Tucking her head under Loki’s chin, Sigyn carefully stroked his back, humming softly under her breath. As his muscles loosened, soothing strokes morphed into lazy tracing of the bones under his skin, and she sighed longingly. The falling light, so similar to her own magic, made her feel safe, at peace, and a little bold.
“My lord?” she whispered against his throat. “Will you not tell me what troubles you so?”
Loki sat silently for a moment, then started to relay his tale to Sigyn. He kept his eyes on the night sky, voice low, arms around her and breath as even as he was able.
He told her of Thor’s coronation day and the disaster that came from his ruse to wreck the day. He tried to tell her he had not wanted things to turn out as they had, but had trouble articulating the feelings. He told her of the destruction of the bifrost, the last words his father had spoken to him and his voice trailed off.
He swallowed hard against the memories of the Abyss and shook his head. He could not speak of it. The horrors of that time were still too painful, too real. He relived them when he had an unguarded moment and he wandered into that part of his mind where he had tried to bury the memories.
He shifted slightly and let out another sigh.
Sigyn listened silently, letting her hands play up and down his spine while he talked. Dusk deepened to true night before he finished, and the little valley was hushed with the sounds of darkness. When Loki trailed off finally, she gently freed herself from his hold and stepped over to the stream.
It was the work of just a moment to fashion a cup from a borrowed leaf. “Drink, my lord,” she said softly, holding it out. There was something else in his past, she could sense it in the way he had stopped, but that would keep for another time. She understood, now, his constant tension, his amazement at her responses, and yet she could not help but feel sympathy for him, struggling so hard to be … what?
To live up to others’ expectations? How familiar a feeling, that.
“My prince, these are painful memories. Will you not put them aside for now?” she asked, voice soft.
He felt a little vulnerable when she pulled away from his arms. His mind raced. Had he said too much? Did she judge him unworthy by his past actions? Would she shun him now, as the others had? He clenched his jaw and cursed that small flame of hope that had been allowed to take root in his heart. Here was the let down. He should have expected this.
When Sigyn offered him the water, he took it, glad for the opportunity to wet his lips. He nodded silently at her words and turned away from her bringing his knees up to his elbows. He looked up into the stars again and wondered when she would drop the final axe. He hoped it would be sooner rather than later so he could carry on and chalk this up to an unfortunate lapse in judgement.
The line of his profile was sharp and pure in the moonlight, and Sigyn found her heart aching. Loki so clearly expected further condemnation, and yet all she felt was sympathy. Did they not all make mistakes? He had acted in good faith, of love for king and realm, and only a cruel fate had twisted it awry.
Deliberately, she knelt before his huddled body. “I will not let thee go,” she repeated, watching him with grave violet eyes, sliding into a familiar mode of speech, and added, “alone. Wilt not turn and speak to me?”