The Marriage

He was the God of Lies. He who could not keep his word.

She was the Goddess of Fidelity. She who could not break her word.

Two opposite souls.

But somehow, sharing the same heart.

No one was ever certain this day would come.

Some had wanted it to come. Others merely hoped it would come. But most assumed it would never happen. She was honest. Loyal. Caring. He was treacherous. Unpredictable. Violent. Cursed. They were everything the other was not.

It was exactly what made them so perfect for one another.

The throne room was full such as it hadn't been for years beyond count. Frigga stood by Odin's side, watching the preparations around them with silent contentment. She had seen this, of course, long ago; seen this happy future and longed for it, hoping it would be the future that would come to pass – not fade away like a half-remembered dream. So many of her visions had turned into nothing more than wishes, locked up in her mind, unable to be shared and grieved over with her husband or her sons.

It was the curse of the Second Sight.

The Queen glanced to the right at the lone figure standing in the center of the dais. To anyone else, it would seem as if the young man was waiting in an almost lazy manner, as if these proceedings meant nothing to him. But Frigga was not anyone else – and she could tell by the tremble in those long, elegant hands and the gleam in his emerald eyes that he was more pleased than words could express.

It had been long since she had seen Loki this happy.

All eyes turned to the far end of the throne room as two guards came forward and seized the door handles. With hardly more than a whisper, the huge gold doors were thrown open . . . and instantly an awed hush fell over the assembly.

Two figures appeared on the threshold. First came the Master Healer Eir, clad in her simple ivory healer's cloak. There were no other attendants; none were needed. Though the hand that guided the young bride was steady, the Queen could see both joy and apprehension in the healer's silver eyes . . . even at this distance. Frigga smiled quietly to herself; was it any wonder that Eir felt such protection for her young charge? She had been her guardian and mentor for nearly 600 years. Eir, along with Frigga herself, had adopted the role of mother for the young Vanir woman. The most difficult thing a mother could do is let go of her daughter.

By Eir's side stood a young woman that all thought they recognized . . . and yet they didn't. Even Frigga could hardly believe that this was the same girl she had known. Sigyn was resplendent in robes of intense violet, white mantle draped over her shoulders and trailing on the isle behind like virgin snow. Bronze headdress and jewelry were glittering like liquid light as she raised her midnight eyes towards the dais.

Loki caught her eye . . . and a small smile traced its way unbidden onto Sigyn's face.

She came forward with slow, even strides. She didn't just walk; she glided. Her gait was even and unhurried, with a grace and poise that would draw jealousy from even the most queenly lady in Asgard. There was a rustle of movement as every courtier bowed low in respect. And how could they not? Sigyn fairly took one's breath away.

And that was only on the surface.

Frigga remembered fondly the first time Sigyn had been brought here. She had been so young, so uncomfortable. At that time, Eir had not been her escort; it had been her youngest son. Loki had presented her before the court as he might reveal a new spell, triumphant and prideful, caring nothing for the feelings of the frightened girl by his side. He boasted that he had done what no other in Asgard had. Though he had not been cruel to her, he had clutched her hand with such strength that she could not have escaped even if she had tried.

Then, Loki had only been thinking of the reward Frigga had promised him for finding this young protégé. Sigyn had only wanted to get away and hide, escape from this new and frightening life so recently thrust upon her. She had stared at the assembled crowd with wide eyes, her posture emulating that of a child surrounded by wild, dangerous animals.

What Frigga now saw before her was a stately young woman: poised, elegant, and sure of herself and her own inner strength.

At the foot of the dais, the two women knelt. Sigyn's bow was perfect, graceful, her eyes temporarily lowering to the steps in front of her in deference. But Frigga watched as Eir's eyes met with Loki's . . . and although she could not see her son's face, she saw his shoulders tense slightly. It did not surprise her. The look that Eir was casting in his direction spoke just as loudly if she had shouted:

If you hurt or betray her, you will answer to me.

Thor, too, had seen the silent warning. He had also seen something close to terror flash through Loki's eyes. Terror . . . but there was anger there too. Their eyes had locked for a few moments, then Eir stepped away, taking her place on the steps below the Crown Prince.

There was a long moment of silence. Then Odin's voice rang out suddenly, shocking a startled twitch from Thor.

"Citizens of Asgard, warriors and guardians of the Nine Realms, honored noblemen. You have assembled here on this day to bear witness to a grave and solemn affair, but one also intended for exultation."

In the crowd, Thor saw Sif and the Warriors Three struggle to hide amused grins. They had seen his twitch . . . and they clearly thought it entertaining. Thor glared back; he would swear them to silence later. He didn't twitch. A Prince never twitches.

"Long has this day been anticipated with hope and joy. It has been many hundreds of years since I have witnessed the union of two lives . . . and it is now . . . my greatest delight to behold the joining of my son to one I have long seen as my daughter. This decision in its own due course was not made lightly, without serious contemplation of its meaning and consequences. Therefore, if there be any who wish to speak against this union –" To Thor's rage and horror, some of the crowd began to step forward . . . "– you will remain silent."

An uncomfortable murmur rose from the crowd. Though he had not spoken loudly, Odin's voice seemed to shake the ground beneath their feet. Those who had wanted to speak out quickly stilled, lowering their eyes so as to avoid the piercing gaze of the Alfather. Thor breathed a silent sigh of relief, grateful that his father spared Loki and Sigyn from embarrassment.

"Sigyn Birgirdottir." Here Sigyn finally looked up. "What gifts do you bring to this union? What qualities do you own that make you fit for my son?"

Loki winced, just noticeably. He still could not bear to hear Odin calling him his son . . .

"I bring myself . . . my past trials, my present hopes, and my future joys." Her eyes were fixed not on Odin, but on Loki. "I give my strengths to match his weakness, my heart that he may know love, my spirit . . . that he may know peace."

She meant every word. Her spirit nearly glowed with sincerity. No one in that room, least of all the royal family, doubted her earnestness. Once she made a vow, she never broke it . . . ever . . .

"Loki . . . Odinson," the Alfather's voice broke, just noticeably. Thor saw Loki's hands clench at his sides. "What gifts do you bring to this union? What attributes do you claim that make you fit for this woman?"

Loki looked down at Sigyn . . . and the anger disappeared from his eyes.

"I bring myself . . . nothing more. I give my mind that she may know me, my magic that she may trust me . . . my word that she may never doubt."

There was a brief hint of mocking whispers from the court, and Thor could guess what they were thinking; when had Loki ever kept his word? One-time king, eternal madman, insincere promises made and broken times beyond count. Why should this be any different? All such thoughts were quickly snuffed out by Odin's forceful stare. After a moment or two, he continued.

"Rise, Sigyn, and come forward."

She rose, smoothly and with the grace of her Vanir heritage, and placed a foot on the bottom step.

A sudden swirl of color from the steps above her caught the court's eye. To everyone's astonishment the Sorcerer-Prince had strode down the expanse of steps to stand before his Healer-bride.

A muted rumble of outrage broke from the court. A scandal! For one as lofty as the son of the Alfather to lower himself in such a way . . . It was unheard of! Was this man determined to bring down EVERY law and tradition in this realm?

Thor briefly wondered if Loki truly understood the havoc he was causing, knew of the headaches forming behind the brows of noble ladies and prominent men at his grand gesture. The wide beaming smile as he had eyes only for Sigyn, the way he could hardly hold still as he reached out for her, almost made Thor think his brother, for once, had no untoward reasons in this action.

But the tiny smirk, gone with the blink of an eye, when he happened to hear the gasps of his audience told Thor that of course Loki knew of the chaos he left in his wake. He not only knew but REVELED in it.

Sigyn had frozen, foot perched on the lowest step, when Loki had rushed down to meet her. Her expression – midnight eyes wide open, lips parted slightly – mirrored the surprise of the onlookers. For a moment she did not move, but held herself stiffly as the Trickster halted on the step just above her.

Then, after that pause, Thor saw just the barest hint of a frown furrow her brow. Her lips moved, words drowned in the restless disquiet of the assembled crowd. His brother appeared to give an answer . . . A blush of color tinged her cheeks and she looked away. But the smile that his words caused to appear spoke of her pleasure at his reply.

The loving, fond gleam in her eyes when she looked up again spoke to that even more so.

Arm-in-arm, Trickster and Healer journeyed up to the dais . . . and the future waiting for them.

But Frigga saw much deeper than that.

This path would be . . . difficult. For both of them. They would see more troubles than either would see apart. But . . . they would have each other. A match so unexpected and precious and rare and perfect that only by one's choosing to go against their Fate for love of another could it have come about. There would be so much pain and sorrow . . .

But hidden amongst the troubles would be joys so sweet they made her heart weep.

THE CHILD

The courier knelt in respect within the doors, but the Alfather could sense that his mission was urgent.

"Rise. What is your errand?" The man came to his feet, and no matter how steady he kept his voice, he could not hide the nervous way his knees trembled.

"Alfather, the Queen sends word that . . . the time has come."

Odin did not respond immediately. He kept his face impassive, his voice unwavering.

"And my sons?"

"Both are waiting at the Healers' House. Your youngest son is . . . greatly distressed. Thor has refused to leave his side, considering . . ."

There was no need for further explanation. The entire palace had been in an uproar twice before, when Sigyn had been with child. Neither time had brought any pleasure to the royal family. And considering Loki's unpredictable – even volatile – tendencies, the consequences of either experience could have been disastrous.

"Thank you. Have word sent to me here how she and the child fare. You may go." The messenger quickly saluted and turned on his heels.

Everyone was on edge. And well they should be. Sigyn was much-loved by all, especially in the royal family. She was like a daughter to Frigga and himself, and now as his youngest son's wife she was now a close sister to Thor. And at this time, when her peril was at its greatest, all of Asgard would hold its breath and await the outcome.

Now came the greatest test, for all three of them . . .

It is only in times of greatest suffering that one's true character is revealed.

How often had he spoken those words to his sons? And how often had they truly understood it?

Thor, when he had foolishly rushed into war, dragging the rest of the Nine Realms with him in his haste, had not understood what it meant to truly be king. It was only through Odin stripping him of his powers – of everything that made him special – and exiling him for a time that his oldest son had begun to understand that King was more than just a title: it was a way of life, a mindset, a choice completely unique to anything else that could ever exist.

Loki, when he learned the truth about his past, the truth about who and what he was, had not understood what family and love truly meant. It was only through losing (rejecting) those connections entirely, exiling himself into regions unknown and suffering horrible tragedies – sometimes at his own hand – that he began to realize that the bonds of family and the love it gave ran deeper than bloodlines. Only then could he begin to understand – and crave – what he had claimed he wanted no part of.

But Sigyn . . . her experiences had been far worse than either of his sons. She had patiently stood by Loki's side ever since she had been brought to the royal court; she had understood him when no one else could, loved him when no one else would, and taken him back under her wings when no one else should. He had found in her the very things he could find in no one else: Respect. Forgiveness. Love. Comfort. Belonging. She had seen every demon his soul possessed, every black thought, every horrific deed, every dark emotion that could dominate one's psyche. His anger and hatred and heartbreak had been shared with her . . . and in these last few years Odin had watched her suffer in silence, somehow managing to hold to her hope and her courage.

And through it all she refused to abandon her friend and loved-one. Sigyn truly was the Goddess of Fidelity.

"You should not have agreed to this."

"Would you rather I had said no?"

"Of course not, but –"

"Besides, it's a little late to be changing our minds now, don't you think?"

"It would have been wiser."

"And of course you are the epitome of wisdom, yes?"

He sighed and gave up the argument. Sigyn watched him for a long time in silence, wishing she could understand this man. Only hours ago, it had seemed like nothing would change his mind. And now he seemed to be reconsidering the entire arrangement. She knew he was prone to these dark moods, more so now than at any point in their childhood, but she was constantly both surprised and exasperated by how quickly it could happen.

"Why did you agree?" he finally asked. She gave him a rueful smile.

"Loki, we've been through this countless times before."

"I need . . . to hear it again."

She felt her smile soften into something more genuine.

"Because I love you."

"Even knowing . . . what I am?"

"Does it really matter?"

"It should."

"Why?"

He blinked a few times, a blank stare on his face. He clearly did not understand the question, what she wanted him to say. She sighed. She supposed she would have to lead him by the hand on this one. "Why don't you tell me what you are?"

He laughed; a harsh, grating, angry laugh. His eyes flashed, and for a moment she was reminded of that lost creature that she had found on Midgard years ago.

"Are you truly that naïve?" he growled. He flung himself from the bed in a temper, stalking to the window like an angry storm cloud. "You of all people should know what all of Asgard – all of the Nine Realms – say about me. Or has your time here, safe and coddled by the All-Father's favor, deafened your ears to insults?"

"Remember, I followed you into the void. I saw the same terrors, the same threads as you did."

"Then you know as well as I do," he hissed, casting a side-ways glare in her direction. " 'Silver-Tongue.' 'Trickster.' 'God of Mischief.' 'God of Lies.'" He practically spat the words, as if they were venom from the fangs of a serpent. He whirled to face her, pacing back and forth like a prowling wolf. "Oh, there are worse, I know, but I've no wish to damage your delicate ears with those whisperings. Changeable, they call me. Unpredictable. Likely to promise one thing and the very next moment choose to do the opposite. Do you really wish to be linked with such a person? The 'God of Chaos?'"

"When your mother bound our hands together," she countered gently, "when my blood mingled with yours, I was not binding myself to any of those men. I was pledging my heart to the Prince of Asgard, my friend . . . my husband."

She watched as a kaleidoscope of emotions passed behind those bright eyes of his, too fast for her mind to read. But then the cold mask was back in its place.

"But what will they call you now?" he asked, a mocking smile on his face. "A fool? A callow bantling who was so easily taken in by the master of lies himself? Ruined forever, bound to an outcast of Asgard. They will shun you. They will mock you. You will lose any respect or favor, even with Odin himself. Is that what you truly want?"

"I think the Alfather would respect me less if I didn't keep my promise to you," she reminded him gently.

His steps hitched, and he stared at her for a long, long time. The angry mask slipped, just for a moment, and underneath she saw something of the man he had once been. The eyes of a child gazed back into her own for a brief instant, a child who was desperately hoping for something but afraid it was too good to be true.

"Can you?" he said at last . . . and Sigyn saw that the child had slipped behind the ice once again. "Can you truly keep your vows in good conscience – knowing full well what I am, what I've done? The worst," he growled, "is what they do not know. I'm certain Asgard suspects, but they do not know. Not yet. And then the insults will come full circle; the monster within will match the monster without."

"Loki, you don't –"

"'Bastard Child!'" he bellowed, fist clenched, eyes burning. "Their new title. Their newest christening. 'Frost Giant Prince.' 'Terror of Asgard.' More names will follow."

"Do you really think any of those matter to me?"

"No one wants to be the wife of a monster!"

"You're right."

Loki's eyes narrowed at her, but she didn't allow herself to think about the dangerous ground she was treading. "No one, least of all me, would wish to marry a monster. I find it pitiable that the only one who seems to see you that way . . . is you."

For the first time in a long while, his expression changed from anger to complete, stunned disbelief. Inwardly, she sighed. After all these years, after everything he had been through, and after everything she had told him, he still could not bring him to understand this very simple concept.

"Sigyn, are you -?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

His expression did not change, but he paled, and something close to panic edged into his eyes.

"What?"

"Everything you have said thus far makes it sound as if you don't want this. Your reasons have been either that I am unworthy of you . . . or you are unworthy of me. Do you really believe that? Because if you do, then perhaps I should leave. Is that what you want?" She paused. "Is that what you need?"

Need.

The word sparked something in his eyes, something she had seen only twice before. For a long time he didn't answer. Behind those icy-green eyes of his, Sigyn knew he was once again battling against himself, against his guilt, his anger, his disbelief at her words. He seemed to be struggling to understand how she could possibly accept him just as he was – something he had not been able to do himself for years, ever since he learned the truth about who and what he was. There was a long moment of hushed stillness.

Then without warning, he lunged forward and kissed her.

The suddenness of the act froze Sigyn where she stood. It was so abrupt, and so unlike anything Loki had ever done before, that it both stunned and frightened her. Words had failed him. For once, Silver-Tongue was speechless. But he didn't need to say anything. In that one kiss, Sigyn could sense every thought, every emotion that he could not – would not – express. He held her so tight that she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move.

But she found she didn't want to. He was solid.

Warm.

Vulnerable.

She embraced him in return.

And then . . . it could have been her imagination, an echo from her past . . . but she thought she heard a voice - half-pleading, half-demanding - whisper in her ear:

"Stay."

Eight days later, they discovered something that neither of them had foreseen nor expected.

Sigyn was with child.

She was pale - from drawn, bloodless lips to fingers clenched tightly in fabric that matched her knuckles.

She had been this way for the past thirty minutes or more. Eir had first thought it was merely the pain of approaching childbirth; but when the small whimpers of pain had ended and her body still retained its rigid state, she knew it to be more.

The Healer attempted to pry the woman's fingers from the sheets, tried to ease her petrified body back to only slightly anxious waiting.

"Sigyn, dear. I need you to relax. It will be alright, but you must stay calm."

"What if it happens again?" A soft whisper. A pair of frightened eyes.

"It will not," Eir assured her, giving her an assuring smile.

Assurance that she wished she felt herself.

"I can't let it happen," Sigyn breathed. Her fingers were still clutching the sheets in a death grip.

"Sigyn, you will be alright," Eir promised. In this at least she was certain.

"Not for me," Sigyn murmured. Her eyes had turned to the door, and it was clear to the Grand Healer that the young woman's thoughts were elsewhere in Asgard. "For his sake. It can't happen again."

Eir had no answer for her.

What could anyone say to someone who had lost so much but still had so much more to lose? Because as much as she would like to deny it, Sigyn was right. The true concern lay, not with her young patient, but with the husband that was waiting anxiously outside.

Sigyn had always been able to handle defeat and heartbreak. Loki had no such control.

If only she had been prepared the first time . . .

Perhaps things would have been different.

He was incapable of words. All he could do was howl with rage.

He was hardly aware of himself, his world nothing but pain and hatred. Lifestrings splintered without any conscious thought; cold, uncaring magic shattered the air around him. He had never felt such an outpouring of darkness, as if his soul had split and vomited every vile and putrid dredge he had ever possessed. His demons were roaring in his head, screaming, filling his mind with poisoned blackness and unbearable pain.

Why? Why did this happen?

Why was he cursed?

They had told him there was nothing they could have done. Sigyn had gone into labor far too early, and the child would not have lived even if Eir had been there when it happened.

And no one had known about Frigga's nightmares.

She had seen this coming. Seen it, and kept the truth from him.

Frigga had lied to him.

Again!

His whole life was filled with nothing but lies.

He hated everything. Yes, he hated Sigyn, too. And he hated himself for hating her.

But he couldn't help it.

Why?

Magic tore the air, tore his heart, tore his soul.

WHY?

His rage spilled over, curled up on itself, and he dropped to his knees.

"WHY!?"

She couldn't do this again.

Her life being what it was, she was used to suffering. Physical, mental, emotional, she had scars from them all. She had born it alone, elected to walk the difficult path she had chosen for herself. She had known when she became his friend, his companion, that she had selected a troubled life. It had grown no easier when she married him. She had known this would be so; but her love was stronger than her reason . . . and she loved him so very dearly.

And she could never bear to see him suffer.

The loss of their first child had been devastating, tragic. It had drawn tears from even the most unsympathetic towards her husband's plight. To see him suffer like that, to be unable to ease his pain and bring him any semblance of comfort, had been almost too much for her.

She had hardly been able to fathom her own loss.

And now, here she was, the stabbing pains of childbirth a vivid reminder of the horrors of the past. Eir tried to soothe them away, assure her that she was here and it could not happen again. The Queen had been by her side from the beginning, a beacon of calm and serenity, her steady hand the anchor for Sigyn's trembling soul. But neither woman could wash away the stains of the past.

She wished Loki was here with her.

If this child dies . . . what will become of him?

"It won't happen again."

"How can you be sure?"

"I can't. But I won't let it happen again."

She wanted him to believe her. She wanted him to trust her. But trust was something that was still very difficult for him to do. Especially when it concerned the life of his second unborn child.

Frigga had told her a little about her visions, how she sensed something would go terribly wrong. Sigyn had begged her not to tell Loki. She hadn't wanted him to worry.

It turned out to be far worse than any of them had imagined.

It had been Surtur's fault. By all accounts, their little girl should have been perfectly healthy. But when her body was taxed with supporting her child and the monster, she had not been able to sustain them both. Surtur killed their child.

There was no chance he could try it again. They knew that now.

But the fear was still there . . . for both of them.

"The child is healthy," she reminded him softly. "Even Eir agrees. We were unprepared the first time. It won't be the same as before."

"And I ask you again," he snapped, facing her, "how can you be sure?" His cold eyes were full of anger. Anger and fear and desperation and everything he was afraid to admit existed. But as much as he tried to hide it, she could see something in his eyes that she had rarely seen before:

Hope. Desperate, bitter hope.

He wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

It broke her heart.

"Loki," she gently touched his arm. "I promise you, nothing will happen to this child. I promise."

He saw nothing. He thought nothing. He felt nothing.

At least, he wished he could.

Though his body hadn't moved for a long while, Loki felt as if it was racing out of control. Within his shield of stoic calmness, he felt like a man in the throes of insanity, ready to fling himself in any direction. Fears chased hopes. Pain pursued anger. Voices - real or imagined, he wasn't certain - babbled in his ears until they made him dizzy. All of his thoughts were a mad rush of confusion and chaos, until he felt numb and cold all over. His hands were interlocked on his knees, but he hardly noticed them. His eyes were gazing at the floor, but he hardly saw.

He wished it could be over.

He tried to convince himself that none of this mattered, that he didn't care. Because if he could convince himself of that lie, maybe it wouldn't hurt this time when . . . when it all went wrong.

Because he knew it would.

Loki could sense a pair of eyes on him: Thor, watching from a distance, as if he wanted to watch over him but was afraid to come too close. To the creature. The monster.

If only he could run away himself . . .

Because he knew where he wanted to run.

Not away from Asgard. Not even from the horrors of his past or the nightmares of the present.

He wanted to run to her.

He wanted to be with her. To tell her it would be alright, to tell her he needed her.

To tell her to stay with him.

He closed his eyes, keeping his secret fears locked up within his armor. He could almost see her, even now with his waking eye. He could sense her fear, her pain.

Or was it merely an echo of his own heart?

"The child was lost."

He sank, weak-kneed, into the chair that was mercifully placed behind him. He didn't trust his legs to support him anymore. A horrible numbness paralyzed every inch of him, and he stared up at the Healer in a dazed disbelief. He prayed he hadn't heard her correctly.

"The child came too fast," she explained gently. "By all rights it was a miracle he survived as long as he did after birth. We think . . . we are not certain, but we think she was using her magic to try and save him. When the bleeding would not stop . . . there was nothing left for herself."

He hardly heard her. This could not be happening. Not to him. Not again.

"Eir is with her now," she spoke up again. "Everything is being done; it will take time, but your wife will live . . . for now . . ." The Healer stood before him silently, a helpless expression on her face. After a few moments, she whispered, as if she didn't know what else to say, "I am sorry, Your Highness. Truly." It was a weak attempt, but there was nothing else she could say. After a few moments of awkward, painful silence, she turned away.

He knew he should thank her. It was expected. But he didn't trust his own voice. He could only bury his head in his hands and cry.

Sigyn had promised him nothing would happen to his child. PROMISED! She always kept her word before . . .

He should have felt hate. He should have felt rage. They were old companions now, comrades in arms. But this time, they deserted him.

All he felt now was agonizing loss.

This wasn't Sigyn's fault. She had tried. She had nearly died trying. This wasn't her fault.

It was his.

Norn's Cursed, they had called him. A monster, unfit to live. And they were right.

Only a monster would be robbed of his child . . . twice.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Thor, trying to offer condolences but not knowing what to say. Any other time he would have pushed him away, hating him, too. But he left it alone. All he could hear was his own conscience ringing in his ears:

This is my fault . . . my fault . . . all my fault . . .

Waiting was always the worst.

Thor stood leaning out over the balustrade, looking down at the city, eyes seeing nothing. He had no interest in anything that was happening outside of the palace at the moment. He was more concerned with what had happened to the young man seated in the corridor behind him.

Loki had always been a quiet personality. But Thor had never seen him this quiet – ever.

He turned his head slightly to watch him from the corner of his eye. Loki had not spoken a word for nearly an hour now. He was sitting quite still, leaning forward slightly, eyes turned down to the ground. His long, white fingers were clasped together on his knees so tightly they seemed to be fused together. Bright green eyes that would have been cold and calculating now looked blank and empty, as if he had stopped thinking. There were times Thor wasn't even certain he was breathing. He hardly seemed to be alive at all.

Outward essence of calm. But Thor knew that within that shell was a young man who was terrified out of his mind.

He had to stay with him. He had made a promise. To stand by him. To keep him from . . .

He didn't want to think about what might happen if it all went wrong again . . .

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. But when voices are raised that loud in an abandoned hallway, it is almost impossible not to hear.

" – did you see?"

"Loki, I don't understand – "

"Do NOT play this game yet again!" His brother didn't sound like his usual composed self. In fact, if he didn't know better, he would say that the emotion he heard in that roar was . . . fear.

"What is it you want of me?" His mother's voice trembled slightly; she had always had a soft spot for Loki, even when they were children. She always hated to see him frightened . . .

"You have the gift of Second Sight," Loki ground out. Thor could imagine him towering above Frigga, fists clenched, eyes burning. "Did you see anything?"

Silence stretched out over the room. Thor stopped just outside of the door, part of him wanting to leave and part of him wanting to know what had terrified his brother.

"Did you see anything?" Loki asked again. There was a pause; Frigga didn't reply. But his brother must have noticed something, because the very next moment, "You have. You HAVE seen something, haven't you?"

"Loki . . ."

"What did you see?" Loki's voice was quickly becoming frantic. "Will she live? Will the child live? What did you see?"

Of course. Sigyn.

"Loki, you know that I cannot –"

"TELL ME!"

He sounded almost beyond reason. Desperation. Fear. Anger. Hope. Agony. Thor heard them all in that one terrible scream. His heart ached for his brother, sympathized with his pain. Loki had seen and suffered much – too much – and Thor was certain he only knew part of it. But this . . . this was different; Sigyn had been the one person in all of Asgard – in all of the Nine Realms – that had brought back a part of Loki that they had known and loved. The loss of not one but two unborn children had been almost too much for him . . . and Sigyn had almost died the last time. Now, when she was with child once more . . .

Loki's mind and world had been shattered when he discovered his true lineage. The devastation in its aftermath had been horrific. If Sigyn or the child died . . . he dreaded to think of what Loki might do in that tragedy's wake.

There was a soft, sharp noise of something solid connecting with the floor. Half against his will, Thor carefully looked around the corner. Loki had fallen to his knees, arms clasped around Frigga's waist in desperation. His head was bowed, raven hair falling over his eyes, but Thor could see his shoulders trembling.

"Please . . . tell me," he sobbed.

Thor believed that if Loki had cut her heart out with his bare hands, it would not have caused Frigga as much pain as seeing her younger son pleading for her help . . . help that they both knew would be impossible for her to give. He watched her do the only thing a mother could do; she just held him, cradling his head against her.

"Loki . . . you know I cannot tell anyone what I have seen. I would tell you if I could, believe that. But . . . if there is anything else that I can do . . ."

"Stay with her," he choked out. "Just . . . stay with her. Please . . . mother . . ."

Thor felt his heart freeze in his chest. This was the first time, since Loki returned from exile, that he acknowledged himself as part of the family.

"Of course I will, Loki," she assured him, and Thor could tell from the tremor in Frigga's voice that she thought the same as he did.

Perhaps there was hope for Loki after all.

She caught sight of him across the room, and for a moment their eyes met. The look in her eyes spoke as plainly as if she had said it out loud:

Watch over him, Thor.

One foolish decision had kept him from protecting his brother years before. Now, he would not let Loki out of his sight for a moment.

"One more push, Sigyn."

Eir had been saying that for nearly an hour now.

Sigyn did as she was told, clinging to Frigga's hand and enduring the most painful contraction yet. She tried not to scream; but this time she couldn't help it.

"You're doing well, Sigyn," Frigga whispered to her. "Just a little while longer."

"I can't –" she managed in a strangled whimper. "I can't – do this."

"Yes, you can," Eir broke in sternly. Now was not the time for sympathy. Two lives depended on it. "Once more. Push."

Then suddenly, there was no more pain.

"Well done, Sigyn! It's over, it's all over." Frigga sounded relieved. But Sigyn felt her stomach clench in paralyzing dread.

This was when it all went wrong last time.

Everyone held their breath, anxiously awaiting fate's outcome.

But there was utter silence.

Please, Sigyn wept silently. Please, let my child live. For Loki's sake. Let the child live . . .

Then came a sound that was, in that moment, the most beautiful music that Sigyn had ever heard:

A baby's cry.

The sound of the door opening was like a thunderclap.

Thor whirled around, his heart leaping in his throat. A strange, tingling-numbness suddenly paralyzed every inch of him as he realized that the door that had opened led into Sigyn's room. Eir herself had come out. There was no sound from the room beyond.

The God of Thunder felt a rush of genuine fear. Please, say it hasn't gone wrong again . . .

Loki slowly rose to his feet, back stiff, movements carefully measured, face completely impassive. His eyes were blank, jaw clenched, arms hanging stiffly by his sides. Façade of tranquility . . . but Thor knew his brother well enough to see that – as much as he tried to hide it – Loki, too, was deathly afraid.

Both men were bracing themselves for the worst.

Eir completely ignored Thor. Her gaze in that moment was only for Loki.

There was a moment of anxious stillness.

Then Eir did something neither of them expected.

She smiled.

"Loki," she whispered. "You have a son."

Thor felt his legs suddenly turn to water. It was only through sheer force of will that he didn't collapse then and there. He almost laughed out loud. It was over! It was over and Loki was finally a father. His heart nearly burst with unspeakable joy.

Loki, however, had not moved. He had at first not even seemed to react to Eir's news. He blinked, flinched, then cast a startled glance at Thor. It was as if he was afraid to believe what he had heard. He whirled back to Eir.

"You have a son, Your Highness!" she repeated louder. Thor had never seen the older goddess this happy, this relieved. Her laughter was, in that moment, the most beautiful sound Thor had ever heard.

But Loki did not laugh. He didn't move. He continued to gaze at the Healer in mute disbelief. But Thor noticed a profound change sweep over his brother; his eyes widened, pale expression paling even further. His shoulders sagged as if a great weight had been lifted from them. His hands trembled, clenching and unclenching at his sides, as if he didn't know what to do with himself. And there was even – but Thor could have been wrong – the ghost of a smile on his face.

"Sigyn?" he managed through stiff lips. Thor felt his joy slip a little; the child lived. But the mother . . .

"Fine," Eir assured him, still laughing, and laying a hand on Loki's shoulder. "They're both just fine."

Thor closed his eyes, letting the Healer's words wash over him.

For one moment, for that one moment, there was peace in the universe.

"When you're ready," Eir said quietly after a pause. Still smiling, she turned and glided back through the doors.

It was only after she had disappeared that Loki fell apart.

It's over! They're safe! They're both alive! It's finally over . .

Loki was speechless; there were no words that could express what he was feeling in that moment. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to give vent to emotions that he hadn't felt in ages:

Elation.

Relief.

Unbearable happiness.

How could anyone endure this much happiness?

His knees were shaking. He could hardly breathe. Not knowing what else to do, he turned and flung himself at the only person still present, the only other person who had stayed by his side. Thor embraced him in return, half-supporting him, sharing in his joy.

There was no other way to communicate his relief.

He wept.

He knew he must have looked like a fool. But he didn't care. Sigyn was alive and well, and . . . he hardly dared to even think the words:

He had a son.

Thor pulled away first. For a long moment they just looked at each other, both wanting to say something but neither finding the right words. But Thor didn't need to say anything; his eyes spoke for him. In that one moment, it was as if the past few years had never happened, that there had never been any rift between them.

In that one moment, they were brothers again.

"Go to her, Loki," he said quietly. He seemed close to tears himself.

Loki wanted to say something. He needed to say something.

The words wouldn't come.

But Thor understood.

"Go."

There was no need for further encouragement. Loki disentangled himself from Thor and rushed away.

He had a son!

Maybe the horror and pain and fear were fading away.

Maybe the curse was lifting.

There was no longer any need for the Healers to stay. Eir had taken great care with mother and child to ensure that both were healthy. And if the Great Eir was satisfied that neither was in danger, then there was nothing more to fear. The Queen sent them all away

Only family should remain now.

She had wanted to leave with the Healers as well. There was no longer any need for her to stay, either. But Sigyn had begged her to remain with them. And she had made a promise to her youngest son.

So Frigga remained at Sigyn's bedside. And witnessed all.

Footsteps in the corridor outside drew her eyes to the doorway. Loki hovered there on the threshold, as if his legs had suddenly turned to ice. Bright green eyes met hers for one brief moment, then slowly turned to the one who – in that moment – had consumed his life.

Sigyn lay on the bed, very pale and utterly spent, but with a look of such profound contentment and joy that she looked ten times more beautiful than any of them had ever seen her before. Midnight stared into emerald, and in that one gaze the Queen saw the love each had for the other – even if they would never speak it aloud. After a moment or two, Sigyn's eyes lowered –

To the tiny, helpless infant cradled in her arms.

Loki came forward softly, almost reverently, his eyes fixed on the child lying on the bed beside his mother. He sat by their side without speaking, and now that he was close Frigga could see his eyes were not their usual brightness.

He had been crying.

But they had been tears of joy, not sorrow. It had been long since she had seen her son this happy . . .

He reached out a hand, carefully, as if he was afraid his son would break under him. A tiny hand curled reflexively around his finger.

That one touch could melt a heart of stone.

"He has your eyes, Loki," Sigyn whispered. Loki looked up at her in surprise. She smiled and gently ran her own finger against the boy's cheek until his eyes fluttered open.

Vibrant green eyes. Exactly as Frigga remembered Loki's, now so very long ago . . .

"Have you decided on a name for your son?" she asked quietly. Loki swallowed hard, shaking his head.

"I was almost afraid to hope. It seemed so pointless . . ." His voice failed, and he bowed his head, hiding his eyes from all of them. Sigyn smiled, holding his hand, waiting for him to gather himself again. He took a steadying breath. "Vali," he whispered. "His name is Vali."

"Vali," Sigyn repeated softly. "A strong name . . . like his father."

Loki looked back up at his wife, shaking his head again as tears fell from his eyes.

"Not as strong as you deserve," he denied. "I doubted your word so many times. I'm so sorry, Sigyn. I will never make that mistake again."

The Goddess of Fidelity laughed quietly.

"Don't take to making promises you won't keep, Loki," she teased.

The God of Mischief smiled.

"This vow I intend to keep." He bent forward and kissed her gently on the forehead.

Frigga smiled. There was something about all of this that only she could appreciate.

She had foreseen this. All of this.

Everything was as it should be.

The sun set in a blaze of colors. The glittering city spread to the horizon.

Odin Alfather stood alone atop the highest terrace in the palace, an unbending monument.

But his thoughts were not on the city that night.

They were resting with his son, and daughter . . . and his grandchild.

He smiled.

At long last, there was joy in Asgard.

THE BEGINNING

The Asgardian sky was alight with the flaming colors of dusk, the setting sun casting long shadows across the courtyard. She had stood here often as a child, gazing out over the vast city and wondering why she had been brought here . . . here, of all places? Why had she been whisked away from her home, from all she knew, from all she had cared for? Sent to a strange, frightening place to explore a part of herself she had not known even existed? Why was she here?

She still didn't know. She now didn't think she would ever know. All she was certain of was that, if it hadn't happened, if she hadn't come . . . the Nine Realms would not have been the same.

Neither would have her own life.

Was it worth it?

She looked down at the child in her arms.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

"Sigyn?"

She smiled as she turned to face the voice. She should have known someone would find her.

"My queen," she replied, inclining her head.

"You slipped away from us; no one was certain where you had gone." Sigyn shrugged, cradling Vali a little closer.

"We just needed a breath of air, that's all." Frigga smiled and came up to Sigyn's side, cooing softly to her grandson. The boy rewarded her with an infant's innocent smile, his tiny hand clinging to her finger. The Queen sighed.

"He will grow to be just like his father," she murmured. Sigyn laughed.

"I hope not! Asgard can only have one Mischief-Maker!"

Vali released her finger, and Frigga looked at Sigyn, her smile vanishing.

"Thank you, Sigyn."

Sigyn blinked in surprise. What had she to be thanked for? She waited for her mother to explain.

"For coming to Asgard. For simply being willing to believe, to trust . . . even when it was plain that you should not. If you had not been here . . . for us . . . for Loki . . . things would have turned out quite different. Much sorrow has been averted because of it."

"Sorrow has come already," Sigyn pointed out quietly. Frigga nodded.

"Of course it has, dear . . . but less than you know."

Sigyn turned to face her, a puzzled, worried frown creasing her brow.

"Frigga . . . have you seen something?" she asked. The Queen briefly looked out over the city.

"I see many things, child. Mercifully, not all of them come to pass." Her eyes locked with Sigyn's, and the young woman suddenly felt as if the queen was gazing into the very core of her soul. She shuddered involuntarily. Frigga had never looked at her like that before. Ever.

"Promise me that you will never give up on him. Never abandon him. Never. Let. Him. Go. If he cannot have your faith and trust . . . he will have nowhere left to turn."

"He has his family," Sigyn replied.

"You are his family. You . . . and your son." She paused. "Trust him . . . even when he cannot trust himself. He will need you, more than either of you will ever understand."

Sigyn blinked back tears, trying to smile.

"I promise."

Frigga smiled in return.

The moment had passed. Her word had been given. The Goddess of Fidelity had promised.

All would be well.

"Come, dear," the Queen said suddenly. "You and your son will be missed by the court. You should come back inside."

Sigyn laughed and allowed herself to be lead back into the Hall. Yes, they were missed. Loki was already standing in the doorway, waiting for them. She smiled.

He needed her.

He had always needed her, always would.

But she would always need him.

Perhaps together they would find hope.

After all, she promised.

He'd been promised many things over the course of his life.

They had never worked as he hoped.

But when the Goddess of Fidelity herself promises something . . . that was finally a reason to believe.