The binding of Loki
“If you think of it, the concept of mistletoe is terrifying.”
Sigyn paused, emptying the bowl. Her husband thrashed behind her, shaking the earth so strongly that she almost missed his words. “What?” She asked him again, once the bowl was placed back above his eyes and the serpent's venom no longer blinded him.
“I mean, mistletoe. The youngest thing alive besides the humans on Midgard. It can’t agree not to harm daddy’s golden boy and suddenly, I’m the bad guy for giving Hőðr a stick to throw.” The venom dripped into the bowl, the soft pat, pat pat of wood the only sound as she waited for Loki to get his wits about him. “It’s not fair.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” Said Sigyn, waiting for her husband’s eyes to focus on her once he could see again. “But life’s not fair.”
“I’ve never been happy with that answer.” Loki grumbled. “If life is so unfair, it’s up to everyone to make it so. Take your life in your own hands. Seize the day.”
“Like you did with Baldr?”
“Odin did not weep at his funeral. He saved his tears for show. Why whisper secrets to a dead man?” Loki shook his head. The bowl was half full. “I am not the only trickster of the court. There is a reason Odin and I are sworn brothers. I liked him once upon a time, you know…” his wistful look turned to bitterness. The wind echoed at the front of the cave, a faint breeze reaching them and flickering their lone source of light—the torch to the left of Loki’s head. The Æsir had been kind enough to leave them light, at least. Loki shivered, still pinned to the rock by entrails strong as steel. Sigyn had gotten used to the sight, however gruesome it may have been. The father of her sons bound by the blood of them both. She didn’t know what happened to Váli in the end, and cried for the fact that she was simply too afraid to ask. She had not been banned from the halls of Valhalla, but she had been left behind, willfully ignored by the other gods who decided to abandon her to her task. She was alone, save for a few minor gods who dared being her supplies. Blankets, fresh clothes and food. She had to keep up her strength, after all.
Ragnarok was just around the corner.
“Odin’s a rotten uncle.” Loki began as the torch whittled itself down to embers. “He imprisoned Fenris, Jormundgandr, and Hel, he forced Váli to rip Narfi apart and then used his entrails to bind me here, he rides Sleipnir into battle— I wouldn’t trust him to care for a child if he was the last áss in Asgard.”
“Are you mad at him?”
Loki laughed. “Mad? Oh, darling Sigyn, I am furious.”
