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writernotwaiting · 6 years

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Mis-Matched, part 2

(I told you I wouldn’t abandon this. It’s only been, what, a year? aaaarrrrgh!).

Title: Mis-Matched Rating: M (this is subject to change at the whim of the author’s muses) Characters: Loki, Sigyn, Frigga, Theoric, and various supporting OCs Description: This is an attempt to fill the propmt requested by @someillplanetreigns (and now I can’t even tag you!): “you asked for prompts and pairings - I would like to humbly beg for more Logyn? I don’t have a great prompt, but this odd thought is in my head about a way to make the comic plot about Theoric and the marriage into something about marriage by proxy? Maybe something like Loki has the duty of proxy-marrying Sigyn cos Theoric’s in the army, and totally plays everyone by going the whole hog and appearing as Theoric, but then Sigyn, who thought Theoric was dull as ditchwater and Loki is… well, y’know, Loki.” Chapter: 2 of 3 (hope!) Acknowledgements: thank you @icybluepenguin for serving as one of my favorite institgaors and sounding boards – you rock!

See Part 1 here and see both on Ao3 here

____________________________________________

It’s done. I’m married. Signed. Sealed. Now awaiting delivery.

Sigyn stood on the grand steps of her guardian’s house awaiting the carriage that would remove her from his condescending gaze forever, and into the midst of the Aesir court—one tiny victory in exchange for what could easily turn into a lifetime of defeats. She smiled tightly as Loki offered to help her into the cushioned interior of the carriage before he stepped back to salute her guardian and mount his horse.

A week earlier, she’d almost ruined everything. Loki had been showing her some illusions—skillful fireworks. And though they were in an inner courtyard, they were alone—at least Sigyn had thought so. So on impulse Sigyn decided to show him some fire magic. Just a few things, a tiny fireball in the palm of her hand, flames on her fingertips. He was fascinated when he discovered that the flames weren’t illusory, that they threw real heat. She was about to bring up the fireball once more, when the voice of her guardian rang out, “Sigyn, there you are! I’ve been looking for you.”

Sigyn froze in her tracks, quickly dousing the spell. “Herr Braggison! I apologize. What can I do for you?”

“Come with me, girl, I need to talk to you about the packing.”

That was a lie, and she knew it, but what could she do? Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she curtsied quickly to Loki and followed her guardian into the house as he led her to his office. [read more cut below]

As soon as the door shut he rounded on her. “What in all the nine realms do you think you’re doing, girl?”

“Just making conversation with our guest,” she replied through gritted teeth. “You know, making him feel welcome, just like you told me to.”

“Idiot! What did I say? No fire magic, ever!”

“We were just trading spells. Anyone can do a simple flame spell.”

“Not like that! No one summons fire like that—only you, only your kind. What do you think will happen if they find out?”

She shifted her gaze to the window, eyes full of resentment, still clenching her teeth, so her voice was barely audible. “Banished.”

“Exactly. No wedding. No bride price. No fancy house. Nothing. Both of us will be ruined, and as much as I know you would love to see me disgraced, I think the price is too heavy, even for you.” Iric stuck his index finger right in her face. “No more fire spells. Ever.”

“Yes, sir.” She stayed in the little office for a good half hour after Iric stormed out, just breathing, working hard to get her temper back under control, before she ventured back out into the house proper. By then, Iric had distracted Loki with the promise of a ride through the grounds, so Sigyn was safe to bury herself in her room until supper. Iric was right, of course. She had been showing off and not thinking about the implications. Loki wasn’t stupid, and if her secret got out, she would no longer be welcome in Asgard. But that didn’t mean she made that admission with good grace.

Now that the proxy wedding was over, and she settled in for the carriage ride to court, Sigyn scowled as the door latched shut.

I can ride a horse, guys! At least then I could talk to him. I hate this. I hate the marriage. I hate Theoric. I hate my guardian. I hate my father. I hate everything!And she flopped back into the soft seat with all the grace of a 14 year old.

If no one can see me, I can pout all I want.

And who could fault that logic?

Not Loki.

He would like nothing more than to crawl in the carriage and pout right along with her.

Well, he’s pretty certain he would get to the pouting part, eventually. He would probably start with the comforting part first. Or maybe soothing distraction. Or just outright distraction. Perhaps active distraction. At any rate, Loki had to admit to himself that he was pretty darn distracted, dammit, as he rode next to the carriage and tried valiantly to keep looking forward with a straight face. Somewhere along the line he had lost the diplomat’s objectivity. His mother would be appalled.

How in the name of all that’s blessed did this happen?

After a second day spent in Sigyn’s company, Loki had decided that a real look at the contract was in order. His conversation with Frigga replayed in his imagination, “If the couple are pleased enough with the match to sign the contract, there is nothing to be done against it,” Frigga had said. But Sigyn did not seem pleased.

In private, Sigyn’s laughter was quick, her smile bright, and her company sent something down his spine akin to warm water trickling into a pool. When Loki followed her out to her hiding places around Herr Braggison’s estate, they talked about books, favorite stories, even traded favorite spells—usually by blowing things up (little things, honest).

However, once in the house again, she shuttered everything. Her mouth transformed into a tight line or rigid smile, especially if her guardian appeared or Theoric’s name was mentioned.

And so, of course, he had a professional duty to read the contract. Granted, this was only a temporary assignment until his wounds had finally healed enough to return to the fighting, but as an official representative of the court, he couldn’t permit a vulnerable member of society to be taken advantage of. Frigga would expect of him. His investigation was purely in the government’s interest. There had to be a loophole or a mistake somewhere that would free Sigyn from such a disadvantageous match.

He read it twice.

Unfortunately, all he managed to discover was how thoroughly precise Sigyn’s guardian had been. Every legal contingency covered. Every stipulation specified. Every punctuation mark of her father’s wishes taken into account.

He noticed only one particular omission: the distinct lack of the intended bride’s signature. Loki repeated this to himself like a mantra. Sigyn had never signed the negotiated contract. She hadn’t signed.

“If the couple are pleased enough with the match to sign the contract, there is nothing to be done against it.”

But Sigyn hadn’t signed.

Well, in another two weeks Loki would be cleared to go back to the fighting himself, and then he could do a bit of reconnaissance on his own — a character study of the groom was in order. Perhaps he could locate his second loophole there. In the meanwhile, he would absolutely ensure Sigyn felt more than welcome at the palace.

Perhaps he could serve as proxy at more than just the wedding. He smirked at the thought, then startled when his horse jostled him around a tree branch in the road.

Idiot! Pay attention to what you’re doing.

Loki, however, was nothing if not an opportunist.

No one would criticize him if he chose to take a break from his horse and ride for a bit in the carriage. He was a prince, after all.

Which is exactly what he did on the second day. They talked about books, about what life would be like at court, about the life Sigyn was leaving behind (though this seemed curiously edited, to Loki’s mind), and the shared little illusions. Loki found himself increasingly caught by the sparkle in her eyes when she became excited, by the way the light occasionally glinted off her riotous curls, by the tiny little scar by her eye that got swallowed in a dimple when she smiled. And he thought she might be caught, too, just a little bit—her gaze slow to leave his when they laughed together.

But then her ease vanished again as soon as she sensed a change in the road, from rutted dirt, to smooth hard-packed earth, and then to gravel. Sigyn peered out the window at the large buildings that sprang up before them and her expression became shuttered and her shoulders tense. Loki tried to distract her by naming the more prominent ones, playing tour guide, but where her hands had animated with her interest before, her fists withdrew into a tight knot in her lap.

“Are you alright, Sigyn?”

“Yes, your highness,” with a smile obviously practiced, “everything’s fine. What were you saying about that building over there?” Here actions transformed from something nearly flirtatious to polished politeness.

Loki paused before he resumed playing tour guide, doing his best to hide his own frustration and growing anger at the situation.

This is not right. Why is she going along with something that she obviously dreads. There is some piece I’m missing.

He took one risk, covering her hands with one of his own. He felt her flinch, before she briefly squeezed his fingers and pulled her hands away to hide them in her pockets. She flashed him a tight smile, but he could see the glitter in her eyes before she turned away to face the window.

When they arrived at the palace, their first duty was to pay their respects to the queen. And after brief introductions, Frigga had one of her own attendants guide Sigyn to her room so she could rest a bit and change, “We’ll talk again over a light snack this evening. I’ll arrange for you to have supper on your own—I’m sure you’re exhausted after your travels.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Sigyn curtsied, “I would appreciate a little time to get settled.”

“Gudren, help Sigyn navigate her way about, won’t you? The place can be a bit of a maze until you’re used to it.”

After the women left, Loki started to leave as well, but Frigga caught his arm and dragged him back with a serious look. “Loki.”

He looked at his mother, surprised at her sharp tone, “Mother?”

“Don’t.”

Again, he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I do have eyes, dearest, and you cannot hide That Look from me. She’s married. You need to stop looking at her like that.”

Loki was all over innocence as he replied, “Like what?”

“Loki!”

He scrunched up his face in distaste, giving up the pretense. “She doesn’t want this. Everything she does screams it. And I can’t blame her. She’s smart, witty, highly educated. She’ll be miserable. There’s nothing about her that will appeal to Theoric and nothing about Theoric that would appeal to her.”

“She signed the contract, Loki. We cannot judge her circumstances. Love is a completely unpredictable thing.”

“She didn’t.”

Frigga’s tone rose. “What?”

“She didn’t sign the contract. It was drawn up a month before her majority, and her guardian signed for her. Something isn’t right about this, Mother.”

“And you have absolutely no vested interest in something being wrong?” Frigga raised an eyebrow as she spoke.

Loki paused as he tried to read his mother’s expression. This was not a time to be flippant. “Would it be frowned upon if I did have some interest in the outcome?”

Frigga pursed her lips as she examined his face carefully. “I had not planned to think on this for many years to come.” Another long pause. “I’m sure your father would prefer something more politically astute.”

Loki replied carefully, though he had already given it a good deal of thought over the past few days, “Well, I am, after all, only a second son. Does this not give me slightly more leeway in this area?”

Frigga mostly suppressed a smile at that. “Slightly. Why don’t I tell you exactly how much leeway you have after I have spoken with her a bit further?”

Loki bowed his head and smiled, “I have full confidence in your judgement.”

“You are a very naughty young man. Rather than mooning about your room this evening, perhaps you should spend a few hours in either the law or the genealogy libraries?”

“That is an excellent thought, Mother. I love nothing more than tracing family histories.”

Frigga turned him toward the doors and shoved him out, whispering, “Be discreet!”

_____

Sigyn took stock of her situation after Gudren left. Her room was slightly smaller than the one she was used to—the bed took up a good deal of the available real estate. But there was a dresser, a little desk near a large window, and best of all she had her own bath with a small vanity and mirror, separated from her bedroom by a short hall that doubled as a closet.

Then she stared ruefully at the crates full of books stacked on her floor. Perhaps I can ask for some shelves to be put on one side of the closet.

It was already late afternoon, so she went about unpacking the barest necessities, starting with the clothes and toiletries. She tried hard to not think about the day’s ride, which meant, of course, that it was all she thought about. The carriage was small and stacked with boxes she hadn’t wanted to risk to the cart, so Loki sat nearly scrunched up next to her—Sigyn’s skin fairly tingled every time their arms or thighs brushed. She could still call up the clean smell of his leather jacket, and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he laughed.

All of the things that could not be hers, for a multitude of reasons. When Loki covered her hands with his own, it nearly broke her.

I hope Iric chokes on his money.

Someone brought in her supper after a bit and let her know the queen would like to see her in three hours. Right. Eat now. Think later. Much, much later.

Sigyn dressed with care, entertaining vague hopes that Loki might keep his mother company at her evening table, but it was not to be. In fact, Frigga dismissed her other women as Sigyn arrived. “I wanted to get to know you without having an audience. It can be intimidating, moving to this crowded place from a country estate. I wanted to get to know you, so I know how best to make use of your talents in the little time I get to keep you.”

And there was the reminder—the little time. Sigyn checked her face to make sure it was still that of the well-behaved bride. “Of course, your majesty, I will do whatever I can to be useful until my husband returns from the front.”

Frigga nodded, giving no indication that she noticed the flicker in Sigyn’s expression. “Loki tells me that you work seidr?”

“Yes, majesty.”

“And that you’re self taught?”

Sigyn blushed a bit. “Not entirely—I started to study with my mother a couple of years before she passed away.”

“But after that?”

“Yes. After that I was left to my own devices, pretty much. And after Father died, I was able to keep Mother’s books. Some of it was slow going, but there’s not much to do on Herr Braggison’s estate, so I could spend as much time in study as possible.”

“So you’re self motivated—I like that.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Tell me about your favorite spells.”

Sigyn had a brief thrill of panic, but the conversation went easily after that short hitch. Frigga was good at that, putting others at ease, drawing them out. Sigyn quite lost track of time, until Frigga broke up their conversation. “It’s getting a bit late, Sigyn. Since you’re here, why don’t you help me get ready for bed rather than calling for someone else.”

“Of course.”

She led her into an inner chamber where her clothes hung on long, well-organized racks, pulling a night dress down and laying it across the back of a chair. “Would you undo my laces, dear.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sigyn reached up to undo Frigga’s breastplate, then untangle the laces at her neck. After Frigga had changed, she sat in front of the vanity.

“Would you unpin my hair for me?”

“Certainly.” Sigyn searched for and then pulled out the pins holding together Frigga’s elaborate up-do, unwinding the braids before gently running her finger through them to pull them apart. When Frigga handed her a brush, Sigyn felt a slight tingle as she ran it through the long, golden locks. Not a single snag.

“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Sigyn marveled.

Frigga smiled broadly. “The brush? Yes, how could you tell?”

“I can feel it. Did you do this?”

“It was a gift. Loki made it for me. He was always underfoot when he was young, and was always noticing things. He saw one of the ladies struggling with the knots in my hair and gave me this brush for my name day.”

“That was very thoughtful. How clever.”

Frigga laughed, “He can be when he wants to be.”

That night Sigyn curled into herself in the new, unfamiliar bed trying to find sleep. Her mind, though, simply would not let her go. She wanted so badly to just enjoy how welcome she felt. The queen had been more than gracious—Sigyn felt real approval. There was no hint of the outlander prejudice her guardian always threw in her face, no disparagement for her studies or magic-sensitivity—far from it. But, she reminded herself, her place here was temporary—only as long as Theoric was needed in the war. As soon as there was a break, he would take her out to his estate. She shuddered. How long would she be able to postpone being alone with him? Never long enough.

If the will hadn’t insisted on marriage, she would have set herself up independently—a little herb shop in town—surely a city as big as the one surrounding the castle could support another kitchen witch. It wouldn’t be glamorous, sure, but a single life where she controlled her own destiny was infinitely preferable to what she faced now. But why Theoric? Surely Iric could have come to an arrangement with someone else—someone clever, perhaps even a magic user, someone with green eyes and sculpted cheekbones with lean muscles and a liquid voice as deep as a forest pool whose touch felt electric on her skin . . .

Arrrrrhg!

Thatwas exactly what she should not be thinking about. As if she weren’t in enough trouble as it was, now her brain readily produced vivid alternatives to her oaf of a husband, and the more pleasant those dreams were, the more miserable she became. Even if she weren’t married Loki was a prince. Princes marry for politics not money, which was all she had to offer. There was certainly no prestige attached to her breeding. They both of them should be wearing big signs: Do Not Touch!

Oh Norns, it would be so easy to get into so much trouble!

And unfortunately, part of her really wanted to get into trouble right now.

Sleep took a long time to find her.

_____

Frigga, on the other hand, found herself quite satisfied by the evening’s conversation, and made a note to herself to gather as much gossip as possible about Herr Braggison and Theoric—after all, she had vast resources with which to do so. Loki was right, Sigyn was wasted on Theoric, and something about that marriage contract definitely smelled of three-day-old fish.

#Loki #Sigyn #Logyn #fan fiction #my fan fiction #holy shit it's been a long time #sorry #I'm really sorry #I protrate myself and await my pennance #I am a horrible person

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