#witlessking

II.  In the stillness even the slightest of sounds were emphatic– -although Sigyn were certain that were his intent; nothing the God of Mischief did was without purpose, and it were precisely this trivial knowledge that saw her feign ignorance; for no game were ever fun with but one participant.    

Her gaze casted downward, flaxen tresses shielded pallid skin from the sun pouring through the aperture, and slender finger traced the text scrawled upon the tome sat upon a cerise lap. 

Waiting…

A moment passed– -and as a shadow shrouded her, ample lips curved in a sophic smile, veiled beneath an impenetrable veil of gold. A low sigh, the slight tick of lithe fingers in a flourish of impatience saw the opus in her lap poached, discarded, and replaced. 

There were few whom could claim to see him humbled– -for Loki were a proud creature, and yet, there he was knelt before her; a hand resting atop of her knee and the other extended toward her, fingers curled, concealing something.          

          “Is this some sort of ploy?” 

Light-hearted scepticism– -and question of which did not require an answer, as he had already inadvertently given it, for his conventionally assured countenance bore a softness foreign even to her. 

No. It wasn’t.   

Without so much as a whisper, gradually lissome fingers unfurled, and there cupped in his palm a singular stem adorned with a cluster of white orchids– -a rare flower, one of which only lived for but a few hours. A symbol not only of love, but beauty and strength. 

As she met his gaze it were then Sigyn were reminded – -felt truly assured that what she felt; this strange, albeit mesmeric flood of emotion that threatened to line lapis hues was indeed something more then mere infatuation or intrigue; solidified in singular, and somewhat simplistic gesture.  

III. Gingerly she edged herself forward, each step a careful consideration as drew closer to the door– -slightly ajar, a slim line of light seeped through; casting it’s luminance across the opposing wall of the antechamber. 

Beyond the door, a low murmuring could be heard, though it’s utterances were not clearly audible Sigyn knew it were a voice of which she’d grown well acquainted; the voice of her husband. 

Reaching the egress, the blonde peered through the rift– -her heart seizing for the briefest moment as her weary gaze settled upon the svelte silhouette, hunched, and barely conscious; their son cradled in his arms. An image Sigyn had not thought to find herself privy, and one of which filled her with a swell of emotion; an ardent and unadulterated love as both a mother and as a wife.

IV. Silence– -an odd reticence save for the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath her ear; a leaden melody harmonious with her own. Seldom were such moments; these lulls of order of which she kept a firm grasp, for she knew chaos were a constant between them. A creature of simple taste– -of whom savoured things one might think petty, to have her husband within her arms once more brought great contentment, and yet it were times such as these Sigyn found herself falling in love with him again. 

Every gesture– -no matter how small, how trivial it might have been; the way he held her, the way he’d whispered her name, or the way slender digits combed through golden ringlets were an auspice. A reminder of what it were to surrender to the earnest tenures of the heart.    

V. & One for Consort AU just ‘cos

Love was not something Sigyn had anticipated, nor had it been something she ever thought she should ever have to admit– -for this arrangement, this marriage was simply that; a settlement, a deal. Their vows had been nothing more than a verbal contract, devoid of any true feeling and their union. Until now she had fought so hard to pretend otherwise.

Alas, the heart was a fickle thing– -difficult to ignore, and even harder to control.

Small, fleeting moments of intimacy; such as the unexpected brush of fingers or a hand at her waist, accompanied by an unforeseen understanding, trivial banter– -finding a shared interest or two, and a comparable wit, all of which had lead to this ironic love.

Yet, it had been a simple affair, a gathering between their Realms, during which Sigyn had first begun to realise– -meant to honour several months of peace between the Vanir and Æsir. For there he stood, engaged in conversation with series of nobles, no trace of contempt or mockery lacing the Prince’s tone as he spoke of his wife with such adoration that she might’ve thought it a lie had she’d not sought to interrupt him.

Loki, though a deft deceiver however, had failed to pretend otherwise– -caught off guard, exposed in a glimmer of vulnerability she’d not encountered before, and it evoked a feeling she’d not considered. Though she’d long since quelled her detestation, and would even go so far as to consider him a friend, Sigyn had dismissed the idea of love, yet caught sight of it in passing silence.