Winds howls constantly at the farthest edge of Asgard. It shrieks from beyond the stars, whips Sigyn's hair around her face, frosts her husband's skin the palest shade of blue and tears away the songs she would sing to him. But Sigyn has learned from her husband and her mind has turned toward a crafty way of thinking.
She wears no crown and she no longer has any right to a title borne of a princess of Asgard, but Sigyn still wears her hair in braid wound round her head and can still weave her magic. So she cajoles the blackened vines and bare trees to gift her tendrils and leaves to weave into her hair. With that hard won circlet upon her head, Sigyn can at least bow and touch her lips to Loki's long and slow, bowl balanced carefully upon her head. His arms are bound at the elbows, so he may not take her vessel for himself, but it is enough to settle his hands on hips as she rides him.
It's a small comfort, granted to them only because they are husband and wife.
Loki's punishment is cruel and humiliating. Sigyn has no judgement and justice placed upon her aside from what she bears willingly. It is fortunate and kind that Loki does not have to void himself, subtle magics sparing him further humiliation. He was stripped before he was chained and the elements are cruel to his flesh, but Sigyn would be lying badly if she said she found the lean stretch of his flesh bound under cruel black chains unappealing. Still, the elements are vicious even as she stretches herself alongside her husband and his skin doesn't redden, even as they trade whispered promises of what they will do when Loki is freed.
The caustic drip of venom is slow but steady. Certainly enough time exists between drops that Sigyn may go relieve herself or dribble some of the poison down the cliff edge so that the bowl may not overflow. Her husband whines in anxiety when she does the latter, irrationally afraid of the droplet hanging, poised to fall, above his head. But he stares cross-eyed at the bowl when she balances it upon his forehead and makes quips as she passes water.
There are also times when Sigyn needs time away and there is no one to take the bowl from her and the space between splashes in the bowl is too small. These times hurt the most, as she cannot even escape the cries of pain as each drop of venom falls onto Loki. Those stolen moments are never quite enough, but it is always a joy to hear thunder roll as Sleipnir's hoofbeats gallop closer.
Sleipnir is her favourite of all her step-children. Before her children were used to imprison their father, she would feed him apples and precious lumps of sweet from Alfheim and he would soften his gait for her when she had a chance to ride him. She truly does not mind being step-mother to a menagerie of creatures and to the Lonely Princess, but he is her favourite of all of them.
He is the only one of Loki's children that is allowed to visit, the only one whose bones weren't forged into chains, nor compelled to murder his brother. Sleipnir often carries Thor or Sif or both when he visits, but sometimes he carries no rider, and though he cannot hold the bowl, it is enough that he can put his head under Loki's hand so that Loki may have another set of ears to listen to his stories.
Sigyn does not begrudge Thor the time he spends at Loki's side. They are brothers for all the wounds they have caused each other, and while Thor could never take her place, the time he does hold the bowl for her may yet go far to heal all those hurts.
She does not even envy Sif when she comes sits beside her, warm and exuding the scent of the nut oil she uses on her hair and blade, waiting for the right moment to take the bowl from her and drain it against the rocks that mark the end of Asgard. Sigyn has always admired Sif for being a warrior of such caliber to ride alongside Thor, such a feat Sigyn only ever dreamed of achieving, and so does not mind when Sif does not place the bowl immediately back into her fingers.
They go back a long way Thor, Loki and Sif, so she doesn't complain about the time they grant her to be alone.
It's almost a joy when Hati and Sköll come to rip the chains off their grandfather and swallow the foul wound through which venom seeps.
Almost. Not quite.
True joy comes when Loki stands up, glamours applied and wounds healed. He offers her his hand and asks her if she would have revenge against the Allfather. She looks around, the wolves digging a shallow graves for the bones of an uncle they never knew and says 'Yes'. True joy happens then, as her husband's eyes take on that glow that so endeared him to her and he draws her close, whispering, "My queen," as his magics flash around them and they leave the prison that surrounded them both for near an eternity.