Chapter Text
Sigyn blew at the loose strand of hair in a vain attempt to get the curl out of his face. He kept his eyes on the chalkboard, glancing at the leather bound journal in his hand. The soft taps of the chalk on the board echoed in the empty classroom. Professor Katya allowed him to linger in the room between classes to discuss ideas or visit. He had been wanting to be able to read and write in runes ever since he discovered that the Lord of the Rings movies came from books, which in turn had touches of real life mythology. (Plus, he’d be ready to put it to use come next fall term when he took her Tolkien class) She welcomed students who wanted to explore the subjects more than what was presented in class… if they didn’t get on her nerves.
A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He remembered the announcement she had made on the first day. This was a class for North European Mythology, which meant they were primarily covering Norse, Welsh, and Irish materials. They had first started out with Neil Gaiman’s American Gods as a treat to see how a modern writer presented them, to see which gods they could pick out now, and to see how much more aware they were at the end of the class where they would quickly reread it. But, under no circumstances, were they to mention the recent movies or Marvel comics while discussing Thor. Not unless they wanted her to leap over the podium and throttle them.
Sigyn had to laugh at himself. That was why he had taken the class in the first place. He had only touches of Norse mythology before, half remembered stories told to him as a child by his Norwegian grandmamma. (His mama had sworn up and down that he would be a girl when she was pregnant, and made dad promise to let her be named Sigyn after her favorite goddess. The name had stuck despite him being a boy.) Then he had seen the Thor movie and been utterly entranced. (He couldn’t help it. It was so damn pretty.) Thor had been his favorite character and that had led him into the comics. So why not take a Norse mythology class to see where everything had come from? He had expected to continue to liking Thor…
…And instead found himself liking Loki of all people. The Thor of the eddas was rather moronic and a bit boring. Especially when his own mythology presented him as simply thrashing giants or failing to recognize his own father in a flyting match. A flyting match over not wanting to get his balls wet crossing a river of all things. (And when you considered that Thor daily waded across a river to get to the Aesir ting while the rest rode over the Bifrost…)
Loki was mischievous. Loki was clever. He was the one who solved everything. Sure there were times when he was the one who started everything and caused the trouble. But then there were other stories were Loki didn’t even seem to be there until the Aesir turned around and demanded that he fix things. He was the one who made the stories fun. He was the one who made the students chuckle when reading parts out loud in class. The Lokasenna had been a riot…
Sigyn actually felt kinda bad that he hadn’t been able to recognize Low-Key Lyesmith until shortly before Shadow did in American Gods. He hadn’t known Loki had other names before taking the class. But it had made him return to the Thor movie and concentrate on Loki. That was where everything changed. He’d actually had to go back to see Avengers several times in theaters since he kept getting distracted by Loki. He really hoped he didn’t get the chance to meet Tom Hiddleston. Because he would serious start geeking out if he did.
His train of thought broke as he looked down at the journal, filled with notes and the elder futhark runes, and then back up at the chalkboard. Crap. His wandering thoughts had transferred to his hand and it had continued to write the things in his mind. Random phrases here and there, words written atop words. Since he wasn’t concentrating his left hand had wandered and started writing backwards, right to left, letters in reverse order. The chalk was pressed into the last stroke of laguz, the L, of Loki’s name, written above the runes for Asgard.
“Damnit,” he glanced around for the eraser. He was learning how to work sentences together and all the things that went into them to make them correct. If Katya saw this she’d laugh and wonder just what he was trying to do. Ah, there it was, sitting innocently until the podium. Sigyn turned, chalk lifting from the board, to pick it up. Yet as he turned, as the chalk left, the sound of its scrapping began anew. A smell of burning filled the air and white light shimmered at the edge of his sense. He managed to turn for the briefest of moments and saw that the runes shimmered on the board. They bled together, growing, revealing an image beyond the chalkboard he couldn’t believe. Before Sigyn blinked he saw he saw a myriad of colors dancing as stars in dark space before his stomach leapt in his throat and he was sucked forward.
Sigyn squeezed his eyes tight against the moving lights. He curled in on himself protectively, one arm over his head and the other curled to his chest. He had the weirdest sensation of flying… if a body could fly by itself at great speeds. Pops rang in his ears as he suddenly slammed to a near stop. And began to drop in free fall. He barely had time to open his eyes and see a great city spread out underneath him, leading towards a towering golden mountain. Then the trees started rushing forward and he was more concerned protecting his eyes than seeing where he was. He hardly felt the impact with the ground since the air being knocked out of him was overwhelming.
He lay there, gasping for air, until his vision cleared and his body decided to function again. “Let’s not do that again…” Sigyn groaned as he pushed himself upright. He was in some sort of garden or small decoration of plants. The back of a few houses framed one side and a tall wall framed the other. Narrow alleyways led from the garden to some sort of street teeming with activity, if the noise level meant anything. But the buildings were unlike anything he was used too. “This is weird, even for Portland.”
He forced himself to stand and shuffled towards the alley until his legs decided to start working. He peeked out to the street, unsure what he would find, and was suddenly glad he kept himself hidden. The streets were filled with people going about their lives in a loud and busy manner. Their clothes were something he had only seen in pictures or reenactors. No jeans, no sneakers, no zippers... almost like it was homespun. The men looked tough and the women not to be messed with casually. Where were the cars and the paved streets? Even the houses were strange in that they were made of either wood or stone... He definitely wasn't in Portland anymore.
He had no idea where he was but he was damn well not going to cause a scene while figuring it out. Moving back into the shadows he took stock of himself. Sneakers, blue jeans, a grinning Jack Skellington shirt celebrating 20 years of terror. As much as he liked it he had the feeling these people wouldn’t appreciate someone walking around with a skull on his shirt. His leather journal was still held tightly in his right hand, and the long piece of chalk was still held in his left. That was everything except what might be in his pockets…
His cellphone! “Damn why didn’t I think that first!?” Tucking the chalk into the journal he fished the smart phone from his pocket. His sister’s voice rang in his head as he did “Because getting kidnapped by happy space portals is totally normal.” He flipped the cover open. Mostly full battery. A picture of his dog as the lock screen, a shot of the family from their trip to Disney World as the home screen. But as he looked at the top an x blared the fact that there was no wireless or cell connection here. He frantically tapped to bring up the GPS function. Instead of the happy dot on a labeled map the marker blinked and blurred, the screen flickering as if being overwhelmed.
“Great, that idea’s dead.” He turned it off to conserve battery. Never knew when he’d be able to try again and he wanted to be able to when he got the chance. What next, Sigyn thought. That led him back to his clothes. He’d have to…borrow something for now. Whispering an apology he ducked back into the alley. He had seen a line of clothes out to dry from before and might be the only place he could get them without getting caught.
Sigyn pulled the clothes off the line before darting back to the trees for some privacy. He changed into the ‘borrowed’ clothes of unfamiliar material, carefully folding up his own. He found a place to hide them behind a loose stone in the wall low to the ground and hoped no one would be poking around. The clothes were…strange. A tunic that fell hallway done to his knees, dyed a blueish-green color. The pants were a similar make in a light brown, baggy but short in that they stopped after his shins. A drawstring at one hip held them up. He had taken a long length of indigo cloth he thought was a belt but as he tied it at his waist he wasn’t sure if it was a cloth belt or a scarf. Sigyn took his unruly curls out of their bun and pulled them back into a ponytail.
His sneakers would have to be left behind with the clothes. He hadn’t seen any footwear laying nearby but he didn’t mind going barefoot. The only things he kept with him was the leather journal and his cellphone (in case this was some crazy cosplay play or a renaissance fair). He tucked the chalk in too; since it had probably gotten him into this mess it might damn well get him out of it. “Okay, keep calm, blend in, but keep aware. And remember how to get back here…”
Sigyn walked out of the alley and into the street, melding into traffic like he belonged. Except, as he had seen earlier, he didn’t. The people here were very different. Most of the women had very long hair held back in braids or tails, and all in dresses or skirts. Shopping with baskets on their arms, or selling at booths, keeping an eye on their children who raced about. The men, while not outrageously so, were muscular to varying degrees. He suddenly realized it was that they all worked with their hands. Blacksmiths, carpenters, woodworkers, farmers, and all the more. He must be close to some type of marketplace for so many craftsmen to be in one place.
As he slowly meandered down the street he couldn’t help getting the feeling that this was a bit familiar, like he had seen it somewhere before. But where? And why? He hugged the leather journal to his chest as he thought. He had obviously been taken, transported, somewhere else, no matter how silly and impossible it sounded. (Or this was one hell of a dream- why had it started at university of all places?) He had no idea how he could get home… or even if he could get home. The dread of the thought would have settled on him if not for the flash of gold that caught his eye. Glancing up between buildings Sigyn saw something that made him wonder if chalk dust was hallucinogenic. “IT can’t be!”
Sigyn darted down a side street as he looked for a better view of the towering building. A golden palace. Ancient and futuristic all in one breath. The palace that he always knew to look for yet the upside down crystal mountain always tricked him. Asgard--!
His run took him out into the new street, the high halls of the palace of Asgard rising up in the distance, gleaming, and distracting. Without a warning besides a flash of grey metal and red and gold he slammed into a solid form hard enough to bounce back into the wall behind him. Sigyn clamped a land over his nose as he saw stars. It hurt too much to even cuss. Forcing his eyes open he watched the armored and golden haired man continue on his way. He didn’t even pause. One of his companions glanced over his shoulder, “watch where you’re going” hissed back. He was very willing to apologize, but geez, at least some acknowledgment would be nice. Sigyn’s hazel eyes fell to the first man’s waist and widened at the great hammer held there. That’s why ozone crackled in the air.
Then Sigyn glared. Sure, he had just fallen into what looked like Asgard. And, of course, he had just run head long into the Thunderer himself, who seemed to ignore much of what was around him. He didn’t like labeling people an ass… (especially when As seemed to be the short of Aesir) but ow damn did his nose hurt.
A chuckle sounded from Sigyn’s side and he suddenly realized he wasn’t alone. “Now that is not a reaction I’ve seen my brother receive.” Sigyn turned his head slowly. Hand still over his throbbing nose and journal clutched to his chest. And there…
And there stood Loki. (Oh damn Hiddleston had nothing on this…) Wow… how could those eyes be any greener?
Loki grinned for a moment and then motioned with his finger. “And how has my dear brother treated your nose?” Sigyn removed his hand, feeling it and looking cross-eyed down at it. While it wasn’t broken, a welting cut rose where it had scrapped against armor. “It’ll go down after a while. It probably won’t scar.” Loki laughed once again more to himself. “Though it will take some time for Thor to realize the eyes burning into the back of his head.” Then, with a wave of a hand and mischievous green eyes, he left.
The first bench he found Sigyn sat down in a daze. So, somehow, he had been transported to Asgard. And not just Asgard but its capital or palace city. The people here were real. More importantly, Thor and Loki, stepping out of the myths and comics and cinema screens. There was so much more he should have, could have, considered, but he didn’t. If anything Sigyn should be figuring out how to get home. But he wasn’t. He could not, he realized. Hw wasn’t completely sure but it seemed like he had also been transported back in time a few years. Thor and Loki seemed younger and closer to his own age. This must be some time before the coronation…
One jolt of excitement ran through Sigyn as the idea suddenly bloomed. The while reason anything had happened was that Loki felt alone and unequal compared to Thor. He was jealous of him, and probably lacked friends of his own. He’d never been sure (since, you know, it was two moves and not real life) but even though the revelation of his adoption was a tipping point, Loki had probably lost it before that.
What if he became Loki’s friend?
Unbidden, the images of the destruction of Jotunheim and the war in Manhattan came to mind. His stomach twisted and iced. It had been many years since it had happened (he was only ten at the time) but the images of 9/11 flashed. The second plane hitting, the towers coming down, staring and crying at the TV. Sure, he was a born and raised upstate New Yorker, and sure the city drove him nuts at times. But that was New York’s City, and hell to pay if any one messed with it. But maybe… if he became Loki’s friend and found others for him, that wouldn’t happen.
Then there was Loki himself. If he was alone, if he kept all these things locked inside, he needed people. He deserved people. People who liked Loki for himself and didn’t expect certain things of him as a son and prince. Who didn’t compare him to the seemingly golden sun that was Thor. (Besides, in all the stories where someone got sucked to another world, they had a mission to do. This was his.)
Sigyn was going to change things for Loki.