Nose is nestled in a bundle of white locks, arms strung around her waist. Breathing in her scent and allowing silence to fall upon them, he merely holds her close and tight. “I do not wish for you to fight in this war, Sigyn.” Voice is hushed, barely audible unless one is listening close enough. Plenty of times has he tried turning her around, has fought and attacked in hopes she would be deterred from fighting a battle she did not belong in. Perhaps it is because even the Trickster knows all too well, how willingly sacrificial she is for far too many souls that will be on the battlefield, and shall be lost that day. With his hands on her waist, he turns her around, grip firm as green eyes lock upon blue ones that he never wishes will seize to exist. Eyes from a woman whose soul burns so bright, that has become a vital part in his life.
Changed it, reformed it and has made it almost impossible to breathe and think straight if she is no longer a part of it; a part of his heart.
And he knows she will – he hates her for it. Truly despises her stubborn will to go. Part of him, does not wish to fight himself… needs no reason to fight besides mortals that trust him less than they can throw him. Yet he owes it to Thor, his brother regardless of all their squabbles in the past. “Then you must stay at my side, at all times. Not once, will you part from me.” Loki cannot protect her if she strays too far, finds herself half way across the field. Soft exhale, of what can be considered of both irritation and impatience comes from the God as his thumb brushes along her lower lip. Closing their non-existent space, his head tilts and his lips brush against hers with every word he utters. “You are my heart, my beloved.” And so he kisses her, kisses her and touches her with the most amorous of nature. A kiss so deep, so heart felt, as if it is kissing her for the very last time.
Because it was.
Time strikes, their time is up. Leather and metal straps are tightly woven into place, golden helmet settled upon black hair as the daggers, sword and mystical weapons are so perfectly hidden away. No more than a few words come from the Jotun even as they descend into the field that rancid monster is expected to appear on.
For the first time, they all stand side by side, a large of army that is flanking as many sides as possible with the initial mission to surround and overwhelm. To spot a weakness and aim for it, relentlessly, in hopes that they shall shorten the gap between themselves and victory. Victory that did not come without a sacrifice he had felt coming, one that he held as a deeply rooted regret even now, standing before Freya. One of the very last few he expected to communicate with him after the loss of Sigyn, an opportunity he did not pass on. Knowing her, it was something important that had to do with his beloved. Of course he had shown up without a second thought to withhold him, even if it could have been a vengeful ploy against him.
Months had passed since Sigyn’s death, yet the image of her final moments constantly dwell in his mind to replay the instance as if he will be able to somehow go back and change it. Ah, but a second change will come. Perhaps not today, nor tomorrow, nor in the close years to come - but it will surely happen.
And until then, he will mourn her silently without breaking. Miss her so badly, it begins to physically pain the Trickster to the point he must find some sort of release and momentary distraction. Become accustomed to sleeping once more without the company of his wife. Sleep had evaded him for some time after her death, only resting when he’d collapse from exhaustion. Not once did he touch her side of the bed, but he’d lay so close, holding her pillow to breathe in her scent through out the night. Because only was he allowed to dwindle and succumb to the feeling of deep loss when he was alone in their room. A room that goes without being touched or changed, her items still remaining where she had left them. Not even the sheets had been changed for some time, not until her scent fully faded away from them.
“I will not force her to remember. Should she desire to have her memories
once more, they will be on her own accord.”
Both a promise to himself and to Sigyn, who is to eventually come back as a mortal with locked away abilities and memories that only her helmet will unlock. A helmet that he holds, so gentle in between his hands, as if it were made of the finest glass in all the realms. Original plan was to allow the Goddess rest, rest she very well deserved after all the centuries she has spent being tugged back and forth in. Sadly, no one else is able to hold the infinity stones within themselves quite like she had, not without becoming lost to the darkness and losing control far too quickly. With her sacrifice, not only did many get to walk home, but there was a shake in the balance that the Gods could not fix nor shake. Looming darkness becoming heavier and heavier each passing day that she did not exist.
And perhaps... the darkest thing of all was the way fate was rewritten, and she was stripped away of her well earned time to rest will be cut short for their own selfish needs.
No specific time or year is provided, or location is given to the Trickster. Because he isn’t meant to find her before her time. She is meant to be born, to grow and learn, to become a young adult and live as natural as the course of a human life can allow. Their meeting is a gravitational pull that was suddenly turned on by a switch, and Loki was able to feel the pull from a distance away. He knows that it is Sigyn, that it is his beloved because it’s a pull that he felt a century ago when she was still his. Centered, grounded and strong. Everything she had been when he had been nothing but a God that was crumbling away, barely able to pick up his own pieces. When she had come into his life, it’d been filled with so much disdain and spitefulness that even the thought of how he treated her now made him sick towards himself. All the sacrifices she made, the abuse and hurt she has gone through.
Even now, he feels a pang of guilt that she must be brought to the world of the living where she is bound to suffer once more. The fact he is happy for this is what brings forth that undeniable guilt. He should have agreed to let the world plummet, so long as she rests.
When Freya stated Sigyn can be brought back, he had jumped far too quickly on the opportunity. Being selfish would pay off to his benefit, and he’ll happily live with that guilt once she’s in his arms, where she belongs.
____________________________________________
Drawing in a breath, he takes in her scent, nose nestled in her darkened hair as he had done before the battle. Only he is much more relaxed, both unwinding on a cushioned bed and loose to little clothing. He’s pressed against her back, and his arm lays around her. Bright shine of the sun is just beginning to peak between the blind gaps, birds singing and chirping as they begin their early day with the rest of the world that is also awakening. After a year of being steady, he’d finally convinced her to move into his penthouse. Where he’s able to keep her close and under his watch and protection at all times. Until her status is unlocked, she is completely under the radar. Both from immortal enemies and Gods alike, but he chooses to believe she still requires his protection. Just in case.
Allowing his hand to glide up her side, he tucks her hair back, leaning up on his side by propping himself up on his elbow so he can place a kiss to her cheek without waking her.
Slipping out of bed, he heads to the kitchen where he begins to brew her morning tea, leaning against the counter in deep thought. Today, would be the day she will make her decision.Or so, that she would be presented with her decision. Loki raises a hand, and there’s a smoke of green mist that sparks, tightening before it expands and her helmet appears. For the past century, he had taken care of it, kept it close and hidden away. Lips that are pinched tight pulls into a soft smile, and he has to refrain a laugh from escaping him as the memory of her taunting his horns after he mocked hers. Her voice had come through so crystal clear, he could almost feel the phantom touch of the way she would pull at his horns after he’d purposely bow his head to allow Sigyn the chance to reach.
Removing the boiling water and placing it aside, he props the helmet on his living room stand first before he prepares the tea. Setting it on the table, he quietly steps back into the room, bending his knees so he’s besides her side of the bed. And he can’t bring himself to wake her up instantly, the way her face is free of all inner demons and stresses that hound her throughout the day, are all gone. Peacefully at rest, and even with the change of hair color, it is his Sigyn. His Sigyn, before her death, his Sigyn when he’d wake moments before her and he would watch over her. If he watched her long enough, he would forget and look past her hair and he could almost swear it was white again.
Then he’d blink, and the image would be gone.
“My love, my sun and stars.
it is time to wake.”
