Drabble prompts: Fluff - power, angst - magic.
“You were… frustrated earlier, weren’t you?” Sigyn asked, hesitating as she recalled the exact kind of feeling that had welled in her about mid-morning. There had been nothing in her immediate circumstances to explain the irritation, unless the grating voice of one of their patient’s or the loose handle on an ingredient chopping knife had simply being building in her subconscious.
The notion had overcome her in a slow, but distinct wave, and she had been forced to excuse herself for a moment to take a breath of fresh air and clear her head. Though Perrin had passed it off as being the heat, and staying cooped up all morning in the central chamber of the Healer’s Guild, Sigyn had not. She was accustomed to it being warm, and though she could think of things aplenty to spawn her ire none of them had been in the immediate vicinity.
Loki glanced up from the book spread between his palms, a furrow of confusion nestled in his brow. They were close, but neither of them clairvoyant, so her sudden, and accurate, guess about his earlier mood was rather unexpected.
“…Yes.” He conceded, straightening and forgetting their immediate study. “Father called a meeting of his war council and Thor and I were there.”
“Right. I remember you mentioning it was rather important and there was no not going.” Sigyn responded. He had told her about it yesterday evening; it was why they were unable to have a lesson that morning.
A sigh hissed from between Loki’s teeth, “Well, Thor about insisted we march against Surtr after the recent, ill-fated trade commission, despite the fact that we do have allies in his court and among his houses. Not only was it foolhardy, the thought is practically suicide. The last occasion we were on Muspelheim, to quell those isolated revolts along our trade routes, we had Einherjar collapsing from the temperature.” He shook his raven head,
“I collapsed…” He muttered, and Sigyn remembered. Thor had came shouting into the Healer’s Tent with Loki slung over his shoulders. It was not a sight she could easily forget.
“But regardless, he insisted it would be better to just quell the Realm and have done, and by the Norns he would not let it go.” Loki explained, his jaw flexing, but he reigned in his renewed disgust and tilted his head,
“…That is not what you asked, though. I was frustrated. How did you know?”
A slightly incredulous smile lifted Sigyn’s lips, “I felt it.” She answered, looking up at him. He paused for a moment and then nodded in understanding,
“I see. I would say I am surprised, but that is reasonable. We talked about the possibility of two magic-users becoming so close that their power is attuned and they begin to share one another’s peaks of emotion and feeling.” Loki’s voice had lowered to a hesitant hum, “I… guess we are getting there.”
“Indeed.” Sigyn said, and smiled at him, “I do not regret it.”
Loki’s hesitancy become happiness as his mouth edge upward, “Neither do I.” He answered, and they chuckled as they turned back to their books and notes,
“Sorry I frustrated you.” He quipped as he resumed his leafing through the tome, but not before glancing up at her with an ornery grin.
“I forgive you.” Sigyn jested in return.
Sigyn jerked out of sleep as jolt of pain shocked through her and a cry she somehow knew was not hers echoed in her mind. Loki. Another dream about Loki.
Norns, this was getting worse.
Hot tears stung her eyes and she threw away her coverings and moved to the balcony doors. She cast them open and welcomed the rush of cool, night air that dried the moisture on her cheeks and grounded her in the present.
Why could she not stop dreaming about him. Why was there always pain and why could she hear him.
A swell of grief choked Loki’s throat and had this been before - in Asgard - he would have known its suddenness and intensity did not belong to him, but as it was he did not, and could not, know. The fiery agony of one of the vicious, and sudden, flashes of electricity that kept him from sleeping was still subsiding, and his fingers, what ones that were not broken, trembled.
“You cannot rest.” The Other mocked, “Not until you learn who your master is, runt.” The Creature plucked away a few thick, filthy strands of Loki’s moist hair and he flinched away from the possibility of Its touch.
“Do you want to tell us?” It whispered, its lips curling back in an expectant snarl.
Loki swallowed against the raw ache in his throat and leaned his head away, as much as the strangling pressure of the cords binding him allowed. If he answered, or if he did not, the punishment was going to remain the same and he could not escape it.
Norns, Norns... His thoughts rushed in panic, Norns, please…
As if in some, cruel response another surge of scorching energy tore through his nerves and in his chest, his magic spasmed.
“No!” Loki gasped… and his screams echoed off the rock and into Sigyn’s dreams.
