s house beside her own, and a recollection of the conversation she’d had with him earlier comes to her mind.

Quimby had led her into his bedroom, closing the door behind her after she’d stepped over its threshold. She’d given him an expectant look. “I’m assuming the news is bad?”

His face scrunching up, he had admitted, “It is not the greatest.” Unbothered, she’d gestured for him to get on with it. “The king already has all the soldiers he can spare out looking for you, and I took notice of them searching your house when I came in.”

She’d nodded, not surprised in the least. “What of the Lieutenant Arvid?” It had been her own lieutenant who Loki had chosen to impersonate, and she’d certainly wished no ill will upon him. He needn’t have been punished for her treason.

Quimby had laid her worries to rest. “No one suspects him. Everyone seems to have gathered that it was the Prince Loki in disguise helping you at the hospital.” Pleased, she’d nodded again. Quimby had continued, “To that end, people are reluctant to sell you out. They’re refusing to speak to the men the King Odin has out searching.”

Taken aback, she’d blinked in overt surprise. “Why?”

“Everyone in Asgard has a family member or friend in the military,” he’d explained, speaking as though the answer is obvious. “You saved the military hospital. I heard someone saying that over a hundred people—maybe more—would’ve perished had you not gotten there when you did.”

Sigyn had nodded, swallowing roughly. It smarts, she had thought, knowing that no matter how early she’d have gotten there, she couldn’t have saved the one person there who mattered most to her. It’d been too late the moment the ship had struck the building, and she’s never had a talent for clairvoyancy.

“There’s something else,” Quimby had commented, reclaiming her attention. He’d given her a level look, and she’d tried to prepare herself for the worst. “The Queen was another casualty in the attack.”

Her hands had come up to her chest, bunching up the fabric of her shirt and gripping it tightly. “What happened?”

He’d explained, “It was the leader of the attack, Malekith, who dealt the blow. Something to do with a mortal woman the Prince Thor brought here. The funeral is tonight.” His eyes had softened. “They’ve asked me to shoot the arrow for Walentyna. You’re welcome to go in my place.”

“Thank you,” she’d said, heartfelt in her conviction if not a tad distracted. She was going to have to tell Loki that his mother was dead, and she had very much doubted that he would take it well.

“One more thing,” he’d added, and she’d nodded. He’d taken a deep breath, as though bracing himself for something. “You don’t have to leave at the end of this.”

Fondly, she’d shaken her head. “Quimby, I broke him out of prison. I am dead if I stay.”

“You’re dead if you leave with him,” he’d blurted out. She’d stepped back, surprised. He’d tried again. “Sigyn, he is mad.”

“You don’t—” she had started, though she’d been unable to finish.

“No, I know you’re blinded by love, but please listen to me,” Quimby had implored, stepping closer to her. “He is insane and has fed you to the wolves before in his pursuit of power. You cannot allow him to do it again when you’re all alone with him.”

“What would you have me do, then,” she’d softly questioned, trying to quash down the bitterness rising in her. Quimby had only wanted what was best for her, she’d known.

“Take him back,” he’d urged, much to her shock and fury. He’d went on, “Turn him into the Allfather, beg for forgiveness—”

Voice rising, she’d refused, “Absolutely not!”

Still, he had not ceased in his pleading. “You can say that it was a moment of urgency—that you needed out of the dungeons to do something heroic, and that freeing the Prince Loki was the only way.”

“No,” she’d intoned, as firm as she had ever been. “I will not betray him.”

“He’s not shown you the same loyalty,” he’d reminded her, and she’d frowned before she could wince. What Quimby had been suggesting would have been a far more intimate betrayal than anything he’d done to her, she’d known. Turning him over to his father could have only spelled disaster, and she had not been sure that he would have forgiven her. Beyond that, however, she’d never had any plans of turning him in, only of leaving with him. She cannot be killed by anything Loki might do, she’d told herself, for she knew already the cause of her demise.

That last thought, morbidly comforting though it might have been to her, was one she couldn’t in good conscious have told Quimby. In an exercise in restraint, she’d told him, “Thank you for your advice.”

He’d made to say something else, but she’d no more patience for it. Without so much as a backwards glance, she had stormed from the room.

Now, Loki casts a glamor over them as they sidle up to her house, though the street is deserted as they enter it. She leaves the front door unlocked behind them, knowing that everything has to be left as it was when it was searched so as to not raise suspicion should anyone come looking for them here again. With that in mind, neither of them touches any of the open cabinets or overturned furniture as they silently make their way upstairs.

In the hall upstairs, away from any open windows, they drop their disguises, and Sigyn relishes shifting back into her own skin. It’d been strange strutting around in Quimby’s body, his stature shorter and the span of his shoulders broader than that to which she is accustomed. It had been especially difficult to shoot an arrow in such a state.

She vanishes the door to her bedroom as soon as they’re past it, leaving a blank wall in its place. If anyone decides to check up on them, they’ll see only a hallway with a dead end, and unless they’d been here before, it wouldn’t look out of the ordinary.

Breaking the silence between them, Loki says, “We can head out to Vanaheim in the morning. I have a contact there who’ll let us lay low long enough to find more permanent accommodations before he runs to Odin.”

Staring at the floor, Sigyn nods, though she doesn’t voice her assent. “I think we should go to Svartalfheim,” she quietly suggests.

Brow furrowing, he asks, “What?”

“The Dark Elf Malekith is the one who orchestrated today’s attack. I think we should meet him in Svartalfheim and kill him,” she explains, her voice replete with determination. She stares at him, daring him to question her.

He does. “You, Sigyn, want to kill someone?” He walks over to her, grinning wide. “How very unlike you.”

“It’s not everyday someone kills my mother. Exceptions are to be made,” she replies, feeling dangerous. Her mother had been right; it does feel as though her actions have very few consequences to them now.

“So they are,” he concurs. “Very well. Svartalfheim, then Vanaheim.”

She nods her approval, and he takes that as being the end to their conversation. He moves over to bed, pulling back the covers almost all the way before she stops him. “Hey, wait,” she says, and he draws up short. Looking over at her, he raises an eyebrow. She inquires, “What are you doing? Don’t get into my bed wearing your day dress.”

“I’ve worn these clothes day and night for over a year,” he responds, making no move to so much as morph said clothes into anything else. “Besides, what does it matter? You’ll never sleep in this bed again.”

At his words, the careful façade she’d constructed after leaving the funeral slips. She sighs, dropping her face into her hands and trying desperately not to cry again today. Since the moment they had stepped into her house, she’s been all too aware of the fact that it’s likely to be the last time she’ll ever be here. More than that, it’s already past time that she’ll ever live with her mother again. So much has changed so quickly, and she can’t allow herself to be overwhelmed before they’re clear of Asgard.

“I’m sorry,” Loki says, his voice gentle. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, sighing once more. She rubs her hands roughly up and down her cheeks as she raises her head to look at him again. “We’ve both had a shit day.”

Nodding, he finally slips under the covers. Figuring she ought to join him so that they can get an early start in the morning, she vanishes what left she has on of her armor before removing her shirt and slacks. She’s left standing in her undergarments, unnoticed by Loki as he shifts around, trying to get cozy. Suddenly feeling overly self-conscious about going to bed in such a state, despite having done it thousands of times previous, she excuses herself and retreats to the bathroom.

She spends a few minutes by herself, washing away the grime of the day and changing into a nightgown. She tries to go for something with a little appeal, though nothing too scandalous, settling on a long gown that she’s owned for centuries. When she reemerges from the restroom, she leans against her dresser, trying to appear nonchalant as she tries to drum up the courage to slip into bed with someone over whom she’s pined for decades.

Having settled into a comfortable position, half-sitting up, Loki raises a brow as he looks her up and down. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Summary: Sigyn of Asgard is the Goddess of Victory and wife to Loki. Or so humans have mistakenly believed for a thousand years. In truth, she is a peasant living in the shadow of Asgard's palace with power she's yet to understand. After inadvertently gaining the affection of the God of Mischief over the course of a few decades, it's not long before she is forced to choose between her loyalty to Asgard and her love for Odin's traitorous son. Her journey in doing so will take her to Midgard, where her reputation as a hero won't save her from a prophecy that spells death for herself and half the universe. Events span from before the first Thor movie to past Endgame.

Part Two: Homestead

Chapter Three: Bread Pudding

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Sigyn stews in her house, despondent and miserable, for a week after Loki dies. The first three days, she dares not to leave the comfort of her room.

On the first day of her self-imposed house arrest, she limps home as the sun peers over the horizon, less than enthused for the new day and set with a heavy stone made of grief in the pit of her stomach. Upon arriving at her house and making it to her room, she chances a look in the mirror, finding something hauntingly familiar—an uneven mane of short, haphazardly-cut hair, a bruised nose from a hit not quite hard enough to break the bone there, and a face covered in drying blood. She looks exactly as she had the day she met him.

It’s nothing short of poetic, which only adds insult to injury—literally.

There had been no extravagant public funeral befitting of a prince’s demise, given the circumstances. If there had been any sort of private memorial, Sigyn hadn’t been invited.

She’d been fired, too. Well, not fired, per se. Rather, she’d been removed from her esteemed post on the Queen’s Guard and reassigned to her former unit. She’d received a promotion to the position of major, on which—according to Colborn—the Queen Frigga had insisted so as to not ruin Sigyn’s military career. Sigyn found it difficult to be anything close to grateful for this, considering it was also Frigga who had both torched Sigyn’s brain and had Sigyn removed from her detail because she didn’t want to be constantly reminded of her late son.

Sigyn doesn’t quite know how to feel about all that. She doesn’t quite know how to feel about anything right now, and for good reason.

For decades, she had been terrified over what might’ve happened if she let Loki talk her into any form of romantic relationship. Against what she’d thought was her better judgment, she’d finally relented in her refusals last week, and her fears had come to fruition almost immediately. Not only had her desperate struggle for a better social standing—centuries in the making—and her career been done in, but Loki had committed treason and died.

Summary: Sigyn of Asgard is the Goddess of Victory and wife to Loki. Or so humans have mistakenly believed for a thousand years. In truth, she is a peasant living in the shadow of Asgard's palace with power she's yet to understand. After inadvertently gaining the affection of the God of Mischief over the course of a few decades, it's not long before she is forced to choose between her loyalty to Asgard and her love for Odin's traitorous son. Her journey in doing so will take her to Midgard, where her reputation as a hero won't save her from a prophecy that spells death for herself and half the universe. Events span from before the first Thor movie to past Endgame.

Part Two: Homestead

Chapter Two: The Throne

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The aftermath of the Jotun attack is madness. The coronation is cancelled, every soldier in the entirety of Asgard’s military is pulling double-shifts, and for whatever Borr-forsaken reason, the Crown Prince takes it upon himself to attack Jotunheim. Worst yet, he somehow convinces Loki and Haldana to join him, and they all barely make it out alive. Odin is so furious thereafter that he banishes Thor from the realm, effectively deeming Loki as next in line for the throne.

The King falls into the Odinsleep next.

Loki explains the minutiae of all of this to Sigyn, looking very put-upon and utterly worn-out. The two of them stand down the hall from his father’s room during Sigyn’s lunch break. She’s been on-duty for over forty consecutive hours, and after recovering from the Kvilla a mere five days ago, she’s fucking exhausted. Rubbing at her eyes, she suppresses a yawn as Loki continues.

“—Mother fears he won’t awaken given how long he put this off, not to mention the added stress of Thor’s banishment, the threat of a new war, and—” he cuts himself off, swallowing whatever he was about to say with a choked gasp.

“Hey,” she soothes, reaching out to run a hand down his arm. “Relax. Everything is going to be alright.”

Time stretches out as he stares down at her, lips pressed together in a tight, uncertain line. Abruptly, he turns away, striding into his rooms. With little hesitation, Sigyn follows after him, shifting her armor into day-clothes as she passes the threshold. She’s been in his chambers—physically, that is—only a handful of times, and each one, she was escorting his mother. Being here alone with him is likely frowned upon, so she tries to ignore the thrill that runs through her as best she can.

Summary: Sigyn of Asgard is the Goddess of Victory and wife to Loki. Or so humans have mistakenly believed for a thousand years. In truth, she is a peasant living in the shadow of Asgard's palace with power she's yet to understand. After inadvertently gaining the affection of the God of Mischief over the course of a few decades, it's not long before she is forced to choose between her loyalty to Asgard and her love for Odin's traitorous son. Her journey in doing so will take her to Midgard, where her reputation as a hero won't save her from a prophecy that spells death for herself and half the universe. Events span from before the first Thor movie to past Endgame.

Part Two: Homestead

Chapter One: The Kvilla

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His brother’s insistence on performing so-called peace-keeping crusades as of late is running Loki ragged. There’s a new realm or planet to liberate every week, and each campaign is more pointless and self-serving than the last.

Just this morning, their party had returned form Nornheim, where they’d fought a terribly bloody battle. There had been a horde awaiting their arrival, teemed with angry men in stout protest of Asgard’s imperialist ventures, which was fair. Frankly, Asgard shouldn’t be imposing its will on the other worlds—there’s no need. Not that anyone cares what Loki thinks. After all, in two weeks, Thor will be crowned king, his ascent to the throne being hastened by their father’s failing health.

For some time now, Odin has been afflicted by the Tremors, which Frigga fears may lead to him falling into the Odinsleep. Loki can’t help but share her concern. Odin is no longer the virile warrior he once was. As such, it’s time for his son to lead the kingdom in his stead.

However, that son is not Thor. Loki’s elder brother is far too immature. Ever since their father made clear he would soon inherit the throne, Thor has let his arrogance and folly drive nearly all of his decisions. Ergo, he insists on frequent trips to the other realms for the purpose of—as he calls it—maintaining amity. Furthermore, whenever they return from such ventures, an extravagant celebration awaits them, which Thor uses to remind everyone of how much better he is than his little brother with his snide comments.

Loki is absolutely sick of it. Snide comments are his thing.

Unsurprisingly, one of those very celebrations awaits him presently, and now that all the blood has been washed from his hair, he has little reason to delay his appearance further. Thus, he makes his way from his rooms, taking the long way to the Mead Hall and arriving several minutes later to a grand room already abuzz with activity. Lords and ladies are seated along the long feast tables, consuming food from overflowing platters and drink from brimming decanters.

He looks around for his brother, figuring he might as well get this over with and let Thor poke fun at him. He finds him at the end of the center table, and much to Loki’s surprise, his mother is seated next to him. She pushes Thor’s hair behind his ear as he chows down on a mutton leg. From this distance, he can’t hear their conversation over the din of the room, though he stops trying altogether when he notices Sigyn standing beside his mother’s chair.

Summary: Sigyn of Asgard is the Goddess of Victory and wife to Loki. Or so humans have mistakenly believed for a thousand years. In truth, she is a peasant living in the shadow of Asgard's palace with power she's yet to understand. After inadvertently gaining the affection of the God of Mischief over the course of a few decades, it's not long before she is forced to choose between her loyalty to Asgard and her love for Odin's traitorous son. Her journey in doing so will take her to Midgard, where her reputation as a hero won't save her from a prophecy that spells death for herself and half the universe. Events span from before the first Thor movie to past Endgame.

Part One: Asgard

Chapter Eleven: Charismatic

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Sigyn has been in the hospital for two weeks and is well on her way to recovery. Loki has visited her every day.

That is, every day that Odin hadn’t come up with something with which to distract him first. Lately, there’s been a suspiciously excessive amount of diplomatic work for him, especially in cases in which it seems as though there is no need for him at all. Take now, for instance.

He’s sitting next to Thor in a trade meeting regarding precious Alfish metals, which—who the fuck cares? Asgard already has plenty of precious metals. More to the point, Thor has had this meeting on his agenda for two weeks. Odin had instructed Loki to attend this morning.

Coincidence, he thinks not.

He sulks for the remainder of the assemblage, only realizing it’s time to leave when Thor subtly leans into his side as he rises from his own seat.

“You are not yourself today, Brother,” Thor observes, giving him a sideways glance.

Half-glaring back at him, Loki tries to shake off his annoyance at being minded like a child. Sure, his father didn’t want him to marry Sigyn, but what was he going to do? Marry her in secret? Get her pregnant so their parents would have to permit the union?

Admittedly, he had considerably liked the second idea, but it was a no-go. Sigyn would never agree—and possibly kill him.

Thor raps lightly against Loki’s forehead, inquiring, “Anything going on in there?”

Summary: Sigyn of Asgard is the Goddess of Victory and wife to Loki. Or so humans have mistakenly believed for a thousand years. In truth, she is a peasant living in the shadow of Asgard's palace with power she's yet to understand. After inadvertently gaining the affection of the God of Mischief over the course of a few decades, it's not long before she is forced to choose between her loyalty to Asgard and her love for Odin's traitorous son. Her journey in doing so will take her to Midgard, where her reputation as a hero won't save her from a prophecy that spells death for herself and half the universe. Events span from before the first Thor movie to past Endgame.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Marvel Studios.

Part One: Asgard

Chapter One: The Warrior’s Arena

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The first time Loki lays eyes on Sigyn, she’s getting her ass kicked.

Or so it seems.

Thor had woken him up before dawn to show him some stupid new move with Mjolnir and dragged him to the Warriors’ Arena, only to find that it’s occupied.

As they step outside the Mead Hall, they notice Haldana, a friend of theirs and sole heir of the Lord Andor. She stands against the wall of the edifice, nervously tapping her foot as she watches the two fighters in the large, sunken arena.

With the colorful rays of light from the sunrise raining over the ring, Loki sees Sif and a woman about his age exchanging vicious blows. Sif continuously knocks the other woman onto the ground, but can never seem to pin her opponent down long enough to end the spar.

Inspecting Sif’s adversary closer, he wonders who she is. She must be a warrior—she’s in the training grounds designated only for warriors, after all—and only nobility can rise to such a position. He knows all the Lords and Ladies of Asgard, so why doesn’t he recognize her?

She’s awfully pretty, too. He can’t imagine he’d simply never noticed her before.

His brother’s booming voice pulls him away from his musings. “What do we have here,” Thor inquires, addressing Haldana as he regards the display before him.

The young goddess turns to look at the men joining her on the side of the arena, apprehensively twisting a lock of her long, golden hair around one finger. Her lips turn down in an anxious frown. “I brought my sister here for a spar because I thought no one would be around at dawn, but then Sif showed up, flew into a rage and challenged her to a duel.”

“Ah, so this is the bastard sibling, then,” Thor remarks, chuckling. “I have heard many a complaint from Sif about her.”

Loki raises an eyebrow at the revelation of the woman’s identity, a bit confused. He had heard Andor’s spurious offspring was a soldier and simply assumed that the child was a man. There were very few female soldiers, after all. Less than a dozen in the entire army.

It’d be awfully impressive if this woman is indeed a soldier. Likewise, it could explain why she’s been able to keep up with Sif for so long. Usually the warrior finishes off her opponents in a matter of a few short minutes, but from what Loki can tell, they’ve been engaged in this skirmish for quite some time.

“Yes,” Haldana sighs. “She’s loathed her ever since we were little. I believe my mother spoke so ill of her that Sif grew to hate her before they even met.”

Both Loki and Thor nod in understanding, knowing well how stubborn Sif can be, but Haldana isn’t looking at them anymore, too engrossed in the fight between her half-sister and best friend. The brothers follow suit, turning their attention back to the arena.

Sif delivers a series of harsh, overhanded blows with her spear. The smaller woman manages to block all of them with her blade, but the force of the hits sends her to the ground, and her longsword slips from her grasp, flying across the ring.

With a victorious cry, Sif beams and spins around to give an extravagant finishing blow. However, as her back is turned, Haldana’s sister duplicates herself and leaves behind her doppelgänger.

Suffice it to say, Loki is floored. He certainly hadn’t expected to share the skill of illusionary magic with an illegitimate peasant girl. Although, he realizes her abilities are clearly lacking as she dashes away from her duplicate just outside of Sif’s peripheral vision, unable to blend into her surroundings.

However, the trick works just as well. Sif brings her spear down on the woman’s copy. By the time the illusion dispels, Haldana’s sister is standing behind Sif with a dagger to her back.

“Ha,” she shouts, a grin of victory across her face. “I’ve got you! Now, yield, you s—”

The woman’s voice breaks off with a howl of pain as Sif’s elbow snaps back and slams into her face. She stumbles back, raising her arm to deflect a stroke from her opponent’s weapon. Once again, they begin trading blows.

Rather loudly, Thor acclaims, “That was quite impressive! I almost thought she’d had her.”

For the first time since their arrival, Loki speaks up. “What are the stipulations of this duel,” he asks, though not quite sure why he’s interested.

“If my sister wins, Sif has to allow her to finish training here for the day,” Haldana discloses. “If she loses, however, she must never return to the Warriors’ Arena and cut off her hair.”

Sif must truly despise this girl, Loki thinks. Asgardian women of all backgrounds prefer to keep their hair long. Short hair is often recognized as a symbol of servitude and low-birth. To make her cut her hair is to rub her nose in her loss in a surprisingly cruel fashion for a mere sparring duel. Besides, such terms seem very disproportionate.

Thor looks as though he too believes it’s a bit harsh of a punishment, but says nothing.

At this point in the match, the soldier has had not one but two daggers knocked out of her hands, and she’s scrambling to avoid the swipes of Sif’s blades. Eventually, her inferior speed gets the best of her, and Sif lands a kick square in her chest. The strength behind the punt is enough to send her crashing into the wall in the space between the crown prince and her sister.

However, Loki notices that she seems to slow down ever so slightly just before she makes contact with the hard surface, somewhat lessening the impact of her collision. It almost appears as though she’s using telekinesis, but the moment before he can really process it, Thor steps in front of her, asking, “Are you alright? I know the Lady Sif can—”

Sif shoves him out of her way before he can finish whatever he was going to say. She raises one pointed end of her spear to the other woman’s neck and yells, “Yield!”

The woman merely smiles with surreptitious satisfaction. Sif snarls in outrage. Just as she parts her lips to bark out something else, Haldana’s sister comes up behind Sif—it’s now clear to everyone that she had by some means made another duplicate of herself sometime between hitting the wall and this very moment—and places a shortsword at the warrior’s throat.

“No,” she puffs out, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “You first.”

It looks as though she’s won, and Loki can’t help but feel oddly pleased with the outcome.

Withal, Sif suddenly bends and twists her body with the grace only a seasoned fighter could possess, once again turning on her opponent. She pushes the other woman down onto the declining steps that lead to the arena below and holds the blade of her metal lance to bastard’s neck once more, gritting out, “Yield.”

The woman’s chest heaves with effort for a few seconds before she finally hangs her head, softly muttering, “I yield.”

Momentarily appeased, Sif smirks and deactivates her weapon. “About time, peasant. You could have saved yourself a lot of pain if you had only surrendered earlier.”

“My name is Sigyn,” the woman declares savagely as she gets to her feet.

“Whatever,” Sif sneers.

Now that she’s so close, Loki takes a moment to examine her more closely. She has dark, mud-colored hair and eyes to match. Some of the characteristics of her form match her sister’s—her nose and brow, for instance—but for the most part, her features are more ordinary than refined.

She’s not quite short, most likely thanks to her mixed parentage as Asgardian nobility stand at roughly a foot above the lower classes, though she’s not exactly tall either. She wears a short dress typical of female fighters, but it’s noticeably threadbare, betraying her station in life.

Loki thinks she is utterly unremarkable, like any peasant he has ever seen.

He watches as Sigyn grasps her long braid at the base of her neck and brings her dagger behind her head to cut it off from the roots. Her freshly-cut chocolate locks spill past her ears, coming to rest above her shoulders in disarray. Eyes hard, she tosses the thick plait at Sif’s feet and brazenly lifts her chin, face set in defiance and covered in drying blood.

Loki thinks she is utterly gorgeous, like no goddess he has ever seen.

As if she can hear his thoughts, her eyes suddenly snap to meet his, losing their fury all at once. Instead, they shine with surprise, as though she’s only just noticed that the two sons of the Allfather had watched her lose a fight in a place she didn’t belong.

He’s practically certain she can hear his thoughts when those same sepia-brown eyes widen in overt embarrassment. Before he can even think to say anything, she lets out an inscrutable squawk, turns tail and promptly runs away at full speed, her uneven mane fluttering in the wind as she goes.

Summary: Sigyn of Asgard is the Goddess of Victory and wife to Loki. Or so humans have mistakenly believed for a thousand years. In truth, she is a peasant living in the shadow of Asgard's palace with power she's yet to understand. After inadvertently gaining the affection of the God of Mischief over the course of a few decades, it's not long before she is forced to choose between her loyalty to Asgard and her love for Odin's traitorous son. Her journey in doing so will take her to Midgard, where her reputation as a hero won't save her from a prophecy that spells death for herself and half the universe. Events span from before the first Thor movie to past Endgame & the Loki series.

Part Three: Earth

Chapter Seven: Avenger

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In the spring, Sigyn, Jane, and Darcy move to the United States. After the Convergence had concluded, Jane’s work in London had dried up, the gaps leading into other realms having dissipated. Darcy had insisted on New York City for their new home as her university had been there, and her final semester had required her physical presence.

With her new lottery winnings, Sigyn buys them a plush, twenty-eight-million-dollar condominium across the street from Central Park in which to live, much to Jane’s repeated protests. She offers the last of them to Sigyn during the final showing of the condo, having carefully positioned them out of the real estate agent’s range of hearing. Quietly, she hisses, “The monthly HOA fee is five-thousand dollars alone. That’s more than most people’s rent.”

The two of them are standing beside a long, rectangular dining table that is big enough to comfortably seat twelve people. It is situated in the corner of the expansive room that encompasses the kitchen, living room, and dining area. Picking at a tablecloth that looks as though it is made of silk, Sigyn comments, “I have but a few years left. Why not spend all my money whilst I can?”

“Because it’s not fiscally responsible,” Jane tells her.

Despite the note of disapproval in her voice, Sigyn catches her looking at the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows that span the outside of the building. Coming to stand directly beside her, Sigyn takes in the view, as well. From this vantage point, they can see half of the city, and there are a number of spots that she recognizes from the Battle of New York. She gazes upon Stark Tower with a certain wistfulness.

Sigyn sighs. “Honestly, Jane, you are such a damp towel sometimes.”

“What,” Jane asks, turning to her.

Darcy is on the other side of the room with the agent, Clara, who is showing her how the automatic drawers in the kitchen work. Nevertheless, she had managed to hear them. She shouts, “She means wet blanket!”

Clara takes the opportunity to jump in on their conversation. “Miss Jalal?” Sigyn nods at her, and she goes on. “The current owners are also offering all of the furniture and artwork for an additional quarter million, save for a few pieces, which I have detailed here.” She holds up the clipboard that seems to be a permanent accessory to her person.

Sigyn looks around again, taking in the space. The floor consists of white, marble tiles, and matching pillars support the ceiling. The walls have intricately carved moldings and sport a variety of colorful art pieces and elegant fixtures. The furniture ties everything in—from the nine-piece, fur-lined living room set to the four-poster beds in each of the four bedrooms. These things aren’t exactly to her taste, but surely, she can stand them for a few years. “Why not,” she says. Jane quietly grumbles from beside her.

Several months later, the three of them have settled in nicely. Sigyn takes the room on the far side of the unit, it being the largest of the four bedrooms. She decorates it as best she can with the memorabilia she took from Asgard, heirlooms and trinkets strewn across every surface. To her great surprise, she unearths from her void the fae music box Loki had gifted her. After years without its music tinkling in the background, she had forgotten she still had it. Having been reunited with it, she uses it to lull herself to sleep every night.

Jane and Darcy take the next two biggest rooms, leaving the smallest one—which Sigyn begrudgingly notices is still bigger than her bedroom on Asgard had been—as the guest room, which Erik occupies whenever he is in town. Half of their living area is cluttered with scientific equipment, Jane having made it into her office. She has made it so that every time Thor uses the Bifröst, one of the screens lights up with readings of the energy surge. Sigyn has come to dread the pinging noise that accompanies it.

On Darcy’s insistence, the other half of the living room houses an enormous flat-screen television, in front of which she and Jane currently sit. As she comes into the room, Sigyn notices a film playing on it and comes to sit beside Darcy on the sectional. “Which of the Star Wars movies is this? Is it one of the ones with the Princess Leia or the woman who looks like Jane?” She marvels at how realistic this one looks. The ships falling out of the sky could be real for all she can tell.

Jane speaks out of the corner of her mouth. “For the millionth time, I do not look like Natalie Portman.”

“You could be twins, but I digress,” replies Sigyn.

Darcy tells her, “This isn’t Star Wars. It’s the news.”

Straightening, Sigyn feels her heart jump in her chest. “You mean to say this is actually happening?”